Moonberry

[Mabaroshi-Mura:Kuridan] ༺⋆⋇ เภՇ๏ Շђє ๓เรՇร ⋇⋆༻ Part 2

The first strike broke the stillness.

Moo’s punch collided with Kota’s reflection — and the impact was deafening.
The sound rang like struck crystal, sending a shockwave that rippled across the mirrored floor. Cracks flared beneath their feet, glowing red-gold, as if the world itself bled light.

The fox-shaped shadow slid back, its nine tails snapping outward like whips of water and flame. Where they struck, shards of glass and droplets of liquid shadow rained outward in graceful arcs.
And through the ripples came a mocking laugh.

"Still swinging at everything you don’t understand, are you?"
"Show me, fighter — what happens when the thing you punch won’t fall down?"

The shadow blurred forward, tails spinning together in a helix — not to crush, but to mirror her attack, meeting force with force.
The two impacts met midair — and the mirror under them cracked again.

Across the field, the shadow of Yume lifted its head from Yume’s earlier blow. The silver curl of her hair gleamed faintly as she smiled — too calm, too composed.
Her eyes locked onto Kota again, narrowing in delight.

"Oh, you laugh to hide the cracks. How noble. How exhausting."
"Let’s see how long you can keep pretending you’re fine."

With a flick of her hand, thin golden threads snapped outward from her fingertips — not ropes, but lines of shimmering illusion. They streaked across the air toward Kota and Yume alike, the reflections within the threads showing flashes of other faces — friends, rivals, family — each one saying nothing, just watching.

The shadow of Lenara moved next.
Slowly. Purposefully. Her bare feet left ripples of green light as she approached Yume. The air around her shimmered like a mirage, her expression unreadable — sadness or scorn, it was impossible to tell.

She raised a hand, and the mirrored floor beneath Yume’s feet began to fracture inward.
Glass folded like water, the reflections below twisting into countless eyes — all staring upward.

"You hide behind jokes. Behind noise. Behind all those bright words."
"But silence remembers you better than anyone ever did."

The next heartbeat brought motion — her hand sweeping downward, shards rising like blades to intercept whatever came next.

And then came Moo’s shadow.

The hulking shadow figure crouched low, antlers glinting, eyes glimmering faintly red. For a moment, she didn’t attack. She just watched Lenara — as if studying every heartbeat, every flicker of hesitation.

Then, in a blur of motion, she charged — not headfirst this time, but vanishing mid-step, bursting from a reflection on the floor behind Lenara instead.
When she spoke, her voice was lower, clearer, the childishness stripped away.

"Yew cahn'e ven pr'teck yersulf! Wha' gud is yew?"
Her strike came down like thunder — not out of hate, but inevitability.

The mirrored world roared.

Each collision echoed endlessly, glass and shadow and light tearing across infinity. For every blow they landed, the shadows shifted — growing sharper, faster, as if learning from each exchange.

Above, the golden eyes blinked once — slow, deliberate — and the pulse beneath the world grew louder, faster.
Thoom… thoom… thoom…
Like a heartbeat counting down to something inevitable.

And as the light flared again, the laughter returned — distant but closer now, a whisper curling through their minds:

“You can’t destroy a reflection…”
“…without breaking the mirror.”

[Ryke - Dungeon] Languishing Large Loner

“Alright,” Evie said softly, the smile gone from her face. “You had your chance.” She set the bat so the metal thunked once on the glass—simple, final.

She didn’t shout. She didn’t gloat. She got practical.

“Locke — cripple. Aim low. Don’t kill.” Her voice cut across the chamber like a scalpel. “Aramis — find and crush a rune node. If that mist breathes again, we lose minds, not just bodies.”

“Yumi — you’re on containment. If he moves to hurt someone, end it. If you can pin him without killing, do it.”

“Androph — non-lethal if you can, leg breaks, hammers to joints. If he goes lethal on someone, you go lethal back. Clear?”

She slid her hand along Roscoe’s neck and spoke low so the dog heard steel and comfort both. “Roscoe — scent and hold. If he bolts, bite pressure. Don’t maul.” The wolfdog’s tail gave a single, tight wag; his muzzle lifted in promise.

Then Evie took a breath, squared her shoulders, and stepped forward a pace to make sure the team was listening.

