King Cosmos

Urban Starlight Wonderland: A Magical Girl RP

Shun Nakano – Magical Girl of the Stars

Shun Nakano

Age: 16

Personality: Energetic might be a little bit of an understate when it comes to Shun. She is like what would happen if you bottled lightning and turned it into a girl; constantly in motion, never able to sit still for long and constantly, always cheerful. This combined with her endless confidence makes it easy for her to make new friends as she is willing to approach anyone and everyone at least once, but it also makes flighty as she tends to commit to plans with people without thinking and over-booking herself.

She can reckless, as well as tactless, as she has a habit or acting and speaking before thinking and getting herself into trouble, but is more often than not able to escape trouble using the same traits that got her in trouble in the first place. This lack of consequences has left her somewhat over-confident, or at least with the impression that things will always work themselves out in the end. Although, this attitude has been put to the test somewhat recently.

Skills: As a capable soccer player and a member of her school’s team, Shun was athletic even before gaining her new abilities. She has good situational awareness from her time on the pitch and is used to working together with other people for a common goal.

Backstory: A simple child from a simple family, Shun always considered herself to be the typical teenage girl. Her parents worked average jobs, she was an only child like most of her classmates, she hated studying and always left her homework to the last minute; typical high school stuff. The only thing that really made her stand out from the crowd was the fact that she played soccer on the school team; well, that and the fact that she was really good at it. Good enough that her team had a shot at making it to nationals for the first time in years.

It was something that she was proud of; even though she was only playing the sport because she loved it, even though she would have kept playing even if she terrible at it, it was nice to actually be good at something she cared to be good at. She didn’t buy into any of the talk about her being a future star, a future pro, since she knew that there were better players than her out there; still, if that kind of talk kept her teams spirits up then let them dream for her. If they were able winning then that just meant they could play together longer.

They won the final match of the regional tournament, earning their school a spot in nationals for the first time in a decade, but during the final ten minutes of the match Shun was hit by a bad tackle that left her with a sprained ankle. Hardly the worst injury, but it meant she would be out of commission for the first match of nationals. The team was disheartened, but Shun wasn’t; all they had to do was win one match without her and she’d be able to join them for the rest. No big deal. She waved them off from her crutches as they boarded the bus to their first match.

They lost, of course.

Shun didn’t blame them for it, though they all felt devastated. She had got them to nationals and didn’t even get to compete, but she had no hard feelings about it, the other team was just better than them. The same couldn’t be said for the rest of her team however; no matter how much she tried to put a brave face on things, she couldn’t help but think that maybe he team blamed her for being injured , for letting them down. That hurt more than the disappointment or her ankle.

She began to distance herself from the team and from soccer in general. Even after her ankle had healed she didn’t hop back on the pitch or even touch a soccer ball. Some of the spark that made her love the sport had been lost. Then the fairy appeared and she suddenly had a lot more to worry about than just her school team’s feelings.

Magical Girl:

Hider

Concept: Archery

Archetype: Sagittarius

Abilities:
- Enhanced speed and agility.
- Enhanced vision; increased range, able to see in the dark and has enhanced visual acuity.
- Can summon an ornate bow to her hands and is granted the knowledge and skill to use it effectively. Though it doesn’t come with arrows, it instead shoots arrows of pure star light.
- Is able to pinpoint her opponent’s weak spots.

Urban Starlight Wonderland: A Magical Girl RP

Alright, I've got an idea in mind so I'll make a start on the sheet.

@VitaVitaAR, will there be a discord for this?

Urban Starlight Wonderland: A Magical Girl RP

@VitaVitaAR Can an Archetype be a living thing? Like a familiar, instead of an item?

Urban Starlight Wonderland: A Magical Girl RP

I'm interested in joining.

The Hunt, A Modern Fantasy Smorgasbord RP

Morgana Faith

The crime scene, for it could not be mistaken for anything else, was a grizzly sight.

