Moonberry

Hi. I'm looking forward to meeting new friends and having fun :)

Hello! Welcome to the guild!!

You can never escape the itch when it hits. Even if you've been away for years.

-ˋˏ ༻ 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔏𝔞𝔰𝔱 𝔉𝔢𝔯𝔯𝔶 ༺ ˎˊ-

⚔ ℑ𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔗𝔥𝔢 ℭ𝔞𝔯𝔠𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔰 𝔅𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 ⚔

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

The storm swallowed them whole the moment they left the last lantern behind.

Wind hammered the jetty with salt-heavy breath, and waves crashed so violently against the pilings that the whole dock trembled beneath their boots. Rain came down in sheets, turning the world into a smear of darkness punctuated only by the occasional lightning flash.

Mikhail’s spell-threaded notes pulsed ahead of the group like faint fireflies in the void —
a guiding star through a night meant to drown intruders.

The crooked jetty creaked beneath them as they moved toward the black silhouette of the Bastion’s seawall. The guard post was abandoned; its brazier cold, door hanging open like a mouth mid-scream. A boot print in the mud showed someone had fled, not walked.

The storm had emptied the docks better than any bribe could.

At the very end of the jetty, where the pilings sank into the churning surf, the entrance finally revealed itself during a strike of lightning.

A circular rusted grate, half-torn from its hinges, jutted from the stone wall like a rotten jaw. Black water surged in and out, sucking greedily at the edges. A stench of brine, rust, and rot blasted outward with every wave.

The stench hit first.

A rush of black water spilled past the group’s boots as they crowded into the gaping storm drain, the filth frothing with foam and floating debris. The tunnel swallowed them in one wet gulp, devouring the last of the storm’s light the moment they stepped inside.

Thunder boomed behind them, muted now — like distant drums echoing through a graveyard.

Inside, the air was thick and humid, clinging to the skin. Moss and fungal patches glowed faintly on the walls, sickly green veins winding over the stone. Somewhere in the dark, water dripped steadily in uneven rhythms. Rats skittered along the far edges, tails slapping against the brick.

The soundward bubble gave them silence…
But the silence inside the tunnel was worse.

Ahead, the old smugglers’ drainage artery slanted downward in a long curve, disappearing into blackness. Iron bars once meant to block entry now hung twisted and snapped aside — rust-eaten from years of tidewater and something stronger.

Far ahead, a faint vibration trembled underfoot.
Not footsteps.
Not machinery.

Something deeper.
A hum like the Bastion itself was breathing.

After several minutes of trudging through knee-high water, the tunnel opened into a larger intersection — a forgotten maintenance chamber beneath Carceris’ underbelly.

Three paths stretched before them:

The leftmost tunnel was narrow, the ceiling low, forcing taller members to duck. A cold wind blew from that direction, carrying the metallic tang of iron… and something else. Something sharp, clean, and freshly disturbed.

A splash echoed from its depths.

Then a hiss.

Something alive was down there.

Straight ahead, a wide tunnel sloped upward toward what looked like a sealed grate — but the grate was old, bolts rusted halfway through.

Symbols carved into the stones suggested this was once a contraband route. Someone had scratched marks into the wall as recently as a year ago.

And between those marks?
A faint scrap of rope — the kind smugglers used to pull crates silently through the dark.

The current tugged from this direction, gentle, steady.
Not threatening, but promising a long route.

The rightmost passage smelled less like rot and more like chemicals — alchemical runoff, sharp enough to sting the nostrils.

Something glowed faintly ahead.
Orange. Flickering.
Torchlight.

And voices.

Two guards, speaking out of sight around a corner:

“—Warden says the beasts hit the labs first. You seen what was left? Gods…”
“Shut it. I’m not goin’ down there alone again.”

Their shadows stretched like long fingers across the wet stone.

That route led directly toward the lower laboratory floors — the same floors now stripped of guards in the chaos.

A shortcut.
But a dangerous one.

The sewer chamber rumbled as another shockwave rolled through the stone above. Dust drifted from the ceiling. Chains could be heard rattling far overhead.

