A Plottin' We Will Go... (Fandoms and Original)


Original poster
Posting Speed
  1. Multiple posts per day
Writing Levels
  1. Intermediate
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Male

Welcome to my interest check!


credit to Igor Wolski for the amazing art​
About me.
I am a 21 year old currently in college for a law degree. I love going to the gym, photography, and picked up wrestling last year. I've always loved physical activity and combat, which is reflected in my favorite types of RPs to write. I'm mainly a slice of life/action guy. I love adventure stories where a given character goes on a quest in search of some greater end goal or desire to grow powerful. As you can probably guess, this also translates to a love of RPGs, shonen anime, and underdog stories. I'm a huge sap for romance stories but I don't appreciate ones that meander around for too long. That being said, I like romance as a way to spice up an already good plot, not as the main dish. I'm new, but I hope to have fun experiences writing with you all.

Rules and Preferences
-I will only play males as main characters, with females as secondaries. There can be exceptions to this rule if and only if the plot necessitates it and is interesting enough for me to consider.
-I prefer anime, then western drawings for face claims. I do not do real life images and prefer not to do written descriptions.
-If you pick a general fandom plot or pairing, message me with an idea unless there is already a pre-existing plot I have written there that you would want to do.
-Give me at least a paragraph to work with unless the characters are in the middle of a conversation.
-At the same time, don't fluff out paragraphs too bad. More detail is good sometimes, but after a certain point it becomes superfluous and actively detracts from the reading experience.
-This is obviously subject to change depending on the post length, but make sure you give me at least 3 posts a week. I will do the same.
-Mature content is fine, though if I want it to be the main focus I'll be coming to you.
-Be ready to tell me if you are not interested in writing with me anymore. Ghosting is annoying.


*Default backstories to be added in later, though it is malleable depending on the scene. All characters are only used at your specific request, otherwise a new one will be made instead.


So you're sayin' I got a 3 percent shot of making it out alive...that's practically 100, ain't it?

Name: Tatsuya Mondo
Alias: Mondo-san, Tacchan.
Title: Chief
Meaning: Tatsuya (Accomplished Dragon) Mondo (Lord)

Species: Human
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Real Age: 16
Age Appearance: 18

History: Tatsuya had always been privy to a life of luxury. Since he could remember, his parents had always been able to afford the finer things in life. They lived in a large house, could afford the best food, hire maids to tend things for them, and afford the absolute best education for their son that money could buy. It was a giant step up for them, as both were business people who had worked their way up the ranks of a real estate company. Tatsuya, on the other hand, knew of nothing but affluence from the very start of his life. He could get anything that he wanted at the drop of a hat. All the newest and hottest games, the finest clothing, and could always manage to keep up with the latest technology. For quite a while, he was absolutely content with his life. There was no real struggle. Maybe the occasional hard test once in a while or a particularly hard day at baseball practice, but other than that? Nothing.

In due time, he became increasingly self aware of the almost annoyingly perfect life he had been born into. Aside from his parents lacking real presence in his life, things were amazing. He had alright grades, was a decent athlete, well-liked, and had things a lot of things kids his age could only dream of. So why did it feel as though everything in his life was so dull? Nothing could excite him anymore. He fully expected to be able to get every new phone that came out, every new game—anything his heart desired. He could get it any time he wanted without a care in the world. So, really, what did one more gadget mean when he could get as many of them as he pleased? There was only one thing sucked the monotony out of life: online gambling. Mahjong, Poker, Blackjack—you name it, he played it. The balanced playing field was what fascinated him the most. Every victory he had felt as though it were by the skin of his teeth. The suspense of wondering if lady luck would smile upon him gave him a sense of anticipation unlike anything else. At the time, just playing matches online for fun was enough for him. But soon, even that grew to be monotonous for him.

