Mini Magi

This time I have two~ https://store.steampowered.com/app/978520/Legend_of_Keepers_Career_of_a_Dungeon_Manager/ https://store.steampowered.com/app/3534240/Uncanny_Tales_Cold_Road/ And a DLC. https://store.steampowered.com/app/4277070/Cthulhu_The_Cosmic_Abyss__Sanity_Skin_Pack/

Hi there~ And no, this is not going to be one of those guides that secrely doxes you. As we all know, Epic games often gives out free games. But no one likes Epic. Don't lie. You know it too. But did you know that Steam occasionally also has free stuff? And I don't mean things like free to play MMOs or Gatcha games. No, I mean full games. The devs of some games sometimes offer their stuff for free for a limited time. If you claim it in that window, it's yours forever. Kinda like the cat distribution system works. But do be sure to claim the game while it is free. A missed chance is a missed chance. I do know about them. And I would like to share that with you. So starting now, I will post here whenever I notice a free game on steam. But keep in mind, it will be relatively rare. Feel free to debate over the reasons why. I'm too busy playing games and lubricating tentacles. Ah! And just in case. If you do not trust the links, that is absolutely fine. Please watch after yourself. Just look the game up on steam yourself in that case. And with all that out of the way, anyone want to play Graveyard Keeper? https://store.steampowered.com/app/599140/Graveyard_Keeper/

I would also be down to write either something Tsukimichi (I would particularly love to write Tomoe), or Konosuba. That is, if you are willing to take the role of the MC, and don't mind us deviating from the canon stories. You absolutely do not have to, but do you RP on discord?

Eria blinked, pulled from her post-planning haze by his question. She shook her head slowly. "I’m... okay. Just thinking." Her eyes drifted back to the blueprint, but the moment of intense focus had passed. It was Aussa who spoke next, her tone gentle but firm, the caretaker stepping forward. "Cyrus," she began, setting her empty bowl aside. "The meal was a kindness, not a currency. You cannot trade a bowl of soup for weeks of skilled labor." She held his gaze, her earthy eyes serious. "You said you haven’t eaten in days. If you work for us for nothing but food, when our project is done, you’ll be right back where you are now: skilled, hungry, and unable to help the next person who needs you." Hiita nodded sharply, crossing her arms. "She’s right. It’s stupid. You’ve got the hands of a fighter and the know-how of a builder. That’s worth more than just meals. You think we’re gonna watch you work your bones to dust for stew and then walk away? We’re not that kind of people." Her voice was rough, but the underlying concern was clear. It was the same protectiveness she wielded for her friends, now extending, tentatively, to him. Wynn’s voice was soft, barely above the crackle of the fire, but earnest. "Please... you should be paid. Everyone deserves to be paid for their work. It’s... it’s how you keep going. How you take care of yourself." She fidgeted with her sleeve, her words simple but carrying the weight of hard-learned survival. Eria looked up from the parchment, her logical mind engaging. "Your labor has a market value," she stated flatly. "Our funds are limited, but non-zero. If you exchange your labor for a below-market rate, you devalue your skill and create an unsustainable imbalance. The transaction fails. You starve later. We feel guilty now. It is inefficient and emotionally costly." Aussa listened to each of them, then offered the solution that had been forming in her mind. "Here is the compromise," she said, her voice leaving no room for debate. "You work for us at half the standard rate for a carpenter. In return, we provide three meals a day while you’re on site. You are paid for your skill, and you are fed. To me that is fair, sustainable." She gave him a look that was both kind and immovable, while offering him a hand for a handshake. "Do we have a deal?"