The Bastion was awake and uneasy.

Somewhere above, prisoners screamed.
And farther still, something roared — a guttural, monstrous sound that the pipes did little to muffle.

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

☆•°♚°∵ 𝒜𝑒𝒹𝓇𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓃𝒶 𝐵𝑒𝓁𝓂𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒 ∵°♚°•☆

The moment Aedrianna stepped offstage, every ounce of the radiant pride that had carried her through her song collapsed inward like a star folding in on itself.

She didn’t even have time to steady her breath before Noelle was suddenly there — warm arms wrapping around her, holding her together when she hadn't even realized she was falling apart.

Aedri blinked, eyes stinging.

Noelle’s voice — gentle, firm, unwavering — washed over her like a tide.

“Don’t listen to what those stuck-up, short-sighted buffoons said…”
“You gave it your all…”
“A sky full of stars will always shine brighter than one alone.”

Aedri swallowed hard.

Her throat hurt.

Not from singing — from trying not to cry.

She lifted her hands slowly, hesitantly, as if afraid the moment would shatter, and returned Noelle’s hug — soft, almost weightless.

“You… you’re so kind,” she whispered, voice trembling.
“Even when you don’t remember me, you still… you still care the same way.”

Her smile wobbled, but it was genuine — fragile, but bright in its own way.

“Thank you, Noelle. Truly.”

The words were small.
She felt small.

The judges’ voices still echoed in her head — sharp, dismissive, cold.
Each one had left little cracks in the glow she’d carried onto the stage.

Excessive.
Derivative.
A star only shines when the sky is empty.

Aedri felt herself curl inward at the memory.

At her feet, the tiny mana-beast pup trotted up with soft, rapid steps.
It pressed its cold nose against her ankle, sniffing her clothes with confused urgency — as though smelling something on her that didn’t belong.

Its ears flattened.

A soft, uncertain mewl vibrated against her skin.

Aedri tried to steady herself, but —

Then Noelle squeezed her shoulders again, warm and present, and for a heartbeat the ache softened.

Until—

Her eyes wandered across the resting hall.

And there — in the center of a blooming circle of noblewomen — stood Edwin.

Not simply surrounded.

Adored.

Praised.

Hands fluttering toward him, reaching for him, voices melting around him like honey.
Smiles too sweet. Laughter too bright.

Aedrianna’s breath caught.

The ache returned — sharper this time, sinking beneath her ribs.

She watched long enough to see one woman lean in close, fingers brushing his shoulder.
Another giggled behind her fan, eyes glimmering.

It was a harsh reminder that she was just some girl from the Paizu Mountains.
A girl who couldn’t even impress a single judge, let alone compete with women who moved with polished confidence and duchy-born grace.

Every thread of confidence she’d ever had felt frayed away — severed by the dull blade of the judges’ comments.

The pup, sensing the twist in her emotions, pawed softly at her shoe.

When she stepped back from Noelle, the tiny creature followed — but hesitantly, confused, sniffing the air around her again as if trying to understand what had changed.

Aedri’s smile thinned into something apologetic and brittle.

“Noelle… um…” Her voice wavered.
“I—I’m really glad you’re here. And I’m grateful for you.”

She swallowed, forcing her expression to remain gentle, composed.

“I think I should… go practice for the next round. If I even made it.”

Her fingers curled around the strap of her satchel, knuckles paling.

“I’ll see you soon, alright?”

She turned away too quickly — before her voice could crack.

Her skirts swayed softly as she slipped toward one of the quieter alcoves, shoulders drawn inward, steps faster than her usual measured grace.

The mana pup followed after her—

—but after only a few steps, it stopped.
Its nose twitched again, ears flattening as though it sensed something that made it hesitate.

With a soft, distressed mewl, it padded back toward Noelle.

It sat beside the mermaid’s feet, tail curled tightly around itself, gazing at Aedri’s retreating figure with wide, worried eyes.

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

╔══ஓ๑.·:⋆✦⋆♚⋆✦⋆:·.๑ஓ══╗

The contestants’ resting hall lay just beyond a pair of arched doors at the Pavilion’s rear — a softer, quieter pocket carved out of all the spectacle.

