/qst/ - Quests

3rd of Sun's Dusk, 4E 171.

The sun rises over the Goldmoor, along the southern coast of Hammerfell. Here, the harsh desert that the region is known for gives way to green scrubland, thanks to the humid air of the ocean and the pleasant chill of winter. This is where the River Tark flows into Hew's Bay, and where the city of Taneth stands proud. Thousands call this port home and ply their trades within its walls and as one of its many guards, it is your job to ensure the safety of these people.

You work for the Imperial Guild of Bailiffs, as a sworn officer and enforcer of the Emperor's law. You have been keeping the streets of Taneth safe for over two years and just a month ago, your service was rewarded with a promotion. You are now a sergeant, the leader of your very own patrol, comprised of yourself and two other officers. It's not much, but the responsibility that you have been given is still a sign of trust, and an opportunity for you to prove yourself in the eyes of your superiors. With a little luck, you'll continue to climb the ranks and eventually claim a position of true authority.

It won't be easy. Hammerfell is a vicious and unforgiving place and its people, the Redguards, are not unlike the land that they call home. They are divided into many factions, though most of the region is split between two of them – the Forebears and the Crowns. The Crowns claim to be the descendants of the Na-Totambu, who ruled over the lost Redguard homeland. They remain true to the ways of their ancestors and shun Imperial doctrine. The same cannot be said for the Forebears, who have abandoned the old gods in favour of the Eight Divines of the Empire. This cultural divide has been the cause of great enmity between the two groups for centuries, an animosity that is unlikely to die down anytime soon.

Thanks to its proximity to the Imperial heartland of Cyrodiil, Taneth is considered a Forebear city and most of its population are proud to call themselves citizens of the Empire. However, not everyone that lives within the city's walls has abandoned the old ways. There are a rare few who stay true to the traditions of the Na-Totambu and bury their resentment deep within their hearts, so that they may live among the Forebears.

I burst out of the saloon as the hoof-beats outside grew louder and louder. Normally I would dip once a package was delivered, but these FUCKING SAVAGES have been getting too bold. Shots are being fired around the town, clearly I'm not alone in trying to repel this raid. Glass shatters and arrows shatter the windows of the saloon behind me, It's not until I hear the whine of my horse and see it fall to it's side I'd realize moving into the open was a mistake. Somehow the tribals out here got their hands on some proper rifles and revolvers. Turning my head back to the road where the shots came from I see the Indians, draw my Colt, and fire twice. One bullet for a pair with long guns, clearly supposed to be of US ARMY make. I should have accounted for the hoof beats **around** the Town. A pair of arrows strike me in the chest, I barely get a chance to see the redskins behind the crates and bags of goods these arrows came from before my vision fades as i start to fall backwards.

Somehow I feel sluggish as I next wake up, like there's a fog on my mind. As it recedes I realize a couple of things. I'm already standing upright. That shouldn't be the case from what I remember. The other thing noticed is it's still too dark blinking and trying to rub my eyes has done nothing to help change the lighting. A quick look around shows that I'm standing in a stone room, surrounded by odd metal torches, cobwebs, and a couple other people standing around barely moving. One is armored and the other looks like he's wearing a suit.

> Check our wounds.
> Check on one of these other guys.
> Try to find a door and walk out of here.

It’s a dark, almost pitch black night on the campus. Lazari could effortlessly light things up or give herself night vision, but doing so would take away the night out experience. She disliked how so many tried to find ‘solutions’ to things in life that did not need to be fixed. This night was perfectly fine the way it was, although it could use a bit more wind.

She takes off her shoes, letting her feet rest on the fresh grass. Thankfully, most of the lawn recovered from the dragon incident, the last thing she would’ve wanted was to revitalize every bit of grass to make it look uniform again—wouldn’t have been the first time. She stretches

Before she can go on her usual jog, she hears low mumbling from above. She looks up at the school building, until her gaze stops at a bird-like figure resting near the edge of the rooftop. It’s not uncommon for students to hang up there past midnight, but it’s not encouraged for a variety of safety reasons.

Climbing up there would be a piece of cake with magic, but it presents a fun challenge to climb as fast as possible, only relying on her body. One jump, put one foot on a window’s ledge, two jumps, make sure to avoid putting too much strength behind each step, three jumps, grab the edge with your left hand, lift yourself upward and-

There.

Not her best time, but having to climb up silently slowed her down. The student didn’t notice her despite lazari’s imposing figure. She made sure to mask her breathing and mana so that she could slip effortlessly past her in both sight and sound. Lazari taps her shoulder, and the student, who could now be identified as Fet, flinched with a short, high-pitched scream.

There is an awkward silence, followed by unnecessary apologies from the student.

Lazari shrugs, “You can stay here if you want, just don’t go practicing spells at this time of night. I’m glad it’s not some students doing something weird up there again.”

“..Um, ‘again’? How often does that ev- even happen?” Fet’s voice was stuttery, but her voice is less shaky than the last time the two of them spoke.

“You don’t want to know. Nor do you want to know what I mean by ‘weird’. I’ve considered not teaching some spells just because of what I’ve seen people do with ‘em before.” Lazari tries to contain her laughter. “What are you doing at this time, lassie?”

Fet averts her gaze, opting to look at the stars instead. “Thinking about things. I can think more clearly when I’m out- outside, but not when people are around.” Her speech was slower, perhaps as an attempt to control her stuttering.

The sun beats down on your bare shoulders, baking the ochre dust into your skin. Before you, the grasslands stretch to a hazy horizon, a sea of chest-high blades of grass swaying in the hot, dry wind. The air smells of sun-scorched earth, sweet flowers, and the faint, distant scent of salt.

You stand alone in a vast, quiet clearing, the silence broken only by the wind and the buzzing of insects. Your waterskin is half-empty, and your stomach aches with a familiar, dull hunger. You scan the landscape, considering your path.

>West: A sliver of silver glints under the sun. A line of dark green trees marks its banks.
>Northwest: A series of jagged, windswept hills bare of trees rising above the plains.
>South: More grassland. A black pillar juts out of the earth, impossibly smooth and unnatural.

You are a Cainite. A bloodsucking monster, with a Beast lurking in the shadow of your mind. You are one of the many hands grappling the Sword of Caine. You were not inducted into the Sect randomly - you are no shovelhead. No, your sire chose you, because of your qualities and what you could bring to the Sabbat. Granted the Creation Rites and welcomed into the Sabbat. Your sire's faction within the Sabbat, the Order of Saint Blaise, focuses on temporal power and maintaining the Silence of the Blood. Your colleagues beyond the Order scoff at you, thinking you're playing by the hated Camarilla's rules. But who supplies the crusades, coordinates the cleanup of bodies, watches the Camarilla, and makes sure the night to night goes smoothly?

That's where you come in.

You were chosen for a reason. What was it? (Each choice gives that template's Primary Attribute category, alongside a merit)

>Stern Resolve.
You went through the Iraq War and the prolonged hostilities in Afghanistan. You know asymmetrical warfare - you've been targeted by it and coordinated against it. Under fire, you never lost your keen mind, or became diminished from the horrors you saw.
(Primary Attribute: Mental, Gain “Iron Will Resistance” merit)

>Manipulation.
You know how to control people, like a board room maestro or a cult leader. Reading people comes easy to you. Maybe you were popular in school. Maybe you saw people as chess pieces. Regardless, you are adept at your craft.
(Primary: Social, Gain “Magnetic”)

>Underworld Veteran.
You are familiar with the illegal world and how to navigate it. Mostly with violence, or the threat of it. You have contacts and know how to rub shoulders with gangs and black marketeers.
(Primary: Physical, Gain “Underworld Network”)

>Survivalist.
Against all odds, where others fell, you rose. Using your wits and instinct, you survived on your own in the wilderness for days or weeks at a time.
(Primary: Physical, Gain “Survival Instincts”)

>Revenant.
You were born from one of the many families the Sabbat have created over the centuries. Not all Revenants are chosen for the Embrace. Although limited, your prodigious skill and application of Disciplines put you above the other candidates.
(Primary: Social, +1 dot to Disciplines)

>Keyboard Wizard.
Your rather milquetoast upbringing brought you stability. And that became the bedrock of your interest in computers, software, and coding. You've cracked into restricted sites, and fluent with “keeping abreast of mortal trends” as your sire puts it. You are their liaison to the 20th century.
(Primary: Mental, Gain “Gizmo” merit)

Yumigawa Rushorou was plunged into a life-or-death struggle in a surreal otherworld when, one day, he went to sleep in his familiar bed and found himself thereafter in the burning ruins of a nameless city. After ten days of struggle, he emerged victorious, standing as one of very few survivors of a crucible called the Akeldama. His enemies, one way or another, were dead. His allies had been protected. The ultimate prize was his. Then he woke up.
After two strange days of confusion, a stabbing, and the realization that there never was such a person as Yumigawa Rushorou, a man people call Archer found that there was a noose around his neck, and started looking for a way to get rid of it. You haven't found it yet.

Sequel to Fate/City Akeldama, originally run from March to May 2019, and remake of Fate/Awakening Mirror, originally run from May 2019 to October 2020. Both quests, as well as the first thread of this quest, can be found here:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Sweets-Loving%20QM

Status Menu: https://pastebin.com/VbRZ5pwX
Character List: https://pastebin.com/aZ7WFPmj
Magic Menu: https://pastebin.com/8MXXtGnB

Quest OP: https://odysee.com/AMQST-OP1:3

Previous Threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=The%202nd%20Primarch%20Quest
_

"Magnus" Lieren's voice rung out through the tower, melodic yet sorrowful. Magnus could feel and see the great turmoil and distress within their brother's psionic signal and immediately ceased the lesson he was giving to the young acolytes to speak privately with his fellow primarch, within the heavily warded and protected sanctuary of his private study.

Sitting beside preserved specimens of the organs and body parts of spirits and true daemons, the red king of Prospero projected his mind and great power into the vast seas of the warp, and soon found the astral avatar of his brother, sat with crossed legs as was the habit of Long Jianese men, with a pained and regretful expression, worry weighing down on his brow more than the cursed brand it bore.

