Board: /qst/
"/qst/ - Quests" is 4chan's imageboard for grinding XP.
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], [i], and color tags [red], [green], and [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). 
Last week on Secret Weapons of the Empire, we covered the Angel-pattern Walkers. This week, we cover their arguable predecessor in Project Warden.
More commonly known as the Core Frame, the thin, spindly figure represented a radical departure from traditional Ferrum designs.
The inception came from a design request for a fast mech able to modularly mount weapons systems from other Special Warfare Projects in development, while retaining the ability to switch between those available for adaptation to a changing battlefield.
Mired in bureaucratic hangups and competition for scarce resources, the design was rewritten no less than 14 times before construction of a prototype was even started, continuously reworked to incorporate more and more cutting edge technologies.
This culminated in a 15th and final redesign under a new project lead, the visionary Dr. Anokhin. Incorporating a new experimental piloting interface proved a double-edged sword. Even in simulators, early testing of this Man-Machine interface showed the problems that would plague Wardens throughout their whole operational life.
Pilots would commonly report fatigue, nausea, vertigo, increased numbness or loss of feelings, and bloody noses upon disconnection from the simulator. Prolonged use could result in unconsciousness, stroke, seizures, or even death.
Nevertheless, promising results pushed Project Warden forwards, even expanding the project into three separate prototypes: a scouting and recon model, a trooper model, and a close assault model.
A mandate from the highest authority to prioritize and push something to the frontline in time for the next offensive forced the project to cannibalize the recon and close assault model in favor of the ‘trooper’ design. However, it took cues from the scrapped designs in the form of the fixed Predator Jamming array, and it often carried the close assault design’s Demon Claw into battle. The former piece of technology caused the iconic crackling over communications on combat recordings of the machine.
As work intensified on finishing the Warden prototype, information was leaked to the ASF, who executed Operation Dragoon, a deep-cover commando raid into the heart of the Empire.
The raid was initially considered quite successful, destroying the underground facility and capturing several high-ranking scientists, including the aforementioned Dr. Anokhin, the prototype nevertheless had been completed and moved via underground rail transport before the attack was carried out, along with design plans.
The completed prototype, nicknamed ‘Beta’, would make its debut on the southern front as part of counter-raiding forces. A series of lightning deployments against the 3rd Allied Command and Home Sector Command would be the first live-fire tests, and the ‘Thin Man’, as nicknamed by soldiers, would swiftly gain a fearsome reputation. 
It is estimated that over 5 billion species have gone extinct throughout Earth's history. In the year 21XX, Humanity came to join that number. The chain of events leading up to this exodus has long since been forgotten, but a silver lining remained: Mankind would cease to exist on Earth, yet avoided total eradication by shunting itself into a hidden sanctuary known as the Digital World.
Your dying race discovered the sprawling infrastructure of this virtual ark right as they reached the event horizon of global biosphere collapse. Myriad wars had already broken out over the remaining resources, cutting down substantial portions of the population and resulting in the fall of numerous states. When news broke of this alternate world's discovery, nations looked up from their bloody squabbles, sick of fighting over scraps like dogs, and listened well and hard. Then came the final cooperative effort humanity would undertake: A project to move the minds of every living soul into the network, where trailblazers were working tirelessly to establish a new frontier for mankind. One without borders, without limits, without the contrivances of a material world that was dying thanks to their actions. This effort was a resounding success.
And now, God knows how many years later, you're sick of it. You want out. 
Amongst the squat, broad, and thickly-forested hills north and east of Hawksong, between the savage barrier of the cold Orcwilds and the lush plenty of the elves’ shrinking Silver Realm, there is a land called The Steelwood by those who live there. For centuries, it has been a place of constant (if often low-level and intermittent) conflict. Elf and Man, Man and Orc, Orc and Elf, all have fought and shed blood there, and their fallen swords, shields, and spears litter the land and give it its name. Each of them claims a birthright to this inauspicious area. Eash of them claims that their ancestors staked their claim first, before the others arrived.
But if you ask the Dwarves, they are all wrong.
Your party—The Monstrous Regiment—came to The Steelwood to earn a cut of a lucrative dwarven corporate contract. The contract was initially taken by another adventuring outfit calling themselves ‘The Delvers’, whom you met after an unexpected team-up hunting lake monsters, and whose technical focus would complement your party’s particular skillset: goblin grit, the Feycraft of a faun you found, a shrewdness born of a difficult and colourful life, and a certain occult secret up your sleeve. The Steelwood Expedition’s purpose: to find and explore the ruins of a buried pyramid among the hills, a mysterious megastructure belonging to the last of the long-defunct dwarven. After a brief break detour to pick up some local orc muscle by making a deal with local orc horde, you journeyed into the hills to survey for some potentially quite valuable ruins.
What you found was far greater, and much stranger, than any archaeological discovery you could have anticipated.
The pyramid had been plundered and illicitly inhabited by The Ettercap, a spider-faced fairy defector from the Chaotic Good gods of elvenkind. Deep within the hidden hill-fort, the disturbed demigod had laid claim to ancient wonders of a technology that predated even the dwarven race—belonging to a blue-green breed of GOBLIN, of all things—and turned the transformative power of the great bio-magical forge at its centre to a terrible purpose. Using the same processes which (as you discovered) had been used to give ancient goblins new soul and substance, and to create the races of Dwarf, Gnome, and Halfling, she has made purple-skinned and bug-eyed ‘foundlings’ from kidnapped kids taken from all over the Steelwood.
One half of your party was kidnapped, and nearly suffered the very same fate. 
For House and Dominion: A Knight's Tale
https://houseanddominion.fandom.com/wiki/HouseAndDominion_Wiki#Upcoming_Games_and_Shorts
https://twitter.com/ThatSlowTypingG
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iJD5yRdvg1U [Transformers One Theme]
It is the 41st century. Great star empires that span galaxies make up the Factions of known space. Two decades of war saw the Factions united against a common foe; the Neeran Empire. With the Empire's defeat the Factions are once again at peace, but few are willing to risk falling into complacency and malaise once more.
Great star fleets still ply the space lanes, keeping the peace and keeping a watchful eye for new threats. These fleets, once built for war, are increasingly being turned towards exploration. The neutral Navigators Guild leads the expansion, plotting new safe routes to distant galaxies. Meanwhile the Factions Alliance military act as their guardians, protecting the explorers and evaluating threats to Faction space.
The Alliance fleets still act as the defenders of Faction space, guarding against external threats. Called on to police the borders of the former Neeran Empire and support exploration efforts, they are stretched thin on all fronts. Fortunately there is no shortage of old soldiers and adventurous youths looking for a cause if the price is right. Some are more sought after than others.
In the Neeran Wars all the Factions suffered to some extent. Entire worlds were destroyed, stripped of life or reduced to rubble. The heart was torn out of the Shallan Federation while the Terran Alliance and Dominion of Royal Houses staggered from lost worlds and a refugee crisis. Worse the Dominion fell into civil war at the worst possible time.
The Dominion civil war saw many dozens of Houses conquered by their neighbours or otherwise overthrown. Some simply saw a change in government, changing sides and aligning themselves with their former enemies. Others would be annexed or dissolved outright. Even years after the conflict its remnants still linger. The dispossessed are Knights and nobles of Dominion Houses that have lost their lands and territory. Many still have personal fortunes and enough resources to be dangerous.
