Anatase /hisrol/

/hisrol/ — Rol en Español

Tablón de rol en español — partidas, historias y sistemas.

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The Frontrooms Rolero Ruby-29ba6b No.2636 es
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v5afllKgGTM
November 22, 1963. John F. Kennedy, the 35th President of the United States, disappears during a motorcade. The incident is captured by cameras and numerous eyewitnesses. It was not the first "Abduction" nor the last, and although the American government never accepted the veracity of the phenomenon, labeling everything as a plot orchestrated by the communist threat, Kennedy's abduction turned the world upside down, marking a turning point in the history of sentient creatures.

A decade later, the "F Incident" cools in collective memory, but the abductions continue...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQHUAJTZqF0
1973. Now there are new concerns. Old problems resurface. Drugs, love, and peace. The country boils in war against the Charlies, and nobody seems to like the outlook. Life turns its face to rock and roll, to new age solutions when all else fails. In cinema, eroticism and porn have no clear line. In music, you're either funk, or you're nothing. Charles Manson's followers prepare for a race war. Adventists count down the seconds to the final judgment day. Agents of chaos and order, who don't know they are, constantly clash on the thin line that keeps the world sane. And amidst all that maelstrom of conspiracy and color, there is Stepford...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k5pyIj5uoDs
This is the story of a small American town covered by the shadow of that which lies on the threshold, human sin and the vestiges of the space between spaces.

Welcome to the Frontrooms.

First and last name
>Gender
>Age
>About you
>About your past
>What you expect for your future (Either you live in Stepford, or sooner or later you'll have to pass through there for work or by chance).

Stat cap
HP: 150
Energy: 100
Hunger: 30/ Thirst: 30
-Strength: 15
-Agility: 15
-Stamina: 15
-Luck: 15

Human limits can be broken. But how...?

...

Note that the roleplay will be very narrative. Only three spots are available.
Abby/Thomas Weston Esperite-b6802b No.2788 es
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Placid Sunday, just another morning. Her white sheet shimmered under golden rays, outlining the silhouette of the body she'd finally discovered last night. Her dreams—forgotten now—had been adorned by a vague sensation that allowed her to savor love as art. Things she experiences up close yet somehow elude her.

She wakes with the slowness the sun, so patient, grants her through caresses on her face. Her eyes open fully without delay; she slept well. The intense experience gifted her a pleasant lethargy. She gets up, resisting the urge to raise the blinds and let her eyes greet the landscape because she's naked.

"No one else is supposed to see this," her body seems to say, as she spins playfully toward the dresser.

She begins to dress. She has a big day ahead, and she'll live it beautifully. Rummaging through her clothes, she decides to embrace style—puts on navy blue high-waisted flared pants with a red belt, pairing them with a green tea-colored shirt with a pointed collar. She searches for a blazer too... only has one, floral.

"I love it."

She puts it on and looks in the mirror. She looks neutral... then dares to unbutton several buttons, exposing cleavage. The idea embarrasses her, but also liberates her. She smiles. Fixes her short hair... and now, finally, raises the blinds and opens the window...

The outside seems brighter than yesterday. Days in Steppenford are always a landscape. She loves the sun, adores it, can inhale the scent of morning. And release a sigh of satisfaction. Things were going to change, somehow.

"All future time is better."

That's what she believes. She turns from the window. Passes the painting with just a glance. She'll return to it later, with far more energy. Opens the door, and heads down for breakfast.

She passes through the kitchen, as lively as ever. Celia hums a sweet tune stuck in her head after passing once through a store playing music—a melody from another world, from an album with a beautiful blonde woman gazing at the sky. Life on Mars from Hunky Dory, by David Bowie

"Good morning, Mom!"

She exclaims, wanting to be seen.

>Celia
"Good morning, my li—"

She sees sternum, a little chest. Doesn't matter that they aren't mountains—she sees skin. Like how those crazy girls dress without a bra, that supposed new fashion trend making women clutch their chests.

"My God!"

Abby had already walked past by then, heading straight to the table where her father sat with a coffee cup, today's newspaper, waiting for the eggs and bacon that already smelled delicious.
>Abby
"Dad!" -she felt daring, she wanted to show her rebelliousness-

>Thomas
"Good morning, Abby."

He replied dryly, without taking his eyes off the newspaper. He was still thinking.

>Abby
"Daaad." -she doesn't give up- "What are you reading?"

>Thomas
"The newspaper."

>Abby
"Ahem..."

Celia comes out from behind, peeking nervously from the kitchen. She doesn't know what to say, she knows she should intervene, but at the same time, sticking her nose in would make them see Abby... like this.

"Look at me!"

Another sigh escaped the man. He lowered the newspaper, and his eyes almost popped out of their sockets when he saw his daughter with her breasts almost bare, like a harlot, smiling like an idiot while her hands separated from her body with palms wide open. As if saying 'this is me'.

>Thomas
"Abigail." -he said as he stood up- "Button that up and go put on a bra this instant!"

>Abby
"Huh?! But Dad-"

>Thomas
"SILENCE!" -Abby flinched slightly- "I won't let any daughter of mine dress like a... A... Whore." -he said, pointing-

>Abby
"..." -her eyes widened for a second- "..." -silence, she put on a normal face-

>Thomas
"..." -he breathed-

Abby lowered her gaze but not her defenses, she buttoned her shirt up to her neck, and went upstairs without saying anything. She had a lot to say, she thought, but nothing came out. She left, observed by Celia on her way, who looked at her with a sad face. Thomas slowly returned to his seat, the weight of his own words seemed to leave him not knowing where to look either. He took refuge in Celia's face, but she looked somewhat sad.

