SilverPaw

⇜ Deicide ⇝ [Dark Fantasy Isekai]

The Questioning

Tick.

One was not.

Tock.

One was.

What had been before?

Had there been a before?

Memories lay shattered, broken, forgotten.

Fields of lush green and warm yellows, a shimmering golden overcast—cerulean to lavender to bloodless red—sharp lines, white surfaces, towers, spires, an inverted labyrinth suspended in the skies—a vast void, specks of colour lost within, the unspooling of galaxies—

A cough beset the body, and it dropped to its knees, hands clutching at the head. Lungs were burning, eyes were smarting, mind in a frenzy.

What—what was this?

A thudding in its chest, as if something were trying to break free from within the ribcage. The rush of blood, as if a great river were raging inside. A heat crawling along the whole exterior, beads of liquid beading upon the brow. A trickle down the cheeks, a spray of fine mist from the mouth, a raspy wheeze following each inhale.

Wait.

Inhale?

Breathing?

Since when did they need such a thing?

Lashes trembled, fluttered open, eyes widened at the inferno surrounding them. Houses ruined, ash coating the earth, skies obscured by the thick gray smog, remnants of battle all around. This scene—

Was it familiar or not?

They weren’t sure, but it wasn’t home. They were elsewhere. And…different?

This body, it had felt alien, yet as they stood up and stared down at the solid shape, each blink bridged the expanse from foreign to familiar. How could this be? What an amazing adaptability. They tapped their fingers against each other, and no longer was it as loud or heavy as the tolling of bells, merely the soft taps of a line of ants marching up a tree. How peculiar. At first, everything had been too sharp, too bright, too much, and now, it was as if a veil dulling their experience had settled around their being. Oh, their throat still scratched at each inhale, a clawing irritated their lungs, urging a few more harsh coughs, but it was bearable. Perhaps, this was yet another new aspect.

They were here, in an unknown realm, as something or someone they weren’t quite used to yet, but perhaps they were protected yet. Surely, this was for a reason?

“W-why?”

Confusion abound as they realized they could not recall their mission. They did not know what they were meant to do.

Dazed blinks, slow breaths, toes curling into the soft ash underneath grounded them. Eventually.

Well, then. If they didn’t know, they’d just have to find out.

Unknowing to them, a small smile alighted upon their face at this new possibility.

The freedom to shape one’s future.

⇜ Deicide ⇝ [Dark Fantasy Isekai]

Former angel

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅

N A M E : Unknown A G E O F D E A T H : Unknown R A C E : Human G E N D E R : N/A P S Y C H O L O G Y : They are full of wonder and fascination, hold an appreciation of life, but do not shy away from death. They are inclined to protect, help, and guide. Theirs is a duality: kind yet merciless, naive yet wise, patient yet decisive. Human, yet not.

