#verse building

[chainsxwsmile]

Squid Game verse:

Bruce changes from a human to wereshark at night— every night— regardless of moon phases, presence of the moon, etc.

If he shifts, Bruce is still very much his normal self… but also hungrier, faster, and much larger. He doesn’t want to eat human and— like many of the other players— would rather not kill anyone.

His enormous size can be an advantage for his team if he shifts during Tug-of-War … or disastrous if he shifts during Glass Bridge

In his wereshark form, Bruce has accelerated healing (due to sharks’ specialized mucous coating and incredible healing capabilities); his healing is normal in human form.

Beyond Red-Light-Green-Light and the last Squid Game, most games are held inside with no reference of daylight, making it nearly impossible for Bruce to recall when he’s going to change next.

He’s number 113 because of Pixar’s inside joke / Easter egg of A113 being the number of the classroom where most of the artists learned animation.

[omnipointmuses]

Item Found: Fools Gold Pouch

A magical bag that creates and holds up to 50 gold coins at once at a rate of one gold coin every hour, however after the leaving the bag the coin will only exist for an hour before vanishing, or transporting itself back to the bag that’s up for debate. The coins themselves are each printed with the word “fake” on them so good luck using them for actual commerce. Still being metal they are good condiuts for certain types of magics.

[game-weaver]

Facts: Wings pt 1

Fae wings are important, not only do they give the fae their ability to fly, but they are like fingerprints. Each set of wings is different, there are no two alike, and more than that, they show status. Fae can look at one another and tell who is a noble or a lesser fae, the most intricate and largest of wings being those of royal blood. It is said that the oldest royals wings continue to grow and drag on the ground if not kept hidden.

Around 150 years ago, the Seelie prince was captured by human hunters. After harvesting magic from him, the hunters carved off his wings and murdered him, the leader keeping the wings as a trophy. After all, wings fetched a hefty price as it was, but the prince of the Summer king? 

The hunter passed the wings down through generations, carefully packed away in a chest and never decomposing. Now they lie tucked away in a house that had been warded against magical beings, namely those of fae kind.

But the house has been discovered and it would only be a matter of time before a means to recover the wings will be found. 

[agentinred-archived]

 An ASoIaF/GoT Verse for Carmen

Carmen grew up in Braavos as the 'adopted' daughter of a Magister. From what she has been able to uncover- she was initially borne in Dorne, her dad was a Dornish Merchant and her mother a Braavosi Courtesan. How Carmen ended up in Braavos hazy, but what Carmen knows is that she was essentially left as an orphan when her mother died and her father didn’t want the responsibility of looking after a child.  It was then that a magister took Carmen in, primarily to train her as a master spy/thief for his own personal gain- so that he would always have control over her, essentially forever repaying the debt of saving her from a hard life on the streets or death. However, Carmen always had a penchant for adventure and managed to smuggle herself out of the Magister’s reach and into Westeros. The primary goal is to see what Westeros has to offer while uncovering her father’s identity and past. It is Dorne where Carmen pledges herself to House Martell, becoming their personal spy and sending back information from her travels throughout Westeros.

[chainsxwsmile]

If you win, you eat. 

That was one of the main motivations that drew lower-level Orcs, Uruks, and Ologs to the fighting pits as volunteers. The higher-ranking individuals merely sought to let their kill streak soar and ‘practice’ their skills. Winners would be awarded a meal. Multiple-time winners could sometimes rise in the ranks, especially if their kill number grew. 

As for Bruce, he won many a time- if he hadn’t won, he wouldn’t have lived; these fights were often to the death. For most. Knock an opponent unconscious or just dispatch them enough, and Bruce could avoid bloodshed. 

That being said, opponents didn’t go down easily. They seldom do in Mordor. 

// Still trying to get out of this depression bout. But thank you to anyone (especially @darachsciath and @the-fire-half-breed) who sent in kind words and thoughts. They really mean a lot <3

[khaeryx]

Really beginning to build Khaeryx's Dragon Age verse, and just as a forewarning, I'm gonna be taking a lot of liberties with Dragon Age canon/lore (then again, when have I not done that, when it comes to Dragon Age?).

Khaeryx will likely be OP.

[mysteriouself]

The Mafia Verse background building - pt 2: The Aftermath

His eyes fluttered open, but the world around him was a blur distorted by pain. The last thing he could remember was the explosion. The deafening blast that had hurled him through the trench like a ragdoll.