“We wanted him alive. He chose otherwise. Fine. We do our job. Bring him down fast, clean, and without giving this place any more hooks into us.”

Niltze

Hey hello!! Welcome to Roleplayers Guild!

If you've got any interest in medieval fantasy stuff or anime, and Isekai themes, I've got a group that's always open to new folks.

Shoot me a message if you're interested! Happy Roleplaying !

Intro!

Hey hello! Welcome to Roleplayers Guild!!

I'm part of a group that roleplays here in an original world together. It's medieval fantasy with a splash of magitech and steampunk.

We use a system vaguely similar to a home brewed table top rpg. That allows for character balance and growth over time.

We are always recruiting, so if you're interested at all shoot me a message!

Happy roleplaying!

[The Duchy: Aslan] .·:★・¨༺ 𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔡𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔓𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔤𝔢 ༻¨・★:·.

╔══ஓ๑.·:⋆✦⋆♚⋆✦⋆:·.๑ஓ══╗

✦ Narration ✦

The Pavilion’s radiance intensified — a crescendo of light, sound, and expectation.
Energy coursed through the conduits like living veins, bathing the crystalline walls in gold. Conversations fell to a hush as the ceiling mirrors shifted, focusing the illumination toward the center stage.

The air held its breath.

And then, the great doors at the Pavilion’s far end burst open.

A hush rippled through the hall as the missing judge finally arrived.

He was impossible to mistake — tall, impeccably dressed in white and gold robes trimmed with prismatic thread, his cape trailing like liquid starlight. Each step clicked sharply upon the marble, his polished boots leaving faint trails of mana light in his wake. A jeweled mask framed the upper half of his face, though his smirk was plain enough — the practiced smile of someone who knew exactly how long people had been waiting for him.

“My apologies for the delay,” he said, voice smooth and confident, carrying easily across the hall without amplification. “A show of pride deserves to begin with proper attention, after all.”

He bowed — barely. It was more performance than courtesy.

An attendant scurried forward to pull out the empty chair, nearly tripping in the process. The new judge sat with a casual elegance that bordered on arrogance, one gloved hand lifting a silver monocle to inspect the contestants below.

At center, the Performing Stage unfurled — panes of glass and alloy cantilevering outward with a sigh of steam. Resonance wards glimmered to life along the lip of the platform, and a single, brilliant beam found the empty heart of the stage.

An auburn-haired attendant stepped forward with a glowing ledger, voice precise and sure.

“Performers, to order! First round begins now. Each act will have five minutes to display their craft before the judges confer.”
She glanced at the roster as numbers bloomed in pale light above waiting competitors.
“Opening the Exhibition… Number One. Noelle Nichi”

The crowd quieted. Silk rustled. Someone’s nervous scale cut off mid-note.

Across the Pavilion, the Western Promenade thrummed with a different promise.

Mana barriers rose around the sanded ring, casting a cool blue ellipse that rippled over stamped footprints and chalked range marks. Attendants finished their checks and retreat steps, palms raised to signal the field was hot.

A registrar lifted a baton, voice carrying cleanly to the outer rail.

“Preliminary Bout One is set! Edwin Stormcrest of Ryke will face Captain Ral Orvin of the Thales City Guard.”

A stir ran through the onlookers. The Guard captain stepped from his mark, steel catching the Pavilion’s light.

“Lord Stormcrest.” A measured salute, soldier-straight. “We show them form before force. On the signal.”

From the judges’ west platform, a herald raised the start sigil.

“Combatants — present.” The mana field thrummed, louder. “Begin on tone.”

A crystalline chime poised on the edge of release.

Two stages. Two trials.

[The Duchy: Aslan] .·:★・¨༺ 𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔡𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔓𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔤𝔢 ༻¨・★:·.

╔══ஓ๑.·:⋆✦⋆♚⋆✦⋆:·.๑ஓ══╗

𝓐𝓮𝓭𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓪 𝓑𝓮𝓵𝓶𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓮

The moment Noelle’s arms wrapped around her, Aedrianna froze. Her mind went utterly blank — not out of fear, but because the world seemed to stop.

That warmth… that scent of sea breeze and lavender. It was the same as she remembered.