Knights Errant are made up of those dispossessed still determined to take up arms in some cause. Entire chapters of Knights Errant exist, some choosing to defend the Dominion, others simply banding together for safety. Regardless of reason these knights are often some of the best warriors in known space and a resource the Alliance does not hesitate to draw upon.
Your House may have long ago fallen but there is still hope for the future. Work for the Alliance protecting the exploration fleets will be dangerous but could provide the tools and opportunity necessary to some day restore your House. 
To wit; it cannot be gainsaid that the Many Mysteries are well-without the purview of Flegmat, or any other author herein this Canon; truly, it is that they would write of Mysterious Medicine and Healing Arts with the same authority as a Counter-Clerk would of chirurgery! However, here Flegmat wrestles – gainfully, mind – with the long-historied role that those who Delved had on the mundane study of Humorous Nature. His accounting of the rise into good-grace of the Fourfold Theory is well-fleshed, though not novel to anyone passably read. The account of the subsequent fall from good-grace and the too-incremental acceptance of its successor, the Comprehensive Theory - elsewhere named as the Singular or the Singular Comprehensive Theory - is novel, controversial, and in the eyes of some, perhaps even dangerous. As its inclusion was not a decision gently made nor borne, so it may be said that it being rendered here at all is testament to the strength of Flegmat's argumentation, and the butcher's bill that the slow adoption of Singular Theory has needlessly wrought.
- A preface from a Stricken printing of The Canon of Medicine, a collection of writings on medical history by a number of authors. The Fourfold Theory held that for man there is an internal alchemical balance of phlegm, blood and bile - both yellow and black - and that when balance between these four is lost, illness and malady are inevitable. The Comprehensive Theory holds that there is but one 'family' of Humors, not four - hence Singular - and that it is the presence of these Humors, not the balance of them, that are responsible for illnesses. Medical interventions that ascribe to the Comprehensive Theory of Humors are more successful than those that ascribe to the Fourfold Theory, though as the Comprehensive Theory was developed by Witches as opposed to Physicians, its adoption in the fields of Mundane medicine has been slow, partially on account of the inclement association, but primarily as any benefits from implementing the theory in practice were misattributed to Mysterious Medicine, and were assumed to be beyond mundane practitioners.
In Scrimshaw Mount, all graves are shallow. Even on the Promontory, where Nature, through the permutations of the Pattern had placed soil on the otherwise nude basalt of the Mount, the bone white stone was never more than a few feet down, commonly less than one. As such, getting graves to the standard depth of eight feet was simply not practical for those interned in the Mount's public burying grounds. But those that lived their lives and died their deaths on the Mount didn't take overmuch umbrage at their shallow graves. For both the practical and pious among them understood full well that under the panopticonical Gaze of the Patternmaker Above … all things are shallow. 
You are Tristain d’Rusalka, a noble from the United Kingdom of Fodlan born with unique abilities bestowed upon you by the Goddess. You have journeyed across the sea to the desert kingdom of Morfis after receiving an invitation to join a mysterious competition. Though you know little of the trials that lie ahead, the winner of this contest has been promised the hand of Morfis’ Princess, Yulia Xan Phanes, in marriage. Seeking adventures, thrills, and battles that would be worthy of your might, you embarked on this strange voyage with nothing but your trusted axe.
After having arrived at the mountain town of Hima, you were quickly pulled into a confrontation between the local garrison and the dreaded Cult of the Serpent. In your attempt to learn more about the Cult’s activities, you inadvertently caused a religious schism which found you as the new figurehead of one of its branches. Partnering with Hima’s defenders as well as one of your rivals in the competition for Princess Yulia’s hand, you defeated the Cult’s main army. In doing so, you acquired a new mount for yourself; an exceedingly rare white wyvern capable of sorcery, whom you named Fionn.
Grateful for your assistance, the Governor of Hima offered to train you in the art of fighting atop your newfound companion. You have now spent the last five days familiarizing yourself with Fionn and growing accustomed to his movements. You will soon leave for your next destination, Shangri-La. The fabled “Palace of Debauchery” will be your last stop before finally arriving at the City of Morfis.
>Tristain d’Rusalka
>Level 30/50 Wyvern Lord (EXP: 0/100)
HP: 61/61 (120%)
Strength: 34 (65%)
Magic: 20 (40%)
Speed: 25 (30%)
Defense: 26 (60%)
Resistance: 16 (40%)
Luck: 15 (55%)
>Skill: Resolve (When HP falls to less than 35%, Strength, Speed and Defense increase by 7)
>Dragon-kin Wyvern (SPD based chance for Fionn to launch an ice attack, dealing ½ MAG Damage.)
>Weapons: Silver Axe (+16 ATK), Hammer (+8 ATK, 3x DMG vs Armor Knights), Devil Axe (+21 ATK, -20 HP when Used) Iron Bow (+6 ATK)
>Spells:
Fire (+3 ATK, 5 Uses)
Elfire (+7 ATK, 3 Uses)
Wind (+3 ATK, 5 Uses, 3x DMG vs flying)
>Abilities:
Crest of Indech: You are able to make a follow-up attack on one foe, regardless of Speed. (4 Charges)
Crest of Macuil: Double the attack power 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)
>Items: Concoction x5 (+20 HP)
>Gold: 300g
>Tristain’s Party: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1mrlj-c7Oe51qIoat3LJfDSv0Bw2nmExQT2EqlKlWPGw/edit?usp=sharing
>Combat Rules:
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1m_UvIqCmBRzmrlu0mvttVkGRRI8bIkT6iTTrDR_J5zo/edit?usp=sharing
>Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Sorcerer%20Kingdom 
(To everyone who signed up, I hope you are ready. I know I am. I have decided to start us in the northern mountain kingdoms. The 'group' has not yet formed, but everyone is here. I will leave it up to you (mostly) as to why. If you want to join and have not gotten your character verified yet, please do so here:
>>6214296.
Elsewise, please enjoy!)
The Grimstone Inn, is located on the eastern mountain range of Saxondy, the easternmost of the Northern Mountain Kingdoms. First established 20 years ago, it serves as the farthest one can get away from civilization, outside of troll country, of course. While in the most technical of senses, it was located outside of the boarders of the kingdom, the only way to was through a mountain pass, which split off from a road to one of the boarder fortresses. The location served to provide it with some measure of privacy, for those eighter looking to disappear, or to glean information. The Order of Pendrake, the chapter of monster hunters who patrolled these parts, was far more concerned with incursions into troll country or preventing voidspawn from sneaking past the boarder, then with the Grimstone. Furthermore, because of its location, it was provided some measure of protection by the Garison, roughly 3 miles south and 5 west. Then again, there was a reason why they kept arms locked up in the basement. Regardless, for any looking to hide, looking for those hiding, or looking for information, a better place could not be found. Who are you, and what would you like to do? 
Time and time again, you find yourself thinking about Lady Megistus. Though you’re aware of no bond of blood or lineage, you still feel a sense of kinship with her. In some strange way, you feel as if you might understand one another. It may be a futile hope, but you keep wondering. What if, by some remote miracle, she was still alive somewhere within the labyrinth? What could she teach you, and at what cost?