Eria watched him over the rim of her bowl as he cut himself off. Her eyes, usually distant, sharpened for a moment, tracing the sudden tension in his jaw before it smoothed over. She took a slow sip, then set her bowl down deliberately. "People don’t stop like that without a reason," she said, her voice quiet but clear in the firelight. Her gaze wasn’t accusatory, just observant. "But we all have pages we’d rather not read aloud." She glanced at Hiita, whose eyes had dropped to her own scarred knuckles; at Aussa, who tensed almost imperceptibly; at Wynn, who was studying a frayed edge of the blanket. "We won’t pry. Some things... just are." Hiita grunted, a sound of agreement. She met Cyrus’s eyes, her own guarded but not hostile. "S’fine. We’re not a confessional booth." It was her way of saying your past is yours. Aussa gave a slow, solemn nod, her practical nature extending to this unspoken pact. "Understood. Some weights are carried quietly." She offered a small, acknowledging smile. "It’s enough that you’re here now, willing to help build something new." Wynn simply nodded, her expression soft with understanding. She didn’t need to say anything; the shared silence was her agreement. The moment passed, comfortable in its mutual respect. Then, Eria reached into her own worn pack, not his satchel. She pulled out a tightly rolled scroll of parchment, slightly frayed at the edges, and smoothed it on the blanket between them. It was her blueprint. "Three floors," she began, her voice taking on a rare, focused cadence. Her finger tapped the bottom section. "Ground floor: shopfront here, facing the trail. Storage behind, accessible from the side. Forge here, in the rear, with a separate chimney." Her tracing moved upward. "Second floor: four rooms along this corridor. This one," she pointed, "for Aussa’s office and ledger-keeping. This one for my workshop. These two are spare for now—structural. They can be... later things. And here," her finger swept across the end of the hall, "a common room. A place to stop. To breathe." Finally, her finger moved to the top level. "Third floor: living. Bedrooms here, here, and here. Kitchen and dining area, central. Bathroom," she said, tapping a detailed corner, "with proper plumbing. Runoff drains here, fed from a rainwater cistern and a gravity-fed spring if we find one." She sat back, her brief fluency spent, and looked at Cyrus. "It’s... a lot." Aussa leaned forward, her eyes scanning the blueprint with a planner’s intensity. "It is. Which is why the budget is critical. We have the coin for materials, but we must be efficient." She pointed to the foundational lines. "I can work stone. There is Basalt nearby. If we use local stone for the base structure and foundation walls, we save considerably on lumber. I can shape it." Hiita nudged the drawing with her boot, a fierce light in her eyes. "You focus on the forge first. Get it built, get it hot, I make myself some tools, and then..." she said, nodding at Cyrus. "Aussa can pull usable ore from the local rock. I’ll smelt it. I’ll make every nail, every bracket, every hinge we need. We won’t buy them." Eria looked from the blueprint to Cyrus’s scarred hands, then to his face. "We provide the labor, the materials, the magic, and payment. You provide the skill. That's the plan so far." It wasn’t a question. It was the deal, laid bare over empty soup bowls and a shared, unspoken understanding of the ghosts everyone carried.

