This board is for author-driven collaborative storytelling (i.e., "Quests"). In a quest there is a single author who controls the plot of the story and who drives the creative process. They can choose to take suggestions from other posters, or not, at their sole discretion. Quests can be text-based, image-based, or a combination of the two. Drawfaggotry is strongly encouraged! To facilitate the author-driven nature of quests, /qst/ differs significantly from other boards in that the OP of a thread is considered the quest's author, and has some basic text formatting abilities: [b]bold[/b], [i]italic[/i], and color tags [red]red[/red], [green]green[/green], and [blue]blue[/blue]. Therefore, only those people willing to put in the effort to be a quest author should post threads. If you do not intend to run a collaborative story, do not post a thread here! This includes meta-threads. Dice rolling follows /tg/'s format (e.g., "dice+2d6" without the quotes in the options field rolls 2d6).

Previously on With Great Power Quest: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=With%20Great%20Power%20Quest and Rites of the Red Wizard Quest: https://archived.moe/qst/thread/5043544/#q5045606 Julian Dodd's bad day was getting worse. It started with a real ass fucking from the investors, every whiny little rich boy who thought his billion dollars bought him access to the cutting edge in biotechnology. Each of those mewling pukes wanting to know where their money was going and when it would be ready. It would be ready, when it was ready. That's all they needed to know. It's about all they deserved. Then it had followed with a much more chilling meeting with the Board of Governors, and what they expected of him. The new data in from the usual places, Copernicus, NOAA, what have you, and their own private trackers, had them...concerned. Their concern was far more frightening than the high pitched legal threats of some finance bro in Maui. They wanted to know the current status of the Cereal Department. They wanted to know why every prototype had so far failed, with their one success being at best flawed. He had no real answers for them, other than he had brought in the best experts from China to help crack the problem. It had not been mollifying. "We are not impressed." Their final words before the transmission had been cut. They were never impressed. Not by his band t-shirts. Not by his company. Not by his pedigree. A lesser version of his father, they said. Which meant an even more watered down version of his grandfather. A generational disappointment. He thought 'fuck them' but he'd never dare say it. Not about them. It was a race now. A race with that mad german bitch and her government funded mad science bunker. A race with irritating start ups mushrooming out of the ground left and right. A race with time itself. The clock was ticking. With all that ass fucking what Julian really needed now was a blowjob. He imagined it given by that foul eyed lawyer, the black chick looked at him like dirt, Grant. That would be sweet. Something about a girl who hated him got him going. He'd settle for it from one of those girls he hired, the hot ones pretending they were secretaries.

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth One day, a mighty King named Nimrod rose from among humanity and created a great city of technological progress. He named the City Rapture and decided to build a tower dedicated to the LORD our God the LORD looked down from heaven & said,/ >Look! If we dont stop them now, nothing will be impossible for them & so the LORD intended to scatter the city of the King had the King not petitioned the LORD our God to have mercy [TETRAGRAMMATON] >Get thee behind me, Satan! Behold, I shall spare that city which you hold so dear and allow you to build your utopia but I curse thee to thy face for you resisted my will; you shall forevermore be known as Dormin, a walking abomination banished from the earth. Dormin's form became corrupted and his heart full of darkness. He erected the tower in defiance of the LORD our God and cursed the earth as he took his people into the ocean, never to be seen or heard from again it is current year we are Cloud, a morally ambiguous mercenary for hire who has taken a job by Shinra In© to privately investigate and look into the rumors of the legendary lost city of Rapture. [CLOUD] >... [PRESIDENT SPIKEMAN] >what's wrong, son? [CLOUD] >... nothing it's just... [PRESIDENT SPIKEMAN] >...i know my boy, i know. its crazy, isnt it? but im a firm believer! yup siree, my momma would tell me these stories every night when i was a lad and if my hunch is correct, if Rapture truly exists... then it must be running on the Earth's most inner abundant source of Mako! there's no way i could ever tell the rest of the board about this though, they would laugh me out of the company if I ever proposed such a notion... Cloud, you have Shinra's complete backing and confidence as you wander the earth. you are free to do as you please. Godspeed, SOLDIER Thus our story begins as we begin to step out of Midgar....

The superyacht Bayesian was swallowed by a freak storm off the coast of Sicily. It sank to the bottom of the sea. Or... did it?

>This is a quest taking place in an alternate version of the Naruto world several years after the conclusion of the main story. It is a sequel to Leaf Ninja Quest, and you will be playing as the son of the main character of that quest. Your character is defined by your choices, so write-ins are always encouraged. And remember to have fun! >You do not have to read the previous quest in order to participate in this one, but if you wish to do so, it can be found here: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=Leaf%20Ninja%20Quest

Bread buest is a quest where you... you... uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. I forgot, do you remember ?

Your friends and family slowly stopped associating with you. Something about a social media bubble you were supposedly in, which caused you (once an almost-respectable and mild-mannered young man) to become a jaded and paranoid college drop out who constantly talked about increasingly fringe and controversial obsessions (the WEF, Soros, et al.). You also became obsessed with an imminent end-of-the-world event. You weren't sure when or how it was all going to crumble. But you knew it would happen sooner rather than later. You got a miserable job at Amazon and worked as much overtime as you could and bought some land a few miles off a state highway in Kentucky. Over a few months, you spent every extra dollar buying supplies and stocking them up at your land. You thought you had at least a year or two before you'd need to move up there permanently. But, as it turns out, the "happening" came far sooner than even you expected. You're still not really even sure what's going on. But the power's flickering in and out, buildings are blowing up, and people are panicking. You barely made it out of town, and the journey up the interstate wasn't easy. But you finally made it. It's mid-March. So weather won't be a problem. Yet. You had shared your plans with a handful of other people, mostly people online. It looks like some of them actually made it. (Pick 3) >Anthony Pierce- Fellow chud. Big muscle-head, strong as an ox. Decent shot. Warrior mentality. Age 26. >Kelly Liu- Daughter of a Chinese oriental doctor. Knows a decent amount about traditional medicine, botany, and mushroom foraging. Knows how to make fermented foods. Age 23. >Ernie Goins- Older, spent his life as a handy man. Jack of all trades. Age 58. >Cindy Knowles- Health and fitness influencer. Has gardened for most of her life. Age 35. >Eric Quine- Civil engineer. Intelligent, good at planning and building. Natural planner and innovator. Age 42. >Tom Lacey- Third year attorney at the public defender's office. Highly charismatic. Strong mental fortitude. Age 28. >Max Garcia- Park ranger. . Age 29. >Molly Hertz- Third year medical student. Intelligent and careful. Good at sciences and, obviously, medicine. Age 25. >Butch Holt- Retired special forces, security guard. Loves to hunt. Excellent shot. Age 65.

The First of Her curses was a variant of toxoplasma, which turned people into mindless zombies. The Second of Her curses was that 80% of humanity turned into trees. The Third of Her curses was the resurrection of the Fey.

A post-apocalyptic Earth has been swallowed by a supernatural forest known as the Whispering Weald. Can you survive the unnatural horrors lurking within the woods, and can you overcome the personal trauma that haunts you?

HISSSSSS! CLANK! The bars to your cell slam shut. Some of the other inmates in your unit are still rowdy as they taunt and jeer at one another or the prison staff. "NIGHTTIME! SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GO TO SLEEP!" one of the guards yells before stepping back into the control center of your unit. Yeah, just another typical day has gone by here. It's been a long time now since your sentence first started—at least a little over a year, anyway. You sigh deeply, reminiscing about the way life used to be. One of your first nights here, you remember crying, never thinking things would end up like this. Looking back on it now, you had things locked down at least somewhat decently. You had a promising career path, you were in a relationship, and you had your own place. "Shut the fuck up," you say to your inner monologue, trying to stop the thoughts from invading. Christ, not again... you think to yourself, the tears welling up in your eyes. A single tear trickles down your cheek. How long has it been since you had a reaction like this? What's the fucking point in getting all sentimental again? You know all too well how that went the last time. Nobody cares about your feelings here. You've been forced to keep your survival instincts at their maximum for a long while now. The thoughts in your mind are too strong tonight. Home... My friends... My fucking... MY FUCKING LIFE! The tears come pouring out as your reflection on it all comes to fruition. Then... that day comes to mind. The day they caught up to you, and you were charged with... >Theft over $5,000 >Assault >Murder >Possession >Write in...

Your name is Vincent Cruz. You work in a shady government-backed facility in the middle of the New Mexico desert. In a turn of events, you are now a footnote to the Powers That Be. To them, you've actually proven yourself to be useful, thanks to a very lucky break involving one of your anomalies. After all, you're a researcher for the Abnormality Regulation Coalition (also known as ARC), tasked with containing and studying paranormal entities on their behalf. You've always had a knack with the anomalous, even before you ended up here, ever since that chance encounter with a certain HEART. You're great at making the worst out of a bad situation, at least. You've got friends, you've got cash, and you've got the attention of ARC. As long as you keep this pace up, you should be just fine! As for what happened over the last day or so? You got yourself entangled in a series of mysterious contracts from a masked soldier. You've already completed the first one with little challenge, so hopefully the remaining two will go over smoothly. You managed to stabilize NOWHERE'S SOMMELIER's condition, without outright 'resolving' her (which might've killed her if it was like IN LIMBO). She's going by Kiera now, and she should be sticking around for a good long while as a new coworker. You got two brand new anomalies, THE OTHER SIDE and STATIC ANGLERFISH. You've already met STATIC ANGLERFISH before, so you already know a decent amount of his tricks. The other anomaly is going to take a while to figure out, given that even ARC doesn't know what risk level to classify it as. You had a nice, long talk with Rudolf, which illuminated some interesting details about why you were dragged here. You also learned some fun facts about Harvester anatomy and the politics of both ARC and the SPONSORSHIP COMPANIES. You've also started a brand new shift. A shift that, thanks to a sponsorship you picked, is a temporal nightmare. This is going to be your longest shift yet, but at the very least, you're going to be able to finish a whole bunch of tasks that you've put on the backburner. During your shift, some noteworthy things you've done include: -You learned more about a certain anomaly that's stalking LOST SINCE 199X, which may tie into his future resolution -You managed to figure out some possible weaknesses of LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE (one of your more annoying anomalies) -and you manage to hotwire HARD TIMES directly into the facility's power grid, earning you a LOT of favor with various sponsorship companies...and earning you a pretty fat paycheck for the rest of your time down here As they say, another day, another dollar. No matter what happens, you'll find a way to make it through. You have survived for this long, haven't you? ARCHIVE: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Low%20Rung VINCENT SHEET/INVENTORY: https://rentry.co/VINCENTSHEET ALLIES: https://rentry.co/COWORKERLIST ANOMALY/SAMPLE NOTES: https://rentry.co/RESEARCHNOTES

The Outriders have recovered from their last hunt for research artifacts and are ready for another assignment. Meanwhile the recently-cured Fogland refugees have been developing their crafting, engineering, and farming skills, while their raptors fed upon the bodies of all The Tribes' many would-be-conquerors. What comes first for The Three Tribes of Raptor Fields? >1) Our research is nearly complete. Send The Outriders out again to track down the last few ancient science books we need to understand all the technology currently available to us. >2) The refugees are ready for a new home. A contingent of fogmen have been cured of their madness, and their pet raptors have since consumed the enemies of The Tribes before our gates while our riders were abroad. They are ready to reclaim their home and establish safe trade to the city of Mongrel. >3) Return to our roots. The nearby town of hilltop was hastily abandoned during the famine, and some valuable resources may yet be recovered by retracing our steps. >Write-In) All character stats, lore, or new paths can be explored upon request.

Two months ago a new disease was discovered out of sub Saharan Africa and began to spread like wildfire rapidly infecting nearly 15% of the world's population worldwide. This would have been incredibly alarming if the disease had not been very mild, only giving those infected a mild cough and was only dangerous to those who were very old or sickly. The disease would have probably even been fully ignored if it weren't for how widespread it was. A month after its discovery something changed; those infected with the disease worldwide became enraged and violent. The world is crumbling and you must do your best to survive it. You are Corporal Andrew Foch of the 75th ranger regiment machine gunner, expert on infected and guest of the coast guard aboard the Cutter Richard Snyder. In the last week or so you were separated from the mixed group of special force operators you worked with by a helicopter crash, joined up with a remaining coast guard ship, secured a source of fuel for it and finally formed a team and scavenged several new firearms for yourself and the ship. Now your traveling north along the US eastern seaboard toward Newport Rhode island to join up with a flotilla in the area. Past Threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Dead%20America%20Quest

The tension is palpable as you navigate the chilly limestone corridors of the Hall of the Elders, ascending the now-familiar staircase and crossing over the blue carpet which leads to the massive oaken table in the shape of a half-circle. 'Sindiira Torani, Speaker of the Town,' reads the steel placard set before your designated seat. Assuming your place, you double check the fastening of your gauntlets and await the arrival of the other members of the Council of Elders for this morning's meeting, shifting your armored weight uncomfortably. How the High Captain attends every meeting in full plate without fail is a mystery. It was established last night that an army of forces most nefarious marches on Everlund, House Delyl's own forces amongst them. While the possibility of petitioning neighboring cities for reinforcements was raised last night, the High Captain remained adamant that Everlund's army is sufficient to defend it from any threats that may arise. 'We can't run crying to to Alustriel every time the city is in danger,' he stated verbatim. One by one your peers shuffle in. Prompt to arrive is Sten, who has refused to abandon his armor, opting to drape a fur cloak over himself and consider the matter concluded. Likewise, the Priestess of Corellon attends in her ceremonial armor, foregoing protection from the cold entirely. Minutes later, Emitia arrives, favoring a coat of dark fur over a midnight green dress, as befits the season. The Keeper of the Bridgers assumes his place, wearing black padded armor over a wool shirt to retain his warmth. Predictably, the High Sorcerer arrives late, and has not altered a thing about his attire, arriving in the audacious marigold robes that befit him, his black gloves pulled securely over his hands. Taking his seat, he leans the chair back, resting his feet on the table and folding his arms, rocking to and fro. "Shall we get started?" He asks.

WAR! The Brotherhood of Steel has launched a dastardly surprise attack on the NVD, nearly killing you and Veronica Santangelo in a failed assassination attempt with a horrific new weapon of mass destruction. The Directorate is in the midst of internal shakeup as Boone and his team of special forces have been eliminated and the presence of the Followers of the Apocalypse are in flux. But these domestic issues pale in comparison to the attempts by Lost Hills in exerting their power over the nascent nation. Will the New Vegas Directorate weather this storm and come out stronger for it, or will this grand wasteland experiment fail and be lost to the sands of time? And what will the NCR do now that the Brotherhood and Directorate in a fight to the death? Will the mighty Caesar intervene on his heirs-apparent behalf? Only time will tell.

Deep under the mountains there are some who say only the darkest of evil lurks below ground. Some say only goblins, beastmen and orcs hide waiting for naive travellers eager to quickly move across the abandoned underground tunnels for quick access to the path that leads from the most advanced industrious prosperous gnome republics to the cities of marble and elven royalty where pure sliver minted Yati coins are plenty. Yet only those who were told tales passed down by their dwarven elders and their slowly dwindling down grandfathers and mothers numbers of knew of their ancient buried city of Kazmeri. The city described as being leagues ahead of the most technological civilizations and industrial might that makes most tools sourced from the ancient city to be worth a man's life twice over. You, your brothers and sisters ([bold]Note this is the posters who respond. A group in a rough size of 500 dwarves.[/bold]) sick of burning to death steadily from the heatwaves rising in temperature every 10 or 20 years finally decide to rediscover your homeland, your culture, ancient texts and the secret of what brought down the greatest empire of all time. All you have to guide you is a single map drawn by a crazy old man clearly waning memory carved deep into a stone tablet... (the map being poorly made is also that bad in the story.)

Menthol and ash charge through the wittled sensory systems of your body and brain. The date is 2121, April 19th. Planet of habitation is MundiTri. Residence is the glass megabloc, 1287. Apartment of warrant is A-C, 433. Your name is undefined- lost to the lizard brain. If it remains alive- if intangible- it is drowning in the depths of your employers' ever burgeoning digital database. Your credit must have tapped out two or so days ago, and you have but your one job to rein everything in. You are EDS Sentry Officiator , as far as the world is to be concerned. What actions will you take, Officiator?

First came the plague. It spread before any measures could be taken to stop it from infecting every part of the globe, killing nearly everyone it touched. Within weeks, tens of millions were dead. The streets: empty, forlorn. Those few who survived were in shock that, in the blink of an eye, advanced technological civilization could be destroyed so quickly, so completely. Then the dead started to come back to life. The first reports were dismissed as the results of severe trauma. It was simply too horrible, too fantastical to be believed. But the dead could not be ignored. Reanimated corpses, filled with lust to devour the flesh of the living, roamed the streets and killed and their mangled victims rose to join the horde. Depleted by the plague and overwhelmed by the number of the ghastly dead, government collapsed. Civilization still exists, but only in a few fortified outposts fighting to keep humanity alive. One of these outposts, beacon shining across the wild gardens and dark fens of the former US of A, is Atlantic City. Miraculously, you are a survivor, isolated and alone and, if you want to stand a chance of staying alive, you need to make it to that beacon. But to reach Atlantic City, you must first SURVIVE the rotten metropolitan corpse in which you huddle. To make it out, you must survive CAMDEN. [bold]*DUH DUH DUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH*[/bold] Welcome to SURVIVING CAMDEN

Spyware Service Provider is a game where you start as an ordinary computer user and become the most famous hacker in the world It's time for you to brush your teeth. Maybe there's time to check your computer for messages first. E-mail No new messages Instant messaging Not a single notification Teamspeak No one else on the server What do they all do? News >New information on elections rigging >Celebrity breakups and weddings >Find anyone with just a name

Hundreds of carriages line the soon-to-be battlefield, with men-at-arms pouring forth from them as the kingdom's first line of offense. "Brace yourselves, everyone! The dead approach!" the older officer calls out. It doesn't take long for all hell to break loose. Before even the first hundred men storm the once-bountiful field, they are met by twice their number. "Christ's blood... they're underneath us," the man in front of you mutters to himself. The look on the man's face is devoid of expression, save for one of rising terror. In contrast to the innermost banqueting fields of your realm, these lands are poisoned by filth and pestilence, brought about by the rise of the undead. Of all the kingdoms on this continent, none have found a permanent solution. Though they may be cut down, for every hundred you kill, countless more seem to rise in their place. It would seem the man is right, however strange it may be. They're somehow learning new tactics as well, their martial prowess increasing considerably. High above, countless crows soar as they circle the battlefield, while vultures waste no time descending upon the promise of a fresh meal. Many soldiers, brave or otherwise, storm the battlefield. The sounds of blades clashing against steel and cutting through flesh echo across the landscape. "They've breached the first wall of men!" a lightly armored soldier yells as he spreads the news to the inner lines of defense. His roughly made pistol bangs against the leather equipment at his side as he rushes onward. Still, inside your carriage, the man ahead of you lies frozen in fear. As the battle continues to rise in fervor, time is of the essence. >Quit wallowing in your dread, the enemy feeds off of it! >Push the frozen soldier aside. His frozen form is an embarrassing example of this armies morale >Put your hand on his shoulder. Reassure him that though we may die, we do it for our homeland.

In this thread, we will vote for the king/queen of /QST/. The path to the throne is paved with trials of strength, charm, intellect, and psychology. Choose wisely, Judges. The fate of our champion rests in your hands.

Welcome, /qst/ers, to the thread where we make /qst/ history... and get our board into the widely-acclaimed 4cc! >What is it? The 4cc is a website-spanning series of competitions in which teams representing different boards are entered into computer-driven Soccer (or Football) tournaments using the game Pro Evolution Soccer! You've probably seen it happen on other boards and maybe even saw a few matches! If not, here's a few clips to peruse: https://isthisliv.com/booru/posts/query=video >Why do we need a thread for this, you buffoon? Good question! See, the 4cc is all about representing and celebrating boards--many teams have custom models for their players and some have even contributed designs for arenas and other assets! The process is a bit of a pain in the neck, so in the short term I wanted to make a place where people could suggest /qst/'s players and what position they might play. Don't know anything about Soccer Positions? Check out an explanation HERE: https://www.orlandocitysc.com/news/soccer-101-positions-within-positions Secondly, I wanted to gauge actual interest in our board joining the 4cc in the first place. If we managed to brainstorm a full team by September, we might even be able to play in the September Friendlies! Once we're in, well, the sky's the limit! Also it'd be fun to watch, so. >Neato! How do I help? There's quite a few ways, actually! If you're into modeling stuff there's a tutorial page on making custom player models here: https://implyingrigged.info/wiki/Blender_tutorials#PES16/17 It's a bit much so I don't blame you if you don't want to take a swing at it. What you CAN do, though, yes, YOU, is answer the following questions! >1) Do you have a nominee for a /qst/ player? They can be a current/past /qst/ character or some kind of in-joke as long as it'd be a good representation of /qst/! >2) What position do you think they should play? You can say 'I dunno' if you don't know--no worries! >3) Do you think /qst/ should join the 4cc? Why or why not? Note that nominating someone is just that--a NOMINATION. Ultimately we'll need about 23 players for a full team--please voice your support for someone's nomination if you dig it! I'll be lingering to discuss and answer questions, but here's hoping we can put something together!

Welcome to Vanguard Quest, a simple cooperative mech skirmish quest. New players are welcome any point - if you want to join, please review the latest assembly options below and post your loadout! Thank you for playing! Vanguard Assembly Options: https://rentry.org/VanguardQuest Previous Thread: >>6396777 Archive: Thread 1: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2026/6362888/ Thread 2: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2026/6396777/

Your car glides over faded asphalt like a leaf carried by gentle water. Every turn, every seemingly random detour keeps you on near empty streets. Your eyes drift over the ugly... Graffiti, cars on blocks, bags of decaying garbage lining walls, the occasional corner boy, or homes made of cardboard and scraps that hide just beyond the mouths of alleys. But you also see the beautiful. Beneath some of those same graffitied walls are chalk sketches of happy families and flowers, you smile at the sun with sunglasses smiling down on yellow dandelions that spring from cracked concrete. The sun leaks through the thick clouds overhead in hazy spears that graze the tops of buildings. Despite all the grime, this place is still beautiful, it's still home. A couple walks down the street, hand in hand, and it draws your thoughts to your own relationship. To Allison, to your future, your hopes. Your relationship is growing fast, and the danger surrounding you has made you feel pressured to be honest about your feelings, to not waste your chance. Your hands slide along rough leather as you let your body do the driving while your mind focuses on other... nicer things. At least it tries. The longer you think about building a life with Allison, in a city like this, with the both of you working jobs where danger lurks around every other corner. What kind of future could that be? You feel your foot easing off the gas as you pull up to a curb. Still lost in your own thoughts, you get rattled by the deep melodious chime of church bells. The world comes back into sharp focus as you gaze at the massive rose windows of the Gotham Cathedral. This is the first time you've stopped since you got behind the wheel, you trust it's for a reason. Shifting into park you lean back; "Let's see if you have anything to tell me..." You mumble to nobody in particular. The scene is still and tranquil until you see on the side of the church, toiling in the chill, a man digs a new grave in the cemetery. Not exactly the omen you were hoping for... Then your attention is drawn once more, not by movement however, by sound. Children laughing on the opposite side of the building, swinging on the public equipment, a pair of parents watching over them smiling from a bench. Your eyes shift between the two scenes, unsure of which message exactly you're supposed to be getting here until you stop between them on the white slatted message board posted in front of the church doors. The bold black lettering clear. 'MATTHEW 6:34' You rifle through your memories of long Sundays and arrive at the verse. "Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." You repeat the words to yourself and close your eyes with a grin. "Fair enough."

”VOULL NE XATA VOK, MARA LOHK” The walls are melting. The windows are melting. The others had gone ahead, you didn’t need them watching over your shoulder. But now the iron slag sealant spreads between your fingers even without the help of the iontorch. Even alone the persistent sense of being watched remained. Glancing over your shoulder the hallway held no unwanted observer. Empty. The Zariman was becoming less and less real, smearing and spilling free in the void, your mind felt the same. Leaking from your eyes, ears, nose and mouth. Breathing in the stygian waters without that sweet hint of madness. Illumination bands flicker overhead as humid stale recycled air fills your lungs. Most of the level was secure. Cirlyn’s crash course in engineering kept the life support systems running, other sections weren’t so lucky. A boy that fled from his habitation block claims to have seen entire segments vent into the void as shielding failed. One by one your class moved from bulkheads to access hatches, securing routes to your classroom. Despite that They keep getting through, insane hunting packs move throughout the ship. Sol knows how many were dead. You arrive to find the battered classroom dark, in the corners bundles of bedding and cushions are home to the curled bodies of the sleeping. A pair keep watch, armed with long pipes and other makeshift weapons, they nod at your arrival, but voices from further down the hall draw you attention. Those holding it together better than the rest were having a meeting, you found yourself among them. So many were whimpering wrecks afraid to step out of the classroom.

The pink petals fall from their tree onto the soft grass below. The Earth continues to empty its reserves as the dying days of summer slip away. You shiver for a moment as the wind blows past, sending an uncomfortable chill through your body. "It's been getting colder lately..." you say to yourself. It feels like so much time has passed, but it truly wasn't that long ago that you received that letter in the mail. TATAKE COLLEGE! The headline was printed in bold. That's right. Since moving to this more urban part of Japan, you've had to transfer from your old school. You've heard this one has quite the reputation. It's renowned for hosting martial arts tournaments and boasts a massive sports budget. You let out a sigh. "It's so different compared to back in the countryside..." you mutter. Well, maybe you'll somehow get by, after all... >I come from a powerful clan with a strong ninja bloodline Gain the bloodline ability 'DUPLICATE JUTSU' allowing you to make combat clones of yourself >I'm one of the most skilled students back home in my local dojo Start out immediately with 'Expert' grade mastery in a martial art determined by the dice >I have such a high intellect that I'm capable of incredible mental feats You're currently a Novice grade at using ESP abilities >I'm nice to the eyes, I also happened to share the very significant endowments my parents have Every combat turn you gain the 'Talk Down' ability. A lot of people say this is an asspull but no matter the point in combat, you always believe you can talk and relate to your opponents struggles You gain the large endowment of your parents Also.. >I'm a man >I'm a woman

>"Your unceasing blood lust has cost our tribe everything, Fight Gnome!" >"If you don't stop trying to kill everyone we come across, I will be forced to banish you, to the great wastes beyond!" That was the last thing Chief Gnome said to you, before you tried to FIGHT him. And now you find yourself stuck in the middle of some enormous dust plain, mulling over what to do next. >Kick rocks >Cry >Check out the weird circular rock you're sitting on >Contemplate why your tribe couldn't accept you for who you are

With the Tournament of Power brought to a close, the Seventh Universe has emerged triumphant once more. Led by the Saiyan warriors, the Seventh's victory was secured. And with the wish on the Super Dragon Balls used to restore the other universes that were eliminated and erased, the final hidden trial was passed, and all eight of the universes up for elimination were allowed to remain. Yet, even with this victory, peace doesn't last in the Seventh Universe for long. As old hatreds rise and long-buried grudges resurface, will you have what it takes to keep everything you've worked the last 28 years of your life to build? Or will those who seek your end ultimately triumph? That all depends on you, and your choices. You the players will (most often) control Karn. A Saiyan man who has grown from his lowly beginnings as a mid-tier 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 over a dozen powerful and unique children, a mentor and teacher to his fellow Saiyans, and the indisputable winner of the Tournament of Power. Wielder of the Berserker Soul, and the powerful Stand Divine Dragon Force, you're fully equipped to handle any threat that comes your way. But what will you do when the threats aren't always physical, when you can't simply punch all your problems away? 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=HUT0uwSLQ3I SINISTER SCHEMES

Welcome to a Special thread of Do Your Best Quest! It’s Constance’s auto-conclusive sidestory! Our cunning hero will investigate the most enigmatic characters in the quest, and unveil their plans or well-kept secrets! Be prepared for grand revelations, tear-jerking moments, and hilarious situations as you help guide our favorite mummy to the most favorable of outcomes. It’s all down to your choices! --- You’re Constance Strangelove, one of the five Judges who rule over a violent competition to determine the ruler of the netherworld. Not out of your own volition, you were selected by fate or luck, saved from certain death to fulfill this purpose. You were given extraordinary abilities to accomplish this, without taking into account your previous affinity to the supernatural. You do so by communicating to ghosts and spirits. They’re different. You know that. You’re doing everything in your power to hinder the *violent* bit of your description. After all, this debacle is happening in your world — the human world — and you can’t accept pain for the sake of pain! Everyone relies on you to see a peaceful resolution! With all the help from your friends and allies, you’ve decided to step up, and repay their kindness by being extra useful! How? You’ll see! Today, there’s a new meeting between your colleagues. They happen frequently, but today is a special one. You’re traversing the realm of dreams to find a special spot, where the dream-like nature feels at its most finicky. It feels real. But it is not. You’re assured. “My crystal princess, I notice you are quite tense.” Your guardian spirit and the source of your powers, Athelone, places her hand over your shoulder. You’re sitting together on the couch, the invisible platform is transporting you to the meeting spot. It’s magic. Cool magic! “U-Uhm, I told you what I want to do, and I-I know it won’t be easy…” You feel a knot in your throat. You’re nervous! “I’m well-aware. There’s no need to double guess yourself, my dear. This won’t be the last opportunity that you’ll get to learn about your peers.” Athelone double checks your dress. One of the Judges - your colleague, Esperanza - pleaded everyone to dress accordingly. “Hmm, but I don’t get many chances. The others spoke about how difficult it is to investigate them, so it’s all on me…” You know what to do. Your friends have a robust intelligence network, but their blind spot is the other Judges. They act in the realm of dreams, out of their reach, out of the real world. “My precious child, no matter the outcome, your allies will appreciate your efforts.” Athelone doesn’t want you to overextend. “B-But everyone has done so much for me…” You got to be reunited with your father thanks to them… thanks to your friend, Johnny! You have to help him back! “I-I know I can do this!” “I believe so too, that’s why I’m supporting you.” Athelone smiles with what many have declared to be a terrifying amount of teeth. “We’ve arrived…”

Game has The following resources: Extractable: Metals - everything that's not helium and hydrogen - can be produced from volitiles and energy Volitiles - helium and hydrogen Energy - light and warmth and stuff Rare extractable: Strings - needeed to do stuff that breaks laws of physics - precursors (TM) built the ftl lanes with it. (with enough tech players can use it to connect outside the cluster systems too so as long as you don't annoy me the map is infinite) Psi - can be harvested from one star and from your population - magic wizard power. Neutronium - raw neutrons - artificial gravity and exotic matter sheninigans - visit a pulsar National: Workforce Produceable resources include: Organics - can be grown purely with energy and metals Tech - requires metals and workforce Antimatter - requires energy and volitiles >Nation submission tenmplate drops tomorrow. submit nations by friday. first update saturday or sunday > Players may chose 2 starting boons and one starting malice. (or just 1 boon). Fluff out what you want for those. Further mechanically relevant information will be provided on game start. The game will be run hybrid on discord and 4chan. Can be played just via 4chan, but then paste this into your action posts (playing just via 4chan) each time so I can include relevant meta information in your update if needed and so other players know to start diplomacy on here. Discord link: https://discord.gg/7eJPc2dbt

ANOTHER PARALLEL. IN THIS: SOLVE MYSTERIES. FIGHT OR SPARE. CONSUME VARIOUS ITEMS. WEAR ARMORS. BUILD ONE HUMAN. DISCOVER OTHERS. RIVER PERSON. SEE PAST THE DARK. EXPERIMENT. DRAIN IT.

You live in a church carved into the roots of the western mountains, where jagged peaks rise like the teeth of a dragon. Beyond those mountains lies the Wasteland, a harsh and endless steppe of yellow grass beneath a gray sky. No laws rule that land. Only monsters, savage tribes of orcs, and endless cycles of raids, blood feuds, and slaughter. The god you worship is Glax, the orc god of hatred and cannibalism. At the youngest age, you were chosen as an antipaladin candidate. Nineteen other orcs were chosen alongside you, but you alone survived. The others, you killed and devoured, violating the one true taboo of orc society: the eating of orc flesh. In your world, there is only darkness. The shamans are gathered in the great hall, a cold chamber of rough stone carved deep into the mountain. You kneel before the Great Shaman, an old orc whose magic is mighty, and whose wisdom is spoken of with reverence. "Azdakh bears the Hand That Rots. Azdakh has been chosen by Glax." The Rotting Touch, your antipaladin gift. Once each day, by channeling your pure hatred, you can make living flesh decay, even perish. The power awakened on its own after you slew the last of the remaining candidates. The shaman presents you with a blade, a massive two-handed sword, broad and heavy, its hilt adorned with a skull. It is the mark of your station as an antipaladin. The other orcs will scorn you, or fear you. Yet when war comes, you will lead them as their general. For antipaladins are despised, chosen not for brute strength, but for cunning and cruelty, while orcs honor raw strength above all else. Antipaladins are feared because they wield dark magic that raises them above ordinary warriors, though few understand the source of its power. Then comes a suit of black steel armor. From this day onward, wherever you walk, you will wear it. Always armored. Always ready for battle. You don the armor, and the Great Shaman uncorks a vial of blood, pouring it over the black steel. "This armor is baptized in blood. May it forever be drenched in the blood of our enemies." The shamans begin their chant. You have little patience for their rituals. If you possessed the strength, you would butcher them where they stand. But their magic still surpasses yours, for now. Rage stirs within you. "Glax," you growl.

Senjou Azami, age 18. Former 'ane-san' of the extinct Sumi gang. Former Chevalier to Lady Hathor of the Arkadian Kingdom Current ward of the state residing at Takamichi Group Home. Items: 270,000 yen. Tailored Suit - Gives a temporary benefit Refined Looks - Clothes makes the woman. The 'katagi' civilians are more inclined to trust such a well-dressed, respectful-looking young woman. You sometimes even get mistaken for a young elite of some sort. Fool's Bracer - 1 charge left. Temporarily renders user invisible and occasionally injects Disquiet to user at random intervals to corrupt them. Business: Jinta Workshop - A small Sumi owned machine shop attached to a scrapyard. It even has a small dormitory and office for workers to crash for the night if necessary. One of the last businesses owned outright by Lady Sumi. Presently, it brings enough to breakeven. Allies: Godmother Sumi Kayo - Your boss who runs the bar 'Last Chance' and tries to take care of the remnants of the Sumi gang. Owns a few businesses and can call in favors. Gives you jobs to accomplish. Officer Kanda Reo - Corrupt petty police officer who used to work with the Sumi gang as an informant. He is willing to exchange info with you for favors and goods. Likes rice balls with honey sweetened umeboshi. Ishida Kyou - A fence running a small cafe. A childhood friend of Kiyotaka Chie. Knows all sorts of people selling and buying legal and illegal goods. Mundane abilities: Threatening Aura, when necessary the threat of violence and retribution hangs in the air and intimidates an opponent. +4 on rolls when turning up the pressure... Deception, sleights of hand, and distracting someone come naturally. +4 on rolls involving legerdemain skills. Supernatural Abilities: Fierce Loyalty - It is hard to go against your sense of loyalty. It is strong enough that the Arkadian Kingdom found it hard to corrupt your heart crystal and control you... But the Pretty Star Warriors have a hard time purifying your heart crystal too. Unnatural Toughness - You heal fast and are much tougher than a typical teenage girl, you make an excellent meat shield slash bodyguard. Wounds don't get infected, sickness doesn't touch you, and pain can be ignored. It is an unsettling supernatural ability; those who witness it in action find it unnerving. Arkadian Favor - The Queen knows of you, servant of Lady Hathor. You are always welcome to return to the Arkadian Kingdom. Sacrifice - Willingly you'll take the place of another and face Hell itself. Swap places with the one you promised to protect and take a blow meant for them. ??? - Yet to be revealed. ??? - Yet to be revealed. see archives https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Honor%20and%20Humanity

Chambered lanterns line the narrow, smoothly carved walls. The dim lighting covers only enough area for you to barely see where you're walking, while the guards make sure to stand behind you and keep watch. That's right—you were arrested by the palace guard, caught in the act after a heist gone wrong and robbed of any chance of getting out of this hellhole. The very people who now have you in chains are the same ones who found your family the first time. Your family was forced into servitude under a very wealthy minor house, the Ducards. They were a prominent family from a major faction in their homeland, though compared to the powerful nobles who had recently expanded into the western lands, they were merely minor lords in a realm of constant political power struggles. Making sure you can't get up to anything, the two guards stop in their tracks for a moment. "Stop where you are!" one of them shouts. The command in their voice resonates throughout the narrow corridor. You have no choice but to freeze. There's little other option besides death, and what you were just caught doing will earn you nothing less than a death sentence. The irony isn't lost on you as you stare at the floor in shame. The guard leading from the front walks up to you. They place a hand on your bare shoulder from behind, as if trying to hold you in place. "When you enter, you're not to look him in the eyes. You are to know your place—a dog by comparison," the guard tells you. Before you're given any time to respond, a sharp sting shoots through your spine. Your heart sinks when you realize a blade has been pressed against it. You push the doors open and see a figure seated upon an exquisitely crafted throne. Realization quickly dawns on you, and, as if by instinct, you do as you're told and avoid looking at them. Brief laughter fills the room, just barely audible. The person before you seems to be enjoying the sight of you. "You've been given an opportunity. Serve with gratitude, and you will go far," they state. Still avoiding the gaze of the royal seated before you, you keep your eyes locked on the floor. To do otherwise would mean certain death. "Guards, would you please explain once again what this person's crimes are?" they ask, a hint of slyness hidden within the question. >Attempted Murder of a noble lord >Robbery of a legendary, well preserved relic >Adultery with a married noble

Escher Intuition. The power to become perfectly attuned to your environment by intuiting it's dimensions to a granular level. You manifested this gift at an unusually young age, and it has shaped every part of your life. It helped you amass a fortune, enough to purchase a hotel in the heart of Tokyo. A narrow twelve-story building squeezed between newer towers; its polished lobby still clings to the elegance of another era. The rooms are impeccably maintained despite the building's age, but beneath them the basement has long since been overrun by angry yokai. Imperfect or not, it is yours. You are Takeuchi Kotaro (竹内虎太郎), a tiger-spliced moreau. A hybrid of human and animal, engineered from the best genes of both. At least, that's what you've been told. For years, you have secretly investigated the conspiracy that claimed your parents' lives. They were scientists working for Astellas Pharma, a powerful multinational corporation specializing in antifungal medicine, organ transplantation, and moreau research. Internationally renowned, they stood at the forefront of their field. Their greatest creation was... you. You were born in a sterile research chamber rather than a hospital. After years of observation and testing, researchers concluded that you lacked the life-shortening defects that plague other moreaux. Soon afterward, your parents formally adopted you and brought you out of the facility. Not long after, they were murdered. The case went cold years ago, but now you have the resources to reopen it. The trail winds through multinational finance, private laboratories, and local criminal syndicates. You intend to uncover what truly happened to your family. And when you do, you'll make those responsible pay. In this era, the wealthy can purchase cybernetic implants that, combined with robotics, gene therapy, and biochemical serums, push human capability beyond its natural limits. The price is often one's humanity, health, or sanity. At present, you possess a single implant. Choose one: >Combat Implant: An automated adrenaline delivery system that triggers during life-threatening situations, granting a great boost in physical performance, followed by a period of great exhaustion. >Reflex Implant: A neural overclocker that grants superhuman reflexes at the cost of temporary cognitive burnout. >Datajack: A neural port implanted in the neck for direct network access. It can interface with drones, autonomous vehicles, and Matrix entry points, though each use carries a risk of dangerous electrical feedback. >Memory Crystal: A storage implant embedded in the brain's left hemisphere, providing perfect recall and downloadable skills at the cost of diminished social and verbal ability.

You are an ONI! A fierce mythical demon! After being born you did a little rampaging and conquering. Now, that you are several months older and wiser, you are just following the wind and going where adventure takes you.

General links of varying importance. Pastebin: https://pastebin.com/u/Adlershorst DeviantArt: https://www.deviantart.com/adlershorst Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Settler%20Lord%20Quest It was the morning, quite early in fact. The sun shone through the window as the bells in the city and chapel rang six times. Somewhat reluctantly, you rose from your canopy bed. Your wife remained in for a while longer, but her presence would be required as well. From your bedchamber you went to your drawing room, where you prayed in private before eating the simple breakfast already prepared. It wasn't the official breakfast; that would come within a few hours, but you needed sustenance before beginning your day. As you finished your meal, you could hear the unfolding of cloth and clinking of jewellery. Normally you wouldn't wear something like this; you and your family preferred clothes which could withstand some exercise. No, indoorsman the Adlershorsts never were, and all the better for it. But the occasion demanded it, and so you chose opulence over practicality. You took a look at the clothing. All silk from Mithras, intricately embroidered with gold thread, an ermine cloak to be draped over it, the crown jewels had been brought from the vaults as well, which explained why a Knight of the Argent Swan was in attendance as well. You wouldn't wear it right away, of course. The coming landtag would bring all the great lords, bishops, and lord mayors to their king; it would be the first time in years that they would all be gathered in one place. Turning back to your clothing, you made certain the white gloves still fit around your hands and that the rings still fitted on your gloved fingers. Before taking it all off, so you could be dressed in your regular attire for the day. Formal breakfast would be ready at eight, so you went to your solar to work away at some paperwork. Parchment and paper, calligraphy both sophisticated and crude. If it weren't for the scribes from the chancellery, your desk would have collapsed from the weight long ago. In a lot of ways, the news of a landtag had electrocuted the magnates of the realm into a mass migration to the capital. You didn't need a network of spies to see the streets crowded with litters and carriages carrying nobles from all corners of the kingdom. And judging from the white ship in the harbour, the elves had sent a delegation as well. Most had elected to simply hire a room in a high-class inn or use their townhouse for such an occasion. Others, poorer of means or perhaps from further afield, simply raised their pavilion outside the city walls, creating a makeshift camp of luxurious tents and banners. The atmosphere was like that of a tournament, though there would be no melee or joust today.

Roll up, roll up, questies and questers, as we venture into uncharted territory for the purpose of fun, creativity, and questy goodness! “But Bones, you magnificent devil, you,” you might be asking, “Aren’t you running a quest already? What are you playing at, you handsome rogue?” The game is simple–hell, you’ve probably played it before! We’re going to run a collaborative quest using one of the most important rules in Improv: ‘Yes, AND!’ What is ‘Yes, And’, you might ask? An unspoken agreement by two or more actors when creating a scene: if someone establishes a detail, be it a character, a setting, or something else, then that detail is now fact! Your improv partner establishes you’re on a submarine? Up Periscope! Your partner calls you ‘darling’ and gushes over how beautiful your wedding ceremony was? ‘Yes, snookums’! But why? Why not ‘NO, ACTUALLY’? Well for starters, it makes the scene flow better–your partner (or you, perhaps) have a scene idea in mind… swapping it up will bring the scene to a screeching halt… and nothing’s worse than a stalled skit! So here’s how this quest is gonna work: you, yes, you, are going to work with other would-be QMs in writing a QUEST! That’s right–characters, settings, twists, turns… all of it will be entirely up to the players! In order to play, however, heed closely… THE INSTRUCTIONS: >1) We will start by posting a couple of setting ideas. These should be vague–preferably a sentence or two at most. For example: ‘Trapped on a Deserted Island’, ‘Minimum Wage Frycook in Hell’, or ‘Paycheck-to-paycheck Space Bounty Hunter’. If you like someone’s idea, +1 it! This will help us decide what to go with. That’ll be our starting point! >2) If you have an idea for an update, reply to the most recent post with the word ‘TAG’. Whoever replies to the post first gets to write the next update! If one QM appears to be dominating, however, we might make an executive situation to pass it off to the second replier to keep things interesting. >3) Write your update with whatever details have been established already. For example, if the last post had the hero get into a Tavern Brawl, you should be writing about the Tavern Brawl. PLEASE KEEP YOUR UPDATES TO 1-3 POSTS AT THE MOST! WHEN YOU’RE DONE, FINISH YOUR POST WITH A ‘<NEXT>’ to show that the story is ready to be passed along! >4) You may add images, links, etc to your post as long as they relate to the story! We love art around here! Also consider adopting a QM Handle (Doesn’t have to be one you usually use) so that we can easily ID you!

You are the Captain of The Space Station. You will have a choice, and perhaps another; and then another, and another more. None of them are hard to take, as they may be to live with. Just know: It takes more than guts to run a station; you'd dare say, even, that you could benefit from losing some.

With the Tournament of Power brought to a close, the Seventh Universe has emerged triumphant once more. Led by the Saiyan warriors, the Seventh's victory was secured. And with the wish on the Super Dragon Balls used to restore the other universes that were eliminated and erased, the final hidden trial was passed, and all eight of the universes up for elimination were allowed to remain. Yet, even with this victory, peace doesn't last in the Seventh Universe for long. As old hatreds rise and long-buried grudges resurface, will you have what it takes to keep everything you've worked the last 28 years of your life to build? Or will those who seek your end ultimately triumph? That all depends on you, and your choices. You the players will (most often) control Karn. A Saiyan man who has grown from his lowly beginnings as a mid-tier 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 over a dozen powerful and unique children, a mentor and teacher to his fellow Saiyans, and the indisputable winner of the Tournament of Power. Wielder of the Berserker Soul, and the powerful Stand Divine Dragon Force, you're fully equipped to handle any threat that comes your way. But what will you do when the threats aren't always physical, when you can't simply punch all your problems away? 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=HUT0uwSLQ3I SINISTER SCHEMES

Doomed princes, cunning vagabonds and greedy mercenaries try to prevail in a decaying world. Amongst all men You are Doomed to Greatness, cursed and blessed in equal measure. You will learn: There is no Truth but that of Eternal struggle. You were born to a people considered… >Barbarians >Decadant >Civilized >Please roll 1d20 when you vote.

You are the Dark Lord come again, the black hand that moves unseen in the shadows. The lidless eye that strips bare all secrets and commands fear with a single glance. The encroaching shadow, which shall surely grind all hope to dust beneath its weight. The master of doom and lord of all the earth. Or at least, you used to be. You were cast down, locked away, and forgotten, but evil always finds a way. After aeons of imprisonment, your power has begun to stir once more, whispering tempting promises of power and conquest into the ears of those who would soon become your mortal followers upon this planet. Now, as you slowly regain your strength and influence, the time will come to reclaim your title as the lord of the earth and once again reign supreme over all. The world has already been touched by your might, and mortal realms will soon tremble at your return, bowing before your dark and formidable presence. Previous threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=The%20Shadow%20Rises%20Anew Above you, the greatest wedding in all the realm was happening, as young Prince Zahu-ir was to be wedded to the beautiful Lady Zahiryra, who, unbeknownst to most, was a member of the Snake Cult. Your own personal followers who had been seeping into the machinery of government for well over five decades by now. Both because it served your cause and as revenge against he who laid low your first attempt at building a puppet state. By perverting his own descendants, you would see his line ensnared and enslaved to your will, a fitting punishment for his insolence. But you weren't at the wedding; no, you were several storeys below, in the bowels of the palace. Overseeing the 'interrogation' of the wretch Kamal, who tried to overthrow his father just a few short days before the wedding of his own brother! Oh the scandal! You had made certain of it that all the realm had heard from it, and how this devious plot had been foiled by the heroic efforts of none other than the ever-loyal vizier and his guards. Who had arrested and incarcerated the rapscallion Kamal in the opening stages of his vile plot?

You are Tristain d’Rusalka, current regent and perhaps future king of the Sorcerer Kingdom of Morfis. And you’re in trouble. After 1000 years of imprisonment, the ‘Great Leviathan’, Ernest, has been released. A seemingly invincible dragon created by the Goddess herself, Ernest seeks nothing short of the total destruction of Morfis. Leading a coalition of the best and brightest from across the known world, you have but a few days to stop the crazed Nabatean and his growing army of mutated beasts before he detonates an ancient weapon of destruction that will wipe out all life on the continent. And assuming you are victorious, one final challenge awaits you. A matter of the heart that has been pushed off for too long, and must finally be settled. >Tristain d’Rusalka >Level 50 King (MAX Level) HP: 92/92 Strength: 49 Magic: 35 Speed: 37 Defense: 44 Resistance: 38 Luck: 41 >Skills: 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.) Mug: Tristain can steal non-equipped items from enemies slower than him Guard: Direct one harmful attack meant for an ally to yourself Veteran: Effective damage taken is nullified >Legendary Weapons: The Inexhaustible (Bow) (+11 DMG, +20 SPD, +10 LCK. Restores 20% HP every turn if user has Crest of Indech. Deals two consecutive hits if unit initiates combat. Cannot counter in close-range combat.) Wind Caller’s Genesis (Tome) (+14 DMG, +20 RES, + 10 MAG, Restores 20% HP every turn if user has Crest of Maculi) >Weapons: Silver Axe (+16 ATK), Bolt Axe (+14 ATK, Ranged, Targets RES), Dragon Axe: (+12 ATK. 3x Effective against wyvern riders.), Hammer (+8 ATK, 3x DMG vs Armor Knights), Devil Axe (+21 ATK, -20 HP when Used), Brigid Bow (+12 ATK, 15% Crit Chance) >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.) Rexflame (+10 ATK, AoE, eff against Cavalry units. 3 uses.) >Abilities: Crest of Indech: You are able to make a follow-up attack on one foe, regardless of Speed. (5 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) Combat Art: Warding Blow: Your next physical attack grants +20 RES for one turn. (1 Crest of Macuil Charge) >Items: Concoction x3 (+20 HP), Light Runes (x3) >Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Sorcerer%20Kingdom

Amidst the trees and rocks of a forest riverbank a prone figure slowly stirs, battered and drenched. Flaxen-yellow hair falls aside as the elf awakens, opening its grass-green eyes to the early-morning light.

Beings of Creation: Return of the Gods - Prelude The wind sweeps over the ocean, carrying with it salt and sea mist. It passes into the thirteen grand cities of Teroti, each one a bustling metropolis of millions. Each one is a bustling microcosm of a nation, bustling with industry and culture, arts and sciences. Each one remains blissfully unaware of the coming upheaval, of the cataclysm that approaches. For the thirteen have forgotten the gods, but the gods have not forgotten them. For now, the gods sleep. For now the thirteen flourish and grow and write their stories, but these stories, no matter how important they are to the thirteen, are only the backdrop upon which the game of gods will be played. --- Welcome to the prelude of BoC: Return of the Gods! This will be a cooperative world building experience focused on building out the identity of the thirteen cities of this world. These thirteen cities will serve as the key objectives, and often battlegrounds in a future game where players will play as the returning gods. Play is straightforward enough, each player can contribute one of the following each turn. > Create a Species To a max of 10. This establishes the existence and characteristics of an intelligent sapient species, but does not place them in the world. > Inhabit a City Choose a species that already exists and a city. Each city has five slots for species. The same species can occupy multiple slots. > Expertise Choose a city and grant it a technology. These can range from the bronze age to the near future, and can include advancements in magic, science, technology, and art. They should be specific, not general or vague. A city has five expertise slots. > Specialty Choose a city that has five expertises and grant it a Speciality, a potent technology, resource, skill, or manufactured product considered the best in the world. A city can only have one specialty. > Name Name a city. A city can have many names, reflecting its history, or different perspectives of its citizens. ------ In addition to the five options above, each turn a player can contribute one piece of History and Culture related to anything in the world. This can be a holiday, a custom, a local food, a terrorist attack, a battle between cities, a catastrophe that occurred in the history of a city, a legend told by a species, or many other possibilities. ----- Scheduling: Turns will probably end on Saturday or Sunday. Priority: All actions are first come, first serve, and are processed in post order. Restrictions: There are no restrictions on content or theme. I reserve the right to veto stupid shit. What are the lines on the map?: Ancient roads and/or railways. Feel free to flesh them out.

The snowy environment makes quick work of ensuring that the chill atmosphere nips away at you. Wildlife in these parts is scarce right now; whatever footprints and other signs of tracking would normally be here are now only faint traces. Your environment is almost completely blank, covered by snow and frost. "You readin' me, Viper?" you hear someone faintly say over your communicator. The earpiece you have also seems to be struggling with the chilly environment. You can just barely make out Hawk's voice on the other end. Deciding to stop for a moment, you adjust the subtly engineered microphone attached to your gear. "F-fuck, sometimes I hate having to be the lead on this shit," you tell him, rubbing your arms for warmth as you do. "Someone needs to be the eyes here. Remember, I won the coin flip on that one," he says, as if hammering home a point. Cocky bastard, you think to yourself. It's reassuring to know that Hawk is safe, at least. You've got to pull it together a bit better here. This contract is worth a lot of money. You'll be fucked with if anyone else takes it from you. DEAD OR ALIVE: ALEX CIVIDINNI A bolded title painted across the paper reads. The image depicts a burly, built man from Northern Canada with jet-black hair. You can see the definition of his trained body and his pale complexion. "Can't wait to be a fuckin' millionaire," Hawk chimes in. >Remind me of this guy again, Hawk. >Just keep your sights on me, please. We can't afford to lose composure. >Agree excitedly with her; this is going to be amazing!

Fulmenaxor destroyed the last Mountainhall in a single night of fierce flame. The dragon blew open the upper gates, burned down the halls where the clans had mustered, and nested within the great treasure vaults while the survivors fled through mines, drains, forgotten roads. No other dwarf hold remained. The dwarves scattered. Some found work in foreign towns. Some hid in the wilderness. Others became servants, mercenaries, prisoners, or nameless wanderers. Families lost one another. Hope was entombed with passing time. Now six dwarf families have gathered at the mouth of an empty mountain. They intend to establish a fortress where the scattered survivors may return and live as dwarves again. You are their leader. A hidden refuge can protect only those to whom it is known. Therefore it's name must be carried by merchants, pilgrims, and rulers to the far corners of the realm, that it might reach the ears of those forgotten dwarves. But be warned, as the fortress becomes more famed, its enemies, drawn by legend and eternal greed, will commit ever greater forces against it. And if the traders carry its name far enough, Fulmenaxor may wake from his dreamless slumber and learn that some of his victims have built another hall. But for now, hope is quarried once more. It is time to strike the earth! Choose leader: >Datost Cinderhelm Datost held the last passage open while other families fled, then led six of those families across the ruined roads, bearing a shield scorched black by Fulmenaxor's fire. Born of a martial clan, he rose to prominence in the old mountainhall as Captain of the Watch. Though once a prudent dwarf, the fall and subsequent exile have made him something of a madcap. Defensive Captain: +2 to defense at the fortress or an outpost. Reckless Commander: Failed military action queues casualties, supply loss, or retaliation. >Varik Oathkeeper Varik served as an ambitious young clerk and envoy before the fall. He gathered six families and the necessary supplies and passage through a long sequence of negotiation and political manuevering. He knows well the foreign courts and the caravans, but that knowledge has come with some considerable debt. Diplomat: +2 to diplomacy, treaties, and hosted envoys. Indebted: Pay Gold 1 yearly or queue creditor trouble. >Urist Firststone Urist was a senior architect who escaped through a deep tunnel in the old hall's foundations, known only to those descended from its original diggers. He made no effort to gather the dwarves whom he now leads--they came to him, for he alone remembers the design of the old halls. He has no real desire or talent for leadership, but has taken on a mantle out of a devotion to restore the glory of the mountainhome. Engineer: +1 to the first seasonal excavation or construction labor total. Vain: If the fortress gains no Renown in a year, Happiness -1.

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/XUfxReXDrZ 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 to fulfill her obligations as a Gym Leader. Last thread, you evolved Blitz, Daisy a former Team Green grunt joined your team, you started out along Route 5, met a Trainer named Sven and his friends while hunkering down through a sandstorm and caught Landorus.

In spite of your efforts you may be apart.

Humankind has finally begun its eminence over the world. The nations are thriving, populations are booming, and the peoples of the surface have finally been granted the freedom and comfort to pursue finer pursuits like music, art, and crafting of frivolous things like toys and trinkets. At day, the Lights Above protect the world as they always have, and, even at night, their illumination is now harnessed to protect the settlements of man from the abyssal hordes. This peace, however, has been thrown into doubt. Something is brewing beneath earth, out of the sight of the Lights Above. Cultists worshipping the Core and its false gods have been exploding in population, more and more Magecorps being corrupted to their cause. Monster activity has heightened, and the rate of their mutation has increased. Worse than all of this, evidence suggesting collaboration between monsters and abysskin, as well as the intentional mutations of monsters into increasingly more dangerous threats. You, for better or for worse, are on the frontlines of this developing battlefield. Your party, the Dawnseekers is a relatively new Corps from a relatively new guild. Serving under the Dawnstone, your merry band of Spelldivers, for their own personal reasons, have opted to risk their lives to combat the Core's darkness. You, regardless of motive, are humanity's first line of defense. Link to relevant information including mechanics, equipment, and spell sigils: https://rentry.org/spelldivers Previous threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=Spelldivers

Lo! ’t is a gala night, Within the lonesome latter years! An angel throng, bewinged, bedight, In veils, and drowned in tears, Sit in a theatre, to see, A play of hopes and fears, While the orchestra breathes fitfully, The music of the spheres. Mimes, in the form of God on high, Mutter and mumble low, And hither and thither fly - Mere puppets they, who come and go At bidding of vast formless things That shift the scenery to and fro, Flapping from out their Condor wings Invisible Wo! A void. An echo of space without a point of origin. Without a sense of end. A color. An infinite expanse of color. A single color. A red void. A red void. All red... All scarlet... A haze of frothing, syrupy, incandescently scarlet red blood... Viscous, coppery, warm. Blood redder than the very heart of red. There is a creature in the void. There is a presence in the blood. There is a parasite. A parasite. An echo of humanity long reverberated from the mortal coil, and ever onwards into the unyielding, empty, scarlet red abyss. A crone hunched along the edge of the alders and oaks at the first yawn of dusk, eyes gleaming and guttering with jaundiced yellow light in the climbing dark. Waiting for John... John? Who is... That? At daybreak an Acolyte emerges, she accosts him. John. She lives still and yet resides with death. She bids him warning. "Wander not further yonder, little lamb." "Go whence you come, little lamb, return ye to church. Return ye to your shepherd." "This grove and river be where the Hermit slakes his thirst." >Cont'd

You're an average person, with an average job. One day, someone brought up the concept of lucid dreaming at work. It interested you greatly, so you researched a few methods, and prepared. What will you find, as you search for freedom in your own mind? Week 1 Focuses: >Lucid Dreaming: [0%] [MUST BE DONE FIRST] Roll 1d100 to generate %. Players are limited to 1 roll per turn. Players can invent new focuses as they please, within the confines of the quest.

Today is the day. This is going to mark the end of an era of your life as you know it. PROM The thought of the word bounces around your mind like a ricocheting bullet. That's right, it's prom night tonight. You never really had much of a reputation during high school, but then again, you didn't really go out of your way to socialize either. Going to prom tonight is stressing you out a bit. There's supposed to be a huge after-party at Jacob Langley's house. Jacob comes from a luxuriously wealthy family. You've never been inside his house, but you can attest to the fact that his parents' house is huge. People have asked Jacob what his parents do for a living, though he's always pretty vague about it for some reason. You still doubt you're invited, though. It's only been recently that a couple of your bullies, Stacy and Kinsley, have been warming up to you and being nicer. The change has come out of nowhere, but it's welcome to you. The clock is ticking until school starts. You walk into the bathroom and strip down, getting a good look at yourself. It's certainly you... >Alexander Kingston, a boy >Gracie Kingston, a girl

You are Kaguya Ryōko. You are a shinobi who now lives in the hidden village Yūgakure, and to your knowledge, you may be one of just two of your kind left in this world. Today is a big day for you, since it’s fallen to you to serve as the sole representative of your village in the international chūnin exams being held in Konohagakure. After clearing two previous stages meant to test your information-gathering and survival skills, the third stage consists of a tournament-style rotation of duels – of which you have won two. The next match will see two Konoha genin facing off against each other – Tsurugi Misumi, an unremarkable twentysomething with glasses who seems to usually keep his face covered, and Hyūga Hinata, the timid eldest daughter of the supposedly most powerful house in their village. Out of all the matches so far this is the second which you’re finding it difficult to predict – Uchiha Sasuke versus Hyūga Neji being the other owing to the relatively high level of apparent skill each contestant brought into it. But this match is somewhat opposite. Misumi Tsurugi’s preliminary match against Yamanaka Ino wasn’t much of a fight, and only really served to tell you two things. First, Misumi-san’s technique relies on softening his bones to improve his grappling ability. Second… he has a lousy personality. Hyūga Hinata’s preliminary match demonstrated that she can use the Hyūga clan’s specialty form of taijutsu… if her opponent allows it. Her speed and physical strength are fine for a genin, but not quite up to the standards of the strongest candidates still in the running. The two of them facing off in the middle of the arena paints a stark picture. If you had to guess, the way Misumi-san carries himself and smirks like he’s already won will make most of the audience think he’ll likely be the winner – but want to root against him anyway. “This is going to be a good time!” Misumi Tsurugi muses. Hinata-kun doesn’t say anything in response. Genma-san watches them both with a frown. “Misumi Tsurugi versus Hyūga Hinata… you may begin!” Hinata-kun throws a kunai at Misumi-san and closes the distance after it, forcing Misumi-san to duck low to avoid it. Unfortunately for Hinata-kun, it doesn’t stop him from weaving hand seals and clasping his hands together with his fingertips pointed at his opponent. “Suiton: Suireiha!” The grapefruit-sized ball of water forces Hinata-kun to break off her attack, using her own fingertip-strikes to try to break down the ball before it connects with her torso. The force causes her to stagger back, and the three smaller shots in quick succession push her even further off her balance as she twists to intercept them as well. That gave Misumi-san a moment to fall back and open the distance up a little more. “What’s wrong!?” he crows, drawing several kunai of his own. “Can’t get close!?” >1/3

Last time, you and your friends from the Occult Club encountered the school ghost, a woman named Evie, who went on to possess poor, innocent Tina. She refused to give up control because you’re a menace to society, so you brought her home. Does that make sense? If your answer is no, that’s the wrong answer. Be ashamed of yourself. At your apartment, you learned the truth behind Evie’s past; she’s a war veteran who teamed up with Sekhmet (Ichie’s entity) like 100 years ago against the forces of evil — then you mended your relationship, and ate pizza with everyone at the apartment. Hooray! That’d be the end of the story, but this night refuses to die young. Ruby was *also* possessed by a ghost from the past. One you’re intimate with! That’s right, it’s Holly Gram! The living spirit of a dead civilization. After the initial confusion, the Millennial ghost requests something of major importance! Bodies for her and Evie! Is that even a thing you can do…? Are you going to play God?! Let’s find out! “...And that’s who Holly Gram is.” You put your hands over your hips as you explained to Ichie, Suan De, Susie, and Evie (+ Tina) who this woman is! “Ohohoho~, so this is actual proof of that whole ordeal…” T_T Neko is the living database of everything you’ve learned. “She comes from a technologically advanced society wiped from existence…?” Evie can’t comprehend it, even if her heart aches for this senseless amount of lost lives… “Not that advanced. Your airplanes are amazing! We never figured those ones out!” Holly Gram smiles. “...They sure are.” Evie tries to hide her prideful smile. She probably doesn’t even know the new models and she’s acting like this... “This has far greater implications than we can comprehend…” Suan De can’t even formulate the appropriate questions. “And I’m a couple of beers in, so I’m not going to even try...” “I’d question the veracity of these claims, but Johnny said so! So, uhm, this is… this is…! I don’t know!!!” Ichie’s brain is overcharged. “Nice going, Johnny. I could’ve done my own introduction — it used to be my job and all — but you knocked it out of the park!” Holly Ruby is enjoying the pizza way more than Ruby ever did! “But it’s true, I got bored of exploring this world without a body. There isn’t much you can do without interacting. I really tried, I did two laps before coming here, mind you. It’s about time to evolve!” “Is Ruby okay in there? I’m sure you won’t hurt her, but is she okay with this arrangement?” You’re a little worried. She’d never eat pizza the way Holly is… “Oh, she’s loving it! And she knows I’m borrowing her good looks just for a bit.” Holly Gram wiggles her eyebrows. “You gotta get us new bodies ASAP! So we can stop bothering these damsels.”

Although historians would only later append 'the Younger' to the name of Prince Cyrus--to distinguish him from his father--he was worthy of that epithet already. He was barely twenty-two. He kept a short black beard, the best he could manage in his youth, and the Persian habit of painting his eyes with kohl. He sat a horse loosely and without effort. At close quarters one could see the scars, white and ridged where his coat opened at the neck and where his sleeve met his hand, which were rumored to have been earned in deadly contest with a bear. He was, from his birth, serious and thoughtful. Often, he sent wine or meat from his own table to men who pleased him. Men who displeased him left his court short a hand, a foot, or an eye. His seat was in Sardis, the old Lydian capital at the foot of Mount Tmolus. The timber and mud-brick houses of Sardis crowded around the narrow Pactolus, whose sands had once made Lydian kings rich. Above them the acropolis ascended a sheer ochre crag, so that the city seemed to be shaded by a fortress. Lydian craftsmen, Greek traders, Persian officials, and soldiers from half a dozen countries jostled in its markets. It was prosperous and ancient, but not peaceful by nature. Cyrus the Great had taken it from Croesus, and Greek rebels had burned it a century before. Its present tranquility was yet another anomaly of the age maintained by Persian spears. It was there, in Sardis, that Cyrus ordered his scattered Greek contingents to assemble. Two thousand men gathered by his guest-friend Proxenus of Boeotia, fifteen hundred hoplites, another five hundred light-armed men with javelins, slings, or bows. The Peloponnesian War had ended only three years before. Many among them faced the prospect of neglected farms, inherited debts, or cities which disdained their return, and so had not yet left the service. Their present task, so they were told, was to put down the hill tribes which were troubling the Prince's lands in Pisidia. It was to be a short and predictable campaign, no more than a season's march, with a few villages spoiled and plundered, some Pisidian barbarians butchered. A common enough kind of war, and to many, a last chance at redemption or glory or fortunes, before the inevitable retirement.

The keeper did not open the trapdoor until the young man had set down everything he came with, the satchel, the letters, the ledger of small debts, the ring, and finally the name that people upstairs used to find him in a crowd, which took the longest, because a man does not realize how much weight a name carries until he is asked to leave it on a desk in a stone room beneath a city that does not know he is there. When he was done the keeper crouched and worked the iron ring and the stone ground against itself with a sound the young man felt in his back teeth before he heard it with his ears. The cold that came up from below was ancient and deliberate, the cold of something that had been counting. Before the young man could lean over to look the keeper grabbed his arm, certain the way old things move when they are done being patient, and said do not go down there planning to come back the same, said it once, dropped his arm, handed him a light and pointed at the opening. The young man went because his feet went before he decided, down into the dark that smelled of stone and time and something deeper than both, the trapdoor closing above him like a held breath released, and the grinding followed him all the way down.

I'm from your roommate's grocery store. Prepare to die. >what? >why? >run >fight

"Adventurers Wanted!" So sayeth the sign, hammered into the hard earth just outside the entrance of Zurham Gristmean's Grizzly Bear Guesthouse, the small frontier town's only real place for booze or bedding. While Crowsflight is no center of culture or commerce, the dwarf's action is still momentous and meaningful. Everyone knows, when such a sign goes up, they will inevitably appear... Those daring doers of derring-do, good and evil and everything in between, from far and wide and high and low. Adventurers! Things must be dire indeed... >Submit a character! We will be using Simple d6 3rd Edition (https://1d6chan.miraheze.org/wiki/Simple_D6_-_Third_Edition), so include: a name, a race-class combo (your quality), and five skills. You may give up 1 Skill to get either +2 Hit Points in a single Aspect (Body, Mind, Magic, Faith, which all start at 5 HP) or +1 Defense in a single Aspect per Skill you give up. You can also give up 1 HP or 1 Defense from any one Aspect to boost another, but you cannot have more than 7 or less than 3 HP in any one Aspect, and Defense cannot be higher than 2 in any one Aspect. You must trade HP for HP, and Defense for Defense. You can also specify two weapons, a weapon and armor, or a weapon and two tools. These add +1 damage to any successful combat roll (for weapons), +1 to the initial roll for related skill checks (for tools), or -1 damage taken from any physical attack (for armor). Weapons and armor can be magical or physical, but only one or the other, with wizard's staffs and protective robes serving as weapons and armor for the purposes of magic rolls while a warrior's more conventional sort apply to physical rolls. A stat block might look like: >Name: John >Race: Human >Class: Fighter >Skills: Craft, Athletics, Swords, Bravery, Basket-Weaving >Body: 7 HP (2 Def) >Mind: 5 HP (0 Def) >Magic: 3 HP (1 Def) >Faith: 6 HP (1 Def) >Equipment: Sword, Half-Plate You are also strongly encouraged to include some basic backstory and appearance details, and maybe a motivation. You will not control your specific character but rather we will all control the party together, but we will be voting on the first four party members from this pool. As the party grows, we may get more. As party members die, we may create new ones, and you may get a chance to resubmit your character that didn't win last time. Fun ideas (or art) are likely to get you more votes for your character.

The Halls of the High Hollow ring with the echoes of long past labors. They resonate with songs whose verses were long sung last. Your place is not amongst the fading frivolities which shall soon be forgotten. The depths call for you to strike the Earth, and the stone walls that protected the heart of world for ages unfathomable are still no obstacle to a child of perseverance. To grasp the pickaxe and the spade is to have the riches of the world already half in hand.

Opportunity, freedom and power lies West of the Mississippi. Gold and land are in abundance - along with competition. The chance to strike out and make it big. More so if you are Kindred or Cainite. Even with the establishment of the west coast, and the transcontinental railroad linking New York to San Francisco, large swathes of territories-turned-states are still blank on the map. Cities are contested, and outside of towns is no man's land. The Sabbat have been losing territory since the Mexican-American War. The Camarilla, led first by Anarchs, are making inroads, and the independent clans are trickling in. The Jyhad is anyone’s game out here, and it's mostly neonates and fledgling playing. The American Civil War has been over for five years. Many people headed west, and Kindred followed. Along with technology advancing, record keeping was on the rise. You had to have your identity written down, even if it was your false identity. The way you were taking the train, though, didn't require identification. As far as the mortals knew, you were just a special-made coffin. That's why it weighed so much, they reckon. But who was this coming down on an iron horse? >Raphael Two-Saints. Up from Montréal way. The immigration officer couldn't spell your family name of Toussaint, so you settled with “Two-Saints.” Skirmishes with the Native tribes saw your sire granting you the Embrace. >Sybil Proctor. From an esteemed plantation family, you left the stifling South behind. A combination of your pedigree and strong sense of self caught your sire’s attention. >Write-In. Include name and something that made them stand out to their sire. What is your clan? (With Disciplines listed) >Assamite (Celerity, Obfuscate, Quietus) >Brujah (Celerity, Potence, Presence) >Followers of Set (Obfuscate, Presence, Serpentis) >Gangrel (Animalism, Fortitude, Protean) >Giovanni (Dominate, Necromancy, Potence) >Lasombra (Dominate, Obtenebration, Potence) >Malkavian (Auspex, Dementation, Obfuscate) >Nosferatu (Animalism, Obfuscate, Potence) >Ravnos (Animalism, Chimerstry, Fortitude) >Toreador (Auspex, Celerity, Presence) >Tremere (Auspex, Dominate, Thaumaturgy) >Tzimisce (Animalism, Auspex, Vicissitude) >Ventrue (Dominate, Fortitude, Presence) You go to the West in the name of… >... the Camarilla. >... the Anarchs! >... the Sabbat! >... true independence. You're tired of all the sectarian hogwash! You leave the East Coast behind for a new unlife but you do bring something with you. What is it? >Resources (3 dot equivalent) >Two competent Retainers >A Kindred Ally, a peer and confidant >Herd of 5 kine

The year is 2002 and the month is January. The place, is the border between two extremely poor and run down countries in West Africa. Sierra Leone and Liberia Who are you? You're some bloke from the area with a hint of ambition, some heart, and just enough charisma to get you where you need to go. The Situation Sierra Leone and Liberia are some of the most broke as hell nations in the entire world. We're talking "the national export is rough cut diamonds and lumber" levels of poverty. For a very long time in both nations, one group of people got to have all the wealth, and then another group people got mad about it and did a revolution, but then that second group was totally psycho with cutting off limbs and having child soldiers, ect ect. One of the nations has mostly ended it's civil-war finally, but the dictator of the other one is selling lumber and rubber to The West to fund an army of child soldiers and mass murdering fuckheads. His name is Charles Taylor and he's basically this guy here. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sHn5nfW3pNw Villages are burned to the ground, refugees are starving in camps, and the local UN or African Union Forces are incompetent and corrupt. TLDR: The situation is shit. What does this mean for me? You are a local "big man" and you're here to do something about the crisis. You're not a saint. You're maybe something of a warrior, like all the other warriors, including the warriors that fought for Rome and who sacked Rome, so forth (Not that you know about Goths or European History). You want glory. You're eager to see a little more violence and fighting. You want ribbons and maybe a medal or two. You want a crisp uniform and a beret, and maybe a Jeep to be driven around in. We're talking mules, we're talking a big house, we're talking a wife or girlfriends. We're talking grandmas and grandpas clapping you on the back, saying you're the village hero. Priests saying you are blessed by god, white western reporters wanting to hear your story. If you're lucky.