W H A T Y O U C A N R E M E M B E R : S E R V I N G G O D I N A G O D L E S S W O R L D Another image A realm of light, order, purity. Celestials, the symbols of constancy resided in a dimension which was paradoxically amorphous, ever-shifting, each iteration as brilliant as the other. Not one of them knew when they had been created, or how, or where their creator was. Yet all of them held the intrinsic understanding of their raison d’être. To uphold equilibrium, the foundation of existence, they did their part so the scales did not tip too far in either direction. In a world with no god nor archfiend waged an endless war between angels and demons. Good versus evil, light versus darkness, selflessness versus selfishness. Those were human terms, mortal attempts at understanding the sublime, unknowable design. Heavenly beings did not need to think, or to ponder, only to act. The diligent, timeless cogs in the grand wheel of space, time, and everything that was. They were just one such being, doing as was required. Dedication was a matter of course. Their utmost effort was expected, and they provided. As long as they did not stray from the charted course, all would be well. [1] Spectral wings. Once, they were able to traverse realms, and cross dimension within the blink of an eye. Residing in a fleshly shell, all they can muster now is a set of spiritual wings. For a short duration, the summoned appendages grant them flight. In those brief moments, they are imbued with a near-weightlessness, moving with the ease of one who was born to fly. [2] Light magic. A remnant of their divine powers, they can conjure light. It can be a gentle, calming glow as well as a burst of blinding, scorching heat. When wielded to injure, it can damage creatures corporeal or not. [3] [•Wsvzgzej] W H A T Y O U C A N ' T R E M E M B E R : T H E D E A T H O F A N I M M O R T A L The death of an immortal An eon of fulfilling their duty, unflinchingly, unquestioningly, but by no means thoughtlessly. Somehow, somewhere along the line, the unthinkable happened. The perfect being who by their nature could not change – should not have been able to change – developed, grew. Something new formed in them. A feeling. Curiosity. As with all anomalies among the celestials, this deviation was their undoing in the end. As with most such transgressions, it started with the tiniest of steps. A slight detour here, a benign moment of lingering there. Lending an ear to prayers instead of immediately offering them upon the altar of The One Who Was Gone. Taking the most infinitesimal peeks into the souls of the deceased before they were sent off on their journey to the afterlife. Step by step, without an inkling that what they were doing might be considered treasonous, they found themselves in too deep to stop before it was too late. Once, they did the one thing they should not have ever done. Once. They intervened on the behalf of a mortal, not from a vast distance realms apart, but directly. They answered a woman’s desperate call for help. As soon as their being interacted with hers, they came to a realization. Oh. It had been a ploy set up by demons. They, the masters of desire, had intuited a change, an opportunity. They had directed a stage play for their benefit. Well, it was a play only from the devils’ point of view. From the woman’s, it was a horrific, heart-wrenching reality, and she could not help but enact the given role of a maiden in distress. She had prayed and prayed, until her lips were chapped, until her throat cracked and bled, until her voice was lost, until her mind begun to fray, until there was an answer. Their timeless enemy had sensed their presence. They took the chance, and slew the woman the instance their soul came in contact with the woman’s. When that happened, the two were one, sharing all between each other. Just like humans weren’t meant to experience eternity for they would be driven mad by it, neither could an immortal bear the weight of a finite life perishing. It was overwhelming; the sensations, the grief, the guilt, the lost joys of past. As the woman died, so too did the angel expire. So, this was what death was like. Following that thought was a twofold regret. One, that their foolishness had cost their allies a valuable asset, which would shift the balance of their eternal war for a few centuries at least. Two, that the very moment of learning, the culmination of their change was so short lived. Gone and there before they could properly grasp it. Yet that moment had been as rich as hundreds of thousands of years of their stagnant existence. How would it have been had they more time? For the first time, they experienced longing. Desire. Want. The wish to live.

⇜ Deicide ⇝ [Dark Fantasy Isekai]

@Festive I never asked, so I hope you don't mind me stealing borrowing that code :P

Former angel

▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

▅▅▅▅▅▅

N A M E : Unknown A G E O F D E A T H : Unknown R A C E : Human G E N D E R : N/A P S Y C H O L O G Y : They are full of wonder and fascination, hold an appreciation of life, but do not shy away from death. They are inclined to protect, help, and guide. Theirs is a duality: kind yet merciless, naive yet wise, patient yet decisive.