Questions haunt you, but dinner offers a fleeting sense of reprieve. No expense has been spared, either in the quality of the ingredients or the talent involved in the cooking. You suppose that small comforts like these are vital for life far up in the remote mountains. The old Martense family might have neglected them, but the new generation is not beyond the allure of fine food and wine.
Jan’s parents swiftly withdraw after the meal, as if sensing that they might be intruding upon private conversations or, perhaps, simply seeking out their own solitude. They are, after all, still Martense.
“So Bard, Jan tells me that you’ve seen that sister of yours!” Daniel announces, gesturing towards you with his fork, “Why didn’t you say anything? You know I’ve been wanting to meet her for years.”
“Why do you think I didn’t say anything?” you counter, softening the rebuke with a laugh. All jokes aside, you’re vaguely terrified of what might happen if the two of them were to meet. You’re not sure that both of them would come out alive.
“Hmm. You could at least tell me what she’s like. Elle?” the soldier insists, “I’m not going to ask Bard. He’s hardly an unbiased source, after all.”
“Oh, um, she’s very…” Elle hesitates, “She’s just a normal girl, really. There’s nothing to get excited about.”
You can tell that Daniel is far from convinced, but Jan clears his throat before any further questions can be asked. “How about a game?” he offers, “I forgot to mention earlier, we found some in one of the storage rooms. I think you might like this one, Isambard.”
“Lead on, then,” you urge, grabbing onto the excuse with both hands. Jan nods, getting up and guiding you through to another room. A map lies spread out across a long table, while a scattering of small metal models awaits your attention. You see cavalry sitting atop proud horses, and a mixture of infantry wielding archaic weaponry.
It’s one of THOSE games. In this world many tribes of mortals can be found. As they try to make sense of the world they began to believe in many gods. You play as the first pantheon. Will you work together to shape the world for the sake of your followers, or will you kill everyone that doesn't pray to you. The choice is yours.
Character Sheet
Name: What do your worshippers call you.
Domain: What is it you are primarily worshiped for. Can choose up to five.
Location: Pick a color and mark on the map where your worship begins.
Backstory: While the first Gods are born from the faith of their believers, they tend to believe in the myths that birthed them. Tell us what you and your followers believe to be true.
Culture (optional): Give us some information about the tribe that worships you. 
You’re ANTON PEAS: a Grill Jockey at GREASE MONKEY: THE DEEP-FRIED EVERYTHING FAMILY RESTAURANT! Well, you were, anyways. Thanks to a demonic ritual gone wrong, you were whisked away to ZORAL: a fantasy realm shrouded in perpetual darkness–the surprise trip leaving you with a plate full of troubles and a head full of holes!
To say you’ve been busy would be a rhino-sized understatement. In your quest to scrounge up the 20,000 BELLS that’ll supposedly buy you passage back home, you somehow managed to run afoul of an all-you-can-eat buffet of plots and plans! Chief among them a sinister scheme penned by the mysterious CULT OF THE WORM... the goal? WORLD DOMINATION!
Probably. You had to dip out of the meeting you snuck into a little early, but you got the gist of it!
You also found out that the cult was planning another summoning ritual in a secret hideout near HJALL’DAH’S PLUNGE to the South… just like the one that brought you here in the first place! Their goal? Summoning a DEVIL to aid their menacing machinations! Having tangled with a demon at a fraction of her power, you can only imagine how much damage a fully-charged hellspawn could do!
Before you could talk shop about your next move, however, you were waylaid by assassins sent by the sinister SPICE CARTEL: Zoral’s golden boys when it comes to organized crime! Spurred into action by your new abyssal amiga REZALITH, you decided to add a quick stop in GOLD TOWN on your road trip down South… Why?
To toast one of the Cartel’s casinos like a marshmallow!
As for how you plan on doing that, well, that’s still up for discussion!
Fueled up by hoity-toity spa treatments, ‘quality time’ with your new gal pal TZAH-TZIE, and your memories slowly trickling back into your head, THIS is where your tale continues…
https://youtu.be/1lR8VLt1Xlk 
The only things you were given in life were the visions the Dark Gods bestowed upon you. You felt their voices through your mind, to your very bones. To become their cleric—ha! Was there any other choice in life? You joined the throngs fleeing the Galgen Empire, preached to them about the Three Who Were Once Four. You fought tooth and nail, first for survival, then alongside fellow worshippers in formation.
Your brothers and sisters in the southern wastes welcomed you to the League of the Valknar. A people dedicated to the Dark Gods. You took your place as a cleric, proving in combat and in faith that you were worthy. You ARE worthy. You will prove it by magic, by sermon, and by the blood of your enemies.
~-~
The Tyrian Desert sun greets you as you step out of your manor. The air came bearing sand on the wind, bouncing harmlessly off your red cloak and crimson scales. You let the elements wash over you. You never realized how sluggish the northern climes of Galgen made you feel until you journeyed this far south. Your mouth twitches in a smile. From refugee rags to wearing cleric robes. From terrified hatchling to warrior-priest.
But becoming Lord of Tyrport was something you did not expect. A new frontier town in the war against the damnable Galgenites. A settlement once neutral - but when the imperials took hold, the League couldn’t ignore the port. The Valknarri swept down on the town. Those Galgenites captured in the battle were already sacrificed to the Valknar.
It was your first day as the lord - you had arrived last night. The town was repairing and getting ready for their new lord.
“Good morning, my lord,” a familiar voice spoke to your side. You look down, as most times you do, at the tiefling hellknight. Elkaza was not short, you simply stood over most at eight feet tall. Her ebony armor gleaned in the sun. “How was your first night in Tyrport?”
”The bed was ostentatious and much too soft. Like a mattress you’d find in a brothel.”
She gave you a knowing look.
“An, uh, upscale brothel. All silk and lavish,” you wring your hands. “I’m still used to my cot back in the Grand Keep of the Three.”
Elkaza could not hold back her chuckle. “You’re so peculiar, Rhogar. Did you at least sleep well?” You shook your head, and before she could reply, another figure entered the manor courtyard. He was followed by an entourage. Your guardsmen around the yard stood at the ready. Bearing no hostility, you wave the guards to let them in.
>cont 
As an inhabitant of the magocracy of Parsifal, nestled in a valley surrounded by tall mountains, it was a good surprise for your family when you displayed magical abilities. You were sent to the Archmage's Academy to study and become a wizard, but your grades were poor and you got kicked out. Seeking knowledge wherever you could, you joined the Adamantine Daggers, a guild of thieves and assassins. They financed your self-education in magic, bringing you stolen tomes from all over the realm. In exchange, they demanded you use your magic to further their goals.
One night, as you were doing your arcane calculations, you realized to your horror that a demonic portal was about to open in the middle of the largest city in the region. The consequences would be dire for everyone involved, so you decided to inform the guild.
They dismissed your calculations as nonsense, but you've redone them several times and they all pointed to next month as the date of the incoming demonic invasion.
No one seems to be taking this threat seriously but you! You have a month the get the fuck out of the valley!
The problem is the surrounding lands are full of barbarians, and you'd get slaughtered out there alone. You need to find people that believe your story willing to break out the valley and survive out there with you.
How are you going to proceed with this endeavour?