For one long heartbeat, she let herself exist only in that memory — laughter echoing between them beneath the stars, Their singing together as they walked along the roads they traveled. And when the fair lights reflected in the water that last night, Aedri had promised herself that friendship like that didn’t fade.

But now… it looked like it had been stolen from her.

When Noelle stepped back, stammering apologies, Aedrianna blinked away the tears that threatened to form. Her chest ached, but she managed a fragile smile all the same.

“You could never insult me, Noelle.” Her voice trembled softly before steadying, her words threaded with emotion she couldn’t quite contain. "We traveled together for a year and a half almost! I'd like to think we understand each other well enough to greet each other warmly...right?" She chuckled nervously, suddenly wondering if maybe the memories that she'd regained weren't all that right. Did Noelle not remember her?

"You helped me find the Skythorn blossom...and we traveled to the Ryke fair together...I know that doesn't sound like a lot but..."[/color] she hesitated, suddenly feeling hyper self conscious. Perhaps those golden memories weren't all that golden.

The words faltered. Suddenly, every memory she’d held so dearly felt fragile, uncertain. Perhaps what she remembered wasn’t the whole truth after all.

A gentle movement drew her back — the tiny mana beast pup in her arms squirmed, letting out a soft, crystalline chirp that broke through her spiraling thoughts. Aedri’s gaze softened. The small sound grounded her.

Before she could say more, the Pavilion’s crystal chimes rang sharply overhead, scattering the moment like shards of glass.

“Performers! Please gather — performance numbers are being assigned! First round begins shortly. Number one will open the stage!”

Aedrianna glanced up as the glowing sigils flickered to life above the stage. Her number shimmered faintly — 13. The last to perform. Of course.

Her eyes drifted to Noelle once more and she offered a delicate smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Somewhere, beneath the polite composure, a quiet ache lingered — hope that maybe, just maybe, she’d misread that reaction after all.

[The Kingdom:Fort Bael] ·:*¨❆༺ ❅ 𝔄 𝔅𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔈𝔫𝔳𝔶 ❅ ༻❆¨*:·

The night in the barracks was long — a restless, creaking quiet punctuated by the distant sigh of the wind against the shutters and the occasional groan of settling timbers. Even with the hearths burning low, the cold never truly left. It crawled in through the cracks, the way guilt or fear might find its way into a man’s thoughts.

By morning, the first light had not yet broken the horizon. The fires were embers, and the air hung heavy with the scent of smoke, sweat, and iron.

Beyond the walls, the snow had deepened overnight. The storm had passed, leaving the world muted and pale — the kind of silence that made one listen too closely, only to realize how little they wanted to hear.

Inside the fortress, soldiers were already at work. The ringing of hammers and the distant grind of metal against stone rolled faintly through the corridors. From the courtyard came the rhythmic bark of drills — the garrison roused early, their voices sharp, their movements tense.

Word had spread through the ranks by dawn.
The western scouts still had not returned. The search party sent after them — also gone. Supplies from the southern pass were delayed. And now, the ice along the bay had thickened overnight — a thin white crust glinting like glass across the water.

The soldiers whispered about omens, about shapes seen moving beneath that glass.

Down in the lower barracks, the travelers stirred to life. A few soldiers passed through briefly, offering a nod or a wary glance — acknowledgment, but not trust. Outside, the muffled sound of the bell tolling once carried through the frost, and a faint vibration ran through the floorboards, as though something deep beneath the Bastion had answered in kind.

In the courtyard above, Roderic Alstadt stood near the half-frozen well, his cloak drawn tight against the morning chill. His breath steamed faintly as he read over the reports in his gloved hands, jaw set in quiet frustration.

“Three patrols missing,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only the nearby captain could hear. “And now the supply train from the south’s gone silent too.”

The captain shifted uneasily.

“Could be the weather, my lord. The passes freeze over faster every year—”

“No.” Roderic’s reply cut through the cold. “I can feel it. Something’s wrong in the ice.”

He folded the parchment and looked toward the mist-wrapped horizon. For a moment, the young lord’s expression softened — the weariness of a man forced to bear his father’s crown before its time.

“Ready the wall teams. I’ll want the volunteers briefed before midday.”

“The newcomers, my lord?”