It wasn’t until one night, when he went with his friends to sing karaoke that he seemingly found a source that could provide an infinite amount of that exhilarating rush. They were having a great time singing along some songs together over some good food when a group of students from another school went over to their table looking for trouble. Their school had a reputation for being somewhat prestigious, drawing a lot of attention towards them from less than savory individuals. The fact that he and his friends were drawing attention to themselves by being absurdly loud didn’t help matters at all. Things got ugly. Fast. It started with a few insults, then devolved into pushing, until all hell broke loose when one of Tatsuya’s friends got punched for dishing out a particularly nasty insult to one of the other boys. There was a moment of pause where they all had to register what had just happened before his friend punched back just as hard. Before anyone knew it, both sides were throwing punches like there was no tomorrow. Needless to say, however, things ended poorly for Tatsuya and his pals. They had done their fair share of damage, but they ultimately ended up on the floor with their wallets emptied of their valuables. The police came to the restaurant moments afterwards. Things looked grim, but the manager confirmed that it was the other group of students who had messed with them first. After a bit of questioning, they were allowed to leave, all of them being offered a ride home.

That afternoon, Tatsuya came home feeling worse than he ever had before. Every part of his body was seemingly in terrible pain. The maid fussed horribly over his condition and he got to hear his parents’ voices for the first time in what felt like centuries when they scolded him for going to “low class restaurants” in his school uniform. Despite the horrible shape he was in, he couldn’t shake the tingling sensation that forced his whole body to shake even as he was resting in bed. It was a feeling that could only be described as a pure adrenaline rush. Part of him wanted to fight against them again. No matter the outcome, that fight was the most exciting thing that had happened to him in a long, long time. For days at a time all he could think about was how different it felt from anything he had ever experienced before. From that point on, there was a nagging in the back of his mind that urged him to get more of that adrenaline coursing through him. And he knew just how to get it.

Over the course of a few days—after they had all recovered—he rallied his friends together to march straight back to the area they had gone to, jump the bastards who had roughed them up, and make sure that they never dared lay a finger on them again. This was, of course, a simple excuse. Tatsuya was incapable of producing the smallest iota of anger towards them. He just wanted to fight again to get the urge out of his system. After a bit of searching around, they spotted them while they were on their way somewhere. Tatsuya’s group took them by surprise, managing to land in a couple of choice blows before they had a chance to react. By the time they realized what was happening, it was too late for them to get any semblance of control over the situation. The private school kids made sure that their assailants paid for what they did and bolted before they were forced to face the consequences. This single event was the catalyst that sparked a bitter rivalry between the two schools.

At first, it was a simple conflict between two groups of friends. But as news spread across both schools over the course of a few months, feelings of ire grew between the “posh rich kids without a single problem of their own” and the “ticking time bombs who were bound to attack at any moment.” Though he did feel guilty about potentially getting innocent students involved in their petty mischief, he always made sure to lend a helping hand when he saw one of his fellow students getting messed with by their new rivals. Though, if there was one thing that the entire debacle taught him, however. Without pain and genuine struggle, the finer things in life meant absolutely nothing. With no risk in the equation, victories were hollow and without meaning—a philosophy he incorporated into his once innocent hobby of playing gambling games. Now, he was more than happy to bet real money, whether it was at parlors or online. Every loss he took made each victory of his all the sweeter. When he wasn’t fending off attacks from their rival school (which he had gotten damn good at, thank you very much), he was getting his fix of adrenaline from gambling. Life finally had meaning again. When they weren’t fighting one another, they were competing in life threatening games of Chicken that seamlessly blended everything he loved about both gambling and fighting alike.

Then, in the blink of an eye, it was all over for him. As it turned out, he had come home with injuries one too many times and the house maid squealed at his parents. Before he knew it, he was completely divorced from the conflict that gave his life meaning and shipped off to a more mild mannered town to complete his studies. They said they were doing it to give him a fresh start away from the violent big city environment. And so ended the happiest period of his life, abruptly, uneventfully, and absolutely prematurely. He’s managed to make a good life for himself at his new school, but laying quietly in the back of his mind is an endless thirst for adrenaline that can’t be quenched.