> Go through the streets screaming the end is near
> Find people you helped in the past within the guild
> Go look for some priest they dig these kinds of stories
> Find a very poor settlement and tell them they are the chosen people
> Write in 
Nina stares at her reflection, the water perfectly recreating her image despite the immense amount of steam emanating from it. The unblinking wraith looking back at her should cause some form of distress; rage, anguish, anxiety, yet none of it comes to surface.
She undresses, unsealing her robe with a single spell and letting it fall down on the ceramic floor. Naked, vulnerable, pure. Nothing.
All the spite and self-loathing that guided her every action is now gone, not from any big singular event, but from the constant erosion that a continued existence inevitably brings with it. She puts her index finger on her cheek, and slowly runs it down her neck, then her chest, and finally her thigh. Smooth and soft, this should bother her, it always did. She raises her hand back to her face, she bites into her hand, but it's painless, her teeth going straight through as if she's made of soft candy.
She hears a portal open behind her. There is only one other person that should have access to those baths, but maybe she hoped he would come to interrupt her as he does.
"Bad time?" Kit asks, hopping closer to the water. "I need to finetune the water, but I can come in later. Work, work, work, ya know how it is."
She kicks him into the water, with the difference in size, it was like shoving a pebble out of the way. He yelps as the almost boiling hot water sears his skin, unfortunately, he quickly adapts to the sudden shift in temperature.
Nina lets out a quiet giggle. "If you're going to take a bath, at least have the decency to undress," she says, lowering herself into the water next to him. It's a lot deeper than it appears, as she can submerge herself fully despite being much taller than nearly anyone in the school. The heat hurts, but she doesn't mind.
Kit takes off his cloak and throws it to the side. "This water doesn't wet clothes, not all students are comfortable being naked next to each other, or being cooked alive, that last part is what I came here to fix. Didn't I tell you that? Maybe I didn't, oops!"
"You did, I just don't care if you show up or not." She splashes a little bit of hot water on him. "Since you're here, what are your thoughts on the students this year?"
"Pretty good bunch. Potential here and there, few unique cases like the human and that bird girl, but nothing too worrying. I think most of em will pass, but next year might be..."
"We might need to suspend classes for the next year," Nina states, her gaze wandering over a vision only she can see. "The risk of wars has increased exponentially, and the pressure we've received from other parties to add a duel exam to our curriculum is clear, they want soldiers. The question is, are we going to give them what they're asking for." She rests her back on the border of the bath, awaiting Kit's answer. 
This is Gob. He is a goblin going to Fantasy University in the year 200X, and he wants a girlfriend!
Like his peers, he is looking for love and validation. He has no idea how to achieve either, but he is willing to try most things to achieve his goals.
Graduating would also be nice, but that is currently Gobs priority number two.
First day of school is about to start. Gob takes a look at the school pamphlet all new students receive:
---
Pre-start seminar on study techniques and other handy tips (9:15-10:30)
Library opens. Curriculum books sale and trade (10:00-18:00)
Introduction to speaking Common: The bridge between cultures (10:00-10:45)
Headcount and registration at the auditorium (11:00-12:30) (MANDATORY)
Pizza for new students and faculty (12:45-14:00)
Language and culture exhibition stands (12:45-18:15)
How to maintain mental health during hardships and setbacks (14:15-15:15)
Volunteer program introductions at the auditorium (15:00-18:00)
Forest walk, sponsored by Save the Unicorn Foundation (16:15-17:15)
---
Quite a lot of things the school has to offer first day. None of them about how to get a girlfriend unfortunately.
The clock is currently 8:00.
What does Gob start the day with? (You can vote for multiple at a time)
>Eat breakfast
>Brush teeth
>Shower
>Sleep a bit longer
>Check out the university grounds
>Attend event (which one?)
>Write in 
You are Nicole Smith. You are a SHIFTer, a person capable of using anomalous abilities to alter the world around you. You are a Cleaner, a deniable asset used by massive mega-corporations called the Alphabet Companies and anyone else willing to pay you.
And you're on the cusp of the most dangerous part of your career. Two major events you've been worried about are only a day away from happening: The HEAD MEETING (a massive corporate meeting between all twenty six of the Alphabet Companies) and the BASE ASSAULT (a self-assigned mission where you plan on raiding one of the Silver Agent's main bases to take them down).
Both of these will risk the life and limb of you and everyone you'll bring to them. Yet you know you have to face the music; You can't back away now. All you can do is prepare for the inevitable.
As for what happened last thread...
You tracked down a Syndicate of cultists who were kidnapping people and, with righteous fury, purged them from the backstreets of D-Corp. You then humored Clover and visited his old family estate. In the process you found odd lore about the creation of modern D-Company and even got your hands on illegal Singularity documents.
You met and tamed an anomaly made out of the melted remains of child test subjects that Clover's criminal father experimented on.
You then head down to R-Corp to track down AA Foxtrot. You ratted out a Silver Agent who was sneaking around in a Ranger Camp before tracking down AA to an abandoned pre-City weapons factory. There, you met a spook who wanted to work with you to deal with Shockely (one of the corporate agents working with the spooks) who went rogue.
You tracked him down, killed him, and recovered AA. You made your way over to L-Corp's district to track down Gabriel Foxtrot.
After a false start with a doppelganger, you incidentally tracked down Fang Foxtrot (who turned out to be Ashley Miller, one of your current allies) and dealt with one of the SHIFTers chasing you down.
You then found Gabriel Foxtrot down in an abandoned and wrecked candle shop. Well, an interdimensional space inside said candle shop, actually. You managed to drag him out of the shop after fighting through a horde of OCEP agents (a mysterious group you still know little about.)
Now? You're using your last bit of free time you'll have before the show starts to prepare for your best show yet.
ARCHIVE: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Cleaner
PASTEBINS:
MAIN CHARACTER SHEET: https://pastebin.com/3y638TfK
ALLIES: https://pastebin.com/8gdVZBPe
MECHANICS: https://pastebin.com/A9nLYWP6
INVENTORY: https://pastebin.com/n0MH6M17
CITY INFO: https://pastebin.com/ZP2JN7mT
CURRENT PARTY: https://pastebin.com/NeYKiyED
This will likely be the last Cleaner Quest thread. Don't worry, you'll get a satisfying enough ending. I just want to preface with that. 
Welcome to /qtg/, a place to talk about quests.
Previous thread
>>6181007
>What is a quest?
An interactive story in which a Quest Master (QM) writes and provides the readers with options on how to proceed — similar to a choose-your-own-adventure book or an old text adventure
Questionably Useful links:
>QTG discord: https://discord.gg/dZavHuK
>Skirmish discord: https://discord.com/invite/DZCVvVU
>Evo Game discord: https://discord.gg/v55Xaaja
>Old pastebin containing advice for QMs:
https://pastebin.com/Z78p8gXf
Badly in need of renovation.
>Archiving guide:
Go to http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/requestqstinterface.html
Fill out the request form to archive a thread.
Threads are also automatically archived by other websites, such as archived.moe.
>Formatting guide:
Only the thread's OP can format. Note that should the OP change ID, they will lose this ability as well.