"Brother" Magnus said gently, worringly, as he reached out to his brother "What is it that ails you so terribly?"

Lieren, weeping tears of boiling gold and frozen silver, bowed his head shamefully, regretfully, unable to look his brother and peer in the eye.

"A great weight, that I am unable to bear" he answered, as was his habit, vaguely and buried beneath poeticism

"What" Magnus hastened, speaking perhaps more sternly than he intend, as his great red hand wrapped around the silk covered shoulder of his brother, shaking him without meaning to as he remained limp and most concernly of all, defeated.

"A brother, whose name I do not know. He suffers, abused by the man who should've been a father and guardian to him, used as a figurehead and tool" Lieren hissed, with the same measure of venom and vitriol of which he spoke the dangerous denizens of the great sea, the entities he dubbed variably as evil spirits or daemons. Magnus' eyes widened and he felt his muscles tense as his blood ran cold.

"Like you had known Angron suffered under the yoke of the high riders" Magnus whispered as Lieren shook his head, nearly pitifully

"Oh wise Magnus, forgive me for keeping this tragedy from you. But I had believed i could intervene and protect this brother, as I had Angron, assist him in freeing himself from his abuse, aid him as a brother should, show him what family was meant to be and mean" his brother wailed and cried, tears now streaming from his face, catching in his scars and rising as snow white mist as he admitted ot what he imagined as a great crime "But, this damned brand upon my head, prevents me from doing so. So once again, I must dishonorably break my word, and shamefully ask you to face the danger I had intended to meet in my place"
Cont

A world where might makes right. A world of Jade and Gold, of Phoenix and Dragons, of Pills and Talismans, of Martial and Spiritual arts.
A world where diligent training yield strength, meaning freedom. A world where loneliness means death, meaning social chains.
A world still unfair, as the ones reaching the heavens are most likely born rich - be it political riches of the aristocrats, power of secret knowledges and hidden realms of clans, or lucky enough to be born one-in-a-thousand genius.

This was not the case of Quiet Word - that is, (You).
Your current skill level is on par with other genius of your age. But where they were graced with secret techniques and special care, you just had lucky encounters leveraged to the best and a knack for navigating social situations.

You own a trove of techniques and treasures for such a young cultivator - more than you can study efficiently, but your strength lies in the impressive amount of Bonded Spiritual Beasts - A Phoenix spirit, a Horse spirit, a Snake spirit and a Wolf spirit.
Speaking of that last one, you didn't told a world about him to anybody. As a scion of the Primordial Wolf spirit, its father warned you of its worth and how people could want to rip it away from you. Especially in such a ruthless and public environment than, say, a townwide cultivator tournament.
Previously mentionned worth comes from its ability to Fuse without restriction - fusion being a secret of the higher ranking of your sect, secret you have almost completely rediscovered on your own, and freely shared with your sect-siblings (but not your masters). Alright, the Primordial Wolf might have helped you on that "figuring it out by yourself" point.

Recently, you focused on one of your Growth-realm treasure, the Wandering World-Tree. Cementing your relationship with the gifted graft-specialist, you searched and provide a trove of grafts as well as learning about the elegant art of tea composition; learned a new mythical Meteor-Hammer technique and made great progress in your cultivation, getting ready to break through the current minor realm - despite your falling behind issues.
Right now, this is the eve of your fourth year with the Eastern Branch of the Tamers of Hundred Beasts. You chose to take on a rare opportunity : the Stormwood instead of breaking through, or helping chart the potential of a new crop of young lads.

Reawaken, O great one, thy time has come at last once more. Long left scorned and forgotten, you have not forgotten the heroes who laid low both you, your fortresses, and your dominion. Now you shall rise from the ashes, reclaim your power and reign supreme once again. Let your enemies tremble at the mere mention of your name, for you are the true ruler of this land and all lands beyond it.

Alas! For it has been too long; while the darkness has kept you safe like a cloak, it has also made you forget. Time and the dark have gnawed at you for too long. For while your trick with placing your spirit within a container might have prevented your demise, it also eroded and disembodied you.

A shrivelled shadow you thus became, ignorant of yourself. Ignorant of form, ignorant of name, what scarce memories you did have of your past mostly addressed you as 'lord' or 'master'. None dared speak it, not before your personage at the very least.

Yet you were great and powerful once, the terror of a hundred kings. Sacker of a thousand cities, master of untold legions and hordes of both disciplined blackguards and savage barbarians.
Others saw you as a god incarnate, or at the very least the high priest of a very cruel and demanding god, who was to be appeased with tributes of gold, silver and manpower. Yes, lesser princes, khans and chieftains willingly kowtowed and fought over your ever-fickle favour.

But all of that is gone now, scattered to the wind; your empire fell with you. No servant could ever keep it together. As you lay dying, you made your last desperate gambit. You transferred your soul out of your dying body and into an object.

Oh, it was a brilliant plan, an exit for just such a scenario. But you hadn't foreseen the consequences. It was long, too long, far too long for you to be able to do anything; you withered and diminished. Seething and crying until your spirit lost the ability to form a coherent face. Was this it? Would you spend an eternity in silent suffering? Forgotten and tormented by a world that had moved on from your greatness?

Perhaps not so, for as you lay in your diminished state, you watched from one of the gemstones, which were like windows, set within the object which you had chosen.
Choose an option.
Jewellery
>A ring
>A necklace
>A bracelet
Weapons
>A mace
>A sword
>An axe
Miscellaneous
>A grimoire
>A chalice
>A staff

It all happened very suddenly. One day, the outpost gets news of at least three different coups in the Galactic Federation, then the next day there is only hyperlink silence. Comms were cut off with the Feds and people scrambled in a panic.

Helian Beta, your home, was the only populated planet in this star system, under the authority of Sector Xin’an. It’s a liveable planet, though far warmer and arid than most other liveable planets, many of the people living here would barely consider that the moniker “liveable” is at all deserved.

Still, humans can breathe here, so they can also work here. Mining outposts were established all around the planet’s largest continent, Continent Alpha, which was itself surrounded by various subcontinents and islands, the whole set of land was then surrounded by the Helian Beta Ocean, which covered the rest of the planet.

Life was good enough in your little outpost, Gaspost V, the dreariest part was living in the planet itself. Mining work was mostly done through advanced machines, but the workers had to supervise them, so miners still felt like miners, they got just as dirty as the equipment did after all. The outpost was in charge of digging into a source of gas that could be used as fuel, heating and electric appliances after refinement.

You are the Syndical Leader of Redstone V, in charge of ensuring the rights of the miners. Your name is Alexander Redstone.

It’s only been a few days since the comms cut. Everyone expected them to return after a bit, but they didn’t. Much as you prod the hyperlink station and checked frequencies, you still got nothing. You puff from your cigarette and let out the smoke with an irritated puff.

It’s really that bad, isn’t it? You’d been syndical leader for five years, you just got the hang of the job a few months ago. Everything was going well, you’d get comfy, finally take the time to find a partner, get some kids going, enjoy life as best you can.

Now this. You take a big puff and finish off that cig, then smash it into the ash tray by the hyperlink station.

“Alex, it’s about time we did something.” You hear the voice of your assistant, miss Ivy Fielder, as she enters the room with her usual pristine uniform. A young lady with a diligent mindset and an ambitious streak. She’s your second-in-command, but she’d probably climb much higher in the ladder than you. Still, it seems her ambitions were dashed now.

“It is.” You reply, then let out a long sigh. You look out the window from your Gaspost V Administrative Building office. The outpost is quiet, most of the townsfolk have gone off to work the mines one more day, their kids in school. The buildings rise out of windswept drylands, as does the outpost’s outer wall, built to keep wild critters out and wild children in.

You watch as whirlwinds of sand and dust rise from the pavement below. Could it really happen this fast? To lose contact with the entire federation in just a few days? Is there even a federation anymore?

Grand Zen-Oh, the omni king and ruler of the omniverse has declared there will be a massive tournament to be held in his honor. A grand affair between several universes, each battling it out for the very right to exist. And at the forefront of this grand spectacle will be the Saiyans of Universe 7, who Grand Zen-Oh has grown fond of watching battle. Twenty eight years ago, the Saiyan race were annexed into the PTO as just another race, one of many sent to conquer other worlds. Now, the Saiyans are widely regarded as the strongest warrior race in the entire Seventh Universe, defenders of the PTO led by their strongest, the “Dragon of New Salda” General Karn and his family.

You the players will (most often) control Karn. A man who has grown from his lowly beginnings as a Saiyan Brawler with a sub-3000 powerlevel in Age 733 to become not only the strongest Saiyan of his time at AGE 759, but also personal friend to the former emperor Lord Freeza, father to well over a dozen powerful and unique children, a mentor and teacher to his fellow Saiyans, and the best hope for his universe's continued survival. No one warrior can hope to battle eight other universes' strongest fighters alone and hope to prevail, one man's power and skill won't be enough to overcome the looming threat of extermination. But this coming battle will be the ultimate test of how you've lived your life until now, the choices you made not only for yourself, but for the fate of your entire universe.


Character sheets and other info:
https://controlc.com/46ec566d
https://pastebin.com/u/GrandDragonQM
Archive:
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=Saiyan+Conqueror+Quest
Help fund quest art commissions and get exclusive side stories as well as artwork by joining the patreon for only $1/month at https://www.patreon.com/GrandDragonQM

Quest rules are as follows(unless otherwise noted):
>30 minute vote times
>Pick ONLY ONE option when voting
>Dice rolls are all best of three correctly-rolled dice
>At ten minutes past your previous roll, and there are not yet enough rolls, you may roll an additional roll
>Crits are 100 on a d100
>99s or paired rolls may net you extra bonuses
>Crit fails are a 1/100 with no passing rolls, or if two 1s are rolled regardless of the third
>Write-ins are both allowed and encouraged, but OOC options will be ignored
>If your goal is simply to troll, at least put in enough effort to make it funny
>Have fun

SCQ will usually start on Saturdays at noon Eastern Standard Time, and run throughout the weekend. Also, for updates or schedule changes you can also find me on twitter @GrandDragonQM, which I keep as up to date with any scheduling changes.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j61ts42E2Ms


UNIVERSAL SURVIVAL

Previous chapters: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Heretic%20Cultivator%20Quest
MC info Pastebin: https://pastebin.com/x5rCdZpq
Sect/ disciple info Doc: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1A0Yghkqs4WxALnnlVJ2uPpphQk9NQ4ME32DzC1qWp7Q/edit?usp=sharing
Folklore: https://pastebin.com/AnbsrDcd
_
After the bloody first contest of the Core Formation Stage of The Palace of Natural Laws sect's (宫殿的野生彝宪, Gōngdiàndīyěshēngyíxiàn) first tournament, the victor who overcame the most terrifying and vicious stellar monsters you could capture, Xie'e Mowangzi (Evil Devil Prince, 邪恶 魔王子) lays before you, recovering from his wounds and waiting to hear what virtuous deeds you expect him to perform to be allowed to enter through the gates of your shrine and join your heretical yet oft kindly sect.