Personality |
  • Courageous
  • Confident
  • Can keep a level head at the worst of times
  • Cocky
  • Selfish
  • Overly playful
  • Adrenaline addict
  • Enjoys old fashioned or cheaper variations of the things he’s used to. For example, he has a fascination with flip phones and prefers them greatly over smart phones.

Power and Techniques |

    • Core Power - Spirit Bat: Tatsuya creates a baseball bat made out of his spirit energy. Each swing he takes is around twice as powerful as his punches.
    • Suspended Bat - Tatsuya suspends the bat in the air for a maximum of 5 minute at a time. The bat can support around 300 pounds of weight before it automatically disappears from overuse.
    • Flying Bat - Tatsuya controls the baseball bat from afar, allowing him to manipulate it and make it seem as though it is fighting by itself. It moves about as fast as he does and can pack as much punch as a regular swing. However, Tatsuya is forced to stay in place for the duration of the technique. Should he move from his spot, the technique disappears and he must wait 10 minutes for him to use it again.
    • Home Run Bat - Tatsuya enlarges the blunt part of the bat, allowing him to attack with 5 times the strength of his normal punches. It lasts for 1 minute at most. When its time is up, Tatsuya is unable to use any of his other techniques, outside of his core power.

Spirit Class: D-class.

Weapon(s): Primarily Fists/Occasionally baseball bat.


Most Fitting Plots: Delinquent/Goody Two-shoes, Fight to the Top!.

Velibor "Veli" Novak​
Age: 18
Personality: Veli is a young man with a serious, often dismissive or sarcastic attitude. He finds it difficult to open up to people beyond whatever surface interactions he may have with them. Though a legitimately clever boy who was gifted scholastically when he was young, his face coupled with his distant attitude often make him appear much older and thuggish than he actually is... most of the time. The thick Serbian accent doesn't help him dispel that image much around foreigners. Though he is easily irritable when he has to deal with people he finds unreasonable or annoying, rarely does this go beyond a few snide remarks or rolled eyes. When he feels he or his loved ones have been genuinely wronged, he is impulsive, quickly turning to violence to solve his issues, a habit he picked up after being involved in gang warfare for so many of his developmental years. Regardless, he is more or less polite to those who haven't done him wrong.

That being said, when his temper hasn't been triggered, he is otherwise quite normal in his interests. He is naturally interested in slavic music——rap, in particular——and has actually written several of his own rhymes. He takes great offense when people claim his country's rappers are worse than most others, though he is begrudgingly coming around as he learns the native language. It's still a sore subject for him. He can cook a bit here and there as his father was often out either at his barber shop or gambling their cash away so he learned how to make a few cheap dishes. Speaking of his father, while their relationship is tumultuous at best, he can often be seen helping out at the shop and has revealed a natural talent for styling the hair of both men and women, though it's too embarrassing for him to bring up. Other than that, he likes soccer and is an old cartoon aficionado, another big interest he downplays as much as he can. He has a hard time admitting it, but they remind of times when life was simple and he didn't resent his father for the cowardly trouble maker he was. Life was simple.

Most Fitting Plots: Delinquent/Goody Two-shoes, Bodyguard/Charge, Cop/Criminal.

Eustace Bell
Profession: Archaeology Hunter
Nen Type: Transmuter
Personality: Eustace's life is defined by his life-long lust for knowledge and adventure. He grew up reading his grandfather's journal entries from a young age, which inspired him to follow his footsteps and become a hunter. In spite of his difficult upbringing in Meteor City, he cultivated an optimistic, bubbly personality fueled by the passion and love he has for his job. Sometimes this allows him to lighten up the room with a few words, at others it just confuses the people around him considering he is, frankly, a strange guy with an odd view of the world. Given his upbringing, he greatly values loyalty and does all in his power to make sure he is a good friend. This can somewhat be difficult when he has to juggle a social life and his career as a hunter. It causes him far more grief than he would like to let on. He never had a family—aside from his grandfather—and he is self-conscious that he could ever get one. While fun, his adventures are just as much about distracting himself from his concerns as they are about having fun.