W H A T Y O U C A N R E M E M B E R : S E R V I N G G O D I N A G O D L E S S W O R L D Another image A realm of light, order, purity. Celestials, the symbols of constancy resided in a dimension which was paradoxically amorphous, ever-shifting, each iteration as brilliant as the other. Not one of them knew when they had been created, or how, or where their creator was. Yet all of them held the intrinsic understanding of their raison d’être. To uphold equilibrium, the foundation of existence, they did their part so the scales did not tip too far in either direction. In a world with no god nor archfiend waged an endless war between angels and demons. Good versus evil, light versus darkness, selflessness versus selfishness. Those were human terms, mortal attempts at understanding the sublime, unknowable design. Heavenly beings did not need to think, or to ponder, only to act. The diligent, timeless cogs in the grand wheel of space, time, and everything that was. They were just one such being, doing as was required. Dedication was a matter of course. Their utmost effort was expected, and they provided. As long as they did not stray from the charted course, all would be well. [1] Spectral wings. Once, they were able to traverse realms, and cross dimension within the blink of an eye. Residing in a fleshly shell, all they can muster now is to call upon a set of spiritual wings. For a short duration, the summoned appendages grant them flight. In those brief moments, they are imbued with a near-weightlessness, moving with the ease of one who was born to fly. [2] Light magic. A remnant of their divine powers, they can conjure light. It can be a gentle, calming glow as well as a burst of blinding, scorching heat. When wielded to injure, it can damage creatures corporeal or not. W H A T Y O U C A N ' T R E M E M B E R : T H E D E A T H O F A N I M M O R T A L The death of an immortal An eon of fulfilling their duty, unflinchingly, unquestioningly, but by no means thoughtlessly. Somehow, somewhere along the line, the unthinkable happened. The perfect being who by their nature could not change – should not have been able to change – developed, grew. Something new formed in them. A feeling. Curiosity. As with all anomalies among the celestials, this deviancy was their undoing in the end. As with most such transgressions, it started with the tiniest of steps. A slight detour here, a benign moment of lingering there. Lending an ear to prayers instead of immediately offering them upon the altar of The One Who Was Gone. Taking the most infinitesimal peaks into the souls of the deceased before they were sent off on their journey to the afterlife. Step by step, without an inkling that what they were doing might be considered treasonous, they found themselves in too deep to stop before it was too late. Once, they did the one thing they should not have ever done. Once. They intervened on the behalf of a mortal, not from a vast distance realms apart, but directly. They answered a woman’s desperate call for help. As soon as their being interacted with hers, they came to a realization. Oh. It had been a ploy set up by demons. They, the masters of desire, had intuited a change, an opportunity. They had directed a stage play for their benefit. Well, it was a play only from the devils’ point of view. From the woman’s, it was a horrific, heart-wrenching reality, and she could not help but enact the given role of a maiden in distress. She had prayed and prayed, until her lips were chapped, until her throat cracked and bled, until her voice was lost, until her mind begun to fray, until there was an answer. Their timeless enemy had sensed their presence. They took the chance, and slew the woman the instance their soul came in contact with the woman’s. When that happened, the two were one, sharing all between each other. Just like humans weren’t meant to experience eternity for they would be driven mad by it, neither could an immortal bear the weight of a finite life perishing. It was overwhelming; the sensations, the grief, the guilt, the lost joys of past. As the woman died, so too did the angel expire. So, this was what death was like. Following that thought was a twofold regret. One, that their foolishness had cost their allies a valuable asset, which would shift the balance of their eternal war for a few centuries at least. Two, that the very moment of learning, the culmination of their change was so short lived. Gone and there before they could properly grasp it. Yet that moment had been as rich as hundreds of thousands of years of their stagnant existence. How would it have been had they more time?. For the first time, they experienced longing. Desire. Want. The wish to live.

⇜ Deicide ⇝ [Dark Fantasy Isekai]

Hmm, former angel or hybrid experiment? I guess either way I might be leaning towards someone who's exploring the concepts of humanity and life.

Hell on Earth: Supernatural & Demonic Detectives

---

Mentions: Kelly, the Kurodoji heir & unknown demon
Setting: 11:10 AM, Ricky's

---

Alphard oohed and aahed while Kelly showed off the truck's interior.

Kelly’s last words before he started the engine brought out a weak, “Um, we don’t need to catch anyone right now…do we?” but his protest was drowned out as the car roared on.

He asked about this and that about Kelly’s truck during the ride, then simply luxuriated in the high-end car seat. It was so large, it almost swallowed him, but was still firm enough to provide good support for the back. The drive was longer than expected, and as conversation between the two petered out, Al turned to watch the scenery pass by. However, every once in a while, he couldn’t help but sneak a peak at Kelly. While they’d been on the way to the car, the man had casually grabbed him by the shirt to get him out of the way of a lady Al hadn’t seen. He’d stuttered a vague agreement back then, then got distracted by the whole new car situation. He had time to think about it now, though.

Kelly and he had been so close he’d seen the canid’s golden flecked irises. He hadn’t ever realized before those were there. He smelled a heady mix of masculine, cologne, and a hint of dog – Al hadn’t even minded that last one. He’d been so close, the demon had felt the gust of his breath, the heat emanating from his fingers warming his chest through the fabric of his shirt. He swore the phantom memory of that sensation still lingered. Groaning, Alphard tapped his cheek several times with enough force to snap himself out of it. It was just too damn embarrassing. Thankfully, they had just arrived at their destination, so he was able to switch to thinking about work, and work only.

Kelly had driven them to a rundown bar, and Al trailed behind as the canine man led the way inside. He stared at the two occupants, the man who was surely their target, and the unfamiliar demon. As the human spoke, Alphard raised his hands slowly in the universal sign for peace. He did not dare approach the bar quite yet, and remained standing where he was while tensions were ran so high. Gaze nervously fliting from Kelly to the Kurodoji heir, he spoke first. “Er. We were just curious…if you heard about what happened?” He had purposefully phrased the question vaguely. Despite his anxiety, he carefully observed both the human and the demon, curious how they might react.

Dark Fantasy Isekai

<Snipped quote by Mas Bagus>
Say your character was someone akin to Aladdin or Robin Hood in their previous life:

The character sheet I’m workshopping would have you start off with Legendary Thief and right from the get-go you’d be good at sneaking around and pulling pockets. Progression would then branch out from that as your character slowly remembers more about themselves, like if they were a master archer— or swordsman.

@Redacted

A sort of follow up question, but what in instances of characters who had no particular 'special' abilities? E.g. a 'nobody' might have some applicable skills (or perhaps even none), but remembering their past might not power them up compared to how it would to some legendary hero/villain/whoever. Are there gonna be other ways of learning skills/powering up for them?

Dark Fantasy Isekai

<Snipped quote by SilverPaw>

Character progression is so important, so I agree. I’d probably have the PCs start off with the basics and slowly develop their abilities as they recall memories from their previous life.

@Redacted

Glad to hear it. What with the alternate worlds, is this meant to allow fandom characters? Or is it just a hint that besides making a regular old human from regular old Earth we could make an elf hero king, a demon trickster etc. etc.. Speaking of, what races/species will you allow for the PCs?

Dark Fantasy Isekai

Hm, I'm curious. Any plans for the power scaling? Asking cause imo, starting out OP or being able to easily level up etc. usually makes things boring.

REBOOT Heroes of Auric: Into the Tangle

I don't think I can handle another RP right now, but I might keep an eye on this.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

	Attire: Theater fit Date and Time: Sola 28th, Late morning Location: Theater Mention(s): Interaction(s): @Helo Callum, @princess Anastasia, his parents, @Lava Alckon Farim, Drake, @Samreaper Kazumin, @FunnyGuy Lorenzo, @JJ Doe Fritz

"That is how this all works, right?"

Apathy. It was a strange experience to hear it from his brother. From Callum, who only a few days ago spoke so impassionedly that he could never doom an innocent to death. Who had been so pained by the notion, who had fought so desperately against it. Was this just a temporary reaction to Darryn’s murder? Or had that been the straw which broke the camel’s back, and he had finally lost the piece of him which cared? If he did, did he feel its loss, or had it burnt out entirely unnoticed, like the feeble wick of a candle exposed to the mercy of a storm?

“Indeed,” he confirmed matter-of-factly. What else was there to say?

Edin, meanwhile, did not appreciate his pointed dark joke. Oh, his father was still peeved at him, was he? A dark smirk crept across his face at his father’s hilarity. Seemingly in agreement, he retorted, “Anyone would dance with a noose around their necks, wouldn’t they?” Including you..

He was intrigued to note the king’s reaction to the blaring trumpets. He well knew the man’s distaste for the instrument, but he had never had the chance to witness his reaction to a veritable ensemble of them. His father appeared downright tormented, a tidbit he filed away in one of his numerous mental folders.

By the time Lorenzo came onto the stage, Edin’s mood had ameliorated enough for him to seek his approval. “The duke certainly wishes he were grand,” he threw Edin a bone, something small to placate him. He did not comment on Alibeth’s expressed desire to depose the duke, though privately, he agreed.

“He does not laud his fate, he laments it,” he opined mildly. Largely, his mother was right. “Now, if only he did something productive in response…”

As for her assessment of Anastasia’s performance, it struck him that she had a shallow understanding of strength. “Weak…?” his head canted to the side, brows arching slowly as he echoed Alibeth. That was when Callum decided now would be a good time to flaunt his budding savvy for manipulation (if one could call his attempt skillful), and addressed him. Wulfric’s glance slid to him, past him, and settled on his mother. As dismissive of Callum as his brother was of Alibeth. You’ve much to learn yet, brother.

“Do you truly believe that she is weak?” He questioned Alibeth, tone genuinely wondering. “There is power in music, even in honesty. It may be difficult for us to understand, but the ability to influence is clear,” he gestured to the audience. One could tell by their expression that the people were moved. For some, it was because they understood. For others, those who were without the personal experience of loss, it was because they could feel Anastasia’s emotions, and were swept along in their wake. “Do you not see their admiration? Their awe? Their recognition?” It was not so much recognition of talent, but the recognition of connection. The soulful impression that there existed a commonality between them and the princess. That she, who could mourn the death of a commoner so, was someone worth rooting for.

“You might protest that theirs is only a transient experience, but what is esteem built upon if not a stringing of such experiences, one after another? If that does not convince you, I suppose you could compare this to the manipulation tactic of appearing weak to elicit sympathy and acts of compassion.” He delicately raised his shoulder in a shrug. “Of course, she does not do this intentionally, but the effect is more or less the same. You needn’t worry we will somehow be devalued in the people’s eyes due to her performance, that much I am sure of.”

His attention returned to the stage then, where something was occurring. He practically ignored his brother, but then again, Callum had his answer. “How curious,” he commented when Count Hendrix took to the stage, springing on them a surprise performance.

The song was familiar, though for the life of him, Wulfric could not recall when he had heard it. Hendrix sang like he was calling out to someone. Gradually, the audience responded. By all accounts, the count was successful in his aim, and yet…

Why was there such a sense of solitude about the man?

The song was followed by a dance. Fritz mingled among the skilled performers, a part of them yet not. If Wulfric had not been tracking him so closely, he would not have noticed his departure.

The curtain call commenced, and Count Hendrix, the peculiar, bold man that he was, requested the royals’ commentary. A smirk played about Wulfric’s lips, stretching into a sharp grin as a glint of challenge danced in his eyes.

His parents shared their sentiments, Edin’s self-indulgent, Alibeth’s brief, true to their character. “I do believe there is still some fun to be had,” he pitched in, watching his mother leave. Clapping Callum on his shoulder, he encouraged, “This is a good chance to practice your rhetoric.” Standing up, he approached the railing, gazing down at the performers. “You wish to hear my opinion? Certainly, I can oblige.” He pointed towards the lot of them. “Since you have called on me, I shall join you right there. Do take care not to run away, now – or worse, faint from the shock,” he chuckled under his breath. That said, he turned on his heel with flair, swift and sleek. He wished he could do something as dramatic as vault over the railing, and jump or fly straight down, but alas.

He exited the royal box with a nod to the remaining family members. “Enjoy the applause, father. More is soon to follow.”

He took the mundane route of walking down the stairs, but savoured each step. The amusement as he left an eager audience in suspense, the thrill of an awaiting contest and a match well met. He strolled onto the stage with confident steps, a winsome smile in place. The excitement among the observers was palpable, but he raised a calming hand to prevent a standing ovation.

He stepped to the first performer. Conveniently, they were still arranged in a line from when they had taken their final bow. “Shahzade Farim,” he reached out for a handshake. “You have shown us a singularly beautiful bond between beast and man, and dazzled us all with a unique part of Alidasht culture. Thara is a glorious falcon, deserving of all praise.” Clapping emerged, and Wulfric drew the man into a loose half-hug. For his ears only, he imparted, “I hope you are not too offended by those less verse in ornithology. Oh, and do not forget about that chat with Anastasia, if you have not had it yet,” he let him go with one last pat to the shoulder, and proceeded to the next man.

“Lord Drake,” he smiled at his friend with a rare warmth. “Well done.” They shook hands, engaging in a firmer hug, back clap included. “I always find myself enjoying your playing, and today’s was a moving performance. You have once again managed to elevate your level of skill. If you have not yet found your limit, I rather look forward to when you do.”

He approached Nagasa next, initiating a handshake as well. “Mr. Nagasa, despite your lacking resources, you have arranged a captivating play. You have a talent for storytelling. Polish it well.” He clapped the man on the shoulder, and once again took the opportunity during the applause to disclose a message just for him. “If you do not find my father’s offer appealing, you might want to make your escape soon.”

Lorenzo was next in line. “Duke Vikena, you are a fine poet. Do not do yourself the disservice of insulting fellow performers.” Another handshake, another shoulder pat. “Meet your fate head on, for you are the one who can change it.”

Then there was Anastasia, whom he approached with a smile, though a hint of concern lined his brow. “My sister has reached you all without words, so I do not believe words are necessary.” He hugged his sister, whispered to her, “It hurts, doesn’t it?” He brushed her hair, stroked her back, then released her, holding her shoulders long enough for a bracing squeeze. “You are stronger than some will give you credit for.” He let her go, and turned to the last but most certainly not the least.

He stalked up to the man with all the grace of a leopard in hunt, that sharp grin appearing once again. “Count Fritz Hendrix,” he announced. He presented the man to the spectators, motioning with his hand as if unveiling a gift. “Organizer, announcer, and entertainer all in one. He had a fun surprise in store for us at the end, did he not? Do let him know if you enjoyed his contribution.” Applause and cheers rang out, though Wulfric wondered if it meant anything to the count at all. When the sound petered out, he turned towards him, smiling in invitation as he held out a hand. “You were one of the many who made this event possible; you were instrumental in its fruition. Congratulations on a successful charity drive.” They shook hands, held, released.

Wulfric turned towards the audience with a final line. “To the gods, the king, the people!” he called out, and a cacophony of noise erupted. He swept a bow, and gracefully exited the stage. He sat amongst the audience, a kind stranger letting him borrow a seat in the first row for these last few minutes.