As the reborn demons behavior and acts would reflect not only upon the Palace of Natural laws, but also its master, (欢流血, Happy Bloodshed/ Happy to Shed Blood), your very own illustrious self, and you don't want to welcome a heartless devil into your sect and give them free reign to terrorize the lands and people under your protection and rule, you need to give him a test that'll prove that he is capable of doing good and acting respectfully and won't meander off one day to slaughter and refine a village or go hunting his fellow daoists for sport without a good reason or excuse. Fortunately, you know exactly how to see if he is capable of acting right mindedly or not. A variation of the journey Magical beasts under go to attain their human for, except to see if the reincarnated demon is able to show empathy, mercy or any other quality deemed a virtue by wider society.

"Charity won't prove your heart is capable of containing something besides malice and bloodthrist" You sweetly tell him, wearing an imperious, domineering expression that is completely opposite to your ginger and silken voice "Even a miser can do charity work, if they think it'll make them wealthy, and demons I know can pretend to love someone until they've matured and fattened enough to their tastes"

"Aren't you friends with a spider demon?" He asks plainly, frowning and stroking his chin in thought

"One who is more human natured than demonic" You cackle "And I have nothing against demons living as they desire, until they piss me off, bother me or try to eat me. But, lets not get sidetracked. You need to prove your heart is, if not human, than not corroded by and controlled solely by malice. That you're a devil with at least a little nobility, enough to coexist with my subjects and other students"

"And how should I prove that I am not the most vicious of devils?" He asked, sounding genuinely curious
Cont

"Come," you command, beckoning for them to fall in behind you. Thoroughly exhausted, they struggle to comply, fighting to stay on their feet. "I want you to meet the council." Ilanis plops herself on the nearest stool, weakly fanning herself with her hand. "Whuh? Why do I have to go?" She asks, her face ruddy and coated in layers of briny perspirant. Considering the matter, you struggle to come up with an compelling answer. She does, after all, know the council quite well. It was she who first introduced them to you, in fact. You grunt. "Fine. You're done for today. You did did good, girl," you affirm.

Ilanis grins, laying her face across the cool surface of the bar and shutting her eyes.

As for Luaue, the half-breed musters her resolve and falls in behind you without complaint, demonstrating that there is hope for her yet. The girls exchange their farewells as you depart for the Hall of the Elders. As oppressive as ever, the light of mid-afternoon bears down upon you as you lead her through the streets, the way to your destination now familiar to you.

"If you are going to be the protector of our people in Everlund, then you will need to be ready to face the council," you explain as you cross over the bridge leading to the Bell Market at a leisurely pace. "You know the High Sorcerer, Lael Lathalas." She sucks in air through her teeth, searching for the appropriate response. "I do," she answers tersely, her expression ambivalent. "And I've met that Emitia woman as well. She is a good soul and a follower of Sune. Something the two of you have in common, it seems."

> While every world travels slowly towards its end, yours has just begun its journey.
> For this world, the cycle of Gods and Men spins anew, on freshly birthed lands awash with life.
> You are a being of creation, a God, among the first divinities born not long after a world’s genesis. You possess innate knowledge and immense power, with which you may seize dominance and carve out a place for yourself in these savage, untamed wilds.

Welcome to a spinoff installation of Beings of Creation, a long-running tactical civ-style hexcrawl based on your imagination. You are a non-omniscient divine being of great power. You find yourself spontaneously brought into existence in a prehistoric, primeval world, untouched by Gods.
The rules are relatively simple, and may be picked up as you go, but the document below goes into detail. Most players are familiar veterans of the game, so don't be shy and feel free to ask questions.
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1eOyLUfkbgVFHjIPmNmcW9G2wQE7CZenv69m9yQF_aMY
https://discord.gg/PvWBE9xn

Players may begin creating their gods with the format below. Following such, every update I make each player will get to take a turn. Let the birth of your gods begin...

Name:
Description:
Domains:
Color:
God Attributes:
God Ability:
Your Minions:
Minion Attribute:
Minion Ability:
Starting Hex:

Access to your character sheets will be provided through discord. Please namefag in-thread.
May fortune favour you.

You sit alone at a large desk in a dark room. You were escorted in here roughly fifteen minutes ago so that you could have your interview with The Hunters Bureau. The de facto group for dealing with the supernatural. And while things have surely changed since the Bureau's inception- around a thousand years ago now- it still holds onto its core belief that anyone could be a Hunter… yes, anyone. Before you got shoved into this box you were sitting in the waiting room, surrounded by all types of characters: ex cops, ex cons, prostitutes, androids, chrome heads, dope heads, children and even some respectable looking citizens in there too.

A sound suddenly fills the room, the sound of a handleless door sliding open, followed by a faint square-shaped beam of orange light. Though both of these stimulants are kicked out of the room as an old man steps into the room- the door sliding back closed. The stench of smoke fills your nostrils before your eyes can adjust to actually see the man's face. A bald head, grey moustache and Dreamland Co: Asteroid Blue mega-cigarette are the only details you can make out on him. That and his bulky, torn jacket, adorned in damaged medals and sewn patchwork squares. He lowers himself into a chair on the opposite side of the table, placing a chunky tablet on the table. He plucks the mega-cigarette out of his mouth and presses the side of the tablet- the harsh blue light that erupts from it almost makes your eyes water. And then the harsh white ceiling light he turns on with a tap on the screen actually makes your eyes water. With a few grumbles, screen taps and hits of the mega-cigarette he finally meets your gaze.

“I'm sure you know why you're here so I'm gonna skip parts of this script they got for me-” He holds up the tablet with a flimsy grip before putting it back down- from the brief glimpse you got of all the text on the screen you couldn't be more grateful. “Gimme your name. First and last.”

>[SHORT & SLIGHTLY STANDOFFISH] “Write in.” | This man is willingly smoking Asteroid Blues, he's clearly just like you. Antisocial.

>[REHEARSED & PROPER] “My name Write in.” You fix your posture and reach out for a handshake. “To whom do I owe the pleasure?” | This man is willingly smoking Asteroid Blues. Some order in the chaos (his life) would be good for him.

>[HAPPY… LIKE WAY TOO HAPPY] You reach out with a strong smile and, forcefully, shake his hand “My name is Write in! Nice to meet ya!” | This man is willingly smoking Asteroid Blues. He desperately needs a friend.

>[REJECT SOCIAL CONVENTIONS] Stare and say nothing. | This man is willingly smoking Asteroid Blues, clearly he doesn't want to do his job.

>[WRITE IN] In the words of a great philosopher: “Ahhh go crazy.”

We will make a few choices then we will start.

No matter how much you tried, and try you did, you had never seen your teacher this serious, this focused and grim. Unless a call from the Greater Spirits came, which they did....not too rarely, but this was a different kind of feeling to her eyes you'd seen when those came. This was like your teacher, wise and learned as you knew her, was preparing for an End. An End that she could see but had spoken nothing of to any of the village or even you for that matter, which absolutely unsettled the Chief of course, as they were, by right, to be told of any impending danger and doom, by the claws of monster or hands of man.

Unless this was the work of Spirits.

The thought alone gives you a shiver.

Spirits, being of incredible power and strange variety, had never caused the village any trouble for so long that the idea of it was a small heresy to even imagine. No spirit sent a message without reason, never came to the village themselves, never even seemed to consider the village as anything but something far out of the way and you had the idea it was because the place was so awfully boring and routine. The way you saw it and how your teacher described, which you thought she was really good at since she told much cooler stories than that old stumbling Storyteller who peeked in on lessons with that scowl on his wrinkly face. You'd never say that out loud of course, but you hung onto your great teacher's every word as she spoke, and a part of you fears how quiet and focused your teacher is. How grim their eyes are and how her usual smile had been thinned to a line of pure concentration. You feared, perhaps, the pact she'd told you of at the begining of your lessons had been broken. Had the Greater Spirits called on your teacher to settle some debt the village had incurred? Has there been a breach in the pact so severe that only her head could satisfy them? Had the Greater Spir---

"Child", calls your teacher as she fastened the straps of her old and yet beloved travel pack. The thing has been around the study hanging from a hook for almost as long as you've been her pupil. You almost thought with how it was always there that it might be her first pupil but as silly as it is, it was always there as she taught you her lessons of communication with spirits and important rituals. "I need you to visit with the Elders, especially the Chief. I've written a good few things on a letter they must be given, a good few things they must know, how to do them, and the why of the matter. I need you to hand it to them and then go to the workshop, gather the Skygem before going inside, and then lock the door behind you. Do not open it for anything. Do not open it even if the chief himself comes slamming on it and ordering you to."

1/4(?)

First Thread

https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6231928/

Discord for updates.

https://discord.gg/wJeyQCXT

Dhav Charater Sheet;
Half Orc
Wizard Level 1
Str8(-1)
Dex12(+1)
Con13(+1)
Int15(+2)
Wis14(+2)
Cha10(+0)

Passive Perception; 12

DC 11

Dark Vision; 60 Ft

Items of note

Wizard Cloke of Comprehend language. +1 to magic related rolls, 1 charge of Comprehend Language per day.
Ring of Sparks; 1D5+1 damage lighting, guarantee hit. 1 charge per day.
Bar of Hersey chocolate.
Pack of Lucky Strike tobacco Cigarette (6/6)
Bottle of Beer brand American beer

Spells;
Cantrips.