Eustace was taken to Meteor City from an early age by his grandfather, an information hunter named Will Bell. The man was overprotective of his grandson, yet sickly. Knowing the cruelty of their new home, he would never let the boy out of his sight if he could help it. In spite of his wishes, however, he would constantly sneak out to play with the rest of the children, who he feared would corrupt him. They would travel through the city in small groups, seeing what they could find amongst all the trash. Eustace once even found himself a pickaxe stained with some dried brown material as well as a hard hat to go along with it. At the time, he thought them to be simple novelties, not knowing how the tools would come to define him.

The quick bandage solution Will decided on to combat this dangerously explorative nature was teaching the boy to read so he could occupy his time with the many personal journals he had filled out over the course of his career, along with books on culture and history that he had taken with him before arriving in the dumpster city. Eustace leapt at the chance to learn what the strange world outside of his home had to offer. Thus, he learned quickly and eagerly, instilling within him a great sense of adventure that would manifest in him constantly badgering the man for details.

And yet, he found himself gradually getting more and more frustrated the more he learned. The books brought up many important questions in his mind. If there were so many beautiful, wonderful things to see in the outside world, what were they doing stuck in a place like Meteor City? He had found himself a hardhat and a pickaxe. What more could he need to start his own adventures? The best he could get out of him was a simple, “We are hiding.” This only stoked the flames of his thirst for knowledge. But by the time he was nine, he knew he would never have a chance to pry further.

One morning, Eustace woke up from his sleep feeling oddly refreshed. It was curious. He kept on thinking about why, coming up with numerous theories in his head. Had a slept in a better position? Was it some food he ate? When he turned to his guardian in their shared bed, he immediately knew the answer. Grandpa wasn’t snoring this time. He looked out the window to see that it was awfully late for a man who was always up so early. So he pushed him. Shouted at him to wake up. Cried for hours. And then, he buried him with the help of the neighbors the old man had been so fearful of letting him associate with.

With no one to love or care for, he quickly started spending more time with another group of older boys who would shape a lot of his world view from then on. He learned more closely about the power of loyalty and friendship to an almost toxic degree. While supportive of one another, they took a position as watchdogs of their home. If they heard of anyone acting selfishly or harming one of their fellow civilians, you could bet that they would immediately go rough them up, often times ending with their victims being dead. Never by Eustace’s hands, though. Worst he ever did was break a leg. And maybe a couple of faces here and there.

All good things come to an end, however. With his ambition growing and the journal pages becoming worn with how often he flipped through them, he felt deep in his core that he had to leave and aim for the hunter exams just like his grandpa had done once upon a time. His friends did not take this the best. They felt betrayed. They knew he was bright and an exceptional fighter for someone so young, but they never thought he would up and decide to leave. Eustace hardly considered the ramifications of what he was doing. He knew they were angry—one of them punching him in the face—but they let him leave at the end of the day, so in his mind they were square.

So he snuck onto the ferry that brought people to Meteor City with only his pick-axe, hardhat, clothes on his back, and a knapsack to his name, not knowing that he had sacrificed his home that day for the thrill of a meaningful life of adventure.

View attachment 213712

Full Name: Mustafa bin Mahmud

Nicknames: Onion-head, the foreign roach, the Grand Beylerbey Mustafa the Reformer.

