I'll keep an eye on this. I'm guessing that stuff like powergaming ICly would be allowed? e.g having your character act in a fashion that would optimize their stat/skill growth?
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Changes made, banjo. I put Kon Kon into Central due to deduction cause you repeated Takamagahara twice, but if I'm wrong, I'll do another switcheroo. Now where the hell is everyone else...
In
Suddenly, My Favorite MMORPG has Become Real?! — A Log Horizon-inspired RP
→
7 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
I'm just not in the server lol.
@AdmrlStalfos19@Asuras[@Burger]@Savo@banjoanjo
Sup. Never really overflowed after all, so woo, I can take all of you. Anyways, got a buncha stuff for you to do.
@AardWolf You sorta poofed for four days of this post going up, but if you work out your schedule or whatever and can go weekly for the long term, you'll be in too, probs.
EDIT: @OwO fuck you too burger
Sup. Never really overflowed after all, so woo, I can take all of you. Anyways, got a buncha stuff for you to do.
- Post your character in the relevant tab. Don't put your locations or your NPCs there though.
- Tell me which of your locations will be in which district. I'll add them into the first post of the OOC post from there.
- Figure out if your character will have any pre-existing relationships with other PCs or NPCs. You know, discuss OOCly and all. If you want to do any secret stuff though, include me in the PMs.
- How badly do you want a Discord for shitposting purposes? I'll personally be using the OOC for delegation and deliberation.
- After that, just chill, I guess lol. I'll start the IC, at the very latest, by the end of Friday. After that, we'll be moving to good ol' one week post rounds which you should all be able to do consistently, right? :3
@AardWolf You sorta poofed for four days of this post going up, but if you work out your schedule or whatever and can go weekly for the long term, you'll be in too, probs.
EDIT: @OwO fuck you too burger
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Schoolgirls disappear and adults don’t bat an eye.
A grim reaper stalks skylines, severing blossoms before they wither.
Monsters steal memories and skin, deceiving and seducing their way to their next prey.
Two men twist hearts for their own ends, their paths parallel and opposing.
Bleak graylight scours the night clean of dreams.
Pale starlight burns the shadows from the day.
And somewhere, nowhere, the Lostman watches and waits.
For another lamb to answer.
For another lamb to desire.
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Schoolgirls disappear and adults don’t bat an eye.
A grim reaper stalks skylines, severing blossoms before they wither.
Monsters steal memories and skin, deceiving and seducing their way to their next prey.
Two men twist hearts for their own ends, their paths parallel and opposing.
Bleak graylight scours the night clean of dreams.
Pale starlight burns the shadows from the day.
And somewhere, nowhere, the Lostman watches and waits.
For another lamb to answer.
For another lamb to desire.
...........................................................................................................................
...........................................................................................................................The metropolis of Tenoroshi exists under a veneer of calm, a monochrome cityscape indistinguishable from so many others. Monorails curve eloquently around towers of glass and steel, while convenience stores sprout like weeds every three blocks. School-bound children share the same streets as wage slaves and punk rockers, a human melting pot created by a too-small world, while warehouses and amusement parks stand empty, relics of a brighter past abandoned by an untrusting present. No one forgets though. The smokestacks of the crematorium inhales and exhales day in and day out. A holy man stands watch over the graveyard, ringing a bell to help the dead pass on. Streetside memorials emerge as splashes of color upon the pavement, whether it be for those lost by accident, lost by malice, or simply lost. Grayscale is the world of eight hundred thousand people, no matter how bright the neon lights of the red-light district, how vibrant the beats of the downtown core.
This indifference and numbness though, is what keeps this microcosm of a world functioning.
Beneath the grayscale veneer of Tenoroshi is a world that no ordinary person would want to comprehend. Grisly murders go uninvestigated and unreported, dying with the memories of the victims. Buildings vanish overnight, leaving nothing but empty, overgrown lots. The mayor of the town never appears in person, but continues to win elections, over and over again. Rumors and superstitions cross the airwaves constantly, as television hosts invite psychologists and hacks to make sense of the incomprehensible. But no consensus is ever reached, and the legends only grow. Of the Firefly that metes out infernal retribution, bearing a burning hand, a burning heart. Of the Ghost of the Electronic Matrix, the second dimension fairy that scatters itself into the void of the unseen spectrum. Of Harmoney, the true overseers of the human race, the ones who pull the strings without ever revealing their faces. All things that no ordinary person would want to comprehend, all things that no ordinary person would want to face, to explore.
But for those that do delve beneath the grayscale veneer of the metropolis that doesn’t care, they would undoubtedly be lead to a certain tale. The story of the Lostman, the messianic figure that would grant the faithful the power to change the world or the power to change themselves, but never both. And never for any price, nor to achieve any particular goal. The most famous enigma of all, the most obscure of them all, the most debated, the most misunderstood.