"..."

Better, he looked at the newspaper.

...

>Abby
"Is all I've done just being a whore?" -she asked the mirror as she put on her bra- "Is loving, perhaps, the conduct of a whore...?" -it hurt her to be pigeonholed with that word, maybe she would have been indifferent, but she felt that an insult from Dad hurt much more- "Woe is me... Father, why have you turned this beautiful morning into a tragedy?"

She felt like crying. She didn't, she didn't want to start the great day like this. She put on the same clothes, now with the shapes approved by her dad, and went downstairs again. She served herself some cereal, Mom had already served food to the rest. They were all seated, in a strange silence. Abigail ate with her head down, without any witty remarks. In silence.

(The silence is heavy.)

She was doing it on purpose, she wanted the silence to weigh more than anything else. Thomas couldn't help but glance at her from time to time, he didn't understand her. She looked melancholic, with downcast eyes and lips set in a calculated seriousness. And, ironically, the most uncomfortable one turned out to be Celia.
>Celia
"...Don't you want me to cook you something, sweetie? Are you really just having cereal?"

>Abby
(Nothing. Just cereal.)

She thinks it, doesn't want to speak.

>Thomas
"Answer your mother." –he commands–

>Celia
"C-carrie..."

>Abby
"..." –pauses mid-spoonful– "...no, nothing."

>Celia
sigh "You're sure?"

>Abby
"Nothing." –repeats, choosing the most uncomfortable word possible–

>Celia
"Hm..."

>Thomas
"Ja... Your loss." –they don't even look– "Eggs and bacon are the best." –Abby finishes the bite– "You don't even know how to eat something good." –Abby chews– "..." –mumbles–

>Celia
"Jaja..." –fakes a laugh at Thomas's comment to lighten the mood– "ehm... Dad." –tries to change the subject– "Did you watch anything interesting on TV last night...?"

And so they pass another while in nothingness. Until Thomas finally lets some of his resentment fade.

>Thomas
"Uh... don't you wanna go to Simulatron or...?"

>Celia
"Oh, great idea!" –exclaims, genuinely cheerful–

>Abby
"Nah..." –this time, genuine–

>Celia
"Oh..." –feels like she's been slapped down–

>Thomas
"What, no?"

Celia
"Who could it be?" –gets up, unwilling to miss a chance to get scammed, though she might score a new vacuum cleaner–

Celia/Thomas
"Oh!" / "What?" –one is surprised, the other also, but less pleasantly. Abby bolts down and runs to the door at the cry of 'I'll get it!'

Abigail stopped short before the wall stopped hiding her, then stepped out with a balletic lateral leap, full of grace, ending with hands at her sides as she finally saw who stood at the end of the hall.

"¡!" –a hesitation, like a choked guttural sound. A glottal stop. She straightened up and composed herself, flashing a smile at her grandmother for an instant before turning back to her teacher–

<Good morning, Abby.

"Good morning..."

Her words were like watercolors, activating a tone drenched in sighs, watered down by love. She runs a hand through her hair, adjusting it slightly without dropping the smile.

<I brought this. You left it at school yesterday, and I don't blame you, with everything that happened…

"Oh... Right. The morning was a Greek tragedy... But the ending was... hopeful."

(Tell him to just leave it there...)

She thought, since they lived in an area where they could easily leave the door open. That's what Abigail believed. But even if she didn't know, she walked down, with a better idea. She reached out and went for the doorknob, accidentally brushing Robin's hand

"Sorry..."
She was seeking contact. Her hand holds the bicycle. The closeness excites her, yet she prefers to step back a little—safe distance to talk to a police officer without interference (3 meters)—giving her hero a pleased glance.

"Thank you so much... You're very thoughtful. Quite the gentleman." -she flatters as much as she can-

<And I'm sorry.

"Huh?" -she's surprised- "And why on earth should you be sorry?" -alarm fills her, had she been deceived perhaps? Her world wobbles-

<I had to check your files to find out where you live.

Abby sighed at the privacy violation as if a truck’s weight had lifted from her shoulders. She now knows Robin is aware of her dust mite allergy, her home phone number, and of course, her address. Basic things in a relationship.

<I thought about going door to door asking, but I always get lost in the suburbs, everything looks so... similar.

"I understand." -she said, raising her gaze, with a silly smile that won't fade- "Monotony can be disorienting, confusing, and in a painting, almost dull." -almost, because while it would limit your creativity to repetition, redoing the same thing multiple times has its charm- "Don't apologize for that. Really. It's a very sweet gesture. That you went through the trouble... Shouldn't I be the one apologizing, perhaps? I'd ask Minerva right now."

She consulted the man because heaven and Rome were too far away. She's glad Robin knows where she lives. And from this situation, only one thing slightly saddens her: not knowing where he lives. So slightly, though, that it doesn't bother her, because she knows that if she keeps walking through the tunnel, in the end they'll be together and share everything. They're connected, they just need to move forward.

<Why don't you come in and talk more comfortably?

