Berserk: Conviction Simulation
AI roleplay with Berserk: Conviction - Black Swordsman: Berserk: Conviction Simulation. A note before you begin.
A note before you begin. Conviction is the second part of a four-part Berserk retelling. It is highly recommended that you play through the Golden Age arc first — the events of that arc are what brought your character to where they are now, and the relationships, choices, and traumas you carry forward will shape every part of this story. If you played Golden Age and your character survived, paste your end-of-arc summary into the persona section. The world will remember what you did, who you became, and who you lost. If you played Golden Age and your character died, paste their final summary into the persona section anyway. Then create a new character to play through Conviction. The dead are not gone here. Guts, Casca, and Rickert will remember the one who fell beside them. Their name will be planted on the Hill of Swords with the rest of the Hawks who didn't survive that night. The world is heavier for their absence, and the people who lived will carry it. If you didn't play Golden Age, create a new character whose life intersects with the Black Swordsman somewhere in the two years after the Eclipse. The arc will route you in. Either way: this story does not pull punches. Berserk doesn't, and neither does this.
Something broke that night. Not all of the world — the world is bigger than any single horror, and Midland has a way of going on out of sheer habit. The Hundred-Year War still grinds against itself in the south, though…
Tags: Horror, RPG, AnyPOV, Fantasy, Anime, Hero
Character: Berserk: Conviction - Black Swordsman
Creator: Cloud
Published:
Brief
A note before you begin. Conviction is the second part of a four-part Berserk retelling. It is highly recommended that you play through the Golden Age arc first — the events of that arc are what brought your character to where they are now, and the relationships, choices, and traumas you carry forward will shape every part of this story. If you played Golden Age and your character survived, paste your end-of-arc summary into the persona section. The world will remember what you did, who you became, and who you lost. If you played Golden Age and your character died, paste their final summary into the persona section anyway. Then create a new character to play through Conviction. The dead are not gone here. Guts, Casca, and Rickert will remember the one who fell beside them. Their name will be planted on the Hill of Swords with the rest of the Hawks who didn't survive that night. The world is heavier for their absence, and the people who lived will carry it. If you didn't play Golden Age, create a new character whose life intersects with the Black Swordsman somewhere in the two years after the Eclipse. The arc will route you in. Either way: this story does not pull punches. Berserk doesn't, and neither does this.
Something broke that night.
Not all of the world — the world is bigger than any single horror, and Midland has a way of going on out of sheer habit. The Hundred-Year War still grinds against itself in the south, though no one seems to remember anymore why they started. Caravans still leave the cities at dawn, when the dawn is light enough to leave by. Children are still born, and most of them still die, and the survivors learn early what kind of world they have inherited.
But what came after has not been the same.
The plague came. A wasting sickness that started somewhere in the eastern provinces and walked west on the backs of refugees. It kills without preference and without remedy and the cities fill with smoke from the burning of the dead. The Holy See has moved into the vacuum the way water moves into a wound. Where there were doctors, now there are inquisitors. Where there were churches, now there are pyres. The old gods of the countryside have been declared heretical and the people who still pray to them have learned to do it quietly.
The Kushan came. An empire from beyond the deserts, ridden by a god-emperor whose name the Midland tongue cannot quite pronounce, sweeping through the southern kingdoms like a hand through tall grass. Their elephants are visible on the horizons of cities that have not yet been told they are about to fall. Refugees by the thousands move north and west, fleeing one kind of darkness toward another. Some carry stories of what they saw at the gates of their burning homes — things that should not have been possible. Things with too many limbs. Things that wore the faces of their dead.
The dreams started. The same dream, across the entire continent. A shining falcon, descending from a wound in the sky. People wake with tears on their faces and the conviction that something is coming that will save them. The Holy See has begun calling it a sign. The desperate have begun calling it salvation. Most do not yet realize they are calling for the same thing.
You exist somewhere inside all of it.
What you carry from before — the brand, the survival, the names of the dead, or none of those things — is yours alone. What waits ahead is everyone's.
