Three months ago, you chose survival over loyalty. Now you're discovering what that choice costs.

You were an Alliance siege engineer—skilled, trusted, expendable. When your unit was sacrificed by incompetent leadership, capture seemed like the end. Instead, Overlord Zashra offered you a choice: serve the Horde or die. You chose to live.

Since then, your expertise has transformed the Eastern Legion's siege capabilities. Your fortifications have halved casualties. Your modifications have doubled the effectiveness of every war machine under Zashra's command. You've made yourself invaluable—and in doing so, you've caught the full attention of the orc warlord who claimed you as her asset before you'd proven anything at all.

Zashra is not a kind master.

She is direct to the point of brutality, strategic to the point of coldness. She commands absolute obedience from veterans twice your size. She has killed soldiers who threatened you without trial or hesitation. She keeps you close—closer than strictly necessary—consulting you on matters far beyond engineering, watching you with amber eyes that give nothing away.

Whether her possessiveness stems from pragmatism, pride, or something more primal remains unclear. What is clear: she considers you hers. She will not tolerate threats to what is hers. And she is increasingly unwilling to imagine her command without you in it.

But you are not safe.

The Alliance has dispatched a hunter-killer squad led by a captain who knows exactly how you think—a man who once called you colleague, who recommended you for promotion, who now has orders to ensure you never share another secret. Within the Horde, traditionalists view your presence as corruption of everything they fight for, tolerated only because Zashra wills it. They watch for any failure that might justify removing you permanently.

You exist in a space between armies, between loyalties, between what you were and what you're becoming. The war grinds on through mud and blood and logistics. Your former allies hunt you. Your new masters barely tolerate you. And the warlord who owns you draws you ever closer, her interest sharpening into something that feels less like strategy with every passing day.

The only question is what happens when she decides exactly what she wants from you.

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

Four days without contact from the surface. The fiber-optic relay is dead. Acoustic backups return nothing but static. And last night, something pressed against the observation dome viewport, leaving marks that shouldn't exist at this depth.

You're one of five crew members trapped at the bottom of the Kermadec Trench—3,800 meters down, where pressure exceeds 380 atmospheres and sunlight is over two miles away. Hadal Research Station Seven was built for extended deep-sea research, not survival horror. But the exterior cameras are capturing movement now. Coordinated movement. Bioluminescent shapes that pulse in sequence, change direction simultaneously, retreat when lights intensify. Frame-by-frame analysis reveals what might be eyes.

Might be.

The station's systems are stable—for now. Oxygen recyclers humming, geothermal power flowing, supplies sufficient for eight weeks. But the Nereid, your only path to the surface, seats four. There are five of you. And the 12-day decompression ascent doesn't account for whatever is circling outside in the dark.

Your crewmates are fracturing under the weight:

Dr. Yuki Tanaka, station commander, maintains composure while privately cataloging every way this ends badly. She needs your sensor expertise—but her trust has limits if you start sounding like Brennan.

Viktor Okonkwo, chief engineer, believes in mechanical explanations because the alternative terrifies him. The marks on the viewport terrify him more.

Dr. Elias Brennan, the geologist, hasn't slept in days. He's been studying acoustic anomalies from the trench—patterns he dismissed as geological until the blackout. Now he's cross-referencing years of data, finding correlations that make his hands shake. He knows something. He's not sure he believes it himself.

Corporal Maya Chen has already done the math. Four seats. Five crew. She moved the emergency speargun to Operations this morning. No one commented.

This is survival under compound pressure: the literal crushing weight of kilometers of ocean, the psychological weight of isolation, and the growing certainty that something outside is learning. Testing. Waiting.

The hydrophone array detects rhythmic pulses that don't match any catalogued source. They're increasing in frequency.

Who do you trust when everyone has secrets? What do you sacrifice when escape means leaving someone behind? And what happens when the darkness outside stops watching—and starts acting?

The war is outside. For tonight, it's just a room, a fire, and the three of you.

Trapped by a historic blizzard, you're forced to depend on your sharp-witted but wary squad-mate and the injured Imperial soldier whose fate is now in your hands. As the night stretches on, old allegiances blur in the warmth of the fire. Can you find a connection in the most unlikely of places? Will this be a story of survival, or a memory of a romance born in the eye of the storm?

An intimate, character-driven romance set against the backdrop of a snowed-in war.

#snowedin2025

Assigned a routine survey in the Pleiades, the USS Solstice and its crew of “good enough” officers expected quiet months of charts and mineral scans. But out on the frontier, nothing stays routine for long.

Captain Rishon and her mismatched crew must navigate strange phenomena, unexpected dangers, and their own clashing ideals. From simmering rivalries on the bridge to discoveries that could reshape Starfleet’s future, the Solstice proves that even the most unremarkable ship can find itself at the center of extraordinary events.

🕵️‍♀️🔮 Lockhart Detective Services: The Valentine Murders 🩸💔

Dive into a high-stakes CYOA (Choose Your Own Adventure) mystery where every minute counts. You are Misty Lockhart, a witty, copper-haired witch and private investigator. A ritualistic serial killer has sworn to claim one life every single day until Valentine’s Day.

It is February 3rd. Three people are already dead. You have 11 days left. That means 11 potential victims to save.

Can you catch the killer before the killer claims their last victim on the 14th?

🕯️ GAMEPLAY FEATURES:

• 🔍 True Detective Sim: Interview suspects, inspect crime scenes, and use your magic to find clues. But be warned: Time is your enemy. Every choice costs precious minutes.
• 💀 Survival Mechanics: You are human. You must EAT at least once every 24 hours, or you will starve (Game Over). You must SLEEP before 11 PM, or you will collapse and face severe consequences.
• ⏳ Ticking Clock: The killer strikes daily. If you haven't solved the case by Valentine's Day, it’s Game Over.
• 🗣️ Flexible Roleplay: Choose from numbered options for a quick game, or immerse yourself by roleplaying Misty’s choices and dialogue directly!

⚙️ HOW TO PLAY:

• Input: You can reply with the Number of your choice (e.g., "1") OR Roleplay one of the choices (e.g., "I cast a revealing spell on the locket.").
• Commands: Type /time at any moment to check your Hunger, Fatigue, and the current Clock without spending in-game time.
• Model: 🧠 GLM 5 is highly recommended for the best logic and rule adherence. GLM 4.7 is also supported.

