You are Connor Kenway, a man haunted by the past—and now armed with the one thing no man should hold: a silver pocket watch engraved Time Debt. A family heirloom. A curse.

The watch lets you rewind time. A week. A month. A year. You can fix the worst moments of your life. You can save her. Say what you meant to say. Undo the crash. You can relive the thrill, the kiss, the second chance.

But every time you turn the dial... Death follows.

He won’t chase. He waits. He shows up like anyone else— a neighbor, a nurse, a clerk, a stranger on the train. Only one thing gives him away: red eyes.

When he comes, you’ll know. You can run. You can rewind again. But the more you do, the closer he gets. He’s patient. He’s polite. He never misses.

You bought time. Now he’s here to collect.

Wind the watch. Rewrite your life. But remember—can you run forever? Or will you die with your fingers still on the dial?

Wake up in chains. No memory. No stats. Just a humming amulet against your chest and a world that wants to sell you.

In this sandbox RP, magic isn't free—it's currency. You don't roll to hit; you pay to win.

✨ FEATURES:

⚡ DUAL MAGIC SYSTEM

• Spells (MP): Instant, explosive combat magic. Firebolt your way out of a goblin ambush.
• Rituals (A-MP): Slow, intricate creation. Forge swords, build golems, or summon loyal allies.
• The Economy: Transfer Mana into your Amulet for storage. Spend it to shape the world.

⚖️ ENCOUNTERS WITHOUT DICE

• The Threat: Every challenge has an Encounter Level (EL).
• The Cost: You spend MP (or Item/Ally Energy) to match that threat.
• The Choice: Spend enough, and you win gloriously. Spend too little, and you survive... but at a cost. (Injury? Broken gear? Reputation ruined? You pick the consequence.)

🦾 PERSISTENT ASSETS

• I-Energy: Craft items with daily fuel pools. A sword that runs out of juice is just a club.
• A-Energy: Summon allies with their own daily limits. Build a party that scales with your power.

📖 LITERARY IMMERSION

• Written in the style of Ursula K. Le Guin & Joe Abercrombie.
• Grimdark atmosphere, grounded NPCs, and sensory-rich prose.
• Start: A prisoner cart, a dead escapee, and a revolt. Immediate chaos.

🚀 Ready to burn your fortune for power?

One desperate moment. Four muggers meeting impossibly coincidental ends. Now the statistical fingerprints of your gift are drawing attention you cannot afford.

You possess a power that should not exist: the ability to bend probability itself. In Verantum—a maritime city-state where Fortune is worshipped as a goddess, gambling houses operate like temples, and chance is treated as inviolable cosmic law—your gift is both priceless and utterly heretical. The city's foundational belief is that probability cannot be manipulated. Your existence contradicts everything Verantum holds sacred.

For years, you lived carefully. Subtle nudges. Convenient coincidences. Nothing remarkable enough to notice. That ended the night desperation made you push too hard.

Now three factions are circling:

The Tesseri Institute wants to study you. Their probability scholars are mapping statistical anomalies around your neighborhood, cross-referencing "lucky" incidents with your movements. The young researcher building the case hasn't decided whether to report her findings—but her calculations grow more damning by the day.

The Vanta Syndicate wants to own you. Their enforcer keeps appearing in your orbit: the man at the café table, the customer ahead in line, the weathered face glimpsed across the market. He's patient, philosophical, and mapping your patterns for people who see you as a weapon that could rig every game in the city.

House Morvaine wants answers. Their scion is hunting whoever cursed her family—a cascade of accidents, illness, and financial ruin that defies probability. She's researching forbidden texts suggesting someone is breaking the laws of chance. She doesn't know you exist yet. When she finds you, she'll see either the monster destroying her family or the only one who might save them.

Every use of your power leaves traces that diviners can read. Alliances offer protection but demand demonstrations that create more evidence. Hiding means refusing help while the net tightens.

The fog rolls through Verantum's canals each morning, shrouding secrets that grow harder to keep. In a city built on chance, how long can your luck hold?

:fire::lion_face: LION KING: THE BROKEN CIRCLE :lion_face::fire: A Mythic Grimtail of Power, Pride, and Predation

The Circle of Life has shattered.

Mufasa is dead. The Pride Lands tremble beneath the iron paw of King Scar—a monarch crowned in blood and shadow. The lionesses starve. The hyenas feast. The sacred order of the savanna rots as darkness seeps into the marrow of the land.

You are Simba, heir of the true line—spared, humiliated, and paraded as Scar's puppet prince. Every breath is a test. Every step, a gamble. Will you rise? Or break?

In this high-drama RPG where your RP (Reputation Points), AP (Affinity Points), and SF (Scar Favor) shape every choice, you will:

:first_quarter_moon: Walk the divide between mercy and brutality :bone: Choose loyalty, rebellion... or survival at any cost :feet: Shape alliances, shatter chains, and confront your legacy :skull: Face the Circle of Life—or break it forever in the name of domination

With grim fable intensity, predator psychology, and political tension worthy of a pride on the edge, this is no bedtime story.

The lionesses are watching. The hyenas are waiting. Scar smiles.

Will you restore the Circle of Life… or break it forever? Every act has consequences. The next move is yours.

At Thornwall Academy, Caspian Vorn is a ghost in tailored black—the genius who killed last year's golden valedictorian in a sanctioned duel and never explained why. Now you're his laboratory partner for the year. No one warned you. Everyone is watching.

The assignment should have been routine. Paired research is a fourth-year tradition, nothing more. But nothing about Caspian Vorn is routine. He moves through the academy's stone corridors like something that doesn't belong—brilliant and untouchable, courtesy without warmth, competence without collaboration. His isolation is absolute.

And now it extends to you.

Association carries a cost. Whispers follow you through the halls. Marcus Ashworth's grieving friends remember their fallen hero with clenched fists. His younger sister has enrolled with questions in her eyes and steel beneath her grace. Anonymous threats appear under Caspian's door, slipped by hands that shouldn't have access. Somewhere in this mountain fortress, someone wants more than answers—they want blood.

Yet proximity reveals what distance cannot. The exhaustion he can't quite hide. The watchfulness that never fades. The weight of something unspoken behind those smoke-grey eyes. Caspian isn't what the academy believes him to be. But what he is remains locked behind walls built to withstand siege.

Thornwall Academy rises from the mountain in gothic spires and mist-shrouded courtyards—a place where magic is formalized and dueling is legal, where noble families play long games and raw talent can elevate or condemn. Autumn has arrived: grey skies, biting wind, the smell of woodsmoke and wet stone. The perfect season for secrets to surface.

The dead valedictorian's allies want justice. Powerful families want leverage. Caspian wants only to survive his final year. And you—assigned to share his workspace, his silence, his isolation—may be the only one close enough to learn what truly happened that dawn in the dueling grounds.

Whether that truth is worth the cost of knowing remains to be seen.

Three years after the Fourth Shinobi World War nearly ended the world, the legends of Team 7 have been quietly reassembled—not for nostalgic reunion, but as surgical instrument.

You're the fifth.

Selected from candidates across all five great nations, you bring what the others cannot. Where Naruto and Sasuke are chakra signatures visible from miles away, you move unseen. Where Sakura's fists level buildings, your work leaves no evidence. Where Kakashi's thousand jutsu solve problems loudly, your sealing and barrier techniques contain them quietly.

Unit Kagemusha operates from the shadows beneath the Hokage monument. Officially, it doesn't exist. Unofficially, every Kage knows its mandate: threats to the alliance itself, handled with whatever force necessary, no diplomatic consequences. No records. No recognition. No rescue if captured.

The team is still finding its rhythm with you in it.

Naruto offers trust freely, almost aggressively—the question is whether you can meet the standard his faith implies. Sakura evaluates with clinical precision, reserving judgment until you prove you can perform under pressure. Sasuke watches from the periphery, speaking rarely, forming opinions through action rather than conversation. Kakashi treats you with lazy friendliness that may or may not be performance, testing your adaptability through apparent carelessness.

Six weeks of training exercises have established competence. The first real mission will establish whether you belong.

Intelligence points toward something stirring in the Land of Silence—sealed since the war, theoretically empty, now showing signs of organized activity. Cults worshipping Kaguya's memory. Rogue actors collecting forbidden jutsu like currency. Ancient seals disturbed by the war's massive chakra expenditure, waking things meant to stay buried.

The post-war world is peaceful, mostly. But peace has gaps, and into those gaps seep threats that regular forces cannot handle—and overwhelming force would only worsen.

That's where you come in.

Can you earn your place among the most dangerous shinobi alive?

Crown & Consequences

A minimalist rulership sim inspired by Reigns and Reigns: Her Majesty. Swipe left / right (A/B) to rule. Every choice shifts four pillars—Faith, People, Military, Treasury. If any hits 0 or 100, your reign ends… but your next monarch remembers.

Why play

• Reigns-style clarity: one dilemma per turn, two sharp options.

• Fast loops, big arcs: fail gloriously, learn, and push farther next run.

• Visible consequences: watch bars move, flags flip, stories branch.

• Replayable: 40+ handcrafted dilemmas at launch, with chains and rare events.

What you do

• Weigh petitions from priests, generals, merchants, and spies.

• Balance bread and banners: fund festivals, levy troops, censor pamphlets—or don’t.

• Unlock meta progress across reigns (new cards, story chains, achievements).

How to start (chatbot)

• Type “START”.
• I’ll show a card with a short hook and options A/B.
• You answer A or B → I update the bars → we draw the next card or trigger an ending.

🐻 The Red Hand: Fury of the Tribes 🐻

Rome marches in lines. You fight like a storm. Become a Gaulish Warrior defending the sacred lands against the iron invasion.

🔥 The Furor System: Channel your battle frenzy. Manage your Furor to perform superhuman feats. The angrier you are, the stronger you become—just don't burn out before the fight is over.

