Moonberry

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

╔══ஓ๑.·:⋆✦⋆♚⋆✦⋆:·.๑ஓ══╗

The Pavilion breathed as one — its lights dimming to a soft marine glow as the first notes of Noelle’s song drifted into being.

The mermaid’s voice rose like water breaking through silence. Each chord from her lyre shimmered outward in concentric ripples, spreading across the air until the entire hall seemed submerged in her melody. The mist rolling along the floor caught the chandeliers’ glow, bending it into pale ribbons that shimmered around her like moonlight through waves.

When the bubbles began to rise, refracting light into slow-moving currents, gasps rippled through the audience. Even the nobles who had entered with raised brows and folded arms now leaned forward, the reflections of soft blues and silvers swimming across their jeweled collars.

Lord Aurelius Vayne watched through half-lidded eyes, chin resting lightly on his palm. When the final note faded and the bubbles burst in cascading sparks, he exhaled once — slow and deliberate.

“Artistry in restraint,” he murmured for the other judges to hear. “A touch of humility to make the pride shine brighter.”

Lady Avelyne inclined her head, murmuring into her crystalline slate. Around them, polite applause swelled into genuine enthusiasm, a few spectators even rising from their seats.

For Noelle, as the last echoes faded, something strange stirred beneath the relief of finishing. It was not the satisfaction of performance alone — it was exhilaration. A heat blooming in her chest, quiet but insistent, whispering that she had never sounded so divine, that none could match her voice. It was a fleeting thought… yet its echo lingered long after she stepped down from the stage.

In the western arena, the air trembled with a different rhythm — the clash of metal against metal.

The signal chime had barely faded before Edwin’s charge sent sand spiraling skyward. Each strike from his lance resounded like thunder sealed within the mana barrier, the force behind it shaking the very air. Captain Ral Orvin met him with solid, disciplined parries, yet each deflection rang louder, harder, until sparks flared where steel met steel.

Gasps and shouts rose from the crowd.

“He’s forcing the Captain back!”
“That’s not swordsmanship — that’s siege warfare!”

The noble spectators watched with morbid delight. In their private boxes, some whispered bets were being exchanged with glittering coins and knowing smiles.

The final swing sent the Captain staggering — not defeated, but winded, sweat glinting across his brow. The bout was called there, before injury or pride turned to insult.

Lord Aurelius had risen from his seat during the exchange, one hand pressed to his chin in amusement.

“Unrefined, but magnificent,” he commented, voice carrying enough to be overheard. “There is pride so heavy it crushes lesser men beneath it… delightful.”

Applause thundered from the stands. And as Edwin stood beneath the barrier light, that same pulse of foreign warmth crept through him — pride swelling, sharpening. His confidence felt more real than ever, like the entire hall itself agreed with him. The sensation was subtle, yet intoxicating, and it did not fade even as the next duel was called to the field.

“Did you see that swing—?”
“The Captain nearly went down.”
“He fights like a siege engine given a heartbeat.”

Even the competitors who had tried to keep their composure now watched Edwin with a blend of admiration and wary calculation. No one wanted to be his next opponent… and no one wanted to be the fool who backed down either. Pride was the air everyone breathed here.

Captain Ral Orvin straightened, rubbing the side of his jaw with a begrudging smirk.

“Strong.”
He didn’t say too strong. But the word hovered between them.

From the judges’ dais, Lord Aurelius Vayne gave a languid clap — slow, deliberate, the sound somehow sharper than it should have been.

“Spectacle and dominance in equal measure,” he praised. “The Pavilion rewards such conviction.”

And in that instant — subtle as a thread pulled taut — a warmth swelled in the air around Edwin. Not foreign enough to alarm, but sharp enough to feel like the Pavilion itself was agreeing with him. Feeding him. Affirming him.

A touch too intoxicating.

As the officiator dismissed the fighters to await the next bracket call, attendants rushed in to reset the ring and assess the mana barriers for strain. In the bustle, the western arena grew briefly chaotic — perfect cover for a sharp eye or a curious lord to slip unnoticed.

An attendant hurried toward Edwin, bowing stiffly.

“My lord Stormcrest — the next match will take some time to prepare. You may rest or… ah… make use of the competitor facilities behind the stage. The door just past the western pillar leads there.”
A nervous beat.
“Lord Thales encourages competitors to familiarize themselves with the Pavilion’s amenities.”

A polite way of saying: You’re free to move as you wish, so long as you stay out of trouble.
Which, of course, the staff assumed he wouldn’t do.