Light
Mage Hand
Ray Of Frost (D20+5 to hit, 1D8+1 damage)

Level 1 spells (1 charge/day)

Detect Magic.

——————

We are among strange people in a strange land.

We encountered these strange people for the first time on an island they named ‘’Pinewood Island’’. A entire small island given over the ‘’Boy Scouts’’, an order dedicated to training young men into rangers of some sort.

Americans are universally human. A industrialist people of craftsmen, warriors, and sailors who are from a realm inhabited by solely humans. They seem to have some sort of hierarchy when it comes to the variants, or as they would say, ‘’races’’ of humans, as of writing this is only known from testimony of one of them. In short, pale skin humans seem to be regarded as higher than other variants while also being the majority, tho a notion not uniformly shared among their people. Their language is known as English, their flag is a 13 red and white striped flag with a blue box in the top-left corner with 48 white stars. Their culture seem to hold great importance to weapons, namely a common, but yet to be demonstrated weapon known as a ‘gun’.

Tho I have so far only encountered one faith of these people, Christians, who believe in a god I been calling Father of Jesus, a title I have adopted for the god due to he’s only apathet being God, Father, and Jesus being referred to as he’s only son. They also believe only their own god is real. They have made mentions of ‘freedom of religion’, this imply that their society must contain those who believe in someone other than Father of Jesus. Their symbology is that of a crucifix, sometimes bare- other times with this beloved ‘Jesus’ on it mid execution.

Their realm is known as ‘Earth’, the English word for dirt. Lincoln Island was simply a small segment of a much larger empire known as the United States of America. A empire led by an elected leader and who have elected leaders pass laws, on paper any adult can vote but there been mentioned of unofficial limits and laws on voting based on the hierarchy.

What have we done to deserve heaven? If it is our place, why are we here? We are unjust and terrible creatures, and our hell is to ever look at heaven and demand that we be allowed entry. Utopia is heaven- Socialism is heaven’s gates, yet Heaven is no place for humans, is it? We are allowed our glimpse of paradise, yes, but we shall never claim our dreams. We would suffocate as a fish does out of the cold seas.
-Charlot Doumer, “We Are of the Night”

-----

It was afternoon on Monte Nocca- a lovely place for most who came here in the beginning of summer, but the one held in highest regard upon it was thinking of being elsewhere.

Vittoria Bonaventura had returned to the mountain once again- that lonely clutch where one half of her bloodline hailed from- and if mother and grandfather were to be believed, they had been there since before even memory of mankind, but to her that was just the Vitelian disease and Mosshead arrogance intermingling, in a way she refused to let fester in her head. The Judge had been merciful in making it blonde like father’s. Yet that did not deter grandfather from calling Vittoria by her new alias, and more comfortably than he spoke her name. Remiel. The same name was what she was summoned by now, further up the stony trail.

“Don’t drag your feet, Remiel,” her tutor in mystic lore and art said from ahead, his voice seeming more like the wind that blew over the mountain trees than particularly human, through that mask of his. He loomed as high as a peak too, in a way. “If this is to be your last lesson for a while, then you should pay close attention. Get a good score, heh heh. Prepare you for where you’re headed.”

“Whatever you’re having me do,” Vittoria said, “I don’t think any of it’ll have anything to do with the Azure Halls. The Dawn and the coming days in its light.”

“If that’s so,” Zeitgeist said as he walked slowly, his steps cloistered by his coat as though a curtain rose and fell on each foot forward. “You’re off, soon, to have your head filled with the dreams of others. To, heh heh, be told how to be wise, Remiel.”

“As though you’re against the concept of education,” Vittoria grumbled back, amusing herself with her teacher’s pace by weaving back and forth amongst the stones on each side of the mountain trail, “Utopia is the future, the inevitability. I might as well be an expert in it, especially if I want to help father. I can’t be of any use if I don’t know all there is to know. You said yourself that this tradition and mysticism is trapped in the past.”

How humiliating.

You, the First Princess of the Flower Kingdom, have been unceremoniously stripped of all your jewels and finery before being dumped buck naked into the Hollow Labyrinth. You expected many things when the Boar Empire invaded: losing your head, being forcibly wed to the son of their emperor, or even getting passed around between their lowborn soldiers like a cheap prostitute in the worst case. Being forced into a naked dive of the Hollow Labyrinth - the lucrative yet dangerous dungeon that sits beneath Rose City - to earn your "freedom" was not on the list.

The scrying orb recording the whole affair for the sick and twisted entertainment of Emperor Buta and his five demon generals was to be expected. The Boar Empire has a habit of tormenting the royals of conquered nations. Unfortunately for him, that pig Buta mistook you for an ordinary woman, the weak and vulnerable sort who would shrink up when her gowns were torn away as if hiding her shame.

There is nothing shameful about your body.

Your skin is like flawless white marble, your lips like plump red rose petals. Your eyes sapphires, your hair spun gold that falls in perfect curls, your features chiseled by the artistic hands of your personal trainer over the course of twenty five years into an immaculate monument to tomboyish athleticism. You worked hard to shape your mind and body into a treasure greater than any of the silks or jewels those brutes stripped from you, and if they thought you would shrink away humiliated by putting the fruits of your labor on display, they are fools.

No, what is humiliating is the fact that these barbarians managed to overwhelm the elite forces of the Flower Knights with nothing but human wave tactics. Not what they've done with the power that they hold over you now, but the fact that they have any power over you at all fills you with a deep sense of disgust.

"Once I've conquered this dungeon, I am going to kill you," you tell the scrying sensor and whoever is behind it. It is not a growl of anger, simply a statement of fact.

There is no exit from the Hollow Labyrinth, not until you defeat one of its Floor Bosses. Even then, you suspect that pig Buta sealed you in with one of the tools that locks dimensional space until the last bost has been slain. No doubt he wants to display your broken and mangled corpse to your people, to demoralize them even further.

Well, you will not give him the satisfaction.

Many paths are open to you now...
>A set of grand, red double doors requires much force to push open.
>A narrow passage winds off into the darkness
>A broken portcullis allows access to a gently moving waterway
>A once hidden door has fallen open, revealing a secret hallway.
>A light above is a hole in the roof. You can climb to it

ANTON PEAS: Cult-Crusher! Mob-Masher! Lord… Licker? You’ll, uh… you’ll have to workshop that one. Whoever you are, you’ve come a long way from being a simple grill-jockey–whisked away from your dead-end job and dead-end life to Zoral: a fantasy world shrouded in everlasting darkness, your proverbial ‘dance card’ has been pretty much filled!

Sure, you’ve got a few new friends to back you up: TZAH-TZIE: a mischievous musician who just so happens to be your NEW SPECIAL LADYFRIEND, VOLKA: gentle giant and Grand Marshall of THE LAMPLIGHTERS: a volunteer group working to keep the city safe, MOROOK: a big-eyed bushman you managed to spring free of a cult base and Volka’s adopted brother, and REZALITH: a feisty fiend who, after a falling-out punctuated by her flying away to what you assumed was certain death, has returned unscathed!

Maybe. A botched spell left her unconscious at a crucial moment on her quest, so who knows what really happened? Still, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss the darn devil!

She couldn’t have come back at a better time, either. In your quest to reclaim your fuzzed-out memories, you and your pals have headed North to UMBERAL: a bonafide CITY OF TOMORROW run by a rogue’s gallery of SPICE CARTEL MOBSTERS and ARCHMAGE TRIER--the former having some history with your Bard beau, the latter one of four targets of the devil who currently has ‘dibs’ on your soul: RED.

THE FOUR LORDS have ruled Zoral for years… maybe it’s time for a change? In exchange for their souls, RED promises you aid in the ensuing battles AND some help restoring your missing memories. With demonic powers in hand, you might just have a fighting chance! Hey, it’s not like you’ve got 20,000 BELLS to buy you a lead on getting back to Earth, right?

Your hands are full, to say the least, but none of that can distract you from another inconvenient truth: your ex-girlfriend LIZ somehow found her way into Zoral! Why? That’s the Million-Bell Question, isn’t it? You haven’t the foggiest how she’s gonna react when you meet up… if you even run into each other, that is, but as bad as you left things, you really hope she’s okay…

She’s a tough gal, though. If anyone’s gonna need help, it’s you!

Taking your first steps into the gem of the North, THIS is where your tale continues…

https://youtu.be/1lR8VLt1Xlk

''Great and powerful he was, tempered in the ways of war from a young age, full of vigour and ideas. But in comparison with his father, he was overbearing and autocratic, though clever enough to hide it. His time in Mithras had given him a taste for absolute rule, and he would do his best to replicate it."

-Brother Dietpold of Marlhof monastery, Gesta Adlershorstenorum.

It was the summer of 1260 Anno Curia. After the initial setbacks suffered by the Duke of Greifswald, his eldest son and heir had brought back home new successes. Albrecht von Adlershorst had, with some success, reversed the gains made by the order since the unfortunate battle of Kleist, which saw his father crippled. Now, he had brought upon the Order of the Argent Star a new blow which erased the previous disgrace from the minds of the Greifswalder nobility.

Now, with the initiative once more on the side of the Greifswalders, the energetic heir of the duchy has resolved to use the gap in the enemy as best as possible. If he were to succeed and trample all the Vollinger Mark and Prauthia beneath the hooves of his steed. While Duke Dietrich recuperates in Rittersbach, his son Albrecht may very well claim for him a new crown….

General links of varying importance.

Pastebin: https://pastebin.com/u/Adlershorst

DeviantArt: https://www.deviantart.com/adlershorst

Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Settler%20Lord%20Quest

Welcome to /qtg/, a place to talk about quests.
Previous thread
>>6243967

>What is a quest?
An interactive story in which a Quest Master (QM) writes and provides the readers with options on how to proceed — similar to a choose-your-own-adventure book or an old text adventure

Questionably Useful links:
>QTG discord: https://discord.gg/dZavHuK
>Skirmish discord: https://discord.com/invite/DZCVvVU
>Evo Game discord: https://discord.gg/v55Xaaja
>Old pastebin containing advice for QMs:
https://pastebin.com/Z78p8gXf
Badly in need of renovation.