Morgana had seen blood rituals before, she had seen satanic rites and diabolism and other ‘dark’ magics; some researchers would not go as far as to study such topics but she had, to understand them and to be able to ward against them and because, frankly, there were things to be learned even in the darkest of places. This was not that, despite what a cursory glance might tell you. This was something else.

Rituals and rites, even the distasteful kind, had a method to them, a pattern and an order. This was a man’s descent into madness writ across a room in his own blood.

The witch paced into the room once Madeleine invited her to do so; she declined the gloves, raising her hands and waggling his leather clad fingers at the demon in way of excuse. She would leave no fingerprints here and the rituals she had bound to her gloves would be useful to her investigation here. Turning her attention to the walls first she scanned the runes and symbols and words written there, but found little of interest. There were runes from at least four different languages she could recognise, from Nordic and Icelandic to Celtic and something she suspected was altogether older; she had never learned the Nordic runes beyond those still used in modern craft, but the ones she could recognise she knew held power in some circumstances. The Celtic she was more familiar with, but that only made it more obvious that there was nothing of worth to be found; just someone writing magic words on the wall and hoping for some effect. They may as well have been writing ‘abracadabra’ for all it would achieve; though ironically that word had been a true incantation at one point. The symbols were similar, being a mixture of occultist and religious iconography including Icelandic magic staves, sun crosses and the seal of Solomon.

From the way those symbols were discoloured and faded to a dirty brown she could tell that those were the oldest. Others were a little brighter, a little newer, a little more red compared to the rest and those ones trended more towards the satanic in nature; pentacles and sigils of Baphomet, alchemical symbols for brimstone and sulphur and even a Black Sun. It suggested a trend. A progression.

Lastly were the words. Sentences, rambling and incoherent in a mixture of English and German; pleas for help and talk of voices or a loss of memory, where she could understand what was being said at all. Where runes and symbols had achieved no effect it seemed he had simply begun to beg instead.

That led her to the candles and the circle.

“Amateurish.” A blunt assessment but an accurate one. Whoever had drawn this had not been a practitioner, not someone who knew what they were doing; it was the fumbling of someone first dipping their toes into the water, a simply pentacle inside a circle with lit candles. Like a teenager playing around with an Ouija board or something of the like; it was impossible that it would do anything if the person had no magic to draw on and highly unlikely even if they did. A glance at the shelf and its scant offering of books suggested as much; books on occultism and Satanism bought from common retailers.

There was a story here. Morgana was no investigator but she could see the shape of it. The man who lived here had been bewitched, his mind ensnared by magic as a ritual tattoo was forcibly applied to his body that made sure the effect would last. But perhaps its control had not been perfect, or perhaps it was only meant to allow the caster to snatch back control at a moment’s notice. Either way Mr Friedrich Raimund had been slipping in and out of his bewitchment and feeling like he was losing his mind the whole while. Perhaps he had understood that magic was to blame or perhaps he had simply been desperate, but he had turned to magic of his own to try and retake control of his life. Except he wasn’t a practitioner. He didn’t have the knowledge, the means or the power to fight it.

Most likely he was a man who had never even considered using magic before, until a witch broken into his apartment and broke into his mind and made him do her bidding. He tried runes, he tried occult symbols, he tried anything he could find. When that didn’t work he took more drastic measures, turning to darker avenues as so many men had before him. In seemed in his desperation it seemed Mr Raimund had turned to a higher power for answers.

Or a lower one, as the case may be.

Diabolism had always been a favourite in this country. She blamed Faust.

The satanic ritual drawn on the floor was… a call of sorts; it would be generous to call it a summoning circle but those would be more targeted, while this was just a shout into the dark in the hopes that something would answer. Anything. Normally a diabolist would pair it with a binding ritual, to ensnare whatever came through and bind it in a pact to the practitioner; the circle itself was small, so whatever came through would be small as well, limiting the chances of the diabolist simply being slain by whatever demon came through. A handy way to bind a few imps or lesser demons to your service.

