Discover Top Posts Tagged with #original settings

It's Cal! And also Cal! My piece for Today's Special, this year's Stabbyness and Friends zine

#stabbyness #stabbyness is a twitch channel that does ttrpgs btw #big focus on character and storytelling #original settings #gm-made mechanics #i'm pitching it can you tell #of course im biased im On it #cal #cal forgotten indigo #cal reflection #wandering mask art #(i'm pretty proud of this one)#art

HEY

Do you like furries/anthropomorphs, exo-planets where humans are the aliens, space westerns, slowburn strangers to lovers, and low tech scifi??? Then you may enjoy the story my buddy's been working on: Vast, Our World and Our Resolve. He's posting it on AO3 and the prologue and first chapter are up now. Please check it out, he's put a lot of work and love into it!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/47820895/chapters/120556954

Here's the story summary from the AO3 page:

Martin Halsted is an itinerant beggar-thief who once dreamed of exploring the uncharted wilderness of Penelopeia, the world he calls home. However, after being implicated in a felony forces him to abandon his career and live as an outlaw, the best the man hopes for is to evade incarceration for another day and scrounge together enough money to drink himself to sleep each night. His life changes when he tries to mug Namo, a sprightly, botanically-inclined faun woman who refuses to see the man for the failure he thinks he is. Though the taciturn human and the gregarious faun have seemingly little in common, they are bound together by a web of conspiracy; at its center, Fadina Afzal, the woman with the silver dagger. To clear his name and provide closure for them both, Martin and Namo must pursue the trail left by Afzal in a deadly game of cat-and-mouse. Meanwhile, Martin must weigh the perceived failures of his past against his desire to forge a better future for himself, a future his deepening feelings for Namo threaten to upend.

🌸🌻🌼🌹🌷🪷🌺💐🥀

#textpost #scifi #original stories #original settings

The City of Santa Marta

Population: just under 1 million

Established: 1787

Location: North of San Francisco

If Los Angeles is the City of Angels then Santa Marta is the city of the Fallen -- dark, dangerous and longing to return to former glory.

Before the 1906 Quake, the future of Santa Marta seemed bright: a city of artists, craftsman and all sorts. It drew people in like a shining beacon, a promise of opportunity, the promise of a home. But the Big Quake changed all of that. While San Francisco would eventually recover, Santa Marta would become a city forever stained by...something. As ever, the citydrew people in but now, it was loathe to let them leave, like a massive spiderweb sat glistening in the northern California sun...

The city and the people of Santa Marta are nothing if not resilient and the tech boom brought new life to its shambling corpse, allowing it to become one of the larger cities in the U.S.

What truly sets the city apart is its massive population of supernatural creatures: while there are larger cities, few boast such an uneven ratio of mortals to supernaturals. Unfortunately, this also makes Santa Marta particularly dangerous and it's one of the cities in the US with the highest rate of murder and missing persons when compared to its population size, earning it the nickname of Santa Muerta.

The local government is caught in a desperate scramble to revitalize the metropolis but no amount of fresh paint and gentrification can hide the city's rotting soul. No population boom can hide that murder rate, no tourist board spin can hide the ever-growing presence of drug cartels, the Sabat or the increasing threat of police brutality.

The city of Santa Marta is a city of contradictions, caught between growth and rampant decay -- ever pulling in new life but somehow, forever stagnating. Whatever the quake did, it destroyed more than just lives and architecture, it fractured the soul of the city itself.

I'll be adding more to this later but here's a basic overview of the city Morgan (and the rest of my Kindred) live in!

#original settings #i wanted a large city but i didn't want to be in an existing place bc i wanted 100% control over everything #from the mun #ooc #meta #gaming antics

For As Long As The Sky Is Blue- #16

AN- okay so i have been sick all week (still am) so this is really short and shitty- enjoy