>Archiving guide:
Go to http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/requestqstinterface.html
Fill out the request form to archive a thread.
Threads are also automatically archived by other websites, such as archived.moe.

>Formatting guide:
Only the thread's OP can format. Note that should the OP change ID, they will lose this ability as well.
Remove the spaces between the [] brackets and the letters:
Bold: [ b ] text [ /b ]
Italics: [ i ] text [ /i ]
Red: [ red ] text [ /red ]
Blue: [ blue ] text [ /blue ]
Green: [ green] text [ /green ]

>Formatting guide for everyone:
Dice (type this in “options”): dice + [no. of dice]d[no. of sides on the dice] (optionally you can add modifiers: dice + [no. of dice]d[no. of sides on the dice]+[modifier]; for a negative modifier type: +-[modifier]

Examples: dice+1d100 = a 1d100 roll, dice+1d100+10 = a 1d100 roll with a +10 modifier.

Spoiler: [ spoiler ]spoiler[ /spoiler ] or by pressing alt+s in-thread (doesn't work in OP)

>QM question
What are common traps for Qms?
>Player question
What vote or decision surprised you?
>Lurker question
What's your spirit animal?
>Miscellaneous question
Any run ins with the paranormal?

The world is ash.
The sky never clears.
And it is all your fault.

Once, you stood at the pinnacle of mortal ambition. As an archmage of the Red Hand, you commanded armies of zealots, twisted the forces of the world to your will, and cracked open the forbidden seals of the lower realms. Together, your cult summoned the Demon Lord—a living apocalypse who devoured the lifeblood of the world. Magic itself guttered and died in his maw, the oceans boiled, and the continents withered. When his hunger was sated, nothing remained but ruins, corpses, and the scattered remnants of his horde.

And yet... you endure.

You are immortal, though no longer mighty. Every spell has fled from your veins. The rituals of power, the storms of fire, the curses that once bent kings to your will—all gone. What remains are the secrets: hidden truths gathered over lifetimes of study, whispers of older catastrophes and how ancient races clawed their way back to power. The world has ended before, and it will rise again. But only if you seize the knowledge to restart the current of magic... no matter the cost.

Max-Tac. Within the ruthless, blood thirsty ranks of men that have surrendered their humanity for military power in order to put down insane cyborgs little different than themselves. Were to be found specialists. Those that had moved beyond the threshold of humanity and become fully machine, or far worse.

You are Lt. Walker. Head of Night City's C-SWAT Task Force Extreme Contingency Unit. Code Name "Demon Slayers." Assigned to deal with full body borgs gone cyber psycho, Weapons of Mass Destruction, and paramilitary uprisings within Night City.

You are a twice fully converted borg unit. Only your skull, spinal column, esophageal track, and genitalia remain of your original body. These systems have been heavily modified once for placement within a Dragoon Borg body during (Classified) conflict in (Classified) through usage of a specialized frame of (Classified) manufacturer. Your present body is a "gifted" bio engineered rehabilitation "frame" cloned from your original genetic samples and (Classified) enhanced tissue samples. For all intents and purposes you look like an ordinary man when out of uniform. You feel like an ordinary man... feel FeEl FEEEEEELllleeeeesssssssss... an ordinary man. You are armed with unique biological armaments and enhancements. And, along with your task force duties you are obligated by contract to report (FEEEEEEEEEEEDDDDDDDDDD) on any resulting symptoms and unique physiological experiences. Two unique bio ripper units are in your hands and arms. And, your tongue can form a unique, blue "whip" like proboscis weapon. Your nerve enhancements sometimes cause illusions of temporal perception or precognition. Ignore the sense of déjà vu. This is merely biological feedback forming a sort of intuition (INtuItIoNnnnnn).

You wake up with a start to the blaring sound of a notification coming in through a priority channel. It's Rex. your unit Sergent and immediate subordinate. He's a fully converted Borg, Heavy Weapons Specialist, and former comrade in arms that served with you in places you'd prefer not to remember and aren't allowed to tell anyone, ever. You answer him.

"Boss, we've got a live one. Three Militech love children gone full psycho in an upscale joint in a shit hole part of town. Called the Golden Cafe. Our ETA to pick you up is a minute twenty, unless you want to meet us there... in that "way" that you do."

>"Fuck you Rex, don't discuss classified technology even over a secured line. How many times do I have to tell you that?"

>"I'll meet you there." Hang up on him without another word and proceed to the call location through your special way.

>Tell him to come get you and hang up.

>Tell him to handle the situation without you and that you'll meet him later after clean up.

For generations, the Kingdom of Lindan has been under siege by an otherworldly threat. One that with naught but a wave of the hand can level entire cities. Demons from Earth plague the land and wreak havoc wherever they go. They hail from a barbarous and most unusual land and possess skills that defy all magic, science, and logic. Known as Cheat Skills, these abilities let the Strangers from Earth gain extraordinary power without any effort. As such, every one of these Strangers can bring on the end of all times should they desire. Yet, despite the insurmountable threat the Strangers possess, the Goddess’ Inquisition has sent these beasts back each time. A thankless job that has seen these heroes who exist above the law become more reviled than praised, but a job that is nonetheless required for the future existence of Lindan.

You are one of these Inquisitors. Well, kind of. You are Lorina de Lindan, third to the throne of Lindan and the Imperial Princess. Though someone would be forgiven for forgetting that fact if they were to look at you now. If it wasn’t for your oh so expensive attire, you might even be mistaken for a common forest bandit! It isn’t as though what you’re doing now, waiting to attack a carriage filled with nobility, in the middle of the night, is much different than their usual habits.

Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=The%20Isekai%20Inquisition

Your name is Vincent Cruz. You work at a small accounting firm somewhere in the middle of nowhere, Texas. By accounts, you are a complete and total nobody.

You've spent the last five years of your life doing the same monotonous routine day in and day out.

Wake up. Catch a bus. Suffer the indignity of underfunded public transportation for an hour. Arrive at work.
Get a cup of coffee. Go to your cubical. Work on financial and tax paperwork for eight hours.
Go home. Watch TV. Get a restless six hours of sleep.

30 GOTO 10.

That's the way it's been up to this point. The job pays well enough and the other options weren't much better.

Today begins as much as any other day. You step off the rolling hunk of steel which you could call a bus and into the looming shadow of your workplace, a grey steel and glass monolith that holds nothing but human misery inside. Just how you like it. Ha.

Your body and mind prepare to go on autopilot to get through your routine. Your legs carry you forward automatically and your face is set into the daily mask of impassivity.

You're stopped by the receptionist before you can even step foot into your office.

"Mr. Cruz." The chipper receptionist offers her usual plastic smile. "Mr. Cantwell would like to speak to you."
Oh. Great. Your manager wants to talk to you? You can already imagine the dragged out conversation he's going to put you through.

You slump your shoulders. "Okay. Thank you." Your body swerves down the hallway opposite of where your office is. It doesn't take long to find yourself in front of his office door. Lucky bastard actually gets an office all to himself. You knock on the door. No answer.
You check the doorknob and it's...unlocked? Huh. You open the door to reveal a room completely shrouded in darkness. You can't see a damn thing in here.

You have half the mind to leave right now... but you might as well see this little jape all the way through. Why not? You step inside and the last thing you remember is two metal prongs being jabbed into your back and the accompanying surge of electricity flooding through your entire body.

You wake up after God knows how long. You can't see anything and, as you try to get up, you realize your arms and legs are tied to something. There's a few whispers and footsteps then the bag gets removed from your head. It's still too dark to make out much of your surroundings, but you can make out what's immediately in front of you.

There's a man sitting on the other side of the stainless steel table that you're forcefully sat at. He's an older gentleman wearing a simple white labcoat with a turtleneck sweater underneath, late 50s if you had to guess. He adjusts the desk lamp (the only source of light in this room) to get a better look at you.

"I apologize for the, erm, troublesome circumstances that surround our little introduction." He lets out a forced chuckle. "To keep it brief, you've been promoted!"

>It is June 1st of the Year 70 of the Cosmic Era

>Previous Thread
>>6252039

>Tip Jars: If you enjoy the writing, consider sparing some dimes if you're able.
>patreon.com/Maxwelllallwell
>ko-fi.com/maxwelllallwell

Frieden Moon, Natural Cadet-in-Training of the ZAFT Voluntary Militia. Has found themselves press-ganged into early-service as the Grimaldi Front Campaign sought the best-of-the-best prospect to participate as a number-boosting maneuver kickstarted by Founding Council Member Patrick Zala.

Truth lies ahead as Frieden embarked on a long journey across the stars, His first test in real frontline combat just about to start.

Nine years ago King Aiden Perenolde betrayed the Alliance and sided with the Horde of Orgrim Doomhammer. Nine years ago Prince Alric Perenolde, the second heir of Alterac was sent into exile for his own protection. This exile turned permanent and Captain Normand Garside, your guardian for the past nine years made sure that you were safe and learned the useful skills that would help you in the future.

Now you are ready to carry the responsibility and unite the scattered Alteraci people and reclaim the lands that were once the Kingdom of Alterac.

With the campaign in Durnholde over and the loose threads there and back home in Dawnholme tied up, Alric for a moment could turn his thoughts towards enjoying a nice trip to Stormwind City with Malevus as this grand date.

But of course nothing can go as he wants and after dueling Grom Hellscream and getting wounded in the process, Alric realised the political reality in Stormwind being a much bigger and more complex obstacle. The melancholy of King Varian had for all purposes dragged the City to halt and only drastic measures could help the Stormwind City to recover. At least that was his and Lady Katrana Prestor's thinking.

Welcome to Alterac Resurgent Quest!