Morgana raised a hand to her face and formed a circle with her fingers, a ritual of her own activating on the back of her glove that allowed her to view the residual magic in the air. Surprisingly enough there was something to see, a few lingering traces of power in the air over the satanic circle.

Something had come through.

It shouldn’t have worked, not when drawn by a person with no magical aptitude. And yet it did, because the circle too had been drawn in Friedrich’s own blood, freely offered, and that was enough. There was a reason blood was so often used as a reagent in rituals after all, not just in what most people would term ‘blood rituals’ but in other places too; it was one of the oldest forms of magic, right there alongside asking the spirits for assistance and usually the two went hand in hand. Because it had power. Because it had meaning. Because it was symbolic in more ways than one. It was your lifeblood, yes, and that was not insignificant especially for one with magic flowing through their veins, but more than that it represented a payment. To shed blood showed a certain dedication from the practitioner, either as an offering or as a sacrifice; blood freely given or taken by force. Either one carried a weight to it that was hard to ignore. There had even been decade’s worth of debate on whether the offering or the sacrifice was more potent, or if blood was even needed at all or if some other cost would suffice. She’d written a paper on it.

Whatever the answer, this much spilled blood was likely to have been enough to get something’s attention. Looking around the room at the smashed furniture and the grooves on the wall, she suspected that something may have come through as well.

“I think I’ve seen enough. There’s nothing noteworthy here; just some amateur diabolism and the ravings of a man going insane.” Morgana made to leave, or at least to go and stand by or just outside the door while the others did their work. The smell of iron in the room was starting to get to her. As she walked past Madeleine she averted her eyes from the demon and also from the parts of the room where the oldest drawings were located; where the blood had aged into a dark brown that was almost black. It was there that Madeleine had spotted the English witchcraft and pointed it out to Morgana, likely from Friedrich’s first dabbling with magic as he copied the patterns of his tattoo onto the wall. The line work was sloppy and was often upside down or backwards, as if drawn by someone copying from a mirror image. It was as disjointed and meaningless as the rest of the writing in the room; even more so, since it was only parts of a greater work separated from the rest.

It was gibberish. Indecipherable had Morgana not already seen the completed work.

But in the middle of it all was a familiar family crest.

Legion of Heroes

I'm tentatively interested in this. What kind of tone were you looking for?

The Hunt, A Modern Fantasy Smorgasbord RP

Morgana Faith

Having identified the origins of the magic that had bewitched the attacker, Morgana had been about to return to the office when the discussion of ‘why’ began. “There’s no way to tell what kind of commands he was given once the spell was in place I’m afraid; the tattoo is just there to make the man suggestible, the give no hint beyond that. Commands would be verbal.” It was a glorified love potion, the dream of any hormonal teenaged witch with a person they liked; all it did was make the subject devoted enough to listen to whatever they said.

“This is a large investment simply to throw the man to the wolves like this.” Conventional tattoos of this size already took a considerable amount of time to make; add in the need for it to function as a base for a ritual and the absolute precision that would require and the time needed would only increase. Not to mention the fact that this ‘Mr X’ was giving them far too much insight into what his organisation were capable of.

Apparently the man was a banker, which already brought to mind any number of reasons why someone would want to bewitch and control this individual; money being the most obvious, but information and connections were another. Not the kind of asset you would simply throw away like this. “An implanted command perhaps? A safety measure to ensure the man would self-destruct should he ever regain enough of his senses to report his bewitchment to the authorities?”

Normally that would be impossible, as the control fading would also mean that the safety measure would no longer have any effect. The tattoo would fix that however, maintaining the implanted command to some degree even after the man regained his faculties for as long as the ink held power. A nasty little trap. “Penthouse yes. I can’t bear to look at another piece of paper.”

@Kumbaris@Martian

Shugo Tensei Samurai - A Cyberpunk Fantasy RP

Hiroto Chiba

It was to be war then.