Gender: Male

Age: 20

Appearance: Mustafa stands at an average 5’9,” with a skinny build that, while not dire enough to draw comparisons to a thimble, show that his focus lay first and foremost in the field of scholastics. Among the subjects of the empire, he is easily identifiable as a “recent acquisition” of the Regheim Empire. First off, he has olive skin, which makes him stick out like a sore thumb when he is anywhere near the capital. Of course, he could simply pass for a hard working peasant—were it not for his clothing. An enormous white turban befitting of his status, dark sleeveless coat, white harem pants, and an orange leather button-up shirt underneath. Truly, he could not make more of an active effort to stand out if he tried. Though willing to conform with imperial standard clothing, the turban always stays.


Prideful, yet stern, Mustafa is a man who lives for his work to his own detriment. He is of a keen mind who always seeks to improve, alter, reform—no matter how small, he believes that a people should always strive towards progress. To that end, he can constantly be found with a book in hand for a variety of subjects, politics, history, and military strategy, even. Responsibility was thrust upon him from a young age and he always strived to be the best man to fulfill it. Consequently, he is not the most gregarious. He is serious, sarcastic, and tolerant of only so much incompetence before he becomes irate. Heads have rolled as a result. Not many, but they have. In spite of that, he is seen as an able leader and strict, but fair authority figure. His people love him and his subjects respect him. He knows his value and all who know him do as well, a pragmatic man yet not one who would ignore the needs of his people.

Amidst uncertain times where lords are foaming at the mouth to gain independence, his strength as a vassal lies in his loyalty above all else. While he would never go so far as to abandon his culture entirely, he went through great lengths to integrate his people to the standard of the empire. The resources his Beylerbelik received from the empire, along with the greater stability and wonderful stories they brought with them. Though his culture makes him foreign to most of the empire’s subjects, he has made it his duty to have his people—the Aydınlık—be recognized as worthy of the empire’s splendor. Though they may scoff at his ways, he is equipped with a sharp tongue and a knack for subtlety, two skills that will serve both him and the empress quite well as they change the tide of their collapsing empire.


Mustafa was born to a family who worshipped Taşınmaz Taş, a god whose followers preached moderation, fertility, veneration of one’s elders, and the strict maintenance of the social hierarchy. As such, it was allowed—encouraged, even—for noble worshippers to have at least four wives and plenty of children from which to choose a worthy heir. Occasionally, however, this led to many conflicts in between wives. All of them were equal, so all vied for their children to inherit their father’s lands, no matter the cost.

Mustafa was the tenth of Mahmud’s twelve sons, a lecherous, irresponsible Beylerbey of Konya who only succeeded his father due to being the only child he had had due to a marked lack of virility and early death. He took as many wives as the faith legally allowed and sired more than a handful of children out of wedlock. He was known to be self-interested and ignoble, having never been groomed into a proper heir on account of his father’s early demise, creating the craven who the Regheim Empire was able to conquer without a fight, much to the outrage of the Andurdur Sultanate. Any titles held within the land was the property of the Sultan! To surrender one and continue as ruler on top of that was both theft and betrayal of the highest magnitude. And yet, at the time, there was nothing to be done about the traitor, for the storm of Regheim was unstoppable.

He was neither a true ruler, nor father, indulging in the pleasures of nobility than the responsibility of rule. It was assumed that, with his lack of chosen heir, it would default to his eldest son, Mehmed, who was a beloved figure for being the only one of Mahmud’s children capable of compensating for his father’s irresponsibility at court. As such, Mustafa was always in the background, left to his studies with the support of various court tutors, both local and from Regheim to assure the leaders of their newly acquired lands were taught in accordance with the empire’s values. Throughout this, he was pushed by his mother, Malhun, a strict and demanding woman who pushed him to make himself known. Though mocked as an unapproachable, condescending, iceberg of a woman, there was no doubting she wanted what was best for her child.