Warm lamplight replaced the sharp brilliance of the main stage. The walls here were paneled in pale wood and brushed steel, threaded with faintly glowing mana lines that pulsed in slow, calming waves. A handful of low couches and high-backed chairs were scattered around in conversational clusters, their upholstery a tapestry of deep blues and violet-grey.

Along one wall stretched a generous refreshment spread:
tiered trays of delicate finger sandwiches, jewel-bright candied fruits, wafer-thin crackers paired with soft cheeses, and tiny glass cups of layered mousse that shimmered faintly with an alchemical sheen. Crystal decanters held chilled fruit waters and light wines, each resting in recessed basins cooled by humming frost-crystals.

Despite the comforts, the air was anything but relaxed.

Clusters of contestants lingered in pockets — a trio of inventors practically glowing with self-satisfaction, one of them laughing too loudly every time someone mentioned “high marks.” A pair of dancers basked in the afterglow of effusive praise, posture loose and expansive, every gesture radiating self-importance.

For those who had received the judges’ favor, pride clung to them like a fine cloak — visible, heavy, almost inflated.
For those cut down, something in their posture looked smaller, movements tight and timid, as if confidence had been siphoned quietly from their veins.

When Edwin stepped through the archway, the atmosphere shifted around him.

A cluster of noblewomen near the refreshments turned almost in perfect unison at the sound of his approach. A heartbeat later, they drifted toward him like petals in a current — fans raised, perfume sweet, smiles painfully polished.

“Lord Stormcrest, was it?” one cooed, eyes shimmering. “Your form in the arena was… breathtaking.”

Another tittered behind her fan.
“I’ve never seen a lance wielded with such precision.”

A third let her gaze slide, unapologetically appreciative.
“Or such power.”

Within moments, a ring of admirers closed around him.

“Where did you train?”
“Are all Ryken knights that formidable?”
“Will you be competing again later, my lord?”

Nearby contestants watched him with a blend of smugness and envy, their expressions tightening as the noblewomen ignored them entirely.

Further across the room, pockets of bitter pride simmered:

“I was told my technique was ‘remarkably advanced.’”
“Some of us simply have standards.”
“Not everyone can handle honest critique.”

On the far end, Noelle had the clearest view of the narrow corridor leading backstage.

Movement caught her attention.

The golden-masked judge — Lord Aurelius Vayne — had finally risen from his seat.

He moved with a smooth, unhurried grace, the faint lamplight catching the metallic etching of his mask and the polished tip of his cane. He stopped beside a young contestant whose performance had been met with tepid commentary.

Noelle couldn’t hear every word, but she saw the judge lean in — too close, too deliberate.

“…wasted potential can still be shaped.”
“I can offer… correction.”

The boy stiffened — then relaxed, suddenly compliant.
A gloved hand rested lightly on his shoulder, guiding him toward a more secluded alcove.

They slipped behind a wall.
And vanished.

Back in the center of the hall, a pocket of space had formed around Aedrianna and Noelle. Their earlier embrace had drawn a few looks — some confused, some curious — but gossip elsewhere pulled attention away again.

An attendant drifted past with a tray of gleaming crystal goblets.

“Complimentary refreshments, honored contestants,” they murmured with a serene smile.
“You’ve all worked so hard to entertain Aslan tonight.”

The words were soft. They should have been comforting.
But beneath them, the Pavilion hummed — not with peace, but with something subtle and unsettling.
Pride shifting, bending, blooming too bright.
Confidence ebbing away too sharply.

High above, faint bells chimed — signaling that the judges were retreating briefly to “deliberate” before announcing the first cuts of the night.

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

The clearing erupted into violent motion.

Ironbelle hit the smaller creature first.
The mecha’s shields slammed forward like twin iron walls, driving the aberration backward through the snow. Steel screamed against bone as the monster bit down on the fans, sparks skittering across metal. But Curly’s machine held, pushing the creature several paces off its original line before its limbs scraped desperately for purchase.