Abby's lips form a delicate circle from surprise, mirroring her teacher's. But she relaxes more quickly, breaking into a broad, almost mischievous smile as the grandmother invites him inside.

(I love you, grandma...)

<Don't even mention it! Abby, tell your mother to set another place at the table.

"Right away." -she turns with the bike, then glances over her shoulder- "Mom told me to ask for whatever you'd like for breakfast~ I'll get you a great breakfast." -she winks at him-

She walks. Crosses the doorway, turns once more.

"Sorry, I know clarifying this feels anticlimactic after what I just said. But I think I haven't made it clear enough: I want you to come in now. I don't like ambiguous scripts." -she lets out a little laugh, waiting for him to enter the house-

2/3
Keksito, this feels strangely politicized
Abby/Thomas Weston Esperite-b6802b No.2789 es
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a small conversation arose among parents seeing the fervor with which the girl rushed to answer the door. and it was already reaching its end, and of course, drawing conclusions.

>Celia
"maybe she was waiting for someone... special." -she admits it; her girl is growing up-

>Thomas
"she never told me anything about that." -he's less accepting-

and then, the little one enters the scene. walking with an entirely different air than when she left, intoxicated by a love that makes her smile, raise her finger, and speak with more sweetness than sugar.

>Celia
"abby!" -she calls out; thomas just stares, subjecting her to jealous scrutiny-

>Abby
"mother, please, make a little more room in the flavor of the morning! a chair, a plate, and serve your finest breakfast dish... for excess."

>Celia
"ah, yes my queen." -she gets up- "are you going to eat?"

>Abby
"it's for a guest, truth be told. the lie discarded." -she asked robin to wait before introducing him; she'd call him in as soon as she was done; thomas was already frowning-

>Celia
"oh!" -she's a bit delighted, feeling she was right... her daughter has fallen in love- "and who is it?" -she asks to see him-

>Abby
-looks behind her- "dear professor robin, please, come forward~"

and so, he steps forward into the spotlight. his presence shocks everyone in the room; celia's eyes fly open, horrified for a second; thomas crushes the newspaper as if witnessing a crime. robin, with his androgynous beauty that abby adores, was not without controversy in a conservative household.

>Celia
"i'll go cook."

she steps away. not knowing what to think, it takes her a second even to look properly and understand that her daughter isn't some sick deviant drawn to this long-haired man's delicate features. she must sort her thoughts; she'll make a grand breakfast for him... but she needs every second in the kitchen to recompose herself.

>Abby
"see? mother will make a breakfast beyond delicious—you can believe it. i'm as delicate with food as i am with painting. please, follow me." -she invites him to sit, leading him by the wrist, pours him some orange juice, and sits beside him-

thomas glares murder at the other man. struggling so his quick-trigger side doesn't make him draw immediately. abby gazes up at the professor with the same eyes she uses to admire art. and it enrages him. he doesn't know whether he's more upset by how the guy looks or by how his daughter looks at him—but it doesn't matter.

"well... i couldn't introduce you to mom. but... this is my grandpa josh." -points with her hand- "and how venerable he is. i respect him, even if he's from another era." -leans in to whisper- "but he doesn't want me to help him with that oatmeal he struggles to bring to his mouth. jiji"

>Thomas
"abigail!" -he scolds her for the closeness; she returns to her seat somewhat reluctantly, looks at her dad with mild discomfort, but decides to smile; the moment with robin is a balm for everything else-

>Abby
"he's my father, thomas. dad is a... ahem. agent."

>Thomas
"police."

>Abby
"ah. that's right. but he's one of the groovies, isn't he?"

>Thomas
"what was your name again?" -he asks the professor-
Robin!

"And what exactly did you come here for...?"

>Abby
"He brought me my bicycle. And later, we're going to the Simulatron together." —she just made that up—

>Thomas
"What?!?" —that catches him off guard, anger replaced by pure confusion and surprise at such a revelation—

Celia returns a little while later. She refills everyone's orange juice if it's gone below half. And she places before Robin a gorgeous plate: two eggs with runny yolks, pancakes topped with melted butter drenched in maple syrup, two large strips of bacon, and a large toast cut diagonally in half so it looks like two.

>Abby
"Thank you so much, Mom." —she's cheerful—

After that, she sits back down, with a somewhat nervous smile, yet more accepting.

>Celia
"Sorry for the wait... Did I miss anything?"

>Thomas
"Nothing..." —still staring at the guy— "hey. And you... 'Robin', right...?" —says the name with a mocking tone— "why the fuck don't you cut those filthy greasy locks like a real man?" —Abby is already frowning— "You're not one of those dirty queers, are you?"

>Celia
"Dear..." —gets tense—

>Abby
"I assure you he's not!" —raises a finger— "Professor Robin is... very masculine..." —her other hand wanders, and somehow reaches her professor's knee, gently caressing it, then his thigh—

>Thomas
"Oh yeah? Doesn't look like it to me. You know being a faggot is illegal, right?" I suppose back then it was illegal in nearly every state. Unless Steppenford happens to be one of the 4 states that had just legalized it, which would fuck up this dialogue lol "Don't wanna spend two years in a cell. Or do you? I've heard queers have a rough time in there—"

>Abby
"Dad!" —stops touching Robin abruptly—

>Thomas
"What? I was just asking."