Remove the spaces between the [] brackets and the letters:
Bold: [ b ] text [ /b ]
Italics: [ i ] text [ /i ]
Red: [ red ] text [ /red ]
Blue: [ blue ] text [ /blue ]
Green: [ green] text [ /green ]
>Formatting guide for everyone:
Dice (type this in “options”): dice + [no. of dice]d[no. of sides on the dice] (optionally you can add modifiers: dice + [no. of dice]d[no. of sides on the dice]+[modifier]; for a negative modifier type: +-[modifier]
Examples: dice+1d100 = a 1d100 roll, dice+1d100+10 = a 1d100 roll with a +10 modifier.
Spoiler: [ spoiler ]spoiler[ /spoiler ] or by pressing alt+s in-thread (doesn't work in OP)
>QM question:
Are there any special occasions you mark in your quests/traditions that you do? Even something like asking questions at the beginning/end of the thread or art for certain points in the story.
>Player question:
What would encourage you to make a fanwork (art/a side story) of a quest you like? Does /qst/'s nature as a 4chan board make you less inclined to? Have you ever made something for a quest you like before?
>General question:
What are you looking forward to for April Fools, the annual 4chan bit, something elsewhere, or gimmick quests? If you're answering this after April 1st, do you have any expectations for increased activity in the upcoming season(s)?
>Lurker question:
If you can make it to vote, vote! If not, when are you reading quests? Somewhere you can't easily post? Are you a phoneposter or simply a PC lurker?
>Miscellaneous question:
If you won the lottery tomorrow but you had to buy 4chan, how would you improve the /qst/ing experience? *drip* *drip*
You wake up with the rhythmic yet heavy drops of water falling on your parched lips
"Ugh where am i?", you ask yourself knowing full well you can't answer the question
As you sit up you feel a comforting moonlight blinding you for a moment under its ethereal gaze.
After coming to your senses you find yourself trapped in a chasm spanning who knows how far.
A feeling of dread washes over you, reaching into your ashy lab coats pockets you find a wrinkled letter as though written in a hurry, "Expieriment failed, code black, failed to select ideal dimension"
With nothing but your surroundings how will you survive? Beware there may be monsters, although similar to earth, this universe is... corrupted. 
The howling of villagers had pierced through the shambling woods.
With how upset they were, and their chasing, they might just as well have scared the noonday sun into dusk.
Crud! Those villagers did not have to punch your party an early ticket to Heaven.
Or Hell. You paid good money for your party. And getting chummy was not a part of their stipend.
You could only guess where their souls were laid after this mess.
At least they could have spared one maid... Another pair of fleeing hands and feet could have taken care of luggage duty… What you were able to grab with you before dashing.
Which was not a lot, really. There were the items on your person too, which still wasn’t a lot. Still. Still.
The clothes on your back, yellow crosses, a bell, your manual. But still—
Scratch that. Forget the manual.
Not when she had taken full custody of the thing. Good grief! It was just one problem after another.
After you had cut your pursuers loose and got your silken robe torn at the hem, she popped out of nowhere.
She pretended to hide her giggling, spying at the tattered inquisitor's gown flashing your hosiery-wrapped ankles. But boy, she was bad at it.
She couldn’t. Not with her obnoxious grin.
(cont.) 
Last time, you began the day with the idea of introducing your Bestie to your family and friends, then this all shaped into a different monster, and now you’re at Nariko’s former luxurious apartment trying to enjoy lunch together. One that you cooked.
You took the chance to reconnect with Chio — who pretended to be amnesic about the events of the Bubble — but due to a misunderstanding by Nariko, you’re in her room taking care of this sickly mother with her daughter. Yes, Chio’s excessive blushing made your OG hobo believe that she was feverish from overworking. It appears to happen often, but this is the first time Nariko has decided to put her foot down and force her mom to take a break.
“F-For the last time, I’m not sick, Nariko! Stop disobeying me!” Chio grumbles as she’s inside the bed.
“I’m sorry, Mother. The thermometer clearly stated your fever!” Nariko won’t relent. Going full-tomato gets you feverish? The more you know... “I’m no passive bystander any longer, you must rest!”
“Okay, here we go…” You arrive with the food on a tray, you had to go back to the kitchen to find one. “Still warm, I feel.” More like you’re praying… You didn’t do all of this for it to be cold!
“Thank you, Johnny!” Nariko appreciates you dearly. “My mother is overwhelmingly stubborn, I know with your presence she has no option but to behave.”
“I’m NOT stubborn.” Chio grits her teeth.
“Then prove it! Rest!” Nariko challenges. Chio is clearly not prepared to handle her daughter talking back.
“Or eat. Your food’s ready.” You wiggle your eyebrows like the one-note character you become after cooking.
“T-This is so upsetting...” Chio misses the happiness she felt a few minutes ago.
“Well, it doesn’t have to be. The others want to cheer you up.” You announce what Yu Yan, Crossbill, and Amelia want to do. “A happy patient is a healthy patient.”
“That doesn’t make a lick of sense.” Chio doesn’t want anyone here. Her is mouth watering a little...
“I have to concur...” Nariko clearly doesn’t like going against your idea, but she has to.
“It’s Yu Yan’s idea though. She watched a movie about a clown doctor curing people with laughter and/or witchcraft, then there’s a murder mystery at the end or something.” You quote Yu Yan word by word even though you didn’t pay much attention.
“If that’s something they believe will help, there’s no reason to decline.” Nariko thinks this through and comes out with the best conclusion.
“There are plenty of reasons.” Chio frowns.
“And we will use none of them…” You shrug.
The Objective is to cheer up Chio to cure her!
What do you do?
>Bring Amelia first.
>Bring Crossbill first.
>Bring Yu Yan first.
>Just ask Chio to eat her food again. That’ll “cure” her.
>Write In. 
In the land of Orrosta, the old gods are stirring once more. The wrath cycle, a never-ending war for control over the planet, starts anew. Drakkaru, (the god of dominion) thought to be dead by the other gods, is nearly free of the prison which has bound him for so long, and the Bellatists, (those who worship him), are gathering their strength. Cultists, full of hatred and malice, or perhaps simply stupidity, perform dark rituals of void, allowing for horrid creatures to escape their confinement. The horsemen of death and bloodshed ravage the land, leaving little but destruction. New elemental lords emerge, ready to consume the world. Yet, some good does stand. Mechaine (The god of machines, innovation and commerce), prepares the tin heads and men of iron, to strike out against the corruptive forces. Selene and the sons of Solantis work to uphold virtue and honor in the hearts of men. In this endless struggle, small forces can tip the balance. Can a ragtag group of adventurers discover the true nature of the world, and finally put an end to the wrath cycle?
This is a very loosely structured sandbox adventure, set in a world of my making. The sky is the limit for what can be done. If you wish to join, just give me a brief overview of your character, and we can work to make it in line with the lore of the world. I intend to properly start in roughly 3 days, so ensure you submit a character before then if you want to join. 
Gruq wake up.
Grug was sleep on fur and rock. Rock warm from fire. Fire now ember.
Light from sun outside light up inside of cave. Grug see tribe. Tribe still sleep. Light hit Grug Eyes. Grug lift up hand to block light. Grug see hand.
Grug is You! Joy! Grug take moment to appreciate life.
Grug take introspective look at life so far. Grug achieve much! But what Grug Do?