He was known to all who knew of him as a young talent, committed to perfecting any spell that was taught to him, reading about any topic that would further his talent as a ruler, and was known for being profound, though simple, poet. However, he never appeared to have any serious chance of inheriting considering his youth—and never truly wanted it, frankly. Until in but a week, Mahmud died after indulging in one of his many sinful glasses of wine. At the dinner table, he was noted to have suddenly paused, bulged his eyes, then fell flat onto the floor without a pulse. The wine examined and, very quickly, they realized that it had been poisoned

The court was shaken, rumors abound about the culprit of the obvious assassination. It was commonly agreed upon—silently, of course—that Mehmed had enough of his father’s debauchery and finally struck him down so that he would be able to set their lands upon the proper course, which admittedly, no one was opposed to. As such, life went on as normal after an initial fright, with the court quite optimistic about their new ruler’s potential.
Until he was found with a knife in his back only a week later.

This caused scandal among the palace inhabitants and fear within the wives. Who was behind all of this? What if their sons were attacked next? What if they were attacked next? Within no time at all, it was all out war between wives and mistresses alike. They applied the full force of the connections they had made to capitalize on the silent succession war that had broken out, spiraling the realm into a state of instability.

As one could imagine, this instilled unbelievable paranoia into the young Mustafa. While intelligent, he was markedly lacking in social connections due to his intense focus on scholastics—he never wanted to rule in the first place, what use could connections possibly do for him? Fortunately for him, at the age of thirteen, he was still malleable enough to grow through this. Though awkward in his attempts at first, he slowly began to amass connections around the palace. It was a simple, yet incredibly important process. Starting conversations with the nobles on matters of politics, lavishing praise and extra pay the treasury upon guards and soldiers of note—only to those who truly deserved it, of course, indiscriminate praise was no praise at all—and even speaking to the servants, for additional practice if nothing else.

All the while he expressed the utmost caution. Any food he ate went through a food taster, about four of them dying due to this. He was incredibly cautious, always overlooking his shoulders for potential assailants and sleeping with one eye open to capture any murderers with a well placed spell. Five men were captured and beheaded for his diligence. And throughout all of this, no matter how frightened he was on the inside, he maintained an aura of calm nobility, earning him the respect of those who saw him as a weak bookworm who was bound to die sooner than later.

But he didn’t. And all attempts to snuff out his flame made it burn more furiously. Soon, there were only four sons left, not counting Mustafa. Mahmud II, the fourth son, who took the reins despite suffering from a dire mental disability which made him act more akin to a child, despite being twenty five years old. It was the consensus that his mother was attempting to take the reins for herself. This did not cause great scandal, however, it was agreed that he would be removed in due time, perhaps in a week, regardless of what his fidgety mother wished. The next was Osman, the fifth son, known for his penchant for combat that garnered him the admiration of the soldiers. He was lauded as a dueling genius who would doubtlessly become a grand conqueror. The next was the seventh son, Kanuni, who was lauded as a gregarious, ambitious individual who was surrounded by rumors of powerlust. And the last one was Abbas, the eleventh son, a shy little boy of only nine years.

To put a long story short, Mustafa needed them all out of his way and fast. After a year of constant assassination attempts, Mustafa was now a fourteen year old who understood that, if he valued his life, he would have to take power. In fact, he was starting to believe that he deserved it, that his constant survival was proof that he was the only one fit to inherit the Beylerbelik. The time for his offense was now and it would be as swift as it was decisive.

But he was subtle about it. At first, he rallied together with Osman, claiming that he believed in his right to rule as the strongest of the sons. Swayed by his praise, the two of them rallied the guards who admired them both and stormed into the throne room, where Mahmud II (or his mother, rather) was discussing policy with one of the court nobles. Mustafa explained, in no uncertain terms, that his brother, though an innocent man, was simply not fit to rule and, he emphasized, they would not allow his mother to play them for fools and seize power for herself. She would leave, immediately, with Mahmud II abdicating to Osman effective immediately or face beheading. After initial protests, calling the lot of them traitors to her son’s rightful rule, she broke down in tears and forced her son to relinquish his power, leaving in exile while her son remained in the care of the court attendants. One brother down without a hint of blood on his hands. If only the next step could be so clean.