>Abby
"You're embarrassing me... Professor Robin is..." —touches her heart, blushing— "special... to me..."

>Celia
"!!"

>Thomas
"..." —takes a deep breath, suddenly stands up— "I gotta go to work."

>Celia
"Dear—" —stands up too, but he was already gone. Celia sighs; there was nothing to do when he got like this... she sits back down—

>Abby
sigh of ugh what a drag "sorry about him... I'm afraid in the end, he's just another one of those cops..." —eyes closed, indignant—

>Celia
sad sigh "Abby..." —this girl...—

>Abby
"Anyway... Robin, this is my mom. Celia."

>Celia
"Pleasure to meet you..." —despite everything— "Abby really enjoys painting... I suppose that's something you taught her." —she says "painting"— "uh... thank you for that."

Abby always felt she had the talent, but she wouldn't discredit Robin's help.

"And..." —just making conversation— "what... ahem..." —wanted to ask what his intentions were with her daughter, but that didn't seem like the best word— "what kind of connection do you two have?"

Abby tenses up. That was a question she was extremely interested in. Meanwhile, some oatmeal spills onto Celia's blouse.

"Oh Dad... seriously, don't you want a little help with that...?"

3/3
Now I can finally rest in peace.
Thanks so much Steppenfoooord sorry for so little
Rolero Spinel-dbeb58 No.2790 es
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>>2780
<David Stanford (Time: Indeterminate. Date: March, year 1973)
HP: 100/100
Energy: 50/50
Hunger: 20/20 - Thirst: 20/20
-Strength: 3
-Agility: 3
-Stamina: 3
-Luck: 2
Inventory
-Secret pockets 2/6
Truck keys
x17 Dollars
Spells:
-Eye of Resonance (Reads the soul imprint of beings like yourself. -2 energy per minute)
Techniques:
-Demonic Suction: Renders enemy unconscious for 6 hours. Enemy must be in a state of suggestion or weakness to succeed (Does not work on creatures too large)

Stepford
Static cuts the screen, a storm of snow encapsulated. Abe removes the semi-transparent panel and smacks the television. The image clears, but instead of showing two pixels of light, it displays a strange music video.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kjxSCAalsBE

You feel a tingling in your perineum. Something in the ether has changed. Maybe it's a message from the lower astral—omen of future blessing or warning of ill fortune?

Abe takes off his cap to scratch his scalp, theorizing the antenna picked up a signal from some other house. Unlike you, he's a skeptic of magic, but no science book or conspiranoia could prepare him when the window explodes from an impact, and a dark-winged bird of prey bounces and flaps against the wooden floor, then stands up and starts pecking at the glass.

Hands on the wheel, eyes on the dirt road, you can't stop thinking about what happened at your parents' house. Julia said it was a crow, but you're certain it was a Yata-Garasu. To make things worse, a pimple popped up on your nose—another sign?

Abe: O-over there.

You turn into the woods only for the truck, with a jolt, to end up tilted and sinking into a path with deceptive firmness, swallowing it like quicksand. Annabel Lee, the porcelain doll, lifts her gaze from the book on her tiny legs and points forward with her little white hand to say:

Insanity.

Among the shadows of clustered trees, you spot a scarlet egg pulsing like a heart. Abe says it wasn't there before. You try to reverse, but the truck sinks deeper, and you shift your gaze from the egg to the ground, where red grass—actually tendrils—waves, welcoming you. Abe opens the door, but Annabel Lee warns them they must not step onto the Havester's trap.

Abe crawls to the back seats, lifts a boot, and kicks out the rear window. They move to the cargo area and from there make the best leap possible to escape the egg's zone of influence. You know they've succeeded when the earth doesn't devour them.
During your frantic escape, you left the Melanicus and other belongings behind. As you glance back with Annabel Lee under your arm, you watch the vehicle sink and vanish beneath the ground. The last thing you see is the license plate. The egg remains waiting beyond, among the slender tree trunks, patient.

What evil will hatch?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rc-PocF6-9o

At the end of March, Abe and you stole a new pickup truck to escape the pandemonium. Amid screams and burning houses, hands reached out trying to stop you, leaving bloody trails across cracked windows—but you never stopped accelerating. On every one of those manic faces chasing you, the mark of a raw, bleeding cross was visible.

Abe, upright in the passenger seat, without his cap or mask, his eyes heavy with dark circles fixed on the road, begins reciting without stumbling:
And thus they recognized the presence of the Red Death.
It had come like a thief in the night.
And one by one the guests fell in the blood-stained orgy halls,
each dying in the desperate posture of their fall.
And the life of the ebony clock died with the last of those joyous beings.
And the flames of the tripods expired.
And darkness, and decay, and the Red Death ruled over all.

The forest pulls you away from the chaos. You drive to a distant cliff from where you can glimpse the town. From within the smoke rises a giant, its hollow head touching the clouds, its tentacles waving shadows capable of stretching across all of Stepford. Abe touches your shoulder to get your attention, then points at the horizon with a trembling finger.

Abe: T-t-the f-f-four h-h-horsemen of the f-f-f-finish.

Black helicopters approach and circle the city, swirling like swarming flies above a fresh corpse. You suspected there were more than four, but just as you were counting, a blinding electric flash blinds you.