>Hunter
Grug strong like beast. Grug hunt and fight with club, spear, rock, bow, and more. Grug Kill to feed tribe. Grug protect tribe! Other say Grug dumb. But Grug say "Who care?"
>Gatherer
Grug sly, hardy. Grug know what fruit to eat, what grass makes feel good, what berry make feel good or bad. Grug know plant like hand. Other say Grug weak. They no say that when hungry.
>Crafter
Grug handy with tool, build and make things for tribe. Grug Cut hide, put up wall, knap flint. Grug make spear, pretty thing, and ropes. Other say Grug useless, without others. Grug know work important.
>Knowledge Keeper
Grug know things. Grug Smart. Track star and moon. Grug track herds and clouds. Grug Know when it rain, Grug Know when it stop. Grug say sky fire happen soon, it does. Grug keep record on wall, Like keepers before him.
>Barterer
Everyone think Grug nice, warm. Even beast and animal. When Elders meet with other tribes, Grug with them. Grug make trade with travelers. Everyone happy. Some people think Grug too trusting. But they think say that to Grug be mean.
>Mystic
Grug See Spirits of things, dead elders and trees and beast. Grug learn under shaman. To cast bones and see future, to shoot fire from hand and talk to beast. Grug not yet at that level of skill yet. Grug learning.
>Grug not fit any of these.
Grug life not this. Grug Something else.
>>[QM here, all these have potential to grow in power, and are not contained by just their little description. Have Fun, Good Luck!] You start in a grotto with and empty campfire with no fuel, there is a pot hanging on a spit. It is empty. There are 2 known paths from your spot. To the north, a desecrate mountain range. To the south a luscious swamp.
>You are carrying 3 things. {even, odd, even}
Your roll number in last 3 digits determine if what you say is true. IF it does not match Rice-King decides what you have. Clover City is in chaos in the aftermath of the Dread Corps attack. A perfect location for new supers to surface, be they heros or villains.
>The major powers in order of fame/infamy
>The Victory League: federally funded superheros, technically HQed in Clover City, but rarely involved in the cities affairs.
>The Victory Wards Clover City: a related yet distinct organization for minor heros (both literal children and weaklings) usually responsible for your average, day to day heroing
>The Flower Scouts: Magical girls, regular civilian concerns (read: school) prevent them from serving as full time heros
>The Super Sentai Seven: Garbed in power armor from another dimension, they face the same logistical issues as the Flower Scouts.
>Crawler's Crew: Gang/Mafia headed by a small, tight knit band of super villains. Unironically preferable to unorganized super villainy (see "Dread Corps")
Simply introduce your supers and we can get into it. You wake up one day and find an egg sitting against a wall in your room. What do you do? 
You are Drik. Two days ago, you were a dockhand in a riverside village with no name. Life was hard and painful, but somewhat fulfilling.
UNFORTUNATELY...
The Forces of Darkness demanded a tithe of men from your home. Since you don't have a wife or kids to account for, the mayor's thugs pressganged you and a handful of others first. Now, you have a TRACKING BRAND on your stomach, a SOLDIER'S COMMISSION that you can't read, and a spot on the frontlines of Dread Lord Angar Skullcrusher's army.
FORTUNATELY...
You stole a DAGGER from the docks and the mayor's thugs let you grab your HOOD from the dockhands' shared tent. Now, you can defend yourself from your enemies and the elements. You have one goal on your mind.
LOOTING!
If you can LOOT enough to gain 100 dread ducats, you can buy off your SOLDIER'S COMMISSION. The Forces of Darkness will disable your TRACKING BRAND and then you'll be a free man, once again. This is easier said than done.
You can't read. You have no combat skills. You are officially fodder for an invading army. On top of that, your commanding officer is a madman and there's no clear chain of supplies or strategic plan holding everything together.
You have your work cut out for you. 
The Saiyans are a race of planet conquering warriors reknowned for their ability in battle and their love of fighting. Their love is so strong that they spread across the cosmos in a never ending conquest of planets, serving the Frieza Force and their never ending conquest.
In this enviornment the weak are detested and put down upon. Most of them are thrown into menial support jobs, but as Frieza's grip grows stronger across the universe a new program has been established. More and more infants are instead sent across the stars to worlds weak enough for them to potentially conquer. His army already provides plenty more support so why have saiyans waste away in honor-less careers instead of being given one shot to prove their strength or die in honorable battle?
You are one of those Saiyan infants chosen for the task at hand. Your mind has already been subjected to basic education by electronic aids-to be further boosted in the Attack Ball you're loaded into and sent off to.
But just who is the soul sent off to space?
Name: [ ]
Gender: [Male/Female] 
WARNO WARNO WARNO
IDENT:80e74b16371a
TO: PRO-83216
FROM: [OOS-GYS-54]
SITUATION: In the wake of the destruction of UNSC Taskforce 36 and attached units in the vicinity of the system of Thompson, Insurrectionist activity has had a noted and sharp increase. An unregistered merchant tagged for tracking due to possible Insurrectionist ties has been detected multiple times by ONI watchers in-system, primarily in orbit of a small planetoid within a cluster of planetesimals at the cosmographic boundary of the Thompson system. It is believed that Insurrectionist elements rushed to exploit the UNSCs sudden absence from this region of space to establish a forward striking post on other UEG holdings within a 50 light year radius.
ATTACHMENTS/DETACHMENTS:
31st Special Missions Unit assigned to assist PRO-83216 is to be revived and made effective by 20 MAR 2549
2nd Shock Trooper Battalion ODST/SPF assigned to assist PRO-83216 is to be revived and made effective by 20 MAR 2549
Headhunter Team VACIVE assigned to PRO-83216 is to be revived and made effective by 20 MAR 2549
EARLIST TIME OF MOVEMENT: TO BE DETERMINED
NATURE AND TIME OF OPERATION: TO BE DETERMINED. Expect initial standard SSE and observational doctrine and tasks.
TIME/PLACE OF OPORD ISSUANCE: OPORD will be issued to PRO-83216 between 10-19 of MAR 2549. Briefing is to be issued by Commander Vislav at 0430 Thompson Standard Time, 20 MAR 2549. All Team Leadership is expected to attend.
ADMIN AND LOGISTICAL INFORMATION: UNSC QRFs in the vicinity of Thompson are unlikely to assist. Covenant units are still common in Thompson in the wake of the Glassing of Estuary. COLE PROTOCOL will likely need to be upheld regardless of observational results on suspected Planetoid. Prepare equip all squads with a basic load of combat equipment upon deployment. Usage of M441 Hornet Remote Explosive System is cleared. Usage of M947 SHIVA Nuclear Delivery System is cleared to the Commanders discretion.
No expected reinforcements. No expected Resupply.
WARNO WARNO WARNO
First quest in 4 years, so have mercy on my wretched soul. Expect OPORD and character introductions 12 hours from now. >Out of desperation to save his kingdom, the Mouse King offers you his daughter in marriage
How do you politely turn down the request and explain that such an offer is of no value to a human in a Lawful Good Paladin-esque way? 
What follows a golden age is sometimes simplicity. Men realigned to their baser instincts. The weak and timid cowed before the mighty. All concerns reduced to the primitive: a meal, a mate, a hovel to take shelter from the storm or from the monsters in the wood.
Most will die not a hundred yards from where they were born, among those they've known their entire lives.