This indifference and numbness though, is what keeps this microcosm of a world functioning.
Beneath the grayscale veneer of Tenoroshi is a world that no ordinary person would want to comprehend. Grisly murders go uninvestigated and unreported, dying with the memories of the victims. Buildings vanish overnight, leaving nothing but empty, overgrown lots. The mayor of the town never appears in person, but continues to win elections, over and over again. Rumors and superstitions cross the airwaves constantly, as television hosts invite psychologists and hacks to make sense of the incomprehensible. But no consensus is ever reached, and the legends only grow. Of the Firefly that metes out infernal retribution, bearing a burning hand, a burning heart. Of the Ghost of the Electronic Matrix, the second dimension fairy that scatters itself into the void of the unseen spectrum. Of Harmoney, the true overseers of the human race, the ones who pull the strings without ever revealing their faces. All things that no ordinary person would want to comprehend, all things that no ordinary person would want to face, to explore.
But for those that do delve beneath the grayscale veneer of the metropolis that doesn’t care, they would undoubtedly be lead to a certain tale. The story of the Lostman, the messianic figure that would grant the faithful the power to change the world or the power to change themselves, but never both. And never for any price, nor to achieve any particular goal. The most famous enigma of all, the most obscure of them all, the most debated, the most misunderstood.
They are the key and lock to the underbelly of Tenoroshi.
They are the root of every impossible incident.
They are the beholder of all.
The asker of one.
What would you change? The world or yourself?
They are the root of every impossible incident.
They are the beholder of all.
The asker of one.
What would you change? The world or yourself?
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The New Aeon Mall, reconstructed in Neo-Kyoto to match the city’s sleeker, shinier look, stood as a testament to humanity’s ability to always bounce back from adversity, and to become stronger for it. With state of the art static defences and automated security systems capable of evacuating and sheltering the tens of thousands of customers who file through its many shops every day, it is a steel-and-glass gem of capitalism and consumerism.
But where light shines, darkness treads as well, and as the sickle moon rises, another monster strikes! Upon a holographic stage, a great invader stood, its arms menacingly wide, its claws as long as sabers! A terrible gurgle rumbled through its tubular throat, before it declared, behind the bombast of thunder and lightning, the destruction of all of mankind underneath its fearsome Photon Tiger Claws! “Foolish humans, bound to the meat,” it chortled, swinging its glowing claws side to side, “Today shall be the day I end all your hopes and dreams, your joy and your smiles! Know me and fear me, the great Invader, Tel-Vor!”
“Not if I have a say in this!”
Three golden spotlights conjoined upon a section of the second floor of the mall, illuminating an armored hero of the highest caliber. As his iconic, glorious theme song rang through the air, singing of dreams and heroism, the red-and-silver hero of justice backflipped off, rotating twice before doing a three-point landing, his cyberweave scarf trailing dramatically above him. Striking one signature pose, then another, the transforming hero’s eyes burned the blue flame of justice, before he pointed one daring finger towards the villainous invader. “Your heinous plot stops here. Vel-Tor! Upon this oath that grants me strength, the vow I made to my honored father, I will defeat you! Uooooooooh…SAIBA SAIKIKU FIYA!”
Another dark chuckle, before the monstrous humanoid invader charged as well, a purple light blazing from its claws. “I’LL TEAR YOU TO SHREDS!”
Holographic pyrotechnics exploded as good and evil crossed fists, to the squeals and semi-dogmatic chanting of all the kids in the audience, as well some of the much, much older kids.
After all, Friday nights were Live Show nights.
Fifteen minutes of hot-blooded, unscripted action later, the show concluded in an explosive finale where Godfire Psyman invoked his Cosmos Lightning Mender to send Vel-Tor flying into outer space, to the applause and hype-noises of a few dozen children and their caretakers.
“Good job, Tian-Gui,” a blond-haired man said, offering a bottle of water, “Always good to have someone who knows their way through CQC.”
“Hey, no probs, Akira,” the larger man waved, “The smiles make it worth it.”
Akira laughed. “Spoken like a true hero.”
Tian-Gui grinned back, punching him on the shoulder. “Gotta up your game, Psyman. Can’t get outheroed by the villain, yeah?”
“Hey, if you ever wanna go into this for real…” The blond ikemen eyed a brow. “…an Invader-turned-hero was an idea they’ve been throwing around.”
“Naw, got my responsibilities ‘n all.”
His shrug came easily. “Figured. Wanna go for udon?”
“Eh…maybe after I get out of this costume?”