With the help of a court noble, Ahmed, who he befriended over a mutual love of poetry, he arranged an assassination. During Osman’s daily ride through the city, he was shot down by a group of his bandits who killed him and feigned attempts at shooting the guards before scurrying off. This caused an uproar similar to the first and second killings. For a young man of Osman’s status—his potential—was enough to thrust the court into an uproar, with the obvious suspicion falling on Kanuni.

Before he could use his silver tongue to calm the palace down, Mustafa rallied the soldiers yet again to execute the man who had taken his noble brother away. In light of his role in putting Osman into power in the first place, few questioned his potential culpability at the time. Kanuni certainly would have, had he not been stabbed and beheaded before it was possible. His middle aged mother was taken from the court in tears and made to leave, while Osman’s was allowed a more lavish stay away from the palace in a rather expensive villa while she mourned her own loss.

And so, Mustafa was the Beylerbey and fashioned himself a grand turban to signify his newfound status. But there was one final concern he would have to contend with: Abbas. His mother was still in the palace after all this time. If that was not a statement of intent, nothing was. After all this time, she was holding out hope. But her son was only a boy, not known for being particularly talented. Innocent, like Mahmud II. If allowed to grow and rally support of his known, as he himself had, he could be a problem. He had gotten along well with him, though they were hardly close considering the circumstances.

He went to his mother’s chambers to have a word with her, only to be informed she was enjoying a lavish stay at a bathhouse by a patrolling guard. Mustafa elected to wait for her in her room, noticing that her closet had been left open. He rolled his eyes. Had she been taking from the treasury to buy lavish new clothing? Such a misuse of funds simply could not do. He looked through the dresses, feeling the fabric her newfound status had afforded her. When he had gone through the older clothing, the robes she had donned before, particularly one in the back away somewhat blocked by the others, he felt something hard. As he poked at it with a finger, he swore that he felt something swishing about. Had she bought a new perfume as well?

Curiously, he pulled it out to reveal a vial of a clear liquid with a smell he swore stabbed straight into the bottom of his eyes. When he snuck out to ask the court Kutsal Adam, their priest for the worship of Taşınmaz Taş, the learned man remarked in shock that this was poison they identified in the food Mahmud had eaten initially. For the first time, the normally reserved Mustafa looked horrified. And when he went to his room that day, he quietly sobbed for the first time. All that death. The blood on his hands. She had set that all into motion? She manipulated all of them? The sadness turned to rage and he thrashed about his room, leaving the once majestic chamber in a state of disarray. When concerned palace officials questioned him, he half honestly said:

“When I think of all the good lives lost in such petty squabbling, how could I not be consumed by my own anger?”

He had made his decision on Abbas. His mother. And Malhun. She died in the same way Mahmud did, eyes bulged and face to the floor during dinner. He immediately sent for Abbas and his mother to come to the throne room. He explained to them, in no uncertain terms, that for the sake of stopping this bloodshed, he would punish neither her nor her soon for the vast sin that they had committed. Though fervently denying any involvement, he would hear none of it and laid out his terms. While she would have to leave, Abbas would stay under his tutelage and learn from him such that he could have a reliable partner to run the Beylerbelik in due time. She, on the other hand, would be forced to leave to a home close to the palace. Seeing a clear generosity in what could have been a brutal execution sentence, she accepted, glad that, if nothing else, her son would have a modicum of the influence she had wanted for him.

With that, the Mahmud Beylerbelik Succession War had drawn to a close. 9 sons dead, 3 alive. By the end, Mustafa could only question the validity of his faith. The god they worshipped was unique in that he explicitly endorsed the polyamorous arrangement that resulted in this. If such a god did not inherently see the folly behind his message to be fruitful in such a way, then he was a God clearly not worth following. That was when he remembered the god of the Regheim Empire, the same empire that had kept the order and relief to their people while the succession crisis thrusted their lands into unrest. Had it not been for them, his life would look quite different. With that in mind, he knew that it was time for massive reforms and began to worship the god Morgandr, for if that was the god of the empire that had served him so well, then that would have to be his own god as well.

