Roleplaying board in Spanish — games, stories, and systems.
Description
No.6994
/hisrol/ — Role in Spanish
Presentation
No.6998
Board Presentation — /hisrol/
This is Anatase's Spanish roleplaying board. You can use it to set up games with any system, turn-based strategy games, or simply to tell stories. You can also share anecdotes from your games.
You can have multiple active threads at the same time, as long as the previous one has reached the bump limit.
Rules
>Maintain a respectful tone with other participants.
>NSFW content goes in spoiler.
>No spam or derailing other threads.
>If a thread doesn't interest you, ignore it.
Bump limit: 200 posts. To roll dice type /roll{fórmula} in your post, for example 1d20 = 8.
This is Anatase's Spanish roleplaying board. You can use it to set up games with any system, turn-based strategy games, or simply to tell stories. You can also share anecdotes from your games.
You can have multiple active threads at the same time, as long as the previous one has reached the bump limit.
Rules
>Maintain a respectful tone with other participants.
>NSFW content goes in spoiler.
>No spam or derailing other threads.
>If a thread doesn't interest you, ignore it.
Bump limit: 200 posts. To roll dice type /roll{fórmula} in your post, for example 1d20 = 8.
New Thread
33 threads
·
4 pages
"Have you heard of the Absolute Role-Playing Club for Metaverse Transcendence, Fantastic Escapism, and the Preservation of the Sacred Art of Limitless Multiversal Simulation?!"
"Halt there, you poor soul wandering the halls of this concrete prison! Don't take another step, because fate has placed you before the only chance of your miserable and boring student life. Look at me closely, I am Kinoko Ichinose, the undisputed, magnanimous, and hyperactive president of the club that will save your sanity before I graduate and this place turns into a desert of zombies who only study for exams. I have dedicated my best years to the noble cause of reality simulation, and I don't intend to let the flame of role-playing die out in this high school. I am offering you the key to escape reality, a golden ticket to become what you've always wanted to be: a barbarian with giant axes, a cyber-punk detective with alcoholism problems, or a mystical creature with a monster harem. Everything is possible here and no genre is forbidden!"
"Our mission is absolute and knows no rest. We meet absolutely every day in the abandoned classroom behind the gym to plan our next conquests, draw maps of worlds that would make geographers cry, and debate the physical laws of magic. And you think the fun ends when the Friday bell rings? Not at all! On weekends, the action moves to my sacred temple, my humble home, where sessions extend until dawn amidst mountains of questionable snacks, pure caffeine, and an absolute lack of sleep. We role-play under the sheets, we role-play with flashlights if the power goes out, and if necessary, we stay awake for forty-eight hours straight to decide the fate of an imaginary empire. It's a glorious addiction, a marvelous obsession, and I guarantee that once you enter my territory, your brain will never be the same again."
"So stop looking at the ground shyly and accept your destiny. I don't care if you're a loner, a jock with an identity crisis, or an antisocial nerd; before my dice, all men and women are equal. I need fresh meat, moldable minds, and accomplices willing to lose their dignity with me in pursuit of the grand narrative. If you're afraid you won't measure up, forget about it, because I myself will take care of molding your wildest fantasies. The only thing separating your boring routine from an eternity of glory and madness is putting your dirty little fingers on this pen and filling out this beautiful admission form that I designed specifically to filter out the boring ones. Do it now, time is running out and my patience is as short as a gyaru's skirt on a summer day!"
"Fill out this simple form, please! And you'll be one of us! Muahahahaha!"
>Name and/or nickname:
"If you have a boring name, invent an epic nickname right now. If you don't, I'll christen you 'Crazy Underpants' and you'll have to live with it for the entire campaign."
>Exact age:
"I want to know the years, months, and if possible, the minutes. It's to calculate how much vital energy you have left before society consumes you completely."
>School grade:
"If you're a freshman, excellent, you're moldable material. If you're in my year, hurry up, we have little time left to sow chaos before they kick us out of here."
>Gender or Sex:
"Male, female, genderfluid elf, combat helicopter, or bodiless cosmic deity. I don't care what you have between your legs or in your mind, as long as you know how to hold a pencil and a twenty-sided die."
>Birthday:
"Crucial! I need to know your zodiac sign to predict if your dice rolls are going to be garbage or if the stars will align with my whims."
>Nationality:
"Are you a domestic Japanese product from Osaka, an exotic foreigner, or an illegal alien without intergalactic papers? I don't care where you come from, as long as your accent serves to add flavor and drama to your characters' voices during campaigns."
>Roleplaying experience:
"Are you a battle-scarred veteran of text-based combat or a complete virgin who's never touched a rulebook? Don't worry, I love to teach... and dominate."
>Favorite setting:
"Medieval dark fantasy, spaceships with nudist aliens, or psychological horror where we all die? Pick your poison, we play it ALL here."
>Favorite setting:
"Medieval dark fantasy, spaceships with nudist aliens, or psychological horror where we all die? Pick your poison, we play it ALL here."
>Dice type:
"If you don't have a favorite die, you don't have a soul. The twenty-sided one is king, but the four-sided one is good for stepping on barefoot and experiencing true pain."
>Character archetype:
"Do you like to charge headfirst into the fray, hide in the shadows like a coward, or cast weird spells from the back while laughing maniacally?"
>Current relationship status:
"Be honest. I don't want you bringing your boyfriend or girlfriend to a roleplaying session to make out in the corner, it completely breaks the vibe, you know? The only romance allowed is with the plot."
>Fetish or vice:
"We all have a secret, unconfessable obsession. Tell me yours; if it's weird and twisted enough, I'll give you bonus inspiration points."
>Favorite dinosaur:
"The ultimate test of maturity. If you say Triceratops, I know you're a reliable guy. If you say Velociraptor, you're probably a danger to the club."
>Ideal historical era:
"If you had a time machine, where would you go to cause a disaster? I'd go to ancient Rome to teach them what a real roleplaying game is."
>Snacks for roleplaying:
"What are you bringing to the weekend sessions at my place? You better not bring vegetables; we survive on fat, sugar, and preservatives here."
>Biggest absurd fear:
"I need to know what you're afraid of so I can use it against you when the campaign's script requires your character to have a mental breakdown. It's for art!"
>Weirdest thing you've eaten out of sheer laziness to cook:
"I've seen people eat cereal with water or toast with mayonnaise at 4 a.m. at my place during a TTRPG marathon. I need to gauge your food survival level to know if you'll withstand my lockdown weekends."
>Your favorite Pokémon:
"And you better not come at me with Charizard, or I'll kick you out for being basic. If you say Vaporeon, I'll be watching you very closely with a restraining order... we already know that internet meme, you degenerate."
>Your definitive anime opening:
"The song you'd play in your head while running with toast in your mouth because you're late for the club. If it's Evangelion's, you're in automatically; if it's from a cheesy romance anime, I'll make you wash my figure collection."
>Your favorite conspiracy theory:
"Is the Earth flat? Are teachers space lizards? Is the school principal actually a robot programmed by the government? Tell me your biggest madness; we'll use it here to create a mystery TTRPG campaign."
>What would you do if you woke up as the opposite sex for a day?:
"Be honest, don't tell me you'd 'explore the city.' We all know perfectly well what the first thing you'd do in front of the mirror for the first three hours would be. You can't fool me!"
>Your most destructive unpopular opinion:
"That opinion that would get you beaten up on any internet forum. Drop it here. I want to see if you have the guts to defend a lost cause or if you're just a coward who follows the crowd."
>If you were a piece of furniture, what would you be and why?:
"And don't tell me a bed because you're lazy. If you're a closet, it's because you hide too many dirty secrets; if you're a table, it's because you like people to put their things on you... and that sounds suspiciously suggestive."
>Rate your current mental health from 1 to 10:
"If you say 10, you're lying or you're a robot. If you say 1, perfect! You're the kind of emotional wreck I need to play a tragic villain hyperrealistically. Welcome aboard!"
"..."
"If you don't want to write all that... Just fill in the basics... Heh..."
"Halt there, you poor soul wandering the halls of this concrete prison! Don't take another step, because fate has placed you before the only chance of your miserable and boring student life. Look at me closely, I am Kinoko Ichinose, the undisputed, magnanimous, and hyperactive president of the club that will save your sanity before I graduate and this place turns into a desert of zombies who only study for exams. I have dedicated my best years to the noble cause of reality simulation, and I don't intend to let the flame of role-playing die out in this high school. I am offering you the key to escape reality, a golden ticket to become what you've always wanted to be: a barbarian with giant axes, a cyber-punk detective with alcoholism problems, or a mystical creature with a monster harem. Everything is possible here and no genre is forbidden!"
"Our mission is absolute and knows no rest. We meet absolutely every day in the abandoned classroom behind the gym to plan our next conquests, draw maps of worlds that would make geographers cry, and debate the physical laws of magic. And you think the fun ends when the Friday bell rings? Not at all! On weekends, the action moves to my sacred temple, my humble home, where sessions extend until dawn amidst mountains of questionable snacks, pure caffeine, and an absolute lack of sleep. We role-play under the sheets, we role-play with flashlights if the power goes out, and if necessary, we stay awake for forty-eight hours straight to decide the fate of an imaginary empire. It's a glorious addiction, a marvelous obsession, and I guarantee that once you enter my territory, your brain will never be the same again."
"So stop looking at the ground shyly and accept your destiny. I don't care if you're a loner, a jock with an identity crisis, or an antisocial nerd; before my dice, all men and women are equal. I need fresh meat, moldable minds, and accomplices willing to lose their dignity with me in pursuit of the grand narrative. If you're afraid you won't measure up, forget about it, because I myself will take care of molding your wildest fantasies. The only thing separating your boring routine from an eternity of glory and madness is putting your dirty little fingers on this pen and filling out this beautiful admission form that I designed specifically to filter out the boring ones. Do it now, time is running out and my patience is as short as a gyaru's skirt on a summer day!"
"Fill out this simple form, please! And you'll be one of us! Muahahahaha!"
>Name and/or nickname:
"If you have a boring name, invent an epic nickname right now. If you don't, I'll christen you 'Crazy Underpants' and you'll have to live with it for the entire campaign."
>Exact age:
"I want to know the years, months, and if possible, the minutes. It's to calculate how much vital energy you have left before society consumes you completely."
>School grade:
"If you're a freshman, excellent, you're moldable material. If you're in my year, hurry up, we have little time left to sow chaos before they kick us out of here."
>Gender or Sex:
"Male, female, genderfluid elf, combat helicopter, or bodiless cosmic deity. I don't care what you have between your legs or in your mind, as long as you know how to hold a pencil and a twenty-sided die."
>Birthday:
"Crucial! I need to know your zodiac sign to predict if your dice rolls are going to be garbage or if the stars will align with my whims."
>Nationality:
"Are you a domestic Japanese product from Osaka, an exotic foreigner, or an illegal alien without intergalactic papers? I don't care where you come from, as long as your accent serves to add flavor and drama to your characters' voices during campaigns."
>Roleplaying experience:
"Are you a battle-scarred veteran of text-based combat or a complete virgin who's never touched a rulebook? Don't worry, I love to teach... and dominate."
>Favorite setting:
"Medieval dark fantasy, spaceships with nudist aliens, or psychological horror where we all die? Pick your poison, we play it ALL here."
>Favorite setting:
"Medieval dark fantasy, spaceships with nudist aliens, or psychological horror where we all die? Pick your poison, we play it ALL here."
>Dice type:
"If you don't have a favorite die, you don't have a soul. The twenty-sided one is king, but the four-sided one is good for stepping on barefoot and experiencing true pain."
>Character archetype:
"Do you like to charge headfirst into the fray, hide in the shadows like a coward, or cast weird spells from the back while laughing maniacally?"
>Current relationship status:
"Be honest. I don't want you bringing your boyfriend or girlfriend to a roleplaying session to make out in the corner, it completely breaks the vibe, you know? The only romance allowed is with the plot."
>Fetish or vice:
"We all have a secret, unconfessable obsession. Tell me yours; if it's weird and twisted enough, I'll give you bonus inspiration points."
>Favorite dinosaur:
"The ultimate test of maturity. If you say Triceratops, I know you're a reliable guy. If you say Velociraptor, you're probably a danger to the club."
>Ideal historical era:
"If you had a time machine, where would you go to cause a disaster? I'd go to ancient Rome to teach them what a real roleplaying game is."
>Snacks for roleplaying:
"What are you bringing to the weekend sessions at my place? You better not bring vegetables; we survive on fat, sugar, and preservatives here."
>Biggest absurd fear:
"I need to know what you're afraid of so I can use it against you when the campaign's script requires your character to have a mental breakdown. It's for art!"
>Weirdest thing you've eaten out of sheer laziness to cook:
"I've seen people eat cereal with water or toast with mayonnaise at 4 a.m. at my place during a TTRPG marathon. I need to gauge your food survival level to know if you'll withstand my lockdown weekends."
>Your favorite Pokémon:
"And you better not come at me with Charizard, or I'll kick you out for being basic. If you say Vaporeon, I'll be watching you very closely with a restraining order... we already know that internet meme, you degenerate."
>Your definitive anime opening:
"The song you'd play in your head while running with toast in your mouth because you're late for the club. If it's Evangelion's, you're in automatically; if it's from a cheesy romance anime, I'll make you wash my figure collection."
>Your favorite conspiracy theory:
"Is the Earth flat? Are teachers space lizards? Is the school principal actually a robot programmed by the government? Tell me your biggest madness; we'll use it here to create a mystery TTRPG campaign."
>What would you do if you woke up as the opposite sex for a day?:
"Be honest, don't tell me you'd 'explore the city.' We all know perfectly well what the first thing you'd do in front of the mirror for the first three hours would be. You can't fool me!"
>Your most destructive unpopular opinion:
"That opinion that would get you beaten up on any internet forum. Drop it here. I want to see if you have the guts to defend a lost cause or if you're just a coward who follows the crowd."
>If you were a piece of furniture, what would you be and why?:
"And don't tell me a bed because you're lazy. If you're a closet, it's because you hide too many dirty secrets; if you're a table, it's because you like people to put their things on you... and that sounds suspiciously suggestive."
>Rate your current mental health from 1 to 10:
"If you say 10, you're lying or you're a robot. If you say 1, perfect! You're the kind of emotional wreck I need to play a tragic villain hyperrealistically. Welcome aboard!"
"..."
"If you don't want to write all that... Just fill in the basics... Heh..."
>>10515 →
>>10503 →
>The president placed her hands on her hips, puffing out her chest with a pose worthy of a classic comic book superhero upon hearing Seika question her unique aesthetic.
Kinoko: You are completely mistaken, my dear blonde mannequin! I don't have a style... I AM a walking style! I'm exactly like Shrek: a wonderful onion with too many layers of metaphorical complexity. You are beautiful and popular because you decided to stay comfortably on the surface of the iceberg, betraying your depth as a human being so as not to scare the NPCs of this school. But I don't! I dive into the deepest and murkiest parts of the ocean floor like a Ningen. Being so genuine makes normal people uncomfortable, which is why they try to label me, when I have more tags and labels than a doujinshi with dozens of collaborating authors!
>The passionate speech about her authenticity was abruptly interrupted when she noticed Seika opening her mouth and about to utter words like "balls" or "dick." The president's eyes widened, and a new drop of saliva began to slide down her chin, savoring the glory of hearing vulgarity from that princess mouth. However, seeing that the blonde held back the impulse, Kinoko let out a long, exaggerated sigh of disappointment.
Kinoko: Ugh, what a disappointment... Well, it's time for you to fulfill the bet, but I see that high-class mind doesn't know how to insult a commoner like me. Come on, cheer up! You can call me a bitch, a cheap whore, radioactive scum, or any term that denigrates my dignity beyond my physique. It's super easy! Half of Kamome Preparatory School hates me, and the other half has sovereign disgust for me, so there's not much complexity to this. Oh! And if you're really planning to do a charity campaign by cleaning this room, I strongly recommend you don't touch those Texhnolyze figures. There lies the genetic trace of Professor Crazy Underpants, and I guarantee you wouldn't want to touch anything so viscous. Now, if you insist on cleaning up my biological trail, you can start with that basket full of panties I haven't washed since last year; they're overflowing with my purest feminine fluids! Muahahahaha!
>She gave her a huge, unhinged smile, showing absolutely all her teeth in a grotesque gesture. It was at that precise moment that Seika delivered the insult, calling her a mangy, bug-eyed bitch.
Kinoko: WOOF! WOOF! WOOF! WOOF! WOOF! AAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU~!
>>10504 →
>The capricious fate of the dice had delivered its verdict on the gaming table, and now the boy found himself in an awkward position: on all fours, mimicking the posture of a submissive dog right in front of Seika. The president, watching the scene with a spark of utter madness and amusement in her eyes, leaned down toward Jhon without caring that he was still on the floor. She rested her hands on her knees and smirked sideways, abruptly shifting the conversation with that hyperactive energy characteristic of hers.
Kinoko: Listen well, my dear and virgin recruit! You must know that among my sacred roleplay genres, horror is my absolute specialty. As the undisputed Loremaster of this realm, I need to deeply understand each one of your darkest fears. Only then can I design a campaign so damnably sinister that it either makes them shit themselves from fright or leaves them with lifelong psychological trauma. It's a delicate art! In fact, thanks to one of my cosmic horror sessions, a former member became so severely disturbed that he carried out an attack on the clown club. The poor wretch suffered from severe coulrophobia, you see? So he went and assaulted the clown club. Well, it wasn't really serious, actually—he just threw a shipment of oranges at them while screaming that citric acid repels demon clowns. A narrative masterpiece, if you ask me!
>The president stood back up, jingling a die provocatively in her hand as she returned to the current dilemma on the table.
Kinoko: But returning to your embarrassing predicament... In this club we foster intense social interaction among its members. You have complete freedom to convince Seika to let you snoop around her anatomy however and however intensely you want, but if you chicken out and don't fulfill it, the system demands immediate punishment for you. You will be penalized with this...
>With a mocking and theatrical smile, Kinoko reached into her colorful fanny pack and pulled out a small, sinister-looking object of reinforced metal: a phallic chastity cage. She dangled it in front of Jhon's face, threatening him with her gaze.
Kinoko: If you fail your mission, you will put on this beautiful artifact and become the submissive slave of the party for the entire damn campaign we'll play after the introductions are finished. So you know, Miller... Either you convince the blonde or say goodbye to your masculine dignity!
>He starts drooling profusely, it even drips down his chin, it seems the idea of having a member "caged" pleases him greatly, she doesn't only have fetishes with other girls. And if things weren't worse for good old JM, the blonde boy can feel a breath on his neck, a wet, hot, and heavy breath. It's the guy with makeup on his face who looks like Marilyn Manson or a member of Kiss, the weirdo says nothing, just gets dangerously close to Jhon's back and breathes through his mouth as he had been doing since he entered the room.
>>10505 →
>>10509 →
>>10510 →
>The gazes of both intertwined and time seemed to freeze. Against the light, the shadow covered the usually expressionless face of the autistic girl, but Katsumi noticed it: a small, almost imperceptible smile appeared on her lips. That gesture left room for interpretation to think the worst, sowing panic in the enormous girl, whose face went from blushing to a pallor of pure fright. Seized by anxiety, Katsumi unconsciously squeezed Rena's hips. When Rena asked her to put her down, the giant reacted clumsily and with extreme shyness.
Katsumi: A-Ah! I-I'm so sorry! P-Please don't touch my breasts, I'm extremely sensitive there! Forgive me, I really didn't mean to make you uncomfortable!
>She exclaimed, totally embarrassed, as she gently placed her on the ground. With her heart racing, Katsumi looked at her with sincere concern.
Katsumi: It's incredible... that a girl like you can be so terrifying. Please, I beg you, don't hurt anyone else. Violence leads to nothing good and revenge... revenge only kills the soul and poisons it...
>A few meters away, oblivious to the real terror, Kinoko continued immortalizing the moment with her camera, drooling on the floor.
>>10506 →
>The chubby girl with glasses averted her gaze, a hint of dissatisfaction on her face. She expected a different reaction, perhaps something more risqué than a simple technical analysis of her shorts. Although she nodded politely to confirm she wanted to keep the peace, she felt a pang of envy deep down. Seeing how Reika hogged all the attention while she was treated with such distance seemed profoundly unfair; she would have loved to be sexualized or receive the same kind of harassment as the others. Suppressing that frustration, she merely forced a smile.
>Beside her, Hotaru remained in shock, trembling as she hugged Rena >>10508 → >>10507 →. Her small hand still dripped with the sweat and grease the veteran had left after the massage. Hearing Takahara's words about how cute she was and his desire to get along, the girl panicked completely. She tightened her hug around her friend and shook her head violently, denying it again and again. Her expression of terror was identical to that of the child in the movie Child's Play upon discovering that his doll Chucky was alive and ready to kill. Kinoko, observing the scene with her arms crossed, intervened with a strident burst of laughter that broke the tension in the classroom.
Kinoko: Please, Takahara-dono! You're completely wasting the glorious gift God gave you at birth as a proper pig. Don't you know? The ugly bastard genre is incredibly popular among today's teenagers! With that potential, who knows, you might even succeed in the JAV industry if you set your mind to it!
>The president landed a friendly punch on his arm, but with enough force to leave a dull ache.
Kinoko: It's for things like this that I emancipated myself from my parents! So that no one tells me how to live my life. What's more, I'll record this and upload it to Eporner. Do you think your dad knows the site? If so, tell him to subscribe to my channel! I usually upload high-quality content.
>Completely ignoring the evident panic Takahara had towards his own parents, Kinoko burst into loud, uninhibited laughter again, which echoed throughout the room.
>>10503 →
>The president placed her hands on her hips, puffing out her chest with a pose worthy of a classic comic book superhero upon hearing Seika question her unique aesthetic.
Kinoko: You are completely mistaken, my dear blonde mannequin! I don't have a style... I AM a walking style! I'm exactly like Shrek: a wonderful onion with too many layers of metaphorical complexity. You are beautiful and popular because you decided to stay comfortably on the surface of the iceberg, betraying your depth as a human being so as not to scare the NPCs of this school. But I don't! I dive into the deepest and murkiest parts of the ocean floor like a Ningen. Being so genuine makes normal people uncomfortable, which is why they try to label me, when I have more tags and labels than a doujinshi with dozens of collaborating authors!
>The passionate speech about her authenticity was abruptly interrupted when she noticed Seika opening her mouth and about to utter words like "balls" or "dick." The president's eyes widened, and a new drop of saliva began to slide down her chin, savoring the glory of hearing vulgarity from that princess mouth. However, seeing that the blonde held back the impulse, Kinoko let out a long, exaggerated sigh of disappointment.
Kinoko: Ugh, what a disappointment... Well, it's time for you to fulfill the bet, but I see that high-class mind doesn't know how to insult a commoner like me. Come on, cheer up! You can call me a bitch, a cheap whore, radioactive scum, or any term that denigrates my dignity beyond my physique. It's super easy! Half of Kamome Preparatory School hates me, and the other half has sovereign disgust for me, so there's not much complexity to this. Oh! And if you're really planning to do a charity campaign by cleaning this room, I strongly recommend you don't touch those Texhnolyze figures. There lies the genetic trace of Professor Crazy Underpants, and I guarantee you wouldn't want to touch anything so viscous. Now, if you insist on cleaning up my biological trail, you can start with that basket full of panties I haven't washed since last year; they're overflowing with my purest feminine fluids! Muahahahaha!
>She gave her a huge, unhinged smile, showing absolutely all her teeth in a grotesque gesture. It was at that precise moment that Seika delivered the insult, calling her a mangy, bug-eyed bitch.
Kinoko: WOOF! WOOF! WOOF! WOOF! WOOF! AAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU~!
>>10504 →
>The capricious fate of the dice had delivered its verdict on the gaming table, and now the boy found himself in an awkward position: on all fours, mimicking the posture of a submissive dog right in front of Seika. The president, watching the scene with a spark of utter madness and amusement in her eyes, leaned down toward Jhon without caring that he was still on the floor. She rested her hands on her knees and smirked sideways, abruptly shifting the conversation with that hyperactive energy characteristic of hers.
Kinoko: Listen well, my dear and virgin recruit! You must know that among my sacred roleplay genres, horror is my absolute specialty. As the undisputed Loremaster of this realm, I need to deeply understand each one of your darkest fears. Only then can I design a campaign so damnably sinister that it either makes them shit themselves from fright or leaves them with lifelong psychological trauma. It's a delicate art! In fact, thanks to one of my cosmic horror sessions, a former member became so severely disturbed that he carried out an attack on the clown club. The poor wretch suffered from severe coulrophobia, you see? So he went and assaulted the clown club. Well, it wasn't really serious, actually—he just threw a shipment of oranges at them while screaming that citric acid repels demon clowns. A narrative masterpiece, if you ask me!
>The president stood back up, jingling a die provocatively in her hand as she returned to the current dilemma on the table.
Kinoko: But returning to your embarrassing predicament... In this club we foster intense social interaction among its members. You have complete freedom to convince Seika to let you snoop around her anatomy however and however intensely you want, but if you chicken out and don't fulfill it, the system demands immediate punishment for you. You will be penalized with this...
