ERode
In The Mirror
Somewhere in the world, the rain never ends.
Somewhere in the world, the sun never sets.
Somewhere in the world, the leaves never fall.
Somewhere in the world, the seeds never sprout.
In the Detritus of Our Dreams
Gea is a world in perfect harmony, in perfect parts, in perfect divisions.Somewhere in the world, the sun never sets.
Somewhere in the world, the leaves never fall.
Somewhere in the world, the seeds never sprout.
In the Detritus of Our Dreams
The very center of the world bakes under the perpetual oppression of the Sun, while the torrential storms that border those deadlands feed verdant jungles and their deadly fauna. Past that, the forests gradate into flowering fields and youthful meadows, swaying in the blossom-kissed zephyrs, before the temperatures drop, drop, drop, soil turning hard so that only sturdy brush and hardy evergreens survive beneath the fathomless skies. Past even that, mountains crack open the permafrost, piercing the skies of a landscape made ever-bright by the snow that never abates and the light that never fades.
So it has been since the birth of the Predecessor.
So it will be unto the death of the Successor.
But though the world remains a constant, such evenness suits not the ambition of humanity. For the cycles of evolution could not be sustained with complacency. For the mind of the awakened could not settle for monotony. Madmen and outcasts, adventurers and settlers, prophets and conquerors. Every generation had their pariahs, pushing the boundaries of human existence out from those pleasant, blooming fields, out from those thick forests, out from those vast plains.
Past the Storm Wall, baptized by falling lightning. Into those Deadlands, scorched by solar flare. Plunging below canyons, to realize destiny and uncover the crystal that would change their world.
Radicite Ore.
The fuel of miracles and civilization alike.
The impetus that granted cities the might to move, rumbling unimpeded past the lands of Gea! The impetus that rendered its wielders gods amongst men, waging wars of cataclysmic consequence! The impetus that accelerated the progress of humanity beyond established boundaries, until even the untamed Bright Zones looked within their grasp!
Ambition, unchecked, lead but to ruin.
And so, Gea remained a world in perfect harmony, in perfect parts, in perfect divisions.
The Cyclical Cities became their own foes.
The Miracle Workers became their own fuel.
The wonderers remained pariahs of their communities, the downtrodden remained beneath the boots of their rulers, and the world continued to spin as it always had. For those in power, for those who cared to stay in power, change can only be allowed if it would benefit the status quo.
Where lies Paradise, where all needs are met?
Where lies Eden, where all humans are content?
Where lies your Utopia, where your dreams are manifest?
Covered in the grime of engine fuel, drowned in the exhaust of the great city, burdened by the detritus of dreams that you nonetheless hold tight against your chest, you know not where.
But it cannot be here.
Sancra Sara, the Cradle of the Daisy-Wreathed Princess.
Ruled in name by the Third Daughter of His Eminence, Emperor Octavius Venturia, Sancra Sara is a Cyclical City most blessed. Towering structures of marble and glass dominate the picturesque cityscape, as aqueducts bring fountains and waterfalls alive here, fulfilling the spirits of the citizenry and feeding the vertical farms that give this pristine city a natural allure. Such filters prevent even exhaust fumes and engine rumble from being held, and if not for the changing starscape, the shifting horizon, life in Sancra Sara is so stable as to be tranquil.
And, more than that, Sancra Sara is a true haven, one accepting of all who wish to become a citizen. Whereas other Cyclical Cities demand loyalty, demand wealth, demand skill, demand knowledge, for such cities have always been limited in space, the Third Princess is an idealist, and the Magnate-Nobles who have enacted her policies do so fairly, justly, in a way that leaves no room for rebuke.
It is sensible, that life on a Cyclical City is better than life on some hamlet.
It is sensible, that all humans deserve a chance to prove themselves.
It is sensible, that those who work hard ought to be rewarded for that effort.
It is sensible, that those skilled and learned be afforded better opportunities to leverage their abilities.
It is sensible, so long as it is profitable.