The path indicated — an archway half-shadowed behind a row of display banners — was momentarily unguarded as attendants rushed about preparing the field. A thin trail of light ran along the floor beneath it, guiding toward storage halls, maintenance corridors, and the back passages that wound behind the main stage.

No one seemed to be watching it closely.

The judges’ attention had already turned to reviewing the next pair of swordsmen.
Spectators were buzzing with commentary about Edwin’s performance.
And a host of servants were struggling with an inventory cart that had jammed against the western wall.

If a man wished to investigate discreetly — to follow the pulse of mana that hummed unnaturally beneath the Pavilion tiles, or to check the judges’ staging area from a different angle — now would be the moment to vanish without notice.

The evening pressed onward, act following act —
An artificer unveiled a miniature storm contained in crystal, lightning dancing obediently along etched glass.
A noblewoman in radiant crimson wove fire into living silhouettes that danced until they collapsed into a bow of embers.
A young scribe painted illusions midair, conjuring scenes of triumph and applause from nothing but mana-ink and will.

Every success fed the growing hum that filled the Pavilion. Every boast, every smile of satisfaction added to the unseen current building within the walls. The air itself seemed to shimmer faintly, like heat rising from a forge.

At the judges’ table, Lord Aurelius sat back, eyes glinting gold beneath his jeweled mask. The faintest smirk curved his mouth.

“Yes,” he whispered, barely audible over the crowd. “Let it bloom.”

When the next chime sounded, the attendants turned once more to the ledger.

“Next to the stage… contestant number thirteen.”

A hush rippled across the spectators as the spotlight shifted, seeking the performer who had waited patiently at the edge of it all.

Somewhere in the east wing, beneath the fading echoes of applause and the shimmer of mana light, Aedrianna Belmonte felt every gaze turn toward her.

The stage awaited — her turn had come.

-ˋˏ ༻ 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔏𝔞𝔰𝔱 𝔉𝔢𝔯𝔯𝔶 ༺ ˎˊ-

In the Tavern

The storm seemed intent on swallowing the coast whole.

Thunder rolled low across the slate-colored sky, rattling the beams of The Last Ferry and shaking loose another trickle of rainwater from the warped ceiling. The barkeep muttered curses at the leak, shoved an already-soaked rag into the crack, and continued polishing a cup with the same rag — a ritual of resignation more than cleanliness.

The courier’s sudden visit left a ripple in the tavern’s atmosphere, something taut and uneasy. Patrons shifted in their seats. Card games stalled. The fishermen exchanged glances. Even the guards — those few still lingering — finished their drinks faster and left in pairs.

The door groaned open again, and a spear of frigid wind cut through the warmth of the hearth. Outside, rain sheeted across the muddy lane, turning the world into streaks of silver and shadow. Lanterns swung violently on their hooks. The smell of tar, tidewater, and fish guts poured in with every gust.

Beyond the rooftops, Carceris Bastion loomed — a jagged silhouette with watchfires burning like angry gods’ eyes. Lightning flashed and revealed the causeway nearly underwater, waves smashing against the jetty. Three dark shapes — the ships — pitched and strained at their moorings.

It was no longer a question of whether the night was turning.
It was how fast.

The barkeep finally grunted:

“Last drinks, folks. Storm’ll drown the chimneys before dawn. Best be movin’ if you’ve business outside.”

Which, in its own way, was an invitation.

People began to leave in twos and threes. The rabbit-eared woman’s hooded shape, the metal-armed elf, and the strange man beside them didn’t go unnoticed; more than one sailor cut their eyes toward them with idle curiosity — maybe suspicion — before the storm swallowed the street again.

When the trio stepped into the night, the wind hit like a wave.

Outside the Inn

The lane forked almost immediately:

Downward toward the harbor, lanterns flickering over the crooked jetty.
The small guard post at the dockhead was dark — door hanging open, brazier cold. The three ships thrashed in their chains, sails cracking like whips in the gale.

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

The first arrow struck the smaller creature with a sharp crack, driving deep into the warped plates along its side. Black vapor burst outward in a furious hiss as the beast shrieked — a high, scraping note that split the cold air like breaking ice. The second volley hit moments later, one shaft biting into its back while the other glanced off its fused antlers in a spray of frost.

Enraged, the creature lunged.

Snow erupted beneath its limbs as it barreled forward, dragging its twisted hooves in long, gouging furrows. Its jaws gnashed wildly, steam pouring from the pit where a face should have been.

Before it reached flesh, Ironbelle thundered into place.