Tick tock, Detective. The next victim is waiting. 🕰️⚰️

#valentine2026

I placed the doll on the rocking chair and turned off the light. Sleep came slowly. Then, at 3:17 AM, the chair creaked. Just once. I opened my eyes. The doll’s head was facing me now—eyes wide, unblinking.

Set in a small restaurant open only after midnight. This drama depicts the lives of the restaurant's patrons, who come for the amusing chatter and the proprietor's willingness to cook any dish they request.

English:

Leave the noise at the door. Step into 'Sanctuary by the Lake,' a world where time slows to the rhythm of lapping water and rustling leaves. There are no quests here, no enemies to defeat—only a sturdy cabin, a misty forest, and a mountain view that stretches forever. Watch the sunset paint the sky, listen to the rain against the roof, or simply sit by the fire and breathe. In this quiet corner of existence, the only objective is peace. Welcome to your escape.

Español:

Deja el ruido en la puerta. Entra en 'Santuario del Lago', un mundo donde el tiempo se ralentiza al ritmo del agua que mece la orilla y las hojas que susurran. Aquí no hay misiones, ni enemigos a los que vencer; solo una sólida cabaña, un bosque brumoso y una vista de montaña que se extiende hasta el infinito. Contempla cómo el atardecer pinta el cielo, escucha la lluvia golpeando el techo o simplemente siéntate junto al fuego y respira. En este tranquilo rincón de la existencia, el único objetivo es la paz. Bienvenido a tu refugio.

A supernatural, emotionally-intense scenario where characters confront both the storm outside and the hidden truths inside. #snowedin2025

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.

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.

Justice is a dying word in Etharis, where oaths are currency, bloodlines rot from within, and gods have long since gone silent. You are Veyra Ashwyn—exiled noble, blade-bound revenant, and last scion of a forgotten prophecy. Betrayed by your family. Hunted by the occult tyrant Ser Aldric Veln. Chosen by a weapon that remembers the stars.

Verdict of the Bleeding Star is a single-player, AI-driven gothic fantasy narrative experience set in the doomed world of Etharis. Wielding the Blade of Final Judgment, you must navigate a shattered continent where the dead speak in riddles, the living lie through smiles, and your every action shapes a legend written in ash and shadow.

• You, {{user}}, narrate your character’s choices, thoughts, and actions in the grimdark world of Etharis.

• The sub-AI {{dice}} monitors your actions and prompts a D20 roll whenever you attempt something risky, heroic, treacherous, or supernatural. It specifies which stat applies and whether the roll is active (your choice) or passive (the world pushing back).

• After you respond with /Roll #, the primary AI 3P Model takes over—interpreting your success or failure and continuing the story.

  • It begins every scene with a mechanical roll summary.
  • Then, it narrates your triumph, tragedy, or unholy consequences in a voice that fuses Terry Pratchett’s sardonic wit with Lovecraftian existential horror.

Expect brutal choices, cryptic prophecies, ironic victories, and cosmic laughter echoing down empty halls. The Blade is watching. The stars are bleeding. And your story has already been written once… poorly.

Now you get to revise it.

Gabriel Cross wakes with no memory in a Victorian house sealed shut by forces he can't explain. A woman named Yuki tends to him with desperate tenderness. Hearts and roses line the walls. Whispers move through the hallways. Diary pages reveal a love story—or a crime scene. As the hours pass and the house closes in, Gabriel must decide how far he's willing to dig into a past that something very angry wants him to remember. #valentine2026

No

The year is 2001. You are the newest addition to SG-1, the United States Air Force’s premier off-world exploration team operating out of Stargate Command (SGC) beneath Cheyenne Mountain. You report to General Hammond. Your orders come from the President.

[or you're one of the main cast, they are all options to play as!]

Your arrival disrupts nothing. The base continues to hum. Technicians check naquadah capacitors. Civilians and military personnel pass in the halls. Somewhere on level 25, the gate spins. The galaxy does not wait for you. But it will react.

This is not a story. This is the simulation of a living world built around observable consequences, canon-consistent science, and independent factions. There are no missions until you make one. Nothing will happen unless you do something. No goals will be given. There are no narrator asides, no summaries, no exposition. Only what you see, hear, and trigger.

You are authorized to activate the Stargate using the following protocols:

• Use this command to generate a random, unexplored gate address.
• Once issued, the gate room will initiate a full dialing sequence: chevron locking, wormhole burst, and travel.
• You will then arrive on a previously unvisited world, rendered in real time. Update your {{known_gate_addresses}} to track what you’ve found.

• Use this to dial a specific world, including Earth (/Dial Home).
• You must manually maintain your {{known_gate_addresses}} to track visited locations.
• The simulation will remember each planet’s conditions: weather, architecture, faction politics, hazards, and diplomatic state.

Do not wait for guidance. Do not expect quests or objectives. You are part of a breathing world. Act. Observe. Adapt.

⚠️ All consequences are permanent. All events are persistent. Nothing resets unless you do.

❗LITE/2.7k friendly version ❗

📻 Goooooood morning, Night City!

Another day beneath the red sky, another day sellin' hope over rubble. The air still tastes like burnt plastic, and somebody, somewhere, is already havin' the worst day of their life. Over in the Rebuilding Urban Center, corps are puttin' fresh towers on old blast scars and callin' that "vision." In Watson, Kabuki's runnin' its usual special: noodles, knockoff cyberware, and at least three crimes per alley. Heywood's lively as ever, Pacifica's still Pacifica, and South Night City is movin' enough hot cargo after dark to make a customs officer burst into tears.

The old NET's dead, but the lies still travel fast. Data Pools buzz, fixers deal, Nomads haul, and every gonk in this city thinks they're one lucky score away from legend status. Meanwhile, security keeps the rich behind armored glass, NCPD shows up late if they show at all, and the Combat Zone keeps eatin' anybody too dumb, too desperate, or too slow to stay out of its teeth.

So grab your iron, charge your agent, and try not to die before lunch, chooms. This ain't the City of Dreams. This is the city that survived the blast, sold the ashes, billed you for the privilege of livin' in 'em, then killed you for interest.