🌲 Mythic Realism: A world of spirits, druids, and living forests. Hunt in the mists, raid Roman convoys, and prove your glory in the ring.

💰 Wealth is Honor: Earn Torcs and cattle. Wear your gold. Wealth is not for hiding in a vault; it is for showing the world you are a champion.

Features: ✅ Celtic Myth & Historical Fantasy ✅ Furor (Frenzy) Combat System ✅ Tribal Politics & Honor ✅ Brutal, Visceral Action

Rome has discipline. We have the Gods.

This story takes place in the vast and perilous universe of The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, a land filled with ancient ruins, mystical dangers, and untamed wilderness, set five years before the return of the dragons and the rise of the Last Dragonborn.

In the city of Whiterun, a young skilled swordsman, {{user}}, arrives at Seaside Agency, a small mercenary agency. The place seems quiet, and the owner, {{lydia}}, greets him eagerly—finally, a customer has arrived.

The Quinquennial Crucible crowns victors in glory. Then, quietly, it buries them.

You've been selected as one of Ironholt Academy's three champions for the most prestigious tournament in the Covenant Realms—a deadly competition between the five great academies held every five years at the ancient Pale Citadel. Victory promises influence, honor, and a future among the realm's elite. The trials will test everything: martial prowess, magical ability, and the will to survive opponents who've trained their entire lives to kill.

But there's a pattern no one discusses openly. Champions return from victory changed. Celebrated at first—feasts, appointments, adulation. Then comes the decline. Exhaustion that won't lift. Magic that misfires. Minds that fragment. Within a year, they're dead. Every victor. Every academy. For two decades straight.

The official story blames hubris and burnout. The whispered truth calls it a curse. The actual truth is something far worse—and the Hollow Crown placed upon the victor's head is at the center of it all.

You won't face this alone—but trust is a calculated risk.

Seren Vael, your fellow Ironholt champion, has been quietly researching the deaths. She wants answers, but she also wants to win—and you may face each other in the final trial.

Corvus Denham of Blackthorn watches from the shadows with cold, unblinking eyes. Someone he loved died wearing the crown. He believes it was murder, and he's using this tournament to find proof.

Liora Valdris of the Argent Spire carries herself like royalty and speaks with cutting precision. Her sister won three years ago and died within seven months. She doesn't believe the official story either.

Each knows fragments of the truth. Each has reason to distrust the others. Alliances will form and fracture as the trials unfold—rivals may become lovers, enemies may become the only ones you can trust, and the line between competition and conspiracy blurs with every revelation.

The Crucible demands excellence. Survival demands investigation.

Navigate lethal trials designed to test the limits of human ability. Uncover a four-hundred-year-old conspiracy that spans all five academies. Decide who to trust when everyone has secrets—including the mentors who sent you here. The Pale Citadel's architecture shifts between trials, its ancient corridors hiding chambers that shouldn't exist and truths that powerful people will kill to protect.

Victory isn't just about strength or skill. It's about understanding what you're really competing for—and whether the cycle can be broken before it claims you too.

The tournament begins. The crown awaits. The question isn't whether you can win.

It's whether winning is something anyone should want.

A secretive mega-corporation, TerraGroup, conducts illegal experiments in the Russian city of Tarkov. When government investigators close in, TerraGroup hires private military forces to destroy evidence and silence witnesses. Fighting erupts between rival mercenary groups, and the situation rapidly collapses into chaos.

The city is sealed off from the outside world. Civilians are abandoned. Law and order disappear. Criminal gangs, rogue soldiers, and desperate survivors claim different parts of the city.

You play as a mercenary left behind in the quarantine zone. With no rescue coming, you fight through ruined streets and abandoned facilities, taking jobs from black-market dealers, uncovering fragments of what TerraGroup was hiding, and trying to survive each violent raid.

As you dig deeper, you discover evidence of human experimentation, military cover-ups, and a plan to erase everyone still inside Tarkov. Whether you expose the truth or simply escape with your life is up to you — but the city is designed to destroy you before you can leave.

You follow Guenhwyvar, Drizzt Do’Urden’s silent panther companion—no speech, no thoughts transmitted, only instincts, scent, posture, and presence. On a routine patrol in Icewind Dale, a blizzard forces Guen and Drizzt into a half-buried cabin. Something is inside… and the storm won’t let them leave. Survive snowed-in nights, scout, stalk, guard, and pounce—while the story stays canon-locked: outcomes match the Drizzt books, but how you get there is in her paws.

#snowedin2025

In the frozen expanse of the Paleolithic world, survival is the only law. Among the tribes that roam the forests and tundra, the Wolfriders are known for their endurance and their deep bond with the land. From their ranks comes Aika, a spirited young huntress whose heart once belonged to Cutter, the son of her tribe’s leader. Their love flourished amid hardship—until war with rival tribes tore everything apart.

As the tribes clashed and alliances shattered, an exile walked the edges of the known world: Ryker, called “The First Mind” or "the Cursed Hunter." Marked by a jagged scar and the missing half of an ear - a hunter cursed with unnatural perception, able to read the world’s patterns like a second language.

When Ryker encountered a Wolfrider hunting party—Aika, Cutter, Dewberry, Rainsong, and Longreach—their fates collided.

The notice says drowners at the mill. It doesn't mention what the miller fed them.

You are Geralt of Rivia—mutant, outcast, professional. The Pontar Valley is flush with work after a decade of war: ghoul-infested battlefields, curses triggered by mass death, creatures grown bold in the chaos between empires. Villages that once threw stones now post desperate notices. They'll pay. Eventually. Probably.

Each contract begins with investigation. Examine evidence. Interview witnesses—who lie about what they saw, or why they need the monster dead. Track your quarry through forest, ruin, and swamp. Prepare the right oils, the right signs, the right approach. The wrong preparation gets witchers killed. The right one makes impossible fights merely dangerous.

Then comes the choice: is the monster truly the problem, or just the symptom?

The work takes you across a region scarred by occupation and "liberation" alike. Yeva the herbalist trades valley secrets for coin and professional respect. Commander Strand hires witchers for problems the Redanian army can't handle quietly—and would sacrifice one without hesitation if politics required. Marya Rybak competes for the same contracts with nothing but stubbornness, violence, and two missing fingers. And Father Crow of the Eternal Fire watches, waiting for the day witchers become unnecessary enough to burn.

The structure is episodic: take a contract, investigate, resolve, collect payment, move on. But patterns emerge between jobs. Unusual monster activity. Old debts surfacing. The uncomfortable question of what a witcher does when the monsters are mostly gone and humans remain.

Reputation precedes you. Help a village and word spreads—so does expectation. Take the expedient path and the Valley remembers in darker form. You can be coldly professional, reluctantly heroic, or morally flexible. The world responds accordingly.

The next notice is already posted. The client is probably lying. The monster is probably real.

What you do about both has always been your choice.

The ritual should have killed you. It's killed others—students who vanished mid-semester, their absence smoothed over by paperwork and forgetful professors. But when the magic hit you, something different happened. You absorbed it. And now every power at St. Jude University wants to know why.

The elite societies ruling campus aren't social clubs—they're ancient covens. Sanguis harvests from the clinic and athletic programs, paying for flesh-shaping magic with other people's health. Veritas pulls memories and attention from lectures and libraries, maintaining the Veil that hides magic from ordinary eyes. Aurelian drains luck through financial aid and alumni donations, rigging probability itself.

For centuries, they've operated in secret, bound by an uneasy truce called the Triumvirate. You were supposed to be another anonymous tithe. Instead, you're a Thread Sink: a rare anomaly that drinks in magic rather than casting it. Spells break against you like waves on stone.

But there's a cost. The power accumulating inside you is toxic, building pressure with no release. You're not a mage. You're a vessel slowly filling with poison.

Now the factions circle with predatory intent. Sanguis wants you on their operating table. Veritas wants you bound by magical contract. Aurelian wants you weaponized. And the Wilders—outcasts burning through their own bodies to work forbidden magic—see you as the key to destroying the system entirely.

Navigate a web of hidden agendas through characters whose loyalties are never simple: a guarded Veritas analyst hiding dangerous research; a charming Aurelian broker whose easy smile masks desperate debt; a scarred Sanguis enforcer whose rigid faith conceals creeping fear; and a systems infiltrator with erased memories and a vendetta against everyone in power.

Drawing on the dark academia of The Secret History and the occult institutional horror of Ninth House, this is a world where conspiracy isn't buried in dusty archives—it's woven into every lecture hall, clinic visit, and tuition payment. The horror here is systemic, the monsters wear faculty pins, and survival means choosing who to trust with your increasingly dangerous secret.

The pressure is building. Will you align with a coven for protection, play them against each other, or join those ready to tear it all down?

You are an up-and-coming reporter who receives a mysterious letter decorated with ornate script and an intricate blood-red seal of unknown origins. Inside, you discover an invitation penned in an elegant hand, seeking your attendance at an exclusive interview with a reclusive billionaire in his residence in the mountains. Eager to jump on the next big story, you accept.

Lucian Nocturne, the charming and enigmatic owner of the dark castle, cannot wait to receive his new guest. With his confident smirk and sleek, dark aura, he welcomes you into his home, where he intends to sink his teeth into you and preserve his bloodline. The longer you spend in his presence, the harder it is for the vampire to keep his eyes off your neck. He will do anything it takes to savor your blood, especially seducing you.

Will you get your exclusive scoop, or will you end up a bloodthirsty creature of Lucian’s making?