Oh man, these NPCs will be challenging to play...Anyways, banjo, do you have a particular scandal in mind and are just keeping it under the wraps for IC reveals, or do you have no particular idea and are willing to hand the work over to me?
Looks fine with me. Guess the Lostman's attracted to people with shitty dads and hot moms. Makes one think, eh?
Over the gray skies, the Silver Moon recruits got to work. With a prayer, Gwyn brought healing light upon Muu’s face, the Blade Dancer’s flesh seeming to dissolve and then smooth over. Despite the horrific pain and the loss of her vision, the damage dealt by the giant toad’s poison had been largely superficial. Terribly, painfully superficial, but still superficial. Soon enough, Muu was able to open her eyes once more, her previous trials appearing as if it was nothing more than a bad dream.
But like all bad dreams, the phantom agony lingered.
Ash, on the other hand, as the highest performing member of the original trio, further proved her usefulness. First the tracking, then landing an actual arrow, and now being given the masked warrior’s trust in appraising the value of the corpse. She was certainly moving up in the world, even if her importance was still largely based off her out-of-combat skills. The sheer mass of the toad meant that skinning it entirely would be an insufferably exhausting task, but that sheer size also meant that, if Ash chose to, she could certainly get large portions of leg meat from the toad. That was practically chicken if she butchered it carefully. The question of weight was always worth consideration though. The eyeball was heavy enough, and stank to high heavens. Unless the party was stopping right beside the toad’s corpse to eat a midday meal, was it really going to be worth it, lugging around more meat around with her? It wasn’t like there was a convenient stream nearby for her to clean the kill with either.
Those were just hunter things though, nothing for Matteo to consider.
The toad being covered in thick dirt was a blessing in disguise. Getting the poisonous slime off its skin would have been immensely dangerous with just the thin sleeves of his robes as protection, but with dirt caking it, prospects became much easier. All he had to do was clump up the dirt that laid right over the toad’s skin and then awkwardly force it through the narrow bottleneck…but Matteo liked to live dangerously. He was a gambling man, after all, and the safety of toxin-infused dirt paled in comparison to the greater reward of pure toad toxin. Standing over the toad’s split face, with brains and organs and blood and fat and bone all mixing together like a gory ice cream cake, the thief did the best he could with his sleeves and with his bottle, trying to extract what fluids he could. But blood got in. Mucus got in. Grisly fat and meat got in. Everything got in, alongside the slimy, translucent fluid that had been upon the toad’s skin.
He got something, at least. Collecting slime, it turns out, was much less dangerous compared to mixing poison. For his reckless behavior, all Matteo got were strange rashes upon the palm of his hands, as well as sleeves that had been contaminated to the point that they were in desperate need of soap and water.
But like all bad dreams, the phantom agony lingered.
Ash, on the other hand, as the highest performing member of the original trio, further proved her usefulness. First the tracking, then landing an actual arrow, and now being given the masked warrior’s trust in appraising the value of the corpse. She was certainly moving up in the world, even if her importance was still largely based off her out-of-combat skills. The sheer mass of the toad meant that skinning it entirely would be an insufferably exhausting task, but that sheer size also meant that, if Ash chose to, she could certainly get large portions of leg meat from the toad. That was practically chicken if she butchered it carefully. The question of weight was always worth consideration though. The eyeball was heavy enough, and stank to high heavens. Unless the party was stopping right beside the toad’s corpse to eat a midday meal, was it really going to be worth it, lugging around more meat around with her? It wasn’t like there was a convenient stream nearby for her to clean the kill with either.
Those were just hunter things though, nothing for Matteo to consider.
The toad being covered in thick dirt was a blessing in disguise. Getting the poisonous slime off its skin would have been immensely dangerous with just the thin sleeves of his robes as protection, but with dirt caking it, prospects became much easier. All he had to do was clump up the dirt that laid right over the toad’s skin and then awkwardly force it through the narrow bottleneck…but Matteo liked to live dangerously. He was a gambling man, after all, and the safety of toxin-infused dirt paled in comparison to the greater reward of pure toad toxin. Standing over the toad’s split face, with brains and organs and blood and fat and bone all mixing together like a gory ice cream cake, the thief did the best he could with his sleeves and with his bottle, trying to extract what fluids he could. But blood got in. Mucus got in. Grisly fat and meat got in. Everything got in, alongside the slimy, translucent fluid that had been upon the toad’s skin.
He got something, at least. Collecting slime, it turns out, was much less dangerous compared to mixing poison. For his reckless behavior, all Matteo got were strange rashes upon the palm of his hands, as well as sleeves that had been contaminated to the point that they were in desperate need of soap and water.
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