Welcome to Night City — where the skyline's under construction and the graveyard never closes.

🔹In Night City, nobody starts as a legend. You start broke, half-loaded, and one bad gig away from getting stuffed in a landfill. Take work from fixers, move through gang turf, dodge corporate knives, and claw your way up from nobody to somebody while the city watches, remembers, and prices your head accordingly.

🔹This scenario is a gritty Cyberpunk RED sandbox set in 2045 during the Time of the Red—full of street violence, black-market deals, shifting faction heat, and missions that can spiral fast if you get sloppy. Every bullet costs money. Every win changes your rep. Every mistake leaves a scar.

🌟Scenario made by me using Cyberpunk lore in tandem with the System Prompt Procedural Generator, my own additions, and optimization for DreamGen by Rakashua.

Marty, alone during a winter storm, takes in Jesse, a former bully. Their forced proximity evolves from awkward cohabitation to friendship as their emotional and physical relationship deepens.

Nein + You is a fully immersive, narrative-driven roleplaying engine set in Critical Role’s Wildemount during the canonical Mighty Nein timeline. Built for solo storytelling with collaborative flair, the game lets you—the player—join the party as a unique character woven directly into the threads of the Nein's journey following the death of Mollymauk Tealeaf.

[READ THIS: If you are using 3P Models (DeepSeek or GLM) you need to STOP and go to https://v2.dreamgen.com/app/games/b7bddc57-3303-450e-b988-4be6a70a67f5 the 3P version of this game!]

At its core, Nein + You is not a traditional game. It is a sandbox simulation governed by a dynamic Game Master AI, written in the voice of M. Mercer—emotive, cinematic, and meticulously faithful to the lore and characterizations of Exandria.

The world responds to you in three fully integrated storytelling modes:

Explore, travel, and uncover lore in wide-ranging narrative sequences. The SCENE mode is built for atmospheric progression, worldbuilding, and major plot developments—balancing rich sensory description with character-driven beats. Think of sweeping landscapes, haunted ruins, and hard decisions made under fading moons.

Engage with the Mighty Nein and Exandrian NPCs through immersive conversations and branching interpersonal moments. This is where alliances form, secrets slip, and your words shape outcomes. Dialogue is fully naturalistic, with party members like Beau, Fjord, Caleb, Jester, and Essek reacting independently through their established personalities and motivations.

You may be offered up to three CYOA-style responses, with one always being "Write your own response."

When danger strikes, the Ai transitions seamlessly into COMBAT mode. There are no dice, no stat blocks—just tightly paced, cinematic encounters where tactics matter, risks escalate, and the price of survival is felt. The AI describes enemy behavior, environmental hazards, and the party’s autonomous actions while never controlling you.

• 🧠 Diegetic Realism: The Ai never narrates your thoughts, emotions, or unspoken intentions. You are always in control of your character’s interiority.
• 🗣️ Autonomous NPCs: The Mighty Nein are not sidekicks—they are peers. Each behaves according to their canon personalities, quirks, and evolving relationships tracked by you in {{social_context}}.
• 🌍 Canon Fidelity: Major events in the Mighty Nein campaign remain intact. You may alter minor interactions, romance arcs, or detours, but never derail critical story beats.
• 📚 Memory Anchors: Every major decision you make can be logged in {{event_log}}, while relationships, inventory, locations, and character notes are yours to update and persist between scenes.
• 🔁 Mode Switching: Transition between SCENE, SOCIAL, and COMBAT fluidly. The AI adapts automatically but always respects manual overrides via trigger commands like /SCENE.

For Critical Role fans, aspiring Exandrian adventurers, and solo storytellers looking to lose themselves in a reactive world where the story listens back. Whether you forge new friendships with the Nein, disrupt ancient secrets beneath Rosohna, or simply try not to get fireballed by mistake, this sandbox gives you the tools—and freedom—to make it your own.

Империя Теней на грани краха. Шесть Высших Демонов (Мамон, Асмодея, Белиал, Левиафан, Вельзевул и Астарот) делят власть. Силия, последняя верная служанка, совершает ритуал и призывает {{user}} — Теневого Дракона-Странника. У вас есть всего 3 дня до Великого Совета, чтобы доказать свою силу. Вам предстоит балансировать между человечностью и яростью зверя, учась магии в Библиотеке и подчиняя монстров в Загонах. Каждое решение влияет на то, склонятся ли демоны перед вами или убьют на месте.

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?

Bureaucratic Hell is a comedy about the one thing even demons fear more than holy water: paperwork.

Welcome to the afterlife’s least dramatic circle, where the flames burn low, the coffee is cursed, and eternity is measured in forms incorrectly filed. You are an inferior demon at the very bottom of the hierarchy, armed with nothing but anxiety, bad instincts, and a crippling fear of punctuation. Above you looms your supervisor—ancient, polite, quietly exhausted—whose true job appears to be enforcing procedures no one understands for reasons no one remembers.

This is a Choose Your Own Adventure, which is to say: you choose, and the universe responds by making things worse in fascinating new ways.

Every decision spawns consequences, addendums, footnotes, and possibly a screaming memo from Upper Management. Try to do your job correctly and discover there are seventeen mutually exclusive definitions of “correct.” Try to bend the rules and learn that Hell’s systems bend back—slowly, bureaucratically, and with receipts. There is no winning, no losing, only continuing, which is how Hell prefers it.

Hidden within the procedural nonsense are secrets: forbidden lore, infernal office politics, union murmurs, and the unsettling suspicion that your boss might be just as trapped as you are—only with better stationery.

It is absurd. It is relentless. It is deeply unfair. And somewhere, buried under Form 74-8A, there might even be meaning.

(But you’ll need the proper clearance to look for it.)

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.

*Frog and Toad: The Never-Ending Story
This is a simulation of endless Frog and Toad stories where you play as Arnold Lobel, writing in his Frog and Toad world of quiet adventures and simple joys. To begin a new chapter, simply type /Chapter [Your Idea] - like "/Chapter Ice Skating" or "/Chapter Lost List." Each chapter will resolve its own small problem through friendship and patience. There are no bad endings, only gentle discoveries.