Hiita snorted again, but the edge had left her laughter. His loud explanation about the lumber was either a bold lie or a clever dig at the other carpenter’s materials—either way, it showed spine. “Hiita,” she offered, crossing her arms. The mention of a tavern, however, made her shake her head. “Save your coin and your blueprints. We’ve got supplies. If you can stand campfire fare, we can talk there.” Aussa gave a slow, considering nod. His point about real wood was well-made, even if his method was chaotic. “Aussa,” she said. Her eyes flickered to his stomach with a hint of sympathy. The hunger explained the lateness, the scatterbrained energy. Her caretaker instinct nudged forward. “A meal we can provide. It’s simpler than a tavern, and our funds,” she added with a touch of dry honesty, “are spoken for. For building.” Wynn’s gentle heart clenched at the admission of four days without food. Her own voice was barely a whisper as she looked at the ground beside his feet. “I’m… Wynn.” She mustered a little more courage. “We have… we have bread. And cheese. And Hiita can… cook.” It was her way of saying you’re welcome without directly inviting him. Eria’s gaze had not left Cyrus. The elaborate lumber story, the noisy stomach, the sudden shift to blueprints—it was a lot of data. “Eria,” she stated plainly. Her head tilted. “Campfire is quieter. Better for talking.” Her eyes briefly flickered to his satchel. What kind of tools was this carpenter using? - The walk to the town's edge was a quiet, practical affair. Hiita took the lead, her stride purposeful, scanning the path ahead out of ingrained habit. Aussa navigated, pointing them toward a copse of trees just beyond the last cobbled street, a spot far enough for privacy but still within sight of Highwind's walls. Wynn stayed close to Eria, her steps light and anxious, glancing occasionally at the carpenter following them. Eria herself walked with her usual detached focus, though her eyes kept drifting to Cyrus’s satchel, as if trying to divine its contents through the leather. The camp they set up was spartan, a testament to their life on the road. A worn blanket was spread on the dry grass. Aussa produced a dented pot and a waterskin, while Wynn carefully laid out a wrapped bundle containing a loaf of dark bread, and a few withered carrots and onions from their last market trip. Hiita crouched by the kindling Aussa assembled. She didn’t need flint. A snap of her fingers, and a tiny, controlled flame sprang to life in her palm. She gently fed it to the dry twigs, and within moments, a steady fire crackled. The elemental display was casual, unceremonious—simply how she lit a fire. Eria would then create a ball of water between her hands, hold it over the pot, and let it somewhat gently drop in there. As the water began to heat in the pot, a loose, quiet conversation unfolded. They didn’t share deep secrets, just the broad strokes of their survival. Hiita was the vanguard, the one who took the hits while she wasn't dishing out some. Eria, with her spaced-out stares and sudden, razor-sharp insights, was the occasional tactical genius. Aussa, already unpacking their meager spices with methodical care, was the planner, the keeper of lists and limits. Wynn, silently slicing the carrots with careful precision, was their support, watching their backs from a distance. They were, as Aussa put it plainly while stirring the now-simmering pot, “elementalists. It's how we’ve managed.” Soon, a simple, hearty aroma filled the clearing—the smell of onions softening, of herbs, of basic nourishment. Aussa ladled the vegetable broth into five wooden bowls, handing the first to Cyrus with a nod. “It’s not much,” she said, her voice soft but matter-of-fact. “But it’s hot.” Hiita took her bowl, blowing on the steam. “Better than tavern slop, and cheaper,” she stated, though her tone wasn’t unkind. She watched him, waiting to see if he’d turn up his nose at the humble meal. Wynn offered a small, shy smile as she passed him the bread. “For… dipping.”

The air in the clearing smelled of pine resin, woodsmoke, and wet earth after the morning rain. It had taken six months, but the homestead no longer looked like a hopeful scratch in the wilderness. It looked like a home. The two-story timber-and-stone house stood firm against the treeline, a testament to elemental magic applied with weary, practical hands. Aussa’s earth-shaping had sunk the foundation deep and coaxed the stones of the chimney into place. Hiita’s controlled, forge-hot flames had cured the beams and produced every nail, hinge, and strap from raw ore she’d traded for in town. Wynn’s gentle wind had dried the lumber evenly, preventing warps, and now whispered through the wind-chimes she’d hung from the eaves—a subtle alarm for anything approaching. And Eria’s water magic ran in clever, hidden channels beneath the house, powering a perpetually cool root cellar and a simple but effective indoor cistern. Life had settled into a rhythm of creation, not combat. Hiita’s workshop, occupying the eastern side of the ground floor, rang with the satisfying ping-ping-tink of hammer on hot metal. The forge’s heat was her element, literally and figuratively. She no longer shaped swords or spearheads, except for the occasional hunting blade on commission. Now, it was nails, hinges, horseshoes, and sturdy cookware—solid, useful things. The act of forging was meditative; the fire obeyed her, a raw power she could channel into something that built rather than burned. She worked in a sleeveless tunic, her arms smudged with soot, a contented frown of concentration on her face. Outside, in the terraced gardens that stepped down the sunny southern slope, Wynn moved between the raised beds. Her connection to the wind had found a new purpose: she could feel the slightest change in air pressure, the dry thirst of the soil, the faint sigh of a pest moving through the leaves. With a soft whisper and a gesture, she’d redirect a breeze to pollinate the squash blossoms or gently dissuade a deer. Her hands, once trembling in fear, were steady as she pruned tomato suckers. This was her peace. The fruits and vegetables she grew weren’t just food; they were proof that she could nurture life. Upstairs, in the airy room she shared with Eria, Aussa sat at a solid oak desk, her crystal-topped staff leaning within reach. Ledgers and contract scrolls from Stonehaven, the nearest town, were spread before her. Her “team dad” role had evolved into “household manager.” She tracked their finances, negotiated prices for Hiita’s ironwork and Eria’s oddities, and handled the light accounting work she took on remotely. Her earth magic was still used daily—mending a stone wall, firming up a path—but its most important function was the unshakeable stability she provided. She was the bedrock of their new life. In the cluttered workshop on the western side of the house, Eria was in her element. Jars full of tools, coils of copper wire, salvaged clockwork, and strange glowing crystals littered her benches. Her latest project was a crystal lantern, powered by a cell. In the corner, her masterpiece hummed: the cold-storage cabinet, its interior magically kept at a frosty temperature by a slow-circulating ribbon of chilled water. She worked in quiet, intense bursts, her spaced-out expression giving way to moments of startling precision. Her fantasies hadn’t vanished, but they had company now—the intricate, satisfying puzzle of making things work. The afternoon was winding down. The smell of the stew Wynn had left simmering over the hearth-fire began to mix with the scent of hot metal and damp soil. It was a good, productive quiet. Then Wynn’s wind-chimes at the northern edge of the clearing rang out, not with a gentle breeze, but with a single, jarring clang. Hiita’s hammering stopped. Aussa’s quill paused. Eria looked up from her gears. Wynn stood frozen by her bean trellis, her face pale. The wind carried a new scent to her first: blood, iron, and the sour tang of exhaustion.

