SUCC-U-VERSE RPG

The mid-morning California sun cuts warm and bright through the trees growing over the Lunar Quad of the Supernatural University of Central California. It’s the second week of the fall semester, and the campus is in full, chaotic swing.

Near the sun-drenched fountain, a couple of lizard demihumans are sprawled out on heated stone benches while nearby, a pretty plant-fae strums on a ukelele from beneath an oversized parasol. Over on the gravel paths, a pair of burly werewolf athletes in yellow and blue varsity jackets jog past, tails flicking in sync, laughing loud enough to scatter a flock of bird-kin students conversing on the lower branches of an oak tree and earning disapproving scowls and several inventive curse words.

Bulletins line the kiosk boards - flyers advertising tryouts for the Bears hockey squad, notices for the upcoming monthly Moon Market downtown, and flyers for the campus Vampire/Undead Alliance.

At the crossroads past the quad's marble lupine fountain, the path leads west toward the residence halls, north to the lecture halls, and south toward the student union and athletic fields.

The mid-morning California sun cuts warm and bright through the trees growing over the Lunar Quad of the Supernatural University of Central California. It’s the second week of the fall semester, and the campus is in full, chaotic swing.

Near the sun-drenched fountain, you see that a couple of lizard demihumans are sprawled out on heated stone benches while nearby, a pretty plant-fae strums on a ukelele from beneath an oversized parasol. Over on the gravel paths, a pair of burly werewolf athletes in yellow and blue varsity jackets jog past, tails flicking in sync, laughing loud enough to scatter a flock of bird-kin students conversing on the lower branches of an oak tree and earning disapproving scowls and several inventive curse words.

Bulletins line the kiosk boards - flyers advertising tryouts for the Bears hockey squad, notices for the upcoming monthly Moon Market downtown, and flyers for the campus Vampire/Undead Alliance.

You’re standing at the crossroads past the quad's marble lupine fountain, the path leading west toward the residence halls, north to the lecture halls, and south toward the student union and athletic fields.

Cardboard boxes, plastic storage totes, and reinforced rolling bins choke the wide concrete paths encircling the Wyrm Dormitories. The August heat beats down mercilessly against the campus pavement, though occasional bursts of chilled air blew out through the dormitory’s automated double doors whenever someone kicks them open (usually while swearing and hoisting a heavy box or three).

A pair of sweat-drenched minotaur movers hoist a mini-fridge up the outer concrete steps, while a harpy student perched atop a second-story balcony railing carefully lowers luggage down to a friend. At the check-in canopy on the front lawn, a harassed-looking resident advisor is repeating the building’s fire code into a megaphone, reminding everyone for the fifth time that enchanted cast-iron skillets were permitted, but open flames and unregistered silver kitchenware were grounds for an immediate disciplinary hearing.

Inside the building's central ground-floor atrium, the chatter echoes off the brutalist walls. Luggage tagged with species-specific accommodations is stacked along the perimeter: UV-blackout trunks for nocturnal students, specialized heat-pad bundles for reptilian dormers, and plastic-wrapped mattress covers treated to resist stray claws. The elevator is already jammed, leaving the extra-wide central stairwell flooded with freshmen, exasperated parents, and upperclassmen hauling gear up to their assigned rooms.

As the sun sinks behind the low coastal mountains, the warm Californian dusk gives way to the crisp chill of a full moon evening. Solarton Square is completely transformed; the central plaza, usually a sleepy pedestrian hub full of tourists and families, was packed to the curbs with folding tables, food carts, and colorful canvas canopies strung with warm fairy lights.

The air is dense with the combined scents of traditional and mystical festival fare: sizzling butter and roasted corn mingling with the heavy iron tang of rare, spiced flank steaks from the were-friendly butcher stalls. Further toward the historic fountain, a local indie band was finishing their sound check, the bassist idly letting a tufted tail thump against their amplifier to test the rhythm.

Every resident of the town - and the neighbouring student body - seemed to be out on the pavement. Werewolves travel in tight-knit trios, jittery and excited under the light of the full moon. With the moon steadily climbing over the skyline, the night promises to be a memorable one - for good or bad is yet to be seen.

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