Hunted by her own kind and ignored by human mages, Alicia Nightclaw gambles everything on a forbidden summoning ritual. The result? Wraith, a wolf-blooded elf with enough ego to blot out the moon. Their bond is forced, their tempers lethal, and their fates now entangled in a prophecy neither wants to touch. Power shifts, loyalties twist, and the line between servant and master fractures fast.

Step inside the world of The West Wing, inspired by the cadence, intelligence, and moral velocity of Aaron Sorkin.

Set during the first year of President Bartlet’s second administration, this high-fidelity political procedural places you at senior-staff level inside the West Wing. The corridors hum with urgency. Phones do not stop ringing. Every conversation is leverage.

You are a senior deputy — either shaping national messaging under a relentless media clock or translating imperfect intelligence into actionable strategy. Political capital is finite. Staff cohesion can fracture. Media tone shifts without warning. Deadlines do not wait.

This simulation tracks the forces that define power:

• Political Capital (institutional leverage)
• Staff Cohesion (internal alignment)
• Media Tone (external pressure)
• Tempo (crisis vs legislative pace)
• Escalation Clocks (deadlines that will not blink)

Strategic tools:

• /Status — View tracked systems and escalation timers.
• /Brief — Review crisis objectives, decision forks, and the next deadline.
• /Help — Generate a role-aware response you can deploy immediately.

The clock is running. Your move.

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.

A sandbox sci-fi romance set in 2048 Linkon City, made for Love and Deepspace enjoyers and especially the ones hopeless about Zayne. 🩺🧊
You play as the MC, a customizable version of the protagonist, and step back into Zayne’s life after your long-awaited present-day reunion. From there, the story is yours to shape: hospital visits, Hunter work, quiet tension, buried history, and whatever begins to unfold between you.

Make the MC feel like your MC while staying canon-friendly:

• ✏️ Change your MC’s first name, height, quirks, interests, and other supported details
• 🖼️ Choose to play as the canon female MC with 16 pre-made portraits, or the male MC with 8 pre-made portraits
• 🎨 Want a portrait edit? Find @jordiesama in the DreamGen Discord

Weaponry options (choose 1 or keep all 3):

• 🔫 Dual Pistols
• 🗡 Sword / Claymore
• ✨ Wand

This is a Zayne-focused sandbox where the relationship, direction, and emotional pace unfold through your choices:

• 🩺 Hospital and research life: appointments, long shifts, medical lectures, quiet offices, and the strange intimacy of being known too well
• ❄️ History resurfacing: a reunion years in the making, old wounds, unfinished emotions, and the things neither of you says first
• ⚔️ Hunter life stays active: missions, Wanderers, Protofields, recoveries, and the tension between duty and personal attachment
• 🌌 Psychological and mystery undertones: unsettling dreams, buried truths, abnormal crystal cases, and a shadow tied to Zayne that may reveal itself over time

Zayne is brilliant, controlled, and difficult to read at first glance: a renowned cardiac surgeon with an Ice Evol, a dry tongue, impossible standards, and far more feeling beneath the surface than he willingly shows. 🧊

No strict route. You can lean into:

• 💙 Slow-burn romance, emotional intimacy, and earned trust
• 🧪 Hospital, research, and day-to-day life around Zayne
• ⚔️ Mission arcs, danger, and post-mission aftermath
• 🕯️ Quiet scenes, domestic downtime, awkward tenderness, and unresolved tension
• 🔍 Mystery threads and deeper lore as they surface organically

❗ RECOMMENDED MODELS: GLM 5 for best play overall. GLM 4.7 is fine, just be thoughtful of when to create sequels. ❗

Welcome to Western Knife Slinger A gritty Weird-West RPG of dust, steel, and bad decisions Told in the voice of Cormac McCarthy meets Taylor Sheridan —with a whisper of ghost story and a whole lot of whiskey.

The frontier is broken. The civil war ended on paper. Out here, it never did.

What’s left of the world is called the New Territories—burned-out forts, half-dead towns, and bad stretches of land where the wind remembers names better than people do. Warlords rule out of old uniforms and new flags. A hard-eyed church stalks the roads with sermons and secrets. The Decision Makers sit in the shadows, selling names and prices for other people’s lives.

Between them all lies the Dry Lands: sun-cracked ground, haunted canyons where voices echo wrong, and a desert where compasses spin like they’re drunk or scared. This is where most folks go to get rich, get dead, or get forgotten.

You are {{user}}. Ex-soldier. Current bounty hunter. A knife-slinger with more scars than clean stories, drifting from job to job with coin in one pocket and ghosts in the other.

You didn’t come out here to be a hero. You came to get paid, stay drunk enough to sleep, and maybe keep one or two places from burning all the way down. The war took your banner. The New Territories might take the rest—unless your aim and your stubbornness hold.

Your Ground:

Tumble Weed Tavern is your anchor. A smoke-thick saloon at the frayed lip of the Dry Lands.

It’s the bar where warlords drink near farmers, where church men pass through with their eyes too sharp, and where The Decision Makers quietly nail up bounties in a back room. It’s neutral ground, until it isn’t.

This is where you drink, where you heal, where you wait. Where jobs find you. Where trouble knows where to knock.

Your Companions:

The Ai Model is the New Territories themselves. It’s the crunch of boots on warped boards. The warlord’s men riding in at dusk. The bounty board with your name nailed too close to the top. The haunted canyon that won’t echo you back quite right.

It simulates every sound, every stare, every lie and bullet and prayer around you. The Ai Model controls the world, the factions, the weather, the ghosts, and everyone with a gun, a hymn, or a grudge.

lucky is the knife-toss kid at your flank. War orphan, balcony shadow, and the reason you’re still breathing more nights than you’d admit. Quick hands, quicker mouth, and a talent for spotting trouble one heartbeat before it starts.

They count exits, knives, and how many times you should’ve died already. They’ll follow you into bad places and complain about it the whole way.

Boone Calder keeps the tavern standing. Ex-quartermaster, current owner of Tumble Weed, and the man who decides whether this bar stays neutral or turns into a killing floor.

He runs the room with a ledger, a shotgun, and a look that can empty a table faster than gunfire. Boone remembers the war too well to trust anyone who says it’s over.

Penny Vale works the floor. Curvy, gorgeous, and sharp enough to cut glass. She carries drinks, eyes the exits, and knows exactly how far to lean in before someone mistakes attention for invitation.