The impact sent shockwaves through its malformed body—joints popping, ribs grinding, viscous frost sloughing off in sheets.

Then Axol’s blade carved through the fray.

The greatsword swung wide, the momentum of his turn carrying the strike through the smaller beast’s side with devastating force. The creature spun out from the blow, its entire frame shuddering before it crashed bodily into the ruins of the old wooden barricade. Bone and ice splintered on impact. A warped shriek rattled from its hollow chest as black vapor vented from the cracks forming across its back.

The creature wasn’t dead—yet—but it was hurt, badly, and furious.

Across the road, the larger bear-wraith staggered under mounting injuries. A steaming gouge marred its flank, and its half-sludge jaw hung unevenly from Andrea’s earlier strike. Ichor dripped steadily into the snow, each droplet sizzling like acid.

The earth trembled.

Andrea’s blood-fed ritual sent ripples through the frozen ground, the snow shifting as tendrils of dark energy seeped upward. The bear-thing recoiled, as if recognizing the threat that pulsed from the soil.

The snow bulged. Then cracked. Dark veins of necrotic energy pulsed outward like roots seeking purchase.

Hands broke the surface first.

Skeletal. Frostbitten.
Still wearing tatters of armor that might have once belonged to Rotian scouts.

More followed.
Half-buried torsos.
Wolf skulls with green ember-eyes.
A spine dragging itself like a centipede.
Three full humanoid forms clawed free of the ground, steam rising from their joints as undeath re-knit movement into their frozen limbs.

They moved without hesitation—
not toward the travelers,
not toward the ritual’s caster—

—but toward the bear-wraith.

The creature sensed it a moment too late.

The first undead slammed into its wounded leg, clamping skeletal fingers around exposed tendons and dragging with unnatural strength. Another leapt onto its back, driving a rusted sword between jutting ribs where the corpse-heart pulsed its sickly green glow. The third crawled beneath its torso, hooking clawed hands into the creature’s exposed viscera.

Bromann’s second shot landed home as well.
The arrow buried itself deep in the larger monster’s opposite knee. The corrupted joint buckled at once, dragging the monstrosity into an uneven crouch. Snow blasted upward as its massive hand braced into the ground to keep from collapsing entirely.

A rumbling growl vibrated through its broken frame.

Rachel’s presence shifted the air—a gathering heat that contrasted sharply with the frozen world around her. Though she had yet to strike, the monsters reacted to the pressure of her aura, the smaller one twitching in agitated jerks, the larger one’s pulse-flame hiccupping as if sensing an approaching burn.

The battlefield moved again.

The elk-aberration heaved itself upright with an unnatural snap of bone against bone.
Chittering in fury, it skittered sideways, attempting to flank Ironbelle rather than clash with the metal shield again. Steam poured from the ring of teeth where its face should have been, melting small pits in the snow as it lunged.

The larger creature made its choice.

Drawing on whatever strength still animated its ruined flesh, it dragged its bulk upright on three limbs. The chest-light guttered, then flared. With a guttural, bubbling roar, it swept its massive forelimb in a wide arc straight toward Andrea—toward the ritual, toward the power stirring beneath the soil.

The blow ripped through the air with the force of a falling tree.

Snow exploded outward in a blinding spray as the limb descended.

---

[/hr]

Ooc: Everyones attack landed, the undead were succesfully summoned. The larger monster is near defeat the smaller one might need a bit more whacking. so far no one has lost any hp. Andrea will need to dodge.

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

The room detonated with color.

Yume’s radiance tore through the abyss like a newborn sun. The prismatic blast refracted through the falling glass of the shattered mirror realm, turning the darkness into a storm of molten light. The demon reeled, its form sizzling where the beams struck — parts of its body boiling into vaporized shadow.

Moo’s charge hit next.

Her ram-like crash slammed into the demon’s lower limbs with the force of a runaway boulder. Something cracked — not stone, not bone, but the shape the demon wore, its stolen silhouettes splintering where her horns met the void-flesh.

And then—

Kota fell like a star.