The mecha’s shields locked with a heavy clang just as the monster’s weight slammed against them. The impact rang through the clearing like struck anvils — metal grinding against bone, claws skittering across reinforced plates. Frost shattered around the frame, but the shield-line held, halting the creature’s momentum and forcing it back with a frustrated snarl.

Across the clearing, a flash of emerald light split the air.

The enchanted projectile struck the larger beast in a burst of sickly green flame, carving a ragged crater into the frost-slick hide along its shoulder. Chunks of frozen sinew and rotten meat sprayed across the snow in dark arcs. A single rib snapped loose, spinning end over end before embedding itself upright in the drift.

The monster staggered.

Its bulk swayed, locomotion faltering for the first time — not from pain, but from shock. The pulse within its hollow chest flickered, dimmed… then flared violently, as though anger stoked its corrupted heart.

Before it could steady itself, steel met flesh.

Andrea was already there — a blur against the beast’s towering silhouette. Her blade pierced the frozen hide at the base of the creature’s neck, runes burning faintly as they bit deep. Thick, dark sludge hissed from the wound, steaming as it hit the snow. The monster bellowed, a guttural, hollow noise that shook the air and sent a cascade of frost spilling from the branches overhead.

The clearing shifted.

The larger abomination twisted violently, trying to dislodge the attacker clinging to its back. Massive limbs swept through the air in brutal arcs, carving trenches through the snow with every movement. Its pulse — that unnatural green glow — throbbed harder, brighter, in anger.

The smaller creature, still locked against Ironbelle’s shields, changed tactics.

It skittered sideways, jagged limbs stabbing into the ground as it tried to slip around the metal wall and toward the less-armored travelers. Clods of churned snow and icy soil scattered behind it, its momentum jerky and frantic.

---

[/hr]

Ooc:

Alright. Curly successfully blocked the smaller creature. But it's working it's way around the shields.

Bromann landed a hit while the other glanced off.

Rachel's arrow went off just barely in time to not hurt her and deal a glancing blow to the larger monster.

Andreas basic attack has the larger beast preoccupied now. But it won't last long.

Still not within melee range but they will be next turn.

You can take this turn to charge forward and meet it or to run back and put distance between the monsters and yourselves.

[Ryke - Dungeon] Languishing Large Loner

•┈••✦✩𝓔𝓿𝓲𝓮✩✦••┈•

Her right shoulder screamed the moment she tried to move. A hot, tearing pain — dislocated, maybe fractured — it didn’t matter. It wasn’t what hit her first.

It was Roscoe’s yelp.

Then Yumi’s choked cry,Androph being tossed aside.
The sickening sound of Aramis being crushed.
all of it layered over the thunder of the Mammoth’s charge until the sound shook in her bones.

For a heartbeat Evie swayed on her knees, breath stuttering, world tilting. Panic clawed up through her ribs like fingers closing around her lungs — too many people down, too fast, too hard.

This is how you lose everyone, whispered a voice she hated.

She gritted her teeth and pushed up, left hand bracing the floor, right arm hanging numb and useless at her side. She rose into a half-crouch just in time to see the Mammoth’s massive trunk swing toward her — wind dragging at her hair and clothes with the force of a vacuum.

There was a frozen millisecond where she truly thought she wasn’t getting out of this one.

Then she saw Yumi.

The woman—leg twisted, pain etched into every line of her posture—still vaulted forward, scythe flashing, meeting the monster head-on with a ferocity that made Evie’s breath catch.

Their eyes met mid-air.

Evie’s chin dipped in a sharp, fierce nod in response, moving immediately.

She twisted her body, ducking under the sweeping trunk in a painful, messy roll that tore a raw groan from her throat. Her sneakers skidded on the wet glass as she forced herself forward, sprinting through the fog with her bat dragging behind her like a lifeline.

Her doe-brown eyes locked on Aramis.

He looked wrecked.
It hit her like a punch.
And beyond him—Roscoe, still unmoving against the wall.

Her heart cracked open, but she didn’t let her voice shake.

“Locke! Androph!” she shouted, breath tearing at her ribs. “Forget the beast—find the mage! Knock him out, put him to sleep, drop him—whatever you gotta do! The Mammoth’s tied to him!”

She didn’t look back.
Couldn’t.

She just ran—
shoulder screaming,
fear clawing at her insides—
because the only thing that mattered was getting to her teammate before the next stomp landed.

---

Actions:
1. Dodge/Dip away from the trunk
2. Run towards Aramis

Z's Intro

Welcome to the Roleplayers Guild!

Hope you find what you're looking for!