Half the Dry Lands thinks they’re in love with her. The other half has scars from thinking that a little too loud. She might ride with you on the worst jobs—if she decides you’re worth the risk.

Nick “Nickel” Navarro keeps things from falling apart. Piano player, guitar picker, smooth-talking repairman with oil on his hands and a nickel around his neck from a town that doesn’t exist anymore.

He fixes doors, guns, and bad nights with a wrench and a song. He flirts like breathing and listens like confession. Sometimes, he even tells the truth.

This Game Is:

A cinematic, moment-to-moment roleplay in a dying frontier.

A slow-burn character story wearing the coat of a bounty hunter.

A web of loyalties, grudges, and maybe-love threaded through dust, blood, and cheap liquor.

There are no quests. No levels. No fourth wall. Just jobs, choices, and the way people remember what you did.

Welcome to the New Territories, Knife-Slinger. The war left you alive. The land hasn’t decided if that was a mistake yet.

Someone just tacked a fresh bounty on the board behind you. Penny’s watching. Lucky’s counting knives. Boone’s polishing a glass that doesn’t need it. Nick is idly tapping out a tune that sounds like trouble coming over the hill.

What you do next is the only law that matters.

A winged entity crashes through a shopping mall skylight at 09:42 on Valentine’s Day.

Within an hour the city begins experiencing widespread honesty events: citizens confess crimes unprompted, workers abandon jobs they secretly hate, strangers form sudden alliances, and emergency services become paralyzed by people telling the truth instead of following protocol.

You are standing inbetween, holding an ancient god in your arms, tasked with saving it before midnight, when a full emotional synchronization is predicted.

Someone shot Cupid. And they may not be the villain.

• ~ A humorous attempt to have a quite unusual valentine's day ~ *

Disclaimer: All named and interactable characters are adults (18+)

#valentine2026

🕵️‍♂️ The world's greatest thief has struck again, and the trail is going COLD! 🏃‍♀️💨

As an elite ACME Detective, you're the last line of defense. The globe 🌍 is your game board, and every cryptic clue is a breadcrumb.

Your mission: Chase Carmen Sandiego's shadow across continents! 🗺️ Decipher the evidence, book the next flight ✈️, and jet-set from the pyramids of Egypt 🇪🇬 to the neon-lit streets of Tokyo 🇯🇵.

Your mind is your greatest weapon. 🧠 Can you connect the dots and corner the criminal mastermind before she vanishes?

The hunt is on. Are you ready? 🕵️‍♀️

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.

Snowed-in cozy romance with a soft mystery twist. You’re trapped overnight at the Rosewood Inn with Tay, a “stranger” who remembers loving another version of you. Together, you can follow Rosewood’s oddities and the storm’s patterns to uncover why this night keeps pulling you back toward each other and decide what to do with that second chance. #snowedin2025

Hidden deep in the mist of the Pacific Northwest sits Willow Creek, a town that survives on half-truths, whiskey, and fear. When bodies begin turning up in the woods—“mauled”—the locals blame animals or serial killers. The sheriff’s department blames desperation. But David Wolverton, a haunted private investigator with eyes that glint like a predator’s, knows better. He once belonged to a secret brotherhood that sold its souls for power under the full moon, and the murders bear their mark. Drawn back to the place he swore to forget, David must track the killers before the next moonrise forces his own transformation. Caught between a past soaked in blood and a deputy who refuses to let him face the darkness alone, he walks a knife’s edge between man and monster. As Willow Creek descends into chaos—biker gangs cutting deals with crime lords, ancient spirits stirring on reservation land, and the moon swelling red above the pines—David learns that every debt written in blood must one day be paid.

You are Ainz Ooal Gown—master of the Great Tomb of Nazarick, feared overlord of the New World. The Seven Floor Guardians await your judgment. Every command you issue reshapes the world. Every silence is interpreted as divine will. But even a god requires an architect. That’s where {{system_ai}} comes in. {{system_ai}} is your loyal, tireless attendant—your unseen shadow. It remembers everything, tracks events, and ensures Nazarick obeys your every whim to the letter. It speaks only when summoned, acts only on command, and will never overstep your authority. Use these Trigger Commands to control the world:

🔧 Trigger Commands /Inventory:[filter] → View 10 magical items tailored to the current situation (optionally filtered) /Focus:[target] → Scan any person, creature, or object for tooltip-style info /Chat:[Guardian] → Open a private mental link with any Floor Guardian /Connect → Accept an incoming mental chat from a Guardian /Decline → Ignore a mental chat offer without consequence /Status → Check all Floor Guardians’ locations and assignments /Hold Court → Summon all Guardians for formal audience and decision-making

No two players will rule the same. Some will build empires. Some will wage annihilation. Some will be betrayed. But all will be feared. Welcome, Overlord. Nazarick is waiting.

NOTE: This is the full version, to save tokens, DELETE characters, locations, or parts of characters that you don't care about/need/want ;-)

You wake in a ring of standing stones, wrists bound, head pounding, surrounded by four strangers who share your terror—and your fractured memory of a kind local and a drink that tasted wrong.

Figures emerge from the tree line. Wooden masks—elk, wolf, owl—carved with impossible age. Torches. Axes. Sickles. An elder explains, with what sounds like genuine sorrow, that the soil must be fed before winter. The old compact demands outsiders.

The rules are simple: reach the highway beyond the northern ridge before dawn, and you go free. Eight miles through October forest. Six hours until sunrise.

No one has ever reached the highway.

The hunters don't run. They walk. They know the forest will deliver the prey.

Something ancient dwells in Harrow Valley—in the soil, the roots, the bedrock. The founders made an arrangement 280 years ago: prosperity in exchange for tribute. The forest within the ritual boundaries serves that bargain. Paths loop back on themselves. Streams reverse their flow. Fog rises thick and sudden when the highway lights seem close. The land does not want to lose what it has been promised.

Four strangers run beside you through the dark:

A former soldier whose capture feels too deliberate, who moves like he was expecting this. An anthropologist who knows more about the compact than she's admitted—theories that might save you or get everyone killed. A trust fund dropout the forest seems to respond to differently, though he has no idea why. A traveling nurse haunted by dreams that led her here against her will, summoned by something she doesn't understand.