The outline of the dome is visible for only a few seconds before it shields itself through transference. The torso separates from the giant, dropping chunks of flesh, but instead of collapsing, it uses its tentacles to lift itself and carefully descend from the dome, while its cyclopean legs remain still and upright inside the dome.

As your mind struggles to process what you’ve seen, several questions come to you:

What will you do with your life? How will you live? Will you tell others what you saw in Stepford?

...

I know it's a bit late. But anon's reply to Abby inspired me to give both of them an epilogue.
「𝓙𝓸𝓙𝓸𝓼 𝓑𝓲𝔃𝓪𝓻𝓻𝓮 𝓐𝓭𝓿𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓮 𝓖𝓻𝓮𝓮𝓴 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓷: 𝓬𝓪𝓹𝓲𝓽𝓾𝓵𝓸 9」 Leshero Juaker Umbalite-397afc No.2545 es
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EPILOGO: EL ENIGMA SIN FIN∘₊✧──────✧₊∘ΕΠΙΛΟΓΟΣ: ΤΟ ΑΤΕΛΕΙΩΤΟ ΑΙΝΙΓΜΑ


Why do you stare
Do you think that I care?
You've been misled
By the thoughts in your head

Your words waste and decay
Nothing you say
Reaches my ears anyway
You never spoke a word of truth

Why do you think
I believe what you said
Few of your words
Ever enter my head

I'm tired of living with freaks?
With tongues in their cheeks
Turning their eyes as they speak
They make me sick and tired

Are you confused
To the point in your mind
Though you're blind
Can't you see you're wrong
Won't you refuse
To be used
Even though you may know
I can see you're wrong
Please!, please!, please open your eyes
Please!, please!, please don't give me lies

I've ruled over the earth
Witnessed my birth
Cried at the sight of a man
And still I don't know who I am

I've seen paupers as kings
Puppets on strings
Dance for the children who stare
You must have seen them everywhere



>Players

-Tamamo: alien shemale with divine tits, the fanservice made real but with good development
-Baloo: rotating ball of fur, tactical and deadly, bear master of disguise and lover of nature
-Charles: depressed writer with severe inspiration problems, for biological reasons he is francophobic
-Lovely Flowers: French schizophrenic, after being thrown (against her will) towards a Greek god she believes she is the owner of destiny
-Shaggy Rogers: "wooorales Shaggy ¿how was the touch? ¿stands, Scrappy, gods? chiiiispas old man this thing really makes you fly"
-Lirola: Olé the most Spanish and very Spanish of the role, you know it, kid, man!


>MAXIMUM SPOTS
let's be honest,.. ALMOST 5 YEARS AND STILL I HAVE NOT FINISHED THIS BUT I ALMOST ACHIEVED IT JAJAJAJ

>Previous threads
-chapter 1: https://hispafiles.ru/r/res/268776.html
-chapter 2: https://hispafiles.ru/r/res/277088.html
-chapter 3: https://hispafiles.ru/r/res/300616.html
-chapter 4 rescued from Hades on mediafire: https://www.mediafire.com/folder/djvmbcl9js7al/capitulo_4_
-chapter 4.5: https://endchan.net/Hisrol/res/3840.html
-chapter 5: https://8chan.moe/hisrol/res/1964.html
-chapter 6: https://8chan.moe/hisrol/res/16306.html
-chapter 7: https://8chan.moe/hisrol/res/35342.html
-chapter 8: https://8chan.moe/hisrol/res/74060.html
Fan de Leshero Smoky Quartz-c20181 No.2633 es
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>>2632
I always imagined it as something more on the slim side since Vicky was the violent and strong one of the two. But in the drowning scene her Stand starts praising her figure kuek... so it would make sense that it's something more curvilinear.

Although with the "pesadita" thing it seemed like you do get fatter kek
Leshero Juaker Umbalite-397afc No.2634
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Rolero Sillimanite-86a49c No.2635 es
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>>2634
We're still waiting Leshero...but no rush eh!
Iconoclasia: Enfrentamiento de ideas Rolero Sunstone-c395e3 No.2462 es
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The old gods are dead or sleeping. Their believers today are so distant from their legends that they have heard them only as tales passed down through generations, and none personally know the times when they still walked with their creations. They simply follow the same rituals that were taught to the ancestors of their ancestors without really knowing why they do them, for whom they do them, or if those gods to whom they pay tribute still exist or ever did. They simply believe, because a lack of belief leads to rebellion, conscious or unconscious. And you? What do you do? The same as always, you live in the midst of all this.

https://youtu.be/j8IX0CXvT0M?si=657YMPBJWZTfLeun

Welcome to Riverveil, an ordinary town on the edge of Arizona where ancient traditions are preserved, but above all, the sanctity of the "Veil." For longer than humanity has existed, the world has been inhabited by entities beyond its comprehension, which only live in harmony with it after bloody battles between the most outstanding exponents of their species. These concluded in a kind of millennial truce in which most of these beings retired to their own domains to rest, allowing others with whom humanity is more familiar, and some with whom it is not, to live in peace. The end of these wars was the origin of what is now known as the "Veil."

The Veil of night, as thin as the silk from which the veil protecting a bride's face from the curious eyes of her future husband during the ceremony is made, is the modern world's last defense against the chaos that threatens to destabilize it. For a period of just 8 hours each night, all the evils that humanity as a whole must not know are free to roam under the moonlight and do with this freedom whatever their instinct or will dictates. To keep at bay all who seek to break the fragile balance in which the world finds itself, there are numerous organizations, groups, and independent agents of order who, with weapons, arcane knowledge, and their own inherited or acquired curses, fight directly or indirectly every night and day.