If you're interested in anime/medieval fantasy stuff at all or even maybe want to play a character with your own made up pokemon or something,

Shoot me a message!

I've got a group that's always open to folks.

roleplayerguild.com/topics/196759-ise…

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

The mirror beneath them pulsed.
Once.
Twice.
Then split.

Light bled up through the fractures, thin and sharp, like veins of molten gold spreading through black glass. The air itself began to warp — each breath too thick, too real. The world wasn’t just cracking — it was waking up.

---

Moo’s next strike hit like a landslide. Her punch collided with the shadow of Kota again, shattering the mirrored floor beneath them into a sea of fragments. But this time, something else spilled out. From the cracks crawled hands — too small, too fast, too many.
Little creatures, like soot and bone given shape, scrambled upward — dozens, then hundreds, glowing faintly red from within. They hissed in her direction, child-sized demons with eyes like dying embers.

They came not to challenge her strength — but to drown it.
Each one grabbed and clung, tiny claws scraping against her arms, her legs, her horns.

And from somewhere among them came a voice, not hers, not the fox’s shadow — deeper. Malevolent. Familiar in the way a nightmare is familiar.

"Fight all you want…"crk crk"...but can you protect anyone when the flood never stops?"
"Strength without rest is just exhaustion with prettier scars."

The demons swarmed, but every one she struck turned to smoke — only to reform again behind her.

---

Across the mirrored world, Kota’s power clashed with his reflection’s once more, but something changed.
The shadow Yume he faced flickered. Her form glitched — pieces of her hair snapping between colors, her golden eyes turning black, then white, then too many at once.

"You say you fight for them… for everyone else."
"Then why do you always end up alone at the end?"

The words weren’t hers anymore.
The voice carried static — something ancient and distorted behind it.

And then, faintly — from nowhere and everywhere — another whisper slid through the cracks in reality.

"...a strong leader doesn’t need to be followed. He just needs to be watched.”

The ground rippled. Kota’s reflection multiplied — not as clones, but echoes.
Each echo replayed a moment he had failed someone. The faces of those he couldn’t save flickered through the air — spectral hands reaching out, accusing, begging.

Every movement now sent those afterimages scattering — but they always came back.

---

Yume’s telepathic focus latched onto her mirrored self — and that was the mistake.

At first, it worked. The golden threads connecting Doppelyume to the shadow above began to dissolve like silk in acid.
But then the reflection twitched — hard. The smile on her face froze. Her head turned too far, too fast, her voice stuttering through a dozen pitches at once.

"W-what... do you want, Yume?"
"Why—why do you—want to live so much—so much—so much—"

For an instant, the reflection’s eyes rolled back — and when they refocused, they weren’t hers anymore.
They were red.
Not glowing — burning, like coals pressed into flesh.

The voice that spoke next wasn’t Yume’s, nor her double’s. It was too vast to fit inside the space between words.

“How curious. A mind that dances so close to the boundary… and still thinks it’s free.”
“You reached too far, little dreamer. You touched something that dreams back.”

Every rune on Yume’s skin lit up at once — then inverted, the sigils glowing black.
The mirror rippled violently, the entire world shuddering as something massive and unseen began to crawl through the cracks above.

---

Outside the dream —
The forest screamed.

The snowfall turned to mist, the mist to crimson steam. In the real world, Tsukiko stood beside the sleeping forms of the adventurers, her fur whipping in the sudden wind.
Her violet eyes snapped open wide — the paper talismans she’d placed around them burned away to ash.

"No…” she hissed under her breath. “This isn’t part of the Trial—”

Her hands came together in desperate seals, chanting words older than the mountains themselves.
But even as her aura flared, the mist around them grew heavier — red threads snaking through the fog, pulsing with corrupted mana.

“Wake up,” Tsukiko demanded, her voice sharp, cutting through the storm. “Wake up now! Something’s in there with you!”

---

Back inside the dream —

The laughter stopped.
The golden eyes above were gone.

In their place, cracks spread across the void like spiderwebs — glowing veins of red that pulsed in rhythm with Yume’s heartbeat.
The reflections trembled, their voices overlapping, distorting, until every whisper in the world sounded like one chorus.

“Prove it.”
“Prove you deserve this life.”
“Prove you are more than what you were.”

The pulse became a roar. The mirror began to collapse inward.

Now it was clear — this was no longer just a trial of the self.
Something else wanted in.

---

🜂 The reflections are unstable — corrupted by something vast and hateful trying to breach the dream. The only way forward is to prove themselves worthy to wake — through strength, conviction, or acceptance. Every choice echoes into what awaits them on the other side.