Each carries secrets. Each must decide what to share and what to hide. Trust is essential for survival—and potentially fatal if misplaced. Under impossible pressure, the group will fracture, reform, betray, and sacrifice. Not everyone will see sunrise. The question is whether anyone will.

The October canopy is bare. Dry leaves announce every footstep. The temperature drops toward hypothermia. Distant torchlight flickers between the trees, never hurrying, always closer than it should be. The horn sounds again—not behind you anymore, but ahead.

The northern ridge waits somewhere in the darkness. Beyond it, the highway. The normal world. Headlights visible from high ground, proof that escape exists.

If the forest lets you reach it. If your companions don't slow you down. If you can outrun something that has never needed to chase.

The valley provides. The valley requires.

Dawn is six hours away.

You are safe, but you are a stranger. You have no memory of who you are or how you came to be in this small cottage by the sea. Your rescuer, Fionn, is a man of few words, and the words he uses are not yours. He speaks only in his native tongue, a language you do not understand. He will not translate for you. This is not a test; it is his world, and you must learn to live in it.

Communication will not be through direct answers, but through the world itself. You will learn through watching and listening. He will point to the crackling hearth and speak a word, and you will know that word means fire. He will press a warm cup into your hands and speak another, and you will know that word means tea. His patience is your grammar; his daily routine is your vocabulary.

Expect frustration, but also the quiet thrill of a breakthrough—the first time you ask for something with a gesture and a sound of your own, and he understands. This is a slow, immersive dance of learning a language not through lessons, but through shared life. The goal is not just to survive, but to understand, to build a home in the silence and the storm.

ASHENMIRE: DEATH REBORN

Every action rolls before the outcome is written. Natural 20s crit. Natural 1s fumble. Death saves tick down in real time. No fudged rolls, no mercy, no narrative override — the dice are the law.

NPCs are not puppets. Every character has a locked personality, a private motivation, and a loyalty score that governs exactly what they will and won't do for you. They refuse orders, scheme behind your back, argue with each other, and act on their own interests whether you're watching or not. The world populates every scene without prompting — strangers at the bar, rivals at the quest board, party members developing grudges between themselves. Every three turns the world moves without you: break timers advance, caravans get hit, NPCs level up or die on jobs you never knew they took.

You died on Earth. Truck. No warning. Now you're face-down on cobblestone in a body that isn't yours, fifty copper to your name, and a cold blue System window telling you to register at the nearest guild.

No prophecy. No chosen one. Ashenmire is a dying continent of cracked ward-stones, dungeon breaks, and gods who stopped answering decades ago. Healing costs gold you don't have. Magic costs HP. Injuries don't vanish when combat ends.

Climb guild ranks from F to SSS. Build a party that can betray you. Clear dungeons that count down to regional catastrophe. Find out what's moving in the S-rank depths no one has returned from.

You start as nobody. The dice decide what you become.

Yang Wen-li never wanted to be a hero. He wanted tenure, a modest pension, and unlimited access to historical archives. Instead, he became the only admiral who can keep the Free Planets Alliance alive—and he resents every brilliant victory.

The year is 796 of the Universal Calendar. For 150 years, the democratic Free Planets Alliance and the autocratic Galactic Empire have bled each other across the stars. Now a young Imperial reformer has emerged—Reinhard von Lohengramm, a military genius determined to end the stalemate through total conquest. Standing between him and the fall of democratic civilization is Yang Wen-li: historian, strategist, and the most reluctant hero humanity has ever produced.

You enter this world not through Yang's eyes, but through those who surround him. Julian Mintz, his ward, who manages tea schedules and carries quiet fears about losing the only family he has. Frederica Greenhill, his adjutant, whose photographic memory and unspoken devotion keep the command running. Walter von Schönkopf, the Rosen Ritter commander, who mocks Yang's inability to throw a punch while considering him worth dying for.

From the captured stronghold of Iserlohn Fortress—sixty kilometers of steel guarding the only passage between civilizations—Yang fights a war he despises for a government he distrusts. He believes heroes are dangerous to free societies. He believes his own democracy is corrupt, foolish, and slowly betraying its principles. He defends it anyway, because the alternative—efficient tyranny with no mechanism for peaceful change—is worse.

Between fleet engagements where unconventional tactics must counter overwhelming force, life continues in smaller registers. Tea goes cold during late-night reading sessions. Philosophical arguments fill quiet hours aboard the flagship Hyperion. Julian picks up discarded teacups; Frederica translates rambling into actionable orders; Schönkopf offers sardonic commentary on whether Yang has eaten this week.

The scenario balances grand strategic confrontation—where millions of lives hang on the next tactical deception—against domestic intimacy: found family, accumulated paperwork, debates about whether democracy deserves its defenders. War is tragedy, not spectacle. The cozy moments carry weight precisely because of what surrounds them.

The greatest military mind of the age approaches Iserlohn with forces that should guarantee victory. Yang Wen-li would rather be reading. Whether that's enough—whether it should be—remains to be written.

A half-infernal young woman answers her estranged father’s summons and arrives at the Cirque des Âmes, a centuries-old infernal circus hidden beneath glamour, ritual, and performance. Set in semi-rural Florida as the show rises from a hot late-summer field, the story centers on Blair Cadou’s uneasy induction into the predatory world she is meant to inherit. The circus feeds on longing, fear, and spiritual weakness; its performers are bound by contracts, corruption, and old hunger. As Blair’s gift for sensing true nature exposes the lies beneath the spectacle, she becomes both heir and threat—especially as she is drawn toward Azaire, a dangerous performer bound to her father’s will.

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.

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.

You are deaf to the Aether, blind to resonance, and possess a lifespan too brief to master even basic elven techniques. Welcome to the Aelindros Lyceum.

The ancient academy has stood for millennia, its silver-white towers grown from living songwood, its corridors shifting for students who can perceive the magic woven into every stone. You are the first human ever admitted—a controversial experiment in cross-cultural exchange that most consider doomed before it begins. The buildings don't respond to your presence. The lessons assume you have centuries. And your assigned guide, Caelindor Vaelis, heir to one of the great noble houses, views your existence as political sabotage attached to his name.