number in series: 16

warnings: mentions of entrapment and like hating things

word count: 429

recovered from the backs of paintings in the ruins of Clarence Manor- 478

I can’t bring myself to pray anymore. I am too nervous that the Goddess will be angry at me for what I might admit and send more bad luck my way. The truth is, I haven’t been able to think any happy thoughts in weeks. the last time I managed to write on the backs of these paintings without fear of someone barging in was three weeks ago; but so many terrible things have happened since then. I am convinced that I am with child now, as I have now missed two of my menstrual cycles, and I have begun to feel very ill in the mornings right at the same time, which I know is a symptom of pregnancy, as it was what Julia had when she had her first child. I am too scared to pray to the goddess for guidance and help because I am also secretly furious with her, to burden me with this… this thing, in the worst possible hour. To bless me with the worst luck, when all I needed was a ray of hope. It has been five weeks that I am locked in here, and I am beginning to panic that I will never see the outside world again; at least not with anyone who I love, who I care for. If tom does not come soon, then I will be trapped with Ronald until he grows sick of me, and has me killed no doubt in an accident. But worse still, I will soon be unable to hide this burden for much longer, it is hard enough already what with the sickness and the small swelling, and my increased appetite. Soon enough someone is going to put two and two together, and then I don’t know what will happen, but I am most definitely terrified. I am going to have to come up with a plan, in case Tom cannot escape, because I cannot-will not live the life, the lie that Ronald has planned for me. I know that children are supposed to be a blessing, something to be forever cherished, but the truth is, the truth that I cannot admit to anyone, let alone the goddess, is that I wish that this thing in my belly were never there, and I fear that I have grown to hate my baby, and all the horrible luck that it takes with it. I need to get out of this hell hole soon, to run away, and to never look back, otherwise, I think I might go mad; if I haven’t already.

For As Long As The Sky Is Blue- #14

AN: guys i hate math so much- this one is so super duper short lol

number in series: 14

warnings: bit of swearing- some threats

word count: 371 (its so short oh my godd)

Recovered from the remains of the Clarence Manor grounds in the grounds keeper cottage in the year 458- From the writings of Trishia Prade in the year 417

Good Lord, that little bitch will not stop whinging. She just goes on, and on, and on; I have half a mind to go down and make her shut up, but it’s not worth the hassle, one mislaid hand and her pretty little face- and our ticket out of here- could be ruined for ever, so I just have to sit here and listen to her stupid voice all day, every day. But she’ll be out of there soon, the marriage talks have sped up, finally, those stubborn idiots who run this sorry excuse for a manor are far too attached to that fat pig of a son they have, wanting to extend his time with them for as long as possible- what a load of crap. If you ask me, children are only good for a source of free labour! But those fucked up jackasses at the castle stopped even that! Just because they had kids- and grew soft. They ruin the nation, children- it’s a miracle this one was of any use at all, not that she even realises how good she’s got it. So maybe he’s ugly- her father ain’t no prince charming either, but at least this one’s rich! And it’s only the real men that slap their wives around anyway- she’s caught a good one, the little whore. But at least this time, her stupid shenanigans have given us some good luck, we’re going to get quite a bit of coin for her, enough that we can finally move out of this tiny godforsaken house, and into one of those proper ones, with two floors, and never have to see her ungrateful face again. Oh, there she goes again- “Let me out let me out, I don’t want to be married” blah blah blah… I should go and cut her tongue out, keep her quiet. Ronald will probably be relieved if she never spoke again anyway, I don’t know where we went wrong with her. Maybe I should ask him If he would mind if I did so, it would sure teach her a lesson about running her mouth… Women are meant to be seen and not heard anyway- it’s certainly all that she’s good for.

For As Long As The Sky Is Blue- #13

AN: ahhh the weekend was so goooooood, heres a short lil story to start off the week