The foundations that those pristine, marbled skyscrapers were built upon are but the ceiling of the inner bowels of the Cyclical City, where factories owned by empire-spanning conglomerates spew products and byproducts for the sake of prosperity, where shantytowns are stacked six times overtop, where the hopeful destitute work sixteen-hour shifts at power plants and manufacturing facilities, scrapping together the Merits required to one day be allowed to stand without judgment upon Sancra Sara's surface..
This was no place to live, in darkness lit by fluorescent light, in hovels shared by ten at a time, in places where order is maintained as much by blade-bearing officers as by corporation-affiliated brutes. But still, no matter what, it was better than what you once endured upon the merciless surface of Gea. So long as you work, so long as you live, there will be chance for change.
And then, just like that, it emerged, for you and those you've grown friendly to.
An opportunity, in the form of a dead man’s suitcase.
Somewhere in the world, the rain never ends.
Somewhere in the world, the sun never sets.
Somewhere in the world, the leaves never fall.
Somewhere in the world, the seeds never sprout.
In the Detritus of Our Dreams
Somewhere in the world, the sun never sets.
Somewhere in the world, the leaves never fall.
Somewhere in the world, the seeds never sprout.
In the Detritus of Our Dreams
Gea is a world in perfect harmony, in perfect parts, in perfect divisions.
The very center of the world bakes under the perpetual oppression of the Sun, while the torrential storms that border those deadlands feed verdant jungles and their deadly fauna. Past that, the forests gradate into flowering fields and youthful meadows, swaying in the blossom-kissed zephyrs, before the temperatures drop, drop, drop, soil turning hard so that only sturdy brush and hardy evergreens survive beneath the fathomless skies. Past even that, mountains crack open the permafrost, piercing the skies of a landscape made ever-bright by the snow that never abates and the light that never fades.
So it has been since the birth of the Predecessor.
So it will be unto the death of the Successor.
But though the world remains a constant, such evenness suits not the ambition of humanity. For the cycles of evolution could not be sustained with complacency. For the mind of the awakened could not settle for monotony. Madmen and outcasts, adventurers and settlers, prophets and conquerors. Every generation had their pariahs, pushing the boundaries of human existence out from those pleasant, blooming fields, out from those thick forests, out from those vast plains.
Past the Storm Wall, baptized by falling lightning. Into those Deadlands, scorched by solar flare. Plunging below canyons, to realize destiny and uncover the crystal that would change their world.
Radicite Ore.
The fuel of miracles and civilization alike.
The impetus that granted cities the might to move, rumbling unimpeded past the lands of Gea! The impetus that rendered its wielders gods amongst men, waging wars of cataclysmic consequence! The impetus that accelerated the progress of humanity beyond established boundaries, until even the untamed Bright Zones looked within their grasp!
Ambition, unchecked, lead but to ruin.
And so, Gea remained a world in perfect harmony, in perfect parts, in perfect divisions.
The Cyclical Cities became their own foes.
The Miracle Workers became their own fuel.
The wonderers remained pariahs of their communities, the downtrodden remained beneath the boots of their rulers, and the world continued to spin as it always had. For those in power, for those who cared to stay in power, change can only be allowed if it would benefit the status quo.
Where lies Paradise, where all needs are met?
Where lies Eden, where all humans are content?
Where lies your Utopia, where your dreams are manifest?
Covered in the grime of engine fuel, drowned in the exhaust of the great city, burdened by the detritus of dreams that you nonetheless hold tight against your chest, you know not where.
But it cannot be here.
Sancra Sara, the Cradle of the Daisy-Wreathed Princess.
Ruled in name by the Third Daughter of His Eminence, Emperor Octavius Venturia, Sancra Sara is a Cyclical City most blessed. Towering structures of marble and glass dominate the picturesque cityscape, as aqueducts bring fountains and waterfalls alive here, fulfilling the spirits of the citizenry and feeding the vertical farms that give this pristine city a natural allure. Such filters prevent even exhaust fumes and engine rumble from being held, and if not for the changing starscape, the shifting horizon, life in Sancra Sara is so stable as to be tranquil.