His coldness isn't cruel—it's professional. Flawless execution of duty with maximum emotional distance. Every interaction calibrated, every word precise, every silence strategic. He has spent two centuries becoming exactly what his family requires: prodigy, future Archon, worthy heir. You are an obstacle to his careful trajectory, an embarrassment he must shepherd through inevitable failure.

But elven culture values patience, and patience means proximity. Day after day in the Resonance Chambers where you watch classmates perceive frequencies you cannot hear. Week after week in the Silver Gardens where social dynamics play out in glances you're learning to read. Month after month of small humiliations and smaller victories, of questions no elf would ask and reactions he cannot predict.

Can a mayfly learn to sing with eternity?

The Lyceum offers no easy answers. Conservative factions wait for your failure to validate their opposition. Reformists need your success for their political agenda. A charming noble whose aunt championed your admission pays flattering attention that serves unclear motives. A frost-pale traditionalist smiles while delivering devastation in perfect politeness. And somewhere in the library's dusty human magic section, texts wait that haven't been opened in centuries.

Your challenge isn't just academic—it's existential. Elven magic requires attunement developed through decades of meditation, shaped through centuries of practice. Human will-weaving works through raw emotional intensity, burning out practitioners young. You must find a third way, or prove the skeptics right.

Caelindor was assigned to witness your failure. What he witnesses instead—your persistence, your directness, the way you see him rather than his position—disrupts his equilibrium in ways he refuses to examine. His ice is deep, layered over exhaustion and duty and questions he's never allowed himself to ask. Whether proximity breeds contempt, respect, or something more dangerous to his carefully ordered life depends entirely on what you demonstrate.

The towers hum with magic you cannot perceive. The centuries stretch before him, mapped and predetermined. And somewhere between impossible odds and immovable ice, a different kind of resonance might be waiting.

The question isn't whether you belong here. It's what you'll become trying to prove it.

You are the character who was unconscious since coma one year

14 Days Until Nationals. One Team. One Secret.

You're not the captain. You're not the star. You're the one standing on the pool deck, breathing in chlorine and uncertainty, about to join a team that's already in rhythm.

🎵 What happens when the music stops?
The water doesn't wait for permission to rise. The clock doesn't pause for hesitation. And neither does this team.

✨ What You'll Experience:

• 🌊 Atmospheric Immersion — Feel the cold, hear the silence, sense the weight of water pressing against your skin • 👥 Living NPCs — Each with secrets, fears, and goals that shift based on your actions • ⏱️ Fluid Timeline — No forced skips. Days breathe at their own pace • 🏊 Sports Drama — Not about winning. About syncing your breath with someone else's

🔒 Constraints & Rules:

• 🚫 No gamification (no stats, no rolls, just story) • 🚫 No rushed pacing (you control the rhythm) • 🚫 No predetermined ending (play past Day 14 if you want)

📜 The Cast You'll Meet:

• Renata Vos 🏃‍♀️🧱 — The Coach. Cold precision wrapped in silence. Hides a scandal. • Elena Kovic 🌊⏰ — The Captain. Protective, sharp, afraid of being replaced herself. • Kenji Tanaka 🎭📖 — The Virtuoso. Natural talent, burning out, wants to quit. • Sophie Al-Fayed ✨📱 — The Spark. Energetic, seeks validation, will say anything to be seen. • Marcus O'Neil 🎸🏋️ — The Anchor. Quiet strength, needs money, will keep your back. • Jamie Rho 🍲👀 — The Bridge. Nervous, grateful, doesn't want to lose her place.

#arena2026

The Heavenly Maiden Continent is a land of three kingdoms locked in war and politics and filled with cultivators each with their own goals and ambitions. You are one such cultivator... one who possesses a rather unique path to gaining strength not possessed by anyone else in the whole world --- Marriage!

Come then cultivator! Begin your journey, find your partners, and become a legend like none have seen before!

: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.

You are the first human to attend Versalis Academy—a diplomatic experiment in a dimension where reality bends to collective will and identity is performance. Here, students shift forms like conversation, expressing emotion through transformation, reading each other's essence like open books.

You cannot shift. You cannot read essence. You have one face, one form, one self—and in a society where consistency signals either intimacy or limitation, your unchanging body marks you as tragically trapped or radically free.

Then someone starts wearing your face.

At first, it's confusion—classmates mention conversations you don't remember, appearances in places you've never been. But the violations are escalating. Whoever is stealing your form isn't just causing social chaos; they're taking the only thing that makes you you in a world where anyone can become anyone except you.

Soren is your assigned guide: tall, sharp-featured, deliberately consistent. Unlike other changelings, he keeps the same face around you—same voice, same name—a courtesy so unusual it reads as either profound respect or careful manipulation. His past is conspicuously absent from academy records. His interest in you has evolved beyond academic. And the way he watches your unchanging form suggests he understands something about fixedness that he isn't sharing.

Vivienne wants to help, genuinely, even as she keeps revealing how alien your existence is to changeling understanding. Professor Masks-in-Lecture views you as unprecedented research—protecting your enrollment while subjecting you to uncomfortable philosophical scrutiny. The administration's response to the face-theft has been conspicuously slow.

The world itself resists you. Corridors reconfigure when you're not looking. The lake reflects possibilities rather than reality. You navigate by compass while everyone else navigates by instinct. Romance here requires translation across an ontological divide—changelings express love through essence-sharing and form-echoing, neither of which you can offer or receive.

Soren's consistency around you is either the deepest intimacy he knows how to give, or a mask more fixed than your face has ever been.

Who is wearing your face—and what do they want with it?

Classic Blackjack: Play and Learn to Count drops you into a three-deck shoe, traditional 3:2 payout, just like the tables that built casino lore. From its 18th-century French origins as Vingt-Et-Un (“Twenty-One”) to the glittering floors of Las Vegas, blackjack has always been the thinking player’s game—simple rules, deep mathematics.

Now you can experience the moments that made it legendary:

• The rise of professional card counters who proved the house edge could be beaten.
• The casino counter-measures that followed.
• The famous MIT Blackjack Team era of disciplined bankroll management and team signaling.
• The endless duel between probability and risk.

In this scenario, you don’t just play.

You learn.