number in the series: 13

warnings: none

word count: 1013

From the writings of Blue Ardence-

In the Shadry culture, names are a very important part of our people, our way of life. Names are supposed to symbolize how loved you are by those who care about you, and all the hopes and dreams that they had for you. In the prominent religion in Shadry, the Attrians, who prominently worshipped the Goddess, (although she was often depicted as many different genders aside from female) Artium, names were considered to be a form of prophecy given to you through your parents by the Goddess herself. While I was growing up, I had come to hate the goddess, to resent her for never gifting me with a name, thinking she had cursed me, and she had brought all the horrors of my life upon me. I refused to pray to her, although it saddened Rose, and scowled at her delicate statue that resided in the middle of the gardens. But in reality, I know that I didn’t actually hate or blame her, it was just easier for me to believe that there was a reason, someone else to blame other than myself, for how my parents treated me. That if it hadn’t been for the Goddess they would have loved me, loved each other. It wasn’t their fault, it wasn’t my fault, it was the Goddess’ fault because she didn’t name me. But deep down I knew the truth, I think, even when I was younger. If the Goddess had even tried to reach out to my parents when I was born, they had ignored her. They hadn’t named me, and therefore disrespected me, disrespected the Goddess, because they simply despised me. My mother had tried to kill me twice before I was born, and many times after. I was a nuisance. They didn’t think I would be around long enough for it to matter anyway, and they definitely didn’t plan on sending me to a school where I would need a name, and not even to a church. It was easier to blame the Goddess rather than face the truth. Tom hadn’t been born in Shadry. He wasn’t entirely sure where he was born, but it was obvious that it wasn’t there, just from his facial characteristics. Shadry favoured the more olive skinned, tanned faces, with dark eyes and trademark thick hair, after years of growing up under the sun and by the sea. He had been sold into the circus at such a young age that that was all that he could remember, except for the vague outlines of two tall people, their faces obscured in shadow that he assumed were his parents, and the strong smell of alcohol. As a consequence he hadn’t grown up surrounded by religion, so on that fateful night, on the edge of the fountain, he didn’t quite comprehend how much it meant to me, when he told me that I had to have, deserved, a name. ‘Blue’ was a name gained by a mistake, a product of a misunderstanding, rushed words spoken on a hot night against the background of crashing water, but it was a name that felt… perfect for me, like the Goddess herself had picked it out. It was name that matched the eyes of the skinny boy who held my hand as we ran back to the grounds of the manor, after realising that the sun was setting. I had shyly shuffled my feet and clasped my hands behind my back, as we stood by the pond sheltered by willow trees, and found myself thinking about what I had caught rose doing with the boy from the village that morning, and kept glancing at his lips, and felt a red tinge grow on my cheeks. “I think we should write to each other, since I won’t be here for much longer.” He had said abruptly, his own cheeks reddening: “that way we can figure out how to meet up next time I’m in town, and we can keep in touch better.” I had grinned at his words, as a sudden feeling of relief washed over me, like I had been holding my breath, and just released it, nervous that he wouldn’t want to see me anymore. He had produced a small pad of paper from one of the pockets in his oversized trousers, and had asked me to write down my address. Slightly embarrassed, I admitted that I wasn’t very good at writing just yet, but would he be able to write it down for me? He didn’t seem too fussed, and scrawled down the address for Rose’s cottage, and then to my surprise, had suddenly stepped forward quickly and wrapped his arms around me, and gave me a squeeze, pulling away before I could react fast enough to hug him back. “Will you come to my show next time I’m in town?” his face was beginning to colour once more, as he tucked his note pad away, preparing to leave. “Course!” I grinned, shaking some of my hair over my face to hide the blush. “But if I can’t make it, maybe we should meet somewhere else? Somewhere we’ll both remember.” He thought it over and nodded, then glanced around the little clearing. “How about we meet right here? I think I’ll be able to remember this place, willows are my favourite tree.” He’d told me, waving his hand around at the sweeping boughs. “There’s a hole, in the wall,just over there;” I’d turned and pointed to the left, where the ivy-covered wall stood tall, framed by the trees. “you can climb through that, in case I can’t come.” He disappeared into the dusk, waving his hand at me, just as he reached the outmost border of the grove of trees; and I had waved back at my new friend, the blush slowly leaving my cheeks as I turned and walked back towards my cellar, whispering my new name under my breath,daydreaming about seeing him again, only two short months away, and seeing him at the circus once more. At least, I would have seen him at the circus, if it wasn’t for Ronald.

For As Long As The Sky Is Blue- #12

AN- okay ugh this didn’t post yesterday because internet problems blah blah blah, also i had to finish this in a rush so like sorry

number in series- 12

warnings- abuse mentions

word count- 2470

from the writings of Blue Ardence

Ronald Clarence was the only child of the master and mistress of the household, and after how he turned out, I’m not surprised that they had no children after him. He was a spoilt little boy, having grown up in the lap of luxury, and had begun to believe that since his parents were able to get him anything, then everything must belong to him. Of course, as a young child this way of thinking started out small, thinking that all the toys that he saw, were his already, that he deserved the toys, because he was so much better than the other people, so much richer, so much mightier. He grew up in silk pyjamas, and an army of servants to cater to his every need. Growing up, he wasn’t surrounded by many children his age, home-schooled and raised to take over his father’s business; there wasn’t much room in his life for playdates. However, I am in no way using these instances as an excuse for his actions, he grew up to be a despicable human, a psychopath. the first time that he was to come into close contact with a child his age, was when he caught me running from my father when I was five years old. At this time, he was eight, and fascinated, and obsessed with the idea of another child joining him in the expansive grounds of the mansion, but I soon discovered that his interest in me was not one of friendship, but a compulsive need to torture me in every way imaginable, as now, he had a new toy to play with, and he was desperate to see how it worked. He didn’t have much opportunity when I was younger as I was constantly climbing chimneys, he settled for pulling my hair, making fun of my appearance, calling me names, pinches, things that the observant servants would titter about, dubbing it to be, ‘normal’ child behaviour. However, suddenly, Ronald discovered that I was now part of his staff, a kitchen hand. That’s when his taunts moved to a whole new level, I remember his pinches and hair pulling becoming harder, in the beginning, and then he began to appear all over the place. He would show up while I worked, yell at me, taunt me, kick over buckets of water I was using so that I would have to refill them and lug them back to my position. He moved on to using his position to abuse me, calling me to do the worst jobs in the manor, so that he could snicker at me behind my back, but slowly the tricks got worse. He believed, as he had with his toys when he was younger, that I should ‘belong’ to him, in a sense, so he could do whatever he liked to me. He sent people to follow me, to trip me over, push me down short flights of steps, ruin all my work so that I would get in trouble with the vulture, all without getting his own hands dirty. I think that even at thirteen, he relished in seeing me cry. Because of this, and because of my parents, I had grown to develop a strong distrust of anyone who paid too much attention to me, perceiving them as a threat, and so of course, it was no difference with tom.