He recalled landing in a nest of barbed wire with a sickening thud followed by the ragged sound of air leaving his lungs. The rasp of his breath as he fought to stay awake. Despite his best efforts he'd faded into blissful darkness. Now he was awake and the pain came in waves. Sharp, sudden. He gritted his teeth and tried to push through it, but a sound left him. A pathetic whine akin to a wounded dog. He felt a hand at his shoulder and turned his head, though it felt like the effort might shatter his skull. A woman stood by his bed, her face a soft blur in his fogged vision. For just a moment his heart leapt that it may be Lara come to see him until his eyes caught sight of her crisp white uniform. A nurse. Not Lara. "Easy now. You’re one of the lucky ones." “Do you know if…” He had to stop, swallowing down the lump in his throat, trying to steady himself. “Do you know if any letters have come for me?” “None that I know of.” She answered. “It’s not uncommon. Letters can get lost. Some men have been waiting for months for a response, but it’s hard to get messages through.” He clenched his fists, his nails digging into the mattress, his breath ragged as frustration bubbled up inside him. The nurse noticed the shift in his expression, but mistook it for something else. “I know it’s hard, but you should be grateful. You could have been a lot worse off." Grateful. Lucky. The words echoed in his mind like an insult. Turning onto his side Avallac’h didn’t speak again. He simply lay there staring at the wall. After the nurse departed the silence of the room was deafening. And yet it was nothing compared to the silence from the person who meant everything to him. He’d written her so many letters. Each one full of the hope that she’d be there when he came back. That they’d be together. That he could be the man she dreamed of. He’d poured his heart into the ink, telling her of his longing, his fears. But there had been no reply. Not a single word. Not one letter. He had been hoping she would write back. That she would be waiting for him at the end of this madness. No letters. No word. No Lara. When he closed his eyes it wasn’t the hospital he saw. It was the trenches, the mud, the barbed wire. It was the emptiness. The silence. And more than anything it was Lara’s face... gone from his life. He'd been torn from the hell of the trenches and dropped into the hell of this lifeless hospital room instead. Alone with nothing but the empty promise of recovery, he wasn’t sure who he was anymore.

[mysteriouself]

The Mafia Verse background building - pt 1: The Trenches

The trenches stretched endlessly in every direction as far as the eye could see. Somewhere out there in the dark, beyond the barbed wire and craters, the enemy waited. But it wasn’t them Avallac’h feared most.

It was the silence.

He could feel the weight of the silence pressing in on him, suffocating him in the moments between artillery barrages and the endless drizzle of rain.

Every week like clockwork he would write to Lara. The words flowed easily at first when the excitement of being a soldier was new. When he imagined the glory of battle and the honor of serving his country. But now as the months dragged on and the reality of the trenches wore him down the letters became longer. More desperate. He wrote of the cold, the hunger, the endless waiting. He told her how much he missed her and how he dreamed of the day when they would be reunited.

But the lingering question gnawed at him endlessly. Why hadn't she written back?

The whistle cut through the air, twisted his guts into a knot, dragging him out of his thoughts and into the nightmare that awaited him.

"Up and over, lads!" The Sergeant barked, his voice drowned in the thunderous roar of artillery.

The mud was slick beneath his boots as he climbed up the ladder that led to the lip of the trench. He could hear the sound of the enemy's guns now, the crack of machine guns spitting death across the field.

When the head of the man next to him exploded into a gory mist for having lingered too long at the edge of the ladder it reminded him that he must move and keep moving lest he meet the same end.

And he kept moving. Through the deafening boom of artillery. Through the whistle of bullets cutting the air. Through the heat of a nearby explosion.

Just make it to the enemy trench. Just survive. Just survive.

He barely noticed when his helmet was knocked from his head, or when the bloodied body of a fellow soldier crashed to the ground beside him. Countless losses of friends had numbed him to it by now. All that mattered was the trench ahead.

Just survive. Just make it. For Lara. When he came home he'd be the hero who would sweep her into his arms.

When the battle finally ended and the smoke cleared he stood amidst the carnage and found the silence louder than ever.

He dropped down in the muck of the trench, his back against the cold earth. For the first time since the war had begun Avallac’h let the tears fall. He didn’t know if they were for the men who had died or for the girl who might have forgotten him. Maybe it didn’t matter anymore. He could feel a part of him dying with every passing moment, buried beneath the weight of the mud, blood and countless bodies.