…

Twitter: https://twitter.com/MedivhQM
/qst/ Archive: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Alterac%20Resurgent%20Quest
Prince Alric Stats: https://pastebin.com/rysxdRsv
Quest Mechanisms: https://pastebin.com/CyD88qqf
Character List: https://pastebin.com/FkYd6wkJ
Side Character Stats: https://pastebin.com/aRfyksUG

1244, La Forbie.

The hot winds swept across the sands. The last drop of strength left your body. Yet, you held on to your sword. The lumps around your face burned inside your helmet. Beside you were your brothers in arms, finally fallen after many years of suffering. Soon, you will die too, and the ordeals you've faced will be over. You look at your left arm across from you, resting on the ground. The world has yet to darken. You did not see the gate of heaven yet.

Death certainly came at his own leisure it seems…

Then you saw it.

A world swept by hellfire. Demons and soldiers of darkness invading the lands, spreading indiscriminate savagery. Amidst the black army, there was the king. A tall figure draped in dark cloak and clad in black steel, riding a black horse, wielding a mace crackling with blue sparks. The world swallowed by darkness, ruled with fear and heresy.

The vision ended, and a burning bush appeared.

“Your work is far from over, stand up. Protect the innocents and nurse the ill as you have done before. Rise,”

>Rainier, Knight of Saint Lazarus
>Thomas, Knight of Saint Lazarus
>William, Knight of Saint Lazarus

When you opened your eyes again, you woke up on a bed of soft green grass. The smell of trees and faintly sweet fruit. This… This can not be Heaven. Not after what you saw. The voice, the burning bush, if what you saw was real, your work was not over.

“Stay away damn you!”

You followed the panicked voices. Like your visions, men clad in black armor with tar skin chased a small family. You sprung into action and let out a bellowing war cry. These sickly creatures turned their attention to you. Good, the family can get away. You reached for your weapon, a

>A longsword (two-handed)
>An arming sword and a shield
>A battleaxe (two-handed)
>A mace and a shield

This quest will only last until 10/3 but I plan to update daily!

Katya found herself in a small, well reinforced and rather dark chamber. The only source of light was a softly humming red light, her looking up at it and awaiting what would happen next. An alarm sounded from behind the metal door in front of her, before there was a hiss of air. The doors slid open, Katya looking a little uncomfortable as she blocked out the bright and sudden light with her wing. "Step forward, subject ATO-4013." A calm voice would say over the intercom, the young and still small owl subject doing as told. The chamber she was in was rather large, sterile and empty. Katya tilted her head and looked at all the tiny details she could spot. Dents on the wall, spots where large stains had clearly been, and even some bullet holes. And looking up and to the side, Katya saw some glass, behind which several scientists stood, including her very own father...

Katya would smile and wave a little bit, though would quickly feel a soft shock around her neck. "Do not interact with the staff, ATO-4013." Roraima's voice echoed over the intercom, Katya looking down and nodding quickly. Katya would keep looking around, soon noticing a metal door on the other side of the room. Katya quietly looked at it, already hearing that something was waiting behind it. "Subject ATO-4013, todays training will be different from previous trainings. Instead of facing off against mock targets or facility staff, you will now train with another subject. You are authorised to use any and all force to defeat said subject. Is this clear?" Katya looked horrified. Never before had she had to hurt a subject before. She was scared of hurting what was essentially one of her siblings. Though, she was also terrified of upsetting Roraima. She didn't want to be shocked, or worse. And yet, she also didn't want to hurt anyone innocent. "Y-Yes, Roraima." She said whilst trying to hide her fear. After all, she knew that Roraima hated seeing fear, even if this left Katya terrified...

Katya saw the doors open, her trying to remain calm, as her opponent revealed themselves. The subject in front of her was one she had seen before, but never really talked to. It was a completely dark subject. Her hair was pitch black, her skin a similar deep dark hue. She had three large dark horns which connected to her back which appeared similar to that of a beetle. Her hands appeared like large black daggers, almost looking reminiscent of a mantis' claws. She was a foot taller than Katya, but was still only 5 feet, small for a subject. Her white cloths which covered her torso were the only thing which did not appear completely black, along with her confident red eyes. The subject had a calm, confident yet reassuring smile, stepping forward as if they were just formally meeting. "Subject AB-90, you will fight against subject ATO-4013. You are authorised to use any level of force against her. So long as you do not hold back. Is this clear?!" Roraima said in a more agitated tone.

The locals call the city Shuǐmén. In the commontongue of the Northwest, it is better known as River’s Mouth.

It is called one of the so-called Three Sacred Treasures of the Goldenriver Men of the Far East; of them, it is perhaps the most renowned. Its spice, silk, porcelain, and especially their alchemical medicine is so world-renowned that the merest scent of them can lure Man, Dwarf, and Elf from across the desert-dry and bandit-besieged expanses of the Goblin Wastes, or through the warring beastman chiefdoms of the cold rim of the world. It is said that the great alchemical philosophers of the Goldenriver Race, whom they call ‘cultivators’ in their commontongue, can turn water to wine, lead to gold, and rejuvenate the elderly so that they may be young again.

You came seeking one such man who went even further than that.

His name was Ziwei Bo, the enigmatic and outwardly-unimpressive proprietor of the Emporium of Wonders. To a layman, his shop was just one more overstuffed bargain bin of magical and alchemical curiosities. Neither shop nor shopkeeper was as they seemed, though, as the most learned hedgemages and occultists of the East alone knew. Ziwei Bo was a lich, and his emporium a demiplane where even Death Himself, the Lord of Endings, could not find and claim the undead cultivator’s soul.

At least, not until you showed him the way.

(To everyone who signed up, I hope you are ready. I know I am. I have decided to start us south of the entrance to Eirenopolis (One of the largest cities of the north, lead by the priesthood of Selene). Your path takes you north, running parallel to one of the world's major mountain ranges. To your left, you can see foothills and vast plainlands. The group is abord an airship, by direct order of Mechaine. You are being sent to verify the strength of the Men of Iron. They are situated near a great breach, which leads directly into the prison which holds the blacklight. An esoteric field is all that holds it in, and the machines which maintain this field draw all matter of creatures which must be held off. Please enjoy!)
You have each been picked, to reasons known to none but Mechaine, to operate one of the very first prototype airships. Speed is of the essence, which is why you use this vehicle. However, to avoid being spotted, you are forced to go around the long way, and approach the great breach from the north, where Bellatist territory does not span. As such, you will soon be passing by Eirenopolis, and will travel east through the Northern Mountain Kingdoms, before once again heading south. Your ship is somewhat low on supplies, and you will need to stop to get more soon. While you could likely reach the Northern Mountain Kingdoms before you ran out of food or fuel, the area is harsh, and finding supplies is likely to be difficult. Accompanying you are a few ship hands and engineers, who are responsible for seeing the ship in good maintenance. Who are you, and what do you wish to do?

Humanity has spread out into a massive sprawling empire throughout the galaxy. The edges of the sprawl remain poorly guarded and sparsely settled after all humanity throughout a thousand stars has always been alone save for their own creations which once waged war against them. This is no longer true now an unknown force has begun to attack sector 63 and other sectors and it is up to poorly supplied and desperate sailors to hold them back.


You are the Admiral of the naval fleet of sector 63 one of nearly a 100 rimward sectors on the edge of settled human space. The war for that is what this truly is now apparently has seen you as the last of the remaining Rimward commands in the area. The food situation handled youve also collected a much more advanced but smaller Escort carrier that was sent by MidRim command as reinforcement. The enemy who you still call birds are apparently some sort of forceful colonization effort sent force by some sort of priesthood.

Agent Barry has asked what you want the NAI to focus on when it comes to research on the birds, Technology, fully translating their ;language and written word or perhaps something else?

>Technology
>language
>Write in

Thread #1: http://thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6212686/

>Found Egg
>Hatched Egg
>Grew a Daughter
>Got kidnapped by the Fed
>Forced to work with the Fed

The cold wind blew through the ruins growing out into the sky from the ash desert. The leeches at High Command had ordered your platoon to move through the desolate hell to reach a point of interest the survivors from the previous suicide trip reported. They had graciously provided yours with barely enough supplies and hover vehicles to ensure operational self sufficiency. You swore at them under your breath once again.

As your squad glided between two broken concrete monoliths which seemed to reach as high as the clouds, you turned and asked your Navigation Engineer:

“What’s our ETA Kara?”

“At our current speed we will be arriving at the beacon in T-minus 20 minutes sir.” She responded.

“Good, keep your eyes open. Scavs tore the other expedition into shreds, there might be hostiles in the area.” You replied.

You looked back at the viewing panels, giving you a panoramic view of the land the hover-APC was zooming past. The usual ruined buildings and cities that looked like a particularly spiky tumour of steel and concrete no longer seemed to be as common as it was 2 hours ago. The rare pillars that went up to the atmosphere now were far enough into the horizon that it would take at least half a day for you to get to the base of the column with your convoy.

Straight ahead you saw the ever present ash desert, the grey sea only got illuminated with occasional flashes of a rad storm brewing up off-pink lightning. If you weren’t inside the APC the smell of ozone would be overwhelming, since you were, the only smell was disinfectant and iron.

You are Charlotte Fawkins, Herald and heroine. With the power of your positive spirit, you have overcome deceit, defeat, and divine possession, and now you are going to save the world. First, though, you need to get your stolen Crown back— no matter what obstacles lie in your way. Or boring meetings.

"You're late, Ms. Fawkins."

Lucky is as glad to see you as always. "Am I? Or are you just being—"

"Don't sweat it. We weren't that far in." Eloise pats the chair next to her. "Lucky likes repeating himself, anyway, so it's like you won't have missed a thing. Actually—" Here she stage-whispers. "—we already knew a lot of it, so—"

"Mr. Blaine is offering his own insight," Monty says patiently. "It's nice to see you, Charlotte. Sit down, will you?"

You were planning on it— have been trying to, actually, but the chairs in the Wind Court meeting room are uncomfortable-looking and, more crucially, don't have holes in the back. You settle on sitting at an angle, so to not crush your tail. "Where's Madrigal? I thought she'd be—"

"She had other business to attend to. I'll fill her in afterward. Mr. Blaine, could you start over?"