The sudden crash of splitting wood snapped the girls from their brooding silence. Four heads turned in unison towards the source. Hiita’s defensive posture melted into a snort of surprised laughter she didn’t bother to stifle. The man’s confident hop and the immediate, splintering collapse of his stall flipped him from potential threat to pure spectacle. Her suspicion evaporated, replaced by rough amusement. “Real smooth,” she said, a crooked grin breaking through her frustration. The other carpenters’ laughter, now directed at him, made her feel a flicker of unexpected camaraderie. He’s getting laughed at too. Aussa’s practical mind immediately segregated the failed flourish from the offer. Her eyes darted from the shattered table leg to the tools he’d been carrying. Agile, maybe. But if his equipment was as rickety as his stall... Still, his smile remained undimmed by the embarrassment, which spoke of either recklessness or resilience. She kept her voice even, but a faint, weary smile touched her lips. “That’s one way to make an entrance. You offer assistance… but can your work withstand more than your table?” Wynn’s hands flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp. Her empathy, always too close to the surface, flared instantly. She saw his confident leap, the disastrous crack, the echoing laughter, and her own cheeks burned with shared humiliation. She instinctively took a half-step forward, as if to help, before freezing. He was still a stranger, but in that moment, he wasn’t a builder or a warrior—he was just someone who’d tripped in public, and her heart ached for him. Eria’s head tilted further, her blank stare replaced by a spark of intense, analytical curiosity. She watched not the broken wood, but him—the way his smile never quite faltered, the slight widening of his eyes at the sound of the break, the quick recovery in his stride. The disconnect between intent (impress) and outcome (comedy) fascinated her. “I think...,” she started, her tone soft, almost wondering. “We're no longer out of carpenters?” - Aussa watched the exchange, her initial wariness softening into pragmatic curiosity. She glanced around at the still-smirking carpenters, then back to the man with the broken stall and the undeterred smile. Stepping forward slightly, offered him a hand, and gestured away from the public lane with a tilt of her head. “Perhaps we should talk. Somewhere less… public?”