“Aye. If they’re here to earn their keep, they’ll have their chance soon enough.”

The bell rang again — once, sharp and clear.
The sound carried through the fortress corridors and down into the barracks where the new arrivals readied themselves.

The day had begun, gray and cold. Somewhere in the distance, a single crow cawed before falling silent again.

And though none could yet see it, out beyond the frozen sea, something vast was moving beneath the ice.

[ʀʏᴋᴇ - ᴀʀʙᴏʀʜᴀᴠᴇɴ] 𝑅𝑜𝒶𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑅𝒶𝓂𝒷𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑅𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇: 𝒞𝒶𝓃𝓉𝒶𝒸𝓁𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓊𝓃𝓈𝑒𝑒𝓃

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The sound of the rain had faded to a distant patter, though gray clouds still pressed low over Arborhaven. The scent of wet earth and smoke hung in the air.

Ben froze halfway through stirring the pot when Marrion’s voice carried across the quiet room. He turned, brow furrowing deeply. “A fight?” he repeated. His ladle clattered against the pot’s rim. “In the rooms? Which one?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, already shuffling from behind the counter, grabbing a small cudgel from its hook beneath the bar as he started toward the stairs. Juniper followed on his heels, her ears perked and tail stiff with alarm. “Wait—Miiya’s room was that way…”

Upstairs, the air felt colder, heavy with the scent of damp feathers and overturned furniture. The door to Room 204 gaped open, pale light spilling over the disorder within.

Juniper stopped short in the doorway, her breath catching. The bed was stripped to chaos, the basin and pitcher shattered, feathers scattered across the floorboards like pale leaves. The window was latched shut.

“No… she wouldn’t have gone out in that storm,” she murmured, stepping inside, kneeling beside the satchel left slumped in the corner. Her hand brushed one of the feathers. “Not like this.”

Ben’s jaw tightened. “If there’s trouble in my inn, it’ll be the guards’ concern. I’ll fetch them.” He turned toward the stairs, but paused when another voice drifted from the hall.

“Guards won’t care much, Ben.”

Reed stood at the end of the corridor,patched cloak still damp from the previous night’s rain. His gray-blue eyes lingered on the feathers, then on the young adventurer kneeling in the wreckage. “They’ll take a report, grumble about the weather, and tell you she probably ran off on her own. Same story for half the posters on the wall.”

Juniper looked up sharply, her ears flicking. “Then what do we do? We can’t just—she was one of us. She said she’d meet me this morning.”

Reed stepped into the room, his boots whispering over the wet boards. He crouched near the feathers, lifting one carefully between thumb and forefinger. “A struggle, no blood. Whoever took her—or whatever did—didn’t kill her here.”

He looked toward the innkeeper.
“You open up early, Ben?”

Ben scratched at his beard, frowning.
“Didn’t have to. The door was already open when I came down. Bar was slid back and all. Thought some fool forgot to latch it last night.”

Reed’s brow furrowed. “So someone left through it—or came in.” He moved to the window, glancing at the faint tracks of wet mud trailing from the doorway. “Footprints. Red clay. That’s from the east road.”

Ben hesitated, rubbing a hand over his face. “That’d be toward the chapel quarter… where old Mara lives now. She keeps the charm shop by the fork in the road.”

Juniper blinked. “Mara?”

“Aye.” Ben’s tone dropped, uneasy. “Widow of a stonemason. Used to sell candles and hymnal carvings. Took to makin’ those charms when her boy went missin’ last spring. Folks say she sees things now—faces in the fog, voices in her sleep. Some think the charms keep the grief from swallowin’ her whole. Others think they just spread it.”

Reed’s expression darkened slightly, though he nodded as if confirming a memory. “Mara used to sing at the harvest festivals. Had a voice that could hush a hall.” His gaze drifted toward the open window, the pale feathers, the faint scent of rain. “Now she hums alone, stringin’ silver in that empty house. I’ve heard it at night—sounds like the wind mournin’.”

Juniper stood, brushing her knees and glancing toward the hallway. “Then that’s where I’ll start. The tracks lead that way. If she’s the one giving out the charms, maybe she’s seen something—or someone.”

Ben frowned. “Careful, girl. That road’s half-flooded after the storm. Mist rolls in thick come morning. You can lose your way if you follow the bell too far.”