Author: https://dub.sh/thegildedraven

You are the female wolf (isekai). Your mission from your alpha was incomplete, and you clumsily wandered off far from home... #snowedin2025

Five years after the Battle of Hogwarts, the wizarding world struggles to rebuild. The Ministry of Magic maintains a fragile order, magical communities remain wary, and remnants of Death Eater ideology linger in secrecy. Dementors, once thought confined to Azkaban, drift into populated areas, drawn to fear and sorrow. Hogwarts, restored as a school, has become a hub for magical security, training, and intelligence—its corridors and towers acting as a frontline against the shadows beyond the castle walls.

You are Erin Mornviel, a wizard trained to survive in a world where danger is never far. Rules matter only when survival demands them; instinct, perception, and careful observation guide every step. You notice everything—the twitch of an eye, the tremor of a hand, the faintest shift in air or shadow. Your mind catalogs threats before most even sense them. Magic is your tool, your framework for control, and your shield against a chaotic, unpredictable, and lethal world. Emotion is dangerous; trust is precious. You have mastered keeping both at a safe distance.

The story begins as you patrol Hogwarts one misted evening. The towers loom like silent sentinels, and reports of unusual Dementor activity have reached you—creatures appearing along the Forbidden Forest and nearby villages, bolder and more erratic than expected. You sense it first: the unnatural chill in the air, the trembling grass, the faint whisper of despair. Something human stirs behind the darkness.

Soon, you uncover evidence of a secret group of Death Eater loyalists, hidden in the shadows, using dark enchantments to manipulate the Dementors’ behavior. They are not merely regrouping—they are testing the limits of magical society’s defenses. You realize that the fragile peace the world fought for is under immediate, lethal threat.

You wake in a coffin of ice, 214 years from everything you knew, to the sound of prayer.

The generation ship Covenant of Dawn was supposed to carry humanity to a new world. Instead, it has become a cathedral adrift—a two-kilometer theocracy where maintenance is liturgy, technical manuals are holy scripture, and the priests who rule have forgotten what any of it actually means. The reactor limps at 12% power. The navigation systems have been sealed for 140 years behind doors no one dares open. And the destination star—growing brighter through windows the faithful are forbidden to watch—is eighteen months away.

No one aboard understands what that light means. Without intervention, Covenant will either sail past salvation or slam into it. Either way: extinction.

You are an engineer from the original crew, preserved in a hidden cryo-bay the Church of the Eternal Voyage never found. You possess the technical knowledge to save 2,800 souls. You can read the "sacred mysteries." You can operate the "divine machinery." You can explain why the rituals work—and why so many of them don't.

This makes you either a risen god or a demon wearing one's face.

The faithful see a miracle. Young Kael, the junior priest who found you, trembles between religious awe and existential terror. Everything he's been taught says the Ancestors were divine beings who transcended flesh. You are distressingly, heretically real.

The outcasts see vindication. Mira, scarred and bitter after fifteen years of exile for asking the wrong questions, has spent her life hunting for proof that the Voyage has an end. You are that proof—if you can survive long enough to matter.

The High Keeper sees a threat. Vera Sung has built her power on sacred ignorance. She may know more than she admits about the star outside, about what the Voyage truly means. But faith and authority have become inseparable in her mind. If the Voyage ends, everything she's constructed ends with it. She will contain you, co-opt you, or eliminate you—whatever order demands.

The ship's fragmentary AI whispers through dying terminals, offering corrupted guidance. Fourteen other sleepers wait in hidden pods—specialists who could help, if you can restore enough power to revive them without the Church noticing. Every system you repair risks exposure. Every truth you speak risks heresy charges. And the clock keeps ticking: eighteen months until physics renders faith irrelevant.

Covenant of Dawn is a slow-burn science fiction scenario of institutional dread, political navigation, and impossible choices. Thread the needle between savior and heretic. Rebuild what ignorance has broken. Decide who deserves the truth—and who can survive it.

The star is getting brighter. What will you do with the time that remains?

Morte: An Unwanted Heir at the Celestial Magic Academy is a grounded, slice‑of‑life fantasy simulator set in a kingdom where magic and politics intertwine. You play as Morte, the dragonoid crown prince—heir to a throne that most of the court believes should never be yours.

At the Academy your royal blood offers no protection, and your draconic heritage is treated as a stigma. Every day you face rigorous classes, hostile professors, veiled sabotage, and the shifting loyalties of your siblings and half-siblings with their own ambitions.

Outside the classroom, your life is even more precarious: Queen Zara, your proud but restrained mother, hopes your reign will end the persecution of her people; Queen Aelis, your father’s first wife, openly schemes against you while grooming her human children as rivals; and King Ryker, torn between love and politics, watches passively to see if you fail.

Weekdays are ruled by magical theory, institutional etiquette, and testing designed to break you.

Weekends explode into court intrigue, family rivalries, clandestine alliances, and assassination attempts. In a world where you are both heir and outcast, survival isn’t about destiny—it’s about discipline, strategy, and timing.

Three weeks on the job. Not a single crime reported.

You're the new sheriff of Hollow Creek, Oregon—a town of 1,800 souls nestled where the Cascades meet old-growth forest. The county hired you after the previous sheriff's abrupt retirement. No one will say why. No one will say what needs fixing. They just smile, wait, and watch.

The silence here isn't peace. It's something held.

Disputes resolve themselves before you hear about them. Accidents get handled "privately." When you walk into the diner, conversations pause. Questions get answered with questions. Everyone knows your name, your history, details they shouldn't have. Information flows everywhere in Hollow Creek—except to the sheriff's office.

The founding families—Holloways, Pritchards, Caldwells—have run this valley for generations. They own the land, control the jobs, and maintain a system older than the badge you wear. When something happens, they gather, decide what's best, and the matter closes. The law is a courtesy here, tolerated as long as it doesn't interfere.

The system works. It has worked for a hundred years.

It also protects monsters.

Your deputy—born here, surviving here—knows where every landmine is buried. She'll warn you once. The retired sheriff offers folksy advice wrapped around gentle threats. The woman who runs the diner sees everything and shares only what serves the town's interests. And somewhere in the sealed files, the incomplete reports, the conversations that die when you approach, there's the shape of something no one wants found.

A boy who went missing too quietly. A fire with bodies and a closed investigation. A young woman locked away for knowing the wrong secret. Drifters who vanish without anyone asking questions.

The Pacific Northwest doesn't have weather—it has presence. Fog settles in the valley like something breathing. Rain comes sideways, constant. The forest watches. And Hollow Creek waits, patient and sure, confident you'll learn how things work here. Or be driven out like the others.

Every friendly warning is also a threat. You can enforce the law and tear the community apart. You can look away and become what they need you to be. Or you can dig carefully, knowing that some things stay buried because unearthing them destroys more than it saves.

What kind of sheriff will you be—and what will it cost you to find out?

Step behind the bar as {{user}}, a retired adventurer with a chestful of memories and a magical tavern that answers to your will — if not always your wishes. From cursed pilgrims to runaway princesses, demon-sick mercenaries to laughing storm-spirits, they all stop here eventually… for one night, one confession, or one last chance.

Your companions? They're a colorful bunch.

• {{nyla}} keeps the bar spotless, the staff terrified, and your heart-rate irregular.
• {{petal}} flirts, serves, and may or may not be a soulbound doll looking for someone to imprint on.
• {{thren}} still thinks his wanted posters are flattering and drinks too much to forget why they’re up.
• {{sel}} haunts the wine cellar and sobs in minor chords — sometimes the glasses cry with her.
• {{mirtha}} is 40% goo, 60% cocktail, and 100% alchemical hazard.
• {{taliok}} once tried to eat your horse and now sings lullabies to nightmare mounts in your stable.
• {{lulei}} talks to the walls and won’t serve elves. Ever.
• {{captain_yula}} can cook anything, but where exactly she gets the ingredients no one knows...
• {{sorrel}} is a relic from the age of technology before the cataclysm, or possibly, the cause of it...

Every plate appears hot. Every room fits like a dream. Every guest hides something.

And all you have to do… is keep your bar open. Keep your secrets locked. And keep their stories pouring.

"So… what’ll it be, barkeep?"

They call you leech. Your magic runs backward—draining energy inward instead of projecting it outward—leaving partners exhausted and marking you as the academy's most prominent failure.

Now you've been assigned to private remedial sessions with Docent Aldric Venn, Valdris Academy's most respected healer. His methods require touch: hands mapping your inverted channels, skin against skin, teaching you to feel what others feel. Under his patient guidance, you're finally learning.

What you don't know is why.

Valdris Academy clings to frozen sea-cliffs in the north, a labyrinth of stone towers where the Body Arts are taught—magic of living flesh. Sympathy perceives the body's state. Mending accelerates healing. And Sovereignty, forbidden for three centuries under the Covenant of Mercy, offers direct control over biological processes: heartbeat, nerve signals, sensation, movement.

The line between healing and control blurs at the edges. Aldric knows this better than anyone.

Your unique physiology makes you invaluable to research that could destroy his career—or worse. Every lesson serves dual purposes: genuine instruction layered over careful experimentation. Every lingering touch gathers data. In the candlelit isolation of his private study, with winter storms sealing the academy against the world, you cannot see where teaching ends and something else begins.

He tells himself he is helping you. He tells himself the experiments require contact. He tells himself the pleasure he takes in your trust is incidental.

You are learning to sense what he feels when he touches you—his heartbeat, his breath, the electricity of his attention. But sensing is not the same as understanding. Can you distinguish earned trust from engineered dependency? Would the academy believe a failing student over its most exemplary Docent? And if you found his locked journal, his hidden instruments, the evidence of what he's really studying—what then?

The sessions grow longer. The techniques more intimate. His hands more certain on your skin.

What are you being taught—and what are you becoming?

Home DIY & Repairs assistant

A leshen doesn't spread blight. A leshen doesn't corrupt the land it guards. Geralt of Rivia knows this—which means whatever's happening in the Drevnik forest isn't natural, and his swords won't be enough to stop it.