You awake to the comforting warmth of a curvaceous red haired woman in your arms, the softness of the blanket you share, and the feeling of your bed creaking briefly as your thief gets up. By the time you glance over your shoulder the window is already open, and she's gone. The town is bustling with early morning business outside. The inn is waking up, and it's time for you to go about your day. You and your party are experienced adventurers, using this town to stage excursions into dungeons and mountains. You're building a good reputation. You've been in other parties before, but this is the longest period you've been with a party yet. You sit up in bed, the blanket falling off your muscled body as you look around your room in the inn, you see your weapons on their rack, and your plate armor on its stand. The fire is ashes, and there's a breeze coming through the open window. Furea mutters in her sleep, shivering and curling up slightly. The tall, leggy redhead was a gladiator before you bought her freedom, she declared herself yours and she's been loyal in bed and battle ever since. Her eyes are blue, her legs long, her midriff toned, her breasts indecently full and her long hair lies free and messy after last night. She has a body on par with the beautiful thief who warmed the other side of your bed last night, Arianne is pale, dark haired, her eyes a similar blue to her redhead co-concubine, her body equally lush. She attempted to assassinate you, only to met with a fateful of your body as you left a bath. After you bedded her she told you of the thief gang she worked for, you brought them to justice, she was granted a pardon, and she swore her service to you in gratitude. She's an excellent scout, thief and support, though she tries to avoid melee combat, snarking constantly about it whenever she has to. You smile. She's worth it. Your room is large, with room for a double bed, fireplace, your weapons and armor, a table, chairs, dressers for the girls clothes. You tie your belt, just as the door opens and one of your servants enters. As a wealthy adventurer, you have a small group of retainers, including a quartet of maids whose duties include cleaning your armor and weapons. Despite their horns you aren't positive they're tieflings, they don't seem to have the booming voice and smell of sulphur you hear is normal. Also you don't think they're raging homosexuals. "Good morning master." Lara says softly, careful not to wake the woman she [rightfully] assumes is asleep behind you. As the third oldest she's a bit less flighty than the older two, and more demure than the youngest. "Shall I bring tea or will you be taking it downstairs this morning?" You cup her cheek affectionately. "I'm heading downstairs Lara, but please bring tea for Furea and Arianne." She bobs a curtsy. "Of course sir." You pat her head as you walk past her, pulling a shirt on and heading for the baths, thinking about your past as a- [Cont.]

Argentum Ever-gleaming and lustrous, it flows through your veins IN this dilapidated iron tomb floating in space. It is a medium between Mekkina and Magika . An intertwined heresy that had doomed your creators by merging the divine ichor of the long dead Automia with their technological advancements in liquid form, they didn’t revive the goddess they coveted oh so much, instead, a new menace would rise from her rotten womb: The Revenants . Aberrations of flesh and circuits with an endless thirst for the ever sweet blood of man. In a sense, they are your less-than-refined brothers and sisters, crossbreeds of Mekkina and Magika but their hatred for petty mortals playing gods would result in total annihilation of all mankind according to the space station’s sensors. You are a failsafe or a countermeasure meant to exist for the sole purpose of reclaiming the planet . No matter how resourceful you are, you can’t do it on your own. You must revive the Foundry in order to forge the true saviors of humanity: Tactis Throughout centuries worth of conflict against the Revenants, humanity had replicated the data of their finest inside an Argent Core , a well spring of skills and knowledge needed to retake the planet. Tactical Girls will be born from your Argentum, your precious blood in the heart of the Foundry, are you ready to fulfill your destiny, Reclaimer ? The Foundry yearns for your succulent blood. Feed her , Awaken bits of data forever trapped in a labyrinth of wires and shackling codes. ARG: [30/30] ARG Regen: 1/QM Post Rolling dice is 1d1000 to acquire Tactis depending on Argent Path : -Mekkina Tactis: 10 ARG -Magika Tactis: 10 ARG -Random Tactis: 5 ARG -Excess Rolls (rolling when out of ARG will generate Cheer! if it is a high roll (+700), enough Cheer! will grant extra ARG, One possible Chher! per ID though.) -Must Specify Argent Path while rolling, otherwise , it will default to Random Tactis Argent Path -Rarity: 1-500 (T0), 501-800 (T1), 801-990 (T2), 991-1000 (T3) >Roll 1d1000 + AG, a balanced Roster is recommended.

Far off... In the distant future. On the moon of Europa, settlements of humanity fight in torturing conditions, for reasons unknown. You know you will die if you do not fight, and so you fight, trying to stay alive another day. Character Creation: https://docs.google.com/document/d/e/2PACX-1vQtptlHoLqqRa1RBGkq5O0kihZMfcFWQRO3JcgPLE7nyDCF2yjgXWyBS2fiYaFDpRnT7M_ZRvmOMEOo/pub (See "Character Creation, under "Armory". Credit to Cognis for making this skirmish system, wherever he may be.) Welcome to Europa. Whether off-worlder come in search of high-risk pay, or lifer who's known the planet and it's rad-pockets since your birth, you will fight together. Perhaps in search of something greater than yourselves. Perhaps for nothing but the men and women next to you. Few survive long, will you? Requisition Form: >Name >Suit >Weapon(s) >Consumables >Perks >Items (Note: Local planetary surnames end in "-ski.")

> 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/1ogBctptpH_0fBm1RCE_Xu76MuGmHvTVf5LvDolBh3sE https://discord.gg/KgdMGFe2z With several gods already out of the running, feel free to post a god sheet in the thread if you’re interested in joining in. >Epoch 48 begins!

With the Tournament of Power brought to a close, the Seventh Universe has emerged triumphant once more. Led by the Saiyan warriors, the Seventh's victory was secured. And with the wish on the Super Dragon Balls used to restore the other universes that were eliminated and erased, the final hidden trial was passed, and all eight of the universes up for elimination were allowed to remain. Yet, even with this victory, peace doesn't last in the Seventh Universe for long. As old hatreds rise and long-buried grudges resurface, will you have what it takes to keep everything you've worked the last 28 years of your life to build? Or will those who seek your end ultimately triumph? That all depends on you, and your choices. You the players will (most often) control Karn. A Saiyan man who has grown from his lowly beginnings as a mid-tier 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 over a dozen powerful and unique children, a mentor and teacher to his fellow Saiyans, and the indisputable winner of the Tournament of Power. Wielder of the Berserker Soul, and the powerful Stand Divine Dragon Force, you're fully equipped to handle any threat that comes your way. But what will you do when the threats aren't always physical, when you can't simply punch all your problems away? 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=HUT0uwSLQ3I SINISTER SCHEMES

Your name is Vincent Cruz. You work in a shady government-backed facility in the middle of the New Mexico desert. You are a footnote to the Powers That Be. You've actually proven yourself to be useful to the Powers That Be, due to your research into CIGARETTE MOLD and the fact you’re powering part of their facility. You're a researcher for the Abnormality Regulation Coalition (also known as ARC), tasked with containing and studying paranormal entities on their behalf. You've always had a knack with the anomalous, even before you ended up here, ever since that chance encounter with a certain HEART. You're great at making the worst out of a bad situation, at least. You've got friends, you've got cash, and you got a lot of companies on your side. Even if they’re only on your side because you’re a useful wageslave. As for what happened over the last day or so? You finally managed to free yourself from your endless shift. It took way too long to complete it, and you had to juggle a million things at once, but you did it. A certain DEERFOX SHADE harassed you right before you left, but that's a problem for future you to deal with. You managed to strike a deal with a powerful corporate executive by the name of Mr. Rust. While he may be a fully artificial(?) robot with little care for anything outside of business, he actually seems to like the cut of your gib. You two aren't so different at the end of the day, and he's going to do his best to help you out over the upcoming days. You finally tracked down the murderer of Caspian. After a short interrogation that resulted in him framing himself, you had enough evidence to charge him for his crimes. You might've had to calm Caspian down before she went insane, but at the very least, she was able to move on. You also tracked down a conman who was besmirching the name of your mold. It turns out that he was being harassed by the original researcher behind your product. Or what was left of the researcher, anyways. You were able to scare him off before things got too hectic, at least. Now, you’ve managed to arrange a meeting between you and ARC. A meeting to pitch your CIGARETTE MOLD to a wider audience. To potentially make a deal with ARC to sell your product to the outside world. To make, as the kid would say, a SHIT TON of money. You've been doing some last minute preparations to finalize your pitch before you get dragged into the belly of the beast. All you gotta do is to wrap up this interview, and you'll be on your way to making yourself FILTHY RICH As they say, another day, another dollar. No matter what happens, you'll find a way to make it through. Can’t stop. Won’t stop. Can’t stop. Won’t stop. Can’t stop. 30 GOTO 10. ARCHIVE: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Low%20Rung VINCENT SHEET/INVENTORY: https://rentry.co/VINCENTSHEET ALLIES: https://rentry.co/COWORKERLIST ANOMALY/SAMPLE NOTES: https://rentry.co/RESEARCHNOTES

It is the 40th millennium. The Imperium of Man is the cruelest and most bloody regime imaginable. One million stars lay under its rule. Uncountable multitudes of humanity toil for its sake. They are beset by countless horrors from within and without, seeking to rend and ruin all that they hold dear, and the deadliest of them all is the Imperium itself. Everpresent. Everviligant. Everzealous. The Adeptus Terra make for cruel taskmasters, and no less ruthless are the enforcers who enact their decrees to the letter. To live in such times is to be crushed under the boot of a galaxy-spanning dominion. To dream of dissent is death. There are no exceptions. There is no mercy. There can be no hope. None of this matters. You have set yourself against the unstoppable momentum of a quintillions-strong warmachine, and you will live or you will die on your own terms. There are many rebellions across these blighted stars. This one is yours.

Previously on Helena's Quest. Our protagonist, Helena, after defeating Strawberry Cookie in a Bogemon:D combat, gifts her the potato she sought so much. With it Strawberry Cookie will be able to get even more potatoes like in Minecraft. The Potato wasn't King's wife. What's all this? Read >>>/i/817964 at your own risk. I'll post the archived threads below.

In the world of Hainei, everything is desired, and there are those that will come together to tug even at what is ruined. But even what is in ruins is not truly dead, and as long as a heart remains that beats below the surface, it can be unearthed eventually. ~~~ This quest is a side story that takes place in the universe of Chaos: The Quest for Redemption. New readers are encouraged to start from the beginning to grasp the context of what you are about to witness. Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Levelman Wiki: https://chaosquest.miraheze.org/wiki/Main_Page

You live in a town called Big Satan! To the north there are Yetis and a tribe of orcs that use polar bears as shock cavalry. To the south, there is a vast desert where seminomad serpent people grow strange flowers called Snuff with stimulant properties that can be chewed, smoked or even snorted in powder form; beyond this desert there is a savanna with evil lamias that like to enslave everyone to mine gold and jewels, and further south there is a jungle where elves and gnolls battle for supremacy. To the east there are vast plains where the horse clans fight each other. Beyond them, a country of tiny goblins with large penises, they breed very fast and the female goblins choose mates by dick size, the larger the better. To the west there is an amazonian society where very tall women enslave meek men in mines and farming jobs while they train with deadly melee weapons, their children if female are always tall amazonians, and if male are short and weak willed members of their race. Big Satan is a metropolis with over 25,000 people living there. It has a chronic problem with Vampires. It has a thieves guild, an assassins guild, and more professional guilds than most people can count. The Guild Council holds ridiculous wealth and power. There are many other factions. Yet, it is you who rule the city! When a leader dies, the Noble Council convenes to choose a new leader amongst elligible candidates (male nobles aged between 16 and 70 years old). And right now, they chose you! Little do they know that you have a pact with one of the factions, to let them operate more freely, and this pact has led you to power. But it also binds you to them. The faction that have helped you rise to power was... > The Vampires. They want freedom to run businesses where they can feed in peace. > The Thieves Guild. They want to keep running their smuggling business without many questions asked. > The Assassin's Guild. They want a safe haven where they can rest in between missions. > The Guild Council. They want you to ensure their profits will always be prioritized, and they don't wanna pay taxes. > Write in (invent a faction and tell what they want) You are to lead the Big Satan Army, which consists of... > Mostly Infantry > Mostly Archers > Mostly Cavalry > Mostly Casters > Mostly Fantastic Creatures (specify) > Write in (choose whatever you want, but you can't have more than 250 soldiers)

You are OTTO GRIGGS, and after installing a random game in your Steam Library, Fantasy Quest 7: Rebirth, you were summoned to another world. Only, instead of a fantastical adventure full of whimsy and joy, you’ve spent the last few days trudging underground through abandoned tunnels and malicious factories. You’re starting to think this was all one big scam. Or you would if you didn’t suddenly gain the power to toy with REALITY itself. An ability that’s saved both your ass and the asses of the new comrades. Particularly one SAKI NISHIMURA, another Earthling who was summoned alongside you (though without the magic powers). But let’s not forget KNIGHT COMMANDER SEVENTEEN, the over seven-foot android who summoned you and foisted the quest of reconquering FACTORY XI-187 upon you– seeing as it’s been mass-producing demonic soldiers and weapons for quite some time now. Along the way, the three of you encountered one LADY LUVETTEL, who, after a little trolling on your part, joined your party after becoming quite OBSESSED with you. It’s a whole thing… Anyway! You figured out pretty quickly that your REALITY MAGIC might not have come from your own abilities, or lack thereof, seeing as the VOID ENTITY, who lives inside your chest, has been complaining nonstop about your “theft” every time you go to sleep. But anything of the sort totally wasn’t willful on your part– None of this was! Especially not joining the army of the BLACKIRON PACT. Seventeen kind of forced that one, but if you had your way, you’d still be back home on Earth. But things never seem to go your way. Like, no way you’d currently be standing in XI-187 if they did. Regardless, while a crusader army rampages about– vanguarded by REN MINATO, the isekai hero who slew the DEMON LORD before your summoning– you’re interrogating a necromancer named BROTHER CALLUM as he whines and whimpers about “Human Rights” or other such nonsense. …Did you mention you’re trying to recruit him?

It has been 2000 years since the Black Knight tore open the last of the great portals and trampled the worlds of the Weld with his unstoppable warband. As his band crushed the native kingdoms and nations, burned the banners of ancient orders and sects, and laid to waste the effigies of the gods, the Black Knight did not remain to rule over these broken lands. He rode ever onward, allowing the shattered peoples to rebuild under the shadow of the dark rider. New standards flew over reconstructed walls, men of arms kneeled at the feet of new monarchs, cities rose to glisten in the moonlight, and all throughout the Weld those who had rode alongside the Black Knight departed to carve out a niche that they saw fit. But none would find dominance, for without warning or reason the Black Knight and his cohort would ride again to despoil the realms. It is under these times that our tale brings us to a busy inn along the road Ghenthun, linking the odd trails of Onsev to its two largest portals. Sleeping gravcars and beasts of burden huddle within the confines of the stables as the warm lights of the inn shine against the haze of the cool and cloudy day. The patrons of this meager establishment turn or shiver as the door swings open, bringing in a breeze and… >A figure suited in plate armor, a knight in unassuming grey bereft of heraldry or insignia. His gaze lingers on the crowd a few moments too long (Young Questing Knight) >A coated man who swiftly moves from the door, his hand passing into the insides of his garment as he grasps the stolen collateral he brings for tonight’s game. (Outlaw Gambler) >The cloaked figure of a larger being, followed swiftly by a another shrouded biped escorting a thinner hood who takes in the sights of the crowded tavern (Traveling Princess) >An unassuming being wrapped in cloth against the cold, slipping swiftly and quietly into the shadows of a nearby booth. (Aspiring Thief) >The clank of metal tipped combat boots and the clink of loose rigging as their weary owner shambles to the bar (Free-of-Company Mercenary)

"Wait, you mean you knew THE Giovanni? As in THE leader of Team Rocket? The one that disappeared a few years ago? I don't-" "You brats don't got hardly any attention spans left at all, huh?! Ain't you been listening, kid, we didn't just know him, we practically put him on the map!" Says a stout, gruff old man with a comb over and patchy stubble in charcoal black and silver-grey. The cigarette in his mouth falls out and into his coffee. His eyes have been scrunched shut the whole time, but they go wide and bloodshot at this. "Ah, cripes, see whatcha made me do, brat?!" "We got our start alongside his father, see? Rolled together and helped build the family business. We're the finest cat burglars in the region." Adds the woman next to him, who seems every bit as old, with noticeable laugh lines on her face, and a small nose, with grey wavy hair that falls down to her chin in a bob cut. Her eyes are bright, sharp blue, and a little mischievous. The kid sitting catty-corner to them at the long counter of the diner quirks one eyebrow, and lays his menu down flat in front of him. "I'm sorry... But aren't you a little old to be climbing up buildings and stealing things?" Comb-over slams his fist down on the counter and points accusingly at the child with the other. His eyes are scrunched again, but angled down angrily. "YOU AIN'T GOT A CLUE WHAT WE'RE TOO OLD FOR YA SNOT! WE'RE THE REAL DEAL PROFESSIONAL CRIMINAL AGENTS AND WE GOT DECADES OF EXPERIENCE, WE'RE SHARPER THAN EVER!" He pulls three poke balls out of his pockets then, rising out of his seat and stepping back. "I oughta teach you a lesson right here, right now, about respectin' your elders!" A black leather glove grips his shoulder, and another man, with a deeper voice, speaks up from behind him. "George, you're making a scene. Smooth moves, right? Let's make it all smooth moves today." He says calmly. He's got a leaner, more athletic build than the bruiser he's talking down, with a thick white mustache and mutton chops, a black scally cap on his head... And a black eyepatch with a bold, red letter 'R' on it. His gaze extends past the man's shoulder and to the woman. "And Leslie, I told you not to let him have more than one cup of coffee - you know how he gets." He chides with a slight smile. His good eye is a dull green color, and something flashes behind it when he speaks to her. "Good morning, Leonidas." She says with a smirk. "His wife told me not to let him have more than one side of bacon, either, with his blood pressure where it's been lately. But, well, you know how he gets." She smiles then, showing a silver tooth on the left side that glints in the morning light. >1/3

For House and Dominion: A Knight's Tale (3) Previous Thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2026/6353859/ H&D Wiki: https://houseanddominion.fandom.com/ https://twitter.com/ThatSlowTypingG You are Joanna Farrell, a would be Knight from the Dominion of Royal Houses. You are among the few remaining survivors of House Meros, a minor House that fell during the turmoil and wars of the early 41st century. Now you and other aspirants have ventured out into the unexplored regions of the universe aboard the starship Bertrand to seek your fortune and gather resources to someday reclaim your lost House. >The Crew The landless 'Errant' Knight Dar'el Camdie gathered your group of Knight aspirants in the hopes of forging you into a force to be reckoned with. For their efforts they were assassinated and attempts were made at capturing the rest of you. Despite this setback the rest of you have carried on in their memory. Chief Miriam Hannah is in charge of your ship the Bertrand and has been acting as its captain for years now. She can get your forces to where they can do the most good but it will be up to you Knight aspirants to lead the special forces and win battles. Sergeant Mulyadi Reza commands the marines aboard ship and acts as your training officer. He largely remains aboard ship to help protect it in your absense. Captain Gavril Mladenovski is the new Mechanized commander for the armored vehicle units. He's been saddled with hundreds of green troops but with the assistance of Reza hopes to make them an effective fighting force. Sergeant Ram is a veteran who helps lead the squad of marines under your command. Lt Commander Gemaya Ideru is an Alliance observer stationed aboard. Though primarily meant to see to your unique Intelligence needs, they also oversee requisitions of Alliance equipment. >The would be Knights Alar Ul'torel is a Dro'all Noble. A skilled Medic in addition to their training to one day become a Knight, they've gone out of their way to be friendly to everyone on the team. Knight Dar'el's old power armor has been rebuilt and is now used by Alar to carry an advanced field medical system. Kalnit Bakor is a Kavarian. A drone specialist and systems expert, he typically uses fire support drones to catch enemies from angles they're not expecting. The two of you were forced to take turns using the same suit of power cell armor early on. Though he somewhat lags behind the others in combat ability he is improving. Ninnik Gehell is one of the diminutive Shallan. Though trained primarily as a pilot you've helped encourage them to keep up with the rest of the team in small arms combat. Since acquiring another starship much of his time has been taken up with its command. Despite this he's still determined to keep up power armor training.

The steady groaning of the steel submarines structure can be heard throughout the vessel. It doesn't take an experienced mariner to know you're deep enough to cause even the sturdiest of materials great pressure from the current environment. The amount of time you've all been trapped here, how longs it been again? You turn around to check the calendar in your sleeping quarters. APRIL 3, 2100 Shit, that's right. You slap yourself on the forehead, the skin from your palm collides and makes an audible smacking noise. It's been not one, not two, but THREE! Fucking months on this vessel. You knew when you signed up for this contract that you'd spend a great deal of time here, but not this long! You sigh aloud in the shared room. You're currently the only one in it, it's not break time and most people are still toiling away making sure the sub stays in one piece. You needed this break though, the day has been particularly tough on both your body and mind. If there's been anything positive about your time spent so far though, it's that the occasional noise or hiss from the sub no longer immediately puts you on your toes. That's not to say you were particularly wanting to be acclimated to moving around in the open, vulnerable in this metal coffin. If you would've had your way, you'd of found a cushy administrative job back at a nearby outpost, not nearly as deep below as you currently are. Whatever, just keep pushing along. The sooner you get back to work, the better your chances of nobody finding out you took a temporary leave from your duties. Right.. your duties, what was it you were hired for again? >Security >Navigations >Engineering & Maintenance >General Assistant

Much is spoken of the First Vitelian Empire’s most famous leader, the radiant and great Augustus Superbus. Most of it is praise by traditionalists, mournful pleas for his reimaging to come forth and divest Vitelia of its woes, especially by those who would consider him a Saint who enacted the Will of God. Yet those who called themselves Futurists considered a different aspect of him besides grandiose glory attributed to his reign and his Empire. Emperor Augustus was trained in the classical way by his father, Titianus Superbus, founder of the First Empire, and Augustus authored his chronicle on philosophy and rulership a long while into his famous reign, but that chronicle was also not what Futurists considered. Instead, they examined an apocryphal writing by Augustus, one made in his youth, said to have been written just before he was selected as heir to an empire. Structured as a poetic epic might be, Augustus was far from a talented poet at the time, were said writing indicative of his skill, but the words were those of a sort that led to any claims of authorship being denied and refuted by those who venerated his name most over the centuries. The poem was part of a collection, an entire story, though it had been long lost or never completed. The individual nature of the poem even lends credence to the widespread thought that it was a forgery merely attributed to a famous name, as it was discovered over two hundred years after Augustus’s death. It described an adventure of a man called Helgo, who was a compatriot of Sversk the Conqueror, though in braving the maelstrom alongside him, he was blown south while Sversk was blown north, Helgo eventually making landfall in ancient Vitelia, where he would form his kingdom. Helgo was, of course, fictional, as no records whatsoever record him, his voyage, or even being one of Sversk’s companions, but there is also little to imply that Augustus claimed him to be real either. All of that beside the point, interpreted from the remnants of the singular piece of the epic, the poem called Turris Somniorum described Helgo and his followers, numbering over one thousand then, coming upon a great and mysterious tower with a shining beacon at its head, which had been followed out of the Maelstrom. At the tower’s foot was a strange inscription, claiming that one who claimed the light at the top of the tower, would have their wishes granted, if only they could reach so high. All that was mentioned next, in the poem’s incomplete form, was how Helgo returned from the tower’s peak completely alone, and how the tower’s visage was a grim one indeed, but he needed no longer look upon its terrifying height. Such is the story wrote by a young Emperor to be, and the fascination of Futurists. They wonder themselves; is this Tower of Dreams, the Torre dei Sogni, something that the young Emperor knew one must conquer, no matter the time and place, if they are to forge a path into a greater era? -----

Life has always been no more than a joke. You were fated by your blood to become one of the Lancer Corps. That blood of yours. A nice gift by your late father 28 years ago. It allows you feats unthinkable to most other humans. Raw strength and litheness, brought about by your ancestors’ close relationship with dragons and wyverns, refined into the magnificent martial arts by the ancient order of the Dragoons. Of all the abilities the lancers have, their most famous (and you dare say, most dashing) one is the Jump. The lancers’ dominion over wind and their unnatural bodily strength let them jump into the skies and fall like birds of prey on top of their foes. Peasants and nobles alike rejoice at the sight of flying lancers, seeking to prove their martial prowess, and also to impress those whose bed they’d like to warm. As for you? What makes you different from your fellows? Nothing, really. You proudly don the dark blue armor of the Lancers. You enjoy the raw talent your blood has given you. You take those who strike your fancy to bed. You do your job for the monarch. Monarch. You keep that word neutral in your mind, because you once served a King (May he rest in peace) and now you serve a Queen. The man was struck by a sudden illness at the age of 50 and died. His only daughter, already 28 (and yet still not married, or having taken any serious lover) is now about to don the crown of the Kingdom of Luehr on her head. But you must confess to yourself: Truth be told, the Princess, now Queen, is the one woman that makes your heart skip a beat. This was so ever since you were a young man. At the tender age of 16, you were assigned as her personal bodyguard. You spent a few weeks courting her majesty, but she denied you a kiss, and was the first girl to follow that up with a slap on the cheek so hard that the mark refused to leave for the next week. A shocking event, it was not as if royals were denied the option of having paramours, and in truth, many took their lancers as lovers if only for a time. Yet she denied you. So suddenly, so harshly... Life is just a joke, because not matter how hard you try to stop thinking of her, to sate your desire by involving yourself with others, to keep your head high and proud because of your bloodline… It’s her you unabashedly love and desire, and the one your mind muses over in the deepest hours of sleepless nights. Her flaming red hair, her eyes of agate. Her soft pale skin. She wore today a glittered golden gown laced in red, likely the most expensive in the realm. The door behind her closes. “Valter.” Her voice had always been one of authority.

Part 1: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6313302/ You are Ted Kazador, hunter and amateur engineer from the town of Salmon, Idaho. Your town elected you to investigate rumors of an army of robots killing and capturing people. Previously: Our hero traveled to Boise in search of answers, disposing of a communist and some raiders on the way and picking up Kira, a survivor of the robot attacks. In Boise he gathered information and uncovered another communist infiltrator from the west, before teaming up with Oswald, another investigator researching the robots. Together they ventured East with a caravan to Twin Falls to learn more, where the mayor offered a bounty for information on communists in the town. On the way back west the caravan was surrounded by a force of robots, who demanded surrender and stated that they place people in a chemically-induced state of extreme bliss in their facility, as their goal is to maximize human happiness by eventually placing all humans in such captivity. Those who fight are killed, as this sacrifice of human life serves the greater good of the mission. Ted cleverly convinced the robots to let them go since they could inform the other humans of the robots' "benevolent" intentions, ensuring others will agree to be taken later on.

Welcome to /qtg/, a place to talk about quests. Previous thread >>6434447 >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: Are you a seasonal writer? Do you tend to write better updates in hot or cold weather? Why? >Player Question: Which quests do you think needs a summer/beach episode? Which quests need a winter/christmas episode? >General Question: Any fun trips or vacations taken/planned recently? Is there anything you're looking forward to this fall/winter? >Lurker Question: There is no question. Vote. As always, talk about the quests you're reading and writing!

This is a quest taking place in an alternate version of the Naruto world several years after the conclusion of the main story. It is a sequel to Leaf Ninja Quest, and you will be playing as Akio Karagowa, a young Genin and the son of the main character of that quest. Your character is defined by your choices, so write-ins are always encouraged. And remember to have fun! >You do not have to read the previous quest in order to participate in this one, but if you wish to do so, it can be found here: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=Leaf%20Ninja%20Quest >Previous Thread >>6436608

The Caretaker Quest - Epilogue This is the Epilogue of The Caretaker Quest, a "side quest" for "Disappearing Hogwarts". An unofficial alternate timeline based on HeadQM´s highly praised quest, Disappearing Hogwarts. Reading the original story is not exactly necessary but heavily encouraged since this quest will contain references to it. Created mostly as a place to wait while HeadQM was away for a while but slowly evolved into its own thing. This particular thread will be entirely focused on the aftermath of the main story, clear out possibly unanswered questions that may remain and tie lose ends. It will probably be a short AND slow thread, but that also depends entirely on player input, so keep that in mind. Quick recap so far: >Recently graduated Ravenclaw student is hired at Hogwarts as the new Caretaker. >THE Merlin somehow ended up inside your head. >Went on a strange adventure to defeat The Beast, a magical creature accidentally created by Merlin himself, source of all magic commonly used by witches and wizards worldwide. >Got stuck at the end of reality after defeating The Beast for almost a year. >Figured out that there are other ways to use magic thanks to the power of emotions. >Became the father of triplets and escaped the end of reality at the same time. >You must now live in a magical world that lost all its magic. What will happen now? Let's find out! Part 10 here >>6412304 links to previous threads Part 1: https://archived.moe/qst/thread/6038711/ Part 2: https://archived.moe/qst/thread/6080818/ Part 3: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6122821/ Part 4: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6159531/ Part 5: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6196175/ Part: 6: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6236973/ Part 7: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6274553/ Part 8: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6317377/ Part 9: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2026/6358384/ Part 10 (Final) https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2026/6412304/ List of currently archived threads https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Caretaker%20Quest Thanks to IlvermoryQM for the links! (if anyone can figure out a way to save the ".moe" threads into "thisisnotatrueending" that would be much appreciated)

I. The Sabots-Gonne "The city, man's work, God's playground." A black-lunged poet. A round, another of the strange kind, whose is a dart of brass sound narrow, the wad-cup a stiff niter paper, we load in fore. Nay, not a cannon. A narrow gun before the parapet, whose breech blows out into a horn and a plug. Meant for the the wall, yet for the willing, capable of shoulder. "Vogt?" you say. The vogt nods in turn, leveling the rod before the muzzle, packing it in. He tells me, chin at the gun, "Master. If you do this, the world will know. That you, a mere lordling, can fell goliath or dragon." It is the 1462nd year of our Lord, many an age since the fall of Italy to the Goths. To us. Yea, I am a prince, a free-lord of the Empire, just a shy east of the Friesisk. I hold no more than a manor and to whom the villages I owe protection, and they in kind tithe and corvee labor. The servile know me less, only the mayors, though the village smith and miller know me more. The vogt, sufficed with the ledgers of mayors and arriving to tell me new, was but a ride's too late. He tryed warning me of this so-called-bladders-dragon, yet stomachs prove faster than pony. In front of me, hangs a cruel basket which floats in the air, whose balloon measures like a ox's bladder hundredfold over. From the carrier, a knave levels his six-barrels-gonne, pointing its hollows before us, the slow-match casting embers well into the overcast. "Prithee!" the knave cries out. "Owe your kind regards, release the grain, and I may spare you of my wrathe!" What must I do? >roll 1d20 (averages of first 3, bell curve, intervals of three from check determine extremity, double-crits override, single-crits dont) >let loose the dread sabots-gonne, whose justice sounds louder than a cloud's thunder; DC 12 >relent, release the grain, breeches soiled; DC 10 >or, other? specify well, lest the unsaid purchase your soul.

>It is February 13th of the Year 71 of the Cosmic Era. >Thread Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=Errant+comet >Tip Jar: If you enjoy the writing, consider sparing some dimes if you're able. >ko-fi.com/maxwelllallwell Frieden Moon has made aby through the cruelest battle on the surface of the Moon, The unavoidable destruction of Heliopolis Colony and a perilous situation upon Junius Seven's Ruins. However, Tensions upscale as the persecution of the Archangel. Bolstened by official council orders to capture the vessel reaches its grasp closer and closer to Earth. Wherein Frieden may find. Things are not quite as he had left them almost a year ago.

Thousands of boots beat against the sodden ground, disorderly in their manner yet orchestral all the same. Throughout the long stretch of dirt-laid road, the tall column advanced, wagons by the hundreds accompanying their walk. This was not the well practiced march of a proper force - men traipsed about out of formation, talking amidst themselves, lagging behind to buy a morsel of food or a jug of drink from a roadside vendor before rushing back to join their fellows. It was a march of the mercenary, of the soldier of fortune, whose passion for gold and discipline ever lacking did show in their words and acts. Yet some withheld themselves from such actions - for atop their heads was was Fleur de Liz, whose flying banners did make them proud soldiers of a noble lord. This lord was you - Alessandro Galliota. And this army was yours. You had once been the Viscount of Portblanc - an island that sat at the entry of a continental riverway. After accepting an offer from the Prince of Segoma, Don Carles IV Brascarams, you abdicated from your post, handing it to your newborn nephew, and journeyed to the foreign land of Straccia at the head of a small regiment with but a single goal - to overthrow the Despot of Senucco, Niccolo di Lorena, and take his title for yourself. After a lengthy period of preparation, you have gathered your mercenaries, your cannons, and your coin, and have set off from Castello Fasso towards the city of Vivanna, your last stop before you are able to cross the border of Senucco and start the war at last. It is the 1st of October, 1545, the first of those middling days of the months of spring. After setting off from your short-lived "new home", you set off southwards, crossing through Edroa before heading east. To your misfortune, the infrastructure in the rural backlands of Nera is disappointing indeed - a barely maintained path of dirt, kept alive only by constant travel, is your only "road" in this place. Worse still is the horrible, insufferable heat. You experienced it shortly, before, in that great city of Vetra - but it is only now, marching under the terrible glare of this cruel sun - that you truly understand the Splendour-given power with which it shines. So great is the heat, that in the midst of the day, when the sun is highest, your army has no choice but to stop for a lengthy rest lest they succumb to exhaustion. Suffering worse than all of them, however, is your dear maid and childhood friend, Joan Sahakea. Borne of a people belonging to a land in the distant and frigid south, her feathered body leaves much to be desired in face of the blazing heat. Had you not ordered her to travel by means of wagon, held in the shadow of a parasol by another of your servants, she might have very well fallen to heatstroke by this moment in time. "Sire?"

It’s Camp Day, everyone! An event that always happens after fighting a shark in hand-to-hand combat. Don’t question it, because the group is geared up and ready to do camp activities like… uh… being around a campfire… even your van is fully into this idea. It left its MECHAVAN tendencies to live up to the moment. What a crazy night this is being. You have zero clues as to what time it is. You know it’s late, and that’s about it. But Evie, Debbie, Ichie, and Holly are all fully energized! Maybe being light on clothes activates something in them. You’re a tired boy on the other hand, but that doesn’t mean you can’t last the night if needed. Time to enjoy what’s left of the night… “Glad you could join us, Debs!” Cheerleader Holly teases the blueberry in skimpy clothes. “I never doubted it, don’t know why…” “I believe we all know why!” Cow Ichie doesn’t like Debbie’s ways. “W-W-What do you mean?” Bikini Debbie is trying to cover her blueberries… “That’s enough. Stop criticizing her when we know who the real culprit is.” Now Maid Evie is brave enough to not cover her eyes. “F-For the last time, Crossbill set this up.” Camper Mode Johnny replies to this slander. That’s you. You’re yourself in Camper Mode. “You all look great, by the way.” You don’t lie. Evie turns red and frowns. “We’ll be stuck bickering if we don’t do something fun. Like Truth or Dare. Who is with me?” Holly takes the lead. “"Not now, Ruby. I don't care if you hate Truth or Dare because of some friend. Believe me, I'll make it fun!" “Sure! It’s like you read my mind… again…” You say. You wanted to bring this up, but you didn’t... “Hehe, let’s go by alphabetical order. Evie! You’re up first!” Holly is in control. “E-Excuse me?! Me?! W-What makes you think I’ll play along?! And that’s not counting that D-Deborah goes before me!” Evie is a grumpy maid. “Trust me, she likes being ignored.” Holly wiggles her eyebrows! “HUH?!” Debbie is offended! “I have no objections, Evie! I’ll allow you to be first only this time! I’m magnanimous like that!” Ichie barely hides her yearning to be number one. “I bet Tina wants you to play…” Holly adds. “Ugh, how did I get in this situation…?” Evie is so embarrassed. You have to make this game go as smoothly as you want! What happens now with Evie?! >[Truth] Evie gets asked if she really hates Johnny now! Or is she starting to like him…? >[Truth] Evie gets asked about what she wants in a romantic relationship! >[Dare] Evie gets dared to sit on Johnny’s lap! She must call him ‘master’ and comfort him like a good maid would for the rest of the night! >[Dare] Evie gets dared to bounce on the van’s impromptu bed! Let her have some fun! >Write In.

Sapphire syrup sloshed inside a tall metal pod that hummed in a low pitch. Caressed by the thick liquid, a fetus no more than twenty weeks curled up, held in place by myriads of wires. The Emperor of Mankind and Malcador the Sigilite examined the switches and the wires of the machine in the deep cellar below the great Imperial Palace. The Emperor examined the fetus with cold, dispassionate eyes, as if he saw a product and not a living being.[i/] “We have no use for it.” The Emperor said.[i/] Malcador softly hummed, his hood hid his half of his face, yet the Emperor knew the tells of his old friend. “There are many use for it, a buffer perhaps.” He continued hearing The Emperor’s silence. “The primarchs will be brothers and brothers will naturally compete. They will seek your approval as all sons do. She will be an alternative to impress and to distract the primarchs of their competitiveness. If she is proven ineffective, she bcomes a political tool of convenience.”[i/] “The primarchs are not children and will be above such emotions. It is inefficient to create this just so my sons can feel appreciated. The primarchs are weapons.” The Emperor said without a hint of emotion.[i/] Malcador nodded. “But still human.”[i/] The Emperor paused for a brief moment, then stared at the pod. The fetus twitched its leg.[i/] “Create her as you see fit.”[i/] A young girl skipped in the halls of the Imperium Palace. Her skin was light brown with long black hair, with brown eyes full of wonder and vigor waiting to be expended. She ran between the legs of custodians and lucifer blacks, jumped past a cart stacked with parchments, all while giggling as a child should. The jaw of vising Bureaucrats and officers hung in disbelief for many reasons. “That must be…” “Yes, she is…” For one, it could be the acrobatics of the child, or the fact that the custodians did not care. Most likely, the little girl was Her Royal Highness. Pangea, The Princess of Imperium of Man, the daughter of The Emperor of Mankind. >Who was greatly adored by her brothers (Default Primarch backstories, however, angron’s nails are not fully entrenched) >The sole daughter and child of The Emperor (The sons are being found, Horus is already found) The princess was gifted, excelling in every endeavors. Her psychic abilities were unmatched, save for few that can be counted with one hand in the entire Imperium. The raw intellect made her a prodigy in any scholarly field, and her physical ability made many officers and warriors eager to see her growth. “I never thought I’d see the highness herself…” A new bureaucrat said. The old governor nodded. “That is her highness indeed. Do not let her childish whimsy fool you should you ever encounter her attention.” “Why is that?”

The following will be mostly be based on factors of real life, excluding Eastern Europe and the events after the main divergence point, which is during the 2003 Invasion of Iraq. Who are we? You are political and economic leaders in Iraq. You have access to the ability to form militias, based on your ability to draw recruits and form a broad coalition, and/or get outside backing. With these militias, you can defend your people / rights, and/or exert power over other groups and make demands. Who are the people? Iraq is about: 55%, Shia Arab These Shia are torn between being aligned with religious leaders in Iran and religious leaders in Iraq. There are two Ayatollah's (Similar to the religious power of a pope), and a major cleric popular among the urban poor. 20%, Sunni Arab The Sunni spent decades privileged under Saddam, but their areas are devoid of oil and major resources. There is the "Sunni" triangle which is up the two rivers and northwest of Bagdad, and a massive desert area in the west of the nation. The Coalition fired a lot of the former army, filling the country side with angry and unemployed Sunni soldiers. 20~%, Kurds (Sunni) The Kurds are a distinct mountain people who live in the north and are divided amongst four nations. The have risen up against Iran and Saddam multiple times, and suffered for it. They have two major political factions that hate each other. 5%, Christian Assyrians, Turkmen, and everyone else The remaining population is about 3% Turkmen, half a million Christians or less, and various groups with specific languages or religions.

The year is 1999. You are a new recruit for a private organization known as “The Bureau” which covertly handles the discovery, documentation, research, containment, and—when possible—extermination of anomalies. Although you’ve completed a modest amount of training, this is your first time being sent on a mission. Typically, a senior field operative would accompany you to ensure the job goes smoothly, but a last minute emergency has resulted in you going alone. Currently, it’s 9:00 AM. The sky is grey with clouds. You sit in the back of a car, which you’ve been stuck in for five hours. Having no respect for your sleep, the bureau sent you out from headquarters at 4:00 AM sharp; it’s best to arrive early, they said, so there’s plenty of time to investigate before nightfall. At least they paid for your transportation, even if the driver is dead silent. Time passes slowly. You’re feeling awful bored. What do you do until you arrive at your destination? >Review your mission brief. >Double check your luggage. >Wait, who are you anyway? Maybe you should sort out your identity first. Good to know: >Everyone controls one character together. >If votes are split and actions can be done at the same time, I'll try to combine them. >When rolling is required, the average of everyone’s rolls will be used. >Vaguely SCP-inspired wrt anomalies, investigation (and survival?) focused. >I can’t draw. We’ll have some bullshit images to accompany the text. >Don't expect too terribly much from me.

For a hundred centuries, the Imperium of Man has stood strong against the countless threats both from within, without, and much worse. Through the might of the Imperial Guardd, had its worlds stood under the God-Emperor’s light. It is by the blood of countless martyrs that the Imperium stands. Of course, such sacrifice is pointless, if not directed by their betters, one of whim, you just so happen to be, by the blessing of your birth, the depth of your skill, or just plain luck, it has led you to heights unimaginable. As happens so often in the Imperium, for no conceivable or justifiable reason at all, a world has turned from the Emperor, earning the ire of His Imperium. The planet ? Insignificant. The population ? Negligible. The industry ? Sort of there. These sorts of thoughts ran through the head of a Departamento Munitorum senior officer. For the last three centuries, the world’s defection had gone unnoticed, until the Imperium had gained enough strength to launch a minor crusade within the surrounding sectors, the planet was to become one of the logistics hubs for such an operation, so it had come as quite the shock, when the records were checked, and it had become apparent that no tithes had been received for a truly long time. With the swiftness of the brightest of the Administratum, due to the new-found strategic importance of the world, a small invasion force had been rapidly assembled in a mere thirty years ! Sadly, the appointed general had passed away due to old age, which had thrown a wrench in the plans of the Munitorum, luckily for them however, such a headache of a command decision is not for them to solve, bur rather it is a problem for the Segementum command, one that they would be hard-pressed to solve swiftly, due to the real concerns of an army arriving to contest the planet without any general staff to actually command them ! And so, on his fortieth consecutive work hour, the Assistant-Assistant-To-the-General-Segmentum-Command-General-Staff, after taking another dose of stimms, since the recaf has long since stopped working, had finally narrowed down his work file to the last task for the hour, to choose a commander for an insignificant world. There was something vaguely important about it, but he had long since forgotten. With a sigh, he had taken a look at the files piled before him, and almost at random, made the choice for:

A storm brews. House Targaryen has weathered decline and mishaps since the Dance of Dragons. The misrule of King Aegon IV the Unworthy has been over for nearly a decade under his son, Daeron the Good. The king has brokered peace with Dorne where his father sought war. Where lickspittles and sycophants hovered around the Red Keep like flies, Daeron cleared out those who wanted easy favor, trading their daughters and sisters to slake Aegon’s lust. The old king left one parting gift: the legitimization of his bastards. To most of his brood, this meant nothing as they were base born. But to the bastards born to noble ladies, this meant quite a lot. Especially to Daemon Blackfyre. Change is in the wind. As a house of landed knights, war comes to you naturally. You can sense it. While the “higher” lords engage in tourneys and dances and courtship, you ready yourself. You may lack the right of pit and gallows that “proper” lords have, but your house prides itself on its readiness. Some say you are eager for bloodshed. You think it simply wise to prepare for war in times of peace. The year is 194 AC. Your house, House Drakewood, stands upon the precipice of change - but will you weather the storm? >Within what realm of the Seven Kingdoms do you rule over? (Vote one) >1. The North >2. The Riverlands >3. The Mountains of the Moon >4. The Riverlands >5. The Iron Islands >6. The Westerlands >7. The Stormlands >8. Dorne >9. The Crownlands >What faith, if any, does your house keep? (Vote one) >1. R’hllor, the Lord of Light. A rare and exotic faith in Westeros, but thrives in Essos. >2. The Faith of the Seven, the religion of the Andals and most of the Seven Kingdoms. >3. The Old Gods, the faith of the First Men, mostly kept in the North. >4. The Drowned God, the deity of the iron born, a hard god for a hard race. >5. Indifference - Your house is not very pious, only paying lip service to whatever the major faith in the area is.

There is nothing wrong with Richard Roe. That is, as several old and patient things are beginning to notice, the trouble with him.

You're sitting in your chambers, the rich environment a symbol of your families generations of hard work. Glancing around your room you notice the large, blue and spherical planescape of Sol. It took many separate, grueling attempts throughout the generation of your lineage. After much toil and failed attempts your great, great, grandfather happened upon something most fortunate. A ley sigil, magical phenomenon occasionally appearing in this world. Plenty of research has been poured into these, but still much is unknown on how or why they will occasionally appear. The fortunate discovery of this is what has led to your family becoming an established minor nobility in this humble village. Few are those who have mastered a branch of mystical arts, even fewer are those who survive even just becoming an apprentice of it, that sigil allowed your family to skip all the hard work. Taking a glance out your window, your eyes are met with the rising sun over the green lands surrounding your estate. The red and orange banner slowly will become more and more bathed in the sunlight, shimmered and flowing for all to see. It's not to go without saying though that life still hasn't gone without struggling though. Wanting to keep magical proficiency alive and well in the family, your parents have pushed you all your early and late childhood into practice. When it was not reading books, it was lessons.. When it was not lessons, it was meditation.. When it was not meditation, it was reading books.. You could go on, though truly you know it necessary of this world. Magicka of any form has become such a rare resource in this world that was once thriving and filled with it. You recall some of your earliest teachings, your parents really drilled into you the lessons of... >Elementalism >Illusion >Divining >Conjuration

Chaos surrounds you as the caravan of NPC workers you were leading scream and try to flee from the ambush you and your team walked into. Instincts kick in and before you can even think you're shouting and moving. "Mae! Serena! Get the workers out of here! Take down anyone who follows! I gotta back up Ryuji!" You call you as your firing off your grapple gun into the ceiling. The wire goes taut and you're already swinging over the wall of ice before they can say anything. Sparks fly as Ryuji's glaive slams directly into his opponent's shield causing the fading mist to light up with every strike. He quickly adjusts his grip to thrust the hilt of his weapon right into the brawler that's attempting to get in a quick hit from behind. The brawler quickly raises his spiked tonfas to parry the attack and allow the fighter to close the gap and swing his blade for a solid hit. "INCOMING!" You shout at the top of your lungs causing everyone to stop what they were doing and look up at you. You pull your knees to your chest and thrust both your legs out with everything you fly straight at the fighter. You can feel your feet strike something solid as your target raises his shield just in time to block the blow. Even so, the force of the blow causes him to stumble backwards just as you hit the ground and get a lungful of poison gas. Ability: Indomitable Will activated. Poison resisted

They say that in your small town, once you graduate high school if you're still there, you're stuck. That's not satisfactory for you. That's not something you want to hear. As chance would have it, you'd stumble upon a magic tome that taught you the art of conjuration. Specifically, creating rifts, to worlds never before seen. Dimensions where the laws of physics as you know them are flipped upside down. Where will you go, what will you do, with this newfound power? Do you have what it takes to become the legendary World Walker? RULES: 1) no 'lolrandumb' votes 2) please, and this is a big one for me since QMing here, don't bring up old QMs or board drama in my thread. thank you. 3) not sure where i'm going with this so bare with me. 4) PLEASE for all that is holy, do something about this captcha! CHOOSE A BEGINNING (also includes starting bonus) >I have learned that there is a dimension for almost every concept you can think of. (this will include having access to a dimension/world voters agree on) >I managed to find a pocket world where time slows and I am perfectly safe. It's not big, though--about the size of the average suburban bedroom--but most mages won't be able to find me here. >I, somehow, messed up a spell and spawned an otherworldly entity of some kind. She appears to be female? There is some skin on her, but the horns, wings and tail confuse me a bit. Oh well--she's nice at least!