Hiroto slumped down, his shoulders slouching and his head ducking down even more than it already was. Well, it wasn’t like they hadn’t all known that this was coming. The Forgotten had been picking this fight for a while and most of Kurosagi had been waiting for the moment when the boss would make it official, or for when the Forgotten would force all of their hands. Hiroto hadn’t been one of the ones looking forward to this, he’d been dreading it in fact, but he had still been prepared for it to happen.

Three targets, struck simultaneously. The boss had evidently been preparing for this day, or more likely Yashida-san had been. It seemed like Hiroto was being put on the team dealing with the drugs and weapons warehouses; a stealth mission, for which he was ill-suited compared to the others, but it also had a good chance of going wrong and a fight breaking out and that, presumably, was when he would come in.

He let out a sigh. Fine, he didn’t like it but fighting and taking hits were the only things he was really good at, so that’s what he would do. Taking out the warehouses would mean fewer weapons for the gang members and less drugs on the streets and that was something worth getting his hands a little dirty for.

Of their group, Usagi was the first one to step forward and accept their assignment before she came to stand next to him. She was confident and he wished he could share in that but he couldn’t; they would complete this task and none of them would be hurt in the process, he would make sure of that, but he couldn’t help but worry something would go wrong.

The Hunt, A Modern Fantasy Smorgasbord RP

Morgana Faith

As it turned out, when you weren’t being shot at or battling abomination-afflicted cultists, the life of an investigator was terminally boring.

Reading through the confiscated paperwork from the warehouse and the biker gang’s safe house was progressing at a slow pace which was mostly due to the fact that roughly ninety per cent of it was useless. Case in point, Morgana seemed to have picked a pile that was taken from the latter and it was mostly filled with the kind of things you would expect any average household to hoard in their cupboards; old bills, junk mail that was never thrown away, receipts, even a few old photos. Madeleine seemed to be having better luck with her pile, either that or she found this kind of thing more interesting than was sane, and called out to the two of them to ask a question. Before the demon could get to finish her query however, all hell broke loose.

Again.

A quick glance out of the window showed that a car had crashed into the front gates of the OMR building. Any thought that it might simply be a normal car accident was quickly washed away when someone stepped out of the car and began firing on the guards and officers outside. Madeleine was quick to respond, heading for the door, but Morgana stayed where she was; researcher, not fighter. She followed regardless, but at a slower pace, and by the time she was outside the fighting was already over. The demon saw her exit and called her over to examine the body, or more specifically the tattoos covering his body.

She stepped forward and knelt by the body dutifully, though she only had to glance at the markings on the attacker’s body to recognise them. Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “It’s not an enhancement; not unless you consider a complete disregard for your own safety an improvement. He was bewitched, mind-controlled.”

Morgana pointed towards the markings on the deceased man’s chest, fingertip tracing the lines from his pectorals up to his shoulder and across his collarbone. The pattern resembled a magic circle; or half of one at least. If she rolled him over she imagined she would find the other half similarly tattooed on his back. “Designs like these are used in ceremonies meant to rob men of their faculties, overriding their will and replacing it with obedience to another. Usually the effect is only temporary, requiring regular upkeep through the use of potions; the control also tends to fade quickly should the subject be separated from the caster. They need to be reminded who their master is, I suppose; reinforce the idea in their minds. In other words it’s far too much work to be practical, unless you only intended to use it for short term goals in the first place; or if you’re particularly attached to the idea of owning someone body, mind and soul.”

Standing up, she stepped away from the corpse and placing a finger to her lips in thought. “I’ve never seen it used in this way before; the components for the spell tattooed directly on to the subjects body. I suppose if you imbued the ink with enough magical energy prior, you could have the effect persist for longer than normal; the tattoos would simply reapply the control whenever it began to fade for as long as the ink had power. You wouldn’t be able to give further commands however; only the one, the first, before sending them on their way. Like an order to attack this building, with no thought given to whether they lived or died.”