I held him, in the muggy summer evening, by the ear, shaking him slightly as I glared at him, unwilling to let myself believe that he was there purely innocently, until I had proof. “It’s Tom! Alright? It’s Tom! From the circus remember? I gave you the cotton candy!” He winced, and reached up to pull my hand off him, and backed up a couple of feet, rubbing his ear reproachfully. “What’s your deal? Why are you following me? Was it Ronald? Did he send you?” I’d made several threatening steps forward, my hand raised, ready to defend myself, causing him to stumble backwards until he hit the edge of the fountain. He raised his hands quickly in defence, eyeing my hand cautiously. “No! I told you! I don’t know who this Ronald fellow is! I’m sorry!” I continued to advance towards him, my eyes flicking over him as I did so. He had changed from his costume in the show, and was back in his baggy trousers and cap, but now I could see the details of his face, a pale one with large blue eyes, and hundreds, no, thousands of brown freckles covering his face, over the bridge of his nose and his cheeks and forehead, framed with light orange curls that hung around his ears, damp with sweat. “You swear?” I began to lower my hand, calming down enough to see clearly, this would have been a stretch even for Ronald, to find a random person from a show I may or may not go to, to find me, if I were even there, and to then follow me. I began to blush, embarrassed at my overreaction, but I was still unwilling to back down. “yes! I swear! Cross my heart and swear to die, see?” he lowered one of his hands to make a cross over his heart. I dropped my hand, satisfied, but not entirely calm yet. “Fine. Why were you following me then? Huh? I know you were!” I cross my arms and glare at him. I’d heard that my ‘death stare’ as rose put it, could be so haunting that it would literally make people drop things from sheer fright. It appeared to be having the desired effect on Tom, who had begun to twist his hands together, as a blush rose on his cheeks. He spoke very fast, his eyes flickering around the square to avoid looking at me. Apparently, he had simply been curious about me, the pretty girl who had never had cotton candy before, and he was only going to follow me for a little bit, but then he was curious about where I was going and i-was-very-pretty-anyway-and-don’t-pinch-my-ear-again-that-really-hurt, (he had said that bit very fast), and he was going to talk to me, but had been too nervous to try. I considered him for a moment longer, as his entire face slowly turned the colour of beetroot, even his ears tinging pink. He looked so awkward and embarrassed that eventually I stopped glaring enough to giggle at him, before softly apologizing, realising my over reaction, and told him I’d just been a little jumpy, and thought he was someone else. He shrugged it off shyly, his cheeks still red. “It’s okay, it was my fault anyway, I shouldn’t have followed you.” We had stood their awkwardly for another minute, both avoiding each other’s eyes sheepishly, before I had broken the silence: “Want to sit?” And so, we had sat, the thin boy with scarred lips, and the shy girl with fingernail imprints on her face, being lightly sprayed by the fountain in the humid evening air, our legs swinging against the base. “So, who is this Ronald fellow?” he glanced at me quickly as he asked, as though he were concerned about my reaction. I shrugged, and stared at the wall across from me, counting all the bricks on the top row. “He’s the son of the master and mistress in the house where I work, he likes to mess with me, I thought maybe he sent you to trick me or something, it was stupid.” “Nah.” I glanced at him, while he kicked at the ground. “I’d think the same thing if someone was following me, I mean, I’d think it was someone from my troupe that is, not, not Ronald.” I’d smiled a little. “you did great out there tonight by the way.” I’d told him, leaning over to nudge him in the shoulder, with mine. His grin was infectious, and soon we were both smiling much wider than before. “you really liked it? you looked kinda, sad, while you were watching it was the thing, so I thought you weren’t enjoying it.” I paused, and looked at him, and noticed that his nose crinkled when he smiled, and he had little dimples near his scars. “No, I did! I liked it really, it was just, you didn’t look happy while you were doing it, like your smile wasn’t real, kinda like this, see?” I demonstrated, putting on my best ‘please don’t hit me, I’m sorry’ smile. “You’re pretty good at that.” He’d told me, pushing his hair out of his face. “I liked the skit, I think it was funny, it just hurt a bit, that was all, but I’m used to it.” I’d asked what he meant, and that was when I found out about what life was like for him in the circus. He was sold into the troupe when he was three, so that his parents could pay off some debts, and from there, he had been taken into the care of the acrobats. He recalled