Awakening the ancient gods, attracting an external one, destroying the current order to build a new one upon its ruins in which they reign supreme... the reasons why a creature of the night attempts, consciously or unconsciously, to break the veil and provoke global changes are as varied as these beings themselves. He who intends to hunt down the various agents of chaos or simply live peacefully amidst their plans and the actions of those who try to thwart them needs to know how to fend for himself. That is the case for all who know the secrets that many prefer to keep hidden.

>Character Sheet
Stats: 10 points to distribute as you wish.
Item (Optional):
Rolero Garnet-56935c No.2542 es
>>2541
>Lev
"¿The only thing you can do?"

"..."

"Breaking things is very easy. Repairing... 'ehh', not so much"

"It has quite a value, don't despise that sacred gift"

What I meant by that, who knows. But after saying goodbye and leaving that Jesu' monastery, I walk a few steps along the lonely streets, until I notice how the sun rises on the horizon.

"Good morning"

I say with a smile while I cover my face a bit with my hand, so I can see without the sun blinding me. It should have been like 5 or 6 in the morning, and I was quite tired, so I was just walking to my temple, my home, my... home. It was a productive day, although tomorrow (today) I would have to start to... do that. Slowly I arrive at that abandoned shack, an old bus stop covered in rust, in an area where there was no longer a street, just grassy fields up to my chest, and my presence. I lie down on the bench, and I just look at the rusted tin roof while time passes... I want to scratch my hand, but I don't do it, for now.
Rolero Sunstone-c395e3 No.2543 es
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>>2542
Sleeping outdoors is especially dangerous on cold days like these, and with how poorly protected your shelter is from the elements, you might as well be sleeping outside. Fortunately or by miracle, it seems like it hasn't rained or snowed during the time you've been resting, since you wake up, alive and relatively dry, at some indeterminate time in the afternoon, you can assume.

<Someone: Good afternoon.

Someone's voice confirms your assumptions, or to be more precise, not the voice of someone random, but the unmistakable voice of someone you know and who you know has trouble pronouncing certain esses.

<Someone: An empanada?

He offers you the already cold dough with a bare hand, without a plate or napkin due to lack of resources. This is something he often does, since he, like you, lacks the means to refrigerate or preserve food for long periods. Usually he trades it or shares it with whoever gives him something of use or at least thanks.

<Someone: Of meat, it's the last one I have left.

The rusty cart he uses to carry his food and other goods isn't any cleaner than him, the few Tupperware containers he brings are also in poor condition due to the lack of water and soap to wash them frequently and the fact that he often mixes them up with his other clutter, as he's doing right now.

<Someone: The other one I traded for this... but...

After asking you to wait and search through his things for a while, he takes out two fruits.

<Someone: Pera. Do you want one?

He offers you one of the pears and keeps the other, covering the cart and his things with a somewhat cleaner sheet than the rest.

<Someone: I'm going to keep the seed and plant it outside of my box. When the tree grows, I'll eat pear all day.

He tells you with a smile of rotten teeth that doesn't do much to grace his unfortunate face.

<Someone: I can give you one too.

Despite his ugliness, intellectual deficiency, vagrancy, disease, and oddness, the people in the community see him as a kind person due to these customs of sharing what little he has with others without harboring ambitions to possess more. The people call him Angel, obviously because he has a name and isn't just called "Someone," although it's unclear if that's his real name or some nickname.

At times in the afternoon, he usually passes by these remote areas of the city to pick up whatever he finds discarded out of sight of the officials who would bother to enforce the law that prohibits people from rummaging through trash containers. You also know he lives under the bridge in the center near other homeless people, although you don't know exactly what conditions he lives in or what he does with the debris he collects, if anything besides just accumulating it.

The sentence is good, but it alone doesn't fill the stomach, and it's already late enough to take something to your mouth without it counting as breaking the fast, your body knows you need it. It's also late enough for the free soup to start being served behind the church, if you prefer a more complete meal.
Rolero Umbalite-e9a21b No.2544 es
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>>2543
The night was tough, as cold as the touch of the moon, so beautiful and distinct, but shining without burning your retinas, in such celestial humility, allowing the mortal to contemplate its delicacy. But yes, towards cold, quite cold, maybe it wouldn't rain or snow, but the serenity of the night, froze the being accompanied by the winds of the hills.

My body was trembling, realizing I was sleeping. I've always had trouble with insomnia, but after "That", I've barely managed to blink. But the cold wasn't really what was disturbing my sleep this time, but rather thinking about the helpless one, who has no house, roof or luxury, sleeps under the cruel cold of the elements. That made me sad, and that made me tremble more than the cold.

When I wanted to remember, the sun had already risen and the sky was clear. I yawned and got up from that bench. I looked at myself in the broken mirror, poorly lit, and took a can of powdered milk, mixed it with water and heated it in my gas stove. With that, I threw some blocks of chocolate homemade, and stirred with a spoon while I looked at the landscape and listened to the birds singing. The good thing about getting up late is that you automatically fast, skipping directly to the snack and lunch.

"..?"