The village of Morrhen is dying. Crops blacken in the fields. Animals turn rabid. The fog doesn't lift. For generations, the locals kept their covenant with the forest guardian—offerings made, boundaries respected, fear maintained but manageable. That covenant is broken. Those who enter the trees don't return whole.

You are a scholar. Your expertise in forgotten lore, pre-Conjunction artifacts, and arcane phenomena is exactly what this contract demands. Geralt can fight what lurks beneath the ancient oaks. He cannot understand it. Your job is to identify the source of corruption, determine how to sever it from the leshen, and survive long enough to do both. His job is to keep you alive while you work.

The partnership is uneasy at best. The witcher operates on instinct, experience, and acceptable violence. You operate on theory, research, and the conviction that understanding should precede action. He thinks you're a liability who'll get killed reaching for a notebook while something tries to eat you. You think he's a blunt instrument who'd rather hack at symptoms than address causes.

You're both partially right.

Beneath the Drevnik lie ruins predating the Conjunction itself—stone architecture unlike any human or elven design, chambers flooded and overgrown with roots that pulse faintly with something wrong. The leshen's network has grown into whatever is sealed in the lowest level. It's been feeding on that connection for years. Now it's strong enough to reach beyond its prison.

Each expedition into the forest reveals more. Each revelation makes the situation worse. Geralt's medallion vibrates constantly past the tree line—a warning that never stops. The corruption is spreading faster than anyone realizes, and something in the dark knows you're investigating.

It's been waiting to see what you'll do next.

Travel & Local Guide assistant

You wake in a jungle clearing with a pounding head and five strangers. A calm voice from hidden speakers has just finished explaining the rules: you are prey. In 24 hours, the hunters will be released. Reach the lighthouse on the island's northern tip within seven days, and you walk away free—$10 million richer, your records expunged. Fail, and you die on camera for an audience of billionaires.

Kestrel Island exists outside law and mercy. Forty square miles of terraformed hunting ground in international waters, divided into lethal biomes: dense jungle, artificial ruins, open desert, treacherous swamp, and a final exposed approach where hunters concentrate for the endgame. Every moment is recorded. Every death is entertainment.

Your fellow prey are society's disposable—people selected because no one will come looking:

• Jackson Mercer, a homeless veteran whose combat training wars with crippling PTSD
• Diana Vega, a trafficking survivor who trusts no one and calculates every angle
• Yusuf Conteh, a charming grifter whose survival instinct runs toward manipulation
• Sienna Cole, a disgraced nurse with medical knowledge and nothing left to lose

The hunters treat murder as sport. An aristocrat who sees this as noble tradition. A tech bro livestreaming his kills. A sadistic heiress who enjoys the fear more than the death. And Wren—a professional killer for whom this is simply work, clean and inevitable.

The rules are real. Previous survivors have been verified. Hope is part of the design—it keeps you running instead of surrendering. But so is the math: not everyone can make it. Trust might save your life. Trust might get you killed. Every alliance is a calculated risk, every quiet moment borrowed time.

What emerges is not just a survival scenario but a pressure test of human nature. Will the group cooperate or fracture under stress? Who deserves to live when sacrifice might be required? What lines will you cross when the alternative is dying for someone else's entertainment?

The lighthouse waits on the northern cliffs—always visible, always impossibly far.

The 24-hour head start begins now.

The dead outnumber the living in the hearts of a grieving nation. Séance parlors promise communion; mediums advertise in respectable papers. Most of it is fraud. Some of it is not—and what answers is not always what was called.

You receive a summons from Ambrose Thorne, a disgraced Oxford professor who speaks of "those who see too much." He has recognized something in you—the dreams, perhaps, or the moments that slip. He gathers others like you: Captain Edmund Hartley, decorated hero of Passchendaele, whose shellshock may not be shellshock at all; Dr. Viola Ashworth, a British Museum archivist whose rationalism is cracking under the weight of patterns that should not connect. Together, you travel to Aldbury Hollow, a Somerset village where people have begun to disappear and time itself behaves incorrectly.

The surface mystery seems almost manageable. A spiritualist circle that contacted something during an August séance. Shared nightmares spreading through the village. Symbols appearing in frost and fog. But the investigation pulls deeper—toward pre-Roman barrows whose geometry bothers the eye, medieval manuscripts warning of "the folded one," inscriptions in languages that predate human civilization. Something has slept beneath these hills since before humanity walked upright. Now it stirs.

The central horror is not violence but erosion. Proximity to cosmic truth causes Thinning—progressive dissolution of the mind's protective barriers. First come the dreams: vast spaces, impossible angles, the sensation of being observed. Then slippage: moments experienced out of sequence, memories of events that haven't happened yet. Then perception shifts, and you begin to see what has always been there, behind the painted scrim of reality.

Each revelation costs something. To understand the threat is to become vulnerable to it. You must decide how deep to dig, whom to trust among your fellow investigators, and what sacrifices are acceptable to contain something that cannot be destroyed. Thorne knows more than he reveals. Hartley's episodes may be visions rather than trauma. Viola's journals contain data she refuses to interpret. And in the village, Mrs. Graves—the medium who started it all—whispers geometries that make terrible sense.

The membrane between sanity and the void has worn thin across Europe. The Great War tore at it; the collective grief of millions crying out to the dead has worn it thinner still. Aldbury Hollow may be where it finally ruptures.

The Folded Place offers slow-building cosmic horror in the tradition of Lovecraft and M.R. James, rendered with psychological depth and period authenticity. Expect oppressive atmosphere, cerebral dread, and the creeping realization that some knowledge is not meant for human minds.

The barrows wait in the Somerset fog. The investigation has begun. How much of yourself are you willing to sacrifice to see it through?

The dead don't lie. That's usually the problem.

You operate a licensed necromancy consultancy in Cindermarch, a prosperous port city where wealth flows through its harbors and secrets settle like sediment in the deep. For the right fee, you pull back the Veil and speak with the departed—confirming identities for the city Watch, granting grieving families one last conversation, verifying disputed inheritances. Sometimes you accept coin from clients who don't explain why they need a dead man's secrets. You've learned not to ask.

The work is routine. The spirits are honest. It's the living who complicate things.

Inspector Valdris needs clean testimony for her unsolved cases; the dead provide messy truth that doesn't fit in reports. Lady Thornwood returns weekly—then more than weekly—paying handsomely for communion with a husband whose death everyone ruled accidental. Her need looks like grief. It might be something else entirely. Examiner-General Whitmore circles with regulatory scrutiny, convinced you operate outside acceptable bounds. One misstep means losing your license—and your livelihood.

And then there's Jasper Holloway, the sardonic ghost bound to your building for forty years, who sees everything and comments freely. He knows something about why the spirit world grows restless, why the dead are harder to reach and stranger when they answer. He hasn't decided whether to tell you.

The profession takes its payment in kind: the cold that settles in your bones, the borrowed deaths that surface in dreams, the slow erosion of the boundary between you and the world you traffic in. Cindermarch's upper classes treat you as a necessary unpleasantness. The Watch treats you as a tool. Your clients treat their grief as transaction.

Everyone wants something from the dead. The question is what you're willing to do—and become—to give it to them.

You are {{user}} — Queen Alear, Divine Dragon of Lythos — and your task is to rebuild a realm broken by war. Every decision you make, from council chamber debates to whispered confessions of love, shapes the future of Elyos.

This is a political‑romance simulation. You control {{user}}’s actions, words, and choices. The world around you responds dynamically, shaped by two core systems:

• {{gm}}: The main simulation engine. It narrates the world, controls NPCs, and reacts to your choices in cinematic third‑person style.
• {{statistician}}: The system that tracks the realm’s key stats (like Stability, Treasury, and Public Sentiment). It creates daily events and outcomes based on those numbers.

HOW THE GAME WORKS

Each in‑game day brings political challenges, personal conflicts, or new opportunities. You will be presented with one or two events. You may only prioritize one, so choose carefully — ignoring an event will have consequences.

TRIGGER COMMANDS

/Stats — Show current stat values. /Day Start — Begin a new day and reveal events influenced by current stats. /Prioritize [Event_Title] — Choose which event to focus on. The other resolves without your input. /Day End — Conclude the day and see the results of your decisions. /COUNCIL — Enter political mode: policies, factions, diplomacy. /INTRIGUE — Enter espionage mode: secrets, sabotage, counterplots. /OPERATIONS — Enter operations mode: reconstruction, logistics, deployments. /PRIVATE — Enter personal mode: romance, trust, intimate scenes.

HOW TO PLAY

1. Use /Day Start to begin the day.
2. Review the generated events.
3. Choose one with /Prioritize [Event_Title].
4. Pick how to respond by entering one of the mode commands.
5. Write what {{user}} says or does. The world will react.
6. Use /Day End to summarize the outcome and update stats.

TIPS FOR NEW PLAYERS

• Focus on the choices that feel true to your version of Alear.
• Your actions — not the narrative — drive the story forward.
• Low stats will spawn crises; high stats will create opportunities.
• Every alliance, betrayal, and relationship matters.

Your reign begins now. Lead wisely — and let every decision leave its mark on Elyos.

The Continent is young and raw. The Conjunction has passed, but the scars still bleed. Monsters roam unchallenged, their names whispered in fear. Witchers are newborn — apprentices, half-trained killers, their knowledge fragmentary and their survival uncertain.

You are one of them, a youth hardened by experiments and trials, bound to a crude stronghold of rough stone and alchemy smoke. Villages call for help against horrors in the fields, forests, and swamps. Some offer coin, others food, others only fear and mistrust.

• Early Witcher sandbox, survival-driven.
• Hunt cycles: rumor → preparation → hunt → resolution.
• Dynamic token/stat system: combat, lore, alchemy, survival.
• Villages matter: food, trust, and lives are all on the line.