She sneered. “How very… innovative. I didn’t think the old crones were capable of new ideas.” Morgana recognised these designs, or at least the basis behind them. How could she not, when she had been taught to draw them in chalk on stone floors as part of her education. She schooled her features into something more passive and turned to Madeleine. “This is witchcraft. English in origin.”

@Kumbaris

Shugo Tensei Samurai - A Cyberpunk Fantasy RP

Hiroto Chiba

A giant wearing the face of a demon walked the streets of Sakanoshita. Some regarded him with fear and suspicion, either because of his height, his blood-red eyes or for the oni mask that hid his mouth behind a rictus grin. Others greeted him warmly, smiling at his approach and calling out to him like an old friend. It was always the same when Hiroto went on his rounds; there was a stark difference in reaction between those that knew him and those that didn’t. The former found him intimidating, while the latter knew he was anything but. Normally the former would bother him, make him feel self-conscious in his own skin. Normally he would stop and talk to the latter, make sure they were okay or just catch-up on their lives. Today though he was too distracted with his thoughts to do either.

There was a stirring of trouble in the air, a hint of violence soon to come, and it had Hiroto worried. Word on the street was that the Forgotten had been poking around the area more than they usually did, their enforcers being spotted more frequently; the gang, rival gang he reminded himself, becoming more brazen in the way they blatantly trespassed into the Kurosagi’s Anzen Chitai. He already knew that or course, because Tsukiyama already knew, but people were talking about it and it was Hiroto’s job to listen to their concerns; some were worried about what it would mean for them if fighting broke out, most were ambivalent, some were even excited. All were thinking the same thing though; the area they lived in might be changing hands soon.

The Kurosagi’s presence had been good for them the past few years, but the residents here all knew the truth. Nothing ever lasted long in this city, especially not the gangs. Whatever the outcome was, things were about to change.

Frankly, if it did come down to a war between Kurosagi and the Forgotten, Hiroto wasn’t too worried about the outcome; not for himself or the other members of the gang at least. They were strong. It would mean more hardship for the residents however and that was something he wanted to avoid. They’d tried to make this Anzen Chitai a place where people could be safe after all, place that was a safe haven from the gangs that controlled every other part of the city; except for the fact that this too was technically gang territory and that people like the Forgotten still felt they could wander freely here. No safe haven at all really, but it was still a better place to live than most other neighbourhoods in Sakanoshita and he would like to keep it that way.

If he had known about places like these back when he lived on the streets he might have been to avoid trouble, but he hadn’t and he didn’t and now he was here. There were other children, other orphans like him that needed a place to go and the Kurosagi were providing that. If the Forgotten messed that up, then even if they won and all survived then they would have lost the thing that mattered most to Hiroto.

His thoughts carried him all the way back to the bar, navigating his way back now that his rounds were done for the night. The less commercial parts of Sakanoshita were a maze of dark narrow alleys at times, but he could always find his way by just using the neon signs on the sides of buildings as landmarks to guide his way. It was really the only way to find your way around in the deeper parts of the city; not like anyone knew the street names around here, if they even had any, but the neon was ever present. Each building front a unique canvas of pinks and blues and yellows.

It felt like neon was the districts lifeblood at times, like it ran on the stuff; pretty colours flowing through every street and every building like red flowed through the veins of a body. Like if he cracked the pavement beneath his feet it would begin to weep fluorescent liquid. Something alive yet artificial at the same time.

He stooped as he stepped through the door of the bar, ducking his head low so that he could walk through it at all. Inside it was the usual hive of activity, a mix of music and patrons laughing and cheering and talking. Hiroto walked through it all as carefully as he could, slipping through the crowd with an ease that belied his size as he made his way to the back of the building so he could make his way down to their base of operations. He stopped at only one point, to look at the fresh cracks in the concrete floor; Hiroto turned and caught the eye of a bartender, who saw where he was looking and simply nodded.

“Dammit.” She’d been fighting in the bar again.