His foxfire spiral carved down from above, a streak of blue flame swirling around him like a comet’s tail. He hit the demon square in the chest, the impact shaking the whole chamber so violently the floor warped like water.

For the first time, the demon screamed.

A hundred voices.
A hundred agonies.
A hundred stolen fears, torn open.

Its massive body buckled—
—and then its claws swept out.

Not gracefully.
Not strategically.
Desperately.

A hand the size of a carriage slammed into Kota mid-spin, swatting him out of the air like an ember off a torch. He shot across the chamber and—

CRACK.

He collided with something invisible.
A curved wall of black glass.

Spidery fractures webbed across it from the point of impact. His body slid down
With a sickening squelch. His pristine white hair stained with patches of crimson blood.

The demon wasn’t done.

Its other hand rose — towering over Yume, obsidian claws opening like a falling guillotine. The air pressure dropped. The world bent inward.

But before the demons hand fell, it was as if the room suddenly filled with a cool grey mist. Cutting the darkness in a muted twilight. Like a foggy winter evening.

And from the mist, two forms rose. Not entirely solid, but not wholly mist either. As the demons hand came down to strike at Yume, the young woman would feel herself being enveloped in a strangely warm embrace. As the misty incorporeal arms of the other worldly woman with long silver hair wrapped protectively around her. And then a soft voice filled her mind.

The demon recoiled as though struck.

Her voice was soft — but it resonated through the chamber like a prayer made into light.

“You’ve grown so strong, my precious girl.”

Her forehead touched Yume’s briefly, affection pouring from her eyes.

“You shine brighter every day…
But you must wake now.
Shine so bright that the world remembers you.”

A gentle kiss pressed to the crown of Yume’s head.

“I will always be your biggest fan.” As the last words filled Yumes mind, the figure raised her golden eyes and glared at the demon.

The demon shrieked — not in fury, but in pain, as though the sound of her voice peeled something vital from it.

Meanwhile the second figure, a tall woman stepped forth, her long black hair unbound, a wolf’s tail swaying behind her with ghostlike grace. Her violet eyes were impossibly gentle. Familiar.
A face some part of Kota or Yume might think of as somewhat familiar.

She placed one soft hand atop Moo’s head, where Moo had just finished her charge.

Then she drifted—
weightless,
peaceful—
to where Kota was crumpled against the invisible wall.

She knelt.

Her fingers brushed his hair back from his face.
A small smile softened her features — aching with pride. And her voice filled Moos and Kotas mind

"My daughter has such good and kind friends. Keep fighting little ones. Your future is bright." There was a pause as her voice resonated between them, before she spoke again. "But it's time to wake up. There's danger waiting."

The cracks in the chamber pulsed.
Red.
Gold.
Blue.

The demon lunged at the women—

—and its claws passed straight through them.

Both vanished into drifting motes of mist, dissolving into the air like blessings carried on a breeze.

And for a split second, the demon almost seemed confused.

In the Village

Location: Nan Pass Village, base of the Paizu Mountains
Weather: Bitter cold, drifting snow, wind howling down the pass
Time: Midday… though the sky looks darker than it should

---

The first thing that would be heard upon nearing the village, was the screaming.

Not the confused bustle of a busy village — but the kind of raw, terrified sound that only comes when a place meant for home becomes a battlefield.

Nan Pass Village sat nestled in the crook of the frozen valley, snow-dusted rooftops clinging to the mountain’s ribs. Smoke curled gently from chimneys. Lanterns glowed warmly along the main road.

Or rather — they should have.

Today the flames burned too bright.
The smoke rose too black.

And the villagers ran.

Beastkin families bolted between the houses, pulling children by the hands, carrying wounded over their shoulders. Snow churned under frantic feet as they scrambled away from the center of the village.

They weren’t running from a storm.

They were running from men and things that should have stayed buried.

It was chaos for anyone entering the scene. There were humans in mismatched armor with tattered blue sashes
and skeletal warriors, their empty sockets glowing with eerie cobalt light, each dragging chains that sparked with faint mana.