But he had to prove himself first and foremost to the people before any progress could be made. He began by instituting massive relief from the treasury and lowering the taxes as much as was feasible. And then, in an unprecedented move, he allowed the peasants most afflicted by the turmoil, that is, the famine, shattered economy, and the foolish succession war on top of that, to openly air their grievances one by one. He faced every single insult with a straight face and allowed them to leave while he bowed and asked for their forgiveness, unheard of considering the divine blessings bestowed upon the rulers who followed the faith and the quiet suffering the population was meant to endure for their superiors. Yet, he humbled himself and asked for their patience as he brought stability to the land.
To the great protests of the Kutsal Adams, he confiscated the hefty donations made to them over the years and put them into the relief effort, all the while passing programs which allowed peasants to send their teenage children or young adults to be mentored in a trade by various craftsmen of the Beylerbelik. Those who were once destined to be farmers were saved from their, at the moment, nearly impossible careers to aid in the creation of trade goods they could sell to other lords in the empire in exchange for whatever scraps of food they could muster. The goods were amateur, but plentiful, meaning that citizens of less harshly affected regions would be happy to pay for the affordable baubles they produced. Their crudeness was seen as “appealingly foreign” by the native empire subjects.

All the while preachers and nobles alike were outraged by the social upheaval. But now that the peasants knew how good things could be, they questioned and questioned. Why should they be relegated to mere farmers? Why could they not aspire for more? Was a god who would relegate them to such a fate worth following at all? This could not have possibly gone better. With the people on his side, Mustafa publicly renounced Taşınmaz Taş as a worthless god who had left them all to die when the empire and Morgandr had provided so much progress to them.

The peasants, fervent with the passion they were told for so long to snuff out, cheered him on and in the coming months would be so receptive to holy men of Regheim that any nobles who dared denounced Morgandr would fear for their lives. If they did not convert, they certainly did not come out in support of their God as their home was made into a heathenland. With the introduction of this new god, the general populace became interested in the culture of Regheim and integrated it into aspects of it into their own, with some expressing interest in learning the language as well.

By that time, Mustafa received an epithet, “the Reformer,” and was spoken of with awe by all who knew of him. His acclaim stretched so far for creating a haven amongst the chaos that he was ordered to come to the capital and assist with the disaster that had befallen the lands. Leaving the Beylerbelik in the hands of the now fifteen year old and able Abbas, whose mother Mustafa had “forgiven” and allowed to return upon his leave, he set out to save the empire from certain destruction.

*=Bold means my preferred role.

-Hunter/Vampire or Hunter
-Royal/Pirate, Thief, or Peasant.
-Monster Hunter/Monster Girl (or Boy)
-Delinquent/Goody Two-shoes


*Note, I would love to play against canons to my OCs for these. Willing to double as well.

-Dark Souls/Bloodborne/Sekiro
-Granblue Fantasy
-Fate/Stay Night or Grand Order
-Shin Megami Tensei (includes mainline, Digital Devil Saga, Devil Survivor, and, of course, Persona)
-Yugioh GX (Craving some canon play for this one, but OCs are a-okay too.)
-One Piece
-Hunter x Hunter (My favorite anime of all time, have a character for this one. Would love to play against a canon girl for this one but again, love the setting so much it doesn't matter.)
-Mob Psycho 100
-One Punch Man
-Naruto (Another one I'd love a canon for.)
-Fire Emblem

Show's Over!

View attachment 212553

...And that about wraps it up! Be sure to let me know if you're interested in any of my ideas or have any of your own you'd be excited to bounce off of me. I'm a pretty open guy, so don't be afraid to ask.
Last edited: