/qst/ - Quests

Last time, the highly anticipated return of the Kingdom of Coziness is here. Its newer two residents are your queen (Lydie) and your maid (Kushi)! The comfy lands (Beth’s bed) are being enjoyed together under the stars (a tent in the backyard). You’re feasting together with cake and tea!

“As requested, esteemed Chef Ando.” Kushi hands over a big tray with all the items you asked for.

“Please, serve yourself some. There’s cake aplenty.” You’re a magnanimous king. Your goods are the Kingdom’s goods. “As I said, join us!”

“Very well.” Kushi doesn’t mind eating even more cake, better with you by her side. The entire group is on the bed now.

“Dear Maid, you implied there’s something that you want from my precious gem no matter what. Pray tell?” Lydie doesn’t forget any details.

“Look at how I’m dressed for five seconds, and take a guess. Even if I prefer if you don’t.” Maid Kushi is a little upset to explain as she covers herself with her arms. “You want to embarrass me even more, don’t you?”

“No, no, no! I want to learn more about you. Beauty is expressed in different ways, and I want to learn yours. You’ve been a revelation so far!” Lydie doesn’t mean anything bad by it.

“Only he can fulfill this role.” Kushi refuses to say more.

“Don’t underestimate me! I bring love, glory, and beauty wherever I go!” Lydie’s spirit can’t be dominated! “Limits are records for me to surpass!”

“Perhaps I overestimated your… intelligence.” Maid Kushi believes her attire isn’t enough of a telling sign anymore.

“Eat, my maidens. No need to chat when I’m about to come up with a new request.” You play again with your phantom beard.

There are no limits for you either… Tiny Kata (A Cake Fairy, don’t ask about it) says as much… Remember, you’re showing these girls’ qualities to Lydie!

What do you do?

>You’re getting curious, is there something Lydie wouldn’t do? Ask to do something she thinks is inappropriate for you. Remember, she has a warped sense of the world, so she could do anything...
>Ask Kushi what she wants you to provide, and do it if you can!
>Let Kata lovingly take control of the situation and make an example out of these two! She’s gonna tease them lots.
>Let the girls use Nina as the softest cuddlebug they can have! Add more comfy to the Comfy Kingdom. The teacher will love them back…
>Have Sally pamper Lydie so much her brain can only think about wanting more. Have her become a maid who will help Kushi too!
>Have Beth dominate Lydie and Kushi’s senses with love. She’ll make them follow all her orders…
>Have Liu be the most cutesy girl around! Lovingly tease her together!
>Write In.

This is the end of the world. It's also the birth of a new one, or an old one, depending on who you ask. Maybe it's more like an overdue arranged marriage.

You might not have been fully aware, but the world used to cast a Shadow: a separate realm of spirits, kept away by a barrier that only a certain few were ever meant to cross. Spirits are capricious, rarely logical, and often dangerous beings composed of the essence and energy of all things real; scuttling reflections with their own arcane hierarchies and motivations.

But every wall has its rats, and the barrier between your world and the spirit world was no exception. The Beshilu are a nasty manner of demon - derived from and connected to the spirit world, but fettered to the world of flesh, and gifted with many terrible abilities. They massacre and they multiply, and their only desire has ever been to tear down that wall between worlds... to gnaw at its foundations in greater and greater numbers, until the wolves could no longer keep them at bay.

They succeeded.

Too many tears. Too many crumbling wounds between worlds. The gauntlet was sundered, and when that wall crumbled away, the world of mortals and the world of spirits were merged into one. In those first terrible moments, everyone on Earth could hear a trillion shrill voices screeching out in triumph, and swarms of rats swelled across streets and forests in writhing tides.

The fabric of reality is now like a sieve, the threads wavering apart and stretching in new directions; space and time operate differently. The sun no longer rises, or sets, and light instead seems to meander from one place to the next according to whim. Places seem to stir and shift, reacting to their occupants in sometimes unpredictable fashion. The rules have changed, and will likely change more, but things will never go back to the way they were.

That was three days ago, and it would be a stretch to say the dust has settled, but you are adjusting to the chaos. You're a survivor, and while you may not fully grasp what's going on, you're not unfamiliar with the supernatural. You are determined to knuckle down and make your way in this fucked up new world....

>Cont'd

It has been millennia since humanity became a star faring race. Enough time for stellar regimes to have risen and fallen, for technologies to be forgotten and relearned and for a diaspora of life; both human and alien to spread across the galaxy.

The Raihan Empire is but one splinter of the human diaspora. At its height the Empire spanned eight star systems but eventually corruption and decay set in. The Empire collapsed, its great works crumbled, its worlds became isolated. For a thousand years it was so…

Until a new warlord arose on Raiha, one that managed to quell the disparate factions fighting over the Throne world. When all his enemies were vanquished he marched upon the palace district where the remnants of the Imperial family cowered. However, instead of seizing the throne for himself Arcturus Garan pledged himself and his army to the service of the remaining Empress and took the title of Lord Commander.

Together the Empress and Lord Commander began the process of rebuilding the Empire, first securing the home system, then bringing each of the wayward colonies back into the fold.

Five out of the original eight colonies have been absorbed back into the resurgent Empire. Only the systems of Noto, Higg and Kornen actively resist annexation. Together they have formed the NKH Defence Pact, or simply the Pact.

Now the Pact must guard its independence against the growing might of the New Raihan Empire. The odds are not in their favour, they are outnumbered and outgunned, but the Imperial Forces have not yet regained their full power and the war is not over yet…

((This quest is an indirect sequel to Space shipyard quest, knowledge of previous threads is not required but it will do much to add context. Previous threads can be found here: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=space+shipyard))

You are Tristain d’Rusalka, a noble from the United Kingdom of Fodlan born with unique abilities bestowed upon you by the Goddess. You have journeyed across the sea to the desert kingdom of Morfis after receiving an invitation to join a mysterious competition. Though you know little of the trials that lie ahead, the winner of this contest has been promised the hand of Morfis’ Princess, Yulia Xan Phanes, in marriage. Seeking adventures, thrills, and battles that would be worthy of your might, you embarked on this strange voyage with nothing but your trusted axe.

The competition for Princess Yulia’s hand has finally begun! Its first stage saw you and your rivals forced to fight through a horde of violent prisoners in order to reach the fabled Tower of Illusion. Teaming up with two of your foreign counterparts, you cleared the goal and were able to advance to the second stage, where a written exam on kingly matters awaited you. You were forced to put your axe aside and rely on your intellect and knowledge to tackle this trial.

With the second stage completed, you now await your grading, and the impending third stage, which promises to be your most rigorous challenge yet.

>Tristain d’Rusalka
>Level 38 Wyvern Lord (EXP: 0/100)
HP: 72/72 (130%)
Strength: 38 (75%)
Magic: 32 (50%)
Speed: 28 (40%)
Defense: 31 (70%)
Resistance: 25 (50%)
Luck: 28 (65%)

>Skill: Resolve (When HP falls to less than 35%, Strength, Speed and Defense increase by 7)
>Dragon-kin Wyvern (SPD based chance for Fionn to launch an ice attack, dealing ½ MAG Damage.)

>Weapons: Silver Axe (+16 ATK), Bolt Axe (+14 ATK, Ranged, Targets RES) Hammer (+8 ATK, 3x DMG vs Armor Knights), Devil Axe (+21 ATK, -20 HP when Used) Iron Bow (+6 ATK),

>Spells:
Fire (+3 ATK, 5 Uses)
Elfire (+7 ATK, 3 Uses)
Wind (+3 ATK, 5 Uses, 3x DMG vs Flying, 5 Uses)
Sacred Fire: (+12 ATK, 3x dmg vs. Terrors. 5 Uses.)

>Abilities:
Crest of Indech: You are able to make a follow-up attack on one foe, regardless of Speed. (4 Charges)
Crest of Macuil: Double the damage of a magic spell. (3 Charges)
Combat Art: Earthsplitter: Cleave all enemies standing two rows in front of you. (Cost: 1 Crest of Indech Charge)
Combat Art: Throw: (Toss your weapon at an enemy and return it to your hand. Ranged attack.) (1 Crest of Indech Charge)
Combat Art: Hit and Run: (Perform an attack that allows you to dodge the next harmful attack. Increases SPD by +7 for 1 turn. Costs 2 Crest of Indech Charges)

>Items: Concoction x5 (+20 HP), Light Rune x2

>Gold: 1800

>Tristain’s Party: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1mrlj-c7Oe51qIoat3LJfDSv0Bw2nmExQT2EqlKlWPGw/edit?usp=sharing

>Combat Rules:
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1m_UvIqCmBRzmrlu0mvttVkGRRI8bIkT6iTTrDR_J5zo/edit?usp=sharing

>Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Sorcerer%20Kingdom

ANTON PEAS: that’s your name, don’t wear it out! Originally a mild-mannered grilljockey, a botched demonic summoning brought you to ZORAL: a fantasy world shrouded in perpetual darkness!

You get used to it!

The memory loss and everyone trying to kill you? That’s the tricky part. See, your unexpected trip landed you in one Hell of a mess: not only did you lose a huge chunk of your memories, but you also forfeit your soul to RED--you don’t know the specifics, but essentially your summoning granted you some DEMONIC POWERS, so it’s not all bad!

What IS bad is what you’re up to now: your hellish helper can restore your memories, but he won’t do it for free! The price: delivering the heads of THE FOUR LORDS OF ZORAL: tyrants and titans that rule the darklands with iron fists, claws, and… you dunno, tentacles, maybe? There’s a reason they’ve ruled for so long, however, and despite your platoon of pals and plentiful powers you can’t help but feel a little apprehensive about the whole thing!

Exhibit A: ARCHMAGE TRIER. Arriving in UMBERAL: Zoral’s very own city of tomorrow, you were swiftly introduced to the TEKSOULS: menacing magitek that follow every whim Trier can think up… and you met the guy–he thinks a LOT!

Not to be outdone, you also ran into THE SPICE CARTEL--not only is Umberal their home turf, they’re also running some kind of deal with the Archmage… as for what it is, well, you shudder to think!

Your search for leverage over the Archmage took you to TRIMBAULT ACADEMY: Zoral’s most prestigious magical academy, and whole you managed to snag some goodies and teach a surprisingly-decent class (don’t ask), you didn’t manage to find notes other mages took on their Archmage adversary! Even worse, all signs point to The Cartel snatching them up for their own perfidious plots!

Luckily you had an in: TZAH-TZIE, skilled songstress and your current beau, has an axe to grind with her musical rival LUTZA. Having saved the starlet from a kidnapping on the Umberal Skyrail, you earned your way into holding a concert in Umberal, and some of the biggest names in The Cartel just happen to be huge fans!

You were just about to plot out the details at the glitzy CRYSTALMELT HOT SPRINGS LODGE when you ran smack-dab into The Cartel’s higher-ups… and the big cheese himself, VHALE NESSURMOS.

Did we mention he’s also your girlfriend’s husband? And that she freezes up like a clam on Pluto at the mere mention of his name?

Cornered by the Cartel, THIS is where your tale continues…

https://youtu.be/1lR8VLt1Xlk

>CONTD.

Totemists, one of the first lines of defense against the malicious and monstrous, famed slayers of Behemoths which are perhaps the most dangerous examples of such, and bridge to the domains of spirits and magic unseen. The role is not an easy one of course, but it must be done and has been since time before almost all written history.

You are Capran, young man of the Four Peaks mountains, pupil of Oranya Skystrike.

There has been a lot of unrest on the mountain slopes lately, the issue growing further with each day it seems, but with your teacher still guiding you, there will always be a way to deal with it the trouble.

Such as this post mimic, which stands on thin wood-splinter-like legs and angrily spears them into the ground beneath it at the failure of its ambush. You stand nearby your teacher and her friend Heyra, ready and willing to destroy this mimic.

Awful thing. You're rather happy you three are the one who found it rather than some poor patrol guard or villager.

>Cont

You live in Salmon, Idaho. Your small town has heard some disturbing rumors from the South that an army of mysterious robots has been killing and kidnapping people, and you've been chosen to go to Boise to investigate the truth and report back.

First, who are you?

Your name:
>Write-in
Your sex:
>Male
>Female
Your age:
>Write-in
Your SPECIAL (assign 40 points):
>Strength
>Perception
>Endurance
>Charisma
>Intelligence
>Agility
>Luck
Your Tag skills (choose 3):
>Small Guns
>Big Guns
>Energy Weapons
>Unarmed
>Melee
>Throwing
>Stealth
>Steal
>Traps
>Speech
>Barter
>Medicine
>Science
>Repair
>Lockpick
>Gambling
>Outdoorsman
Your background (affects starting gear and character interactions):
>Hunter
>Doctor's assistant
>Tradesman
>Trader
>Junkie
>Write-in
Your traits:
>Write-in
>None

Welcome to /qtg/, a place to talk about quests.
Previous thread
>>6271040

>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/xGZAX9tAvx
>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:
If you allow write-ins, what are the best and worst you've ever gotten that received votes? How often do you get write-ins better than your actual options? If you don't allow write-ins, why not? Would you ever consider it?

>Player Question:
How much do you take in-quest discussion into your vote? Do you just show up and vote? What would get you to engage with quests more if you don't already?

>General Question:
How would you get more voters to engage with quests other than just voting? Have you ever done an in-quest event for your players? If so, what?

>Lurker Question:
There is no question, vote.

>Miscellaneous Question:
Any big plans for the last part of the year? Get anything big done over the summer?

Your name is Vincent Cruz. You work in a shady government-backed facility in the middle of the New Mexico desert. By all accounts, you are still a complete and total nobody.

You've spent the last five days struggling to survive in this new world. Your new job now involves studying and researching various anomalous entities in order to make money for the Abnormality Regulation Coalition (also known as ARC).

Somehow you've managed to do a good job over the last five days, despite having no formal experience being a researcher. It's been a struggle to get adjusted to everything but you're shocked at how good of a job you've been doing.

You suppose it's not your first time dealing with anomalous entities. You have vague memories of this chained, bleeding heart that you encountered in the past. You don't know why but you feel like that thing is watching you. You're not sure why it's so interested in you, you're a nobody after all.

Maybe that's part of the reason ARC dragged you off the streets? Who knows. Nothing about your new job makes that much sense.

As for a recap of what happened, you just finished your latest shift. You had to fight for your life against a heavily armed man who wanted you dead. You managed to beat him thanks to sheer dumb luck and in the process, you're earnt the mild respect of some of your coworkers. The rest of the day went over pretty smoothly, all things considered.

You also met two new weirdos, Moxxie and Edward, who might be trustworthy enough to hire in the future. You need as many friends as you can in a place like this. Even if most of the 'friends' you have here are way too weird for your liking.

You owe Colt a favor now after you got him drunk because of an experiment. You need to find a way to get some rifle ammo for his gun. That'll be a headache to deal with but you do owe it to him.

You're now ready to start another day. To face the music, to endure whatever ARC throws your way. All you can really do is to find a way to keep surviving. Day after day, week after week, month after month. This is your new life now, whether you like it or not.

Oh well. You're a wageslave, all you really know at this point is work. You might as well do a good job while you're stuck here, right? There's not really any other path for a husk like you. Haaa.