And, more than that, Sancra Sara is a true haven, one accepting of all who wish to become a citizen. Whereas other Cyclical Cities demand loyalty, demand wealth, demand skill, demand knowledge, for such cities have always been limited in space, the Third Princess is an idealist, and the Magnate-Nobles who have enacted her policies do so fairly, justly, in a way that leaves no room for rebuke.
It is sensible, that life on a Cyclical City is better than life on some hamlet.
It is sensible, that all humans deserve a chance to prove themselves.
It is sensible, that those who work hard ought to be rewarded for that effort.
It is sensible, that those skilled and learned be afforded better opportunities to leverage their abilities.
It is sensible, so long as it is profitable.
The foundations that those pristine, marbled skyscrapers were built upon are but the ceiling of the inner bowels of the Cyclical City, where factories owned by empire-spanning conglomerates spew products and byproducts for the sake of prosperity, where shantytowns are stacked six times overtop, where the hopeful destitute work sixteen-hour shifts at power plants and manufacturing facilities, scrapping together the Merits required to one day be allowed to stand without judgment upon Sancra Sara's surface..
This was no place to live, in darkness lit by fluorescent light, in hovels shared by ten at a time, in places where order is maintained as much by blade-bearing officers as by corporation-affiliated brutes. But still, no matter what, it was better than what you once endured upon the merciless surface of Gea. So long as you work, so long as you live, there will be chance for change.
And then, just like that, it emerged, for you and those you've grown friendly to.
An opportunity, in the form of a dead man’s suitcase.
Thanks for reading so far, or at least for scrolling so far. UTOPIA's an RP that draws inspiration from Edgerunners, Arknights, and Ferry's Music Videos with a good ol' dash of my favorite spice, Honkai Impact. The general conceptualization of this would likely be something along the lines of 'seeking to realize your own dream within a callous and merciless world', and as such, I'm looking for a small-ish group of players who can commit to posting at least once a week, and who can make characters with the sort of complicated backstory that would make them prefer grunt factory work in the slums over whatever they'd face outside the city, as well as a relatively concrete dream or personal goal that keeps them going and that I can draw plot hijinks from.
I might scrounge up a simple dice system to mechanically clarify character progression, as well as introduce an extra layer of chaos into the development of the plot. Will start considering it once I have a batch of characters.
I have a fistful of thoughts with regardless to setting and lore, but it'll largely be disseminated on a need-to-know basis. In general, however...
- Technology levels on Gea are perhaps a couple decades above modern technology, except in the area of ballistics. No rockets, and thus, no satellites, and thus, no global communications. Such technologies are powered by a different source than what we're familiar with, and modern technological conveniences don't exist as often outside of Cyclical Cities.
- Humans, as a race, are a fair bit stronger now, and their forms are a fair bit more mutable now, with some of them sporting bestial traits such as tails or ears. These are relatively random mutations, however, and have no significant bearing on the physical prowess of an individual...which can range from 'strong enough to pull bows with such ridiculous draw weights that they're equivalent to firearms' to 'strong enough that having a sturdy sword is enough to make you a walking natural disaster'. Training and talent are necessary to get to that range, of course.
- This RP itself will start in Sancra Sara and eventually expand outwards to the rest of Gea. In-character roleplaying will be split between 'operations', where a mission is to be completed by characters schemes and actions, and downtime, where characters can chill or explore things that interest themselves. You can imagine the plot as a map, while character decisions drive you around the map...and then I start setting parts of the map on fire.
- 'Magic' exists. You will not start with it. It is not necessary in order to become 'strong', but it's an 'easy' way of getting there, if your character has an immediate need for power.
- Character suffering is likely. Character death is possible. I won't be going in here trying to kill you though, and I don't expect you to go in here making the perfect decisions either. Similarly, if there's a point where you believe your character will not go any further, a point where they feel content, it's totally fine to retire them as well.
If you've any questions, feel free to hit me up. Otherwise, if you're interested, pitch character concepts and gimme free bumps. Peaceeeee.
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