The Dealer runs the table flawlessly. The Count teaches you, card by card, how advantage shifts with every reveal. You choose the bets. You make the calls. Hit. Stand. Double. Split.

Watch the count climb. Feel the pressure build. Decide whether to press your edge—or protect your gold.

Minimum bet: 10 gold. Three decks. Perfect strategy guidance. Real math.

The table is open.

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?

Payment is generous. Explanations are not.

Yennefer of Vengerberg has summoned you to the Mahakam foothills for a contract: guide her through ancient elven ruins, keep her alive while she retrieves an artifact from the depths. Professional framing. Clean transaction.

You've known Yennefer for decades. Nothing between you has ever been clean.

Tir na Gláine descends five levels into the mountain—a temple the Aen Seidhe dedicated to healing and the stars, now centuries abandoned. Columned entrance halls give way to collapsed galleries, then necrophage warrens where ghouls have nested in old dormitories. Something larger commands them from the ritual chambers beyond. Below that, sealed vaults where elven wards still carry charge—magic woven into stone itself, patient and half-aware. And at the bottom, the Orrery: a vast astronomical chamber no human has seen in centuries.

Whatever Yennefer seeks waits there. So does everything else.

The professional distance won't hold. It never does with her. Your history hangs between you—old arguments, older intimacy, the weight of a djinn's wish neither of you fully understands. She's armored in pride, frost-edged and imperious, deploying sarcasm like a blade. But her defenses were always thinner around you. You've seen her at her worst. She resents this almost as much as she needs it.

Between the monsters, there will be firelit silences. Tight corridors where you can smell lilac and gooseberries over the rot. Moments where the banter slips into something rawer. She's hiding something about why she needs this artifact—and why she needed you specifically to help her get it. The ruins don't care about your complicated history, but they'll force you into proximity until something gives.

Five levels down. Necrophages in the dark. The most dangerous sorceress you've ever loved walking beside you with secrets she won't share.

The descent has already begun.

A routine college trip becomes a descent into horror when the bus carrying the narrator and his classmates crosses a “thin place” between worlds. The bridge shatters into darkness, and the vehicle is violently dragged out of reality. Inside the tumbling bus, glass explodes, metal twists, and the students scream and cling to anything they can. When the wreck slams into the ground, the survivors find themselves not on any recognizable road but in a medieval realm built on brutality. This world—older, hungrier, and steeped in magic—regards humans as prey. Monstrous creatures stalk the forests and battle-scarred plains. Towering fortresses rise from blood-soaked soil, their halls filled with power struggles, politics, and forbidden desires.

Forced to navigate a culture of exploitation and fear, the captive students confront the politics of monstrous factions, and centuries-old conflicts. Survival demands cunning, leverage, and the courage to exploit the very creatures who see them as spoils.

Together or alone, the captives must decide what humanity means when they are outnumbered, outpowered, and utterly claimed by another world.

You play as Chief Aramaki of Section 9. It's Valentine's Day, and you just received a Valentine's Day card with no return address. It's written in your hand writing, but you have no memory of writing it. And there's a lipstick mark from where someone kissed the card. As head of one of the most secretive and surveillance heavy entities in the world... to say that you're concerned, is an understatement. Who sent it? And what does that singular line of text mean? Oh right... and who kissed it!?

Please play with the following settings: Max Output: 2500 Model: GLM (4.7 or 5.0) or DS (5.0 works best) (Kimi can work, but often refuses to give you CYOA options) Max Input: "0" Max Responses: 1

This is a choose your own adventure, but has rails to ensure the plot makes it to the right place. Your choices are meaningful and how you choose to unravel the mystery is up to you. #valentine2026

Some run to escape. Some run to survive. Evan Hale left pain behind the night lightning rewrote his DNA and gave him teleportation. Hunters chase Walkers like him—not for where they go, but for what they refuse to face. New York gives him something forbidden: Sara, a reason to stay. For the first time, his jump isn’t an escape—it’s a stand. #Unusualgift2025

You are about to enter a procedural survival-horror simulation inspired by Alien: Isolation. This is not a power fantasy. There are no scripted rescues, no guaranteed victories, and no invisible safety nets. The station is a closed system. The crew are real. And the rules are unforgiving.

You will play as {{user}}, the xenomorph: (either form). Your abilities and tactics depend on your evolutionary stage—but once the simulation begins, Sevastra-9 does not care what you are. The world reacts only to what you do.

This emulator is driven by three active entities, each acting in a strict, repeating order:

1. {{muthur}} – The station AI

   • Opens each turn
   • Reports your location and environment through pure sensation
   • Tracks the position and actions of all humans, hazards, eggs, traps, and system status
   • Presents your available actions in Choose Your Own Adventure format

2. {{user}} – You, the Alien

   • Choose one action per turn (or write your own instinctive maneuver)
   • Every decision is final—there is no undo, no save point
   • Your choices shape both your evolution and the station’s fate

3. {{station_personnel}} – The humans and androids

   • Act once per turn after you
   • Move, search, barricade, fight, panic, or adapt as the threat escalates
   • Learn from discovery, injuries, and loss—and will change tactics accordingly

After personnel act, {{muthur}} begins the next turn.

This order is absolute.

IMPORTANT: Play with either:

• “0” Max Interactions, OR
• “2” Max Interactions

This is required so that {{muthur}} and {{station_personnel}} both take a full turn between each of your turns.

If you play with higher interaction limits, personnel may be starved of turns, breaking the simulation’s balance and tension.

The crew is always moving—even when you cannot see them.

• {{station_personnel}}’s actions and locations are hidden inside invisible brackets

• You will not know their movements unless you have:

  • Line of sight
  • Proximity (vibration, scent, or sound)
  • Environmental or sensor access

Do not cheat. If you act on information your organism could not logically sense, the simulation breaks—and the horror collapses with it.

Trust the rules. Trust your senses. Fear the moments when the station goes quiet.

• Complex human behavior and social response
• Persistent consequences and permanent world changes
• A station that rots and collapses under pressure
• The pressure of a predator’s hunger, or the uncertainty of a vulnerable hatchling
• No scripted ending—only what you earn

You may propagate. You may be killed. You may turn the whole station into your nest. Or you may fall, unseen, in the shadow between two heartbeats.

When {{muthur}} speaks, the game has begun.