"It appears I must. Unless we have other visitors I should know about?" (Monty shakes his head.) "Very well. From the beginning. At an unknown point early this morning— most likely between 2 and 4 AM— a barrier sprung up around, roughly speaking, the entirety of the Corcass. This barrier is circular or ovoid, pitch black, several hundred feet high, and unnatural in origin. It is impenetrable to casual testing. The perpetrator of is barrier is no mystery, because identical barriers have been sighted progressively eastward for approximately a month and a half. They are the work of—"

"Jean Ramsey!" you say.

Lucky looks down his nose at you, then shuffles his notes. "It's impossible to know how you might've guessed that, Ms. Fawkins. Yes. Ms. Ramsey, or, in the popular imagination, the 'Hero-Queen,' generates these barriers for the purposes of 'The Game.' This is what she has dubbed the flagrant waste of—"

"We're on the same page about this, Lucky." Eloise has leaned back in her chair. "Specifics."

(1/5)

Quest Hub (stats, party, location, neofauna information, date, time, etc.): https://rentry.org/PokepocalypseQST

Quest Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Pok%C3%A9pocalypse%20Revival (Start here if you want to catch up on the quest's previous threads!)

Updates will be attempted daily! At worst, expect an update every 2 days instead of one. Absences will be announced in advance and given definitive end dates if I can manage it.

<><><><><>

In the year 1884, within a world much like our own, the country has fallen under threat from all manner of otherworldly creatures!

Demons have begun laying waste to our great United States! They wield powers matched only by nature's own, combatting her natural fauna with their own unnatural forces! Control over fire, lightning, even one's own perception of reality... such creatures are not to be trifled with, and best avoided!

Yet, despite this common-sense advice, there exist people eager to ignore it! Walter Roy Buchanan, an aspiring naturalist from New York state, is one such person. He believes not in these demons' immense danger to human life, but in their utility to humanity! He sees them as more than mere threats-- instead, he considers these "neofauna" to be the key to humanity's future.

Walter carries with him four such creatures: a wounded sheep with the power to rend Heaven's lightning unto earth, dubbed "Mary"; a gentle silkworm five times the size of his earthly ilk, dubbed "Taylor"; an anxious young elemental with the power to paralyze his foes, dubbed "Florian"; a fiery young stallion with a mane made of flame, dubbed "Aster".
He is joined, too, by two human companions: a wealthy state-and-businessman known as Thomas J. Steele (with his own demon, dubbed Indiana), and Thomas' hired bodyguard: a man by the name of "Andrew," whose own interest in demons almost seems to match Walter's enthusiasm!

These three gentlemen belong to a group of rebels named the Staters, brought together by State Governor C. P. Huntington's atrocities and kept together by their intimidating leader: Aaron Muyr. They have recently suffered multiple consecutive losses: their headquarters were compromised, several of their members were killed in a raid on their base of operations, and the entire city's military presence has been strengthened in response to their activities... all within merely a few days! The Staters exist now as a motley band of young men and other disgruntled citizens, working to dethrone Huntington and save California state from his murderous hatred of neofauna, never meeting in the same place for longer than an evening so as to avoid further disaster. Walter has become an invaluable asset to the group, working to boost their morale and teach members about how best to befriend and utilize neofauna to their advantage while personally tutoring Muyr in the matter for payment.

YOU are SPIGOT and you are BORED.
It's Friday and there's still some sunlight to burn.

What will you do today?

>a)ASSEMBLE THE TEAM:
>[1]Start with your pal PANTS
>[2]Or your old chum DEUCE
>[3]Maybe ATANDT?
>[4]Or your main man R-wait who...?

>b)STAY HOME and PLEASURE YOUR DONG

It has been seven months since you, the Courier, shrugged off the yoke of outside oppression and declared the Mojave a free state. Putting yourself at odds with the Bear, Bull and other minor powers seeking the riches of the region, you are instead transforming it into a power to be reckoned with.

From negotiating a ceasefire and eventual treaty by walking all over the NCR Diplomatic Corp, to landing a million-cap joint investment to rapidly expand the industry of the Mojave, you have played it fast and loose with the mighty Republic. Time will tell if this influence will spell the end of the independence of the Mojave.

Flirting with the NCR doesn’t match the situation you find yourself in with the mighty Caesar and his Legion. After agreeing to operate on his tumor, you not only planted a seed of paranoia but assumed the place of Augustus to his Julius, opening a potential path to inheriting the mighty Legion.

While playing these two great powers off of each other, you also have a frosty relationship with the Brotherhood of Steel, who surely have their own machinations with the dusty safe haven from the NCR.

But you’re not just a robotic warlord with a state, as you've declared the New Vegas Directorate to be the government of the Mojave, with the Courier Council as the legislative body, you as the executive and an independent judiciary to reflect many of the same tenants of the old world. You’ve created a military, a series of funded governmental departments and have begun the delicate dance of private-government ownership of the economy.

But will you be able to stop factionalism from infecting the infant nation? There are former Enclave soldiers, ardent Republicans, self-interested Wastelanders and other unknowns all nipping at the heels of power and a populace as equally diverse.

The domestic threats pale in comparison to the dreaded Boomer Blight which has the potential to wipe out all life in the former United States and beyond, snuffing out the dream of a strong and independent Mojave.

With the brain of Mr. House still in a coma, the NCR too focused on the Legion and Caesar himself lost in delusions, will you be able to harness advanced technology to secure not only an independent Mojave but one which can rise above what has always plagued man?

As the twenty eighth tyrn of Pavilion begins much of the world is embroiled in a desperate war of some sort or another. The Domo empire collapses, a titan emerging from its corpse, leaving a path of death in its wake. The jungles of the west are thick with blood and broken chitin as two monstrous hives wage bloody war. In more distant corners of the world scholars study the mysteries of the world, spirits of magic and the sometimes thin veil between worlds. Wizards brood in their towers, the adenic elves retreat from the world, and peaceful Vencia watches the wars to the south with concern. But for a moment let us consider the actors on the stage.

> The Holy Kingdom of Barza
Wielders of mighty geomantic and divine power, smiths, missionaries, and above all else soldiers, the Kingdom of Barza has worked tirelessly for many turns to contain threat after threat to Pavilion. With arcane metals that purifies darkness and can cut magic itself they stand as protectors of this world.

> Orcmanie
Far to the north Orcmanie stands as a bastion of peace, a stabilizing force for the region raising their considerable martial might only ever in defense of others. Armed with finely crafted steel and accompanied by mighty beasts they have accrued a vast empire.

> Vencia
A peaceful people, yet one ready to defend themselves the people of Vencia concern themselves more with fine food and the contemplation of the divine than the art of war, though considerable construction of mighty walls speaks to the war filled lands to the south.

> Ordalan
A land of fierce warrior women, divinely empowered by fire and lightning. Some are called demons, horned and silver skinned. Others are called weretiger, never fully human again. All call themselves Nixen, defenders of Ordalan, sworn to vengeance against their many enemies.

> Krovia
A surprisingly spiritual people, the hulking sharkmen of Krovia are fierce warriors to be sure, using blood magic to both heal and empower. Nonetheless the sharkmen are cunning diplomats as well, striking deals as often as they launch their fearsome raids.

Threads 1, 2, 3, 4: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Halo:%20Spartan%202%20War%20Reports
Active Spartan Roster: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/12PTTzwcNVbQbIC101lrcrQQZKWhK3myTLWEQ0A1ybj8/edit?gid=0#gid=0
_
Sven-033's Qualities: [Special] Giant, [Special] Spartan-II, Maverick, Officer [Lieutenant], Wunderkind, Inspiring.
Sven-033's Advancement Paths: Brawler: Open Hand: 5/10 Bulwark: Unbreakable: 5/10 Grenadier: 4/10| Diplomat 1/6 Infiltrator 1/6 Scrounger 2/6 Tactician 1/6| Jotun 1/4
Sub objective Progress: Artificial Artisan 3/?| Blade Breaker 1/?
_
Current Mission: Mission 4: Operation: FALLEN- VALKYRIE

Mission Wide Optional Sub Objective : Accomplish primary objective without causing Alarm or alerting the locals/ rebel elements to the Spartan presence on black sands

Secret mission wide objective: Prevent the Einherjar on Black Sands from warning the others


Violet Team (Sven-033, Shika-108, Nesta-097, Illya-077)
Primary: Capture or Terminate VIP, Ingrid Askeland, Einherjar Political asset Codenamed Herfjötur, and retrieve her remains if she is neutralized

Optional Sub Objective 1: Capture additional Einherjar non combatants alive or dead

Secret objective 1: [FILE ENCRYPTED]

Secret objective 2: Capture or destroy the first and last shipment of "Bad Medicine"
_
Indigo Team (James-005, Daisy-023, Cal-141, Anton-044)

Primary: Neutralize the Elite Einherjar Unit, the Rødt skjegg, either through complete decimation or extreme loss of irreplaceable veteran fighters

Optional Sub Objective 1: Capture "Erik The Red" Alive

Secret Objective: Prevent a false flag attack planned by the Red Beards, intended to cause further public distress and lower trust in the trustworthiness of the UNSC's peace making efforts
_
Lilac Team (Naomi-010, Jorge-052, Solomon-069, Malcom-059)
Primary: Ensure the safety of non einherjar aligned insurrectionist leaders/ groups

Optional Sub Objective 1: Keep all the VIPs alive to Mission end

Optional Sub Objective 2: Keep more than 50% of non essential members of the delegation alive to mission end

Secret objective 1: [FILE ENCRYPTED
Secret objective 2: [FILE ENCRYPTED
_

"Illya, lets talk shop" You say, keeping alert and scanning the Landing Zone's perimeter

"About what, Sir?" She asks immediately, pausing her own watch to glance your direction to acknowledge your request. Which was important, as you hadn't ordered her to give her two cents

"The Covenant Elite Soldier Caste" You tell her and she nods, understanding that you want to have a tactical discussion

"We call them Svartalfar" Shika chimes in "Sven came up with it"

"So that's why the operation was called that" Illya ponders outload "Kurt and the rest of us took to calling them Alligators, Svartalfar is a bit of a mouthful"

"So is Alligator, in all fairness" Nesta butts in, running her hands through her red hair and shaking it as she enjoys the sun and the breeze washing up from the shore.
Cont

BRINGING IT BACK EDITION
Choose your name and starting location to play

“Let’s open the chest.”