For a rare few, however, that simplicity and leveling of fortune, presents opportunity. Not quite yet mighty, they are willing to chance everything, endure anything, and forbid nothing, in order to taste power.
You count yourself among their ranks.
>Choose Background
[ ] Woodsman: Your old man was a bit of a loner and raised you in a remote cabin in the woods he built with his own two hands. You're bit a awkward around other people, but about as tough as they come.
[ ] Outlaw: You've been in and out of dungeons, gaols, stocks, and cages, since you were a boy. Your instinct for survival is almost supernatural, second only to your knack for getting into trouble.
[ ] Cultist: You were adopted by a secret cult as a young boy, and raised communally as an initiate into their order. When you came of age, rather than take on a comfortable position befitting your education, you left to pursue the higher mysteries. 
About half a year ago, the world changed forever.
Individuals worldwide began manifesting the qualities of various figures- gods, spirits, heroes, beasts, and monsters- from Greek mythos. The system that caused and continues to facilitate this phenomenon is shrouded in mystery, both in how it functions and why it began its activities when it did.
The protagonist of this tale is the incarnation of Atë, a minor goddess in the grand scheme of Greek mythology, who causes and presides over folly and ruin. She, formerly a miserable but ultimately normal office worker, has since accepted her role as the embodiment of her . She, along with her partner in crime, the incarnation of Pheme, titan of rumors and gossip, have been working to expand their influence and stack the deck in their favor against not only mortals, but also rival incarnations. In her own eyes, she is no longer human. Her ultimate goal– the elimination of all rival incarnations and, eventually, ascension to true godhood.
Having clawed her way back from the parallel plane stronger and more spiteful than ever, Atë finds herself (literally) of two minds, having split her consciousness in half in order to accomplish multiple tasks at once. One side of her, inhabiting her true body, finds herself waging war against the Penitent once again, too affected by the memories of her alternate self to focus properly without clearing her head. The other side attempts to dig up her own past, reopening old wounds in order to tap into the wrath pouring from her own bleeding soul.
>Past Threads
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=Olympus+Incarnation+Quest
>Rentry masterlink, includes character sheets, shop information, inventory, and general information
https://rentry.org/olympus-quest-links
>Inquiries: [email protected] 
"Boss! Hey boss!" squawks your familiar, a raven named Crow. He flutters onto your shoulder, bearing word of your surroundings. "Boss, I've been flying all around up and down and... I don't think we're in the Heartlands anymore."
"You don't say."
You came to that conclusion an hour ago, when you felt the sheer chaos in the magics of this land. In many ways it felt like a mana desert, an arid waste without a single drop of ambient mana for the gifted to take advantage of. Yet coursing through the sands ran a mighty and untamed river, which carved a craggy canyon so steep that the paths to power could only be traversed through great wisdom, unsavory methods, or the nepotism of a sorcerous bloodline. In comparison, the Heartlands was a fertile river valley with a well structured system of dykes, dams, and irrigation that tamed floodwaters and kept the land green and well supplied with a steady flow of magic.
Not to mention the heat and humidity. It reminds you of that one dreadful trip you took to the Northlands to visit an underworld observatory. They only had two seasons up there: rainy, and dry, and neither are particularly pleasant.
Of course, you already puzzled out how to lower the metaphorical bucket and draw water from the river raging at the bottom of the canyon. You did not graduated first in your class in Arcane Sciences from the University of Our Northern Lady without reason; rough metaphysical topography like this is simply an inconvenience, like filling out paperwork to renew your carriage registration every year. With a twitch of your fingers, you conjure a cracker from nothing and reward Crow for his hard work.
"Yeah boss, it's wild," Crow chirps between bites. "I mean, how much mana'd you put into that timespace experiment, anyways? We're all the way in the tropics! Or damn close anyways, with all this heat and humidity. It's awful for the plumage."
"Yes, I'm sure it is." You console him with another cracker, that he greedily devours. "We calibrated the equipment for 7.16 millithaums... even allowing for a 1% deviation across all parameters, it shouldn't have put us more than 13 miles off target."
"Well, the jungle says otherwise, boss," Crow points out.
"I noticed."
Using the loamy soil as parchment and a stick as your pen, you write out the equations governing the folds of space that describe Tindalosian Motion through timespace. Provided that the Hewart Constant for the magnitude of metaphysical weight's effect on Tindalosian motion remained equal to 1, your experiment should have resulted in a jump of no more than 128 miles, plus or minus 10% based on the allowance for a 1% deviation in the equipment's calibration. Which leaves you with a number of possibilities to consider.
The equipment calibration was outside of allowed deviation. Unlikely considering the standards that Northern Lady's Arcane Sciences Department holds itself to, but possible. Hello fellow /qst/ers, I've come to entertain you all with an actual, honest to god, non-abandoned CIV thread. This one is some fresh OC, hot and out of the oven. This CIV will be using Conquest of Elysium's combat engine to resolve battles. Diplomacy, research, and other non-combat actions will be handled by me, but voted upon by players.
Game will start later in the day (3/9/25) around 6 PM EST. Depending on how much fun we're having, I can go daily. Chapter 2; Thirsting Gods
In the far future, we boldly go.
Gone are the times scarcity, gone are poverty, to be a man in these times is to be one of billions valued and cherished.
For over a century the Federation have united several species, several worlds, in the name of mutual respect, defense, and progress.
In ignorance and bliss these people had lived their lives, deaf to those who wish to consume them into their whole, deaf to those who wish for them to fall under their jackboot.
Soon, even the deaf shall hear the laughter of thirsting gods.
Discord; https://discord.gg/Hv7uYCyk
Previous Chapter; https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6176043/
Glory; 3.
1/5(?) 
It has been 100 years since ancient beings, known as the Old Ones, walked the Earth with their two strong feet. Now they are gone and we animals now rule the remains that they left behind. With our new knowledge of sword and sorcery, we were able to survive in peace for a while, but then came the three factions.
The Apes: Strong giants, claiming to be as just as the old ones and believe they should be the ones to rule over the new world.
The Pigs: An intellectual but slothful group who wish to rule the world with an iron hoof and remain kings while the others remained as dumb animals.
Then there the Lizards: A fast and large group that want to set the world a blaze. Trying to forget the harsh past that the old ones left.
All three sides wishing to go war and destroy one another to bring in what they believe to be true peace.
But, unbeknownst to everyone, there was another group. One that was trying their best to find a way to heal everyone. To bring back order.
You found it.... and now you are taking care of it.
A D&D Homebrew Adventure.
Previous Quests:https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Rise%20of%20the%20Awakened 
Last time, you went to sleep. On your couch. For no reason. No reason at all…
It’s the 2nd of July, Sunday, you might have the day’s number mixed up, but you’re pretty sure it’s the end of the weekend. And what a weekend it was! You did so many things that it’s impossible to write them down without sounding like you’re bragging. So, you’re not going to try! Instead, you will wonder how you found yourself in your bed. You were on the couch. What happened? Was it all a dream? Of course, it wasn’t. But after falling asleep, someone must’ve moved you here and moved *someone else* from here. You’ll blame your Bestie for both. She’s nowhere to be found.
You step out of your room to find the Criminal back at the scene of the crime. Crossbill has made your couch home, legs crossed watching TV, with a cup of coffee in hand…
She notices you and tilts her head back. She smiles.