being ‘bent backwards’ forcefully by the men, so that he would be flexible enough to preform, his legs and arms stretched in different directions and positions, and that he was hardly fed, so that he would be light enough to be thrown around; all of which he told me, were completely necessary, so that he could perform; at least that was what he was told. But because he wasn’t one of the major acts, he wouldn’t have been missed, if he were to suddenly go missing because of one of the more violent acts lost their temper, so he was constantly on his toes, staying out of trouble so he wasn’t hurt, or beaten as much, taking his training and tiny meals without complaint, doing everything he could to stay out of trouble, under the radar. He didn’t even complain when he was refused entry to any of the caravans when they were on the road, and was made to run behind them. so that he wasn’t left behind, one of the dancers threw him a rope, which he tied around his middle and ran behind, and when he got tired, just let it drag him along the bumpy road. “I get that.” I’d told him, staring at the wall again. “I told you a little lie before, about my family. I do have parents, but they don’t really act like parents. My friend Rose reads me books, and the parents in those never act the way mine do, I don’t think they ever wanted to be my parents anyway, so its easier to pretend they don’t exist sometimes.” “do they hit you?” he was looking at me properly now, not glancing at me out of the side of his eyes, but staring intently at my face, his wide eyes unblinking. “They broke my toes once, see?” I kicked off my shoes, so he could look at my crookedly set toes, and we stared at them in silence. “what happened to your lips?” He'd stayed silent, staring at my toes, then shrugged, his mouth curved downwards. “I told you about my toes, tell me about your lips!” I nudged him again in the shoulder, and he rocked to the side a few times, eyes still on the ground, and it was a few moments before he answered, slowly, like the words didn’t want to come. “when I was small, there was a technique called ‘smile therapy’ that was supposed to… trick your face into smiling, I guess. It was these metal clips that wrapped around my head like this,” he twirled his hand behind his head, from the side of his mouth, behind his ears to the other side. “they pulled your mouth up so you were smiling, I cried a lot back then so they thought this way I’d always smile, but one day the clips slipped a little bit. They were too tight I guess, but now it always looks like I’m smiling, so I suppose it worked.” I was silent for a moment, and the two of us stared down at the ground. “I’m sorry.” “It’s ok.” The conversation was sad, and filled with gaps, and silences, but for the first time, I remember feeling strangely at peace as we talked, like I wasn’t tiptoeing around words, or living in fear I was going to say something wrong, and get hurt. We were just two sad kids, staring at the bricks, joined in that moment in our similar destructive lives, like we had found our pair at last. “I don’t know your name yet,” he’d commented, leaning back so that the water spray could cool down his face. “Don’t have one.” “What?!” he spun around and shoved me playfully in the shoulder, “Course you do, stop kidding around.” “Do not! Well, Rose calls me ‘sweetie’ But everyone else just calls me ‘dumb bitch’ so maybe that’s what it is, I don’t know.” “Bitch? Nah it can’t be, that’s one of those bad words.” He paused like he was in deep thought. “Well you can’t just go through life without a name. We gotta come up with one.” I’d giggled at the serious look on his face, and turned so that we were fully facing one another. “Well what would you call me? I’m no good with coming up with things.” “Well… it’s gotta be something that reflects who you are, right?” I’d laughed again, watching his brows furrow as he continued to consider me. “You look so.. Blue all the time, so I think you need a name that matches your sad eyes, you know?” Maybe it was the fountain gushing close by, maybe it was the heat playing on my mind, but I could have sworn that he had suggested ‘Blue’ as a name to match my sad eyes, and I had thought it was the funniest thing I had ever heard, and asked if he thought I should be named Blue. And then to my surprise, he stared at me for a long time, and smiled that crooked smile, that made his nose crinkle and his dimples appear and said, “Actually, I think that would be a great name for you! Because Blue is my favourite colour, because it can be such a beautiful colour, while being a sad colour too, and a happy one, like you!” and he’d smiled so much, and it had been such a pretty smile, that I had told him that I loved the name, just so he would smile again. And so that night, under the fountain, while I swung my bare feet over the cobblestones, and a little boy with orange hair and purple scars, I got my first ever name, and even now, I wouldn’t give it up for the world.