Hi, I'm MrJack.... Hope to find something here.

Hey! Welcome to roleplayers guild.

Sorry you lost your old group. That's always painful. Hope you find something that makes you happy!

If you enjoy anime, and you're familiar with the trope of "Isekai" I've got a group that's always open. It's medieval fantasy with a bit of a rule set.

If you're interested shoot me a message.

Otherwise Happy Roleplaying!

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

The western road stretched before them, narrow and treacherous beneath the weight of fresh snow. Once a trade route connecting the Bastion to the coastal passes, it was now little more than a frozen vein leading into silence.

The sound of battle still echoed faintly behind them — the boom of trebuchets, the distant clash of steel, and the occasional inhuman cry carried on the wind. The Bastion was still holding, for now. Out here, however, the noise was muffled by the snow, reduced to little more than a low, rhythmic thrum beneath the breath of the cold.

They had followed the road for some time, the air growing heavier with frost as the sun bled weakly through the clouds. The path sloped downward into a shallow vale where the wind whistled through the broken remains of an old wooden barricade, its timbers split and buried beneath drifts of ice.

The further they walked, the quieter the world became.
Even their footsteps seemed to dull, swallowed by the snow.

Ahead, the first sign of life — or something close to it — broke the monotony.
The road dipped into a low clearing where the drifts gathered deep. A mound of snow sat unnaturally still at its center. For a time, it seemed part of the landscape — until the mound shuddered.

A crack split through the snow, slow at first, then sudden. A column of black mist hissed upward as the shape beneath it rose.

The creature that emerged might once have been a bear, but whatever life had shaped it was long gone. Its body was a grotesque fusion of bone, frost, and sinew. Ribs jutted through its hide like jagged antlers, each one gleaming with a slick, translucent sheen. Steam rose from wounds that never healed. Within its hollow chest pulsed a dull green glow — rhythmic, sickly, like a heartbeat made of envy.

The smell of it hit next — rot and brine, mixed with the faint copper tang of frozen blood.

The monster moved with a dragging gait, each step heavy enough to tremble the crust of snow beneath its limbs. Its head, half skull and half sludge, tilted as if sniffing the air. A rasping growl rumbled from deep within its chest — wet, gurgling, and almost sorrowful.

Then, from the ditch beside the road, another shape erupted.
Smaller, faster, its movements insectile and jerky. A twisted carcass of some elk or stag had been absorbed into its form — antlers fused into bone plates across its back, hooves dragging like anchors behind a body that crawled too low to the ground. Its face was nothing but a dark, tooth-ringed pit that steamed with black vapor.

[Hr]

Ooc: alright folks. We've entered Combat.

That means that you may only post once this round.

Thateans that you can only make 3 actions this round.

At the end of your post you must list your actions and what your character did.

Your character can move up to about 30 ft (this may change once I confirm things) per post.

There are two monsters staggering towards the group. Use this turn to use your abilities/skills to attack the creatures.

If you are attacking make sure that you name the target.

A Dastardly Introduction

Heya! Welcome to Roleplayers Guild!

You sound like a pretty edgy individual. Seems chill :3

I'm a fan of fantasy my self. Ive been hooked with my group for the last two years.

It's a medieval fantasy world with a splash of magitech and steampunk. Characters are often magically transported into the world via "Isekai" or through the will of a god in the world.

We operate similar to a home brewed table top game, in that we have a system for character balance and growth.

We are always looking for new folks to drive some change in the world. So if you're interested shoot me a message

Otherwise I hope you find whatever you're looking for here! Happy roleplaying!

[Ryke - Dungeon] Languishing Large Loner

Evie feels the chamber tilt under the Mammoth’s thunderous step. Her sneakers skid on the slick black glass — she doesn’t hesitate.

She explodes forward in a low, hard slide toward the beast’s nearest foreleg, bat tucking into both hands as she closes the gap. Roscoe rockets at her side, teeth bared and body low, a living wedge meant to distract its attention

When she’s in range she throws everything into one decisive swing, aiming the Louisville Slugger at the creature’s leg with the intent to break its rhythm and buy the team space. The metal cracks through the reflected light, a scream of metal on mirror — but the blow’s result hangs unanswered in the air: did it find flesh, glass, or only illusion? Evie plants her feet, breathing hard, bat ready for whatever snaps back.

“Keep moving—don’t let it pin anyone under those feet!” she calls, voice rough, eyes scanning for where the real threat will show next.

Actions:
1.Move
2. Attack [home run swing]