BREAKING NEWS The Supreme court of FANTASYLAND has struck the 666th amendment of the constitution to allow GOBLINS to attend graduate institutions. Goblins are now allowed to get masters in might, magic, and nursing. Dear god, goblins can become doctors and lawyers. What has the world come to?! Can you imagine a goblin doing brain surgery or ratifying the laws that govern you and me?This is a TRAVESTY. A TRAVESTY. It was bad enough they could receive bachelor's now we trust them to do more?!!? ----------------------------------------------------------------- You were 3 years old when you listened to a handsome High-Elf newscaster recount his very objective account of the landmark court case that struck down the 666th amendment. You had huddled together with all 200 of your siblings to watch the projector screen display him in the normally very spacious cave you called home. There was just something about the disgust with which he associated the word lawyer with goblin that appealed to you. Ever since then you've wanted to be a lawyer and with that aim in mind you excelled (as much as a goblin can) in academics until you were admitted to your undergraduate university (with substantial help because of your diversity you're a stupid fucking goblin after-all) Where did you attend? >Arcane Scholarship University Honors College (ASU) ASU is a school that's for people who are to put it lightly... hedonous buffoons. Its student body is rife with Centaurs, Orcs, and even a small amount of goblins whose days are spent chatting and chasing after any pussy or elf hole (not gay if it's an elf) they can. The magic school is decent, but that's only because the hundreds of thousands of alumni the school churns out has led to one or two retards lucking into enough success to be donors. The honors college is slightly better in that law admissions committees won't immediately vomit all over themselves when reading your undergraduate institution. Benefits: Easy Curve: - Your GPA will probably be strong. Being smart for a goblin is actually better than being dumb for an Orc. "Networking": - Constant partying and unsuccessful tail (literally) chasing has led you to be a particularly charming goblin. Note that part where I said you're a charming goblin to give more context to how charming you are. Cons: Easy Curve: Whilst the "hard factor" of having a Strong GPA is better than having a low GPA. That strong GPA is going to look weak against comparable ones across pretty much any other school. It limits your ceiling. You're going to be dumber than a rock: You're getting an ASU education and associating yourself with people who are going to ASU. Enough said. You're going to be ill-prepared when studying for the MLSAT and if you get into law school. (1/2)

Present day and the economy is a fucking corpse somebody keeps putting lipstick on this pig. Groceries cost your whole paycheck, rent costs your soul, the stock market is a pachinko machine run by little hats who already own the building, and half the country is one bad paycheck away from betting the electric bill on a 12 leg parlay. Unemployment is fucked, AI is speedrunning the destruction of white collar jobs, tent cities are becoming starter homes, cops, ICE, judges and bureaucrats look like NPCs from the world’s shittiest pay-to-win server, and every city has some combination of protests, riots, sirens, helicopters and one guy livestreaming his own arrest in front of a FLOCK camera. The global economy is a dumpster fire floating down a flooded street. Meanwhile millions of NEETs are sitting in dark bedrooms with 100+ tabs open, encyclopedic knowledge of obscure shit, zero sunlight and enough collective autism to accidentally create smthn amazing. Some stop rotting, pool skills/ideas, start with $0 but build something real, make money, escape the fucking meat grinder and see whether a swarm of anonymous basement anons can outperform the S&P500. No gurus. No courses. No LinkedIn inspirational bullshit. Just (You), caffeine, spite and whatever scraps of the hope is left. Day 001 What do we build together?

Your orders from the local lord were simple: Reclaim the wasteland and turn it into a productive farm.

With the Tournament of Power brought to a close, the Seventh Universe has emerged triumphant once more. Led by the Saiyan warriors, the Seventh's victory was secured. And with the wish on the Super Dragon Balls used to restore the other universes that were eliminated and erased, the final hidden trial was passed, and all eight of the universes up for elimination were allowed to remain. Yet, even with this victory, peace doesn't last in the Seventh Universe for long. As old hatreds rise and long-buried grudges resurface, will you have what it takes to keep everything you've worked the last 28 years of your life to build? Or will those who seek your end ultimately triumph? That all depends on you, and your choices. You the players will (most often) control Karn. A Saiyan man who has grown from his lowly beginnings as a mid-tier 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 over a dozen powerful and unique children, a mentor and teacher to his fellow Saiyans, and the indisputable winner of the Tournament of Power. Wielder of the Berserker Soul, and the powerful Stand Divine Dragon Force, you're fully equipped to handle any threat that comes your way. But what will you do when the threats aren't always physical, when you can't simply punch all your problems away? 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=HUT0uwSLQ3I SINISTER SCHEMES

THAT’S IT. YOU’RE SICK OF THIS ASSCLOWNERY. SOME GAGGLEFUCK OF PALADINS CAME INTO YOUR EVIL MOUNTAIN COTTAGE WHILE YOU WERE GATHERING SOME REAGENTS FOR A SPELL AND LOOTED THE PLACE! THEY EVEN BROKE YOUR FAVORITE CHAIR. GODDAMNIT. THIS IS THE FOURTH TIME THIS DECADE. NO MORE RELOCATION. IF THEY WON’T LET YOU BE AN EVIL WIZARD HERMIT IN PEACE, YOU’LL BE EVIL ALL OVER THEIR PLACE! IN A COMPLETELY RATIONAL AND EVIL MOVE, YOU’VE DECIDED TO CONQUER THE LAND IN RETALIATION. What is your EVIL magic specialty? >NECRO-OLOGY Pros: +craploads of minions +The type of necromancy in this quest lets you summon undead straight up AND reanimate corpses +Ascension to lichdom, an obvious path for power Cons: -Minions are generally pretty shit-tier -Turn Undead, the spell they teach to every single fucking holy magic user... -liches are egotistical bitches, and will likely be offended a “mere” necromancer is trying to take over the world. >DEMON-OLOGY Pros: +High quality minions +sacrifice captured prisoners for fancy rituals +Bargain with demon lords for additional benefits Cons: -Anything beyond a basic bitch demon you summon has their own agenda -demons aren’t as vulnerable to holy magic as you think, but the holy orders of the land will take you WAAAY more seriously than normal -high risk of ending up being an unwitting pawn in a demon’s plan. >CURSE-OLOGY Pros: +DOT for days, graze a guy’s head, he’s as good as dead. +Siege and attrition warfare expert, you only get in a better position as time goes on. +curses are incredibly versatile, and can even be turned into what amount to buffs with downsides. Cons: -curses are deadly and people are… very, very aware of this. Expect lots of people to leeroy jenkins themselves at you the second you land a single hit on them or run to a cleric. -you’re immune to all your curses, but any minions and allies you gather… probably not… -certain pansy ass fake evildoers think curses are terrible and “too evil” likely refusing to help you… or even aiding the do-gooders. >ARTIFACT-OLOGY Pros: +Top of the line staff and magical armor. +Who the fuck said wizards are weak in melee, bitch? +Create powerful artifacts for your minions to use. Cons: -creating magical artifacts worth real power takes time, and lots of shit. Sometimes maintenance as well. -paradoxically, by trying to make yourself less vulnerable to being singled out, you are even more likely to be targeted first, since you’re such a big goddamn threat -the stupidity of others with magical artifacts is in your opinion, unbelievable. Also, what's your evil fucking wizard name? >write in

You're a monkey.

Ten 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. The revelation of Sir Gravis being a Syndicate agent was something you couldn’t have predicted, but when the person telling you this was your own sister Beve Perenolde, you couldn’t deny it. And when Lady Nalice managed to recover documents most likely confirming it, you were only but sure your sister had told you the truth. With that knowledge in mind you set forth and visited both Durnholde Keep and Hillsbrad Fields to secure trade and security with both of them. While Lord Blackmoore had chosen an apt time to go cold turkey and stop drinking, you succeeded in getting what you wanted, Durnholde joining the Darrowmere League. In addition you gained an old lethargic orc to train your men in how to fight against his kin. But as you travelled, you met with Kel’Thuzad, the excommunicated Archmage from Dalaran. He delivered a warning and a gift in the location of his hideout. That was for you to loot, that is if you are going to do it? 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

You wake up after an eon-long slumber. The last bits of memories slowly fade away from your minds. The only thought that lingers: you won, but the price for the victory was enormous.

You are Artemio Barrea, former outlaw turned United States Army dispatch rider. You were perfectly happy waiting out the war against the Martians in your club house in Chicago, perfectly content in the fact that the army “lost” your papers in the opening days of the war. But old habits die hard and after a failed heist and a street brawl, the brass remembered that you existed and now you and your boys are getting sent on a suicide mission across the Mississippi. Current War Map: https://www.google.com/maps/d/edit?mid=1x6mCIffaW-ij0Z0TV-crZsIRTptUjW8&usp=sharing Archive: https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/strike-witches-quest-the-gold-in-the-pocket-archive.1185865/ The drive to the front was uneventful despite the sounds of gunfire and heat rays echoing through the night. After a few hours of sleep rest stop you set off again in the predawn hours. And as dawn breaks you crest a hill and get your first look at the front line. Before you is a wall of Black Smoke. The mile high wispy shadow impenetrable by dawn’s first light, drowning the western bank in darkness. Penetrated only by the muted flash mazers laying siege to the battered bridgehead. The east is no better, a muddy patchwork of trenches, fortifications and burnt out craters stretch as far as the eye can see. In the center of the river stands the Rock Island Arsenal, an old Civil War fortress, turned weapons factory that now sits as the headquarters for the Illinois Defense Line. “So this is where we’re supposed to cross?” Bobby asks, resting against his bike. “Yeah this is the spot. We cross through Rock Island and then the Fifth Infantry is supposed to make us an opening to cross the line.” Walker responds, motioning you to hand him a pair of binoculars. “So we’re boned, right?” You ask, handing Walker the binoculars. “Because I’m not seeing a way through this that doesn’t leave us dead. We’re either going to wreck in the smoke or get blasted by some squid hiding in a ditch.” “Arty, what's with the negative attitude? You got your witchy powers, with them crossing the cloud should be a breeze.” Walker responds with his usual overconfident reassurance. “Walker, I already told you, I’m spent. No more magic juice.” You say reminding Walker about the state of your newly revealed magic.

You're The Foid. You just entered college. Mission: Survive. Choose your type. >Old Money: The balanced option. Be aware. You have obligations. >New Money: Worse connections. Daddy has a gross geek job. But you have weird and interesting stuff to show off. >Poor & driven scholarship foid: Ok but Why? Do you even have a car? What are you doing here?

Your name is Jinn Garastra, and you're a long way from home. It was but a few short years ago you left the Hegemony on a one-man craft capable of traveling faster then the speed of light; a miracle of fusion miniaturization, all for your self-appointed mission of exploration to the farthest reaches of known space. There are no other Jaxtians out here, especially not high blooded ones like yourself. You're honestly still a little amazed Halam agreed to it, practically with his dying breath... You enter the shop of one 5Sara, a Quinapode merchant and partial owner of this very space station hidden within the interstellar space between stars. You aren't in the Hegemony anymore, nor among the Aristocrats or even the Kuwgonit clans whose territory stretches all across this sector of space. No, you are a part of the Galactic Underground, the loose peoples and diaspora of the great and mighty space empires. You've been traveling up and down the length of the Kuwongit clan territory, mapping out their relations and long blood feuds, all the way to the edge of Aristocrat space. But whenever you need supplies, she is always right here, and she doesn't even try to rip you off! ”Ahh! Look who it is! Jinn! My favorite customer!” You're never exactly sure where to look. Her voice is projected from the chest of the robotic exoskeleton that holds her; and the other quinapodes in her collective; along with an animated screen that shows a simplified female face. It's even a nice Jaxtian cyan color too, at least when she's talking to you. But her actual body? You'd assume it's up in the head, along with the other little squirming, faceless cephalopods...

The old keep upon the hill stands out like a broken bone. It serves as the seat of the Von Rabenfels household. Deep within it's bowls lies the family crypt. Here is the eternal resting place of you and your sons and daughters. Here, where your power is at it's strongest, you have lain dormant for many years. Hundreds of years ago you were given this fiefdom for your service. Your time as the iron patriarch has long passed, but your strong grip and guiding voice still linger to lead your blood to glory. It is once more time to guide your descendants from the afterlife. Choose one strength and two weaknesses of the Von Rabenfels Dynasty: >(Prosperity) How many Reichsgulden you still have in your coffers, as well as other assets you might own. Determines your wealth and stewardship. >(Blood) How numerous and strong your progeny is. Determines how many members of your family are left and of what stock they are. >(Connections) How well connected you are. Determines your prestige and influence among the nobility. Also choose one of the following traits: >(House of warriors) You came to your title through the battleaxe and your children have followed in your footsteps. Your house has a long military tradition. Old swords and armour fill your halls. Every male member has a war story to tell and even the daughters are often taught in fencing or strategy. >(Family of occultists) Many of your descendants have dabbled in the mysterious arts of magick. Though not outright banned in many places of the empire it is frowned upon everywhere, and certainty dangerous. >(Old traditions) Though ancestor worship has become old fashioned your family seems to be a conservative sort. Every night candles are lit and prayers are spoken in your name. Your influence is greater as a result.

It's been several weeks since all of this happened. Nobody could have seen it coming. The viral outbreak started its course in the Far East. It was kept under wraps for a long time, until containing the secret was no longer a reasonable possibility. Research into a virus intended for biological warfare had begun, with test subjects recruited through online surveys that catered toward the financially desperate, supposedly through legitimate government sources. Though volunteers for the experimental drug had to sign NDAs before going through with the trial, the governments in those lands managed to secure thousands of desperate people to participate in the experiments. The ironic thing about all of this? Containment of the secret wasn't breached by a rogue volunteer. It was breached by horrifying creatures, some of which barely resembled their former human selves from within the facility. A research lab in a once-redacted location more than likely suffered a security breach, allowing one of those things to escape. That's what most of the world believes at this point, anyway. There aren't many people from those parts of the world who, firstly, know about the project and, secondly, are still alive to talk about it. Things very quickly got out of control. It took less than a week for the infection to spread like a flame from Hell. The undead now scavenge, stumble, and wander aimlessly in search of their next meal. There doesn't seem to be any reliable way to kill these things. Some rumors among emerging factions suggest that removing the head or directly destroying the brain can kill the freaks. You're unsure how true any of this is, though. It's been several weeks. Something seems different about the initial undead horde. They've mutated, and are now able to... >Run >Mimic sounds >Manipulate objects Also... >I'm a man >I'm a woman

QM’s Twitter @Artemis_QM, Strange Tales Quest Being Powered by Monster of the Week. Thread 1 The Society for Psychical Research, Est 1882 in the United Kingdom, is establishing and incorporating a field investigation, research, and publishing branch in Manhattan New York starting in the summer of 1961. Making use of a cooperative agreement with a legacy of the Society this branch will be operating out of The Guardian Building in the heart of the city to investigate the Paranormal in the Tri-State area. As such you have been recruited as field staff on this delightful late May day 1961. But just who are you? And what are some of the wondrous resources and colleagues you have in the Society’s new to come quarterly Journal? Know that when looking up the playbooks mentioned the tech level is dialed back to what is standard or appropriate for the year 1961…with a few exceptions for the resources gained by dabblers in super science. Yes, who are you that has come to work for the Society’s Journal? Pick your person…well, they’re mostly people. Those you don’t choose may show up in the story ahead if not as colleagues than maybe once or twice down the way where you might not expect them.

The drunken crowd offers cheers and jeers in equal measure to the two fighters down in the pit who lay into one another a with crude, yet undeniable earnestness. The air is thick with the stench of cheap ale and old sweat, underscored by the metallic tang of blood. "Such is the curse of talent," you remark conversationally, observing the fight. "Both were the undisputed champions of whatever provincial arena they hail from. Stronger, faster, able to end fights quickly and decisively. Never felt the need to learn proper fundamentals. Never-" "OOOOAAAAAHHHH!!!" the crowd's roar shakes the arena as the smaller brawler, the half-elf, suddenly slips behind the half-orc and suplexes him into the ground. But the latter immediately breaks the hold and roll to his feet, with the two fighters back to facing each other, sweat pouring from them and their chests heaving. "Never learned to pace themselves either," you finish the thought, then finally turn to face the pair who sat down at your table. The first and most boring one is a middle-aged human male whose traveling cloak hides his attire, but the gold-wrought amulet peeking out from underneath the hem and, more importantly, the cloying, prickling aura of borrowed divinity identifies him as a mid-ranked priest of Bahamut. No more than a few drops of dragon blood flowing through his veins, but enough skill and persistence to rise to where he has. The second of the pair is a proper half-dragon by your reckoning, though her face a curious mix of human and elf features, fully fleshed, with only a hint of scale around the cheeks. She also conceals herself with a cloak, though there is no hiding the pair of ridged, swept back horns amid her dark, cropped, or her sheer size, easily seven and a half feet before she sat down. And you did catch a flash of gold when her cloak billowed, briefly revealing the tip of her tail, as well as the muted clink of chain when she sat down. That would be her then. The paladin. The two of them stare at you for a long moment, apparently confused by your unprompted monologue. When it becomes clear no immediate reply is forthcoming, you turn your attention back to the pit, where the fight has degenerated into an exchange of wild haymakers, each one sloppier than the last. "You... you are Yria, correct?" the paladin is the first of the pair to speak, her voice surprisingly soft for someone her size. "And you are Ismene Berohn," you reply, your eyes still on the fight that refuses to end. "Savior of Lastrum, Red Flame of Hope, Devilbane, Karingorim, Tirn o Dur, Shield of Bremme, Radiant Blade, Liberator of Westmarch. And lest we forget: the youngest ever Claw of Bahamut. An impressive list of accomplishments for someone not even six years out of novitiate." (1/3)

Low effort slop. Your name is Anon Hardwood. You wake up in your shitty apartment... You stretch and look around you... Your mattress is on the ground, your random merch is scattered everywhere... but at least you got rid of that black mold... though the entire place stinks of vinegar now... Gross... Still, that bought you yet another extension on your rent since you're pretty sure you could have normally sued the landlady into hell and back for how crap your place is... pretty sure she's only renting it out cause of a new law they passed... Ugh, it's like... 10pm... what the fuck... that is... the WORST time to wake up... you're wired... WAT DO? >You're gonna be fucking late for work... Night shift security, baby... If that's not dead-end, I don't know what is... >Attempt to fix your horrendous NEET sleep schedule by taking more melatonin than recommended then laying back down. >Another sleepless night... time to get online and start shitposting about... I don't know, whatever. >fuck, did your fish die? damnnit, when's the last time you fed them?! >Write in. This is a "what you pick becomes reality" type deal, so you aren't going to be late for work if you pick an option other than the first one, you'll just not have a job.

2nd thread for the space Nation rolaplay game! We have space to accept a few new players, but mostly to take over nations of players who quit. (substantial alterations permitted obviously) For some context on how the game is ran: it't has a supporting excel sheet and unlike most NRPs which follow a linear nation-growth curve SpaceNRP seeks to focus the unreasonable scale with space by being built around growth. Discord link: https://discord.gg/7eJPc2dbt Thread 1: >>6446706 I'd usually start a new thread only after the first one drops of the board, however with /sup/tg no longer allowing direct links that'd basically make thread 1 completely inaccessible if players of QMs needed to double check anything.

You search for happiness. You fail. You grasp for happiness. You fail. You wish for happiness. Nothing happens. The City looms before you, 26 districts lined with endless variants of the same tragic tale repeated ad infinitum. Which of them are you? >A member of an Office, official organizations comprised of a group of Fixers. A Fixer's role is to take on contracts pertaining to a wide variety of requests, be it combat, protection, investigation, hazard removal and others. Life in The City is dangerous, and life as a Fixer is more dangerous still. Though, it certainly beats the monotony of civilian life. >Member of a Syndicate. 'Law' is a loose term at best when applied to The City, but Syndicates go even lower. Commonly purveyors of violence, murder, and vast, organized crime, Syndicate gang members create a lot of the problems Fixers tend to try and solve. Unrestrained and highly deadly. >Employee of a Wing. Each Wing governs one of the Districts. Working under one of the Wings is lauded as one of the most stable positions in the City, though if your work doesn't live up to their standards, you're out. Your life is cushy, provided you don't step out of line... >A Color Fixer. Only Fixers of extraordinary prowess are gifted with the title of a Color. Among the Colors are some of the most prestigious and powerful individuals in the City. You have freedom and popularity but find yourself in constant opposition to the most dangerous forces.

VICTORY Against all odds, the New Vegas Directorate under your leadership has defeated the Brotherhood of Steel in the Mojave and returned the desert to your sole authority. While the Western Brotherhood will need to be dealt with eventually, their remnants have headed east and left death and destruction in their wake. The economy is in tatters and the future of the Directorate is in question. But what's not in question is your victory over all. While the people of the Mojave are unsure what tomorrow may bring, they see you as the future. And increasingly, a God.

It was late in the evening, most fighting in the combat sector ceasing as Death squads set up camp or returned to the surface. It was usually around this time that Alexandra and Erie were busy discussing matters of security, rations, their position and further exploration. They had set up camp in a large urban operations sector in the combat sector, it being a perfect location. It had plenty of cover in the form of small fake houses, only a few entrances from the outside and easy outposts from which Erie, Alexandra and their forces could watch. Of course, Alexandra and Erie were always busy, having to lead a group easily over 100 men strong. They had to perform raids for supplies, as well as tamper with supply lines. Obviously, they didn't all go out at once, Erie and Alexandra always heading out with maybe 10-12 people at once whilst the rest stayed back. They needed people to protect their temporary base, care for wounded soldiers or improve living conditions in whatever way possible. After a successful raid against a small group of Blackstar soldiers, Alexandra had returned with a bit more supplies in the form of rations and weaponry, the two tallying things up. "So, all in all, this raid has provided us with a lot more ammo, some weaponry and even some suits for Viola to check out. Most importantly, we've added maybe a day or two with these rations to our stockpile." Alexandra said optimistically whilst noting everything down. "So, that gives us a grant total of 11 days to keep our men fed. And we no longer need to consider that risky raid on that Lodgerite base for weaponry." Alexandra continued, before checking out the map of the combat sector they had been using, before speaking more concernedly. "Though, I am growing more and more worried by how close the Death Squad bases are getting. They're still a good distance away, and aren’t really using central control. But, they are becoming more prevalent around the northern urban warfare testing grounds, possibly aiming to lock down the northern exit. If they succeed, we won't have much room left to manoeuvre with our bases. Especially if they end up taking over central control, which would heavily decrease the total area we can move through with our forces. What do you think we should do, Erie?" Listening to what Alexandra was saying, Erie was quick to contribute her own personal observations, having looked at everything whilst also cleaning her personal custom rifle. "We are still waiting on nightly reports from the remote monitoring cameras we set up at points Hotel through November in the upper barracks, though Patty should be returning with their logs any time now. We have seen steady increases in activity at Delta, India, Kilo and November in the northern urban combat areas over the last week, which track with activity around that FOB, and tonight is likely to be more of the same. They are certainly getting closer."

Many ages have passed since the dark wizard MORDRED was cast down and slain by his mortal nemesis, a wizard without a name. MORDRED's tyranny had been broken and his beasts made tame, but the world has been forever rent asunder by his malice and dissolution... The DUNGEON is deep and full of monsters. It is said that fabulous treasures and the legendary object of power, the ORB OF MORDRED, lie waiting at the very bottom. They also say that those who have entered have never returned alive, but they do say a lot of things... [Inspired by @non's @mulet Quest.]