ARCHIVE: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Low%20Rung
VINCENT SHEET/INVENTORY: https://rentry.co/VINCENTSHEET
ALLIES: https://rentry.co/COWORKERLIST
ANOMALY NOTES: https://rentry.co/RESEARCHNOTES

“HAHAHA, FOOLISH HEROES, KNEEL BEFORE MY GRAND MAGIC!”

Your skeletal body, adorned in robes that have lived longer than any human has breathed, lords over the fallen party of heroes. Your ultimate Origin Magic, though incomplete, has proven more than sufficient to take on the pathetic mortals sent to their knees before its might. Miasma-smoke fills the room, spewed by the necromantic fire left in the wake of your destructive magnum opus. However, to your incredible satisfaction, the Holy Sword itself, the only weapon capable of striking you down, lies corroded beneath the hero’s tattered frame, little more than a sparkly pile of smoldering slag.

Yes, your ultimate victory has been achie–

Pain unlike any you’d ever imagined stabs through your very being, a thin, needle-like blade jutting out from the cluster of mana animating your undead body, destabilizing it, causing your very being to quiver and weaken. Something is wrong— something is very, very wrong. . You collapse to the floor, your head snapping 180 degrees back to see just who had landed the killing blow. If your eyes could widen, they would: the Hero Michael, who you had thought collapsed in front of you, stands proudly behind you with an unknown blade in your back.

“H-how?”

“Lich King Atrebor,” the hero declares, his obnoxious condescension shamelessly leaking into his words as he drives the blade even further through your ribs, “you may have been wary of me, the possessor of the Holy Sword, but you paid far too little attention to my real strength: my friends.”

You turn your eyes back to the party: an illusion, a paltry trick, dissolves from the worthless entourage of the chosen one, revealing a golem in place of his second in command and that same eternal loser, Reinlock, in his place.

“Impossible!” you roar, “I was certain! He– he had the holy sword! He acted just as you would!”

“I’ve been chasing that bastard’s back my whole life, you undead bastard.” Reinlock snickers, blood trickling from his broken lips, “I know him better than the back of my own hand.”

This is infuriating but… it matters not. Your phylactery, the real vessel of your existence, is safe, in an unknown locale far from here. Or at least, that’s how it should be. Golden cracks start to form on you— first on your body’s mana core, then on your bones, then, horror of horrors, on your mana itself. “What trickery is this!” You scream, your rage powerful enough to shake the foundations of your castle.

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

Welcome to Knights of Nothing. For those of you who were part of “The Testament of Tatamu” quest a few years ago, this takes place in the same post-apocalyptic universe, albeit closer to the beginning of the timeline. The setting errs closer towards hard(er) science fiction.

For those who don’t know me, I’m Kaz, and I’ve been a QM since the last few years back when quests were still on /tg/ before we made the jump. My last active quest was “Star Wars – Interregnum”. For those familiar with me, it’s been a long time. Sorry for disappearing without any warning. Long and short of it was a mixture of burnout, writer’s block, and IRL/day job getting in the way of things.

In any event, I’m back in a limited capacity. I’m back in trade school and doing irregular contract work, which leaves a creative-sized hole in my chest. So I’m writing once more, with the goal of trying to do 1-2 updates per day. For those waiting for Interregnum, it’s coming soon(TM). My block was really starting to show towards the end of the last thread, and I need to square the circular peg on either fixing it or wiping part of the slate clean.

The mechanics of this quest draw heavily from the Fantasy Flight Games Genesys narrative dice system, albeit modified and changed for questing format, which is the same system that Interregnum uses.

Now, without further ado…

==============

The world stopped, then began anew.

>>Location: Unknown
>>Date: Unknown

The burden of consciousness is abruptly forced upon you – sudden and without any warning.

Your first breath is a wet, choking sputter that catches in your throat. Something thick and viscous coats the inside of your esophagus, nearly strangling you from the inside. Each attempt at inhaling or expelling only makes it worse, every aborted retch an aborted reminder that your body has seemingly turned against you.

Panic surges before rational thought can catch up. Adrenaline sears away the last remnants of a dreamless sleep, burning away a mental fog clouding your mind until only the rawest survival instinct remains, and a painful hyper-awareness of your immediate surroundings.

And then you feel them – cold, conforming walls pressing against your body, smooth and pliant, firm and unyielding as they conform to your panicked thrashing. Your hands slap against a curved surface only mere inches away from your face. The realization shoots through you like ice in your veins.

You are enclosed.

Entombed.

Trapped.

(cont.)

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 has finally turned in humanity's favor the once unending horde of bird ships, who you now know are called the Argono have finally ebbed away. Your industry soars and the first of the friendly fleets have begun to probe from Mid Rim sector 63 in your own sector to hopefully soon relieve you.

You're currently on patrol facing off against a small fleet of enemy ships made up of 4 battleships, 2 battlescruisers and 12 Heavy cruisers facing off against your veteran picket line of corvettes, destroyers, and several light cruisers along with your freshly converted semi guided missile cruiser. The enemies' lasers dance around the picket line as the push forward even as your missile cruiser comes to a stop and turns to give the enemy their broadside. There's several large flashes as all 12 of its missiles fire and burn fast toward the enemy capital ships. There is some swearing over comms as the missiles zip past the picket line and your strike craft but the pilots and captains are too busy dodging incoming fire as they loose their own torpedo strikes to give too much complaint.

Could I get a 1d100 best of three please

Past Threads:https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=BrinkQM

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.

Jail Quest: a text adventure occasionally illustrated.

A night of drinking and a failed attempt to cheat on cards had landed you the strangest job slash community service sentence you've ever had: ensuring Gongalla Gaol survives the reality storm called Singularity.

Now you travel around with your employer and a handpicked crew to survey the four Reality Anchors. Hey, beats being tarred and feathered, right?

Previous thread:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6274911/

Gongallaverse:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Gongalla%20Gaol

You suddenly jolt wide awake in an unfamiliar room, with no recollection of the past few hours. It even took you a few seconds to remember you are Rosa Montagni, and another few seconds to realize the other person in the room is your crewmate, Valencio. Slowly, hazy recollections piece together a loose narrative of previous events: you've reached Viridis, the first leg of your journey to the East's Reality Anchor, when you receive news that your go-to destination slash transport, the walking city Freeport, had problems with its engine. Then you were sidetracked into a casino, where you played cards and unwittingly aided a truant Hexbourne student against a haughty twin Hexbourne students sent to retrieve him. Then you got entangled in a complex emotional... something with the casino owner, Don Bosco. Something about your mentor, Sierra (no relation to Sierra, the deity of the South anchor) and copious amounts of drinking? That must be why your memory's so hazy.

> 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/yd3KbdCZ

With a few gods already out of the running, feel free to post a god sheet in the thread if you’re interested in joining in.

>Turn 11 begins!

Thread #2: http://thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6259613/

>Fed job takes you to a fairy tale.
>There is a robot in the fairy tale.
>Get cursed with a ghost.
>Met some of your co-workers.
>Broke ghost curse, sort of.
>Fed job takes you to fairy lands to find a missing person.
>Now, it's time to split up, team!

"We should keep moving and catch up to the NPC. My transformation only lasts a minute and we should make the most of it." You say motioning to the next cave entrance. Ryuji nods and tears his glaive free from the zombie just as Irene finishes her trance. The three of you regroup and begin to run through the cave system once more, all pretense of stealth lost. Not helping was the fact that Ryuji was constantly gushing and asking questions about your abilities.

"What else can you do? How long is the cooldown? What buffs do you get? Did the coat come with the costume?" He asks, eagerness overtaking any sense of restraint on his curiosity. "I don't know anyone who's ever gotten this far!" He concludes. You suppress a small sigh building up. You had expected him to explode with excitement given his love of the game but you hadn't really expected to see him get this excited. Still, you couldn't help but share a bit of his enthusiasm. How long had it been since you had eagerly spoken about the game with someone just as passionate instead of trying to avoid the conversation with non-answers? You pull back your helm, allowing it to fold back behind your head and somehow vanish causing Ryuji to let out a noise that sounded like a mix between a squeal and roar of excitement.

"It folds back..." He manages to eek out.

"It's on a 5 minute cooldown. So it's really more of a boss fight kind of ability though right now I don't think we have the luxury to hold back big CDs. While I'm in this form, these are considered two handed weapons." You say raising your fists. Ryuji's jaw drops.

"Waitwaitwait. You're dealing two hander damage with your fists alone? I've seen how fast you can swing those things and you're telling me they can hit as hard as a warhammer?" He asks.

"Yup. Only while transformed though. Untransformed I have the Brawler's [Powerful Fist] skill but it seems to scale better because I can't really wield anything else." You continue. "Also, I'm considered to be wearing light armored outside of my transformation and medium while transformed. Stacks with the bit of damage reduction my class gives. Class seems to give me a handful of abilities from other classes to pick from on level up but it seems to lean towards fighter and brawler skills." You pause for a moment. "But I get this feeling that there's more to it. Almost like the game is keeping note of what I do and adjusting for it. I got a weird quest regarding another player on the tutorial island and now I'm expected to grow under strife, whatever that means. For the moment it seems my class progression is locked until I meet some kind of requirement. Nothing about this class is straight forward and the power seems to compensate for it." You say, drawing your helmet back on. "If I'm honest...that's the fun part."

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 defeat your nemesis Jean Ramsey in single combat.

Your fall through Ramsey's cloak is short, and your landing is soft (though you're displeased to discover the tail interferes with any cool forward roll). You are in blackness. You're not certain what you anticipated.

When you stand, you spy the Crown first, then the mask, then the snake, then, and only then, do you make out the rest of Ramsey: she's 20 feet away, her cloak camouflaging her near-perfectly. You suppose this is her head, or pocket dimension, or... wherever. Ramsey's axe, taller than her body, glossy black, is camouflaged too, only visible by its glint: the Crown is shedding faint white light.

You draw The Sword— its flames do nothing to illuminate the space, but it seems like the appropriate thing to do. Ramsey cocks her head. "Boy, you sure are a pain in the ass, aren't you?"

The snake, glossy beige, loops down around her shoulders. =Like father, like daughter. Isn't that right, Wingnut.=

God-damnit! How much have you been spied on? You clench The Sword, refusing to rise to the bait, but it wasn't set out for you— Richard shimmers into existence by your side. His hand is on your shoulder. "She is my client. Do not drag her—"

"Hey, who the fuck is that?" Ramsey says.

=Wow. What the hell is that. I'd be laughing if I wasn't in-chassis, so use your imagination. Or don't. Here: ha ha ha ha ha.=
=This is what you have been reduced to. Human. And an inferior physical specimen at that. I don't know what I expected. Ha ha ha ha.=
=This is how your -daughter- thinks of you. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.=

"I dunno, Snickers. They don't really look anything alike?" You get the impression that Ramsey is squinting. "Is that actually your snake? Shit! I didn't know they turned into people!"

=The competent ones don't. Isn't that right, Wingnut.=

"I am perfectly satisfied with my current state of affairs, Snickers. It has posed no obstacle to my success with my client."

=You mean it's posed no obstacle to -my- success with -my- client. Thanks for the Crown, by the way. Couldn't have ushered in the Dawn without—=

"Oh, yeah! The Crown! Wow! Talk on your own time, Snickers, thanks bunches." Ramsey pushes the snout of her snake upwards. "Charlotte Fawkins."

You've been trying to think of cool things to say. "Yes, evildoer?"

"Ohoho! Evildoer! Nice one. You stole Wayne's crystal, didn't you?"

You did, and thank God for it. It's under the armor, against your chest, hidden by your Magyckal Aura. "No."

(1/2)

It's been a while, hasn't it? Let's start from the top.

You are Kyle Mercer. 23 years deep into a life of suffering. Though, you gotta admit it is far better to give than to receive.

It's reductive to say you "hear" voices. Truth is, you don't hear shit. You feel it, and it feels good, don't it?

You are a thrall, a slave, bonded to the house of the Chieftain of this village in order to pay off your late uncle's debts, under whose scornful eye and ready hand you had been formerly raised.

Though the debts are formidable, your labors these past seven years have diminished them to the point where a release seems no longer impossible. You cannot claim that it was by your diligence alone that this was accomplished; the Chieftain's generosity also played a substantial part. He took you into his own home, to serve as a companion for his only son, and has always dealt fairly with you as he does with all his subordinates. Indeed, he seems more eager to see you freed from bondage than perhaps even yourself. And it is that sentiment, along with a hundred other kindnesses he has shown you during your time of service, that compels you to remain with his house, even after your freedom is achieved.

It is an outcome not entirely unwanted by the Chieftain either, for your service has revealed the possession of certain worthy talents.
>You have a natural genius for sword-skill. A quickness of eye and hand that are unmatched in the village, which you have developed into a kind of preternatural sixth sense for danger.
>You have a gift for making others feel at ease. Your good looks and skill as a raconteur are contributing factors, but it is your naturally sunny disposition that charms all who meet you.
>You have a prodigious gift for symbols, figures, and other abstractions. Your sense of measure is especially keen, making you an ideal craftsman, shipbuilder, or even sailor

Somewhere in the southeastern United States is a small town named Whispering Oaks. The town has a population of roughly 10,000 people and it’s situated about an hour’s (assuming good traffic) drive away from the nearest big city. There’s nothing particularly special about this small town that sets it apart from the rest, but it’s your small town. It’s where you were born and raised, and it’s where your family’s planted their roots.

It’s an off year. The president was elected last year and the midterms are the year after this, so there’s not much in the news right now, election wise…except in Whispering Oaks. Not only is every seat in the city council scheduled for re-election, but so too is the mayor.

You’ve thought about it for a while, but now you’ve decided: this year, you will run for mayor, challenging the sitting one.

But first, we must figure out some key things about you. It should be noted that some of these factors will influence your chances of getting elected.

>Name.

>Age. (Must be 18+)

>Sex.

>Occupation. (Can have multiple)

>Education.

>Political party. (Democrat, Republican or Independent?)

>Do you live near the center of town or on the outskirts?

>Physical description and additional character information. (Optional)

Now that we’ve settled you, let’s take a look outwards…more specifically, who is the incumbent that you will be challenging? What’s the state of the town in?

>Easy: The mayor has done a bad job running Whispering Oaks. Development has stagnated, infrastructure is neglected, business and people alike are leaving. They’re expected to lose re-election, assuming that they think it worth bothering to run in the first place. They’re expected mayor’s broad unpopularity is directly sinking the rest of the city government’s approval as well.

>Medium: The mayor has not done a bad job running Whispering Oaks, but they haven’t done a great job either. They’ve stopped the town from falling backwards but haven’t done anything to make it grow. The sitting mayor is painfully average and electorally a blank slate. Their chances of being re-elected are about 50/50, depending on how good of a candidate they’re up against.

>Hard: The mayor has done a good job running Whispering Oaks. Businesses and people alike have flooded into the town, the roads lack any potholes, the streets are safe and—most importantly—people are happy. It would take some serious scandal, awfully-handled crisis or a once in a lifetime candidate to take this mayor down.

Choose wisely. There’s no changing your decisions afterwards.

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.

Politely saying everything had gone to shit. King Varian in his melancholy and delusion had arrested Prince Alric for what he saw in Alric's part in Lady Katrana Prestor's attempt to wrestle the control of the Kingdom of Stormwind to herself. In reality Alric had been the voice of reason and tried to negotiate a peaceful solution to all this.

What had followed was a swift counter-coup and Malevus found herself being chased by a bunch of thugs wearing the King's tabards. Danger, intrigue and diplomacy filled her days as she was steadfast in her mission to rescue Alric.

And now she is on her way to the Stormwind Keep, into the Lion's Den to rescue the man she loves so much.


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

It is the chirping of the birds which first jolts you from your stupor, proudly sitting upon their trees, singing jollies to and fro of the merry morning lights. You, who had found no rest, no shut eyes throughout the night, take it simply as an ringing pain on your head. For though you had momentarily found yourself lacking in cognition, it was not rest which you had felt, but a lapse in concentration, a departure of your thinking to some state of sickly torpor.

You had not slept for the entire night, and certainly, it hath given no benefit to your condition. But then again, how could you, with the challenges that you faced?

You are Alessandro Galliota, the Viscount of Portblanc. That much you can be sure of, even in your sorry state...you, who had been brought here to this land of Nera, this distant land from your own, by your great liege Don Carles IV Brascarams. You had come here to wage war in the name of the Spisa family, allied to your country, against the forces of the Fortelli, friendly to your foe. You had launched a campaign throughout their borderlands, partaken in a siege, and most of all, you had faced a force far mightier than yours, many times greater in both number and capability, aided by scores of Himmmerian Giants, those most fearful of enemies of the human race. For a whole day, you had succesfully fought them of, and, shattering the bridge which they sought to take in an pivotal moment, you had sunk to the depths of the river hundreds of their men.

You escaped death, too, by a hair's breadth, when the infamous Famiglia, those mighty knights of Nera, armed with beastly amazonian mounts, had been able to momentarily breach your formation. It was only by bidding your musketeers to fire upon them even as they fought your own men that you had survived, though at the cost of your entire retinue. All those things and much many others had happened yesterday, in this battle upon the Vessena. This battle, you are certain, has not ended yet, and it is this which brings you trouble. For today you must seek out victory and find a way to hold your foes at bay until the city of Montechia falls!

For now, however, breakfast will have to do. Shaking yourself out of this stasis, you raise yourself from the piece of wood that you had used as a seat for the night. Because you had fled into the grove to make your camp, you did not have the amenities of your lordly tent. Of course, compared to those amongst the soldiery who did not have any tent at all, you were not in a poor state. You order one of your servants to gather up whatever is available for you. What you receive, after some time, is...some bread, and some of the cheap rum that was served to the soldiery. Though it be enough to fill you, you cannot help but feel some manner of bitterness in the knowledge that you stand but a few minutes of travel away from your supply wagons.

Welcome Back! Due to some new job shenanigans this is a bit late but I hope you guys enjoy the new cover art for this thread. Last time we played; Mark had accepted a night shift working the guard detail for Bruce Wayne, suspected target of Kal. C. Late and Anarky...

Previous threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Gotham%20City%20Beat%20Cop%20Quest

======

"Let's put Bunko and Chen in the car by the road. No offense to 'em but Bunko's a little lazy and if he can take a shortcut patrolling he will."

Hawthorne chuckles dryly with a nod.

"Looks like you already got the next lesson taken care of. It's important to know your strengths and weaknesses but it's better to know your fellow officer's. Because when shit really hits it, it helps to know what to expect."

"Like with you?"

"Right. You know to be there to help me pull the boot out of their ass when I'm done with em." He chuckles with a wry grin that could be taken as cocky. But the glint in his eye lets you know it's well earned.

A conflict of muffled voices at the front draws your attention and just as fast as he grinned, the smile is gone and his jaw is set as he marches stiffly to the front. You watch him freeze in the door and a vein begins to creep up his neck.

"Bunko." He says in a seething whisper. "The man said no shoes..."

=====

The meeting between you all is short. Hawthorne makes his position clear, outdoor patrol goes to Banks and his partner while Bunko and Chen handle the main road. There's hardly any time for small talk as the butler, Mr. Pennyworth, is less than subtle in his desire for their to be as few people in the manor as possible. Hawthorne sets the channel for your radio checks and sets them for the top of every hour. Everyone nods in quiet agreement and you break for your patrol routes until Banks catches you by the arm for a quick moment.

"Hey D, just wanted to ask you about Kimble real quick. I worked under him and everything but we aren't like... tight or anything. But I know he feels kinda shitty because he gave me a hard time over the undercover stuff and he didn't know about-"

You cut off his rambling.

"On the clock, Banks. Whaddya need from Kimble?"

"I just wanted to invite him camping. Let him know it's water under the bridge, y'know?"

"Sure thing man, I can let him know. I'm sure he'd be interested, military dudes love camping right?"

Banks shrugs but lets out a relieved chuckle.

"Guess we'll find out. Have a good shift, D."

"You too, Banks. Be safe."

You watch him head out with Costas but you can't help but notice Costas' expression as he glances at you over his shoulder. Eerily reminiscent of the first glance you got from Rogers at the gym. His eyes flick over your shoulder and he quickly turns away, you glance yourself and see a stern faced Hawthorne.

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

Pls call me I am lonely and no friends. I dont mind any convo just be nice. +65 8907 3692

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.

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

Last thread, you beat Daniel, the Greenshoot Gym Leader, evolved Coolie into a Hydrapple, trained a whole lot, prepared to head out in the morning, had some friendly battles with Sarah and Tom which you lost and groomed your team...

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 is nearing a year since you, The Courier, fought and secured independence of the Mojave from domestic and foreign powers. Mr. House was put on ice, the NCR got sent packing and even the mighty Legion tucked tail and fled back East.

Now, the New Vegas Directorate, your new government, faces as many challenges as it does opportunities. Industry is rapidly expanding and agriculture is now firmly established while migrants from around the wasteland flood in looking to change their fortunes.

But the Boomer Blight, an engineered plague from parts unknown, is spreading throughout the Wasteland and little looks uncontainable. You continue to walk the line in courting both the NCR and the Legion, seeking to be a stable power between the two warring giants.

A new player comes into the picture and he brings with him hundreds of Enclave descendants eager to start again. You have agreed to welcome them into the NVD but time will tell if you can hide their influence from the NCR while keeping other factions happy.

With the looming NCR election, the hostile President Kimball seems poised to lose to the unknown Allgood Murphy while Caesar continues to see you as his Augustus, urging greater cooperation between both nations.

The one-year anniversary is rapidly approaching and while a grand celebration is planned, existential threats lurk everywhere and with Mr. House on the loose, you can be sure you’ll see him one last time.

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
_

Your nap is a fitful, restless thing, filled with nightmares and feverish dreams that you lose memory of quickly even though they trouble you greatly and prevent you from waking up energized and bright eyed. When you do wake up, your elder sister is sitting over you with a warm smile on her ghostly, frost flecked fur. And for a moment you wonder how much of your recent memories were a dream, before sensing withing yourself the power and technique that proves that most of them were in fact real.

"Did the spiders enjoy my bouquet of bone and meat?" You ask tiredly, fluttering your eyes as you sit up and lazily lick the back of your paw as you sister, who isn't shy about showing her distaste for your method of bribery and payment clicks her teeth and whines irritatedly

"Oh they were overjoyed by the delicacy of your flesh sister, and after I managed to convince them to try your...fruit, they found it most pleasing to their monstrous palate. In fact, they found it so tasty and spiritually rich and potent, they nearly abstained from eating your guts and limbs entirely" She told you, grimacing as she looked away "Did..did you have to slice of your breasts along with your thighs"

"Fatty meat is the most succulent and delectable" You answered with a sneer "Besides, both grew back as readily as any other part of me I cut off. It was the arms and legs that took the most energy and effort to sprout again"

"I really hope you aren't becoming like that mushroom girl or her family. You're a cat, not a rose bush" Xuebai hissed and you laughed

"I am Huanliuxue and I can be whatever I choose or aspire to be!" You declare loudly "But I'm glad the spider demons accepted my payment and..."

"They've given you an extra visits worth of protection, they were so pleased. Though, the way they devoured the fruits to their pits, makes me worry they might try and plant you in their garden as a permanent guest" She cuts you off, eyes sharp and icy

"Well, at least they're right minded enough to know to properly admired and nurture one as magnificent and beautiful as I" You brush off that actually somewhat disturbing thought of being potted like an orchid flower "And what generosity to extend the warranty of this red string wrapped tightly around my finger"

"They're making cat meat preserved in bloody wine in that manor over the refuse pit they live in"

"Must be a lovely vintage, always wondered how I'd taste pickled" You snicker, delighting in the sickened and nauseas look that crosses over your sisters face "Oh lighten up, I'd pay them in kind and eat them if I had the chance"

Cont

War War Never Changes.
They finally fucking did it. The bombs fell not long ago. The world is over. No more people. Just shambling radioactive corpses. No more nations just glowing craters, dust, and shadows of people that once were. No more seasons just nuclear winter. Shopping? no such thing. Have fun struggling to find a drop of water or a crumb of food that won't kill you. The rads oh god the fucking RADS, inescapable and everpresent. Truly the end of the world. Rapture maybe happened and whatever is left...well most people are quickly giving up on God. Kinda hard to keep believing when the world ended and you were left behind. Except for the zealots anyway but those guys are crazy as the cannibalistic raiders.

That isn't even getting into all the weird shit that keeps happening and becoming. Makes you wish it was 'just' a nuclear winter. Walking corpses. Mutants. Inexplicable anomalies. Unnatural terrain. Strange whispers that you aren't the only one hearing. Honestly it just keeps getting worse...especially with everything you have to do just to 'survive'. Living...living is just a luxury that only the pre war world got to enjoy. You meanwhile are just another poor sucker caught up in this clusterfuck trying to survive.

(This quest will be ripping heavily from games like Fallout, Metro, Stalker, and Bioshock basically anything that fits within the setting just to keep things interesting)

>Character Creation
The younger you are, the more bonus SPECIAL points you will start with. However the older you are, the more bonus skill points you will start with. You may choose any trait from any game OR include a custom option that may be vetoed by me IF its too unbalanced. Custom traits MUST include both positive and negative effects otherwise it's an automatic veto.

The first character will be a male because this is about a dynasty over the generations. So long as you have a living family member the game will not end however, your characters can and WILL die over time. A male starter character will provide insurance. So if you are an elderly grandpa, the minimum is 21 SPECIAL points. Just keep in mind old age is a real bitch, especially in such a hazardous environment(debuffs for age are a thing).

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 chased some precious treasures in the Stormwood rare event, and delayed a breakthrough for helping your little sect-siblings.
Right now, You are in a succesfull seclusion.

The president put on the ceremonial gowns, now knowing the terrible conventions of society.
A forbidden fruit, offered to her by subordinates and friends, that which they all deemed an essential part of youth; the what to say, the what not to say; the great secrets of seduction; the three gazes of the man-eating leopard; “The height of skirt that melts the inexperienced virgin”. And she endured it all, like a woman. She endured to have them play with her, as if a rag or some mauled doll; only by the time they began to imply that the size of a bag was perspectively proportional to the osseous width of her body, she had already ran out of patience. And with the skirt, and the blouse, the inconspicuous accessory and the invincible bow of black hair, victory was served with imminence, and tremendous prematurity.

As the lead of the Paranormal Investigation Club, she was in labour of solving mysteries in the company of her most trusted. Who hasn’t heard yet about the rapist of human souls, the phantom on the staircase, or the not single instance when the devil went and took the farmer's cows for a dance? After that, and many other adventures together; seemingly united, in their hearts she earned a deep place with her pure merit. And this time it was their turn to prepare her with the ubiquitous knowledge, to face the unknown, and perhaps even… to scare her fears. Trembled the world when the day came,

Surely, long had spilled been the tea; and yet, in shame, a single drop lied and dared not to be spit. She, and she alone knew; thoughtless, truly thoughtless the compromise had been conceived. Upon their first and only conversation she was met with a sudden and unknown boiling emotion. She couldn't admit; the temptation was too much to bear. From the pure desire to partake in that which impossible is, agreed they to meet the next Sunday, despite knowing her she lived in the neighboring city. And even then, prepared and committed, without respect for distance, without fear, she departed on the afternoon, towards a station lost in time, lost from reason, all so she could ever meet with him... the next morning.

-
The Hairy Hand is a quest ruled by contradiction of wills and whims The President has towards all gruesome realities awaiting. Survival is doubtful, and physical integrity is never assured; bad decisions are ultimate.

Players can cumulatively pick a maximum of 3 choices, once 3 different courses of action are picked, no alternatives can be proposed nor votes. Actions are taken upon popular vote, effected at irregular, arbitrary and unforgiving times. Small and menial actions may be taken by individuals at times; affecting or not the outcome of an encounter. The whims of a few may just suffice to change The President's fate.

The gates of Felcross are behind you now. The city where you were raised, the city of your first failures and rare achievements, the last great city on the way east. You look back, as if to say goodbye. There is nothing of worth left for you there, only your bickering family and your more successful peers.

You are a wanderer now. On your belt is a sword, on your back - a bag with tools, travelling gear, some money - whatever was left after your purchases - and rations. They won't last long, but you'll think of solving this later. Two javelins fit nicely in the quiver, slung over your shoulder close to the travelling bag.

Barely a man, not a youth, you start down one of the roads. You don't know much of the world, but you've had dreams. Dreams of power, people bowing to your might, of... freedom, to do what you want, however indulgent your desires may be. Of immortality, like in the tales of the Flower Harbringer and the Collector of Names.

They are far away, but one who doesn't begin his journey will most certainly never see its end.

You possess basic ability in the way of the sword and the javelin, having been given basic training for the militia, like any able man of the kingdom. You also know your way around the streets, courtesy of your upbringing. You can repair and take care of your weapon, and know the basics of crafting, having helped around the smithy for a time. You think you can survive on the road and subsist if need came. That's about all you are capable of.

You heard the road east leads to the frontier, the outlands. Not completely devoid of settlement, it is, nevertheless, a dangerous place - some of the monsters manage to sneak into the heartlands of the kingdom of Hien, not to speak of these wild lands, where they may have greater reign. Their distance from the heartlands means all kind of folk flock there, sometimes good in heart, but often dark. It also means greater freedom, whatever the cost. At least, that's what the caravans and travellers from that land told you when they passed through Felcross.

"Only madmen go east," your grandpa once said spitefully. "Those that don't know the worth of a family at your back or a proper home you can return to." Didn't stop one of your elder brothers from going there. Didn't stop you.

The road is calm for a few days as you pass by caravans going west. You didn't have enough money to buy your place in one, so you're going alone.

After the sun sets on the 4th day of travel, you consider making camp, like the previous days, but see a light further down the road. Approaching closer, you see a person sit by the campfire, a man, if you read their build correctly. He doesn't seem to have noticed you, tinkering with something in his hands. A tent is pitched nearby, and a spear rests by the fire. The faint scent of herbs and medicine drifts in the air. The smoke, too, of course.
(1/2)

Welcome to CBF, a game set in the cyberpunk future of Charleston, SC, using the horror/urban fantasy world of Changeling: The Lost (and most of the rest of World of Darkness) as it's larger backdrop.