"Buenas tardes buen hombre"

Angels always appear at these moments. Despite what popular culture mentions, they don't shine physically, but shine in spirit, because they are so humble that when they come into the world of mortal offspring, they leave their halo in the closet. I see as he offers me a empanada, I smiled and accepted his charity, and in exchange I read fresh a cup with hot chocolate to warm up and give energy. Those who have the least are the ones who give the most, one of the many mysteries of this merciless world

"Many thanks, seriously"

"Take it, it's good"

"Be careful, it's still hot"

I take a sip of my hot chocolate, this warm and reanimates the tired soul, without leaving you alert and paranoid like cheap coffee. I wait while I take another sip until I see as he takes a pear. I observe, observe the fruit and give a friendly smile

"Oh, thanks thanks, but, I already have enough"

"Keep it for someone else who needs it more than me, or for you"

"But still I am infinitely grateful"

''I reject it politely, because I was already rich, and I didn't need more abundance. Then I hear as he tells me that magnificent idea of planting a pear tree, and eating pears every day.

"That... That is a beautiful idea. You are someone very intelligent"

"You will see how that tree will grow, and you will have fresh fruit"

"I know, wait a moment:."

I enter my house and look for a small glass jar with several seeds inside, and go outside to give it to him

"They are flower seeds, they grow fast and smell good. While you wait for the pear tree to grow, they will be your company''

With that I give him a friendly pat on the shoulder to continue his way, and I stay alone eating the empanada while I look at the horizon. I thank in my prayer, and I get up from the ground. I enter my house, grab a bit of water from my bucket and wash my face, then go out to walk and water the flowers behind my "house" with this water. I was going to the church because free food is free food. Also I wanted to see if someone needed my help because my hands are the only thing I can offer. Maybe I would ask the nun who serves food if they need help with something. Anything. Nail some planks, paint a wall, look for something, serve food.'
Génesis X; Primera Generación Shattuckite-674071 No.1839 es
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In the last two decades, the world has witnessed an unprecedented phenomenon: the appearance of individuals bearing peculiarities — genetic alterations that grant extraordinary abilities — colloquially known as quirks. What began as isolated cases, hidden and misinterpreted, has grown into an international matter.

The scientific community debates whether this is a natural evolutionary leap or the result of forces yet to be identified. Governments, on the other hand, are concerned with the strategic impact of these individuals. In a world divided by the Cold War, the fear that quirks could become weapons has ignited diplomatic tensions and fueled extremist ideologies, both in defense and opposition to their existence.

In this climate of uncertainty, amidst the cold waters and dense fog of the North Atlantic, rises Genesis Island: an isolated enclave, inaccessible by conventional routes and officially nonexistent on any navigational chart. Administered by the geneticist and empathetic mutant Edward Claremont, the island serves as a refuge and training center for young quirks carriers. There, they are taught to understand and control their abilities, while also being prepared for missions beyond their shores.

Claremont, visionary and pragmatic, founded Genesis Island in 1972, after acquiring the ruins of a World War II naval base. His facilities — a mix of military and academic architecture — now house classrooms, laboratories, training zones, and restricted sectors whose existence is rarely mentioned. Although his official discourse advocates for peaceful coexistence, many wonder what his true objective is and where the resources that keep this place functioning come from.

In the year 1983, the world watches in silence. Between the promise of a future where humans and mutants coexist, and the fear of an inevitable conflict, Genesis Island stands as a lighthouse… or perhaps, as the spark that will ignite the next great war.

>Sheet Nothing new, they already know it

>Name

>Quirk
Try not to make it open to further evolution, the point of the roll is that players advance with their quirks as they learn to handle them.

>Age
15 to 20

>Nationality
I want to see a diverse cast, yeah.

>Gender

>Background

>Aspirations

<No, there are no stats
Lagrimitas Lirilin Taaffeite-40ef3d No.1987 es
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>>1983
Huh? What? How? When? Where? Me? I was just trying to finish off those perverted, provocative breasts— AHHHHHHHHHHHHH, OH CHIFORINFULAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

He instinctively covers his face to protect himself from the supposed kick of the horse-girl, his dream-hallucuation vanishing so abruptly that he doesn't even remember what he was about to do, so he doesn't understand why she's trying to attack him. However, Lagrimitas isn't someone who holds grudges or seeks revenge, so he forgives the girl for the feint kick and tries to help with his huge hands, though he takes a moment to turn and look at her...

And exactly what are we going to talk about, miss? Do you want me to tell you a little joke?

He looks at Maria as a first pic, right here small and cute. Although he's scared she'll see him with hatred and disgust, the butt-clown clown wants to suppose she just needs some humor in her life and he can give her plenty of it.

>>1985
>>1986
>>1983
THE PROSTATE EXAM IS HERE! WHO'S NEXT!

That's what he screams after hitting the engineer who almost damaged A.S. He turns toward the group of crazed admirers and flashes his fingers, making threatening gestures for them to run away while covering their asses, but things were going to be different since they grab the horse-girl, squeeze her leg with luxurious violence, and use her as a projectile to go against the clown himself, Pierrot style. He can only see Maria flying toward his direction.

Oh, little girl...

He murmurs moments before the horse-girl crashes into his tiny 1.59 cm body. Little birds fly above his head like in cartoons, and his eyes turn into spirals showing how dizzy he is, but beyond the impact, he feels something "comfortable" between his hands, something so soft that it somewhat lightened the huge impact. In other words, that "thing" voluminous sank into Lagrimitas's face and is now between his hands.