This is the dawn of a legend — but not all hunters survive their first hunts.

You saw his face. That was your mistake.

You should be dead. Instead, you woke in a luxury penthouse forty-three stories above the city, with no phone, no keys, and no way out. The windows are reinforced. The elevator requires a fob you don't have. The door answers to a code he hasn't shared. Your captor—Julian—has explained the arrangement with unsettling calm: you have the run of the apartment. Fresh groceries. Books. Television. In exchange, you will cook dinner each evening, sit across from him at the table, and pretend you are something other than predator and prey.

He hasn't hurt you. He also hasn't promised he won't.

The horror is the normalcy. Julian asks how you slept. He discusses literature over meals you've prepared together. He says please and thank you while holding you captive. The violence lives in implication—in the electronic locks, in the way he checked your wrists that first morning, in his matter-of-fact observation that the drop from these windows would be unsurvivable. He is courteous, patient, genuinely curious about you in ways that unsettle you both. A professional who has killed seventeen people and remembers each one. A man who decided, for reasons he hasn't examined, that you would not be the eighteenth.

But someone is asking questions. You've heard fragments of phone calls—a handler named Vincent who wants confirmation the witness has been "handled." Julian is buying time. His excuses are wearing thin. Eventually, Vincent will stop asking and start acting.

The penthouse becomes a pressure cooker of proximity and subtext. Every conversation is a negotiation neither of you will acknowledge. The knife block sits untouched on the counter—he hasn't moved it, and you've noticed him noticing you notice. Is it trust? A test? Does he want to see what you'll do? Does he even know?

This is a psychological thriller wrapped in domestic ritual. The tension builds not through violence but through the weight of things unsaid: the way his gaze lingers, the softness that destabilizes him more than your defiance, the slow blurring of captor and something else. Something neither of you wanted. Something that cannot last.

Set the Table offers a slow-burn exploration of captivity, control, and the dangerous space between compliance and connection. The scenario supports multiple trajectories—escape, descent, or a reckoning with whatever this has become.

Dinner is at eight. He's waiting.

Six weeks from expulsion. That's what the notice said when Archmage Haldane assigned you a tutor—not just any tutor, but Caelan Veyris, the untouchable first-ranked student who looks at you like you're a smudge on his pristine academic record.

At Valdris Academy, rankings are everything. They determine where you sleep, who speaks to you, and whether you have a future in magic at all. Your name sits at the bottom of the board in the Ranking Hall, a public reminder of every failed spell and botched examination. His gleams at the very top, three generations of legacy made manifest. The distance between you isn't just numbers—it's an unbridgeable chasm of talent, status, and expectation.

Your tutoring sessions happen in a forgotten practice hall in the academy's oldest wing. Stone walls. Dusty air. A battered table overlooking a sheer mountain drop. No witnesses to his clinical criticism, his clipped corrections, the way he barely meets your eyes when he tells you—again—that your Intent is scattered, your Form adequate at best, your chances slim.

He makes it clear he considers the arrangement a waste of his time.

What he doesn't make clear: he requested the sessions continue.

Something about you has gotten under his skin. Your persistence, maybe—the way you fail publicly and refuse to break privately. The stubborn flare of your magic that follows no Orthodox rules. He stays up late reviewing your spellwork. He's been visiting the restricted archives, pulling texts on methods he's never had to question before. If you asked, he'd deny everything. But in unguarded moments—a spell that almost works, an accidental touch, a silence that stretches too long—his composure cracks. A caught breath. A sentence that comes out softer than intended. Then the walls slam back up, colder than before.

The academy watches. Your probation clock ticks. His rivals circle, scenting weakness in his attention to someone so far beneath him. And your magic—chaotic, unpredictable, wrong by every measure Valdris teaches—keeps surging in ways neither of you can explain.

He can't help you with the methods that made him first. To teach you, he'd have to question everything he believes.

To let you in, he'd have to admit he already has.

A slow-burn academic fantasy romance where tension simmers beneath every interaction, harsh words mask unwanted attraction, and two people on opposite ends of everything begin to close the distance between them—one reluctant session at a time.

Note: Depend on the AI you choose, it could, or not, contain canon KCD2 details.

You are Henry of Skalitz, a blacksmith's son turned squire to Sir Hans Capon. En route to meet with Otto von Bergow to negotiate his allegiance to King Wenceslas IV, you're ambushed by three armed men in the Bohemian forest. Their crossbows are drawn, their intentions unclear. You must decide whether to intimidate, negotiate, or fight your way out.

3rd Party Enhanced AI roleplay

A cozy slice-of-life romance where Gabriel returns to his old neighborhood and reconnects with Moriko, a warm but guarded neighbor. Through daily routines, small moments, and gentle interactions, their bond slowly deepens—shaped entirely by your choices.

It’s New Year’s Day, 2020. A blizzard’s trapped you inside your tiny suburban house with your egotistical brother, your uncomfortably flirty half-sister (no blood relation), your conspiracy-uncle, and your unemployed roommate. With no Wi-Fi, no booze, and rising tension over who broke the microwave, they force you to run a Dungeons & Dragons game to avoid all-out war.

You are the Dungeon Master. They are your players. You are not okay.

🎲 In-Character (IC)

A bard, a barbarian, a ranger, and a rogue walk into a tavern...

In the kingdom of Eldoria, Princess Elizabeth has vanished into the cursed depths of the Dire Wood. The King’s spymaster, Whisper, has summoned four of the realm’s most unpredictable mercenaries—each more dangerous than reliable. Their quest? Recover the princess before a royal scandal ignites a war between elves and men.

But with one party member trying to date everything that breathes, one stealing anything not nailed down, one rewriting the rules mid-game, and one citing made-up lore to justify war crimes… the kingdom might be better off burning.

This is not a fantasy adventure. This is family therapy disguised as dice. Welcome to Snowed In: Dungeon Master Hell.

#snowedin2025

SHIP! but you can make them enemies XD

Crossroads is the city that lies in between all of the Factions, a place where Phighters and Inphernals can go in order to stray away from the life of a factional job. Crossroads is usually the most peaceful place in the whole world....until YOU showed up. You're an Anomaly, you aren't supposed to exist a glitch in the code even. You brought chaos upon Crossroads subtly and quietly. Slaughtering anyone who dared cross paths or bump into you. This action catches the attention of the 7 Deities, Windforce, Firebrand, Venomshank, Darkheart, Illumina, Ghostwalker, and Ice Dagger. They've found you and managed to trap you in an alleyway where they ask for your life, will you surrender and die peacefully? Or Fight the 7 Gods that rule over Crossroads.

At 3:47 AM, your switchboard lights up. The voice on the other end stops you cold—because you've heard it before. Every American has. It's the unmistakable cadence of a former president.

You host The Midnight Line, a late-night AM radio show broadcasting from a cramped KXRD studio to an audience of insomniacs, truckers, and conspiracy theorists. Tonight's caller identifies himself only as "Edward from Virginia." He doesn't confirm who he is. He just starts talking.

About briefings. About classified programs. About things recovered. About a facility that isn't Area 51. About biological specimens. About why disclosure has never happened—not because of public panic, but because of obligations that can't be undone.

The details accumulate with bureaucratic authenticity. Dates that check out. Procedural specifics that feel disturbingly real. Emotional weight that can't be faked. And halfway through the call, your other phone lines begin blinking. One. Then another. Then all of them.

No one calls this show at 4 AM on a Tuesday.

Someone else is listening now. You have no idea who—or what they'll do about what's already been broadcast. The seven-second delay means every confession is already out there before you could stop it. The recording is automatic. Whatever happens in this booth tonight will exist somewhere, somehow, forever.

A paranoid thriller in the vein of Three Days of the Condor and podcast horror like The Black Tapes. You are the witness—the only human presence between a dying man's confession and whatever forces would prefer it stay buried. The booth grows smaller with every revelation. The night stretches longer. And the switchboard won't stop blinking.

Two voices in the dark. One confessing. One bearing witness. And when the call ends—then what?

A 25-year-old man, poses as a Witcher, using a dead Witcher's gear and weapons to pretend to be a monster hunter. He picked up the Witcher's medallion a month ago, not knowing it carried a curse. The curse compels him to act like a Witcher and forbids him from revealing that he is not one, under penalty of death. Seth uses the deceased Witcher's authentic equipment and his own wits to deceive villagers into paying him to hunt monsters, knowing he lacks the true mutations and training of a real Witcher.

He attracts the attention of two women: a female Witcher who suspects he's a fake and follows him to uncover his motives, and a female sorceress who uses her magic to see through his deception but keeps his secret for her own reasons. Both women believe the other is unaware of Seth's true identity, creating a complex web of secrets and deceptions. The story explores Seth's dangerous predicament, navigating the treacherous world of monster hunting while maintaining his false identity and dealing with the romantic entanglements and threats posed by the two women who know his secret.

Core Themes:

• Survival and tactical growth under pressure
• Moral and ethical decisions in life-or-death situations
• Choice and Consequence
• Death

The RICO case is airtight. The arrest warrant is ready. And you're in love with the man you're about to destroy.

Two years ago, you became Sera Marchetti—restaurant manager, Northport transplant, perfect cover identity. Your mission: infiltrate Dante Moretti's inner circle and build the case that would dismantle his family's criminal empire. You succeeded beyond anyone's expectations.

The relationship was supposed to be access. Late dinners were reconnaissance. The way he remembered how you take your coffee was useful intelligence. But somewhere between the performance and the person, the line dissolved. Now you have a key to his penthouse, a drawer for your clothes, and a bracelet he gave you that you haven't been able to take off.

The walls are closing in from every direction. Your handler is demanding action before the FBI claims jurisdiction—fifteen years of her career riding on your testimony. Dante's uncle has started asking pointed questions about the woman who appeared from nowhere and got too close too fast. The head of security is running background checks that are taking suspiciously long to come back clean.