You are Ushi Walker, the half-Japanese/half-American wielder of the mighty quirk “Everything is Bigger in Texas”, newly licensed motorbike rider (outside of the high speed expressway, of course), and you are pretty sure one of U.A.'s Class 1-A Students. So why are you still blocked from entering the school grounds, wasting the sunny afternoon away? You continue hugging your robot pal, Tin, sitting in front of the gates, staring up at a behatted camerabot, missing out on time in the swimming pool and the time with your friends: the Gals of Class 1-A. "Well, at least Ah gotchu." You tell Tin in your arms. Its mechanical neck has no problems letting it look straight up, back at you. >"Always." It replies without delay. Its reassuring response tempts you to stay like that for at least a little while longer… And after a few minutes, KT1078 retreats back into the ceiling, leaving you two alone and for you to decide what to try next. "See ya later, Katie." You say to the guard robot absentmindedly as it vanishes, still pondering your options to try and get in. But it's not like you to sit idle for too long. No more than five minutes go by before you make your decision and are pulling out your phone again and checking your messages... No news, but you’re one to take initiative. As far as you know, anyone with access could get you in with little to no issue. If the system really wanted to keep you out, the full barricade would have been deployed already. You just need someone the gates will open for. After a few seconds of scrolling, specifically down to the letter "H" in your contacts list, you find the perfect person to ask. Not the friends you are trying to get to, who you are sure have already tucked their phones away in their lockers, but another that's even more certainly still on-site as well. The ringback tone chimes once, twice and thrice before she picks up the phone, but you weren’t worried. She's a busy gal, after all. "Mei!" You greet your schoolmate as soon as she picks up, yelling into the phone. Maybe a bit too loud. "Just the gal Ah wanted to get a hold of!" >"Hey Walker." She says, her voice sounding distant, the sparking of some nearby machine adding some unwelcome noise to the call. "I want you to know I'm holding the phone at arm’s length, just in case you want to yell a bit more." "Sorry. How are you doin' sugah?" You ask, toning your excitement level down, but still trying to hit the sweet spot between being audible over whatever project Mei is working on and peaking the microphone.

“Awake.” Blissfully warm, Fallon absentmindedly stirred from her position. Wherever she had managed to land herself this time, it felt oddly comfortable and warm. She’d have to thank her mom later for the blanket, she supposed… just after enjoying her nap a little more. The call, or order rather, came again more insistently. “Awake.” Not now dad, she managed to groan. She curled in deeper in the pretense of sleep, hoping that whoever it was would most kindly let her sleep some more. The instigator did not seem to take kindly at her antics though, for then her mind was suddenly flooded with a roar of noise, “Awake!” Fallon rushed to jump from wherever she was sleeping, but found herself unable to do so, being suspended in some sort of liquid. What was that? The voice, which had an imperious quality that only her mother would be able to emulate, didn’t belong to any of her family. More pressingly, was she underwater? She made to open her eyes only to be faced with the realization that she couldn’t see anything regardless. Panicking, she began to flail around her body, pushing against something that felt disturbingly fleshy all around her. Did someone stuff her in a wet sort of balloon or body bag? Screaming was to no avail either, as she couldn’t even make a sound, nor could she hear anything. She wasn’t even sure if she was breathing or if it was possible to even breathe submerged as she was. The thoughts, and quickly dashed hopes, that this was a simple prank has long since left her reasoning and she desperately was running over every possibility of what could have possibly happened to her and her family. Be as it may, the situation was clearly dire and she needed to get out of whatever she was entrapped in now, so Fallon quickly began to attack at the slippery walls with all that she had. Desperately, she leaned in to bite, tear, and rip her prison to shreds before something on her person finally caught into the wall. Instinctively, Fallon tugged against the hook– and the wall finally tore open.

Previously on With Great Power Quest: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=With%20Great%20Power%20Quest and Rites of the Red Wizard Quest: https://archived.moe/qst/thread/5043544/#q5045606 "You owe me," Grit said. It was past midnight and if it wasn't for that thumbnail of fire I kept pumping through me I'd be freezing my ass off. I don't think we were even in Chicago anymore. Isn't this Calumet? Shit if we kept going down a couple streets we'd be in Indiana. But Grit was right, I did owe him. First for getting his arm broken taking down Flesh-Smith, then backing me up against Wet-Work. "Something to do with a meth lab, right?" I said. "Cash," he said, "Holding it for the Triads. Got a line from a snitch. Old house down this way they use to stash the cash money before they can transfer it out. Not every cent of it, they probably got a dozen or more different places to hide it. Figured we can give 'em a headach by burning up some of their profits." "Junkies keep the cash economy going," I said. We were watching that house now, down the end of a short road with nothing but trees behind it. Quiet out tonight, at least here. Calumet was pretty far from our regular stomping grounds, probably why Grit wanted the back up. He was in his plate carrier, face hidden under the bandanna with the eyeholes cut out. Grit could control earth, it didn't make him bullet proof. So he needed the plate carrier, the shin guards. He was a strong guy though, one of the most jacked guys I'd ever met with biceps bigger than my thighs, and I'm no slouch on that department these days either. If you wanted to do what we did it helped to be fit. His attention was on that old house. No lights on didn't mean no one was there. If it was a cash storehouse of a Triad group, they'd have lookouts at least, and be ready to do whatever needed to protect their profits. But Calumet was a black city, not a lot of Asians down here. Odds were they'd paid some street gang to do it for them, one of the more reliable ones that could be trusted not to pull some bullshit. The Triads liked to work that way, with the locals. That's what Grit said. You never really saw the real Triads on the street. They kept to the backrooms of the gambling dens and massage parlors, sending out little hustlers to handle the street shit. All the money flowing back from their little enclaves to the mansion compounds of Hong Kong or Macao. Bigger in Canada than here, but truth is they were everywhere. "Let's do this," Grit said, words turning to mist in the cold night air. The ground groaned and from between his feet the handle of his familiar stone hammer rose. He could swing it like it was a baseball bat, that thing. Those dark windows bothered me. Heard it off a snitch? A Triad cash house in Calumet? Something didn't sit right. >I'll go in first, scope it out >call it off, this smelled bad >fuck it, let's go >(write-in)

Constraints breed creativity. This 100 Rule Quest is forged with a set of players' rules. Schoolgirls, prehistoric beasts, magic rabbits, soul wasps, cowboys, elves...and Venom was there too, kinda. Let me explain... No, there's too much. Let me sum up...

It is the 1990s. The location, is the former Soviet Union. Everything we know has collapsed into chaos. The western mind can't comprehend the suffering that we endure. All the crime and open armed violence of the American 1930s "Gangster" era, all the corruption and more of the 1930s "Gangster" era. The inflation and poverty of the Great Depression. The alcoholism of the Roaring 20s and 1930s "Gangster" Era, and widespread use of heroin that puts everything Americans know into the shadows. Nurses and teachers moonlit as prostitutes. Soldiers and law enforcement go months without pay. Who you are You are a Majór of the Russian security apparatus. You might be part of the Ground Forces or the Internal Ministry Troops, but it doesn't matter. Before you can continue with your pitiful life, it must be discovered what motivates you, and thus... What counts as you fulfilling what your heart's desires are. In other words, what is "winning" at life.

Today you woke up as a woman. Before, you were a teenage boy by the name of James. You were quite ordinary to the outside view, but you were miserable. Friendless and hopeless, you had a bleak life in highschool. You spent all your free time playing video-games on your computer, watching animes on pirating websites, and nothing else really. You had no idea what you would do with your life after school. Overall life was pretty boring, until today. It is a Saturday, your alarm woke you at 7:00 as usual, you reach your arm to stop it and long hair assaults your face. "Damn hair, I last cut it 2 years ago, I rather keep it long though" You think to yourself as you turn off your morning alarm. WHAT DO YOU DO >Go on social media to see what happened in the world while you were asleep >Better take a piss first >Go outside to breath in morning air, that's always a nice way to start your day.

ANTON PEAS: lover, fighter, Divine Champion AND limbo enthusiast… at your service! It’s become a long, winding road ever since a botched devil-summoning ritual brought you to ZORAL: a fantasy world shrouded in everlasting darkness, but, well… you’re getting the hang of things! That’s not to say it’s been smooth sailing, of course. Dueling with demigods? Been there! Dealing with devils? Done that! Skirmishing with siegers? Still a work in progress! Oh, and your memory’s been fuzzier than your new Bardy beau ever since you arrived! The cure? Putting Zoral’s FOUR LORDS on ice, apparently–and if you think they aren’t just called that because it sounds catchy, well, you sure ain’t whistlin’ Dixie! Nevertheless, the lords must fall if you want to regain your memories… and, y’know, save the world. Maybe. See, the last one you mulched, ARCHMAGE TRIER? Seems he made a deal with someone, or someTHING, to seal away KNODD: the Earthmother and god of land. Once you wasted the wizard? Boom–DIVINE POWERS! Before you could really bask in all the status and glory your new DIVINE CHAMPION title offers, you found yourself smack-dab in the middle of yet another crisis: a two-sided siege on CROSSROADS: Zoral’s main trade hub and conveniently where a lot of your new pals call home! Beset on all sides by Skog Marauders and fearsome Fuuxi, you somehow managed to break both belligerents with some help from your friends–new AND old–a handful of local militia members, and a heaping handful of luck! With the appetizer finished, the main course remains… accompanied by a strike team including TZAH-TZIE: plucky performer and your sneaky sweetheart, MOROOK: reliable ranger and your pal Volka’s half-brother, and a mysterious strike team hand-picked by VOLKIR: curmudgeonly commander of the clandestine STAR-CLOAK cabal, all that remains is to stealthily sortie to the sinister Skog Siege camp in the swamps… Your mission? Disable their magic-suppression devices and eliminate their charismatic commander: BREAKER TAA’JHAA! It’s been some time, but you can’t afford to get rusty… borne upon steam-propelled wings, THIS is where your story continues… https://youtu.be/1lR8VLt1Xlk

Shit is messed up, whatever caused the power outages made massive rippling effects. After the EBT centers stopped feeding the masses all hell broke loose. You're one of the groups that hasn't broken down into complete anarchy. Choose Race. >Human- Decent all-rounders a bit higher intelligence than average can be found in almost any occupation. >Trolls- Very tuff strong beasts struggle with maintaining tech. Mostly found in hard labor and security jobs. >Gnomes- Excellent with tech and good magic. Weak in combat without proper equipment. Found all over the tech sectors engineers, mechanics, researchers, wizards. >Goat Men- Decent all-rounders like humans but can't speak common tong. Shunned by the old world for being able to summon demons. Mostly found in low status jobs janitors and hard labor. >Write in- Nothing smaller than a hobbit or bigger than a minotaur.

Previous Thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2026/6419792/ First Thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6212686/ Last time: >Your daughter and a robot run off! >You watch a round of a robot fighting tournament! >You meet a goblin! >Your daughter and a robot are grounded! >You meet a zombie! >Your daughter has her first stay at a daycare! >You go to the Atacama Desert!

Welcome to Ant Detective Quest, where you play as the titular Ant Detective. This is your office, it's rather messy. Your filing cabinet is filled to the brim with hot cases you'd like to sink your mandibles into. The messaging application on your computer is also filled with unanswered queries, on account of you not having found a solution for actually using it. >What will you do?

Previous Threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=The%202nd%20Primarch%20Quest _ Where the scars of New Varro's pass are the deepest and most unhealed, where the descendants of custodians, engineers and technicians have turned the labors of their ancestors into consecrated rite and holy ritual, you, Lieren wander through the frontier left so transformed by the hubris and wars of eras now long passed, meeting with these tribes to offer them sanctuary and prosperity in whatever form they desire, to map the lands that will one day bear the fortress of your gene-altered, warrior sons and to find a means to grant them reprieve of their long thankless tasks that have shielded and safe guarded the rest of New Varro from the Horrors and strangeness of the Desolation Frontier. The Fogbreathers are the first of the tribes you meet, those who keep the polluted and radioactive clouds of poisonous vapors contained within their tribal lands, through means that are still yet unclear to you, having turned the duty through the lenses of belief into the appeasement of a sleeping god of winds, whose breath had rotten. Vigilant, you search their subterranean holdings for signs of Na Gou's presence, knowing well the subtlest signs of the patriarch of all that is foul, and recognizing that these environment suit wearing tribals may have been misled by the spirit of rot as Mari's own caretakers had once been. But, you find no signs, at least upon the habitable levels of the facility they have cut and carved into warrens. Their leader is a sickened, weakened man by the name of He who braves the Fog, who you offer healing but who refuses, seeing you as a herald of a new age which will need a new leader. He agrees, along with his heir apparent, Shadow in the Cloud, to allow their youth to travel Long-Jia's systems, New Varro ranges, but to settle the tribe in the first towns built within their lands to learn how to continue treating their "Slumbering God", whom you suspect to be a malfunctioning air purifier much akin to the Lungs of the Mountain or a degraded terraforming device that was expelling the ruination it had breathed in. Shadow in the Cloud escorts you to the next closet tribe, while your sons begin the initial stage of exploration of the "Cursed Dark" beneath the Fogbreather's dwellings, having experience in such cramped climates from Terra. And have put in a request to transfer over Alf'Harim war merchants if they encounter stiffer resistance than expected. The next tribe, is known as the Storm Courters, whom live between great, twisted towers that pierce the sky that anonymously produces a lightning storm without rain, clouds or winds. Their leader is a bright eyed woman, who reminds you of Akanksha in many ways, who upon hearing your tales of the more peculiar weathers and climates of the worlds you've traveled, asks if they may be granted the right to find the "Most thrilling" and settle families of theirs upon them

You are a knight. You are level one. You are shirtless, ripped as all fuck, and ready to beat the fuck out of everything in this dungeon. The entrance looms ahead of you. Your stats: >16 Str >14 Dex >16 Con >12 Int >12 Wis >14 Cha Your background: >Noble: You have wealth at home, respect, 100 gp on your person. You lost your armour in a bet on the way here, but still have your helmet, pants, boots, belt, and bag. Your hp: >13 Your Fighting Style: >Unarmed. You do d6+str bonus damage per punch. D8+str bonus if you have no weapons equipped. Your Proficiencies: >Athletics >Acrobatics >Perception >Insight >Investigation >History >Religion You are a learned man. A pair of hooded figures stand by the dungeon entrance, holding wicked daggers and standing by a burning brazier. "Fool!" The first says. "Turn back from this place! Our master awaits below, and he shall slay you even if you were to defeat us!" >Options: >1: Intimidate them >2: Roll initiative! >3: Back away then hide and sneak up on them >4: Other (what?)

Hello everyone I'm a nimrod looking for adventures! This will be full of magic, goblin slaying, devilish sorceresses, and dungeon delving. You start in a dungeon. The gods are real, and they can speak to you. We will see the world if you survive long enough.. Rules: Years long d&d DM, new to quest please be patient with rules. You may form parties of up to six (OPTIONAL) Race is currently optional with humans assumed. Hardcore death. Protip: Ask yourself who you trust! Don't be a dick Fighting: >Unarmed. You do d2+str bonus damage per punch if you have no weapons equipped. Dagger 1d3+str bonus Sword etc: 1d6 Shield is unarmed ARMOR GIVES ARMOR CLASS (DM can calc) Your Proficiencies: >Athletics >Acrobatics >Perception >Insight >Investigation >History >Religion You are level one. Pick class and stats. Class: >Noble: You have a title, a wealthy home, and 100 gp on your person. You lost your armour in a bet on the way here, but still have your dagger, iron helmet, pants, boots, and bag. Fighter: You can pick up and use most weapons. You have spent years fighting. You know war, and how to wage it with weapons. You have 5gp, a knife, rough tunic, boots, and a leathered helm. Scholar: You are a learned man. You can READ! Like holy shit you can actually read a map. You start with 1 weeks pay at 25 gp. You have a decent wool robe that's comfortable and are usually respected in towns. Knight: You have a shield and armor. This separates you from most peasants. Your armor blocks for +2. You start with 10gp. You are working for a knightly organization of your choosing. Paladin: You are a man of a divine purpose. Pray for mercy. You have a worn breastplate and your choice of: sword, mace, or shield. Choose a god: Lathander, the sun god Tyr the defender Moradin the dwarven fire Mystra, goddess of magic. The raven queen. Lady Death. Bane the tyrant Morag the bloody Skith the spider This is your life is theirs. Wizard: You have spent years studying how to transcribe magic icons. You may gain spells from books, tomes, or even walls. You gain 3 cantrips from this list: The classic Magic bolt, Crackle (fireworks), snakes fang (grow venom fangs!), fairy light, fairy glint (reveals), fireplace (10mins casting), channel shield (+2 AC, concentration. You cannot cast another spell holding it.) Enhance, Sponge, Mage Hand, Magic orb (useless now, power scales) stats: HP 10 >10 Str >10 Dex >10 Con >10 Int >10 Wis >10 Cha Add any +5 points. You have been unceremoniously thrown ass over teakettle down into a dank dungeon! You may not even have weapons or armor until you scavenge them! You find yourself with a front door and back door while moisture is dripping off the walls. Two hooded men with wicked daggers approach you! "Begone fool!" The right man looks horrifyingly at a bloody dagger in his hands and screams "Turn away from this place!!" >Your first choice. >1: Attack! >2: Speak boldly >3: Intimidate!! >4: hide and sneak up >5: Run? Something else..

Your name is Vincent Cruz. You work in a shady government-backed facility in the middle of the New Mexico desert. Recently, due to putting in a lot of hard work and getting very, VERY lucky, you ended up as a notable figure to the Powers That Be. Every day, you imbed yourself deeper and deeper into the structure of the Abnormality Regulation Coalition (also known as ARC), the aforementioned government-backed facility. You are tasked with containing and studying paranormal entities on their behalf. For what purpose? Profit, mainly, and also because none of the other secretive 'SPONSORSHIP' companies want to contain anomalies. You've always had a knack for the anomalous. You've had encounters with the anomalous ever since you were a young boy. Sometimes, it's easier for you to empathize with them than the people you work with. Unless the anomaly in question is a certain HEART that's been stalking you for years. Every day, it gets a little harder to muster up the courage and willpower to continue working. There doesn't seem to be any end in sight. You'll continue to get more and more anomalies, day in and day out. You'll be forced to perform even more humiliating tasks for companies far more powerful than you and then what? What's the end goal? Is there one? Do you even want an end goal? Or would you rather keep pulling the boulder up the hill, O Vincent? Well, until you figure out what you're going to make of yourself, a recap is in order. You managed to successfully pitch your CIGARETTE MOLD product to ARC, earning you a guaranteed source of revenue for the rest of your tenure here. Granted, you're almost certain you could've gotten a better deal, but the upside is that you managed to impress some figureheads from some SPONSORSHIP COMPANIES. You tracked down a crazed occultist who was trying to get into contact with the HEART. Good news, he didn't contact the HEART! Bad news, he accidently manifested the anomaly equivalent of anti-matter! At least you managed to contain the 'anomaly' before it fully manifested. You invited Ashton over to stay the night after all the hectic shit that happened yesterday. It's nice having someone like her around. Today, you got two brand new anomalies: WHAT NEVER WAS and ROLY POLY OF EDEN. ARC really doesn't know when to let up, huh? Even after all the work you did for them, they pile more onto you. At least you got to chip away at some of your sponsorships. Speaking of sponsorships, you're in a different dimension outright because of one of them. Apparently, this dimension has Harvesters as well! Surely, nothing bad is going to happen in the next update! R-right? ARCHIVE: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Low%20Rung VINCENT SHEET/INVENTORY: https://rentry.co/VINCENTSHEET ALLIES: https://rentry.co/COWORKERLIST ANOMALY/SAMPLE NOTES: https://rentry.co/RESEARCHNOTES

With the Tournament of Power brought to a close, the Seventh Universe has emerged triumphant once more. Led by the Saiyan warriors, the Seventh's victory was secured. And with the wish on the Super Dragon Balls used to restore the other universes that were eliminated and erased, the final hidden trial was passed, and all eight of the universes up for elimination were allowed to remain. Yet, even with this victory, peace doesn't last in the Seventh Universe for long. As old hatreds rise and long-buried grudges resurface, will you have what it takes to keep everything you've worked the last 28 years of your life to build? Or will those who seek your end ultimately triumph? That all depends on you, and your choices. You the players will (most often) control Karn. A Saiyan man who has grown from his lowly beginnings as a mid-tier 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 over a dozen powerful and unique children, a mentor and teacher to his fellow Saiyans, and the indisputable winner of the Tournament of Power. Wielder of the Berserker Soul, and the powerful Stand Divine Dragon Force, you're fully equipped to handle any threat that comes your way. But what will you do when the threats aren't always physical, when you can't simply punch all your problems away? 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=HUT0uwSLQ3I SINISTER SCHEMES

"I'm off." "Good luck, sweetie! I know you're gonna knock 'em dead!" Your mother pumps a fist into the air as she sends you out the door. "Good luck!" Your younger sister Penelope waves at you. "Bring me lotsa toys when you're rich and famous!" Your even younger brother Theo yells out. And your slightly less younger brother, Damon, simply waves with a solemn look on his face, the weight of being the man of the house sinking in. And you? You're Basil. Resident of Jubilife City. You are sharp tongued and serious, the eldest of four with the stern attitude to match it. You have a lot of love for the people you are close to, but, putting it nicely, you're somewhat polarizing. You are a gifted trainer who is leaving on a journey to make money for your struggling family, who have been holed up in a dingy apartment living off your mother's store clerk salary for as long as you can remember. Your family's been too poor to afford a Pokémon, but your life changed when a stranger decided to grant you a Pokéball to capture a Pokémon you saved. Now, which one was it? >Carnivine >Pachirisu >Chatot ((A/N: Pick your favorite! You're a talented trainer so you can make anything work with the right strategy! Keep in mind, Basil will never box his starter.))

It’s midsummer night, June 23, 1985. You are Glenn DeMange, a fourteen-year-old wizard waiting to start your fourth year at Hogwarts at the end of the summer. Your family has been blessed with the unique Gift of Prophecy. Although it is mostly known as a matrilineal skill, you also have the Sight. You can foresee events before they happen. You can feel things before they occur. Though either it’s a fickle gift, or your experiences with it so far have been confusing and obscured at best. You picked this day because you thought midsummer should amplify your ability to connect with your “Third Eye,” whatever the hell that means. You are outside your house, in the garden. Your mom, your aunts, and your grandmom all think you are fast asleep in your room. Your father too. But he doesn’t matter that much, does he? Your family has always been matriarchal. Sometimes you wonder if you’re more afraid of letting down your mother or your grandmother. She is the Master Seer, after all. It has been fifteen minutes since you ate the mushrooms. You bought them from your friend David, a Slytherin student, who supposedly got them from a shop in Diagon Alley. David is alright. I mean, he was there when you needed help. It’s not like he’s your best friend, or even a close friend, but sometimes you value these random, peripheral friendships more than your close circles. Something about them gives you comfort. Your close friends, of course, like John or Anya, your classmates, they are special too. At least you feel that way in your heart. But you enjoy the fact that you can make friends with anyone, no matter their house or interests. Anyway, the mushrooms should work soon, hopefully. You’ve already had some serious incidents with the Gift before. Once, in your first year, you had a vision of a student getting attacked, which turned out to be you. Sometimes you wonder if you forced it to happen by acting recklessly after the vision. Anyway, let’s focus on now. You don’t really enjoy having the skill to see the future. You think it’s demoralizing, that it forces you to see yourself as a puppet instead of a person with free will. Your family always pretends it’s the most divine and graceful thing to have, and that pisses you off too. You’re fourteen. When will they stop treating you like a stupid child? Anyway, let’s focus on now… This time, let’s try. The mushrooms should be working by now. The weather is nice, not too hot, with a mellow wind. You smell the flowers in the garden. You look at the nearby plants and see tiny white dots, in sharp contrast with everything around them. They are moving. You look closer. They are really, really white bugs, munching on a red flower. White aphids? You don’t even know how you know that word. Maybe Grandma said it once while complaining about her roses. They are so white. Not like paper or milk. White like something screaming with color and identity. There must be hundreds of them.