You will be a Changeling, someone that was taken by the True Fae to an alien realm, Arcadia, across the hedge between reality and dreams. They left a Fetch behind in your place, a simulacrum that took your place among your friends and family, making your disappearance unnoticeable. While in captivity, you were traumatized, and forcibly transformed into a creature, or perhaps a decoration, or tool. You've since escaped, back to the real world, back to Charleston, SC, now, in the year 2198.

You command certain supernatural abilities by making contracts and pacts with the forces of nature and reality, and can also make magically binding bargains with other Changelings and mortals. To non-fae creatures, you are by all appearances a human, maybe quite similar to your original self, but possibly older, younger, scarred, or with certain traits having since been altered - time passes in strange ways within Arcadia, and the marks left by the True Fae vary in their subtlety. Other Changelings, fae creatures, and certain other supernatural beings, however, can see past the Mask of concealing faerie magic, and view your true self - be that a musclebound troll, or an automaton cobbled together from wax and copper in your own former image.

Megacorporations and stranger monsters than yourself pull the strings of society in these neon nights, and you will struggle with maintaining your humanity, and sanity, while navigating the maddening world of the fae, and the soul-crushing dystopia that's been produced by generations of greedy, sociopathic humans. You escaped from the creature that abducted you some ten years ago, and have survived in that time by honing your skills and picking your battles.

Our bittersweet farewell to youth.

"JESUS FUCK." A bit of spit leaves the girl's mouth with the utterance of the expletive. The thin blonde man shoots an annoyed look at his coworker as he leans on his broom, watching her wipe the spit from her chin.

"Hey, management said we couldn't curse. Get that side for me." The brunette gives him an indifferent glance, grabs a dustpan, and starts sweeping in various things: rose petals, scrapped, badly framed photos, a dust of cocaine that had slipped from some celebrity's torn pocket. She scoffs at the discovery of a used condom leaking all over the concrete.

"Just saying. You'd think that at a big event like this, people would be a bit more dignified." She turns to look at the big black block letters that burned boldly on the arena sign.

MILLER V HAWKE
FATHER V SON
TONIGHT

(1/5)

Once upon a time, there was a stricken land where there was no such thing as day, nor morning, no sunrise or sunset, but endless dark. It was alone and obscure, on an island surrounded by waters as black as the sky. Yet the wind carried whispers of warmth and light, so the sad peoples of this land, intoxicated by the drink called hope, entreated their king to find the mythical sun and bring it to their lands. The king of the dark vowed to bring the morning to his people, and departed.

After five years, while the king did not return, the morning did come, with all of the light and warmth that could be dreamed of. Yet while the people were happy, the new king’s heir, his granddaughter the crown princess, was skeptical of this new light. So, she ventured over the dark waters towards the light, and finally, she found a great tower atop which burned a sun nothing like had been spoken of, nor what seemed to create the new day.

There she met her grandfather, and demanded of him the truth. Was there a sun, or no? Were they living in a day that was just night under a mask? Her elder, sad and weary, asked the simple question of if she could tell the difference. What distinguished the False Light from the Dawn?

She could not answer, and returned home, keeping the secret to her grave. Yet, friends and followers of Ange, what if the Dawn that comes is false? What if it is so convincing that none of us can tell it true? What if indeed, the facsimile created is the true one after all?

-The Heresy of the False Light, Apocryphal Speech said to be performed by Disgraced Socalist and Disciple of Anton Ange, Aster Du Langue

“The Southlands.” That’s what the races of the Northwest call them, as if they were one place—a realm unified under a single nation or people. In truth, the Southlands are a molten mosaic of humans, beastmen, and sundry others flowing over and through each other in coexistence and in conflict. The land itself is a tapestry of desert and jungle, of low savannah and high plateau, where even the Race of Man is far from uniform: the hides of the humans here range from a ruddy tan to a deep blue-black that nearly equals the Drow of Wevenore.

Not that you got to see much of it.

You are James Efron, Senior Initiate of the Hawksong Mages’ Tower. At your age—twenty-three—you really ought to be a Mage Apprentice. You should be studying in some stuffy laboratory back home in the big city like Izirina Henzler, or maybe taking a practicum under some smaller adjunct Associate Tower like your old pal Testa. But nooo, you craved a life of action, of adventure! ‘ is meant for the field!’ you used to boast of your favourite spell. So you’d taken the field, first as a formal Field Researcher and then later as a freelance adventurer-for-hire.

And that had led you here. To the Southlands. To this dungeon.

It isn’t the cool kind of dungeon, full of monsters to kite and for coin, alas. It’s the kind where Southrons store their prisoners-of-war, for that seems to be the size of your sad situation: a prisoner, at the beginnings of what is shaping up to be a full-scale intercivilizational conflict.

The Men of the South may be myriad, but tensions between their ilk and the fairer folk of the Northwest—your homeland, Hawksong’s aegis—have been a unifying cause as of late, and not only for the human races. Relations have been fraying since before you were born, when a sinister cabal of dark-skinned demon-worshippers staged a terrorist attack on the Mages’ Tower itself, assassinating the Archmage and destroying the much-beloved Eternal Fountain.

in a meaningless world, a girl finds heaven in scarlet mist

It was late in the afternoon, as staff were starting to wrap up testing, check-ups and other activities in the deeper parts of the facility. However, whilst most subjects were being brought back to their containment, this was not the case for Kaenum. In fact, she was currently following Catherine to a place she hadn't visited before. "So, who are you bringing me to?" Kaenum asked calmly, looking around and noticing that there were a few guardsmen around, which made her both curious and concerned. "Her name is Edith Astor. Codename, PW-87. I designed her with Roraima. However, after she refused to do what Roraima demanded of her, he... punished her." Catherine said in a regretful tone, Kaenum giving an understanding nod. "I fortunately managed to take full control of her, ensuring Roraima doesn't hurt her further. Unfortunately, she has been rather scarred by the experience. Which is why I was hoping that you could help her out. Perhaps give her some therapy to help her cope with things."

Whilst Kaenum was saddened that a subject had to suffer so much under Roraima, she was optimistic that she could help out here. After all, she had trained quite a bit when it came to therapy, and knew that she could help anyone out with enough time. "Of course, Catherine. I'd gladly help out." Kaenum responded, Catherine smiling with relief, as the two headed towards the secluded and relatively well-guarded chamber. Until finally, the two would reach the large set of doors leading to the chamber. "Will you be joining me?" Kaenum asked to Catherine, who paused before reluctantly shaking her head. "I want this to be between you and her. I've talked with her a bit, but... I could not get her to talk much. She needs someone else. Another subject..." Kaenum nodded again, taking a deep breath before looking ahead. "Very well then." With that, Catherine would give a nod to the nearby guardsmen, before taking a step back.

Kaenum stepped through the door after it opened, entering the small space which separated the outside world from the containment chamber. Though once the second set of doors opened, Kaenum was met with a rather neat and homely looking room. Clearly, Catherine had tried o decorate the room in such a way that it helped Edith feel more at home. Though, given how things looked eerily untouched, it had not been too effective. Not to mention, the fact that Edith wasn't really doing anything in the room. Kaenum spotted her in the corner, sitting on the floor and facing the wall. "Go away..." Edith mumbled in a worn-down voice, Kaenum remaining calm and quietly entering the room. Kaenum looked over the subject, quickly noticing all the combat features Roraima had clearly given her. Those large and long wings, those clawed hands and her stature all were traits meant to appear intimidating. And yet, Edith appeared more sombre than scary. "Edith, it's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Kaenum. I am here to talk to you."

you play as Argia Candente, a trainee Paladin of Ansàrra cursed since birth with silver hair. Now in your darkest hour, you try to understand whether your own Goddess has forsaken you, if your life is truly forfeit and if the Adversary’s offer has any merits…

# # # # # #

Welcome to the seventh thread of Argia Candente’s thrilling adventures! Our scatterbrained, silver-haired (sporting a D-cup, by player vote) Holy Knight-trainee with a penchant for daydreaming and plagued by self-doubt, on a quest to save her family from poverty and starvation.