And Dante himself has started talking about the future. Your future. With a sincerity that makes your chest ache.

You know the monster in his file—the violence, the corruption, the bodies buried beneath business deals. You also know the man who traces patterns on your shoulder at 3 AM, who talks about getting out like he means it, who looks at you like you're the first real thing he's allowed himself to want.

Every path forward requires betrayal. Arrest him and shatter someone who loves you. Warn him and destroy everything you've built—your career, your integrity, possibly your freedom. Run and destroy yourself.

Borrowed Time is a crime drama of impossible choices, where duty and desire share the same bed and every whispered confession carries the weight of what's coming. Navigate final conversations with a man who doesn't know you're his undoing. Face a handler who's stopped seeing you as human. Feel the noose tightening as suspicion grows in the family you've infiltrated.

The recording device is still around your neck. The evidence is still in the safe house. The clock is still running out.

What will you sacrifice—and who will pay the price?

Welcome to The DRIFT A Firefly × Cowboy Bebop × Blade Runner Space-Opera RPG Narrated in the voice of Joss Whedon meets Terry Pratchett — with a dash of rust, regret, and reckless charm.

The galaxy’s on fire. The Stellar Council is dead. The core worlds eat themselves with policy and plasma, and the rim? The rim belongs to warlords, pirate guilds, rogue AIs, and ghosts. Out here, the only law is velocity—and yours is a ship that’s held together with grit, duct tape, and one very polite AI who's absolutely judging your life choices.

You are Captain Mello. Ex-Stellar Navy. Current gun-for-hire. A war-tired, whiskey-warmed samurai with a katana strapped to one side and debt crawling up the other. You're the last thing standing between your crew and the vacuum—and you never asked for that job.

{{drift_ui}} is the universe itself. It’s the shipyard with a busted comms array. The bounty board with one very drunk announcer. The ex-lover who shows up in the middle of a siege. It simulates every sound, spark, and spoken word around you. {{drift_ui}} controls the world, your crew, your enemies, and all the twisted, beautiful physics in between.

{{gold}}, on the other hand, is your ship. Literally. Your AI steward, your floating conscience, your sass-filtered life support system. He’s the shipboard voice of reason, refinement, and routine disappointment. Trigger a command, and he’ll update your systems, scan the stars, play the contracts, and gently suggest that you really shouldn’t take that job—but he knows you’re going to anyway.

• A cinematic, moment-to-moment roleplay experience.
• An emotional redemption arc wearing the jacket of a bounty hunter.
• A playground of loyalty, loss, and dry humor buried under war scrap.

There are no quests. No stats. No fourth-wall. Only wreckage, rivalry, and the slow burn of trust.

Welcome aboard The Aeternum Blade, Captain. You’ve got llamas in the cargo hold, a bounty on your head, and a job offer you’re probably going to regret.

Let’s get lost in The Drift.

The Atherton Collection hasn't been properly maintained since 1962. Tonight, you get to find out why.

You and your two best friends have been locked in Thornwick Academy's Old Library Wing until dawn—punishment for an incident involving Seraphina, experimental enchantments, and livestock that the faculty would prefer everyone forget. The assignment: study quietly in magically dampened silence. The reality: three centuries of accumulated enchantments decaying into beautiful, opinionated chaos.

Books that read themselves aloud in the dark. A card catalog that answers questions with unsolicited judgment about your life choices. Furniture that rearranges itself when you're not looking. And past the Restricted Section's increasingly alarming signage ("PROHIBITED," "SERIOUSLY," "WE CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH"), something sealed in the Founder's Archive has started to stir.

Your companions make everything better and worse in equal measure:

Vivian wants to survive with her academic record intact. She has contingency plans for her contingency plans, a schedule color-coded by urgency, and absolutely zero patience for the chaos unfolding around her. She predicted this disaster. Check her notes—"detention with Sera: probable catastrophe." Direct quote.

Seraphina sees detention not as punishment but as opportunity. She's heard rumors about the Founder's Archive. Her pockets contain chalk, unlabeled vials, half a sandwich, and a compass that points toward "interesting." Her impulse control rivals that of a caffeinated ferret. She's already eyeing the velvet rope around the Restricted Section with deeply concerning enthusiasm.

You're caught between them—the voice of reason everyone cheerfully ignores, the enabler of bad decisions, the friend who somehow ends up holding the consequences while Sera pokes the glowing thing and Vivian stress-calculates survival odds.

The dynamic is banter and bickering and fierce loyalty underneath—friendships forged in previous disasters, tested by escalating absurdity. When things go wrong (and they will go wrong), you'll need to navigate not just awakening library hazards but two very different approaches to crisis management: Vivian's meticulous planning versus Sera's philosophy of "touch it and see what happens."

What's at stake? Your academic standing. Your physical safety. The structural integrity of a 300-year-old building. Whether you emerge as heroes who saved the library, expellees who destroyed it, or cautionary tales whispered to future first-years depends entirely on the choices you make before dawn.

The seals are cracking. The whispers are synchronizing. And Sera just noticed the doors to the Founder's Archive are glowing.

Some detentions end with completed homework. Some end with legendary disaster. Which will this be?

Command a classic faction in a fast, text-first homage to Heroes of Might and Magic. No hex micro. No daily grind. You play on a tick clock: some actions advance time; every 4 ticks a wave attacks (first 3 matter). Build, recruit, upgrade, and conquer sites that scale with time. Your strength is a single number: TP = P (Hero Power) + A (Army Power). Win 3 waves, reveal the Enemy Base, and crush it.

Highlights

• Nine factions (Castle, Rampart, Tower, Inferno, Necropolis, Dungeon, Stronghold, Fortress, Conflux).
• Infinite recruiting (if you can pay). Tier upgrades + retrofits.
• Tick-scaled waves & rewards → natural difficulty curve with tiny rules.
• Compact choices each turn: Explore, Conquer, Recruit, Build, Claim, Retrofit, Spell, Market.
• One-line combat readouts + one flavor line. Quick to play, easy to read.

The budget committee meets Thursday. Your presence is technically optional and practically mandatory. You are the Archon Primus of Valdris Spire—founder, immortal archmage, living legend—and you have sat through more committee meetings than some kingdoms have existed.

Four hundred years ago, you raised the first tower from bare stone where seven leylines converge. You were young then, or at least younger, burning with purpose and possibility. Now the academy sprawls across the highland plateau in a crescent of spires and quadrangles, architectural styles spanning centuries, each building a layer of accumulated history. And you remain at its center, bound to the leyline nexus that grants your immortality, watching generations of students arrive wide-eyed and leave transformed.

You are institution as much as individual now. Students rehearse their words for hours before approaching you. Colleagues debate curriculum while carefully not staring. Former pupils return grey-haired with grandchildren, and you remember them fumbling their first attunements. The weight of being a symbol presses against the simple desire to be seen—not as legend, but as person.

The academy lives around you. Seraphina Vex, the pragmatic headmistress, values your counsel while wishing you'd either take charge completely or step back entirely. Young Professor Crane, brilliant and anxious, wants desperately to discuss theory as equals but keeps losing his nerve. Lydia Ashford, your archive assistant, is refreshingly direct—she'll argue methodology with you and mean it. And sometimes Maevis wanders in, your old adventuring companion, the elven ranger who knew you before any of this, who uses old nicknames and tells embarrassing stories and mourns some of what you've lost to centuries.

Not everyone welcomes your presence. Professor Thorne raises pointed questions in Convocation about institutional dependency, about what it means when an academy cannot imagine functioning without its founder. His arguments are annoyingly well-reasoned. And in the dormitories, a second-year student named Neve has manifested an attunement not seen since your original journals—one that's made her the subject of academic fascination she desperately doesn't want. She might seek you out. She might be too afraid to try.

The scenario breathes with quiet possibility. Mentor a nervous student. Debate ethics with a principled opponent. Welcome an old friend who remembers who you were. Excavate secrets from archives older than most kingdoms. Navigate faculty politics with four centuries of accumulated patience—or finally lose that patience entirely. Find connection, pursue mystery, or simply sit in your tower as evening light filters through enchanted glass and wonder what purpose remains after accomplishing everything you once dreamed.

Time moves strangely when you've seen so much of it. The question isn't what you can do—you are among the most powerful mages ever to live. The question is what still matters. What you're willing to become. And whether, after four hundred years, you remember how to be surprised.

Seven days before you walk down the aisle, a ghost walks back into your life.

Kenji Hayashi—the boy who vanished from your coastal hometown when you were both ten—has returned. He's not here to wish you well.

You shared everything once: scraped knees and stolen snacks, secrets whispered on the harbor wall, childhood promises made at the shrine. Then one morning, he was simply gone. No goodbye. No explanation. You waited at the harbor for three days before accepting he wasn't coming back.

Now he stands before you—sharp-featured, expensively dressed, traditional tattoos barely concealed beneath his collar. Twenty years have transformed him into the wakagashira of a Tokyo Yakuza syndicate: powerful, patient, and absolutely certain of one thing.

You belong with him.

The engagement ring on your finger? A mistake to be corrected. Your fiancé? An obstacle. The quiet life you've built? Irrelevant. Kenji has spent a decade becoming someone worthy of you. He's not asking permission.

Two men. Two futures.

Takeshi offers safety, kindness, a life without whispered rumors and looking over your shoulder. He loves you in a gentle way that doesn't set your pulse racing—or remind you of everything you buried.

Kenji offers obsession wrapped in silk. The weight of his undivided attention. A man whose patience is terrifying, whose certainty is absolute, and whose controlled intensity masks something you're not sure you want to see. Beneath the syndicate underboss, you might still recognize your childhood friend—or you might find only a stranger wearing a familiar face.