Meet 29 Year Old Date Kurono, School Counselor of Tokyo-3's Municipal First Junior High School Academy and hired private therapist of NERV's pilots. While his job is considered non-essential, his mission is to indirectly aid in the fight against the apocalyptic angels aiming to destroy this world by helping them mature and hearing out their issues, the same way he do in school, only with a few extra steps. By controlling Date, you will help him uncover the truth about NERV, his patients, himself, and perhaps the fate of the world, provided he can survive... How To Play: >Important decisions and dialogue options will prompt a Dice Check after voting period is finished, be it either to persuade people with your arguments, get through them emotionally, or absorb emotional damage. This is a social game, so doing the right conversations matters a lot more than getting into fights. >The dice rolls are a best of 3 of a 1d100 die, the DC will be hidden, but it will be determined by the way you word your things accounted by the stress threshold you currently have, which will raise and lower throughout the story depending on what is currently going on. While stress is unavoidable, try to treat Date well, and the dice will treat you accordingly. >Consider the writing prompts as Date's subconscious. While write-Ins are allowed and encouraged, take his character into consideration as to not write anything too absurd. >Try not to get fired and/or killed. Previous Threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Great%20Therapist%20Evangelion

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 _ And like a bolt of lightning, inspiration strikes you, stopping you in your tracks like you'd been suddenly struck dead. Why not just solve the issue of the uneven semi finales by holding a Lottery? That would allow you to also skip the luck trial, which was also a problem you had been kicking into the future, since there aren't many ways to measure the luck of a Golden Core that can't be cheated or shown by the quality of their core or the time it took them to reach that level. The latter of course don't apply to you, since your ascent was all natural Talent. Heh-Heh. But, hosting a lottery for the Semi Finales, would not only be entertaining, but it would also give a chance for those who had bad match ups or didn't sign up due to worrying about fighting one contestant or another, though the latter group might be rare considering you're probably the one other daoists want to fight the least. Or simply those who lacked the funds and backing to sign up or were late to arrive. Yes, it is the solution to many problems. And is exciting enough to be distracting, so the good people of Chuan attending your tournament won't be too gloomy about Lord Xia's brutal defeat and gruesome injuries. And spreading the word is as simple as getting the ear...er, antennae of one of Jionghuagege's many daughters or the antennae, ears of one of your feline subjects, since there are plenty of either wandering around your garden to take the message and spread it around. This way, you don't have to lower your standing and divinity in the eyes of your worshippers by announcing something as gauche and mundane as a lottery pull, and can let your neices and natural followers and lower ranked disciples spread the word. And leave it to them to come up with how to spin it to make the commoners, nobles and other ordinary folk blissfully unaware of the world of cultivation suitably impressed, wording it as some immortal selection process or heavenly divination of the worthy. You trust your underlings to have a proper understanding of dramatics and give the announcement awe and gravitas worthy of your Palace of the Natural laws sect. And with that done, after telling Ruolan and Houmougui to play with the Moon Rabbits, you track down Huofeng to one of the buildings you're loaning out to your numerous guests. He is using it as a meditation room, while his clan and disciples occupy the other rooms attached to the building. It is filled with incense sticks that release smoke whiter than snow, and Jade and Gold Braziers filled with earth fire and sun jade chunks, which have turned the room into a sweat lodge hotter than a steel melting ore. Cont

Last time… Uhm, maybe you should stop summarizing stuff that just happened. The girls have heard enough of your life. The game of Truth or Dare continues! “T-That was so much…! Johnny, you’re more incredible than I thought…!” Tina can’t believe her eyes anymore. The man she’s sitting on is a crazy dude who loves adventures! “I-I wish he didn’t go as in-depth…” Ruby is flustered beyond belief. And worried too. Mostly flustered. “I-I did like it! Now I feel like I know my manager better than anyone…” Debbie is proud of you! “Certain details were too much, I admit. The Nariko praise was utterly unnecessary!” Ichie nods to herself. “Who’s next now?” You ask after being done with a long talk. “Y-You can’t act like we can continue this game like nothing happened!” Evie the lap maid is very mad! She returns to control Tina’s body with righteous fury. So, much hasn’t changed since the recap. “Hey! I feel pretty satisfied with my turn. I think we can move on!” Mei chuckles as she takes over the Iron Butt. “Um, we started with Evie, then Deborah, then Mei, then me, then Johnny…” Ichie recalls. “Now it’s reverse order, meaning Johnny goes again!” Mei is so ready for this. “No truths?” Evie puts the pressure on you and it isn’t with her thighs. “No truths.” The rest of the girls agree. They’ve had enough of truths for a while. “You girls are only saying that cause I called you perverts the entire time, haha!” Mei laughs it off as her control was pulled during this decision. Ruby doesn’t want to hear that she’s a Pervby again... Y-You were supposed to be the one deciding that, but oh well, they know what kind of guy you are by now… What happens to you?! >[Dare] Debbie tells you to take off your shirt. To much judgment and teasing… >[Dare] Ruby demands justice! She wants you to spank Mei (her) for her meaness. Y-Yeah... Totally for justice... >[Dare] Tina asks you to dress up with/for her! The only wholesome fun one! (Write-In what.) >[Dare] Evie dares you to be nice, and friendly, and not like you for the rest of the night. No lewd intentions. >[Dare] Ichie dares you to praise her and her only until she can’t get enough! >Write In.

The megacity of New Hope is a high speed network of people constantly move day and night. It doesn't matter if you're in the tightly packed lower class ghetto districts, the more proper residential districts, or located in the pristine and well looked after private communities like PrimeHold. New Hope is one of the few megacities left in the world. Port Haven, a smaller scale waterside megacity, had suffered a devastating molten attack from a powerful and still growing crime syndicate. There's been a recent spready of them here in New Hope, EXCALIBUR 1 tags on some businesses and other areas have been popping up and those streets becoming worse for wear since. New Hope has one massive draw to it though. The sprawling Hero Academy, its grounds easily draws up into not only the 10's of thousands of square feet but also it's underground levels as well. New Hope's Hero Academy is more recently famous from it's latest graduate Solaris, a young man with complete mastery over conjuring flames and absorbing heat. This is also the school you will be attending for the next few years more than likely. You look at the acceptance letter sitting on the end table near your bed, you've had that there for some months over the break period of waiting for school to start. You pick up the letter and give it another read... >What is your name? Also... >Roll a 1d100 for your power High and low numbers don't mean more or less powerful

"—All a bad dream my dear, a bad dream, it's all a—" Bad dream, the end of the gilded age; they've told you time and time again, to look for a successor, and you've been slacking on the job, as you do; dreaming, longing, golden locks on your face, sunlight on your heart, the pitter patter of some velvet passerines on the ground, or the roof of a shack maybe, or perhaps tropical birds, yes, oh yes, little parrotlets above chittering somewhere—someplace—else, anywhere but here, dear god in heaven, ahimè- The tinny dolcetto from the radio ends with a swell of static, you hear hollering in the distance; there's clapping somewhere in the building: the longest running interactive radio serial has wrapped up. Fifteen consecutive years of write-in ballots, endless scurrying to and from the mail room, making sense of sloppy, illegible handwriting; drunken notes, even drunker nights, threats of many forms, sizes, objects, many a disgruntled wackjob barging into the offices, "Lady Marny would never! she would never!" and how you'd have to arm yourself and the other bastards in the bureau; one feller holding an umbrella, another a broom, "put his head in this 'ere bucket," a troupe of clownish hoplites, holding the line praying the cuckoo wagons would get there fast enough, or lest you'd have to explain to the higher ups as to why you dared bother the Saints, the Moneymakers in the writers' room. "Every second they have to spend away from the typewriter," Donamara used to say, "comes out of your chow money, understand?" You'd rather have some nutso rain blows upon you than try and come up with an explanation, as to why He (or she? you've never stepped foot in there, how can you know?) had to look up and be plugged right out of the realms beyond; justify yourself to God on the 6th day, as to why you had to interrupt all the sculpting and life-breathing, and run the risk of leaving Man himself, half-made, half-formed, unfinished, ruined, the spark all gone and the leering from the little pockets of darkness, from rival presses, trying to come up on your turf. That's exactly what you're going to do right now, in this very moment; and although you have been slacking it's been for a very good reason, you're left to condense seven eons of divine creation, in little over three hours. Your job's (theoretically) simple; you're in charge of the drafts, the other stories that get shunted to the lower, cheaper frequencies, the ones that net around five to ten bozos writing in, the snobs that think they're above "Gilded Patina," it's just noise in the airwaves, but the higher ups like that; the less frequencies DDV and C&D and Q&T have access to the better. You've pitched some stories, some have been picked up, others—that is to say, the great majority—are cast out into the outer darkness, never to be seen or read again; you'd be called a "tastemaker" in other, more couth professions, but to the animals here you're "Bell-boy." >cntd.

Earlier Threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Halo:%20Spartan%202%20War%20Reports Active Spartan Roster: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1eO7rkImgBlWVU-gdeY4-e5qp3pC8IiGApewbHqlnRq8/edit?usp=sharing Spartan Sven-033 Dossier https://docs.google.com/document/d/1jR1N--hxRrd9QZ0l6UmrcOkFfKNrXvHGRvVemdNE3y4 __ [ Current Mission: Mission 7: Operation: CROWS-NEST DIFFCULTY: HEROIC/ LEGENDARY [ CAMPAIGN : Diversionary Actions ] [ Primary Objective 1: Disrupt and Sabotage Covenant Activities on Former Colony Alpha Corvi II ] [ Secondary Objective 1: Destabilize local Covenant Chain of Command / Neutralize Area Leaders & Commanders ] [ Secondary Objective 2: Gather intelligence concerning the Covenant non-military aspects/ Operations ] [ Optional Sub-Objective: Find out the fate of Alpha Corvi II's Civilian Population, and if possible, rescue any survivors ] Secret Objective 1: Prevent Khalil Shahi from leaking the location of nearby colonized systems] Secret Objective 2: [ Neutralize the Yanme'e Queen below Jamshid ] Secret Objective 3: [File Encrypted] _ Current Loadout M45E Shotgun & M319 Grenade Launcher Secondary: Narq Dart Pistol & 1 Energy pistol Melee: Integrated Hook + Recovered Energy Sword [High charge remaining]. Grenades: x2 Napalm, x2 Flashbang, x2 Fragmentation, x1 Plasma. Armor: MJOLNIR Mark IV/ OCEANIC + CMN Attachment + Rebreather+ UA Attachment _ "Secure the Covenant artifacts and technologies in the room, first" You ordered Mike, eyeing the floating crystals and gesturing towards the data vaults, taking a step towards the transmitter vali was slotted into "We'll follow Anton and Cal, once we've cleared the room of all that we can carry. Everything in here is to be considered high priority materials and intel, anything we take, will serve the war effort" "Going to be a close shave" Mike said, glancing at the door before grabbing one of the levitating crystals, turning it around and inspecting it as you knelt down and got to work cutting wires that had melted and fused together, trying to free the data chip Vali had been contained on before you let him out on his "Walk", to see if it was at all salvageable and you could retrieve even a fragment of the fork you'd brought down into the war zone. The data they'd gathered and in the field learning would be invaluable, if it could be extracted and added to the main or future branches of Vali. Mike paused, looking down at you before nodding knowingly and moving across the room, pulling up a floor covering that looked to be made of a material between silk and chitin and folded it into a knapsack, stuffing every loose artifact and device into it as he methodically cleared the room while you performed digital surgery to free up the partially melted data chip from its hastily juryrigged housing. Cont

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/2026/6428026/ Gongallaverse: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Gongalla%20Gaol You are Rosa Montagni, and you've managed to get three-fourths of your job done! Not only did you perform maintenance on the Eastern Reality Anchor, but you've also hooked up Homusubi - AKA Kagutsuchi, principal of Hexbourne and the deity of the East anchor - with Lugal's smuggling network, for a side project of Kagutsuchi's. And you get to learn how to shoot straight out of it! Not a bad deal, all things considered. Then again, you have to deal with a Captain Cynthia when she and her pirate crew attacked Lugal - turns out she's Don Bosco's sister. You've got intel on the Singularity Cult's activities through her, so it wasn't a total bore. A sighting of Orville on the West-bound train had you scrambling to tail him before the train departs, but an accidental encounter revealed that he's become disillusioned about the cult. As you board the train together and gained insight on the cult's goals, unknown raptor-riding gunmen shot up your passenger cabin!

What would happen if you were blessed? Gifted with what all desire? Be the one unreal thing? What if you were ... * INVINCIBLE *

The frigid air needles every nerve in your body. You remember this cold from a long time ago, and in that discomfort you recall that this was the last feeling you'd felt before your life became measured. In your analytical mind, the life worth living was quantified, and existence inevitably became a mark to miss. Fitting in a sweater you had when you were ten despite being thirty, gave the game away. This is a dream. You are inside of a log cabin, a fire calmly sputters at a fireplace against the far wall. There appears to be a kitchenette in the corner of this main room, and a hall that goes further into the structure bathed in shadow. >(5) Make yourself some cocoa and get comfy. >(10) Leave the cabin. >(25) Explore the shadows

The city of Nanarek was once the center of the world. Records describe it as the epitome of opulence, It's palace walls carved from granite hauled from miles away, It's homes trimmed with gold and decorated with Lapis and Turquoise, it's land fertile and abundant. But that is exactly what they are, records, hearsay. The reality is that Nanarek disappeared from any and all historical records thousands of years ago. No reliefs where carved gloating about a victory over Nanarek, no letters from the kings of Nanarek where received by other kings in the region. merchants reported that the trading routes to Nanarek led nowhere now, there was just sand and wind and sky. All the empires that did buisness with Nanarek faded, and sooner or later the true location of the city was lost. The only ones keeping it's memory alive where ancient authors well read on history but even their writings tell how frustrating it was to learn anything about this place. Some claimed that the gods cursed the city, erasing it from existence for some unknown slight against them, others claim the best sorcerers of Nanarek used their magic to hide their city from an attack. But even the writings of these authors where buried by the sands of time. Until recently that is, first it started with claims from traders. They said that in the desert was a city shrouded in fog, and that despite being in the desert clouds always hung over this mysterious city. Some claimed that at night when walking near this city no star could be seen in the sky. This of course piqued the interest of kings, sultans and tribal leaders who all knew what this mysterious city could be. And after that the word spread to the common man soldiers, fishers, smiths, scholars and mages alike where packing up to travel to this city in hopes of taking home untold riches Our story will follow one of these brave fools

I made a huge mistake! The walls of the wormhole stretches without end. All four sides twist in unimaginable colors surrounding my freefall. Completely offbalance my knees knit themselves over each other all helterskelter ; there's no solid surface to stand on in a portal to god knows where. Falling minute after minute headlong and upside down messes up the mind till mind mistakes upside down for upright up. After this I don't think I could ever go on a carnival ride ever again. The infinite tube of ethereal energy flows ahead without an end in sight. Gravity exercises its supremacy in all space and time and dashes my body in a direction that can't be anything other than down. Like waiting for a trainstop that doesn't exist, I flounder in the air. Argh! That villainess! Because of that evil villain Niello Gnieza, I'm put into this crisis. When I get back I'll give her some knuckles that'll make her dizzier than I am! Her face still sticks to my mind. "Ohohohoho! All alone, are you? Well you're too late. With this ancient wand in my hands every knee shall bow before me!" "Versa Verda and Azura Zelta are safe where they are! This final battle is all or nothing... Here and now, I'll defeat you!" "Fool! This museum is invested on every corner. You have come far to make it here and you had your chance to escape ; fighting a war alone will be your undoing. The power in this artifact already courses through me. Before I defeat you with this newfound potency, tell me the (ir)rationale behind your craven arrogance : I'll be sure to tell your friends once I have dealt with you. Ardena Dura." [] "I can handle you all by myself. I'm the only one strong enough to protect everyone." (POW: 5, TEC:7, ART: 9) [] "I realized now that this fight is fatal. I'd rather sacrifice myself for my friends to live." (POW: 7, TEC: 5, ART: 9) [] "Only a hero can fight the villain. It's my responsibility to finish you myself." (POW: 9, TEC: 7, ART: 5) (Welcome, barons bold and cavaliers (surely every one of you must be such peers). This is Magical Girl in a Medieval Court Quest. About the dice : We will use a 1d12, Bo3. Most actions will be categorized as either POW, TEC, or ART. If an action needs a roll, I'll try to figure the best fitting stat and have you guys roll. Ex : Bash down a ponderous door that could break your hand = Roll POW Stat = Roll equal to or greater than the value of your POW stat. Seeing as this is a weekend and that I'm completely unemployed, I'll be present to potentially give a few more updates today.)

Your nation is a wide, vast, and naturally beautiful one. Many are its mountains, valleys, and sprawling plains are from which resources are drawn, and natural recreation provided. However, this does not come without the cost of such beauty. Every summer, fires roar across the land, threatening the good people of the rural and urban communities alike that are the backbone of the country. You are salt-of-the-earth, wildland firefighting teams. You are called from all over the country to stop the fires, but the roughness of your crews remains a unifying trait. You have 5 Points to start and make a unit. Rules: https://docs.google.com/document/d/e/2PACX-1vR97_iQ_y0-7Y4MhrZlq3RrHJIDyDkQWez5MM_Zhs3vi4ojC_oKImApaiuOrx0a8UmYeg929YtY-ktj/pub Sheet Example: Unit Name: Kalgore County - Engine Crew 5 Engineer (2pts) Engine - "Deuce" (2pts) >Onroad Speed - 15 Hexes (2) >Offroad Speed - 15 Hexes (3) >Indirect Attack - 1 Slot (1) - Fireline Digging Tools >Direct Attack - 2 Hexes (1(+1)) >Water Capacity - 9 Hexes (3) Crew (1pt) -Fireline Digging Tools -Engine Crew

voca.ro/17PA3kUOafS7 Beyond mortal senses, beyond your reality, there lurks a boundless plane. It permeates your world and fills the void between worlds. It is the border between the lands of the living and of the dead. There, mind and matter become one; thought and passion, fear and yearning can become more tangible than iron. It is the Ethereal Plane. Somewhere, lurking deep within those ethereal mists, a dark and nameless dimension is ruled by dark and nameless powers. Some say it is a prison for the damned; some say it is a crucible to test the virtuous. Others simply call it home. It is a land of mist and shadow, love and death, sacrifice and seduction, beauty and horror. It is a land of whispered fears made manifest. Welcome to the Land of Mists. Welcome to the crucible of virtue and the spoils of damnation. Welcome to the Realm of Dread.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MTG250ym2ic&t=536s Welcome all. This is a D20 based, RPG-lite Destiny\Mass Effect crossover Quest. You will have specific skills and specialisations that effect what you can do and how you do them. Rolls are best of three and much like Pokemon Trainer Quest you have a once-per-thread reroll you can use for anything.You can gain rerolls for specific checks through Specialisations. With these basic questions out of the way, let's build us a character. To start with: >Are you Male or Female?

This world is dying, not just physically with the actions of humanity polluting the waters and cutting down the forests, but metaphysically with the actions of malevolent spirits attacking and destroying the very soul of every living being. This world is alive, called Gaia. She made everything alongside beings which are called the Wyrm (Destruction), Weaver (Preservation), and Wyld (Creation) but due to disputed events the Wyrm went insane and attacked Gaia herself forcing her into a coma. The world needs you! You were born as a Werewolf or as we call ourselves Garou and deeded with an impossible mission on your shoulders; saving the planet and all within it from the Apocalypse. The Wyrm's Greatest and Final destruction.

For each and every Spelldodger, there is a rite-of-passage of sorts. For your father, his was to serve in the Two Brothers War. For your eldest brother, he had a brief stint in the Royal Navy as a chief crewman. Then, your brother after him was a sword-for-hire in the Hinterlands for several years. Yours? Unfortunately, your rite-of-passage will be far less extravagant. Yours . . . is to attend to Royal Heritage Academy for Magical Application, usually just called the Academy, as its the only of its kind in Faleena. Your protests went unheard. Well, they were heard, but largely ignored. Your father insisted you needed this to "get some grit" and demanded you toughen up since, after all, "it's just school, little one." Your mother wanted to keep you at home for a few more winters, seeing as how you are the youngest of the three, but begrudgingly relented. The invitation came from the Royal House itself. Strange, given the Spelldodger deformity. The Spelldodger name began as a slur, a verbal mark upon your lineage for its inability to manipulate aether, rendering magical efforts null. This is all relevant due to the "Magic" in the name of the school you are to attend. Perhaps it's to poke fun at your lineage's deformity? One can only guess, and truthfully, you'd rather not. Right now, you're having dinner with your family. You leave tomorrow at sunrise. All the proper paperwork has been notarized and taken care of. A royal scribe was dispatched to your house three days ago. Now, it's counting down your final hours of freedom! Are you: >a boy >a girl Given name: >write-in (no lolsorandumb names, please) ((Welcome, one and all, to Technophile Quest. No, I couldn't think of a better name. It's basically what it says in the title and opening post. You're a "deformed" individual in a typical fantasy setting, only instead of being another by-the-numbers fantasy quest, you're an engineer. Decided to make this quest because, in a setting where both are 1:1 equal, I'd rather have a laser rifle in my hand than a spell book. And I'm bored. So yeah. 1) Because /qst/ is a dying board and because I want to actually finish what I create, this quest will have updates that are inconsistent and (at times) rapid. But I only work 3 days a week and it's Friday so I'm hoping to get 2-3 done before end of day. Let's just say common update times will be seven days a week, between 5pm-11pm EST. 2) If I get even one (you), I will assume someone enjoys my crap work and continue writing. Again, my goal is to get to some kind of finish for this thread. Not just update a few times and dip. If it sucks, either tell me directly or don't (you) me, lmao. 3) I'm not the best writer so bare with me. I can promise I will make attempts to finish the thread. I can't promise that the thread will be good. 4) This is experimental. Not trying to make it crunchy, but do want some systems and progression involved. Have to make you guys earn it, right?

Potent lifeforce shines with a golden iridescence, encased in a prison of flesh; it calls to you like a stellar siren amongst a dense asteroid field littered with dead ship carcasses and frozen corpses. A gravitic pull subtly draws you closer to the being on death’s door; gone are thoughts from your mind, all that remains is wonder and marvel at seeing the living force slowly decouple from its meat host. Without noticing your own actions, your face is almost touching the sickly pale man garbed in imperial marine uniform as if proximity would allow you to zoom in on the process, allowing you to understand all the intricacies of decoupling the spiritual from the physical. It is beautiful. The spirit that inhabits the body, and the serving of the bonds. To witness this is a gift; and that you have gained a slight, minuscule insight between the connection of the force to this material world is a prize that dwarfs any mass of gold. This gift was not free. No gift in this world is. It must be selfishly taken, grasped into your needy clawing hands that are blindly fumbling in the dark. For this sliver of knowledge, the price is a life. A loyal soldier of the Empire left to die before you. You could have saved him, and yet you didn’t. Instead, you allowed is spirit to shed its mortal form, out of curiosity, out of a desire to learn. His name was Horo Thif. The decision was one that left a sickness in the depths of your bowels like a corrosive pool of slick oil. Never have you liked the callous disregard the Sith have for the citizens and soldiers of the empire that dutifully serve them, that heroically fight and die alongside them against the wretched Republic and fetid Hutts. They deserve respect and recognition, but this opportunity is too good to pass up. The hypnotic draw of tells you that this is not something you can afford to avert. You must seize this chance, regardless of the cost. It could lead to you saving so many more Imperial lives. As you study the dying man, you feel his fear and horror and give him a small mercy. Touching his mind, you study Horo Thif and give him a pleasant vision as he expires in front of you. For his unwilling sacrifice, you are rewarding him with an image of him returning home, not in a coffin, but with flowers in hand to meet his wife, Myri. On his breast is a medal displaying his bravery, and along with it is a sizeable reward in his bank account for his heroic actions, credits he looks forward to spending on Myri. Finally, the connections are fully severed. Horo is dead. You have learned much from this, but the unpleasant feeling still lingers inside. Studying his face, you reach out and collect his dog tags, deciding to be the one to return them to his beloved as a form of respect for the young man. Maybe it will bring you some kind of penance. If not, it is the correct thing to do, the least you can do for a man you callously let die for your personal gain.