>Admitted you can survive the next twelve hours, that is.

Now with the added thrill of you having been denounced as agent of the Adversary, your Master imprisoned, being separated from two of your friends, and the turncoat third one… has just birthed a world-ending Worm.

On top of that, you have been seemingly abandoned by the Sun-Birther, the goddess Ansàrra… and the Saint you have always cherished, Bragia Lacresta, has revealed herself to you as the Adversary, the infamous soul-collector, The Stilladìa… who is indirectly responsible for the ruin of your family.

At least, during last thread you got to strike her with an angel’s feather… for all the good it did.

You have suffered through many an ordeal (pictured in the images below), but this time… this time it could be the end… or a new beginning.

For what is a Paladin without a Goddess to hold onto, and what happens when your own faith turns against you?Someone might have an answer… someone who was with you since the very beginning. Though you might not like the Stilladìa’s answers.
Was any medicine ever sweet? Or poison…

So, without further ado, let’s take a look at where we come from.

And then let’s decide together where we are going.

This is but one of the legends of which the people speak...

Long ago, there existed a kingdom where a golden power lay hidden. It was a prosperous land blessed with green forests, tall mountains, and peace.

But one day, a man of great evil found the golden power and took it for himself. With its strength at his command, he spread darkness across the kingdom. But then, when all hope had died, and the hour of doom seemed at hand...

...a young boy clothed in green appeared as if from nowhere. Wielding the blade of evil's bane, he sealed the dark one away and gave the land light.

What became of the hero is lost to myth, another mystery of the past casting a long shadow. In one village, it is customary that when children come of age, they make a pilgrimage to the nearby ruins, and bring back an artifact. In doing so, they bring what was left in the dark to the light, and keep their history alive.

You are from that village, and today you turn 18, and must make your own pilgrimage. Your father was an archeologist at Hyrule University, and now that it is your day to recover an artifact, you are determined to follow in his footsteps with your diligence.

But shadows hang over more than the past, now. A ruthless warlord has rallied an army, and has laid siege to Hyrule castle for nearly a year, seeking to claim the golden power. Darkness gathers across the kingdom, and shadows stretch ever farther each passing day...

Welcome to LOZ: Umbral Tower, where you will play an unlikely hero destined to save the kingdom from a neverending shadow. In this game you will roll pools of D6s based on your stats, which will improve over time, against competing pools of D6s, where 5's and 6's are considered successes. Ties normally go to the aggressor, not the defender. I may tweak this as we go.

This quest will probably roll very slowly and sporadically. I will roll a 1d2 or similar to break ties if they drag.

Use your knowledge of Cartoons to steal the F-16.
What will you do after you've stolen it?

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

Monday
Grid Sector 11873, Defensive Position "Razorback"

The Bradley 1A5 kept firing with it's auto-cannon at the incoming target. One of it's tracks, the left one, was damaged. The rack of guided missiles had been emptied days ago and there hadn't been the chance to refill them.

Quartermaster "Godmother" was inside the basement of a ruined house, missing it's second floor and portions of the first. The structure of plywood would provide minimal protection or cover, which was why he was underground.

Beside him was Jack Price, the Engineer from MARS Incorporated, now a Lieutenant in what remained of the Armed Forces.

Finally, if he was still alive, was Capt. Harry Grand from the Air Force.
-
-
In the basement was a Javelin guided missile, loaded, but with no available reloads. There was also MARS MPAR, a laser guided upgrade of the FGM-172A SRAW project. That system and a single reload were bundled together. Both would require firing from outside or the precarious top floor.

The other explosive options were the drum fed, six shot 40mm Milkor MGL.... OR three disposable AT-4ERs.

There was closed crates that may or may not have additional supplies, but the three of them didn't know how to operate that many weapons outside the rocket launchers and a basic M16A4.

There was the blowtorch and Quik Patch case, if Jack wanted to try repairing the Bradley.

Good sirs and noble ladies, I know, I know, I should have been here in october but I am late like Charles de Valois when repaying his debts ! Such is life I would say, life is full of trials, more work, writer's block, a broken computer, heh, God puts trials on our way so we can overcome them in the most chivalric way. So ride on, let us go back on saddle and ride with Charles de Villeroi, our gallant hero, who has just left the capital to go to Tradnod, to give the duchess of these lands the locket that she has lost and that he has found after vanquishing awful men made of wood and other foul witchcraft.
For those who are new in our crowd, worry not, for I have here all the links to the previous scrolls detailing the adventures of Lord Charles de Villeroi.

>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2022/5085315/ thread 1
>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2022/5134375/ thread 2
>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2022/5194246/ thread 3
>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2022/5314154/ thread 4
>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2022/5422744/ thread 5
>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2022/5422744/ thread 6
>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2023/5561322/ thread 7
>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2023/5561322/ thread 8
>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2023/5702984/ thread 9
>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2023/5785267/ thread 10
>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/5920163/ thread 11
>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6011182/ thread 12
>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6079405/ thread 13
>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6157669/ thread 14
>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6256761/ thread 15

Of course, as tradition dictates, we shall begin with a small prologue from another place of the world.

Sing, goddess, of thirsty Argos, and of the glory of Hippomedon Aristomachides - sing of the folly of Adrastus, of the savagery of Tydeus and of Oedipal transgressions! Sing, O Muse, of Zeus’ designs, which even now come to fulfillment…

Rain filters in through the ceiling, sliding along the support beams in just such a way it misses the numerous pots, pans, and cups scattered around the delipidated apartment and is readily sucked into the mouldy carpet. Which is then again immediately transferred to a new object: your sock. Your very next steps now all dotted with a wet squelch.

"Argh!" You cry, as you balance on one foot to pull the sock of the other, only for said wet sock to cozy up to the business end of the cigarette you had tucked between two fingers, providing a new, enticing after-taste to the familiar menthol as you unknowingly take a drag. "Huurhg!"

It might've been a week or so since you had washed that sock.

How had it come to this?

Well, the demon king lost against The Seven Braves. A poor title for a bunch of delinquents that jumped a guy seven to one. They murdered their way deep into the demon capital, defeated all the bureaucrats present, and killed the ministers while shouting inane things like "Die Heavenly Generals!"

They hadn't been generals and they certainly hadn't been heavenly.

They were butchered all the same and all branches of government were eradicated over the span of a few days. After performing what amounts to genocide, the "Saintes" had the gall to clasp her still-bloody hands together, bat her eyelashes, and say things like "No, we can't kill them all, that would make us just like them!"

And so the remaining demons, conveniently all of middle-rank and lower, were accepted as refugees into human society. What's that? You want to stay here in the demon lands? I see. Hmm? That demon from earlier? Oh, they fell into the river. Yes, lost all their limbs along the way. Wild, isn't it? Anyway, safety and a bright future awaits you in the human nation of Lightsong!

A few decades have passed since then, demons were by and large limited to awful jobs that made little to no money. The timing of the demons' arrival had been amazingly convenient, just as human society was entering an industrial golden age that required a massive labour force. Truly, the stars aligned for humanity.

The era of sword, shield, and spell has long since passed into history. Few still practice the ancient, magical arts, but demand has somewhat diminished now that you can barely chant out the first seven incantations of a spell before a newly arrived bullet in the brain informs you that you shouldn't bother with final three.