The afternoon sun beat down on the dusty carpentry district of Highwind, painting the stacked timber and sawdust in shades of tired gold. The air smelled of pine resin and defeat. Hiita leaned against a sun‑warmed fence post, arms crossed, watching Aussa tuck their coin purse back into her belt with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the last three days. They’d left the adventurer’s life behind, pooled every last silver of their savings, and come to this bustling port town with a simple dream: a remote homestead, a place of their own, away from guild contracts and monster‑infested roads. The city had been impossible—prices exorbitant, every plot either a glorified closet or perched on a cliffside. Highwind, a trade hub straddling two kingdoms, had offered hope. Land was cheaper here, the hinterlands still wild enough for solitude but close enough to a port for supplies. It was the compromise between safety and isolation they’d desperately sought. Now, that hope was crumbling like dry clay. "He said the same as the others,” Aussa said, her voice low and steady, though the tightness around her eyes betrayed her. She shrugged, the motion heavy. "His price was double our funds.” Wynn stood slightly behind her, fingers twisting the hem of her tunic. Her eyes, wide and anxious, darted from Aussa’s face to the retreating back of the master carpenter who had just dismissed them. The man hadn’t been unkind, just brutally practical. To him, they were four women with a fool’s errand and not enough coin. Eria, seated on an upturned crate, simply stared at the ground between her boots. "We’re out of carpenters,” she stated, the flat tone somehow more devastating than any outburst. Hiita pushed off the post, a surge of frustrated energy making her clench her fists. "So what, we just give up? Go back to taking ‘safe’ jobs guarding merchant carts?” The words tasted bitter. The last ‘safe’ job had ended with Wynn frozen in terror as bandits descended, and Hiita taking a crossbow bolt to the shoulder. "We need a plan,” Aussa said firmly, but the usual bedrock in her voice had a fissure. "But we cannot build a house with our bare hands, Hiita. I could make a shelter, but not one that will last through a winter. It's less ideal, but our next option is a smaller place. Maybe a village? But... We'll need to hire a transport to get there. Which means...” A heavy silence fell, broken only by the distant calls of dockworkers and the creak of wagon wheels. The reality was a physical weight on them. They had escaped one war‑torn world only to be cornered by economics in another.

Technically they are from Yugioh. They are the Charmer archetype. I am making a pun with the title~ BUT! No, you absolutely do not have to know about them. It will not take anything away from me if you don't know who the Adamancipators, Laval, or Gishki are. Especially since some of the lore I wrote for them, I am basically assuming. I even isekai-ed them to a new fantasy world. Eliminates all the need for any prior knowledge, and cuts them off their war torn past physically. So... Original or canon? Half and half I'd say. If that helped you over your worries, or it did not but you are hopelessly in love with them anyway (and I don't blame you, so am I), send me a PM and I'm sure we can work something out. --Edit-- I have found enough people to get creative with, so anyone who comes now: I'm sorry, but that's all for now. With the exception of you LEROZERO, in case you wanna give it a shot too, since you expressed interest early on.

Don't mind me. Just here to tell you that your pic for Grace Howard broke. Good luck with your search tho, and hope the free little bump helps.

How about a world between worlds as home base? If we can't decide on a setting, why not use all of them? The idea of campaigns could revolve around visiting worlds, which have their own settings. I on one hand of course draw inspiration from Kingdom hearts and its Traverse Town. This would also give players who might have missed out on joining a campaign at a good time still something to do. Mingle with each other in a safe location. In the setting, we could have players enter and exit worlds via crystals. "World stones" perhaps? How they work both in character and out of character is something I can muse about some more if a multi world setting sounds interesting. Or would power scaling of techno fantasy classes be an issue in natural fantasy worlds (just to make one example)?

This section of Ecchi Dreams is for 1x1 roleplays. If you wanna organize a group roleplay with Fabula Ultima as its general theme, you might want to create a club for it. That feature is available to you if you have doubts. I bought the books just yesterday and didn't have the time to get through the main one yet (but I am on page 60 by now). But count me interested as well. I will however need some more time to get through the rule book. Should you need help with setting up a club, you have but to ask.

I can't roleplay this currently since I don't have the mood for it, but may I offer you an anime in your trying times? Because I think it is pretty much the theme you are looking for. It's cute, fuzzy feelings, some misunderstandings here and there, but a satisfying watch. Also, bonus if you are into tomboys. https://hianime.to/watch/tomochan-is-a-girl-18248?ep=96947 @NyxAvatar69 And you go watch that too. Would hug you both if I could. -Edit- Replaced the link because my site chose some really bad timing to shut down.