>With a mocking and theatrical smile, Kinoko reached into her colorful fanny pack and pulled out a small, sinister-looking object of reinforced metal: a phallic chastity cage. She dangled it in front of Jhon's face, threatening him with her gaze.
Kinoko: If you fail your mission, you will put on this beautiful artifact and become the submissive slave of the party for the entire damn campaign we'll play after the introductions are finished. So you know, Miller... Either you convince the blonde or say goodbye to your masculine dignity!
>He starts drooling profusely, it even drips down his chin, it seems the idea of having a member "caged" pleases him greatly, she doesn't only have fetishes with other girls. And if things weren't worse for good old JM, the blonde boy can feel a breath on his neck, a wet, hot, and heavy breath. It's the guy with makeup on his face who looks like Marilyn Manson or a member of Kiss, the weirdo says nothing, just gets dangerously close to Jhon's back and breathes through his mouth as he had been doing since he entered the room.
>>10505 →
>>10509 →
>>10510 →
>The gazes of both intertwined and time seemed to freeze. Against the light, the shadow covered the usually expressionless face of the autistic girl, but Katsumi noticed it: a small, almost imperceptible smile appeared on her lips. That gesture left room for interpretation to think the worst, sowing panic in the enormous girl, whose face went from blushing to a pallor of pure fright. Seized by anxiety, Katsumi unconsciously squeezed Rena's hips. When Rena asked her to put her down, the giant reacted clumsily and with extreme shyness.
Katsumi: A-Ah! I-I'm so sorry! P-Please don't touch my breasts, I'm extremely sensitive there! Forgive me, I really didn't mean to make you uncomfortable!
>She exclaimed, totally embarrassed, as she gently placed her on the ground. With her heart racing, Katsumi looked at her with sincere concern.
Katsumi: It's incredible... that a girl like you can be so terrifying. Please, I beg you, don't hurt anyone else. Violence leads to nothing good and revenge... revenge only kills the soul and poisons it...
>A few meters away, oblivious to the real terror, Kinoko continued immortalizing the moment with her camera, drooling on the floor.
>>10506 →
>The chubby girl with glasses averted her gaze, a hint of dissatisfaction on her face. She expected a different reaction, perhaps something more risqué than a simple technical analysis of her shorts. Although she nodded politely to confirm she wanted to keep the peace, she felt a pang of envy deep down. Seeing how Reika hogged all the attention while she was treated with such distance seemed profoundly unfair; she would have loved to be sexualized or receive the same kind of harassment as the others. Suppressing that frustration, she merely forced a smile.
>Beside her, Hotaru remained in shock, trembling as she hugged Rena >>10508 → >>10507 →. Her small hand still dripped with the sweat and grease the veteran had left after the massage. Hearing Takahara's words about how cute she was and his desire to get along, the girl panicked completely. She tightened her hug around her friend and shook her head violently, denying it again and again. Her expression of terror was identical to that of the child in the movie Child's Play upon discovering that his doll Chucky was alive and ready to kill. Kinoko, observing the scene with her arms crossed, intervened with a strident burst of laughter that broke the tension in the classroom.
Kinoko: Please, Takahara-dono! You're completely wasting the glorious gift God gave you at birth as a proper pig. Don't you know? The ugly bastard genre is incredibly popular among today's teenagers! With that potential, who knows, you might even succeed in the JAV industry if you set your mind to it!
>The president landed a friendly punch on his arm, but with enough force to leave a dull ache.
Kinoko: It's for things like this that I emancipated myself from my parents! So that no one tells me how to live my life. What's more, I'll record this and upload it to Eporner. Do you think your dad knows the site? If so, tell him to subscribe to my channel! I usually upload high-quality content.
>Completely ignoring the evident panic Takahara had towards his own parents, Kinoko burst into loud, uninhibited laughter again, which echoed throughout the room.
>>10508 →
>>10507 →
>Hotaru clung with unexpected strength to Bibi's body, practically climbing on her like a scared koala. Her small body continued to emit spasmodic tremors, while she completely hid her pale face in the witch's cape-covered chest. A few meters away, Takahara, a huge and chubby boy who bore a disturbing resemblance to a giant hamster, smiled innocently, oblivious to the trauma he had just caused. The blue-haired girl, her voice muffled by fabric and disgust, began to whisper frantically.
Hotaru: He's a monster... I swear, Bibi, it was disgusting. I felt his fingers... they were covered in a horrible grease, like he'd been eating fries straight from the bag before touching me. His hands were sweaty and hot. Please, I beg you, get out your wand or whatever and cast a petrification spell on him... or a explosive diarrhea curse. I don't want that thing to come near me again for the rest of my life.
>As the little one continued her litany of complaints, a shadow fell over them. A boy with tanned skin, short white hair, and dark black-rimmed glasses approached with slow steps. His eyes, fixed behind the lenses, examined Bibi's outfit with overwhelming intensity, completely ignoring the blue-haired koala's drama.
Moreno: Interesting... Very interesting. Excuse the intrusion, but I need to satisfy a technical doubt. Seeing your attire, what kind of mage are you supposed to be? Given the width of the hat and the fall of the classic cape, I doubt you're a thaumaturge from the conventional D&D school. Do you lean more towards a learned arcanist who relies on strict spell preparation, a draconic bloodline sorceress with innate magic in her blood, or perhaps a pact witch who sells her soul to a lower plane deity for mystical claw attacks? The design evokes a certain retro vibe, but you lack a visible grimoire, which makes me think of an elemental channeler or a hidden necromancer.
>Before Bibi could even process the barrage of role-playing terms, another figure appeared next to the boy. She was a very thin and lanky-looking girl, with short, messy brown hair that showed some blueish streaks at the tips. She wore her school uniform somewhat loosely, with a poorly tied red tie and the gray jacket hanging lazily off her shoulders. Her dark eyes had prominent dark circles that accentuated her gaunt but strangely relaxed appearance.
Skinny girl: Hey, well, I think your outfit is super cute. You look just like those anime girls from the dark fantasy edits generated with artificial intelligence that keep popping up on my TikTok feed. You know, the ones with gothic background music and castles shrouded in mist. That style really suits you.
>The bespectacled boy adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, raising an eyebrow with the sternness of a university professor hearing his student's comment.
Brunette guy: Please, don't confuse the terms. Dark fantasy as a subgenre isn't limited to the visual aesthetics found on social media. Its true essence lies in subverting the tropes of classic high fantasy. While in Tolkien-esque settings good and evil are clearly defined, in dark fantasy protagonists operate within an absolute moral gray zone, where monsters are often an extension of human degradation and the environment is inherently hostile—like in the works of Glen Cook or Kentaro Miura's manga. AI only replicates the superficial gothic layer, but lacks the nihilistic narrative and cosmic pessimism that define the genre.
>The skinny girl blinked a couple of times, processing the monologue with an empty yet highly entertained smile.
Skinny girl: Honestly, I didn't understand a single thing you just said, but you speak so seriously it's funny. Anyway, I joined this club because my parents fight constantly all day, and I wanted an excuse to not stay at home so much. What about you guys? Why did you join?
>The brown-skinned boy dropped his analytical posture, revealing a calm and sincere smile that softened his otherwise serious expression.
Brunette guy: In my case, it's simple. I love fantasy in all its forms.
>After their respective statements, both youths fell silent in unison. With curiosity evident on their faces, they turned their heads toward the girl wearing the witch's hat, patiently waiting to hear what Bibi would say.
>>10511 →
>>10514 →
>>10513 →
>The black-haired boy looked at Lebedeve with a mix of mild embarrassment and utter shyness, his cheeks dyed as red as a pair of ripe apples. The unexpected affection from the silver-haired girl—smoothing his bangs and then playfully pinching his cheek—had completely thrown him off balance. He wasn't used to interacting with girls, much less receiving such strangely affectionate gestures right after being spanked on the lap. The boy averted his gaze, nervously scratching the back of his neck.
Black-haired boy: Well... nobody likes spankings, I guess. But sometimes you deserve them, right? I mean, it's totally valid to spank someone when that person completely ruined your life at eighteen... right? H-Hehehe... Besides, it's nothing... yours was just a gentle caress compared to my dad's heavy, huge, rough hand. Physical wounds always heal fast—you shouldn't take them so hard. In the end, the pain my parents have felt since I was born doesn't compare at all to the pain they have to endure every day. Sooner or later, I won't feel any kind of pain ever again, and no one will hurt me anymore.
>The boy nodded to himself with a forced and disturbing smile, eyes glazed over as he mindlessly justified the obvious physical abuse inflicted by his parents.
However, the classroom's attention quickly shifted to Katsumi. When Bonita-chan approached and began exposing her knee, the giant student panicked.
Katsumi: Wait, wait! There's no need to pull up my school pants! You can do the massage over the clothes, really!
>It was already too late. Shizuku began the treatment with meticulous gentleness. The instant the tips of the girl's fingers brushed against the tendons behind her knee, Katsumi let out a sharp, muffled shriek. An intense wave of sensitivity surged through the athlete's powerful frame, making her tremble with pleasure bordering on pain. As Shizuku's thumbs traced perfect circles, the giant's muscles spasmed involuntarily; her eyes rolled back intermittently, and tiny, shaky moans escaped her clenched lips.
Katsumi: Aaahhh...! Y-You're right... my legs are really muscular because... I trained so hard since I was a child! My father forced me into a military routine... Ah! Wait, that spot's super sensitive...!
>The texture of her legs was imposing—a barrier of hard, dense fiber betraying years of strict discipline. As Shizuku increased pressure and performed longitudinal strokes, Katsumi could take no more. The built-up pleasure completely knocked her out, collapsing her into her seat like a limp, lifeless heap. When Shizuku suddenly stopped, worried by her flushed face, and reached a hand toward her forehead suggesting a trip to the infirmary, Katsumi could barely move her lips, pleading for mercy in a faint, trembling voice.
>At that moment, a loud, wet gulp of saliva shattered the tense atmosphere. It was President Kinoko, who had been recording the entire scene on her cellphone, capturing every moan and reaction with bulging, lust-filled eyes.
Kinoko: Whew, what a glorious tactile spectacle! To answer your question, Bonita-chan... Doctor Wang is probably still in the infirmary at this hour, but that decrepit old bastard hardly ever treats girls. Back in my first year I broke my leg playing on the stairs and that damn creep just prescribed me generic diclofenac and told me to run off. Hahaha! So better let her rest right here—your heavenly massage already sent her straight to Valhalla.
>She burst into loud laughter before giving Bonita-chan a knowing look.
Kinoko: Pfft! Truth is, we all have a bastard inside us, my dear Lebedeve. It's just about bringing it out at the right moment. Though if we made an official bastard ranking for this roleplay club, Professor Crazy-Underwear would take first place by a landslide, second place would definitely be me, and third spot goes to Takahara-dono without a doubt!
>The president raised her thumb with tremendous enthusiasm. Her smile emitted a radiant gleam, and even her eyes sparkled with pure ecstasy—clearly visible despite her thick glasses. She looked incredibly happy to feel her utterly useless knowledge was being acknowledged. After whispering that long compliment, she stepped back slightly and confessed a strange fetish with complete nonchalance.
Kinoko: Honestly... I love the taste of hair. In fact, I had to get emergency surgery in elementary school because I kept eating my classmates' hair, and they pulled out a hairball THIS BIG!
>The president suddenly raised her arms to demonstrate the enormous size of the hair mass, laughing shamelessly. Then, she gazed tenderly at the platinum-haired girl.
Kinoko: But anyway! Thank you for joining the roleplay club. Doesn't matter what you thought—I praised you with all my heart.
>Suddenly, noticing that Shizuku appreciated her effort, Kinoko wrapped her arms around her in a surprise hug. Curiously, there were no perverted intentions or lewd groping—this was a genuinely heartfelt gesture from someone who felt touched by being validated. With her cheeks painted a sweet rosy red, the president declared with absolute determination:
Kinoko: I won't let you down as your president and liberator! I'll give my all for each and every one of my new members. From now on, you won't be alone anymore!
>>10507 →
>Hotaru clung with unexpected strength to Bibi's body, practically climbing on her like a scared koala. Her small body continued to emit spasmodic tremors, while she completely hid her pale face in the witch's cape-covered chest. A few meters away, Takahara, a huge and chubby boy who bore a disturbing resemblance to a giant hamster, smiled innocently, oblivious to the trauma he had just caused. The blue-haired girl, her voice muffled by fabric and disgust, began to whisper frantically.
Hotaru: He's a monster... I swear, Bibi, it was disgusting. I felt his fingers... they were covered in a horrible grease, like he'd been eating fries straight from the bag before touching me. His hands were sweaty and hot. Please, I beg you, get out your wand or whatever and cast a petrification spell on him... or a explosive diarrhea curse. I don't want that thing to come near me again for the rest of my life.
>As the little one continued her litany of complaints, a shadow fell over them. A boy with tanned skin, short white hair, and dark black-rimmed glasses approached with slow steps. His eyes, fixed behind the lenses, examined Bibi's outfit with overwhelming intensity, completely ignoring the blue-haired koala's drama.
Moreno: Interesting... Very interesting. Excuse the intrusion, but I need to satisfy a technical doubt. Seeing your attire, what kind of mage are you supposed to be? Given the width of the hat and the fall of the classic cape, I doubt you're a thaumaturge from the conventional D&D school. Do you lean more towards a learned arcanist who relies on strict spell preparation, a draconic bloodline sorceress with innate magic in her blood, or perhaps a pact witch who sells her soul to a lower plane deity for mystical claw attacks? The design evokes a certain retro vibe, but you lack a visible grimoire, which makes me think of an elemental channeler or a hidden necromancer.
>Before Bibi could even process the barrage of role-playing terms, another figure appeared next to the boy. She was a very thin and lanky-looking girl, with short, messy brown hair that showed some blueish streaks at the tips. She wore her school uniform somewhat loosely, with a poorly tied red tie and the gray jacket hanging lazily off her shoulders. Her dark eyes had prominent dark circles that accentuated her gaunt but strangely relaxed appearance.
Skinny girl: Hey, well, I think your outfit is super cute. You look just like those anime girls from the dark fantasy edits generated with artificial intelligence that keep popping up on my TikTok feed. You know, the ones with gothic background music and castles shrouded in mist. That style really suits you.
>The bespectacled boy adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, raising an eyebrow with the sternness of a university professor hearing his student's comment.
Brunette guy: Please, don't confuse the terms. Dark fantasy as a subgenre isn't limited to the visual aesthetics found on social media. Its true essence lies in subverting the tropes of classic high fantasy. While in Tolkien-esque settings good and evil are clearly defined, in dark fantasy protagonists operate within an absolute moral gray zone, where monsters are often an extension of human degradation and the environment is inherently hostile—like in the works of Glen Cook or Kentaro Miura's manga. AI only replicates the superficial gothic layer, but lacks the nihilistic narrative and cosmic pessimism that define the genre.
>The skinny girl blinked a couple of times, processing the monologue with an empty yet highly entertained smile.
Skinny girl: Honestly, I didn't understand a single thing you just said, but you speak so seriously it's funny. Anyway, I joined this club because my parents fight constantly all day, and I wanted an excuse to not stay at home so much. What about you guys? Why did you join?
>The brown-skinned boy dropped his analytical posture, revealing a calm and sincere smile that softened his otherwise serious expression.
Brunette guy: In my case, it's simple. I love fantasy in all its forms.
>After their respective statements, both youths fell silent in unison. With curiosity evident on their faces, they turned their heads toward the girl wearing the witch's hat, patiently waiting to hear what Bibi would say.
>>10511 →
>>10514 →
>>10513 →
>The black-haired boy looked at Lebedeve with a mix of mild embarrassment and utter shyness, his cheeks dyed as red as a pair of ripe apples. The unexpected affection from the silver-haired girl—smoothing his bangs and then playfully pinching his cheek—had completely thrown him off balance. He wasn't used to interacting with girls, much less receiving such strangely affectionate gestures right after being spanked on the lap. The boy averted his gaze, nervously scratching the back of his neck.
Black-haired boy: Well... nobody likes spankings, I guess. But sometimes you deserve them, right? I mean, it's totally valid to spank someone when that person completely ruined your life at eighteen... right? H-Hehehe... Besides, it's nothing... yours was just a gentle caress compared to my dad's heavy, huge, rough hand. Physical wounds always heal fast—you shouldn't take them so hard. In the end, the pain my parents have felt since I was born doesn't compare at all to the pain they have to endure every day. Sooner or later, I won't feel any kind of pain ever again, and no one will hurt me anymore.
>The boy nodded to himself with a forced and disturbing smile, eyes glazed over as he mindlessly justified the obvious physical abuse inflicted by his parents.
However, the classroom's attention quickly shifted to Katsumi. When Bonita-chan approached and began exposing her knee, the giant student panicked.
Katsumi: Wait, wait! There's no need to pull up my school pants! You can do the massage over the clothes, really!
>It was already too late. Shizuku began the treatment with meticulous gentleness. The instant the tips of the girl's fingers brushed against the tendons behind her knee, Katsumi let out a sharp, muffled shriek. An intense wave of sensitivity surged through the athlete's powerful frame, making her tremble with pleasure bordering on pain. As Shizuku's thumbs traced perfect circles, the giant's muscles spasmed involuntarily; her eyes rolled back intermittently, and tiny, shaky moans escaped her clenched lips.
Katsumi: Aaahhh...! Y-You're right... my legs are really muscular because... I trained so hard since I was a child! My father forced me into a military routine... Ah! Wait, that spot's super sensitive...!
>The texture of her legs was imposing—a barrier of hard, dense fiber betraying years of strict discipline. As Shizuku increased pressure and performed longitudinal strokes, Katsumi could take no more. The built-up pleasure completely knocked her out, collapsing her into her seat like a limp, lifeless heap. When Shizuku suddenly stopped, worried by her flushed face, and reached a hand toward her forehead suggesting a trip to the infirmary, Katsumi could barely move her lips, pleading for mercy in a faint, trembling voice.
>At that moment, a loud, wet gulp of saliva shattered the tense atmosphere. It was President Kinoko, who had been recording the entire scene on her cellphone, capturing every moan and reaction with bulging, lust-filled eyes.
Kinoko: Whew, what a glorious tactile spectacle! To answer your question, Bonita-chan... Doctor Wang is probably still in the infirmary at this hour, but that decrepit old bastard hardly ever treats girls. Back in my first year I broke my leg playing on the stairs and that damn creep just prescribed me generic diclofenac and told me to run off. Hahaha! So better let her rest right here—your heavenly massage already sent her straight to Valhalla.
>She burst into loud laughter before giving Bonita-chan a knowing look.
Kinoko: Pfft! Truth is, we all have a bastard inside us, my dear Lebedeve. It's just about bringing it out at the right moment. Though if we made an official bastard ranking for this roleplay club, Professor Crazy-Underwear would take first place by a landslide, second place would definitely be me, and third spot goes to Takahara-dono without a doubt!
>The president raised her thumb with tremendous enthusiasm. Her smile emitted a radiant gleam, and even her eyes sparkled with pure ecstasy—clearly visible despite her thick glasses. She looked incredibly happy to feel her utterly useless knowledge was being acknowledged. After whispering that long compliment, she stepped back slightly and confessed a strange fetish with complete nonchalance.
Kinoko: Honestly... I love the taste of hair. In fact, I had to get emergency surgery in elementary school because I kept eating my classmates' hair, and they pulled out a hairball THIS BIG!
>The president suddenly raised her arms to demonstrate the enormous size of the hair mass, laughing shamelessly. Then, she gazed tenderly at the platinum-haired girl.
Kinoko: But anyway! Thank you for joining the roleplay club. Doesn't matter what you thought—I praised you with all my heart.
>Suddenly, noticing that Shizuku appreciated her effort, Kinoko wrapped her arms around her in a surprise hug. Curiously, there were no perverted intentions or lewd groping—this was a genuinely heartfelt gesture from someone who felt touched by being validated. With her cheeks painted a sweet rosy red, the president declared with absolute determination:
Kinoko: I won't let you down as your president and liberator! I'll give my all for each and every one of my new members. From now on, you won't be alone anymore!
>>10512 →
>Kinoko froze in front of the teacher, her hyperactive body locked in an unnatural stillness. Behind the thick lenses of her bottle-bottom glasses, her eyes narrowed completely. Although Jack couldn't see her pupils clearly, the pressure in the air became suffocating; it was a killer's gaze, charged with primal hostility, but also with deep, absolute respect. It was the silent truce of an untamable lion that, in the middle of the steppe, comes face to face with a Bengal tiger. Kinoko took her status as a super-predator damn seriously, and the teacher's response—which encouraged unbridled competition where the end justified the means—had ignited a spark of mutual recognition. She didn't stop glaring at him with that monster's expression that recognizes its equal at the top of the food chain, extending her hand towards him rigidly, demanding the recognition that two alphas owe each other in this concrete and dice jungle called a role-playing club.
>Regardless of whether "Crazy Underwear" decided to accept the pact and shake her hand with the brute force of his hierarchy, the president didn't take her eyes off him. Her voice dropped several octaves, losing any trace of its usual shrill tone.
Kinoko: I hope you're clear, Jack-san... In this ecosystem, only the fittest survive. I sincerely hope you don't end up becoming my food too, like the rest of the weaklings wandering these halls.
>The aura of a celestial and dangerous beast that enveloped her dissipated suddenly, as if it had never existed. In the blink of an eye, Kinoko regained her typical feline smile, showing her fangs playfully as she let out a mocking giggle.
Kinoko: Oh, come on! Don't get so tense. This president is no novice in the business. I know perfectly well how to hide my contraband without the law sniffing me out. I have dozens of secret Telegram groups with military-grade encryption and a bunch of decoded clouds that are impossible to trace. So don't worry about the commissioner.
>The girl gave the robust teacher a loud pat on the back, laughing freely.
Kinoko: You're not going to jail, old man. At least not because of me, I assure you. Really, thanks again for covering our asses with those old farts on the board of directors. But hey, if you have time between your... "special activities," keep an eye on the parent-teacher association. They're usually very calm, damn zombies, but my sources tell me there's a member involved in "Gairai-ha." According to rumors, their president, that Sumitomo woman, intends to launch a holy crusade against our kind and the high school delinquents.
>She made a face of annoyance, raising both hands to her chest to shape the air in an exaggerated gesture.
Kinoko: She's an extremely prudish woman, an unbearable puritan, but she has enormous tits, this big! A true contradiction of nature.
>Suddenly, the president dropped her arms and let out a long sigh, emanating a strange aura of uncertainty. She glanced sideways at the classroom door, as if she had confidential information and knew perfectly well the storm that was brewing over Kamome. However, she shook her head to cut off the mystical rambling and winked at Jack maliciously.
Kinoko: Anyway, if things go wrong and I end up dead in this school war, I've already written that I want to be cremated immediately. I don't want you ending up spanking my corpse in the morgue, you damn dirty old man! Muahahahaha!
>Kinoko froze in front of the teacher, her hyperactive body locked in an unnatural stillness. Behind the thick lenses of her bottle-bottom glasses, her eyes narrowed completely. Although Jack couldn't see her pupils clearly, the pressure in the air became suffocating; it was a killer's gaze, charged with primal hostility, but also with deep, absolute respect. It was the silent truce of an untamable lion that, in the middle of the steppe, comes face to face with a Bengal tiger. Kinoko took her status as a super-predator damn seriously, and the teacher's response—which encouraged unbridled competition where the end justified the means—had ignited a spark of mutual recognition. She didn't stop glaring at him with that monster's expression that recognizes its equal at the top of the food chain, extending her hand towards him rigidly, demanding the recognition that two alphas owe each other in this concrete and dice jungle called a role-playing club.
>Regardless of whether "Crazy Underwear" decided to accept the pact and shake her hand with the brute force of his hierarchy, the president didn't take her eyes off him. Her voice dropped several octaves, losing any trace of its usual shrill tone.
Kinoko: I hope you're clear, Jack-san... In this ecosystem, only the fittest survive. I sincerely hope you don't end up becoming my food too, like the rest of the weaklings wandering these halls.
>The aura of a celestial and dangerous beast that enveloped her dissipated suddenly, as if it had never existed. In the blink of an eye, Kinoko regained her typical feline smile, showing her fangs playfully as she let out a mocking giggle.
Kinoko: Oh, come on! Don't get so tense. This president is no novice in the business. I know perfectly well how to hide my contraband without the law sniffing me out. I have dozens of secret Telegram groups with military-grade encryption and a bunch of decoded clouds that are impossible to trace. So don't worry about the commissioner.
>The girl gave the robust teacher a loud pat on the back, laughing freely.
Kinoko: You're not going to jail, old man. At least not because of me, I assure you. Really, thanks again for covering our asses with those old farts on the board of directors. But hey, if you have time between your... "special activities," keep an eye on the parent-teacher association. They're usually very calm, damn zombies, but my sources tell me there's a member involved in "Gairai-ha." According to rumors, their president, that Sumitomo woman, intends to launch a holy crusade against our kind and the high school delinquents.
>She made a face of annoyance, raising both hands to her chest to shape the air in an exaggerated gesture.
Kinoko: She's an extremely prudish woman, an unbearable puritan, but she has enormous tits, this big! A true contradiction of nature.
>Suddenly, the president dropped her arms and let out a long sigh, emanating a strange aura of uncertainty. She glanced sideways at the classroom door, as if she had confidential information and knew perfectly well the storm that was brewing over Kamome. However, she shook her head to cut off the mystical rambling and winked at Jack maliciously.
Kinoko: Anyway, if things go wrong and I end up dead in this school war, I've already written that I want to be cremated immediately. I don't want you ending up spanking my corpse in the morgue, you damn dirty old man! Muahahahaha!
Meta for Chainsaw Man roleplay sheets. Explain doubt, the combat system, and other things you have to say.
There are 3 types of sheets, each with its respective drawback or advantage: human, possessed, and devils.
<Humans
>Name
>Age
>Previous occupation (Any)
>Nationality
>Gender
>Why did you decide to join? (You can save the backstory for development throughout the roleplay)
>Devil with whom you have a contract
Name
>History or origin before being brought to SN
>What devil are you?
>Gender
>Demonic abilities
<Devils
>What devil are you?
>Demonic abilities
>Where were you captured
>What do you think of humans?
The sheets have numbers and are first come, first servedI would love to receive them all but OP has a life so there are a total of 7 slots: 1 Devil, 3 humans, and 3 possessed.
In case any anon loldies, another will be able to take their place with their respective character, unless the plot is too advanced. The combat system will be explained within the meta, as well as the devils with whom humans can make pacts, mainly to avoid making a bible as a meta presentation.
There are 3 types of sheets, each with its respective drawback or advantage: human, possessed, and devils.
<Humans
>Name
>Age
>Previous occupation (Any)
>Nationality
>Gender
>Why did you decide to join? (You can save the backstory for development throughout the roleplay)
>Devil with whom you have a contract
Name
>History or origin before being brought to SN
>What devil are you?
>Gender
>Demonic abilities
<Devils
>What devil are you?
>Demonic abilities
>Where were you captured
>What do you think of humans?
The sheets have numbers and are first come, first served
In case any anon loldies, another will be able to take their place with their respective character, unless the plot is too advanced. The combat system will be explained within the meta, as well as the devils with whom humans can make pacts, mainly to avoid making a bible as a meta presentation.
>>6198 →
>Name
Carmelita H. Mbappé
>Age
24
>Previous occupation (Whatever it is)
Immigrant/Psychologist
>Nationality
African - Cape Verde
>Gender
Titty
>Why did you decide to join?
It was this or prostitution.
>Demon with whom you have a contract
Demon of women
>Name
Carmelita H. Mbappé
>Age
24
>Previous occupation (Whatever it is)
Immigrant/Psychologist
>Nationality
African - Cape Verde
>Gender
Titty
>Why did you decide to join?
It was this or prostitution.
>Demon with whom you have a contract
Demon of women
You cross a door. You press a random floor of an elevator. You walk distractedly down a hallway. The reasons are varied and generally unimportant to what presents itself. You end up in an unknown dimension, the closest place to limbo, the space between spaces.
Welcome to the end of the Backrooms.
...
<Environment Tutorial
-Each floor has its different rules, some may share mechanics, others may not. It's up to each wanderer to figure it out.
-There are 2 modes, Exploration and Safe. "Exploration" is when you move through the level. "Safe" is when you are in a camp or resting place, either your own or someone else's.
-In Exploration, each turn is one hour of time. In Safe mode, time does not pass unless you sleep or perform an action that involves passing hours.
-You gain 1 point for your stats each time you overcome a Backroom for the first time. This reward grows the higher the level.
-There are weapons and equipment, economies, and groups of neutral, or hostile human (and non-human) characters.
-At the beginning, you have no weapons or tools. At most, you have one or two everyday objects in your pockets.
-When you are in Exploration mode, you must roll a 1d50 die, no exceptions. This will determine the events that occur each turn. You can roll multiple times to advance several hours (the latter is recommended).
<Dice Tutorial in Battles
-Roll two 1d50 dice, the first or left determines the damage, your attack strength. The second is for speed to see if you hit, block, or dodge first, for which it must be a roll higher than the enemy's. You don't miss unless something makes you miss.
-Effort Mode: For every point of energy you decide to spend, you can apply a +2 to your left or right dice, or a +1 to each die. You can activate effort mode during any fight or physical and mental action. Just remember one thing, and that is if your energy reaches 0, you will fall asleep.
<Regarding Combat Experience
The adversary's stats determine how many experience points are gained upon victory. The higher the adversary's rank, the more experience it offers. I will use an entity as an example.
-The Window
HP: 400 (Rank B) 4 points.
-Strength: 12 (Rank D) 2 points.
-Agility: 12 (Rank D) 2 points.
-Endurance: 4 (Rank E) 1 point.
Defeating a window would grant 9 experience points. If you fight alongside other PCs or NPCs, the experience is divided among the parties. If there are leftover points, whoever dealt the most damage to the enemy gets the remainder.
>List of First Ranks
E 0 - 10.
D 11 - 20.
C 21 - 30.
B 31 to 40.
Etc.
Welcome to the end of the Backrooms.
...
<Environment Tutorial
-Each floor has its different rules, some may share mechanics, others may not. It's up to each wanderer to figure it out.
-There are 2 modes, Exploration and Safe. "Exploration" is when you move through the level. "Safe" is when you are in a camp or resting place, either your own or someone else's.
-In Exploration, each turn is one hour of time. In Safe mode, time does not pass unless you sleep or perform an action that involves passing hours.
-You gain 1 point for your stats each time you overcome a Backroom for the first time. This reward grows the higher the level.
-There are weapons and equipment, economies, and groups of neutral, or hostile human (and non-human) characters.
-At the beginning, you have no weapons or tools. At most, you have one or two everyday objects in your pockets.
-When you are in Exploration mode, you must roll a 1d50 die, no exceptions. This will determine the events that occur each turn. You can roll multiple times to advance several hours (the latter is recommended).
<Dice Tutorial in Battles
-Roll two 1d50 dice, the first or left determines the damage, your attack strength. The second is for speed to see if you hit, block, or dodge first, for which it must be a roll higher than the enemy's. You don't miss unless something makes you miss.
-Effort Mode: For every point of energy you decide to spend, you can apply a +2 to your left or right dice, or a +1 to each die. You can activate effort mode during any fight or physical and mental action. Just remember one thing, and that is if your energy reaches 0, you will fall asleep.
<Regarding Combat Experience
The adversary's stats determine how many experience points are gained upon victory. The higher the adversary's rank, the more experience it offers. I will use an entity as an example.
-The Window
HP: 400 (Rank B) 4 points.
-Strength: 12 (Rank D) 2 points.
-Agility: 12 (Rank D) 2 points.
-Endurance: 4 (Rank E) 1 point.
Defeating a window would grant 9 experience points. If you fight alongside other PCs or NPCs, the experience is divided among the parties. If there are leftover points, whoever dealt the most damage to the enemy gets the remainder.
>List of First Ranks
E 0 - 10.
D 11 - 20.
C 21 - 30.
B 31 to 40.
Etc.
>>5879 →
>Marie
Plans, plans! They haven't even finished what they're doing and they're already adding ideas for tomorrow. It's a lover's thing, not that Marie is a relationship guru, but she knows about this. About what? About inventing scenarios in her head about doing things with someone she likes.
Although the fact that they are concrete plans and not just imaginings is new.
<We can do that, camp for a day in the woods near the wheat field.
"A-ah-" -she chokes on her words, frowns, weighing it for a second, then smiles, a smile that isn't entirely genuine, but not fake either. One of those you put on when you're nervous- "uh- sure..." -she shrugs- "I-If you want..."
It's not that the idea makes her jump for joy. But... it doesn't seem bad either.
(W-well, uh... It could be fun.)
She already lost a camping trip in the past. Now she has nothing to miss to refuse. On the contrary, she might regret it if she lost that quality time with Luz. That irritates her, now she wants to do things as best as possible...
(Y-yes, fun... I-I could score points with her... Ha...)
(I-it's not like... It's not like I'M short on points... But...)
(Agh... It's those visions... That future... I don't want to lose it...)
(I WANT THE GOOD ENDING, DAMMIT!, and we have to make the best decisions for the good ending...)
<You, me, Momo too...
"Ah-" -that 'ah' almost sounds like a verbal stumble. Marie makes that silly face when you just notice something silly you did, like putting on your shirt inside out-
<I feel like I've neglected her a bit lately.
Sigh -Marie brings the heel of her hand to her forehead- "osssh..." -she drags her palm down her face- "darn... me too..."
She leans back to look at the sky, her hand falls to the floor of the boat. She looks serious. Almost annoyed.
"Momo..." -but her voice doesn't come with anger, but with a weight of pity, or remorse- "we were supposed to make up..." -she looks to the side, the dark circles under her eyes seemed to be emphasized by the worry that seeped from her furrowed brow- "D-do you think she'll be mad about that?"
<And we'll invite the gondola too, of course.
Luz laughs.
"Jaaja..." -Marie imitates her, but it's clearly a forced laugh, you can see it in her uncomfortable face. She readjusts herself, sitting up straight again, to rub the back of her neck with her lips in a diagonal line, like her gaze. The fake laugh had stopped a while ago- "yeah... Heh..." -she adds a little "heh" to see if it lands- "n-no... I don't think they exist" -too much water makes the bubbles come out weak and unable to form, discomfort is the water of fantasy-
<Somewhere there must be.
sigh -she sighs to relax a bit- "heh..." -this one is more genuine, like the half-smile that remains as a vestige- "I-I always wanted them to be real..." -she answers looking at Luz out of the corner of her eye, then turns her head towards her- "b-but..." -she raises a finger, getting nervous again- "L-Let's prioritize Momo."
She doesn't want to lose her again.
She looks away to look at the sky again. Enjoy the scenery. The calm.
Or so it seems if you don't look at her face, on which consternation weighs.
(I have to tell Luz...)
(I know I have to tell her...)
(It wouldn't be a good idea for Momo to find out I haven't told her yet...)
(The right moment... Just... I have to find the right moment...)
(Agh... I have so much to say...)
(Although... well, maybe the thing about the future, huh... I don't know...)
She's still afraid that telling Luz might make it not happen.
But the sea and love relaxed her. Between caresses, whispers, and kisses, the discomfort doesn't last. Love calls her, and does it again. In English, in Spanish. And if she could, she would say it in more languages. Just to say it. To know which one sounds better.
<It sounds prettier when you say it.
But in the end, that's what really matters. Marie smiles suddenly, as if a strong beat of her heart had moved her lips.
"Ah-... Haha..." -she lets out a half-sigh of happy surprise and then laughs genuinely. Luz impressed her with such a quick, fast, and spontaneous answer, filling her chest with love- "W-what luck..." -she says, trying to match it- "b-because... I'm going to tell you very often... love... heh..."
The gondola ride is a success!
...
They twist her words!
<So... Am I dumb?
"E-eh?" -she startles- "W-what?" -with enough impact to ignore the little smile, Marie is utterly confused by the question- "No!" -she exclaims, raising her arms for emphasis- "Why?" -she asks, fast as a bullet loaded with confusion instead of gunpowder-
<You just said that what you like is dumb, and since I really like you, 2 + 2 equals...
"Huh-? W-waa- I'm falling!"
The moai is maybe slippery or something. Marie stumbles, and waves her arms rapidly like windmills while her back is pulled by gravity. Luckily, that cartoonish effort buys her enough time for Luz's hands to grab her and steady her. Marie jerks her body forward abruptly, and places her little hands on Luz's forearms, lowers her head to let out a sigh.
"Oof... I almost fell..." -she raises her gaze, looking annoyed. Her brow is half-furrowed, but her pouting lips betray an almost childish frustration- "I didn't mean that..." -it becomes clearer. It's that slight annoyance of not being understood- "I-I said I liked it!" -she exclaims, straightening up, her face lighting up with confidence- "Past, past tense!" -she clarifies- "Y-you..." -she lowers her head, as if wanting to hide it in her shirt like a turtle- "I-I like you now... heh..."
<What you're passionate about also defines you, never underestimate that side of yourself. It's like me saying nature is ridiculous... Well, sometimes it is a little...
She has things to say about the first part, but the latter takes priority. Luz looks happy, and that makes Marie snort a little out of amusement.
"I guess... I-I don't know if... r-ridiculous is the word I'd use, but..." -it's not a sentence she really intended to finish, the ellipsis after "but" is actually a period-
<Heh, there was a video of an octopus, very funny...
"Uh...?, A-an octopus?" -she sounds surprised-
That octopus. The one that looks like a cartoon. You know the one. Marie rings a bell, and lets out a single chuckle after the description.
"Ha... Y-yes. It sounds familiar." -she clarifies- "I-I thought it was cute..." -she mentions, scratching her cheek with a finger and looking away-
"Hm..." -she stops scratching her cheek, her finger moves down to her chin, and now she looks thoughtful. She completes the look by gazing at the sky-
(you surely have a strong and interesting opinion about that little octopus, don't you, Lunita?)
Marie thinks about said octopus for a second, transmitting the image to her sword... She simply can't help but be curious when Lunita is half-octopus or something.
1/?
Hey, OP! It's July 15th. Do you know what that means? That's right. We're officially 5 years into the roleplay! Damn, I thought it was 6 is crazy. But as the final goodbye approaches, I'm saving my words for the end. So, well, I'll just congratulate you for bringing us this far. Let's make this final stretch amazing!
Anything prepared? Well, not really. Or am I lying? Maybe in the next parts of this post I'll drop some memes. Kek.
Or maybe we could fill this image with the roleplay characters? Like a collage, everyone posts their characters with this kek hat. I don't know, think about it.
HAPPY 5 YEARS OF BACKROOMS, NIGGAS!
>Marie
Plans, plans! They haven't even finished what they're doing and they're already adding ideas for tomorrow. It's a lover's thing, not that Marie is a relationship guru, but she knows about this. About what? About inventing scenarios in her head about doing things with someone she likes.
Although the fact that they are concrete plans and not just imaginings is new.
<We can do that, camp for a day in the woods near the wheat field.
"A-ah-" -she chokes on her words, frowns, weighing it for a second, then smiles, a smile that isn't entirely genuine, but not fake either. One of those you put on when you're nervous- "uh- sure..." -she shrugs- "I-If you want..."
It's not that the idea makes her jump for joy. But... it doesn't seem bad either.
(W-well, uh... It could be fun.)
She already lost a camping trip in the past. Now she has nothing to miss to refuse. On the contrary, she might regret it if she lost that quality time with Luz. That irritates her, now she wants to do things as best as possible...
(Y-yes, fun... I-I could score points with her... Ha...)
(I-it's not like... It's not like I'M short on points... But...)
(Agh... It's those visions... That future... I don't want to lose it...)
(I WANT THE GOOD ENDING, DAMMIT!, and we have to make the best decisions for the good ending...)
<You, me, Momo too...
"Ah-" -that 'ah' almost sounds like a verbal stumble. Marie makes that silly face when you just notice something silly you did, like putting on your shirt inside out-
<I feel like I've neglected her a bit lately.
Sigh -Marie brings the heel of her hand to her forehead- "osssh..." -she drags her palm down her face- "darn... me too..."
She leans back to look at the sky, her hand falls to the floor of the boat. She looks serious. Almost annoyed.
"Momo..." -but her voice doesn't come with anger, but with a weight of pity, or remorse- "we were supposed to make up..." -she looks to the side, the dark circles under her eyes seemed to be emphasized by the worry that seeped from her furrowed brow- "D-do you think she'll be mad about that?"
<And we'll invite the gondola too, of course.
Luz laughs.
"Jaaja..." -Marie imitates her, but it's clearly a forced laugh, you can see it in her uncomfortable face. She readjusts herself, sitting up straight again, to rub the back of her neck with her lips in a diagonal line, like her gaze. The fake laugh had stopped a while ago- "yeah... Heh..." -she adds a little "heh" to see if it lands- "n-no... I don't think they exist" -too much water makes the bubbles come out weak and unable to form, discomfort is the water of fantasy-
<Somewhere there must be.
sigh -she sighs to relax a bit- "heh..." -this one is more genuine, like the half-smile that remains as a vestige- "I-I always wanted them to be real..." -she answers looking at Luz out of the corner of her eye, then turns her head towards her- "b-but..." -she raises a finger, getting nervous again- "L-Let's prioritize Momo."
She doesn't want to lose her again.
She looks away to look at the sky again. Enjoy the scenery. The calm.
Or so it seems if you don't look at her face, on which consternation weighs.
(I have to tell Luz...)
(I know I have to tell her...)
(It wouldn't be a good idea for Momo to find out I haven't told her yet...)
(The right moment... Just... I have to find the right moment...)
(Agh... I have so much to say...)
(Although... well, maybe the thing about the future, huh... I don't know...)
She's still afraid that telling Luz might make it not happen.
But the sea and love relaxed her. Between caresses, whispers, and kisses, the discomfort doesn't last. Love calls her, and does it again. In English, in Spanish. And if she could, she would say it in more languages. Just to say it. To know which one sounds better.
<It sounds prettier when you say it.
But in the end, that's what really matters. Marie smiles suddenly, as if a strong beat of her heart had moved her lips.
"Ah-... Haha..." -she lets out a half-sigh of happy surprise and then laughs genuinely. Luz impressed her with such a quick, fast, and spontaneous answer, filling her chest with love- "W-what luck..." -she says, trying to match it- "b-because... I'm going to tell you very often... love... heh..."
The gondola ride is a success!
...
They twist her words!
<So... Am I dumb?
"E-eh?" -she startles- "W-what?" -with enough impact to ignore the little smile, Marie is utterly confused by the question- "No!" -she exclaims, raising her arms for emphasis- "Why?" -she asks, fast as a bullet loaded with confusion instead of gunpowder-
<You just said that what you like is dumb, and since I really like you, 2 + 2 equals...
"Huh-? W-waa- I'm falling!"
The moai is maybe slippery or something. Marie stumbles, and waves her arms rapidly like windmills while her back is pulled by gravity. Luckily, that cartoonish effort buys her enough time for Luz's hands to grab her and steady her. Marie jerks her body forward abruptly, and places her little hands on Luz's forearms, lowers her head to let out a sigh.
"Oof... I almost fell..." -she raises her gaze, looking annoyed. Her brow is half-furrowed, but her pouting lips betray an almost childish frustration- "I didn't mean that..." -it becomes clearer. It's that slight annoyance of not being understood- "I-I said I liked it!" -she exclaims, straightening up, her face lighting up with confidence- "Past, past tense!" -she clarifies- "Y-you..." -she lowers her head, as if wanting to hide it in her shirt like a turtle- "I-I like you now... heh..."
<What you're passionate about also defines you, never underestimate that side of yourself. It's like me saying nature is ridiculous... Well, sometimes it is a little...
She has things to say about the first part, but the latter takes priority. Luz looks happy, and that makes Marie snort a little out of amusement.
"I guess... I-I don't know if... r-ridiculous is the word I'd use, but..." -it's not a sentence she really intended to finish, the ellipsis after "but" is actually a period-
<Heh, there was a video of an octopus, very funny...
"Uh...?, A-an octopus?" -she sounds surprised-
That octopus. The one that looks like a cartoon. You know the one. Marie rings a bell, and lets out a single chuckle after the description.
"Ha... Y-yes. It sounds familiar." -she clarifies- "I-I thought it was cute..." -she mentions, scratching her cheek with a finger and looking away-
"Hm..." -she stops scratching her cheek, her finger moves down to her chin, and now she looks thoughtful. She completes the look by gazing at the sky-
(you surely have a strong and interesting opinion about that little octopus, don't you, Lunita?)
Marie thinks about said octopus for a second, transmitting the image to her sword... She simply can't help but be curious when Lunita is half-octopus or something.
1/?
Hey, OP! It's July 15th. Do you know what that means? That's right. We're officially 5 years into the roleplay! Damn, I thought it was 6 is crazy. But as the final goodbye approaches, I'm saving my words for the end. So, well, I'll just congratulate you for bringing us this far. Let's make this final stretch amazing!
Anything prepared? Well, not really. Or am I lying? Maybe in the next parts of this post I'll drop some memes. Kek.
Or maybe we could fill this image with the roleplay characters? Like a collage, everyone posts their characters with this kek hat. I don't know, think about it.
HAPPY 5 YEARS OF BACKROOMS, NIGGAS!
>>10464 →
Feliz backroomversario
Feliz backroomversario
https://youtu.be/J1MXUIlYVTU?si=xs0QLcihV4luAeDV
▶
Within the immensity of the Asian jungles lies an enormous danger that goes beyond anything we know... The line between the human world and the world of demons was broken a long time ago and no longer exists, with a day-to-day existence where demons practically inhabit the earth, however, they know when to attack... This is how we go directly to a Southeast Asian country... One that has suffered occupations, annexions, wars, and invasions throughout its history... In this case, it's a little more of the same, within this country there is a war where humans themselves constantly seek power among themselves, and behind it, there is a much more dangerous war where humans must fight against entities from the astral plane... Vietnam! That is the country, and that is where National Security agents will have to act... Seeking a danger much greater than themselves or than they have ever known.
[REPORT FROM THE AGENCY'S MAIN DIRECTORATE]
Time: XX:XX
Date: XX/XX/XXXX
<Location: Ho Chi Minh/Saigon - Situation Report - Operation Absolute Control
The city of Ho Chi Minh has suffered a devastating attack that left approximately half of its territory in ruins. Entire streets were turned into slaughterhouses: collapsed buildings on civilians, mangled and partially devoured bodies scattered among the rubble, and rivers of dried blood that still stain sidewalks and sewers. More than 47,000 confirmed deaths and over 92,000 injured are reported, many of them mutilated in ways impossible to explain by conventional explosions or weapons. The violence was indiscriminate and brutal, with clear signs of a demonic feast in the most affected areas.
To date, reconstruction efforts are progressing at an accelerated pace, allowing for a visible recovery of the affected infrastructure. The large number of volunteers for restructuring is enormous, as is the wave of new agents who decided to join national security after the altercations. However, the area remains highly unstable due to the persistence of residual demonic threats. This report is sent exclusively to the assigned team. No external entity, whether allied or neutral, has knowledge of your deployment nor will provide logistical or intelligence support, and those who do have knowledge, such as higher-ranking agents, are outside the area dealing with a different operation, cataloged under the name chainsaws from hell
The main objective of the operation is the definitive elimination of the demon responsible for the attack on the city. So far, there are no concrete clues about its identity, location, or exact nature. The only available information indicates that demons themselves are the sole possessors of complete knowledge about the incident. Do not expect any cooperation; any progress in the mission will necessarily depend on direct and lethal contact with demonic entities.
This mission has been entrusted exclusively to a reduced number of agents. You will not receive reinforcements or external assistance under any circumstances. National Security has determined that any leak or request for support will compromise the operation and will be considered immediate treason. Act in complete isolation. Makima exercises absolute authority over this mission. Her directives are unappealable and any deviation from her orders will be sanctioned with maximum severity. Her judgment represents the official will of the organization; questioning it is equivalent to questioning the very existence of the team.
The internal rules of National Security apply without exception: do not establish unauthorized contracts, do not reveal classified information under any type of demonic coercion or promise, and report any psychological or contractual anomaly immediately. Death breathes down the neck of every agent in this operation. Vietnam is at war, and the chaos reigning in the destroyed streets exponentially multiplies the risks. Do not expect mercy or second chances. Maintain discipline, failure is not a contemplated option, and the nation as a whole along with the local government demands results, and the organization does not forget.
End of report.
THE FILE GOES IN THE BLACK META
▶Within the immensity of the Asian jungles lies an enormous danger that goes beyond anything we know... The line between the human world and the world of demons was broken a long time ago and no longer exists, with a day-to-day existence where demons practically inhabit the earth, however, they know when to attack... This is how we go directly to a Southeast Asian country... One that has suffered occupations, annexions, wars, and invasions throughout its history... In this case, it's a little more of the same, within this country there is a war where humans themselves constantly seek power among themselves, and behind it, there is a much more dangerous war where humans must fight against entities from the astral plane... Vietnam! That is the country, and that is where National Security agents will have to act... Seeking a danger much greater than themselves or than they have ever known.
[REPORT FROM THE AGENCY'S MAIN DIRECTORATE]
Time: XX:XX
Date: XX/XX/XXXX
<Location: Ho Chi Minh/Saigon - Situation Report - Operation Absolute Control
The city of Ho Chi Minh has suffered a devastating attack that left approximately half of its territory in ruins. Entire streets were turned into slaughterhouses: collapsed buildings on civilians, mangled and partially devoured bodies scattered among the rubble, and rivers of dried blood that still stain sidewalks and sewers. More than 47,000 confirmed deaths and over 92,000 injured are reported, many of them mutilated in ways impossible to explain by conventional explosions or weapons. The violence was indiscriminate and brutal, with clear signs of a demonic feast in the most affected areas.
To date, reconstruction efforts are progressing at an accelerated pace, allowing for a visible recovery of the affected infrastructure. The large number of volunteers for restructuring is enormous, as is the wave of new agents who decided to join national security after the altercations. However, the area remains highly unstable due to the persistence of residual demonic threats. This report is sent exclusively to the assigned team. No external entity, whether allied or neutral, has knowledge of your deployment nor will provide logistical or intelligence support, and those who do have knowledge, such as higher-ranking agents, are outside the area dealing with a different operation, cataloged under the name chainsaws from hell
The main objective of the operation is the definitive elimination of the demon responsible for the attack on the city. So far, there are no concrete clues about its identity, location, or exact nature. The only available information indicates that demons themselves are the sole possessors of complete knowledge about the incident. Do not expect any cooperation; any progress in the mission will necessarily depend on direct and lethal contact with demonic entities.
This mission has been entrusted exclusively to a reduced number of agents. You will not receive reinforcements or external assistance under any circumstances. National Security has determined that any leak or request for support will compromise the operation and will be considered immediate treason. Act in complete isolation. Makima exercises absolute authority over this mission. Her directives are unappealable and any deviation from her orders will be sanctioned with maximum severity. Her judgment represents the official will of the organization; questioning it is equivalent to questioning the very existence of the team.
The internal rules of National Security apply without exception: do not establish unauthorized contracts, do not reveal classified information under any type of demonic coercion or promise, and report any psychological or contractual anomaly immediately. Death breathes down the neck of every agent in this operation. Vietnam is at war, and the chaos reigning in the destroyed streets exponentially multiplies the risks. Do not expect mercy or second chances. Maintain discipline, failure is not a contemplated option, and the nation as a whole along with the local government demands results, and the organization does not forget.
End of report.
THE FILE GOES IN THE BLACK META
>>10487 →
Damn it!
>She slams her fist hard against the wall near her, seeing the current situation. Fumiko is injured, the whole team is dropping like flies, and on top of that, they just knocked down the damn building they were supposed to investigate! Where the hell is she supposed to start trying to fix this mess?
<I-I guess I owe you a beer... Oh... W-Well, maybe a milkshake instead.
Make it a chocolate martini, stand up straight, and cough as hard as you can.
>Right now she'd love to chew everyone out, every single one of her teammates, but she doesn't have time for that. In a critical situation, the best thing is to just focus on what's right in front of you and deal with the rest later. Digging through her bag, Gumi pulls out a caramel lollipop and eats it in three quick bites. Feeling much more relaxed thanks to the sugar, she helps Fumiko lean back against a nearby wall, holding her stomach and back to make sure she doesn't move too much.
Listen, I'm going to try to close the wound. I don't do this kind of thing often, so it might hurt. Try to hold on, okay?
>Having finished the lollipop, Gumi spat into it until it was full of slobber, then carelessly shoved it right into Fumiko's wound. Once inside, she held the protruding end with her lips and began blowing to force her saliva deeper. This unhygienic measure aimed to use her power in a controlled and less harmful way. Through the glucose in her spit, she would accelerate the inflammation process of Fumiko's cells, thereby reducing blood flow into her lungs and preventing air loss.
You're going to need someone to check on you later; this thing won't last even an hour. If we even have an hour...
>Gumi's first aid attempt was nowhere near a real solution. All she did was plug a water leak with gum. It might work at first, but sooner or later it's going to burst again, and when that happens, it's better if they're already out of this place. In any case, it should be enough for Fumiko to catch her breath and regain a little mobility, if they're lucky.
I'm going to check on the rest, come with me if you can.
>Luck wasn't exactly something they had going for them in the current situation. There were more injured agents, and god forbid they end up as stains on their record. She knows well that their mission was to gather information, but that just went down the drain because someone knocked down the site they were supposed to investigate. Whatever, since that part is ruined, she might as well try to help the rest. Starting with Linda, who's under the rubble. At least she won't need a smoke screen to get close thanks to all the dust the building kicked up.
1d100 = 10
Damn it!
>She slams her fist hard against the wall near her, seeing the current situation. Fumiko is injured, the whole team is dropping like flies, and on top of that, they just knocked down the damn building they were supposed to investigate! Where the hell is she supposed to start trying to fix this mess?
<I-I guess I owe you a beer... Oh... W-Well, maybe a milkshake instead.
Make it a chocolate martini, stand up straight, and cough as hard as you can.
>Right now she'd love to chew everyone out, every single one of her teammates, but she doesn't have time for that. In a critical situation, the best thing is to just focus on what's right in front of you and deal with the rest later. Digging through her bag, Gumi pulls out a caramel lollipop and eats it in three quick bites. Feeling much more relaxed thanks to the sugar, she helps Fumiko lean back against a nearby wall, holding her stomach and back to make sure she doesn't move too much.
Listen, I'm going to try to close the wound. I don't do this kind of thing often, so it might hurt. Try to hold on, okay?
>Having finished the lollipop, Gumi spat into it until it was full of slobber, then carelessly shoved it right into Fumiko's wound. Once inside, she held the protruding end with her lips and began blowing to force her saliva deeper. This unhygienic measure aimed to use her power in a controlled and less harmful way. Through the glucose in her spit, she would accelerate the inflammation process of Fumiko's cells, thereby reducing blood flow into her lungs and preventing air loss.
You're going to need someone to check on you later; this thing won't last even an hour. If we even have an hour...
>Gumi's first aid attempt was nowhere near a real solution. All she did was plug a water leak with gum. It might work at first, but sooner or later it's going to burst again, and when that happens, it's better if they're already out of this place. In any case, it should be enough for Fumiko to catch her breath and regain a little mobility, if they're lucky.
I'm going to check on the rest, come with me if you can.
>Luck wasn't exactly something they had going for them in the current situation. There were more injured agents, and god forbid they end up as stains on their record. She knows well that their mission was to gather information, but that just went down the drain because someone knocked down the site they were supposed to investigate. Whatever, since that part is ruined, she might as well try to help the rest. Starting with Linda, who's under the rubble. At least she won't need a smoke screen to get close thanks to all the dust the building kicked up.
1d100 = 10
>>10487 →
>Thimble is a fan of falls, it wasn't long ago that in his free time, when he wasn't too scared to bury his face in the dirt, he started watching funny fall videos. It all stems from personal experience, and that is, from time to time, Sans weakens his bones without warning him and he ends up falling face-first to the ground trying to walk. Falling, for example, while holding up his pants and having them fall down like what happened to Patoso, was common, it didn't make a top list of falls. What he could consider the best falls, however, were, for example, the fall in crypto value, the fall of an anonymous site's servers due to a fictional battle, the fall of the Berlin Wall, and more.
>Among the worst falls, however, were the helicopter crash of some idols from the industry, the fall of a pair of twin buildings, the fall of a rap musician and a member of a famous old boyband, all sentimental and catastrophic falls. Now, with the building weakening in front of him, Thimble had to hurry and qualify what that fall might be. It was true that it was dangerous and imminent, but if we had to talk about aesthetics... Someone dragged Thimble away, so he couldn't finish his evaluation. It was Linda, who looked breathless and partially desperate. As a professional in the hacking world, Thimble remained calm and only commented.
Well, if it's for the dietary and not sexual needs of your exotic animals, I think I can do it. Let's put together a feeding plan, do you have a pen? Let's see... Kitties, Trotuman, Cachorrao... And what about your hyena...? Agent Linda?
(...)
UAAAHHH!!! HAAAAH!! Ahh... Ha.... GAAAGHHK-! I'm sorry!! I'm so sorry! It should have been me, damn it! IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME, OLIVER! NOO!!
>He opened his eyes, screaming as if his life was escaping his mouth. Thimble began to cry, choking on snot and drool, out of the trance that had been imposed on him before the fight. From his fragile and trembling attitude, it was evident that he had returned to having enormous panic and fear. And it was no less, his butt hurt as if he had been kicked very hard, and even worse, he couldn't move. He wished the dust would cover him, after all, he still had the image of that atrocious death. Unconsciously confusing the disaster that befell Linda with that of his entertainment and music idols, Thimble screamed until he was hoarse or until Patoso intervened, whichever came first.
Thon, you always with that kind and trustworthy attitude... I think, I think you look like my mother... Please stop worrying about the mission. And-and ask for help. We need it!
>When he calmed down, Thimble held Agent Patoso's cheek, and highlighted his qualities without even thinking about it. Perhaps he had reached a point of calm where the state of fear and alertness was such that the boy's receptors had fried for a few long seconds, during which he confessed to the agent that he was taking care of him. Until reason turned back on, slowly, with Thimble observing his surroundings and how little he could do given the weakness of his contract, it seemed useless. Thimble simply lowered his hand from Patoso's cheek to his jacket pocket, in search of his cell phone, and when he got it, he first looked for games on the Play Store for a moment, and then checked his contacts, ready to call everyone at the same time.
We need reinforcements... From National Security. A rescue team. The army, the coast guard, Greenpeace, the WHO, Paw Patrol...
1d100 = 4
>Thimble is a fan of falls, it wasn't long ago that in his free time, when he wasn't too scared to bury his face in the dirt, he started watching funny fall videos. It all stems from personal experience, and that is, from time to time, Sans weakens his bones without warning him and he ends up falling face-first to the ground trying to walk. Falling, for example, while holding up his pants and having them fall down like what happened to Patoso, was common, it didn't make a top list of falls. What he could consider the best falls, however, were, for example, the fall in crypto value, the fall of an anonymous site's servers due to a fictional battle, the fall of the Berlin Wall, and more.
>Among the worst falls, however, were the helicopter crash of some idols from the industry, the fall of a pair of twin buildings, the fall of a rap musician and a member of a famous old boyband, all sentimental and catastrophic falls. Now, with the building weakening in front of him, Thimble had to hurry and qualify what that fall might be. It was true that it was dangerous and imminent, but if we had to talk about aesthetics... Someone dragged Thimble away, so he couldn't finish his evaluation. It was Linda, who looked breathless and partially desperate. As a professional in the hacking world, Thimble remained calm and only commented.
Well, if it's for the dietary and not sexual needs of your exotic animals, I think I can do it. Let's put together a feeding plan, do you have a pen? Let's see... Kitties, Trotuman, Cachorrao... And what about your hyena...? Agent Linda?
(...)
UAAAHHH!!! HAAAAH!! Ahh... Ha.... GAAAGHHK-! I'm sorry!! I'm so sorry! It should have been me, damn it! IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME, OLIVER! NOO!!
>He opened his eyes, screaming as if his life was escaping his mouth. Thimble began to cry, choking on snot and drool, out of the trance that had been imposed on him before the fight. From his fragile and trembling attitude, it was evident that he had returned to having enormous panic and fear. And it was no less, his butt hurt as if he had been kicked very hard, and even worse, he couldn't move. He wished the dust would cover him, after all, he still had the image of that atrocious death. Unconsciously confusing the disaster that befell Linda with that of his entertainment and music idols, Thimble screamed until he was hoarse or until Patoso intervened, whichever came first.
Thon, you always with that kind and trustworthy attitude... I think, I think you look like my mother... Please stop worrying about the mission. And-and ask for help. We need it!
>When he calmed down, Thimble held Agent Patoso's cheek, and highlighted his qualities without even thinking about it. Perhaps he had reached a point of calm where the state of fear and alertness was such that the boy's receptors had fried for a few long seconds, during which he confessed to the agent that he was taking care of him. Until reason turned back on, slowly, with Thimble observing his surroundings and how little he could do given the weakness of his contract, it seemed useless. Thimble simply lowered his hand from Patoso's cheek to his jacket pocket, in search of his cell phone, and when he got it, he first looked for games on the Play Store for a moment, and then checked his contacts, ready to call everyone at the same time.
We need reinforcements... From National Security. A rescue team. The army, the coast guard, Greenpeace, the WHO, Paw Patrol...
1d100 = 4
>>10485 →
>Leela
A line takes over the monitor screen, straight as the lips on Leela's ever-sour face. She lets out a long sigh in sync with the dead man's. Since she doesn't have a watch, she checks the one on the soldier's wrist.
"Time of death..."
With a pen, she leaves the note for whoever might care, which apparently is no one. Amidst the stench of amputation and sobs, Leela's theory: Those who die are the true winners, is an idea that remains present and shielded.
Upon leaving the ward, Leela suffers a coughing fit and has to grab onto something to avoid collapsing from the smoke, which also irritates her eyes. Hunched over, her mouth can't decide whether to pant or inhale, sounding like a worn-out rubber duck. Perhaps it's poor nutrition; she was never one to watch what she ate. She pulls out a handkerchief to wipe her sweat, the same handkerchief she presses against her mouth before starting to walk again.
"Ugh..."
She moves to the back of the black van and buckles up. She puts it on wrong, and if she's unlucky, she'll surely end up strangled. Her usual modes of transport are typically public buses or the subway, and both options lack a seatbelt.
Throughout the entire journey, Leela closes her eyes and concentrates all her efforts on not emptying her aching stomach.
(Maybe I should. Here and now. Puke in their damn faces and make them crash!)
She doesn't say it out loud, believing there's no point in getting angry about how fast they're going. In the end, everyone is equally doomed, and that's the good news.
"529$... I don't need more"
It was more of a murmur than a comment. That's what the Steamdeck was worth the last time she checked. One could say that the ability to buy it as soon as the mission is over is the only thing keeping Leela from hanging like a piñata.
"As you wish... I'll have your companions continue with this curse called life"
She says the last part with more volume and presence. Then she hunches over and buries her head in her hands, a groan can be heard; she seems to be crying, but in reality, she's holding back laughter.
>Leela
A line takes over the monitor screen, straight as the lips on Leela's ever-sour face. She lets out a long sigh in sync with the dead man's. Since she doesn't have a watch, she checks the one on the soldier's wrist.
"Time of death..."
With a pen, she leaves the note for whoever might care, which apparently is no one. Amidst the stench of amputation and sobs, Leela's theory: Those who die are the true winners, is an idea that remains present and shielded.
Upon leaving the ward, Leela suffers a coughing fit and has to grab onto something to avoid collapsing from the smoke, which also irritates her eyes. Hunched over, her mouth can't decide whether to pant or inhale, sounding like a worn-out rubber duck. Perhaps it's poor nutrition; she was never one to watch what she ate. She pulls out a handkerchief to wipe her sweat, the same handkerchief she presses against her mouth before starting to walk again.
"Ugh..."
She moves to the back of the black van and buckles up. She puts it on wrong, and if she's unlucky, she'll surely end up strangled. Her usual modes of transport are typically public buses or the subway, and both options lack a seatbelt.
Throughout the entire journey, Leela closes her eyes and concentrates all her efforts on not emptying her aching stomach.
(Maybe I should. Here and now. Puke in their damn faces and make them crash!)
She doesn't say it out loud, believing there's no point in getting angry about how fast they're going. In the end, everyone is equally doomed, and that's the good news.
"529$... I don't need more"
It was more of a murmur than a comment. That's what the Steamdeck was worth the last time she checked. One could say that the ability to buy it as soon as the mission is over is the only thing keeping Leela from hanging like a piñata.
"As you wish... I'll have your companions continue with this curse called life"
She says the last part with more volume and presence. Then she hunches over and buries her head in her hands, a groan can be heard; she seems to be crying, but in reality, she's holding back laughter.
300,608
With an earthy, raw, and dry taste, Fluorite discreetly vomits argillic material. She disguises it by sketching a smile and rewinding memories that obey a soundless, formless voice. For the 800 years following the Betelgeuse supernova explosion, a parasitic frequency continually forces beings of the purest inclusions to expel clay and form Argilita. A full, direct, and immortal life form that escapes through desperate and scattered cries of eternal, mundane, simple, and extremely deformed conviction. Uncontemplable, as she believed herself to be forever, Uranocircita is unable to ring Argilita on the nearest horizon, full of stars. Tearing through the omnipresent clarity, she possesses an unshakeable belief that does not depend on an object of unshakeable belief worth believing in.
The silicoclastic species is a life form based on hives of dark particles stored in a defined chemical composition, minerals. From phosphates, sulfates, carbonates, silicates, and even fossilized resins, this species coexists on Earth alongside others of equal intelligence. Gems not only shine for their varied colors, abundant intelligence, strength, or beauty, but they stand out for their imperishable capacity. In short, immortality. Even if a gem's body breaks into a thousand pieces, as long as most of its fragments are recovered and the inclusions residing there remain, the gems will reassemble and revive time and time again. In this way, for over 300,000 years, gems have inhabited both an immaculate paradise and a war-torn hell.
The Crystalline Earth is an extensive island located on the ancient caldera of Yellowstone, in the northern hemisphere of the planet. This landmass hosts a large and unique ecosystem composed of organic and inorganic beings. On the island, animals, carbon-based terrestrial beings, do not exceed one meter in height. Mineral life forms and the evaporative phenotype of inclusions function as regulators and conservators for these species. Outside the island, in the ocean and on other continents, natural life develops without interruption. It is a fact that the saltwater mass covering the planet comprises 90% of the Earth's surface.
The Crust, is a giant underground complex located 100 kilometers below the Earth's surface, with an extent covering 5 tectonic plates under the ancient American continent, at the boundary between the lithosphere and the asthenosphere. In this subsoil lives the exocryde, a vast population of humans, carbon-based terrestrial beings, whose civilization numbers in the trillions of individuals. Mineral life forms and the magmatic phenotype of inclusions function as exterminators and annihilators for their species. Due to the heterogeneous presence of their inclusions throughout their complex composition, the imperishable capacity of exocrydes has deformed their immortality in perverse ways.
>Slots
None.
<Players
Leucosapphire
Taaffeite
<Waiting
Smoky Quartz
Rhodochrosite
https://youtu.be/VSZF6_StqYs?si=S_v35we0ckL_F5N3
▶
With an earthy, raw, and dry taste, Fluorite discreetly vomits argillic material. She disguises it by sketching a smile and rewinding memories that obey a soundless, formless voice. For the 800 years following the Betelgeuse supernova explosion, a parasitic frequency continually forces beings of the purest inclusions to expel clay and form Argilita. A full, direct, and immortal life form that escapes through desperate and scattered cries of eternal, mundane, simple, and extremely deformed conviction. Uncontemplable, as she believed herself to be forever, Uranocircita is unable to ring Argilita on the nearest horizon, full of stars. Tearing through the omnipresent clarity, she possesses an unshakeable belief that does not depend on an object of unshakeable belief worth believing in.
The silicoclastic species is a life form based on hives of dark particles stored in a defined chemical composition, minerals. From phosphates, sulfates, carbonates, silicates, and even fossilized resins, this species coexists on Earth alongside others of equal intelligence. Gems not only shine for their varied colors, abundant intelligence, strength, or beauty, but they stand out for their imperishable capacity. In short, immortality. Even if a gem's body breaks into a thousand pieces, as long as most of its fragments are recovered and the inclusions residing there remain, the gems will reassemble and revive time and time again. In this way, for over 300,000 years, gems have inhabited both an immaculate paradise and a war-torn hell.
The Crystalline Earth is an extensive island located on the ancient caldera of Yellowstone, in the northern hemisphere of the planet. This landmass hosts a large and unique ecosystem composed of organic and inorganic beings. On the island, animals, carbon-based terrestrial beings, do not exceed one meter in height. Mineral life forms and the evaporative phenotype of inclusions function as regulators and conservators for these species. Outside the island, in the ocean and on other continents, natural life develops without interruption. It is a fact that the saltwater mass covering the planet comprises 90% of the Earth's surface.
The Crust, is a giant underground complex located 100 kilometers below the Earth's surface, with an extent covering 5 tectonic plates under the ancient American continent, at the boundary between the lithosphere and the asthenosphere. In this subsoil lives the exocryde, a vast population of humans, carbon-based terrestrial beings, whose civilization numbers in the trillions of individuals. Mineral life forms and the magmatic phenotype of inclusions function as exterminators and annihilators for their species. Due to the heterogeneous presence of their inclusions throughout their complex composition, the imperishable capacity of exocrydes has deformed their immortality in perverse ways.
>Slots
None.
<Players
Leucosapphire
Taaffeite
<Waiting
Smoky Quartz
Rhodochrosite
https://youtu.be/VSZF6_StqYs?si=S_v35we0ckL_F5N3
▶
>>7271 →
>It darkened, temporarily, and while the white particulate ground is perfectly visible, it is difficult for you to make out Uranocircita clearly due to the various degrees of incomplete darkness covering her. Although the shadow rising over you, like hers, is light, Uranocircita suffers the most from the reduction in light, not because she lacks energy, but because she was always accustomed to seeing clearly since she was a source herself. Her face, with traces of irritation, is familiar to you; it is the expression she used to use to kick others out of her cave. After all, no matter how small she appears, she is over a thousand years old; her habits cannot die so easily. As the light returns little by little, you can see Argilite melting against a wall, leaving the clay area they use as shelter. Kunzite and Solid are still strolling, far away and entertained with each other; you could expect no less from Kunzite. They were illuminated first by the thick, pink, human-like luminescent fog. You can understand this sudden variation in the visibility of the Crust thanks to the records of Rose Diamond and her human coexistence. The rain, clouds, or pink fog arise from human transformation, from their vaporization into inclusion forms, and since you arrived in the Crust, it has remained constant because human release and annihilation has remained constant. Now that there are giant exocrid humans eating and assimilating more humans, deforming into insect-like shapes, the flow is not precisely stable, and gems with low light capacity might feel the consequences in fatigue and rapid wear. Uranocircita watches you speak, averting her gaze as soon as she perceives your hesitation. It is precisely the green in her eyes that is most familiar to you when near her; perhaps there are traces of minimal radiation in that area. Since the eyes are artificial for all gems, Anatase must have failed to remove that radiation from that place. She justifies needing to hear the answer to her questions firsthand, mentioning the multi-denomination that persisted with you even when you arrived in the Crust. She does not use hurried words to speak and explain; she wishes to keep you out of her judgment so as not to harm either of you accidentally.
(Uranocircita) I had no other way to find out. Here, everyone calls you by a different name every time they mention you. And even if I want to say that it is not your fault, or that if it exists, I would want to erase it completely, I refuse to decide it now, so hastily. I know it is most likely yes, and that much of what you did facilitated terrible things happening to several gems, but I only wish to listen to you. There is no crime in doing so, is there? If we had the time we had back then, I would wish to listen to you again and again, until the end, to be able to understand it completely. Wouldn't that be something you would also wish for Anatase or Dumortierite...? Of course, it would be foolish and unfair for our mistakes to simply fade away with time. But constantly waiting for hatred and rejection is not much better.
>You'd have to rip Onix out of Anatasa to have even a slim chance of rebuilding her, hoping she doesn't turn into a heartless machine like she was before, perhaps incapable of ever growing again. Likewise, even if somehow you all managed to drain Anatasa and isolate her titanium mineral, she's been so affected by strange materials that it's impossible for her to recover her identity, let alone a fake one like Silvita. Dumortierita too, perhaps, due to the disaster in her head, but you couldn't think of a failed solution for her. Uranocircita took your hand at some point, without you even noticing. But even though she came closer to you again, she didn't immediately seize the chance to stop you. She stayed within a certain margin, superficially holding only your fingers, waiting for you to realize so she could offer an incredibly bright smile, yet not devoid of sorrow. After her question, you might have the feeling that perhaps just wandering for years in complete darkness while listening to her was all you needed. Uranocircita, after all, even being understanding, resolutely decided for you. And when it darkens again due to increasing human activity, you can feel her grip tightening in response to the change. Hearing your reminiscences in that seemed decisive to her, or at least you could feel her attentive to the changes in your voice. Uranocircita didn't address the topic directly; she started hesitantly, but didn't take long to assure and respond with more confidence. She spoke with an enthusiasm that didn't feel out of place for a gem like her, even considering her past and everything she said about herself.
(Uranocircita) Maybe I've been away from the Crystal Earth for too long and my character has softened, but I stopped thinking that everything that happened around that cave was completely bad. Antofilita insisted on building an observatory, hoping it would be visited in secret and develop a fascination with the sky as great as Axinita's. Or was it Axinita and Aragonito who brought it up in the first place? I'm sure you have more happy memories than I do, ones I don't even remember the details of. Particularly, I haven't finished thanking Kunzita for what she tried to do for me, visiting me for years. Being so terrible with mysteries, and too easy to convince, seeing her act seriously gives me a sense of fear. With everything that happened, it's not like I've started thanking her yet...
>Her mind wandered as she spoke, bringing forth questions and opinions. Maybe it was or wasn't her goal, but the fact that she recounts her memories with such freedom pushes you to take her own seriously as well. After all, she doesn't long for or seek escape like she did before, but is quite disapproving of her current gestures having such a clear idea in mind. With the tips of her fingers rubbing her cheek, you could almost guess the few phrases she exchanged with Kunzita. And when you turn to look at the aforementioned one, you can also fill yourself with a certain impression, seeing her stopped and greeting in your direction, as if just mentioning her had given her a supernatural ability to interfere from a distance. Uranocircita didn't notice. She was immobilized, even after what was decisive in saying that perhaps it should have been a priority to only protect the gems that were valuable to you. Her hair fell at an irregular angle, touching one of her eyelashes, after she slightly turned her head. Uranocircita contradicted you.
(Uranocircita) However, saving all the gems, ending this conflict, protecting your sisters, that's what you wanted in the first place, right? It's the reason Dioptasa admired you, and the reason you decided to descend to the Crust. It wasn't an empty goal, but one you shared with other combat gems, like Taaffeite, or Anatase, for example. Maybe you trusted that you could find a solution among millions, or that an opportunity would open up sooner or later where you wouldn't have to sacrifice anyone. And probably now Anatase is trusting that it's enough to temporarily reconstruct gems to show them to Fluorite, eliminate her, eliminate them, or something similar. It was just all these scenarios that failed, not your desires. I've always believed there are very few things worth trusting, none strong or exceptional enough to achieve an unshakable belief. But I managed to trust you deeply in the past. I can trust myself to prevent you from giving up, or to find a way where you don't despise your suffering. I will try firmly because, besides, I want it too. I want you to make me a gem as happy as no other, and to love me intensely even though I'm not made for it, Leucosapphire. Although coming from you it may have sounded more embarrassing several times...
>By repeating something she mentioned in the past, and by trying not to discard what moved you in the first place, Uranocircite's responses quickly turned into a confession to such a degree that you could only think she had been holding parallel thoughts without taking into account that difference between intensity and magnitude. As she drew closer, while she missed only a small contact, your attention could be diverted only to Urano's face, which was flooded with blush in green tones. Despite the several levels on which she is capable of giving you clarity, Uranocircite was at the same time a clumsy gem unable to modulate, restrict, or direct the form of her love. Her gaze, tenderly, gave no sign of hiding such foolishness of wanting to feel you much closer again; it was a sudden manifestation. And when you responded in haste, you could see her relieved just to hear your confirmation, with a body posture pointing her wrists in your direction as she released her fingers for a new grip. Slowly she wrapped her arms around your neck and closed her eyes. You could feel the surprise Urano experienced at your contact, arching her spine and barely managing not to blink. After confirming your intentions, she tried to relax, timidly offering her lips for your disposal. Her affection surfaced, indicating she must remain united for dozens of seconds, until, restless, she pulled away feeling charmingly bewildered.
(Uranocircite) ...Sapphire. What was that? I felt as if I had recovered fragments, no, it was also cold. Come here, again. Please. Don't let me let go this time, I want to understand it...
>Onyx's whim turned out to be the reason why your most direct contact with Uranocircite felt so warm, although it is not something she can precisely guess. Even if there were records pointing to gems sharing this kind of behavior, perhaps from fleeting words of your master, Uranocircite is not only far from human culture but also from gem culture, and her confusion is visible. However, an involuntary movement of her hands behind you anticipates her eagerness in a direct request and a soft voice. They were not prolonged unions; on the contrary, the time range of their kisses was only 3 to 5 seconds before separating and retrying, continuously and superficially. The way she pushed her body against yours in comparison was significantly more representative of her situation, although you could have mixed feelings about voluntarily replicating something for which Tanzanite had been punished so many times.
>It darkened, temporarily, and while the white particulate ground is perfectly visible, it is difficult for you to make out Uranocircita clearly due to the various degrees of incomplete darkness covering her. Although the shadow rising over you, like hers, is light, Uranocircita suffers the most from the reduction in light, not because she lacks energy, but because she was always accustomed to seeing clearly since she was a source herself. Her face, with traces of irritation, is familiar to you; it is the expression she used to use to kick others out of her cave. After all, no matter how small she appears, she is over a thousand years old; her habits cannot die so easily. As the light returns little by little, you can see Argilite melting against a wall, leaving the clay area they use as shelter. Kunzite and Solid are still strolling, far away and entertained with each other; you could expect no less from Kunzite. They were illuminated first by the thick, pink, human-like luminescent fog. You can understand this sudden variation in the visibility of the Crust thanks to the records of Rose Diamond and her human coexistence. The rain, clouds, or pink fog arise from human transformation, from their vaporization into inclusion forms, and since you arrived in the Crust, it has remained constant because human release and annihilation has remained constant. Now that there are giant exocrid humans eating and assimilating more humans, deforming into insect-like shapes, the flow is not precisely stable, and gems with low light capacity might feel the consequences in fatigue and rapid wear. Uranocircita watches you speak, averting her gaze as soon as she perceives your hesitation. It is precisely the green in her eyes that is most familiar to you when near her; perhaps there are traces of minimal radiation in that area. Since the eyes are artificial for all gems, Anatase must have failed to remove that radiation from that place. She justifies needing to hear the answer to her questions firsthand, mentioning the multi-denomination that persisted with you even when you arrived in the Crust. She does not use hurried words to speak and explain; she wishes to keep you out of her judgment so as not to harm either of you accidentally.
(Uranocircita) I had no other way to find out. Here, everyone calls you by a different name every time they mention you. And even if I want to say that it is not your fault, or that if it exists, I would want to erase it completely, I refuse to decide it now, so hastily. I know it is most likely yes, and that much of what you did facilitated terrible things happening to several gems, but I only wish to listen to you. There is no crime in doing so, is there? If we had the time we had back then, I would wish to listen to you again and again, until the end, to be able to understand it completely. Wouldn't that be something you would also wish for Anatase or Dumortierite...? Of course, it would be foolish and unfair for our mistakes to simply fade away with time. But constantly waiting for hatred and rejection is not much better.
>You'd have to rip Onix out of Anatasa to have even a slim chance of rebuilding her, hoping she doesn't turn into a heartless machine like she was before, perhaps incapable of ever growing again. Likewise, even if somehow you all managed to drain Anatasa and isolate her titanium mineral, she's been so affected by strange materials that it's impossible for her to recover her identity, let alone a fake one like Silvita. Dumortierita too, perhaps, due to the disaster in her head, but you couldn't think of a failed solution for her. Uranocircita took your hand at some point, without you even noticing. But even though she came closer to you again, she didn't immediately seize the chance to stop you. She stayed within a certain margin, superficially holding only your fingers, waiting for you to realize so she could offer an incredibly bright smile, yet not devoid of sorrow. After her question, you might have the feeling that perhaps just wandering for years in complete darkness while listening to her was all you needed. Uranocircita, after all, even being understanding, resolutely decided for you. And when it darkens again due to increasing human activity, you can feel her grip tightening in response to the change. Hearing your reminiscences in that seemed decisive to her, or at least you could feel her attentive to the changes in your voice. Uranocircita didn't address the topic directly; she started hesitantly, but didn't take long to assure and respond with more confidence. She spoke with an enthusiasm that didn't feel out of place for a gem like her, even considering her past and everything she said about herself.
(Uranocircita) Maybe I've been away from the Crystal Earth for too long and my character has softened, but I stopped thinking that everything that happened around that cave was completely bad. Antofilita insisted on building an observatory, hoping it would be visited in secret and develop a fascination with the sky as great as Axinita's. Or was it Axinita and Aragonito who brought it up in the first place? I'm sure you have more happy memories than I do, ones I don't even remember the details of. Particularly, I haven't finished thanking Kunzita for what she tried to do for me, visiting me for years. Being so terrible with mysteries, and too easy to convince, seeing her act seriously gives me a sense of fear. With everything that happened, it's not like I've started thanking her yet...
>Her mind wandered as she spoke, bringing forth questions and opinions. Maybe it was or wasn't her goal, but the fact that she recounts her memories with such freedom pushes you to take her own seriously as well. After all, she doesn't long for or seek escape like she did before, but is quite disapproving of her current gestures having such a clear idea in mind. With the tips of her fingers rubbing her cheek, you could almost guess the few phrases she exchanged with Kunzita. And when you turn to look at the aforementioned one, you can also fill yourself with a certain impression, seeing her stopped and greeting in your direction, as if just mentioning her had given her a supernatural ability to interfere from a distance. Uranocircita didn't notice. She was immobilized, even after what was decisive in saying that perhaps it should have been a priority to only protect the gems that were valuable to you. Her hair fell at an irregular angle, touching one of her eyelashes, after she slightly turned her head. Uranocircita contradicted you.
(Uranocircita) However, saving all the gems, ending this conflict, protecting your sisters, that's what you wanted in the first place, right? It's the reason Dioptasa admired you, and the reason you decided to descend to the Crust. It wasn't an empty goal, but one you shared with other combat gems, like Taaffeite, or Anatase, for example. Maybe you trusted that you could find a solution among millions, or that an opportunity would open up sooner or later where you wouldn't have to sacrifice anyone. And probably now Anatase is trusting that it's enough to temporarily reconstruct gems to show them to Fluorite, eliminate her, eliminate them, or something similar. It was just all these scenarios that failed, not your desires. I've always believed there are very few things worth trusting, none strong or exceptional enough to achieve an unshakable belief. But I managed to trust you deeply in the past. I can trust myself to prevent you from giving up, or to find a way where you don't despise your suffering. I will try firmly because, besides, I want it too. I want you to make me a gem as happy as no other, and to love me intensely even though I'm not made for it, Leucosapphire. Although coming from you it may have sounded more embarrassing several times...
>By repeating something she mentioned in the past, and by trying not to discard what moved you in the first place, Uranocircite's responses quickly turned into a confession to such a degree that you could only think she had been holding parallel thoughts without taking into account that difference between intensity and magnitude. As she drew closer, while she missed only a small contact, your attention could be diverted only to Urano's face, which was flooded with blush in green tones. Despite the several levels on which she is capable of giving you clarity, Uranocircite was at the same time a clumsy gem unable to modulate, restrict, or direct the form of her love. Her gaze, tenderly, gave no sign of hiding such foolishness of wanting to feel you much closer again; it was a sudden manifestation. And when you responded in haste, you could see her relieved just to hear your confirmation, with a body posture pointing her wrists in your direction as she released her fingers for a new grip. Slowly she wrapped her arms around your neck and closed her eyes. You could feel the surprise Urano experienced at your contact, arching her spine and barely managing not to blink. After confirming your intentions, she tried to relax, timidly offering her lips for your disposal. Her affection surfaced, indicating she must remain united for dozens of seconds, until, restless, she pulled away feeling charmingly bewildered.
(Uranocircite) ...Sapphire. What was that? I felt as if I had recovered fragments, no, it was also cold. Come here, again. Please. Don't let me let go this time, I want to understand it...
>Onyx's whim turned out to be the reason why your most direct contact with Uranocircite felt so warm, although it is not something she can precisely guess. Even if there were records pointing to gems sharing this kind of behavior, perhaps from fleeting words of your master, Uranocircite is not only far from human culture but also from gem culture, and her confusion is visible. However, an involuntary movement of her hands behind you anticipates her eagerness in a direct request and a soft voice. They were not prolonged unions; on the contrary, the time range of their kisses was only 3 to 5 seconds before separating and retrying, continuously and superficially. The way she pushed her body against yours in comparison was significantly more representative of her situation, although you could have mixed feelings about voluntarily replicating something for which Tanzanite had been punished so many times.
>>10453 →
(...)
(Ruby) Earth! I'm Earth! Oh, wait, hold on. I'm not just some clay for you to call "Earth." Besides, if I were, soil and ground are way more than sand, silt, and humus—you gotta specify a type. Or are you calling me that because eventually I'll have almost the same importance as the whole planet Earth? That's dangerous! I could start feeling like someday, all moments in the world and the existence of Earth will be mine... And I'd deserve it.
(Chrysocolla) Doubt you'll pull that off, especially quoting Fluorite. Her popularity has tanked so much you're risking your own by doing it.
(Earth) But paranormal events happen when I mimic her here, in the Crust!
>Some screens around went dark, while others started showing static. You didn't expect gems from the Surface, especially one as new as Ruby, to discover inclusion control keys out of nowhere. Voice commands that channel part of Fluorite's own inclusion manipulation to act on, say, stains or pyroclastic beasts. Ruby takes it with great sportsmanship, while Chrysocolla, clinging to her new bitterness, discourages her. Uranocircite wasn't hiding for no reason; Chrysocolla was notably insistent in the past, and her impression of Ruby is that of another disastrous gem. Showing herself, she simply redirects Ruby's attention from you to her. Ruby has fun meeting Uranus too, until you start talking about animal pets, which in the Crust could only be imagined as painfully deformed androids.
(Uranocircite) Ruby.
(Earth) Oh, there you are! I've never seen you up close. You're identical to a gem on Crystal Earth. Her name is Uranophane; she has a lead coating that makes her always look bright and melted. Do you two know each other!? Eh...? What about appliance androids? Of course, you weren't here when it happened, so you don't know, Leucosapphire. If not for Uranocircite, those aliens would've eaten us and then excreted us, turning us into their little dust-sisters and dirt-sisters. Aren't they incredibly untimely?
(Uranocircita) It was a few years ago. I started feeling a strange discomfort in the middle of my body, and then I spat out that one, brown, from my mouth. It wouldn't stop talking, or duplicating, and sometimes it tried to manipulate Coco. So I just scared it off by emitting radiation. They get silly and docile when irradiated, no, even before that, just from thinking they might get irradiated. It takes no merit at all.
(Tierra) Uhu, uh-huh... Now let's talk about what truly matters: Space.
>It seems Argilita also had the ability to transmit itself between beings, storing itself inside inclusions within gems just like Limolita does. Uranocircita cannot fully describe the nature of Argilita since she is unaware of parasitic biological life. Probably the android Uranocircita took with her just kept floating around and vomiting dirt in space. Anyway, Uranocircita is clear: she is not above clays unless, from now on, it's through deception. Ruby pretends to understand and nods; seconds later, Uranocircita and you leave the conversation. (...) Onix doesn't quite grasp your words, since many times when referring to herself, she's actually talking about Cornaline instead. Kunzita insisted that what you said was crucial to determine your identity among a gem of the Crust, Surface, Ancient, Phenotype, or Rebel. Before they pile titles on you again, Spectrolite and Solid met up with you once more. Spectrolite still maintains Crust manners, delicately lifting her dress as she walks; you can also notice she's affected by the light level. She began speaking from her perspective, having faced certain obstacles with more luck than brains. Her perplexed voice is interrupted by Solid, whom she's likely linked to as a servant, for Spec's sake. Upon minimizing, Onix's reaction is to confirm, while Kunzita nods, slightly embarrassed.
(Espectrolita) Miss White, you have no idea how much we searched for you all over the Crust. My human teacher Gips, amidst this crisis, decided to return to being one, uniting her brother and sister into a single existence. And-y and then she kicked me out! You know I'm not a gem accustomed to acting on my own! Although, something tells me she had already warned me about something similar...
(Solid) Unemployed Spectrolite cured cracks I had in my head. I think unemployed Spectrolite is much better than employed Spectrolite.
(Espectrolita) No, no, no! Absolutely not! Gips, any other gem with minimal medical knowledge completely surpasses me.
(Onix) Kunzita and I are aware.
(Espectrolita) Oni… (...) Little Onyx visited the Research Center all the time; no one found it strange that she obtained modifications of her own android, she was extremely diligent. It was a pity, I'm so sorry… Miss White, while I can't guarantee that Solid won't collapse, she won't channel Fluorite or any other copy of Fluorite stored in the Crust into herself. That I can guarantee, even though I haven't guaranteed much of anything in a long time.
>It was due to everything that happened with Dumortierite and Silvite that Onyx left her job with the androids and spent a lot of time with humans and Hawk Eye. Gems like Spectrolite who were kept apart from the conflict, while unable to prevent it, were aware. Carnelian said it would be the same for Solid, for the survival of the rest of the gems, but even with a precedent confirmed by Spectrolite, Solid appears stable, and she herself while playing with Kunzita, another of her favorite gems. When Spectrolite finished her report, you met with Uranocircite. She didn't rush any decision after listening to Kunzita, and then after listening to you, she almost seemed aware of what you were thinking. Returning to clarifications that Peridotite made before your fall, Uranocircite mentions Crisocolla's dubious plans. Before being able to consider or reject, Kunzita intervenes.
(Uranocircite) Perhaps there won't be another chance for you to find Carnelian or other gems, but planning in the face of imminence hasn't been our strong suit. Honestly, do you think you can do it, Leucosapphire? Crisocolla mentioned fragments of ruby, and Ruby made a ridiculous demand about dreams and space. Spectrolite has a vague idea of the location. If patrolling alongside your teacher ensures you return…
(Kunzita) You can come with us, Uranus. Fufufu, why did you assume otherwise? It always gave me the impression that when it comes to the two of you, you usually tend to lose sight of the outside world. Do you think the same, Onix? Come here, show them, Onix. Oh, I wish I could learn to control one of those crustal boards to capture this inside it! And also capture both of them, of course.
(Onix) Hurry up, please. I can't get used to it.
(Kunzita) Our inclusions stopped forming deep connections, which is why I can't use my 1%, but in exchange our self-repair increased by 100%, and our weight decreased by 300%! Is it proven? I'm just exaggerating, it's not that much. But if things get tough, you can throw Uranus far away, very far, with the certainty that she won't break. She didn't break before, right?
>Knowing how accustomed Kunzita was to treasuring objects and memories of the gems, she would probably be one of the gems that would adapt best to communication technology in the Crust, if it worked. Onyx agreed to get closer, presenting minor complaints. And in an instant, ridiculously, you had Kunzita lifting Onyx into the air, throwing her and catching her repeatedly, the second's expression accentuating the situation. With Kunzita providing the specifications of their states, you had Uranus, accustomed to low gravity, barely noticing it. Kunzita concludes.
(...)
(Ruby) Earth! I'm Earth! Oh, wait, hold on. I'm not just some clay for you to call "Earth." Besides, if I were, soil and ground are way more than sand, silt, and humus—you gotta specify a type. Or are you calling me that because eventually I'll have almost the same importance as the whole planet Earth? That's dangerous! I could start feeling like someday, all moments in the world and the existence of Earth will be mine... And I'd deserve it.
(Chrysocolla) Doubt you'll pull that off, especially quoting Fluorite. Her popularity has tanked so much you're risking your own by doing it.
(Earth) But paranormal events happen when I mimic her here, in the Crust!
>Some screens around went dark, while others started showing static. You didn't expect gems from the Surface, especially one as new as Ruby, to discover inclusion control keys out of nowhere. Voice commands that channel part of Fluorite's own inclusion manipulation to act on, say, stains or pyroclastic beasts. Ruby takes it with great sportsmanship, while Chrysocolla, clinging to her new bitterness, discourages her. Uranocircite wasn't hiding for no reason; Chrysocolla was notably insistent in the past, and her impression of Ruby is that of another disastrous gem. Showing herself, she simply redirects Ruby's attention from you to her. Ruby has fun meeting Uranus too, until you start talking about animal pets, which in the Crust could only be imagined as painfully deformed androids.
(Uranocircite) Ruby.
(Earth) Oh, there you are! I've never seen you up close. You're identical to a gem on Crystal Earth. Her name is Uranophane; she has a lead coating that makes her always look bright and melted. Do you two know each other!? Eh...? What about appliance androids? Of course, you weren't here when it happened, so you don't know, Leucosapphire. If not for Uranocircite, those aliens would've eaten us and then excreted us, turning us into their little dust-sisters and dirt-sisters. Aren't they incredibly untimely?
(Uranocircita) It was a few years ago. I started feeling a strange discomfort in the middle of my body, and then I spat out that one, brown, from my mouth. It wouldn't stop talking, or duplicating, and sometimes it tried to manipulate Coco. So I just scared it off by emitting radiation. They get silly and docile when irradiated, no, even before that, just from thinking they might get irradiated. It takes no merit at all.
(Tierra) Uhu, uh-huh... Now let's talk about what truly matters: Space.
>It seems Argilita also had the ability to transmit itself between beings, storing itself inside inclusions within gems just like Limolita does. Uranocircita cannot fully describe the nature of Argilita since she is unaware of parasitic biological life. Probably the android Uranocircita took with her just kept floating around and vomiting dirt in space. Anyway, Uranocircita is clear: she is not above clays unless, from now on, it's through deception. Ruby pretends to understand and nods; seconds later, Uranocircita and you leave the conversation. (...) Onix doesn't quite grasp your words, since many times when referring to herself, she's actually talking about Cornaline instead. Kunzita insisted that what you said was crucial to determine your identity among a gem of the Crust, Surface, Ancient, Phenotype, or Rebel. Before they pile titles on you again, Spectrolite and Solid met up with you once more. Spectrolite still maintains Crust manners, delicately lifting her dress as she walks; you can also notice she's affected by the light level. She began speaking from her perspective, having faced certain obstacles with more luck than brains. Her perplexed voice is interrupted by Solid, whom she's likely linked to as a servant, for Spec's sake. Upon minimizing, Onix's reaction is to confirm, while Kunzita nods, slightly embarrassed.
(Espectrolita) Miss White, you have no idea how much we searched for you all over the Crust. My human teacher Gips, amidst this crisis, decided to return to being one, uniting her brother and sister into a single existence. And-y and then she kicked me out! You know I'm not a gem accustomed to acting on my own! Although, something tells me she had already warned me about something similar...
(Solid) Unemployed Spectrolite cured cracks I had in my head. I think unemployed Spectrolite is much better than employed Spectrolite.
(Espectrolita) No, no, no! Absolutely not! Gips, any other gem with minimal medical knowledge completely surpasses me.
(Onix) Kunzita and I are aware.
(Espectrolita) Oni… (...) Little Onyx visited the Research Center all the time; no one found it strange that she obtained modifications of her own android, she was extremely diligent. It was a pity, I'm so sorry… Miss White, while I can't guarantee that Solid won't collapse, she won't channel Fluorite or any other copy of Fluorite stored in the Crust into herself. That I can guarantee, even though I haven't guaranteed much of anything in a long time.
>It was due to everything that happened with Dumortierite and Silvite that Onyx left her job with the androids and spent a lot of time with humans and Hawk Eye. Gems like Spectrolite who were kept apart from the conflict, while unable to prevent it, were aware. Carnelian said it would be the same for Solid, for the survival of the rest of the gems, but even with a precedent confirmed by Spectrolite, Solid appears stable, and she herself while playing with Kunzita, another of her favorite gems. When Spectrolite finished her report, you met with Uranocircite. She didn't rush any decision after listening to Kunzita, and then after listening to you, she almost seemed aware of what you were thinking. Returning to clarifications that Peridotite made before your fall, Uranocircite mentions Crisocolla's dubious plans. Before being able to consider or reject, Kunzita intervenes.
(Uranocircite) Perhaps there won't be another chance for you to find Carnelian or other gems, but planning in the face of imminence hasn't been our strong suit. Honestly, do you think you can do it, Leucosapphire? Crisocolla mentioned fragments of ruby, and Ruby made a ridiculous demand about dreams and space. Spectrolite has a vague idea of the location. If patrolling alongside your teacher ensures you return…
(Kunzita) You can come with us, Uranus. Fufufu, why did you assume otherwise? It always gave me the impression that when it comes to the two of you, you usually tend to lose sight of the outside world. Do you think the same, Onix? Come here, show them, Onix. Oh, I wish I could learn to control one of those crustal boards to capture this inside it! And also capture both of them, of course.
(Onix) Hurry up, please. I can't get used to it.
(Kunzita) Our inclusions stopped forming deep connections, which is why I can't use my 1%, but in exchange our self-repair increased by 100%, and our weight decreased by 300%! Is it proven? I'm just exaggerating, it's not that much. But if things get tough, you can throw Uranus far away, very far, with the certainty that she won't break. She didn't break before, right?
>Knowing how accustomed Kunzita was to treasuring objects and memories of the gems, she would probably be one of the gems that would adapt best to communication technology in the Crust, if it worked. Onyx agreed to get closer, presenting minor complaints. And in an instant, ridiculously, you had Kunzita lifting Onyx into the air, throwing her and catching her repeatedly, the second's expression accentuating the situation. With Kunzita providing the specifications of their states, you had Uranus, accustomed to low gravity, barely noticing it. Kunzita concludes.
>>7274 →
>I'll try to reply in 1 week
Exams
https://youtu.be/uKsozdlaS1w?si=OuMVEcZpgxnNdnAv
▶The following turns have a short timeskip for both. And I just realized that chapter 20 is in the middle of the thread (>>2399 →). So I'll do chapter 21. (I'll take one of these days to update all the titles)
>I'll try to reply in 1 week
Exams
https://youtu.be/uKsozdlaS1w?si=OuMVEcZpgxnNdnAv
▶The following turns have a short timeskip for both. And I just realized that chapter 20 is in the middle of the thread (>>2399 →). So I'll do chapter 21. (I'll take one of these days to update all the titles)
Crater Abyss: [Episode V - A Song of the Hidden]
1d20 = 15
"Long before the kingdoms whose names now fill the maps existed, before men raised walls or sages learned to measure the passage of seasons, there was an era so remote that even the stones seem to have forgotten it. The elders tell that in those days the world was different, not because its mountains were different or because the seas occupied different shores, but because existence itself seemed to breathe in a different way. Winters lasted entire generations, forests grew to hide the horizon, and storms could remain over the same region for years without moving a single step. It was a time when creatures were born, lived, and died without ever understanding who truly ruled over them, for the power of the Archking Generalissimo Demon was so ancient that it seemed to be part of the natural laws of the world. Just as no one questions the existence of the sea or the arrival of night, no one questioned his dominion. He had been there since before memories, since before genealogies, since before the first songs."
"The tales describe him as a tyrant of inconceivable cruelty, but also as a figure so immense that it is impossible to distinguish where the ruler ended and his empire began. His fortresses spanned entire continents, his armies numbered in the trillions, and the three great slave races lived under a servitude that had lasted so long that many had forgotten even the idea of freedom. Children were born slaves, grew old as slaves, and died as slaves, while their grandchildren inherited the same chains. However, the old tales contain a strange contradiction that storytellers often mention without dwelling on it too much. If the Archking was as powerful as the legends tell, if he truly ruled over all known creation, then why did the world still exist? Why did cities keep growing? Why did rivers keep flowing and peoples keep multiplying under his shadow?."
>Pappipon the Chronicler.
https://youtu.be/7zwbAWq5HoE
▶The wind descended from the northern mountain ranges, carrying with it the cold of snows so ancient that no kingdom remembered when they had begun to cover those peaks. It flowed down the gray stone slopes, passed through coniferous forests whose trunks seemed like columns holding up the sky, and finally spread over the immense steppes that occupied the heart of the continent. There, the grasses swayed, forming yellow waves under the golden light of dawn, all leaning in the same direction as if obeying a silent will. From a distance, that vegetal ocean seemed infinite, broken only by dirt roads, small walled settlements, and the long columns of smoke left by caravans crossing the vast plains. However, none of that truly captured the gaze. Every traveler, every shepherd, every merchant, and every king ended up observing the same point on the horizon. There, where the land seemed to touch the heavens, stood a structure so colossal that it was impossible to calculate its size. A black tower, wider than many cities, pierced the clouds and disappeared among them, rising to heights where not even birds dared to fly. For countless generations, that mass had dominated the landscape. The living were born in its shadow, grew old watching it from afar, and died without ever understanding who had built it or for what purpose. It was so ancient that many considered it part of nature itself, as inevitable as the mountains or the seas.
"Slaves were born seeing that silhouette. Slaves died seeing that silhouette. And their children did the same. Its presence was so ancient that no one remembered a world without it."
As the wind continued to sweep across the steppes, something else began to stir. Animals were the first to notice. Large herds abandoned territories where they had remained for centuries. Birds altered migratory routes known since time immemorial. Wolves howled for entire nights, staring at clear skies where there was no moon. Fishermen returned terrified, claiming the sea remained motionless for hours, as if something gigantic were breathing beneath its waters. The elders began to have identical dreams. They dreamed of distant trumpets echoing beyond the clouds, of roots stirring beneath the earth, and of something immense moving in the darkness of a place no man had ever seen. The wise debated. The priests performed sacrifices. The rulers sent messengers. No one could understand what these omens meant. Meanwhile, the three great slave nations continued to do the only thing they had done for centuries: hate each other.
"Like idiots, we hated each other just like before."
Fortresses burned on the borders. Slaves died defending mountains whose names would be forgotten a generation later. Disputes over rivers, mines, and trade routes consumed thousands of lives each year. The slave kings exchanged threats, alliances, and betrayals while, above them all, the Archking Generalissimo Demon continued to rule, his authority extending over the entire world as naturally as winter spreads over the land when its season arrives. No one truly questioned his dominion. Some hated him. Others revered him. Most simply accepted that he had always been there. Fathers taught their children stories of his conquests in the same way they taught them the names of the stars or the course of rivers. It was a reality so ancient that it had ceased to seem like a choice.
Then the skies changed.
It didn't happen all at once. First, the stars disappeared for one night. Then, luminous cracks appeared between the clouds. Later, the trumpets arrived. Their sound swept across entire continents without anyone being able to pinpoint their origin. It didn't sound like a melody. It didn't sound like music. It sounded like a warning. Like the announcement of something inevitable. The oceans began to churn. The mountains trembled. Even the great Tower seemed to cast a different shadow under the sunlight. And then happened that which no chronicler managed to describe adequately. The firmament split open. Not like a storm breaking the clouds or lightning tearing the air. It was more like a wound, like a mirror shattering. An impossible fracture spreading across the sky. From that opening descended a single hand of light whose magnitude defied all comprehension. The slaves fell to their knees. The animals fled. The priests wept. And the hand pointed to three specific individuals in different parts of the world.
"What they received that day, no one knows for sure. The tales speak of a Soul. The temples speak of a blessing. The songs speak of a strength.... But others say they were simply more chains. But whatever the truth, something changed within them. The slaves began to lift their heads. The peoples began to remember grievances they had endured for generations. Resignation vanished. In its place appeared a fierce will that spread through cities, villages, and fortresses like a fire fueled by centuries of accumulated suffering. Thunder rumbled over the steppes. Hundreds of kilometers away, entire armies advanced. Millions of steps. Millions of spears. Millions of men convinced they understood what they were fighting for. Banners waved under blackened skies. Bonfires lit the nights. Thus began the rebellion. The following decades transformed the world into an immense tomb. Fields were covered with corpses. Walls crumbled. Entire forests disappeared under fire. Rivers carried more bodies than vessels. Every victory cost thousands of lives. Every defeat demanded even more sacrifices. Children grew up hearing the sound of war drums. The elderly died without ever knowing peace. Yet, generation after generation, the armies advanced. Slowly. Painfully. Like a tide impossible to stop."
"Each victory demanded a greater one. Each defeat justified a worse one. Entire cities disappeared under fire. Ancient forests were turned to ash. The oceans filled with the wreckage of fleets so vast they seemed like continents floating on the waves. And still they continued to advance. Step by step. Death after death. Oath after oath. The war dragged on for entire generations. Many of the soldiers who left at the beginning never lived to see the outcome. It was their children and their children's children who continued to fight. And when finally the three kings reached the heart of the enemy empire, they found the Archking waiting."
1d20 = 15
"Long before the kingdoms whose names now fill the maps existed, before men raised walls or sages learned to measure the passage of seasons, there was an era so remote that even the stones seem to have forgotten it. The elders tell that in those days the world was different, not because its mountains were different or because the seas occupied different shores, but because existence itself seemed to breathe in a different way. Winters lasted entire generations, forests grew to hide the horizon, and storms could remain over the same region for years without moving a single step. It was a time when creatures were born, lived, and died without ever understanding who truly ruled over them, for the power of the Archking Generalissimo Demon was so ancient that it seemed to be part of the natural laws of the world. Just as no one questions the existence of the sea or the arrival of night, no one questioned his dominion. He had been there since before memories, since before genealogies, since before the first songs."
"The tales describe him as a tyrant of inconceivable cruelty, but also as a figure so immense that it is impossible to distinguish where the ruler ended and his empire began. His fortresses spanned entire continents, his armies numbered in the trillions, and the three great slave races lived under a servitude that had lasted so long that many had forgotten even the idea of freedom. Children were born slaves, grew old as slaves, and died as slaves, while their grandchildren inherited the same chains. However, the old tales contain a strange contradiction that storytellers often mention without dwelling on it too much. If the Archking was as powerful as the legends tell, if he truly ruled over all known creation, then why did the world still exist? Why did cities keep growing? Why did rivers keep flowing and peoples keep multiplying under his shadow?."
>Pappipon the Chronicler.
https://youtu.be/7zwbAWq5HoE
▶The wind descended from the northern mountain ranges, carrying with it the cold of snows so ancient that no kingdom remembered when they had begun to cover those peaks. It flowed down the gray stone slopes, passed through coniferous forests whose trunks seemed like columns holding up the sky, and finally spread over the immense steppes that occupied the heart of the continent. There, the grasses swayed, forming yellow waves under the golden light of dawn, all leaning in the same direction as if obeying a silent will. From a distance, that vegetal ocean seemed infinite, broken only by dirt roads, small walled settlements, and the long columns of smoke left by caravans crossing the vast plains. However, none of that truly captured the gaze. Every traveler, every shepherd, every merchant, and every king ended up observing the same point on the horizon. There, where the land seemed to touch the heavens, stood a structure so colossal that it was impossible to calculate its size. A black tower, wider than many cities, pierced the clouds and disappeared among them, rising to heights where not even birds dared to fly. For countless generations, that mass had dominated the landscape. The living were born in its shadow, grew old watching it from afar, and died without ever understanding who had built it or for what purpose. It was so ancient that many considered it part of nature itself, as inevitable as the mountains or the seas."Slaves were born seeing that silhouette. Slaves died seeing that silhouette. And their children did the same. Its presence was so ancient that no one remembered a world without it."
As the wind continued to sweep across the steppes, something else began to stir. Animals were the first to notice. Large herds abandoned territories where they had remained for centuries. Birds altered migratory routes known since time immemorial. Wolves howled for entire nights, staring at clear skies where there was no moon. Fishermen returned terrified, claiming the sea remained motionless for hours, as if something gigantic were breathing beneath its waters. The elders began to have identical dreams. They dreamed of distant trumpets echoing beyond the clouds, of roots stirring beneath the earth, and of something immense moving in the darkness of a place no man had ever seen. The wise debated. The priests performed sacrifices. The rulers sent messengers. No one could understand what these omens meant. Meanwhile, the three great slave nations continued to do the only thing they had done for centuries: hate each other.
"Like idiots, we hated each other just like before."
Fortresses burned on the borders. Slaves died defending mountains whose names would be forgotten a generation later. Disputes over rivers, mines, and trade routes consumed thousands of lives each year. The slave kings exchanged threats, alliances, and betrayals while, above them all, the Archking Generalissimo Demon continued to rule, his authority extending over the entire world as naturally as winter spreads over the land when its season arrives. No one truly questioned his dominion. Some hated him. Others revered him. Most simply accepted that he had always been there. Fathers taught their children stories of his conquests in the same way they taught them the names of the stars or the course of rivers. It was a reality so ancient that it had ceased to seem like a choice.
Then the skies changed.
It didn't happen all at once. First, the stars disappeared for one night. Then, luminous cracks appeared between the clouds. Later, the trumpets arrived. Their sound swept across entire continents without anyone being able to pinpoint their origin. It didn't sound like a melody. It didn't sound like music. It sounded like a warning. Like the announcement of something inevitable. The oceans began to churn. The mountains trembled. Even the great Tower seemed to cast a different shadow under the sunlight. And then happened that which no chronicler managed to describe adequately. The firmament split open. Not like a storm breaking the clouds or lightning tearing the air. It was more like a wound, like a mirror shattering. An impossible fracture spreading across the sky. From that opening descended a single hand of light whose magnitude defied all comprehension. The slaves fell to their knees. The animals fled. The priests wept. And the hand pointed to three specific individuals in different parts of the world.
"What they received that day, no one knows for sure. The tales speak of a Soul. The temples speak of a blessing. The songs speak of a strength.... But others say they were simply more chains. But whatever the truth, something changed within them. The slaves began to lift their heads. The peoples began to remember grievances they had endured for generations. Resignation vanished. In its place appeared a fierce will that spread through cities, villages, and fortresses like a fire fueled by centuries of accumulated suffering. Thunder rumbled over the steppes. Hundreds of kilometers away, entire armies advanced. Millions of steps. Millions of spears. Millions of men convinced they understood what they were fighting for. Banners waved under blackened skies. Bonfires lit the nights. Thus began the rebellion. The following decades transformed the world into an immense tomb. Fields were covered with corpses. Walls crumbled. Entire forests disappeared under fire. Rivers carried more bodies than vessels. Every victory cost thousands of lives. Every defeat demanded even more sacrifices. Children grew up hearing the sound of war drums. The elderly died without ever knowing peace. Yet, generation after generation, the armies advanced. Slowly. Painfully. Like a tide impossible to stop."
"Each victory demanded a greater one. Each defeat justified a worse one. Entire cities disappeared under fire. Ancient forests were turned to ash. The oceans filled with the wreckage of fleets so vast they seemed like continents floating on the waves. And still they continued to advance. Step by step. Death after death. Oath after oath. The war dragged on for entire generations. Many of the soldiers who left at the beginning never lived to see the outcome. It was their children and their children's children who continued to fight. And when finally the three kings reached the heart of the enemy empire, they found the Archking waiting."
>>7256 →
>>7255 →
>>7254 →
https://youtu.be/XuP-lT1nX_k
▶~The stone does not respond, nor does the air.
~The hall remains still, oblivious to any urgency. There is nothing in it to distract the eye, because nothing was placed there to be contemplated. The stone does not decorate; it simply exists. Each column seems to have been born from the very ground that supports one's steps, as if it had never been raised by hands or tools, but rather freed little by little from a mountain too large to retain its own shape. There are no joints between one surface and another, no trace of construction, no hint of a beginning or an end. Everything belongs to the same mineral mass, continuous, ancient, patient. It gives the impression that the place was not erected, but found hidden within the rock, waiting for an eternity for someone to remove enough to reveal the void that had always inhabited its interior.
~The walls ascend with such absolute verticality that they end up merging with the darkness, not because the ceiling doesn't exist, but because it ceases to matter where it ends. The lines are straight, severe, incapable of any whim. They do not seek beauty; they reject it. Each surface is smooth as far as the eye can see, barely interrupted by thin cracks that do not seem like wounds of time, but the natural way the stone has of remembering the pressure of centuries. There are no sculptures, no symbols, no engraved names. Everything that could tell a story was eliminated so long ago that only what no story can wear down remains: the weight.
~Even the space seems to obey that same logic. It does not invite one to traverse it, nor does it threaten to expel whoever steps on it. It simply remains, immense and indifferent, like a mountain that never needed to know the names of those who walked upon it. The scale is strange; it does not make a person small by comparison, but by comprehension. There, one discovers that one had always imagined the world around the size of the human body. Not that place. Each step, each column, each distance seems to respond to a different measure, one for which a man, a city, or even a kingdom represent no more difference than a handful of dust on a quarry.
~And yet, the most unsettling thing is not the immensity, but the absence of intention. Nothing tries to impress. Nothing pretends to intimidate. The stone does not seek to appear eternal; it simply knows no other way of existing. That indifference makes everything heavier. As if the hall had remained exactly the same before any empire, before any language, before even anyone could wonder who would have the right to sit on that immense throne that emerges from the same ground without imposing itself upon it, as if it had always been there, waiting with the mineral patience of things that never needed to be built to exist.
~You speak, you approach... But nothing responds.
~There is no verdict, no absolution, not a single sound that could be called language. Everything remains motionless for an instant so prolonged that it ceases to resemble time and begins to resemble a substance, a thick matter in which even thought finds resistance to move forward. The immense hall continues to exist exactly as before, with its cyclopean columns supporting an impossible ceiling and the empty throne dominating the stony horizon. Yet, something has changed. Not outside. Deeper. Like when a mountain remains still while, kilometers beneath it, an entire tectonic plate has just shifted.
~And then, without anything in the hall having fully moved, everything changes. Not gradually, not like the seasons or light upon stone, but with the brutal precision of a latch, of a bolt snapping into place after having remained open for centuries. It is not a sound. It is a certainty. And the entire architecture seems, for an instant, to forget the very laws it had obeyed since before memory was born.
~The air contracts. The distance between you and Him ceases to behave like distance and begins to resemble something else, something crueler and stranger, a form of negation. The vastness of the hall does not vanish, but it hardens; the stone, which once seemed eternal, acquires a rigidity almost unbearable, as if the entire world had become a single surface stretched to the verge of breaking. The columns no longer ascend merely upward—your gaze tries to follow them and discovers that, at some impossible point, they continue inward into themselves. The arches curve with a geometry no human eye was designed to comprehend. The stone, until now motionless, gains the unsettling quality of something breathing without moving, like a chest held too long.
~Gravity, too, seems to waver. It does not disappear. It simply ceases to favor a single direction. The floor remains beneath your feet, but the body experiences that primal vertigo that only appears when the brain stops trusting the world. It is not the sensation of falling. It is worse. It is the sensation that the very idea of "down" has just lost meaning. And yet... He remains exactly where He was. Immutable. Silent. So still that all change around Him seems a consequence of His stillness.
~The shadow behind Him sharpens unnaturally, as if something within it had decided to stop obeying the shape that casts it, and begins to creep across the floor with a slowness that brings no comfort. The threat in this movement lies not in speed, but in inevitability. It extends toward your own shadow with dark patience, brushing against it without yet touching, as if measuring the distance between guilt and solace, between what is feared and what might finally be received.
~Your hand tries to reach Him. The distance between you is barely a few steps. All it would take is to stretch out your arm. You know it. You see Him before you, motionless, so close that the smallest gesture would suffice to brush against that silhouette whose mere existence weighs more than the stone holding up the world. And yet... your fingers don't arrive. Not because He retreats. Not because the space increases.
~There was no distance between you, that's what sight claims, but the body discovers another truth. Your fingers move slowly toward that immense figure, but the closer they seem to get, the more impossible the final stretch becomes. Space begins to stretch with unbearable smoothness, without any abruptness, as if reality itself took the moment between its fingers and kneaded it with infinite patience. There is no collision, no invisible barrier, no force pushing backward. Only that disconcerting sensation that every centimeter traversed generates another identical one ahead, and then another, and another, as if the universe itself had decided to protect that contact by indefinitely prolonging the path toward it.
~Your hand remains extended. The fingers advance. With the simple stubbornness with which a child tries to touch the water reflected in a well. And still... He remains exactly where He has always been. So close. So unreachable.
~And the silence remains. It has always been His language.
~Not muteness. Not the absence of words. But that other silence. The one that does not wait to be filled. The one that never demands explanation. The one that sustains. The one that remains when every sentence ends.
~Then... very slowly... He too raises a hand. There is no solemnity. No authority. No threat. Only a movement. So simple. Infinitely simple. His arm rises with a calm no living creature could imitate. It is not slowness. It is patience. The patience of one who has never needed to hurry anything at all. The stone vibrates. Not with sound. With memory. The cracks running across the ground begin to spread. They do not break the rock. They break geometry. Shadows cease to obey light. Meanwhile, shadows begin to disobey their owners. The one born beneath His feet ceases to be confined to the outline of that colossal figure. The one that until that instant had extended like a decree, hesitates slightly.
~It does not retreat—He would never do such a thing. It only shifts its weight. It slowly detaches from the stone as if it were a liquid substance too heavy to remain stuck to the ground. That impossible shadow begins to grow again. First just a span. It lengthens. Then it widens. Finally, it loses all resemblance to what cast it.
~The open arms of that immensity begin to unfurl across the ground with terrifying calm. It is not a shadow. It is something learning to walk. They do not advance. They spill. Like ink on a page too small. Like a night that had waited millions of years to remember how to fall. Not with violence. With an infinitely more unsettling calm than any attack. The throne stops casting a shadow. The walls disappear within it. The cracks in the floor disappear beneath it one by one. The steps of the throne are submerged. The columns cease to have a base. The boundaries of the hall begin to blur as that darkness continues to spread unhurriedly, occupying every space as water occupies a valley.
~Now it is the shadow that casts the throne. The entire hall begins to exist solely as a silhouette within a larger one. And it continues to grow. Not upwards. Not sideways. Towards you. Not with violence. Not with hunger. With inevitability. Like the arrival of winter. Like the aging of mountains. Like the sea when it finds a beach. There is nothing capable of stopping a shadow that does not belong to the light. The immensity ends up finding another shadow. Yours.
~And when it reaches the other shadow... for an instant...
..............
...........
~Everything turns black. Not a darkness like that of a room without light. A darkness prior to the existence of light. There was no lightning, no roar, no ceremonial rupture. Only a sudden fall of all visible form, as if someone had turned off the part of the world that needed to be looked at.
~There are no more columns.
~There is no more throne.
~There is no more ceiling.
~There is no more floor.
~There is no more up.
~There is no more down.
~There is not even the feeling of being anywhere.
~For an instant there is no front or back, no up or down, not even fear in its usual form. There is only darkness and, within it, something that does not belong to sleep or wakefulness, something so close that it ceases to feel like a miracle and begins to feel like home.
~And there, in that complete blackness where no image that could hurt you can be raised anymore, only one certainty remains. Something surrounds the body. The entire body receives a slow, deep, enveloping pressure. It does not arrive with violence. Nor with solemnity. It arrives with the naturalness with which the sea receives a river.
~Distance disappears. Not because it has been traveled. Because it ceases to exist. Two immense arms slowly envelop that small existence with such absolute care that the entire universe seems to have been reduced solely to the need not to harm it.
~It is not a grip. It is not a possession.
~it was.... It was
1/2
>>7255 →
>>7254 →
https://youtu.be/XuP-lT1nX_k
▶~The stone does not respond, nor does the air.~The hall remains still, oblivious to any urgency. There is nothing in it to distract the eye, because nothing was placed there to be contemplated. The stone does not decorate; it simply exists. Each column seems to have been born from the very ground that supports one's steps, as if it had never been raised by hands or tools, but rather freed little by little from a mountain too large to retain its own shape. There are no joints between one surface and another, no trace of construction, no hint of a beginning or an end. Everything belongs to the same mineral mass, continuous, ancient, patient. It gives the impression that the place was not erected, but found hidden within the rock, waiting for an eternity for someone to remove enough to reveal the void that had always inhabited its interior.
~The walls ascend with such absolute verticality that they end up merging with the darkness, not because the ceiling doesn't exist, but because it ceases to matter where it ends. The lines are straight, severe, incapable of any whim. They do not seek beauty; they reject it. Each surface is smooth as far as the eye can see, barely interrupted by thin cracks that do not seem like wounds of time, but the natural way the stone has of remembering the pressure of centuries. There are no sculptures, no symbols, no engraved names. Everything that could tell a story was eliminated so long ago that only what no story can wear down remains: the weight.
~Even the space seems to obey that same logic. It does not invite one to traverse it, nor does it threaten to expel whoever steps on it. It simply remains, immense and indifferent, like a mountain that never needed to know the names of those who walked upon it. The scale is strange; it does not make a person small by comparison, but by comprehension. There, one discovers that one had always imagined the world around the size of the human body. Not that place. Each step, each column, each distance seems to respond to a different measure, one for which a man, a city, or even a kingdom represent no more difference than a handful of dust on a quarry.
~And yet, the most unsettling thing is not the immensity, but the absence of intention. Nothing tries to impress. Nothing pretends to intimidate. The stone does not seek to appear eternal; it simply knows no other way of existing. That indifference makes everything heavier. As if the hall had remained exactly the same before any empire, before any language, before even anyone could wonder who would have the right to sit on that immense throne that emerges from the same ground without imposing itself upon it, as if it had always been there, waiting with the mineral patience of things that never needed to be built to exist.
~You speak, you approach... But nothing responds.
~There is no verdict, no absolution, not a single sound that could be called language. Everything remains motionless for an instant so prolonged that it ceases to resemble time and begins to resemble a substance, a thick matter in which even thought finds resistance to move forward. The immense hall continues to exist exactly as before, with its cyclopean columns supporting an impossible ceiling and the empty throne dominating the stony horizon. Yet, something has changed. Not outside. Deeper. Like when a mountain remains still while, kilometers beneath it, an entire tectonic plate has just shifted.
~And then, without anything in the hall having fully moved, everything changes. Not gradually, not like the seasons or light upon stone, but with the brutal precision of a latch, of a bolt snapping into place after having remained open for centuries. It is not a sound. It is a certainty. And the entire architecture seems, for an instant, to forget the very laws it had obeyed since before memory was born.
~The air contracts. The distance between you and Him ceases to behave like distance and begins to resemble something else, something crueler and stranger, a form of negation. The vastness of the hall does not vanish, but it hardens; the stone, which once seemed eternal, acquires a rigidity almost unbearable, as if the entire world had become a single surface stretched to the verge of breaking. The columns no longer ascend merely upward—your gaze tries to follow them and discovers that, at some impossible point, they continue inward into themselves. The arches curve with a geometry no human eye was designed to comprehend. The stone, until now motionless, gains the unsettling quality of something breathing without moving, like a chest held too long.
~Gravity, too, seems to waver. It does not disappear. It simply ceases to favor a single direction. The floor remains beneath your feet, but the body experiences that primal vertigo that only appears when the brain stops trusting the world. It is not the sensation of falling. It is worse. It is the sensation that the very idea of "down" has just lost meaning. And yet... He remains exactly where He was. Immutable. Silent. So still that all change around Him seems a consequence of His stillness.
~The shadow behind Him sharpens unnaturally, as if something within it had decided to stop obeying the shape that casts it, and begins to creep across the floor with a slowness that brings no comfort. The threat in this movement lies not in speed, but in inevitability. It extends toward your own shadow with dark patience, brushing against it without yet touching, as if measuring the distance between guilt and solace, between what is feared and what might finally be received.
~Your hand tries to reach Him. The distance between you is barely a few steps. All it would take is to stretch out your arm. You know it. You see Him before you, motionless, so close that the smallest gesture would suffice to brush against that silhouette whose mere existence weighs more than the stone holding up the world. And yet... your fingers don't arrive. Not because He retreats. Not because the space increases.
~There was no distance between you, that's what sight claims, but the body discovers another truth. Your fingers move slowly toward that immense figure, but the closer they seem to get, the more impossible the final stretch becomes. Space begins to stretch with unbearable smoothness, without any abruptness, as if reality itself took the moment between its fingers and kneaded it with infinite patience. There is no collision, no invisible barrier, no force pushing backward. Only that disconcerting sensation that every centimeter traversed generates another identical one ahead, and then another, and another, as if the universe itself had decided to protect that contact by indefinitely prolonging the path toward it.
~Your hand remains extended. The fingers advance. With the simple stubbornness with which a child tries to touch the water reflected in a well. And still... He remains exactly where He has always been. So close. So unreachable.
~And the silence remains. It has always been His language.
~Not muteness. Not the absence of words. But that other silence. The one that does not wait to be filled. The one that never demands explanation. The one that sustains. The one that remains when every sentence ends.
~Then... very slowly... He too raises a hand. There is no solemnity. No authority. No threat. Only a movement. So simple. Infinitely simple. His arm rises with a calm no living creature could imitate. It is not slowness. It is patience. The patience of one who has never needed to hurry anything at all. The stone vibrates. Not with sound. With memory. The cracks running across the ground begin to spread. They do not break the rock. They break geometry. Shadows cease to obey light. Meanwhile, shadows begin to disobey their owners. The one born beneath His feet ceases to be confined to the outline of that colossal figure. The one that until that instant had extended like a decree, hesitates slightly.
~It does not retreat—He would never do such a thing. It only shifts its weight. It slowly detaches from the stone as if it were a liquid substance too heavy to remain stuck to the ground. That impossible shadow begins to grow again. First just a span. It lengthens. Then it widens. Finally, it loses all resemblance to what cast it.
~The open arms of that immensity begin to unfurl across the ground with terrifying calm. It is not a shadow. It is something learning to walk. They do not advance. They spill. Like ink on a page too small. Like a night that had waited millions of years to remember how to fall. Not with violence. With an infinitely more unsettling calm than any attack. The throne stops casting a shadow. The walls disappear within it. The cracks in the floor disappear beneath it one by one. The steps of the throne are submerged. The columns cease to have a base. The boundaries of the hall begin to blur as that darkness continues to spread unhurriedly, occupying every space as water occupies a valley.
~Now it is the shadow that casts the throne. The entire hall begins to exist solely as a silhouette within a larger one. And it continues to grow. Not upwards. Not sideways. Towards you. Not with violence. Not with hunger. With inevitability. Like the arrival of winter. Like the aging of mountains. Like the sea when it finds a beach. There is nothing capable of stopping a shadow that does not belong to the light. The immensity ends up finding another shadow. Yours.
~And when it reaches the other shadow... for an instant...
..............
...........
~Everything turns black. Not a darkness like that of a room without light. A darkness prior to the existence of light. There was no lightning, no roar, no ceremonial rupture. Only a sudden fall of all visible form, as if someone had turned off the part of the world that needed to be looked at.
~There are no more columns.
~There is no more throne.
~There is no more ceiling.
~There is no more floor.
~There is no more up.
~There is no more down.
~There is not even the feeling of being anywhere.
~For an instant there is no front or back, no up or down, not even fear in its usual form. There is only darkness and, within it, something that does not belong to sleep or wakefulness, something so close that it ceases to feel like a miracle and begins to feel like home.
~And there, in that complete blackness where no image that could hurt you can be raised anymore, only one certainty remains. Something surrounds the body. The entire body receives a slow, deep, enveloping pressure. It does not arrive with violence. Nor with solemnity. It arrives with the naturalness with which the sea receives a river.
~Distance disappears. Not because it has been traveled. Because it ceases to exist. Two immense arms slowly envelop that small existence with such absolute care that the entire universe seems to have been reduced solely to the need not to harm it.
~It is not a grip. It is not a possession.
~it was.... It was
1/2
>>10448 →
A hug.
https://youtu.be/x-ErRfoDojo
▶
~But to describe it like that would be too little, as if naming it were enough to exhaust its truth. What you feel is a closeness that demands nothing, a firmness that does not crush.... There is no strength in that hug. There is weight. The serene weight of that which was never afraid to hold.
~The pressure on the shoulders disappears first. Then the chest. Then the throat. One by one, the tensions that had clung to the body for so long begin to detach without anyone pulling them away, falling into a void where they cease to matter. Breathing finds space for the first time in what feels like years. Muscles forget that there was an obligation to remain prepared for the next blow. Even the heart, which until then had beaten like a cornered animal, discovers that it too knows how to rest.
~The contact descends through your body like an ancient lullaby, like a blanket placed over a tremor, like a large hand on a head too small that has carried too much weight for too long. There is no rush. There is no punishment. There is no explanation. It was not the comfort of someone who promises that nothing will hurt again. It is infinitely deeper. The hug does not demand. It does not ask. It does not reward. It does not forgive. It simply holds. As if it had always been destined to do so. As if the only mistake had been believing that it ever stopped belonging to you.
~And then...
~Very close, Almost against your ear. You hear
~A tiny sound, a held breath.
"Jh"
~A brief laugh with the mouth almost closed, contained, barely escaping through the nose, as a smile appears before the laugh. It lasts only an instant. But it is enough to completely transform the silence. Then comes another. And another. Until, for the first time, He laughs. It is not a powerful guffaw. It does not shake the earth. It does not force the sky to open.
~It was simple, warm, tired in a noble way, not defeated, like the laughter of someone who still retains the tenderness to marvel at a simple thing. He laughs in the way a father laughs when his child says something so absurdly honest, so disarmed, that for a moment he no longer knows whether to laugh out of relief, pride, or simple beauty.
~Perhaps at the idea so absurd, so ridiculous, so.... abnormal that, even though you have nothing, even though you are a child, even though you don't know how.
~You want to comfort a god.
~And that is almost absurd.
~But precisely because of that, he laughs.
~There is no mockery in that sound. There is no superiority. There is no distance. Only a strange, exhausted, luminous joy, the kind that doesn't appear when one wins, but was simply a warm laugh, clean of pride, incapable of mocking what it loves. There is surprise in it. There is tenderness. The laughter continues for a few more moments.
~And the darkness, far from swallowing the moment, protects it. It makes it intimate. It makes it irreversible. Everything else ceases to have jurisdiction. There are no longer the columns or the throne or the corridor or the immense architecture that previously seemed to bear the weight of eternity. There is no longer up or down. There is no longer the intimidating immensity of a god looked at from afar, nor the cruel distance of a gaze impossible to sustain.
~Everything ceases to exist without collapsing. The cracks leave the stone before the stone itself disappears. The entire hall loses consistency until it becomes a progressively fainter idea. The voices that had inhabited those corridors are extinguished one by one, like embers unable to survive the dawn. Reality begins to unravel around that contact, as if it could no longer bear something so true happening outside its laws.
no longer has walls to bounce off. Shame can no longer find a face to look at. Judgment has no innocent one left to blame.
A hug.
https://youtu.be/x-ErRfoDojo
▶~But to describe it like that would be too little, as if naming it were enough to exhaust its truth. What you feel is a closeness that demands nothing, a firmness that does not crush.... There is no strength in that hug. There is weight. The serene weight of that which was never afraid to hold.
~The pressure on the shoulders disappears first. Then the chest. Then the throat. One by one, the tensions that had clung to the body for so long begin to detach without anyone pulling them away, falling into a void where they cease to matter. Breathing finds space for the first time in what feels like years. Muscles forget that there was an obligation to remain prepared for the next blow. Even the heart, which until then had beaten like a cornered animal, discovers that it too knows how to rest.
~The contact descends through your body like an ancient lullaby, like a blanket placed over a tremor, like a large hand on a head too small that has carried too much weight for too long. There is no rush. There is no punishment. There is no explanation. It was not the comfort of someone who promises that nothing will hurt again. It is infinitely deeper. The hug does not demand. It does not ask. It does not reward. It does not forgive. It simply holds. As if it had always been destined to do so. As if the only mistake had been believing that it ever stopped belonging to you.
~And then...
~Very close, Almost against your ear. You hear
~A tiny sound, a held breath.
"Jh"
~A brief laugh with the mouth almost closed, contained, barely escaping through the nose, as a smile appears before the laugh. It lasts only an instant. But it is enough to completely transform the silence. Then comes another. And another. Until, for the first time, He laughs. It is not a powerful guffaw. It does not shake the earth. It does not force the sky to open.
~It was simple, warm, tired in a noble way, not defeated, like the laughter of someone who still retains the tenderness to marvel at a simple thing. He laughs in the way a father laughs when his child says something so absurdly honest, so disarmed, that for a moment he no longer knows whether to laugh out of relief, pride, or simple beauty.
~Perhaps at the idea so absurd, so ridiculous, so.... abnormal that, even though you have nothing, even though you are a child, even though you don't know how.
~You want to comfort a god.
~And that is almost absurd.
~But precisely because of that, he laughs.
~There is no mockery in that sound. There is no superiority. There is no distance. Only a strange, exhausted, luminous joy, the kind that doesn't appear when one wins, but was simply a warm laugh, clean of pride, incapable of mocking what it loves. There is surprise in it. There is tenderness. The laughter continues for a few more moments.
~And the darkness, far from swallowing the moment, protects it. It makes it intimate. It makes it irreversible. Everything else ceases to have jurisdiction. There are no longer the columns or the throne or the corridor or the immense architecture that previously seemed to bear the weight of eternity. There is no longer up or down. There is no longer the intimidating immensity of a god looked at from afar, nor the cruel distance of a gaze impossible to sustain.
~Everything ceases to exist without collapsing. The cracks leave the stone before the stone itself disappears. The entire hall loses consistency until it becomes a progressively fainter idea. The voices that had inhabited those corridors are extinguished one by one, like embers unable to survive the dawn. Reality begins to unravel around that contact, as if it could no longer bear something so true happening outside its laws.
no longer has walls to bounce off. Shame can no longer find a face to look at. Judgment has no innocent one left to blame.
The vortex, a place where worlds and their inhabitants go to die, where the fallen are given a second chance.
In this vortex, there is a path that leads to the city of the vortex queen, it is said that she will grant a wish to whoever overcomes the trials of this path. But the greatest danger is not the trials, but two evil forces, known as the witches of doom, sworn enemies of the queen and the witches of salvation.
You are a newcomer to the vortex, you remember where you were before but you don't know when you arrived here, you just woke up among the ruins of several forgotten and dead worlds. Will you face the trials of the vortex?
...
roleplay of dead roles and dead characters yes, I was also inspired by The Wizard of Oz
>name
>original role
>appearance
>background
combat system
roll 1d20 for narrative actions, the higher the roll, the more successful it will be. The harder the action, the higher the roll must be to succeed. Battles are won by strategy.
In this vortex, there is a path that leads to the city of the vortex queen, it is said that she will grant a wish to whoever overcomes the trials of this path. But the greatest danger is not the trials, but two evil forces, known as the witches of doom, sworn enemies of the queen and the witches of salvation.
You are a newcomer to the vortex, you remember where you were before but you don't know when you arrived here, you just woke up among the ruins of several forgotten and dead worlds. Will you face the trials of the vortex?
...
roleplay of dead roles and dead characters yes, I was also inspired by The Wizard of Oz
>name
>original role
>appearance
>background
combat system
roll 1d20 for narrative actions, the higher the roll, the more successful it will be. The harder the action, the higher the roll must be to succeed. Battles are won by strategy.
>>10315 →
>>10317 →
>something resonates in the doll's mind
>a moment...
<Ursula
Do you think I represent pride? Well, you're mistaken... for starters, I prefer lust, and besides, I'm not the only one who's been in more than one role, remember Howlita?
>the chick who gave them those weapons for showing her the cards Gold Ship gave her has also been on more than one adventure
>although in both she was completely different
<Ursula
I'm afraid the true enemy that represents pride is much worse than me, someone only comparable to my master, the insatiable one
<Nozomi
even I am afraid of her
>says the woman who has killed many with snu snu while playing with her Tarot cards
<Ursula
but I warn you... she is a worse opponent than you can imagine, so don't underestimate her. Although
>Ursula shows her true form anyway
<Ursula
Now that I don't have to worry about WhatsApp anymore, I can show as much flesh as I want! Thanks, Liam... or whatever your name is.
...
>their next trial is crossing the bridge
>what kind of enemy is Ursula warning them about?
>>10317 →
>something resonates in the doll's mind
>a moment...
<Ursula
Do you think I represent pride? Well, you're mistaken... for starters, I prefer lust, and besides, I'm not the only one who's been in more than one role, remember Howlita?
>the chick who gave them those weapons for showing her the cards Gold Ship gave her has also been on more than one adventure
>although in both she was completely different
<Ursula
I'm afraid the true enemy that represents pride is much worse than me, someone only comparable to my master, the insatiable one
<Nozomi
even I am afraid of her
>says the woman who has killed many with snu snu while playing with her Tarot cards
<Ursula
but I warn you... she is a worse opponent than you can imagine, so don't underestimate her. Although
>Ursula shows her true form anyway
<Ursula
Now that I don't have to worry about WhatsApp anymore, I can show as much flesh as I want! Thanks, Liam... or whatever your name is.
...
>their next trial is crossing the bridge
>what kind of enemy is Ursula warning them about?
>>10423 →
>>10424 →
Rum is the advent of death, of the entity behind the man's mask... or something like that. I can't really think of anything profound when we're on this island, but the important thing is that by still rolling lower dice, Liam the all-powerful can create his tornado that traps the gas cloud to destroy it once and for all, freeing the world from the damned ERP. Why did the action work? Idk man, maybe the dice added up or a +10 is a hit, I don't make the rules here.
The power of brute force was superior to any strategy because brute force is the best strategy.
This strange subject with red eyes and a smile drinks the last of the bottle and then listlessly throws it to the ground, shattering into shards of grayish-green glass, bursting like my dreams and hopes. He then covers himself with this hand from the dust and his hair, which flutters madly due to the strong hurricane winds, his cape also escaping from his back and neck to be lost across the island.
In the end, he dissolves the tornado by his will because it was already leaving the place a mess, more of a mess than it already was in the first place, and he had surely left a large crack in the ground from the initial cut or not, that's up to each person. At least looking at the destruction was certainly comforting. The lady from Brazil would no longer be able to build her casino on this land.
>Liam All
Life itself is just another illusion. A dream. Nothing exists but empty space and you. And you are nothing but a thought.
... Who are you talking to?
>Liam All
You.
...
...
... Who is Tigo?
The man adjusts his disheveled hair, in a very unmanly way.
~•~
Moving from existential horror to present horror when Liam approaches those other three characters in the story, completely unrelated to the absurd fight before, just as he was also unrelated to what was happening here, as if all these people were living in parallel worlds that collide to give these tiny interactions.
According to the guide's words and the doll, the multiversal-clash was real, canonical, but that was known because Liam All had already been in otherroles worlds, other Realities and all that before this move. Here he joins the conversation to explain things, not for nothing was he omnipresent.
>Liam All
Daughter, sometimes there are unique entities, sometimes not. A common mortal will have their duplicate in another Reality, the same or different from their "original" version depending on how far or close it is to the other Reality. If it's very far, it will be more different.
At that, he bites the tip of his index finger to let a drop of blood fall to the ground, which begins to take shape. From a puddle to a silent and painful transformation, a body, a young boy, with brown hair and from a certain country-
>Liam All
Look at this boy for example. All his versions are the same with tiny changes, in the end they all converge into the same body, mind, and soul because it's the same entity. Surely you can do the same if there are other versions of you out there.
The figure of the boy looking at his own hands returns to its form of a drop of blood on the ground, after all it was just a borrowed body without a soul or mind. Marcelo no longer exists, or at least not that one.
>Liam All
Likewise, sometimes it's not that simple, too many variations and infinite possibilities. One doesn't meet their alternate reality self every day.
Very complicated, very complicated, very complicated.
Mr. Brain, end your explanation of the multiverse so they can keep talking about the deadly sins or some crap about how they saved the BBC's armorer's cards... Oh, right, I couldn't comment on that, sorry. Apparently, they were going to fight someone who represented pride, only Liam wasn't that interested.
Lla Mail waves his hand and smiles at the teenager in the cage, then puts away the sword that turns back into a metal ball. He puts this in his dimensional inventory/backpack, the rift he uses to store things worth keeping, like his dreams and hopes-
Just then, super freak Ursula does a hocus pocus and changes her appearance to something more like a hussy, the kind who dance on poles and have money thrown at them. (Insert xenophobic comment about Mexican women here).
<Thanks, Liam... or whatever your name is.
>Liam All
You're welcome. You were very quick a moment ago, I knew you weren't conventional.
There's the explanation for the attempted homicide earlier.
>Liam All
But remember, sharing your flesh with another being is wonderful, however seeking this wonder in unbridled lust is like seeking warmth in a fire that devours a forest. In the end, Venus's poison will leave you hollow, turned to ashes and cold.
Liam All shares his wisdom; everyone already knew what happened to adult film actresses or what happened to Cleopatra according to Dante's Inferno™, so one had to control their physiological needs.
>Liam All
...Are we going to leave this girl locked up here?
He was also asking about the whore in the cage because he wasn't present for the earlier conversation; all he knew was that being locked up is an agony that makes you develop multiple personalities... or so he was told. He can't lose his head because he doesn't have one.
~•~
The party then continues their walk, passing through the gap, bridge, elevator, or stairs, it didn't matter. Just then, they speak to the man with the po-po-po-pokerface; it's the doll who is communicating right now as if she were Josué Yrion, throwing in a w reference to the galactic war along the way. Unfortunately, she missed the song.
Maybe Josué Yrion was onto something when he said that; it's not normal for the great N to keep making all-soy video games and for fat virgins to keep buying them. Nostalgia is Satan's strongest weapon.
>Liam All
(You know, making constant references to other types of media or people isn't synonymous with good writing.)
Okay Camus, whatever you say.
We return to the doll. She speaks, looking forward.
>Liam All
I don't have much to smile about right now. Smiling all the time isn't something I'd want to do.
The slow and torturous walk continues.
~•~
~•~
~•~
At an indefinite time, probably after these three have left, from the small drop of blood from before, another Liam All, identical to the original, is created and moves to the cage of the ----. With a slightly lost gaze around, he grabs the door and rips it off with a single movement.
>Liam All
Come on, get out of there. I know exactly the feeling of eternal confinement.
He extends his hand. He was going to release a universal catastrophe anyway, but mortal morality was the only thing that mattered right now.
1d20 = 4
>>10424 →
Rum is the advent of death, of the entity behind the man's mask... or something like that. I can't really think of anything profound when we're on this island, but the important thing is that by still rolling lower dice, Liam the all-powerful can create his tornado that traps the gas cloud to destroy it once and for all, freeing the world from the damned ERP. Why did the action work? Idk man, maybe the dice added up or a +10 is a hit, I don't make the rules here.
The power of brute force was superior to any strategy because brute force is the best strategy.
This strange subject with red eyes and a smile drinks the last of the bottle and then listlessly throws it to the ground, shattering into shards of grayish-green glass, bursting like my dreams and hopes. He then covers himself with this hand from the dust and his hair, which flutters madly due to the strong hurricane winds, his cape also escaping from his back and neck to be lost across the island.
In the end, he dissolves the tornado by his will because it was already leaving the place a mess, more of a mess than it already was in the first place, and he had surely left a large crack in the ground from the initial cut or not, that's up to each person. At least looking at the destruction was certainly comforting. The lady from Brazil would no longer be able to build her casino on this land.
>Liam All
Life itself is just another illusion. A dream. Nothing exists but empty space and you. And you are nothing but a thought.
... Who are you talking to?
>Liam All
You.
...
...
... Who is Tigo?
The man adjusts his disheveled hair, in a very unmanly way.
~•~
Moving from existential horror to present horror when Liam approaches those other three characters in the story, completely unrelated to the absurd fight before, just as he was also unrelated to what was happening here, as if all these people were living in parallel worlds that collide to give these tiny interactions.
According to the guide's words and the doll, the multiversal-clash was real, canonical, but that was known because Liam All had already been in other
>Liam All
Daughter, sometimes there are unique entities, sometimes not. A common mortal will have their duplicate in another Reality, the same or different from their "original" version depending on how far or close it is to the other Reality. If it's very far, it will be more different.
At that, he bites the tip of his index finger to let a drop of blood fall to the ground, which begins to take shape. From a puddle to a silent and painful transformation, a body, a young boy, with brown hair and from a certain country-
>Liam All
Look at this boy for example. All his versions are the same with tiny changes, in the end they all converge into the same body, mind, and soul because it's the same entity. Surely you can do the same if there are other versions of you out there.
The figure of the boy looking at his own hands returns to its form of a drop of blood on the ground, after all it was just a borrowed body without a soul or mind. Marcelo no longer exists, or at least not that one.
>Liam All
Likewise, sometimes it's not that simple, too many variations and infinite possibilities. One doesn't meet their alternate reality self every day.
Very complicated, very complicated, very complicated.
Mr. Brain, end your explanation of the multiverse so they can keep talking about the deadly sins or some crap about how they saved the BBC's armorer's cards... Oh, right, I couldn't comment on that, sorry. Apparently, they were going to fight someone who represented pride, only Liam wasn't that interested.
Lla Mail waves his hand and smiles at the teenager in the cage, then puts away the sword that turns back into a metal ball. He puts this in his dimensional inventory/backpack, the rift he uses to store things worth keeping, like his dreams and hopes-
Just then, super freak Ursula does a hocus pocus and changes her appearance to something more like a hussy, the kind who dance on poles and have money thrown at them. (Insert xenophobic comment about Mexican women here).
<Thanks, Liam... or whatever your name is.
>Liam All
You're welcome. You were very quick a moment ago, I knew you weren't conventional.
There's the explanation for the attempted homicide earlier.
>Liam All
But remember, sharing your flesh with another being is wonderful, however seeking this wonder in unbridled lust is like seeking warmth in a fire that devours a forest. In the end, Venus's poison will leave you hollow, turned to ashes and cold.
Liam All shares his wisdom; everyone already knew what happened to adult film actresses or what happened to Cleopatra according to Dante's Inferno™, so one had to control their physiological needs.
>Liam All
...Are we going to leave this girl locked up here?
He was also asking about the whore in the cage because he wasn't present for the earlier conversation; all he knew was that being locked up is an agony that makes you develop multiple personalities... or so he was told. He can't lose his head because he doesn't have one.
~•~
The party then continues their walk, passing through the gap, bridge, elevator, or stairs, it didn't matter. Just then, they speak to the man with the po-po-po-pokerface; it's the doll who is communicating right now as if she were Josué Yrion, throwing in a w reference to the galactic war along the way. Unfortunately, she missed the song.
Maybe Josué Yrion was onto something when he said that; it's not normal for the great N to keep making all-soy video games and for fat virgins to keep buying them. Nostalgia is Satan's strongest weapon.
>Liam All
(You know, making constant references to other types of media or people isn't synonymous with good writing.)
Okay Camus, whatever you say.
We return to the doll. She speaks, looking forward.
>Liam All
I don't have much to smile about right now. Smiling all the time isn't something I'd want to do.
The slow and torturous walk continues.
~•~
~•~
~•~
At an indefinite time, probably after these three have left, from the small drop of blood from before, another Liam All, identical to the original, is created and moves to the cage of the ----. With a slightly lost gaze around, he grabs the door and rips it off with a single movement.
>Liam All
Come on, get out of there. I know exactly the feeling of eternal confinement.
He extends his hand. He was going to release a universal catastrophe anyway, but mortal morality was the only thing that mattered right now.
1d20 = 4
https://youtu.be/BWY_eSrtXX0?si=gT6BnsKcJRMgmMa6
▶Y who would have imagined. The third one arrived. They say the third is the one to be defeated. They say... But here, we don't stop until we're number one.
A lot of crap happened last time. Tough guys, crazy powers, and some trauma.
This path to the top can be cool, or it can totally stink. Who knows... we'll have to find out. So go ahead, open your notepad, write your turn, and accompany your character in this desperate fight
▶Y who would have imagined. The third one arrived. They say the third is the one to be defeated. They say... But here, we don't stop until we're number one.A lot of crap happened last time. Tough guys, crazy powers, and some trauma.
This path to the top can be cool, or it can totally stink. Who knows... we'll have to find out. So go ahead, open your notepad, write your turn, and accompany your character in this desperate fight
Turnos mañana
>>6641 →
Your insults and provocations were lost in the air like dust. Paolo entered the room with a changed chip. Now he was going to speak with a blade, and not of paper, but of sharp neon. kek
The knife wavered before you, marking the line drawn by your opponent. He challenged you to cross it, and you, already accustomed to crossing any line, lowered your body. The force of your muscles preparing for the lunge opened holes beneath your feet, which joined into a small crater once you launched yourself forward.
The wind spread like your wings, everything not tied to the ground shot out behind you.
You were a bullet devouring distance in the blink of an eye. An anti-tank. But though the earth trembled with your advance, not a hair on Paolo's head moved.
You made a swift exchange, yielding the lead to your jacket in a blinding throw. The thug reacted as if by reflex, his hand descended in a diagonal so swift and perfect it seemed magnetized. The neon imprinted its advance with its celestial light, which illuminated the fabric before spreading throughout it in less than a second, incinerating it like paper in the sun.
But it was a feint. Your shoe relieved your jacket, and it was all that was reflected in the enemy's glasses before the impact that combined all the movement into an omnidirectional blizzard—which did move a hair—
But the collision was strange. Not as solid as a face, not as weak as a neck. You felt pressure increase around your foot, as if the shoe were shrinking in real-time. Your foot trembled in the struggle, you could neither advance nor retract it.
Looking closer, it was firmly locked between the thug's fingers, who raised his off-hand just an instant before the impact. And then, he twisted it.
Quick, for him, like turning a doorknob abruptly, for you, it was as if two knives entered both your ankles at once. Your bones cracked like a branch as your foot turned completely, now facing the same direction as your back.
<Ryu 90%
Paolo gave your foot a shove to push you away. You detached from the ground half a meter, but didn't lose your balance. You planted both feet back on the ground, though they faced opposite directions which doesn't hurt because No More Heroes and you destroyed the half meter by suddenly launching your arm straight at your enemy.
Paolo reacted. He raised the knife, but by the way he held it, it only grazed you with the handle. The blow was enough to leave a bruise and slightly deflect the trajectory, but not to cause a parry or truly injure you.
Your hands grab the thug's hair, and you yank him off the ground like a carrot. Through the light showing through his glasses, you can see his eyes roll up for a moment as you close your hand, compressing the wind between your fingers with a burst.
>Paolo
"Again with this...?" – he muttered to himself, in that tone we use when analyzing situations–
<Alright, now.
They locked eyes.
<Stay still.
"..."
He shrugged. And your knuckles invaded his face. The crack echoed through the entire room, the chandelier fell, the walls cracked.
<Paolo 90%
You pulled back your fist, then threw it forward again—your punch buried into his face with increased force, as if the last one had been mere practice. The thunderous impact shattered every window in the house, in the entire block.
<Paolo: 85%
Another. One more. Your fist struck again with a titanic collision. Like a personal train running over a suicide victim, you felt Paolo’s facial flesh mold around your hand, yielding to let your fist pass through. Muscles softening, flesh crushing—and that sweet sensation when the vibrations—turned sound by contact—of that CRACK tell you that you’ve broken something, compensating for the exponential increase in strength.
<Paolo 80%
But the impact came afterward. The energy transferred to the criminal, and he went flying. A strand of hair remained in your hand, as the shockwave of wind wreaked havoc. The room collapsed completely, walls falling away, replaced by dust, and outside, car alarms blared across the street from the sheer force of your punch.
Yet there was no moment to rest. Dust is usually used for dramatic effect, but the smart ones exploit it. The lights from the knife, still floating in the air, slightly blurred by the thick cloud of dust blocking your view of the yard—where you were practically already standing—suddenly reactivated.
You heard something like a whistle—the kind an airplane makes—close to your ear. You managed to track it with your vision. It was the neon blade being launched.
It grazed your face, matching the haircut, making you lose a chunk of hair on the side Ryu degradé kek before it buried into the ground and vanished.
Then, Paolo returned. Walking through the dust, nose crooked and bleeding, brandishing the knife.
"You fight like a woman... not that I care..."
Behind him, countless lights flashed through the haze, as if he had turned on the stadium lights of a baseball field. Blue dots identical to the one that had just missed you by mere centimeters. Floating blades.
"...they all end the same..."
The criminal tapped the base of his knife’s hilt, and every neon light shot toward you—a rain of stabbing blades leaving glowing trails.
Paolo: 1d100 = 94
Your insults and provocations were lost in the air like dust. Paolo entered the room with a changed chip. Now he was going to speak with a blade, and not of paper, but of sharp neon. kek
The knife wavered before you, marking the line drawn by your opponent. He challenged you to cross it, and you, already accustomed to crossing any line, lowered your body. The force of your muscles preparing for the lunge opened holes beneath your feet, which joined into a small crater once you launched yourself forward.
The wind spread like your wings, everything not tied to the ground shot out behind you.
You were a bullet devouring distance in the blink of an eye. An anti-tank. But though the earth trembled with your advance, not a hair on Paolo's head moved.
You made a swift exchange, yielding the lead to your jacket in a blinding throw. The thug reacted as if by reflex, his hand descended in a diagonal so swift and perfect it seemed magnetized. The neon imprinted its advance with its celestial light, which illuminated the fabric before spreading throughout it in less than a second, incinerating it like paper in the sun.
But it was a feint. Your shoe relieved your jacket, and it was all that was reflected in the enemy's glasses before the impact that combined all the movement into an omnidirectional blizzard—which did move a hair—
But the collision was strange. Not as solid as a face, not as weak as a neck. You felt pressure increase around your foot, as if the shoe were shrinking in real-time. Your foot trembled in the struggle, you could neither advance nor retract it.
Looking closer, it was firmly locked between the thug's fingers, who raised his off-hand just an instant before the impact. And then, he twisted it.
Quick, for him, like turning a doorknob abruptly, for you, it was as if two knives entered both your ankles at once. Your bones cracked like a branch as your foot turned completely, now facing the same direction as your back.
<Ryu 90%
Paolo gave your foot a shove to push you away. You detached from the ground half a meter, but didn't lose your balance. You planted both feet back on the ground, though they faced opposite directions which doesn't hurt because No More Heroes and you destroyed the half meter by suddenly launching your arm straight at your enemy.
Paolo reacted. He raised the knife, but by the way he held it, it only grazed you with the handle. The blow was enough to leave a bruise and slightly deflect the trajectory, but not to cause a parry or truly injure you.
Your hands grab the thug's hair, and you yank him off the ground like a carrot. Through the light showing through his glasses, you can see his eyes roll up for a moment as you close your hand, compressing the wind between your fingers with a burst.
>Paolo
"Again with this...?" – he muttered to himself, in that tone we use when analyzing situations–
<Alright, now.
They locked eyes.
<Stay still.
"..."
He shrugged. And your knuckles invaded his face. The crack echoed through the entire room, the chandelier fell, the walls cracked.
<Paolo 90%
You pulled back your fist, then threw it forward again—your punch buried into his face with increased force, as if the last one had been mere practice. The thunderous impact shattered every window in the house, in the entire block.
<Paolo: 85%
Another. One more. Your fist struck again with a titanic collision. Like a personal train running over a suicide victim, you felt Paolo’s facial flesh mold around your hand, yielding to let your fist pass through. Muscles softening, flesh crushing—and that sweet sensation when the vibrations—turned sound by contact—of that CRACK tell you that you’ve broken something, compensating for the exponential increase in strength.
<Paolo 80%
But the impact came afterward. The energy transferred to the criminal, and he went flying. A strand of hair remained in your hand, as the shockwave of wind wreaked havoc. The room collapsed completely, walls falling away, replaced by dust, and outside, car alarms blared across the street from the sheer force of your punch.
Yet there was no moment to rest. Dust is usually used for dramatic effect, but the smart ones exploit it. The lights from the knife, still floating in the air, slightly blurred by the thick cloud of dust blocking your view of the yard—where you were practically already standing—suddenly reactivated.
You heard something like a whistle—the kind an airplane makes—close to your ear. You managed to track it with your vision. It was the neon blade being launched.
It grazed your face, matching the haircut, making you lose a chunk of hair on the side Ryu degradé kek before it buried into the ground and vanished.
Then, Paolo returned. Walking through the dust, nose crooked and bleeding, brandishing the knife.
"You fight like a woman... not that I care..."
Behind him, countless lights flashed through the haze, as if he had turned on the stadium lights of a baseball field. Blue dots identical to the one that had just missed you by mere centimeters. Floating blades.
"...they all end the same..."
The criminal tapped the base of his knife’s hilt, and every neon light shot toward you—a rain of stabbing blades leaving glowing trails.
Paolo: 1d100 = 94
>>6701 →
As it concerns us
This was the last battle to win the war. Dimitri looked at you with the disdain deserved by all those not protected under the equality of the red flag... but you ignored him, like you ignore all politics in this country, and walked past him.
Dimitri let out a few small laughs, and turned with some interest to watch you make the bartender tremble.
>Bartender
"A-ah, Dimitri, he's coming this way..."
As you approached, he stepped back, hands raised in fear and the desire to create more distance. But by the time you reached the bar, his back had already hit the wall. Your hand landed on the wood and the fat man lost his composure and balance with a scream.
"AAH!"
You jumped over the bar. Your feet touched the ground at the same time as the fat man's ass, who now saw you from below. You also ignored his pathetic display and went straight for the alcohol, which lined the walls in its transparent form, your rage manifesting in the atmosphere. The vodka in the bottles bubbled for an instant it just works before you exploded.
<RAHHHHHH!
"Aahh!" - he raised his arms to defend his head -
You turned your fists into a rain, and your fists turned the bottles into another rain. The alcohol and glass exploded in unison from the rapid movement, like a single balloon filled with vodka and crystal splashing in all directions.
For you, it was like watching in slow motion, the liquid growing in the air like a puddle under a dripping faucet. You hit even faster, the shards of glass turned to dust, and the small bodies of alcohol, barely drops.
The glass stuck to your fingers, usually harder than granite. Because you hit too fast and too hard, or something. From these cuts, you managed to get the alcohol and poison of 29 into your system.
This is because... you hit so hard that... when your knuckles collided with the alcohol, they filtered into the small space between the shards and the cut they left, thus entering your blood and leaving you tipsy.
"Th-the drinks!"
Having decimated the vodka population, taking only one hostage. You raised the bottle, previously uncorked, and drank it down, like those fat guys who chug water, finishing the bottle. The attentive eye could see a swirl for the thousandth of a thousandth of a second it took you to drink it.
>Dimitri
"Hmph. I see you liked the vodka."
30. You were now officially drunk. It would make the fight more fun. You were going to ring the bell for the first round.
You smashed the bottle against the wall, the glass spray made the bartender flinch. You then gave a sharp turn, releasing the sharp remnants of the bottle in a movement so strong that it shot out a burst of the glass you had in your hand. Accompanied, of course, by their respective trails of blood.
The crystal fleet turned red like blown glass. Your blood evaporated like a memory, but the Soviet was unimpressed. You raised your hand and thumb in a shooting combo. The wrench broke the sound and intercepted the bottles in an instant. A chime. Sharp as only glass can be. And the mouth of the bottle exploded, increasing the ammunition by splitting it, and causing a deflection in the wrench.
A takeoff. The upward diagonal went straight towards the Soviet's gigantic shoulder like a heat-seeking missile. The metal was about to pierce his flesh when he moved a hand like Casillas in 2010 and caught your weapon between his index and thumb.
"You call this a wrench?" he asked, bringing it before his eyes. "It looks like it's for opening a little girl's diary."
The first attempt failed, but there was no time to waste. You shot another wrench, faster, stronger, at that very instant. The same one flew. It bounced off another piece of glass that was still halfway there, and jumped like a magnet straight towards the other wrench.
The jagged tips of the wrenches crossed in an instant. Sparks flew violently right before Dimitri's eyes - he didn't even blink - and ignited a fire that turned the wrench into a perfect thousand-degree knife.
Next instant. The sound of impaled flesh echoed. A clean, brutal cut straight to the neck. Not even Dimitri could remain indifferent. His eyes lowered to see his blood dripping from his prominent Adam's apple.
"..."
<Dimitri 90%
"..."
He looked up again and finally frowned.
<I came for your life.
"So be it..."
Dimitri copied your move. He shot your wrench from his thumb, and it, in an instant, collided with a hundred pieces of crystal that were about to hit him, making them explode into more harmless fragments before embedding itself in the floor.
"But everything you do... we can do better."
Dimitri reached into his huge pockets, and without much searching, pulled out, in one hand, a sickle... and in the other, a hammer.
"DIE, CAPITALIST PIG!"
The Soviet threw the sickle from his left hand horizontally, it spun as if looking to decapitate you, while the giant came behind with the hammer over his shoulder. He spun it between his fingers with the mastery that years give, and threw it at you with the combined power of effort and European steroids. The air vibrated, as the hammer entered a violent curve that sought to hit you in the ribs.
1d100 = 96
As it concerns us
This was the last battle to win the war. Dimitri looked at you with the disdain deserved by all those not protected under the equality of the red flag... but you ignored him, like you ignore all politics in this country, and walked past him.
Dimitri let out a few small laughs, and turned with some interest to watch you make the bartender tremble.
>Bartender
"A-ah, Dimitri, he's coming this way..."
As you approached, he stepped back, hands raised in fear and the desire to create more distance. But by the time you reached the bar, his back had already hit the wall. Your hand landed on the wood and the fat man lost his composure and balance with a scream.
"AAH!"
You jumped over the bar. Your feet touched the ground at the same time as the fat man's ass, who now saw you from below. You also ignored his pathetic display and went straight for the alcohol, which lined the walls in its transparent form, your rage manifesting in the atmosphere. The vodka in the bottles bubbled for an instant it just works before you exploded.
<RAHHHHHH!
"Aahh!" - he raised his arms to defend his head -
You turned your fists into a rain, and your fists turned the bottles into another rain. The alcohol and glass exploded in unison from the rapid movement, like a single balloon filled with vodka and crystal splashing in all directions.
For you, it was like watching in slow motion, the liquid growing in the air like a puddle under a dripping faucet. You hit even faster, the shards of glass turned to dust, and the small bodies of alcohol, barely drops.
The glass stuck to your fingers, usually harder than granite. Because you hit too fast and too hard, or something. From these cuts, you managed to get the alcohol and poison of 29 into your system.
This is because... you hit so hard that... when your knuckles collided with the alcohol, they filtered into the small space between the shards and the cut they left, thus entering your blood and leaving you tipsy.
"Th-the drinks!"
Having decimated the vodka population, taking only one hostage. You raised the bottle, previously uncorked, and drank it down, like those fat guys who chug water, finishing the bottle. The attentive eye could see a swirl for the thousandth of a thousandth of a second it took you to drink it.
>Dimitri
"Hmph. I see you liked the vodka."
30. You were now officially drunk. It would make the fight more fun. You were going to ring the bell for the first round.
You smashed the bottle against the wall, the glass spray made the bartender flinch. You then gave a sharp turn, releasing the sharp remnants of the bottle in a movement so strong that it shot out a burst of the glass you had in your hand. Accompanied, of course, by their respective trails of blood.
The crystal fleet turned red like blown glass. Your blood evaporated like a memory, but the Soviet was unimpressed. You raised your hand and thumb in a shooting combo. The wrench broke the sound and intercepted the bottles in an instant. A chime. Sharp as only glass can be. And the mouth of the bottle exploded, increasing the ammunition by splitting it, and causing a deflection in the wrench.
A takeoff. The upward diagonal went straight towards the Soviet's gigantic shoulder like a heat-seeking missile. The metal was about to pierce his flesh when he moved a hand like Casillas in 2010 and caught your weapon between his index and thumb.
"You call this a wrench?" he asked, bringing it before his eyes. "It looks like it's for opening a little girl's diary."
The first attempt failed, but there was no time to waste. You shot another wrench, faster, stronger, at that very instant. The same one flew. It bounced off another piece of glass that was still halfway there, and jumped like a magnet straight towards the other wrench.
The jagged tips of the wrenches crossed in an instant. Sparks flew violently right before Dimitri's eyes - he didn't even blink - and ignited a fire that turned the wrench into a perfect thousand-degree knife.
Next instant. The sound of impaled flesh echoed. A clean, brutal cut straight to the neck. Not even Dimitri could remain indifferent. His eyes lowered to see his blood dripping from his prominent Adam's apple.
"..."
<Dimitri 90%
"..."
He looked up again and finally frowned.
<I came for your life.
"So be it..."
Dimitri copied your move. He shot your wrench from his thumb, and it, in an instant, collided with a hundred pieces of crystal that were about to hit him, making them explode into more harmless fragments before embedding itself in the floor.
"But everything you do... we can do better."
Dimitri reached into his huge pockets, and without much searching, pulled out, in one hand, a sickle... and in the other, a hammer.
"DIE, CAPITALIST PIG!"
The Soviet threw the sickle from his left hand horizontally, it spun as if looking to decapitate you, while the giant came behind with the hammer over his shoulder. He spun it between his fingers with the mastery that years give, and threw it at you with the combined power of effort and European steroids. The air vibrated, as the hammer entered a violent curve that sought to hit you in the ribs.
1d100 = 96
Meta thread for the Jujutsu Kaisen roleplay sheets I'll open in the coming days. Like tomorrow or the day after. Ask your questions, I'll nerf yours. General discussion of what's coming once I fill the slots.
Here's the sheet:
>Name
Your name
>Age
Well, everyone starts at 15
>Nationality
Doesn't matter, but somehow everyone speaks Japanese kek
>Gender
You know, male, female
>History?
If you want to detail it. The roleplay will already start at the sorcery school, so it would just be about how you discovered your powers, or if instead you don't have cursed energy and just have a lot of strength like Toji
>Cursed Technique
Your special ability, it can be a totally original one or one inherited from the series (as long as it's not infinity kek)
Obviously you can't have Toji's heavenly restriction and a cursed technique, so you have to choose.
There will be no stats. We're going to play with pure d100 rolls, which I always found the most fun.
Here's the sheet:
>Name
Your name
>Age
Well, everyone starts at 15
>Nationality
Doesn't matter, but somehow everyone speaks Japanese kek
>Gender
You know, male, female
>History?
If you want to detail it. The roleplay will already start at the sorcery school, so it would just be about how you discovered your powers, or if instead you don't have cursed energy and just have a lot of strength like Toji
>Cursed Technique
Your special ability, it can be a totally original one or one inherited from the series (as long as it's not infinity kek)
Obviously you can't have Toji's heavenly restriction and a cursed technique, so you have to choose.
There will be no stats. We're going to play with pure d100 rolls, which I always found the most fun.
>>7302 →
>watch it in one roleplay sitting, you son of a bitch
"Waoh, I guess I gotta do it now"
>>7304 →
Should we do it? I have no problem, just respond to Kyoto's last turn (the general) and we'll pretend you were always there.
Better to have all the assets together. Too bad the experiment failed, I liked the idea of the festival.
>>7306 →
Keksito. Perfect then. I won't wait for you. We're similar anyway. Best of luck with whatever you have to do, little black boy, come back whenever you want and can.
>What do you say about Kyoto?
He accepted his superiority.
>>7307 →
>how the hell do you not finish a 9-episode series?
Well, it disappointed me and I dropped it, kek
>If it's just going to be adventures where the circus background and characters don't matter much
That was my idea, yes. Keksito.
>watching 3 episodes is more than enough for you
I dropped it at episode 4, I think. The last one I saw was the baseball one. Then I didn't have the motivation to continue.
>then by all means you have to watch at least up to 8 along with several theory videos
I was planning to finish the series someday... someday...
I guess I'm not the right person to handle that role, it wasn't my idea to make it lore-shit!
>When you see
These days. I'll respond when Dante takes his turn so there are at least 3 of us, kek
>>10324 →
Okay, I'll wait for you.
>watch it in one roleplay sitting, you son of a bitch
"Waoh, I guess I gotta do it now"
>>7304 →
Should we do it? I have no problem, just respond to Kyoto's last turn (the general) and we'll pretend you were always there.
Better to have all the assets together. Too bad the experiment failed, I liked the idea of the festival.
>>7306 →
Keksito. Perfect then. I won't wait for you. We're similar anyway. Best of luck with whatever you have to do, little black boy, come back whenever you want and can.
>What do you say about Kyoto?
He accepted his superiority.
>>7307 →
>how the hell do you not finish a 9-episode series?
Well, it disappointed me and I dropped it, kek
>If it's just going to be adventures where the circus background and characters don't matter much
That was my idea, yes. Keksito.
>watching 3 episodes is more than enough for you
I dropped it at episode 4, I think. The last one I saw was the baseball one. Then I didn't have the motivation to continue.
>then by all means you have to watch at least up to 8 along with several theory videos
I was planning to finish the series someday... someday...
I guess I'm not the right person to handle that role, it wasn't my idea to make it lore-shit!
>When you see
These days. I'll respond when Dante takes his turn so there are at least 3 of us, kek
>>10324 →
Okay, I'll wait for you.
>>10325 →
>it disappointed me and I left her
It deflated as it went on, so I don't blame you either
>It wasn't my idea to do lore shit!
Putting lore in would imply there's a goal to reach and that kind of ending stuff doesn't go well with hisrol... Episode style would be best, although the concept of a "caricature episodic" roleplay works with practically anything, even a supermarket. Imagine something like a regular show where you go to get fish to restock and end up fighting Poseidon for some kek reasons
>so that we can be 3
With Kumiko and Amara it would already be 3, although well Amara didn't respond to what you said so... yep I said nothing
>it disappointed me and I left her
It deflated as it went on, so I don't blame you either
>It wasn't my idea to do lore shit!
Putting lore in would imply there's a goal to reach and that kind of ending stuff doesn't go well with hisrol... Episode style would be best, although the concept of a "caricature episodic" roleplay works with practically anything, even a supermarket. Imagine something like a regular show where you go to get fish to restock and end up fighting Poseidon for some kek reasons
>so that we can be 3
With Kumiko and Amara it would already be 3, although well Amara didn't respond to what you said so... yep I said nothing
For those who cannot post here, remember that the backup board is on endchan, in case you cannot post in this thread either. Keep it civilized and without shitposting or throwing shit. This thread will be for feedback, doubts, questions, queries of any kind regarding the board or the hobby in general.
https://endchan.net/Hisrol/
https://endchan.org/Hisrol/
Report what breaks the rules, if you don't like a role, click hide and forget its existence
>Previous /mg/ in Hispa
https://pastebin.com/NNdeQAMy
>To save threads
https://archive.is/
>How can I save my thread?
Copy the link of your thread, then paste it into the archive.is bar, and then click save. Once that's done, all that's left is to wait for the page to give you a link where the thread will be saved. In short, it works quite similarly to Hispafiles
RESOURCES OR TOOLS TO HELP, GUIDE, AND GIVE YOUR ROLE A BETTER TOUCH
https://graphicsgale.com/us/
https://www.campfiretechnology.com/
https://donjon.bin.sh/
$$\fbox{Commands}$$
\fbox{-} *
\fcolorbox{outside color}{inside color}{-} * All in English
\frac -
\frak{-}
\grave{-}
\huge -
\Huge -
\large -
\Large -
\LARGE -
\mathbb{-}
\mathfrak{-}
\mathcal{-}
\mathbf{-}
\mathnormal{-}
\mathscr{-}
\tiny -
{\tt -}
\xcancel{-}
\texttt{-} *
\textsf{-} *
\textup{-} *
\textit{-} *
\textbf{-} *
\sixptsize -
\sf -
\TeX only works to put that tex and that's it, nothing else
\scriptsize -
-\raisebox{2pt}{$-$}- **
\projlim -
\overline{\text{-}} *
\tiny -
* = Accepts spaces
** = To raise a word.
https://endchan.net/Hisrol/
https://endchan.org/Hisrol/
Report what breaks the rules, if you don't like a role, click hide and forget its existence
>Previous /mg/ in Hispa
https://pastebin.com/NNdeQAMy
>To save threads
https://archive.is/
>How can I save my thread?
Copy the link of your thread, then paste it into the archive.is bar, and then click save. Once that's done, all that's left is to wait for the page to give you a link where the thread will be saved. In short, it works quite similarly to Hispafiles
RESOURCES OR TOOLS TO HELP, GUIDE, AND GIVE YOUR ROLE A BETTER TOUCH
https://graphicsgale.com/us/
https://www.campfiretechnology.com/
https://donjon.bin.sh/
$$\fbox{Commands}$$
\fbox{-} *
\fcolorbox{outside color}{inside color}{-} * All in English
\frac -
\frak{-}
\grave{-}
\huge -
\Huge -
\large -
\Large -
\LARGE -
\mathbb{-}
\mathfrak{-}
\mathcal{-}
\mathbf{-}
\mathnormal{-}
\mathscr{-}
\tiny -
{\tt -}
\xcancel{-}
\texttt{-} *
\textsf{-} *
\textup{-} *
\textit{-} *
\textbf{-} *
\sixptsize -
\sf -
\TeX only works to put that tex and that's it, nothing else
\scriptsize -
-\raisebox{2pt}{$-$}- **
\projlim -
\overline{\text{-}} *
\tiny -
* = Accepts spaces
** = To raise a word.
Niggers, I have time (for now), and the desire to do a roleplay, are mecha roleplays still more or less popular around here or did they die?
Mil gracias a todos esos países que mandaron su ayuda al mío. Aunque los malos en el mundo sean muchos, también hay bastante gente buena. El Salvador, México, Argentina, Estados Unidos, España, Francia, y muchos más, están llenos de gente basada. No solo están salvando vidas, también están visibilizando los abusos y obstáculos del gobierno.
De nuevo, mil gracias.
De nuevo, mil gracias.
>el OPuto de danganronpa 2
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