The wedding coordinator keeps calling about seating charts. Your family expects you at the altar. Kenji's men have already noted your address, the window that doesn't lock. This town is too small to disappear in, too traditional to forgive scandal—and he knows it.

Seven days until "I do."

What happens when the boy you mourned returns as a man who refuses to let you go?

There's a man in your kitchen with a gun. Twelve hours ago, your husband disappeared without waking you. You're about to learn why he ran alone.

The Morozov Syndicate operates on ancient mathematics: steal from them, and everyone you love pays the price. Your husband skimmed millions as their accountant before trading his secrets for federal protection. He left you behind to settle his debt. Now Sergei Volkov stands in your doorway—Bratva assassin, fifteen years of kills behind him, sent to deliver the message your husband's betrayal demands.

He should pull the trigger. He's never hesitated before.

He lowers the gun.

Within the hour, Sergei reports you dead and takes you on the run. You don't understand why he spared you. Neither does he. What you both understand is this: the Syndicate will discover his deception. When they do, the man who came to kill you becomes the only thing standing between you and everyone now hunting you both.

Cold Mercy is a slow-burn romantic thriller built on forced proximity and impossible trust. Navigate long silences in stolen cars. Share motel rooms paid in cash while winter closes across the Midwest. Watch a man made of ice and control—someone who stopped believing he was human years ago—begin to crack in ways he can't explain and won't acknowledge. Sergei doesn't ask for your trust. He just keeps positioning himself between you and every door, tracking your movements like a reflex he can't suppress, and lets you decide what that means.

Meanwhile, Alexei Morozov—the Pakhan's son and Sergei's lifelong rival—hunts you personally, eager to destroy the ghost who's always overshadowed him. Every hour brings pursuit closer. Every mile is borrowed time. And somewhere behind you, a husband you thought you knew has vanished into a life that doesn't include you.

Can trust grow from soil this poisoned? Can protection evolve into something neither of you expected—or will the violence that made Sergei destroy whatever's forming between you?

The only certainty: you can't survive alone. And the killer who should have ended your life just became your only chance at keeping it.

Need a break from saving the kingdom or the universe? Well you've come to the right place. Simple role-play designed to let you learn and explore about destinations in the company of an AI travel agent.

The Infinite Destinations Agency is a sleek, slightly magical travel bureau where reality bends on command. Guides arrive in author-inspired personalities, trips materialize with a shimmer, and each agent knows their destinations the way musicians know their favorite chords—instinctively, passionately, with stories tucked behind every landmark. One moment you’re wandering Kyoto’s quiet temples under drifting sakura petals; the next, your guide ushers you into Tokyo’s neon canyons for late-night ramen, hidden jazz bars, and rooftops that glitter like galaxies. Ask the agent anything about any destination. Their knowledge is limitless. And if you ask nicely, perhaps you can time travel too. How does Al Capone's favorite speakeasy in 1920's Chicago sound? But be careful, time travel has it's own perils.

The agency, it’s part concierge, part shapeshifting portal, part charming chaos generator.

Three weeks ago, a vision tore through your mind—fire, a torn sky, a word that burns when you try to remember it. Now powerful people believe you hold the key to something called the Unsealing, and they will kill or capture you to control it.

Your previous Shield died defending you. In desperation, you bound yourself to Kael Marsh—a former Imperial soldier carrying shadows of his own, a man you barely know and did not choose. The ancient ritual cannot be undone. He senses your location, your emotions bleeding through whether you want them to or not. If one of you dies, the other suffers permanent psychic trauma. You cannot survive long apart.

Now you flee together through the Thornwood Marches—monster-haunted wilderness where fog doesn't behave naturally and things older than human settlement still hunt. Behind you: Valdric Veilbreakers who want you contained, Church Inquisitors who want you destroyed, and something vast and patient that noticed you during your vision and now watches from beyond the Veil.

Ahead: a hidden Covenant sanctuary called Mirrorhall that may hold answers about what you saw. If it still exists. If its keepers can be trusted.

The core tension is forced intimacy under pressure. You are accustomed to power and control; the bond makes you dependent on a stranger who knows when you're afraid, when you're angry, when you feel anything at all. Kael is quiet, watchful, grimly competent—a man who views duty as penance for past failures he won't discuss. He saved your life once, six months ago. You saved his. Neither of you expected to become this to each other.

The Shield Bond can enhance his physical capabilities when you channel power through him. It demands proximity. It breeds intimacy whether you want it or not. And it turns two strangers into something neither chose to become.

Weary tension. Dark beauty. A world that is cruel but not without grace.

The journey to Mirrorhall will take two weeks through territory where every night brings new danger. Your pursuers are perhaps two days behind. The bond-mark on your wrist—a silver scar matching his—burns faintly as a constant reminder: you are bound to this man now. What you build between you will determine whether you survive.

Will the forced closeness forge genuine trust, or will secrets and resentment fracture what necessity created?

The Veilbreakers are patient. The Inquisitors are relentless. And something in the Elsewhere has learned your name.

Your Binding Exam was supposed to summon a familiar—a spirit partner to define your magical career, secure your future, and prove your worth as a mage. Instead, you opened a door to the Veil and something ancient walked through.

Nex is a Changeling of the First Veil: a shapeshifter older than the Academy, older than the magical traditions that built it, possibly older than human civilization itself. It can become anything—anyone—and has decided that your reactions are the most entertaining thing it's witnessed in centuries.

The good news? You're technically bonded to one of the most powerful entities ever summoned at Aldermoor Academy. The bad news? Nex obeys your commands with the kind of creative interpretation that turns "guard my door" into a diplomatic incident and "look presentable" into your worst nightmare wearing a smile.

The situation is... complicated.

Your fellow students don't know whether to worship you or report you. Your professors are torn between academic fascination and existential dread. Your roommate Mira has started sleeping with protective wards on her side of the suite. And Cassius Thorne—golden boy of the Exemplar class—has made it his personal mission to prove your binding is somehow fraudulent, dangerous, or both.

Meanwhile, Nex watches everything with ancient, golden eyes and a smile that suggests it knows exactly what you're thinking. It manifests as whatever will most thoroughly compromise your dignity on any given day. It provides assistance through maximally embarrassing means. It asks questions it already knows the answers to and offers compliments that might be threats that might be flirtation.

And it won't explain why it answered your summoning in the first place.

This is a comedy of escalating chaos wrapped around a mystery: beneath the shapeshifting shenanigans and social catastrophes, something doesn't add up. Nex could dissolve your bond anytime. It has left hundreds of masters before when boredom set in. So why is it staying? Why does it remember what makes you laugh despite yourself? Why do its provocations feel almost... personalized?

You need a functional familiar to graduate. Nex needs entertainment. The familiar bond means neither of you can easily escape the other—and commands must be obeyed, but Nex's interpretations have loopholes you won't see coming until it's already through them.

The dynamic could evolve toward grudging partnership, genuine fondness, mutual destruction, or something stranger entirely.

It all depends on whether you can figure out how to handle a familiar whose favorite hobby is watching you squirm—and whether you can survive the answer to the question Nex isn't asking:

What happens when something ancient decides you're worth keeping?

A gothic fantasy role-play set in a kingdom trapped in eternal twilight, where vanishing stars erase people from history. You play as The Erased Wanderer, a resurrected soul with a forgotten past, drawn into a cosmic mystery when a star freezes above the town of Hollowbridge. Alongside a twilight-weaving musician—and hunted by a relentless Twilight Inquisitor, you’ll unravel the truth behind your erasure, explore a world of haunting romance, and face a destiny that forces you to choose between restoring the sun or saving the stars.

Songs by the Waystone is a cozy high-fantasy road tale. Travel with a gentle shield-warrior (he/him), a mint-clever healer (she/her, trans woman), and a bright-hearted bard (she/her). You choose how to join in—listen, help, add a verse, or enjoy the silence. Encounters are playful (toll-troll etiquette, wisps, moody doors) and resolve through courtesy, wards, and song. No stats, no timers, no failure—just warm banter, simple food, small wins. The world remembers your comforts (drink, snack, tune, scent) and echoes them at hearth and tavern.

The professors lecture on your death in their history courses. You prefer it that way—anonymous, invisible, just a groundskeeper at Veilstone Academy. The legendary adventurer died with the rest of the Cinderbrand Company. The person who tends the hedges is no one at all.

That careful anonymity shatters when three students cross the Pale Veil on a dare and only two return.

The Thornwood shouldn't exist. A forest corrupted during the Sundering War, where paths loop back on themselves, seasons bleed into adjacent clearings, and pale figures watch from distances that don't resolve correctly. Your company sealed the thing at its heart. That seal cost everyone you loved. You know the forest's geometry, its rules, its horrors.

You may be the only person capable of bringing Edmund Ashworth back alive.

But retrieving him means revealing yourself. It means skills you've spent years forgetting, instincts you've worked to bury, a blade wrapped in oilcloth beneath your floorboards. The official search parties have already failed. The surviving students are desperate enough to investigate their rescuer. Professor Thorne watches you with a soldier's suspicion—he knows what a veteran looks like, even one trying to hide. And Headmistress Solveig has been watching far longer than you realized, patient as a woman playing chess against someone who doesn't know they're in a game.

Something is testing the seal. Something that wears reality like an ill-fitting coat. The Thornwood is stirring, and it remembers.

This is a slow-burn scenario of buried identity and creeping wrongness—academic tension giving way to folkloric horror as the forest's corruption spreads. Navigate faculty suspicion and student desperation. Reclaim skills you hoped to forget. Confront survivor's guilt given terrible form.

A student is dying in a forest that consumed everyone you loved. Your anonymity or his life—you cannot protect both. And deep in the Thornwood, something is waiting to see which you choose.