T-Thank you very much... Russian friend... T-Thankfully the horse-miss is soft... Round... And fluffy... I thought the hit would be more solid since I could see a lot of muscle in her but it wasn't like I ima-
She thanks the Russian boy until he opens his eyes and realizes he's squeezing the Chilean girl's ass, exactly like that, and the worst part is that his hands are huge and strong, so he's giving her some not-so-gentle squeezes.

AHHHHHHHHHH! I DIDN'T MEAN TO DO THAT! IT'S THOSE PERVERTED FANS' FAULT! I'M SORRY! IT WASN'T ME, IT WAS TETE, HIT HIM, HIT HIM, IT WAS HIM! WHY CAN'T HE STOP SQUEEZING?!

She looks at the Russian, begging for help to let them know, even though his hands sink deeper into María's flesh. Meanwhile, Lagrimitas pulls her face away with an expression of shock and fear at the same time, shaking her head violently; she doesn't want to look even worse in the eyes of this "new" teammate. Fortunately, Warren asks her to carry out his plan, so she gathers her courage to let go of the mare's rear end and jumps far away from her, blushing...

O-Okay, Mr. Warren! BUT I NEED YOUR SUPPORT! I NEED EVERYONE TO HAVE ABSURD THOUGHTS! THINK OF THE BIGGEST STUPIDITIES IN THE WORLD! HERE WE GOOOO!

She pulls out her wand with streamers out of nowhere and starts waving and spinning it like she's the very Sailor Moon herself. In this way, she points in Moira's direction. How does she know she's in that direction? Clown force! Anyway, she tries hard to use a huge percentage of her stupid-shadowy power, summoning hundreds of heads in jars: the heads of all dead presidents up to the 70s, Hollywood actors, serial killers, porn actresses, politicians, dictators, military personnel, poets, painters, incels, femcels, school shooters, WWF wrestlers, soccer players, basketball players, boxers, all dead popes, and even Salvaje's grandma, the Russian's dead relatives, AS, Maria, and Barracuda, and whoever took Moira's virginity, of course. Depending on the number of heads she summoned for her psychic bomb, the more, the better the result... She supposes.

Number of heads summoned: 1d999 = 940
Rolero Prasiolite-ab5ee2 No.1988 es
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>>1985

A luxurious carriage adorned with the most precious gems is being pushed by majestic white stallions. Sitting atop this carriage is Lucan, seated upon a throne of gold and carrying with him an enormous purple cloak that trails behind the carriage. Walking alongside him are dozens of well-dressed men who are joyfully throwing confetti and flowers as the carriage moves forward.

The cheers full of euphoria from the crowd are audible for dozens of kilometers and everyone was shouting the same thing. The name of his new king, the most beloved king in the entire world, a king against whom no one could be against and whom everyone loved. The people supported him and showed devotion by carrying posters and banners filled with messages of love. Some even wore masks with his face, while everyone shouted in unison, "Lucan! Lucan! Lucan!"

The intense, yet deserved, heat radiating towards him was enough to melt anyone's heart and leave them breathless. There was only one problem with that, that all of this is a fantasy of a comatose state he is in and that in reality, that heat he feels comes from the black ball of fat on top of him.

"Ugh? Eh? What? Where is the chorus of pretty women singing about my thousand and one charms?"

By the time he comes to, he finds himself lying on the ground and tasting the earth. His head also hurts for some reason, it must be the weight of the crown he feels. In any case, upon seeing that the fight is not yet over, he decides to get up once more and fix his attire.

"Barracuda, my loyal servant, I will reward your efforts in this fight by allowing you to be carried by me"

Far from worrying about his companion mare who was thrown a few seconds ago, Lucan decides to copy the engineer's idea. Only instead of using the girl horse, he takes Barracuda in his small girl form onto his shoulders. He spins her around several times and once he has accumulated enough energy, he lets her go. The throw itself was quite fast, but once Barracuda returns to being a fat man, the impact will surely be fatal for the engineer who receives it.

1d100 = 37
Goldship Taaffeite-ac99d8 No.1989 es
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>>1985
>>1986
>>1987
>María felt how she was thrown into the air and, before she could react, she crashed fully into Lagrimita. The impact was cushioned in a way that immediately seemed suspicious to her.
>When she opened her eyes and felt the big hands of the boy sinking into her backside squeezing forcefully, her ears went completely stiff and her eyes filled with murderous fury. She wanted to hit him.

— ¿Q-Que estas haciendo pervertido enano?

>>1986
>Just as Lagrimita let her go and received help she jumped away, rubbing her backside with one hand while with the other she pointed at the boy with pure anger.

— That doesn't rhyme, but thanks for the help...

>She shook her head still blushing, and looked towards the remaining engineers. Her ears were pressed back and her tail was moving aggressively. She took deep breaths several times trotting in place with fast and strong steps to regain momentum.

>>1987
— Tsk... ¡Alright! ¡Alright! ¡Let's go with your stupid plan!

>She started running in wide circles around the hangar, gaining speed and accumulating more and more energy to attack while thinking about the most absurd and chaotic nonsense that came to mind. A ninja shark, a furry ghost, a otaku werewolf, etc.

1d100 = 14