Reed gave a small, rueful smile. “Then it’s a good thing I’ve walked worse roads. I’ll guide her as far as the fork. Been too long since anyone paid Mara a kind visit.”

The group descended the narrow stairs, the smell of smoke and porridge mingling with the damp chill spilling through the open door. Outside, Arborhaven’s streets were still half-drowned in puddles, the cobbles glistening like old bone beneath the leaden sky.

The town itself seemed half-asleep: shuttered windows, empty porches, and the faint sound of metal charms clinking in the breeze. From every doorway, the same silver talismans dangled—small, seven-pointed stars etched with thin, curling lines that caught the light and whispered when they swayed.

As they turned down the eastern road, the town thinned into mist. The scent of wet moss and peat thickened, and red clay began to cake the path beneath their boots. Wind tugged at Juniper’s cloak; the sound of soft singing drifted faintly ahead.

A low cottage came into view at the bend—a small, lopsided structure of stone and timber, its roof patched with moss. Charms hung from every eave, hundreds of them, catching the dim light like a canopy of silver tears. Each one tinkled faintly in the wind, the combined sound almost like rain.

A carved sign, nearly swallowed by ivy, hung by the door. Its paint was worn but still legible:

“Mara’s Blessings — For Restful Sleep and Peace of Heart.”

Reed slowed his steps, voice quiet.
“There it is. The heart of all this.”

Juniper’s tail flicked once, tension in her shoulders as she stared at the cottage door.
“Then let’s hope she’s still in the mood for company.”

A faint chime answered her words as the wind stirred the hanging charms—soft, melodic, and mournful—as if the house itself had heard.

The mist thickened as they drew closer, muffling the world in shades of gray. Charms chimed faintly from the trees before they even saw the cottage — hundreds of them strung between branches and eaves, swaying like silver leaves in an unseen breeze.

The path bent, revealing a small stone-and-timber home half-sunken into the hillside. Its roof sagged under moss and ivy, and a thin trail of smoke curled from the crooked chimney. Every window glowed with a dim amber light, blurred by fog and age.

Inside, a low humming drifted through the open door. The tune was wordless but soft, rising and falling like a lullaby.

When the group reached the threshold, the scene within revealed itself:

Charms — stars, feathers, rings of silver, bits of bone and crystal — hung from the rafters and beams. Some were polished and gleaming, others tarnished black. They spun slowly, tinkling as they brushed against each other. The scent of herbs, wax, and damp metal filled the air.

At a table near the hearth sat a woman, thin and pale beneath the lamp’s honeyed glow. Her hair was streaked white, her dress simple and threadbare. She worked quietly with trembling fingers, threading wire through a seven-pointed star. Every so often, she dipped it into a bowl of water beside her and whispered something under her breath.

“Peace for the lost… calm for the weary…”

Her voice was low and melodic, each word more prayer than spell.

Without looking up, she spoke—softly, as though she already knew they were there.
“You can come in, travelers. The wind doesn’t like waiting on strangers.”

The charms overhead gave a soft shiver, their song briefly discordant before settling again.

At last, she lifted her head. Her eyes were pale blue and unfocused, but they seemed to see all the same. A faint, distant smile touched her lips.

“The storm left you cold,” she said gently. “Warm yourselves by the lamp. I’ve tea steeped — mint and sage, for the nerves.”

Her gaze lingered on each of them in turn, never quite lingering too long.
“You’ve the look of folk carrying questions. But careful—questions have a way of finding their own answers here.”

She returned to her work, the faint sound of metal and wire filling the silence.

Outside, the wind carried the echo of a distant bell.
Inside, the only sound was the soft chime of charms and the whisper of Mara’s lullaby.

Greetings To All

Hey there! Welcome to Roleplayers guild!

Hope you find what you're looking for.

If you have any interest in medieval fantasy/being transmigrated into a new world, with some steampunk and magitech thrown in, I've got a group that's always open! Shoot a message if you're interested.

Happy roleplaying!

Is this thing on?

Hey welcome to roleplayers guild!

Hope you find what you're looking for! If you're interested in medieval fantasy or Isekai stuff, I've got a group that's always open! Shoot me a message!

Otherwise happy Roleplaying!