The sharp, reinforced scalpel plunged into the Rangdan’s chest. Pangea grip’s tightened, then pulled the blade down and into a Y shape. The tough skin needed a steady pull from the mechanical arms, once open, Pangea and Amar examined each organ. Pangea nudged, pulled, and eventually cut out the organ after studying them, following Amar’s instruction more than doing the examination on her own.

“So, how are you feeling, daughter?”

Pangea looked across from the Rangdan corpse. “I’m fine… Why do you ask?”

A sickening plop popped as a tweezer pulled a circular organ. “To see if you’re feeling well. Are you?”

She glared. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? I—”

The table rattled as Pangea slammed her fists on the autopsy table. “I said I’m fine! It’s not like I’m mad that Father chose to rob me of my legion, my retinue, and the glory of hunting down the Rangdan, the xeno race I found first!”

“I see.” Amar said. “Pangea, the Great Crusade does not reward missions to those who found an enemy first, only those who are fit.”

“And I’m not fit enough?”

“I did not say that.”

Amar set her scalpel down and powered down the mechanical arms.]

“That’ll be all for today, get some rest.”

After the autopsy, Pangea…

>Visited Kharn and Greer in the medicae facility
>Visited Vulkan
>Write-in

https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=The%20Imperium%20of%20Man%20Princess%20Quest

The Caretaker Quest - Part 7

This is part 7 of the "side quest" for "Disappearing Hogwarts".
An unofficial alternate timeline based on HeadQM´s highly praised quest, Disappearing Hogwarts.
Reading the original story is not exactly necessary but heavily encouraged since this quest will contain references to it.
Created mostly as a place to wait while HeadQM was away for a while but slowly evolved into his own thing.

Quick recap so far:
>Recently graduated Ravenclaw student is hired at Hogwarts as the new Caretaker.
>Merlin somehow ended up inside your head.
>Harry Potter´s daughter died, letting Salazar Slythering (previously stuck inside her head) free to continue his quest to control The Beast, an all powerful ancient creature accidentally created by Merlin.
>He is currently now trapped inside a poor and weakened girl named Artemis.
>This bought you valuable time while you learn how to contain The Beast
>Hogwarts is slowly becoming an administrative mess now that Harry Potter himself disappeared.
>You have a private investigator lurking around Hogwarts and is heavily suspicious of you.
>You also learned an ancient powerful spell
>Fought Artemis while she was possesed by Salazar and took her to St.Mungos after defeating her.
>Merlin regained some of his senses back and you are now lurking around St.Mungos looking for an explanation.

What will happen now? Let's find out!

Part 6 here >>6236973

links to previous threads
Part 1:
https://archived.moe/qst/thread/6038711/

Part 2:
https://archived.moe/qst/thread/6080818/

Part 3:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6122821/

Part 4:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6159531/

Part 5:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6196175/

Part: 6:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6236973/

List of currently archived threads
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Caretaker%20Quest
Thanks to IlvermoryQM for the links!
(if anyone can figure out a way to save the ".moe" threads into "thisisnotatrueending" that would be much appreciated)

Welcome back.

Rules are simple: Votes are tallied every hour, with whatever course of action being the most popular being the course of action taken. Write ins are encouraged and non-mutually exclusive votes will be combined if possible.

When a roll is called for, roll however many D100 are specified. 5- is a 'crit fail' and generally means something bad is about to happen. 95+ is a 'crit success' and generally means something good just happened. a 'crit success' trumps a crit fail. User input on both will be taken into consideration.

Once per thread, if three or more people invoke it, a single roll may be re-rolled.

Inventory, pokemon stats and other links: https://docs.google.com/document/d/15i2N08IpWqitoTJujsUMishe4PLbao1lqT-bCAmvPcE/edit

Discord: https://discord.gg/pR7q5Evf

For a short summary for the new and to recap:

You are Alex. A newly minted trainer and camping enthusiast just starting out on your journey at the age of seventeen after your father lost his job in order to help pay the bills. On the road, you met Fie, the Fire Gym Leader, Gareth a novice Aura Guardian on pilgrimage and Holly, a runaway heiress using a pseudonym. You've also made enemies of Team Green a group of violent, radical activists looking to abolish pokemon training.

Recently, Fie returned to her gym for the time being.

Last thread, an inopportune Nat 1 prompted you to return to your hometown in order to find Latias after some rich bastard tried to steal her, wrecked your house and injured Kay O-o in the process. After punching him into next week, you spent the night with Jacky's family and secured a seventh 'Companion' slot on your team so you could keep Latias with you at all times. You also agreed to do some survey work for Professor Conifer and were just discussing your reward...

Previous Thread: >>6259213

ANOTHER HOUR TICKS BY as your fingers glide across your phone's keyboard. Chatting with randoms from the internet seems to be the only thing preventing you from sticking your face into the frying oil out of boredom. You check the clock on your phone: 12 PM. You can't help but sigh. You still have 5 HOURS until the end of your shift, but you have yet to TAKE YOUR LUNCH BREAK.

You are TWENTY-ONE (21) YEARS OLD. You hold an ASSOCIATE'S DEGREE IN SOCIAL MEDIA MARKETING because a cute girl you liked during freshman orientation told you she was pursuing it. It is one of your biggest regrets. You are an EMPLOYEE at BIG M BURGER, off the corner of First and Market. You've enjoyed eating here as a kid for years, and now it's the only place in town that'll hire you with your degree. The food is subpar, but it's not the worst thing to eat for free during your lunch break.

You would really like to see your life improve sometime soon, but for now, texting takes the edge off of how shitty your existence is.

No c alchile aganle una broma a estos weyes no se quienes sean pero mis compas me dijeron

You are Fiona Jarnafeldt, L2S Trollslayer, and you are in serious trouble.

Today you were deployed on a mission to save dozens of kidnapped citizens from the starving squatter city under Helsinki. You saved dozens from a sect of cannibals, only to come across a strange realization; they may have been receiving aid from a rogue government agent who wanted nothing but to see the system you work for destroyed. This rogue agent, a living tree by the name of Zephyr, operated within the Stormdrain to provide... something to the underdwellers. Information, probably.

Maybe it was him that helped pull strings to delete camera logs. Covered the tracks of the thieves. Maybe he even told them about what was carried on a train that came into Helsinki the month before you joined, causing a battle that killed dozens of Stormwatch members.

On the train was a suit of pneumatic powered armor, fashioned from kevlar and carbon fiber components from the stormy city of Chicago by their advanced heavy robotics division. This suit was made exclusively for an elite member of the Stormwatch of lanky proportions. The intended owner, L4 Nonoka Sumika, has an unusual and atypically tall and thin stature that should have made it so, even if stolen, no regularly shaped human could be able to wear it without so much modification that it couldn't work.

And yet, that suit stands in front of you, fully operational, standing eight feet tall, its broad hat casting a black shadow over the thing that has come to possess it.

That thing is an aberration of humanity, that goes by the name of "She." Given its stature, it would be rated as a Troll, but being armored in what it is, it's far more dangerous than its class suggests. Though sources had claimed She was a Finnish river spirit by the name called a Nakki, this is something else entirely. The sensation of water observed by others was misinformation gleaned from the pneumatic exhaust of subliminated hydrogen radiating from the suit and sound She seems to keep uttering, a verbal tick similar to the sound of residual hydrogen mixing with air to form water.

Po, po, po.

Your name is John, your parents were both famous adventurers in their day. They raided the dungeons of the dark wizard Grayzag, got arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct in at least four separate taverns (maybe more but they got too drunk to remember), fought pirates and got fooled by mimics MANY times. Your dad, a Wizard/Fighter multiclass, and your mother, a Sorceress/Bard multiclass have returned to adventuring now that you're out of the house.

Why are you out of the house? Well you just finished your training under an experienced adventurer, white haired, beautiful, famous, but stern and commanding, a famous hero in her own right, and being her pupil is a real stroke of luck.

>In the course of living with your parents you've developed a unique trait, pick ANY one Feat from the available list, or suggest a home-brew one.

>https://dnd5e.wikidot.com/

In addition, to complete your training, your mentor had you complete ten minor quests, everything from killing four skeletons that were haunting a grave to beating an orc in a fistfight (he'd been getting drunk repeatedly in a nearby tavern and scaring people, nice guy besides that, apologised in his cell). You've saved a girl from a kidnapper and his pair of knife wielding thugs, hunted a boar for your dad (technically counts as a quest! He signed off on it and everything!), protected a trade cart from goblins, freed a bridge from bandits, helped a frightened wizard get his magic beads out of the guts of a constrictor snake, killed a trio of hungry giant frogs which had been lurking near a halfling village, caught and beat a warlock who'd been murdering his enemies at night (eldritch blast HURTS) and stopped a cultist swordsman, Daemon Darkblade from stealing a dragon egg. He escaped, but only just, swearing revenge.

For each of these quests your mentor made sure you received a signed contract, with your name, the employer's, and hers, sealed by the two of you as well, to ensure you would have plenty of documentation to prove your identity and skills as an adventurer in person, as well as prove that you were her student. You avoided using your true family name, as you wish to build fame, if any, on your own merits.

>What name did you sign?

>What name did your mentor sign?

>You earn 1000 Experience from your victories!

Your mentor taught you the basics of your class before even your first quest, and ran you through training for weeks between each of them, reviewing what you'd learned, keeping you humble, and preventing you from making future mistakes. She accompanied you to a degree on each quest, but left the talking and the violence to you. You were there to show you'd learned how to be an independent adventurer, and you did.
But what mold did you fall into in the end?

>Level 3 Fighter
>Level 3 Wizard
>Level 3 Rogue
>Level 3 Ranger
>Level 3 Multiclass (what?)

>Pick your class and Archetype (if any)

>All your ability scores are 14, pick 4 proficiency

https://dnd5e.wikidot.com/