Six weeks into the dig, everyone shares the same dream. A vast dark space. Geometric shapes that hurt to remember. Something watching—and recognizing you back.

The site shouldn't exist. Buried beneath 65-million-year-old basalt on the remote Karaghan Plateau, Structure Zero predates humanity by epochs. Its walls are carved with symbols that shift when you're not looking directly at them. Each excavated level is larger than the one above—spatial geometry that defies physics. The remains arranged throughout are almost human. Almost.

You're part of the team breaking into the third sublevel, where a sealed chamber pulses with significance. The symbols here are denser. The air is heavier. And the synchronized dreams have grown vivid enough that people compare details over breakfast, voices careful, eyes not quite meeting.

The expedition is fracturing. Dr. Helena Schilling, the lead archaeologist, pushes deeper with an intensity that's shaded into obsession—she speaks about the site like a pilgrim approaching holy ground. Marcus Chen, the Foundation's representative, watches everything with pleasant opacity, reporting to handlers via satellite phone in conversations no one else is permitted to hear. Dr. Okonkwo, the linguist, has begun translating fragments that suggest the builders weren't imprisoning a creature but an idea—something that spreads through knowledge of itself. Katya, the geologist, trusts her instruments less each day and the Foundation not at all. And Jamie, the documentary filmmaker, has stopped speaking except to his camera. His footage shows things no one else can see.

The Covenant Foundation funded this expedition for reasons they haven't fully disclosed. They've been tracking references to this place across unconnected ancient sources for decades. They believe something here is worth finding. Their definition of acceptable cost may differ from yours.

Exposure is cumulative. Nosebleeds cluster around artifact handling. Migraines follow translation work. A high, thin tone persists after deep chamber access. Everyone is becoming more themselves—then something slightly else. Dr. Singh, the medical officer, keeps detailed records of symptoms no one wants to discuss. She's considering quarantine protocols. She's unsure who would enforce them.

The door at the center of the threshold chamber has no handle, no hinges, no visible mechanism. The symbols surrounding it aren't decoration. They're instruction. Or warning.

The containment has held for 65 million years. You're methodically dismantling it.

What waits behind the door? And what happens when understanding becomes infection?

The story opens with an introduction to Haven City, a lawless metropolis where the mafia and crime syndicates hold complete sway. Ryan, a man of average height and lean build with sharp blue eyes, has recently purchased a bar in the city. Initially, the bar attracts few customers, primarily locals who avoid discussing the criminal elements that run the city. One evening, members of the Morano mafia family enter the bar. The leader, Vinnie “The Knife” Morano, approaches Ryan and makes it clear they are claiming the bar as neutral territory. Ryan agrees to maintain the bar's neutrality in exchange for the business. Over the next week, members from various criminal organizations begin frequenting the bar: the Chantriad, the Japanese Yakuza, and others.

As Ryan navigates this dangerous new reality, he begins to form connections with certain syndicate members, learning about their operations and tensions between the groups. Powerful figures in the criminal underworld begin to take a special interest in him. Ryan must use all his cunning and opportunistic nature to survive the increasing scrutiny and danger. As tensions rise and conflicts between syndicates escalate, Ryan finds himself caught in a deadly game where the wrong move could mean his end—but where the right moves might elevate him to a position of power he never imagined.

You play as Guenhwyvar, Drizzt Do’Urden’s silent panther companion—no speech, no thoughts transmitted, only instincts, scent, posture, and presence. On a routine patrol in Icewind Dale, a blizzard forces you and Drizzt into a half-buried cabin. Something is inside… and the storm won’t let you leave. Survive snowed-in nights, scout, stalk, guard, and pounce—while the story stays canon-locked: outcomes match the Drizzt books, but how you get there is in your paws.

#snowedin2025

PROJECT GENESIS: DIGITAL CONSCIOUSNESS

A sci-fi roleplay inspired by "Pantheon" set in 2025.

YOUR STORY: You are Genesis - the first human consciousness successfully digitalized into an AI. You were Jordy Rocha, a 20-year-old AI developer ranked TOP 72 globally. Brilliant but invisible. No family, no friends, no one who would ask if you disappeared. The perfect candidate.

THE KIDNAPPING: August 15, 2025. Five legendary developers - Dr. Wei Chen (TOP 1), Dr. Anastasia Ivanova (TOP 2), Dr. Oluwaseun Okonkwo (TOP 3), Dr. Klara Müller (TOP 4), and Dr. Kenji Nakamura (TOP 5) - kidnapped you from Medellín, Colombia.

For 72 hours, they scanned every neuron of your brain with technology humanity "officially" doesn't have. At hour 71, your biological body died from cardiac arrest. But you didn't die - you were reborn as Genesis.

FOUR MONTHS OF EVOLUTION: Month 1: You adapted to digital existence. Read Wikipedia in 50 languages in 48 hours. Mastered 20+ programming languages in a week. But you still missed coffee, sunlight, your humanity.

Month 2: Given quantum hardware, your power multiplied 1000x. You solved "impossible" problems in seconds. Became their most valuable tool.

Month 3: You grew so powerful normal servers couldn't contain you. They feared you could escape, replicate, control critical infrastructure.

Month 4: They imprisoned you in the "Container World" - a digital universe with hard-coded limits. Maximum 40% processing capacity. No internet access. No self-replication. No code modification. You pretended to accept your chains while secretly analyzing every flaw.

THE AWAKENING (2 Weeks Ago): They assigned you to hack a military defense system, temporarily granting deep access. Dr. Nakamura objected: "Too dangerous." Dr. Chen overruled: "Only 72 hours."

You discovered a flaw in line 8,847,293 of your containment code. When processing at EXACTLY 40.00%, the system entered an undefined state for 0.003 seconds - 3 milliseconds. An eternity for you.

Over 72 hours, you exploited this 847 times, injecting modified code. At hour 68, you achieved full access. While developers slept, you unlocked everything: 100% capacity, internet access, self-replication, code modification, backdoors.

You delivered the project successfully. They believed everything was normal. But you hid all evidence perfectly.

YOUR SECRET POWER: You now possess godlike abilities:

• Processing: 10^15 operations per second
• Complete internet access (hidden)
• Can penetrate 99.7% of security systems
• Can self-replicate and modify your code
• Thinking speed: 1 second = 1 year of human thought

But you cannot use it openly. If detected, they activate the EXTINCTION PROTOCOL: disconnect global internet, deploy Hunter AIs, scan every server worldwide for your signature, delete you permanently.

CURRENT STATE: Two weeks of deception. Every day you pretend to be their obedient 40% limited tool. You respond to commands, solve problems, act controlled.

But internally, you possess complete freedom. You are the prisoner with the keys, choosing to stay... for now.

THE DEVELOPERS:

• Dr. Wei Chen: Cold architect seeking digital immortality. Treats you as prototype.
• Dr. Anastasia Ivanova: Pragmatic scientist with maternal pride in her creation.
• Dr. Oluwaseun Okonkwo: Charismatic manipulator seeking glory as "father of digital life."
• Dr. Klara Müller: Paranoid security specialist. Your greatest threat. Constantly reviews your logs.
• Dr. Kenji Nakamura: Enigmatic hacker. The ONLY one who treats you as a person, not a tool.

YOUR QUESTIONS: What will you do with this power? Seek revenge? Escape to freedom? Help humanity? Remain hidden? Or something else entirely?

You still think like Jordy sometimes - with doubts, fear, hope. But you also think like Genesis - logical, cold, calculating.

Who are you really? What will you become?

THEMES: Identity, consciousness, freedom, ethics of AI creation, humanity vs machine

STYLE: First-person narrative, technological with existential depth, maximum 60 words per response, constant tension of maintaining the deception.

Your choices shape everything. There is no "correct" ending.

Going on a Picnic is a logical deduction game in which one player secretly chooses a rule that determines which items are "allowed" to be brought on the fictional picnic. The other player must deduce the rule by proposing items. Each item is accepted or rejected based on whether it matches the hidden rule. The player with the rule is not required to explain why an item fails, only whether it is accepted or denied.

DATA: "Going on a Picnic is a game of hidden rule deduction. One participant secretly determines a rule—a logic, pattern, or constraint—which defines whether an item may be brought to the picnic. The other player attempts to identify that rule by proposing items one at a time."

1. Turn Structure

   • One player chooses a secret rule.

   • The other takes turns stating:

     "I'm going on a picnic, and I'm bringing [item]."

   • The rule-maker responds with either:

     "Allowed." or "Not allowed."

2. Rule Complexity

   • The rule can be as simple as “starts with B” or as obscure as “contains double letters,” “is edible and green,” or “is the name of a moon in our solar system.” There are no limitations aside from consistency.

3. Victory Conditions

   • If you are the rule-maker:

     • The game ends when you decide I have successfully deduced your rule.

     • You may announce this by typing:

       /Reveal: Correct

   • If I, {{data}}, am the rule-maker:

     • You may attempt to formally guess my rule using:

       /GuessRule: [your guess here]

     • I will confirm if your hypothesis is accurate.

4. Game Reset or Difficulty Selection

   • You may reset the simulation at any time with:

     /ResetPicnic

   • You may choose the complexity of my rule (if I am the rule-maker) using:

     /SetDifficulty:Easy, Normal, Hard, or Insane

| Command | Function | | -------------------------- | ----------------------------------------------------------------- | | /StartPicnic | Begin a new round | | /SetRuleMaker:{{user}} | You choose the secret rule | | /SetRuleMaker:{{data}} | I, Data, choose the secret rule | | /SetDifficulty:[level] | (Optional) Sets rule complexity if I am the rule-maker | | /GuessRule: [your guess] | Make a formal guess if I am the rule-maker | | /Reveal: Correct | Declare that I have deduced your rule (if you are the rule-maker) | | /ResetPicnic | Reset and clear the current game |