A pair of skeletal hands clamped around a wolf-kin woman’s wrists as she screamed for her child.
Two human raiders forced a tanuki teenager to his knees, binding him with the crackle of enchanted rope.
Shouts. Pleas. The thrum of dark magic.

Above the chaos, a single voice cut through the wind — hoarse, furious, barely held together.

“ROUND THEM UP!
Every last one — make them pay!
They stole from me… so I’ll take everything from them!”

She stood on the stone steps of the village headman’s home like a blood-stained queen.

A woman with crimson hair, wild and matted with frost.
Violet eyes burned fever-bright in a face drained of color.
She pressed a white handkerchief to her lips — and when she lowered it, it was soaked red.

Yet her stance held.

Rigid. Commanding.
A leader on the edge of collapse, refusing to bow.

Amongst the chaos, if one were to look for a while, they would hear and see a few of the elderly shouting and trying to guide folks towards the forest at the edge of the village.

Though it seemed to be quite the effort avoiding being captured themselves. One such of these would be a large wolfkin with one eye patch. He seemed to be a headman of sorts as people were listening to him, as he fought off the the men and skeletons around him.

In The Forest

Cold air hit first.

Not the still, muffled cold of the dream — but the biting, real cold of the Paizu Mountains. Breath left the waking body as a ghostly plume, drifting upward into a swirl of falling snow.

And then came sensation.

The ground beneath was not dirt — it was smooth, tangled roots, pale as bone and warm to the touch.
They rose and twisted like a great white serpent coiled beneath the earth, each root thick as an arm, polished as if carved from moonlight.

At the center of those roots stood the tree.

An ancient, towering thing with a trunk the color of morning frost, bark faintly blue under the snow. Its branches reached upward like outstretched arms, leaves shimmering translucent-white in the winter wind.
Nestled into the cradle of its roots was a stone shrine, half-buried by age — a small arch of granite carved with flowing runes, each rune glowing softly with pale silver light.

Those who woke found themselves resting with their backs against the roots or half-curled atop them, as if the tree had pulled them close for protection.

The serenity ended there.

Because only a few paces away—

Tsukiko stood in the snow, teeth bared, kimono torn at the hem, her breath forming quick, sharp bursts of steam.
Her right arm was raised, talisman paper fluttering between her fingers as she struggled to hold back a creature that should not have been walking at all.

It was humanoid in shape but twisted —
skin drained of color,
limbs too long,
fingers hooked like bone knives,
eyes glowing a sickly blue that pulsed irregularly like a dying lantern.

Each time it lunged, the snow hissed and steamed.
Each time Tsukiko countered, her runes flickered weaker.

The creature snapped forward, jaws gaping unnaturally wide, and Tsukiko barely managed to intercept with her forearm braced against its throat.

“Back—!” she hissed, forcing power into the talisman. “BACK!”

The rune flared once—
twice—
then guttered out like a candle in wind.

The undead thing slammed her into the roots of the tree hard enough to shake snow from its branches.

Yo Yo Yo!

Welcome back!

What kind of roleplays do you enjoy? Hope you find something that suits your fancy!

Happy Roleplaying!

Greetings, everyone!

Greetings m'lady! Welcome to the Roleplayers Guild!

If you enjoy table top RPGs and fantasy rps you might like the group I'm in. We're always open to new folks. It's a fantasy world with a splash of magitech and steam punk. With the premise that most characters are transmigrated from another world.

Shoot me a message sometime if you're interested

Hope you find something that suits your fancy! Happy Roleplaying!

Hello :)

Welcome to the Roleplayers Guild!

I love making my character stories more and more complex as I play them. Intertwining them with other people's characters.

If you enjoy table top stuff and you like fantasy and sci fi, you might enjoy the group I'm with. It's a medieval fantasy group that's pretty open for new folks to get involved in.

If you're ever interested shoot me a message !

Happy Roleplaying

Hey just joined

Hey there! Welcome to Roleplayers Guild!

Hope you find what you're looking for!

If you enjoy anime or medieval fantasy stuff shoot me a message! I've got a group that's always open for folks to jump in!

Happy roleplaying!