“Mornin’, Bestie. Breakfast is over there!” Crossbill points at the table and winks. Just toast and coffee for you. “We gotta start workin’ on our little heist as soon as we can.”
“I didn’t know Crossbills were early birds.” You raise an eyebrow as you make your way to the table.
“Aren’t all birds ‘early birds’?” Crossbill gets sassy.
“Not sure if a dodo was one.” You think Matilda would hate them.
“Those are extinct, Knockout. And for good reasons.” Crossbill deadpans.
“Good reasons? Evolution means that you thrive in your environment, not that you’re the superior species. A koala would probably thrive in this country, but that doesn’t make it *the* apex predator.” You point out. Unless it’s a Drop Bear, those are fierce!
“Johnny, we have animals taller than half of the buildings in this city. Koalas are screwed!” Crossbill argues.
“You don’t know that.” You act offended.
“I know that, Knockout, I led the Environmental Council in Congress. One escaped the zoo, and we got a presentation.” Crossbill crosses her arms, all smug.
“But they’re crafty animals!” You believe despite your Knowledge’s protests.
“Do you have any idea what a Koala is?” Crossbill is scared.
“Sorry, my sister is a Propaganda Machine for bears…” You blame Amelia.
“They’re not bears.” Crossbill corrects you.
“B-But they’re called Koala Bears!” You can’t believe this.
“Doesn’t make them bears.” Crossbill shakes her head.
“Even the murderous Drop Bear?” Your Knowledge forces you to shatter all your dreams.
“Those are a myth to scare tourists, Knockout. There are no killer koalas.” Crossbill continues shaking her head.
“Damn, this is some heavy stuff…” You munch your toast as you live in a new reality, one where the only way the Drop Bear exists is as an entity.
“I wouldn’t say that.” Crossbill continues shaking her head. “Wait, you have a sister? I forgot you mentioned her.”
“A *liar* sister.” You correct.
“Sure she is.” Crossbill will hate her too. What a bestie! “Ready for the first step?” 
With the majority of the Seventh Universe united under the banner of the PTO, Emperor Cooler at its head, the universe has known a time of unrivaled peace. But in the shadows threats have been growing, nursing grudges against the PTO and the Saiyan race in particular. And now those threats are rising, stepping out of the shadows to openly challenge the established order. Seeking nothing short of the destruction of New Salda and the extinction of the entire Saiyan race, can you prevent this outcome? Or will the Saiyan race be reduced to nothing more than memories, their heroes nothing more than ink in the pages of the history books?
You the players will (most often) control Karn; wielder of the mighty Berserker Soul and hope of the entire PTO, not only the Saiyan race. From his lowly beginnings as a Saiyan Brawler with a sub-3000 powerlevel in Age 733, only a few years into his time as a member of the PTO, he has grown in power and skill, overcoming the world-ending threats that have come for the Saiyans to become the strongest Saiyan of his time at AGE 759. From the massive Covenant empire to demonic incursions, mad cultists to vengeful gods, none have been strong or clever enough to put down Karn for good. But will one man's power be enough to protect everyone from the rising threats? Or will death come from those who you least expect it from? Your choices may mean the difference between survival and extinction, so choose carefully.
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 first three correctly-rolled dice
>One dice roll per person per post unless three players have not yet rolled, and ten minutes has passed since your previous roll
>Crits are 100 on a d100(a 99 or paired rolls may net you an extra bonus)
>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 find me on twitter @GrandDragonQM, which I keep as up to date with any scheduling changes as soon as possible.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tndKYpPz2RU
REVENGE OF THE BODY SNATCHERS 
Before the rise of Gol D. Roger, adventurers, common folk, and pirates alike set sail for the West Blue Sea. A gold rush had been called, the isles beckoning with wealth. A great wave of people settled into the West Blue.
You are one of those people. You are Mint E. Julep, named after your father's favorite mixed drink. You were barely a toddler when you traveled to the West with your mother and father.
Your home isle of Azure Springs has become a ghost town after the gold dried up. But you still had to pay off the debt to the Rubyport Trading Company for bringing you and your family to the West Blue.
Your mother died working in the mines, and your father skipped town, abandoning you. You've worked years to finish the agreed upon debt your whole family accrued, under the Company viceroy who owns Azure Springs.
But those years are nearly over as you reach womanhood. It's been hard here in Azure Springs, yet you look back on the good times you had growing up and those people who helped out along the way…
What is your dream (and who inspired it)?
>A) Become a notorious pirate! (Medusa Z. Gorgo)
>B) Become the queen of the merchants! (Luna B. Goode)
>C) Become a Marine Admiral! (Vice Admiral Highwaystar)
>D) Become the greatest… swordsman, cook, archaeologist, gunslinger… Write-in! (Your mother, Mint E. Sprig) 
Another step was taken forward.
And you find yourself deep underwater. But there is no need to worry about breathing air, or other normal things such as swimming and being wet. No, instead you are flying.
It is a beautiful freedom, but something seemed to be missing...
A car's horn made you smile. That's right, your taxi! You find yourself driving it out of the ocean with the grace of a dolphin.
It was spotless, clean, and, most importantly, it was scratchless.
That taxi was one of the last reminders of your life before it all went dark. You've been calling yourself Johan for a while now.
Life wasn't too bad-- terrible mass tragedies of fire and horrifying shadowy creatures that wish you harm notwithstanding. Friends were being made, new places were being seen, wonderful food was being eaten, and there was even a girl you became close to:
You just came back from having a date with a mime named Mimi, with the last thing you remember being how you helped a bald, mustached giant of a bartender of a man fight against the shadows that seeped through the walls and escaping a twisting labyrinth in a restaurant's basement by hiding under a blanket. You think you saved a cowboy's life too.
Either way, none of that stopped you from flooring it.
Or so you thought.
No matter how hard you pushed the pedal, your vehicle still went the same speed. Well, it wasn't as though you were sure, considering the place was a black void with your taxi driving on the ocean.
You feel a slight sensation of ennui creep up on you.
Was this a nightmare?
"No," you said aloud "this is no nightmare. I'm dreaming.
Again.
A light could be seen in the distance, slowly growing larger and larger as you approached it in your yellow taxicab.
And as you come closer, a familiar sight envelops you.
Where were you?
>Back at home. Dad was reading you the newspaper and mom was making pancakes!
>At a classmate's birthday party. You had both just graduated highschool.
>Eating and critiquing some meals with an old friend.
>In an alleyway, trying to call for help with your trusty company-mandated cellphone.
>In the ocean again. You jumped out of the taxi before the light could envelop you, and now you're sinking in the waters. 
You are Kyle Mercer. 23 years hellbound. Killer, loving brother, blood enthusiast, all around bad news. You're pretty used to being the most dangerous person in the room at any given time. Right now is a notable exception.
The nightmare thing smashing its way out of the Black Room in Valerie Hedgepeth's basement is, what they call in the industry: a problem.
"Nemesis!"
Black, icy water sloshes around your boots, steadily filling the basement. You feel a cold shiver run through you, mirroring the frigid, ethereal wind blowing form beyond the Veil. Not good.
XXX
Nemesis Quest follows a bad man doing bad things for bad reasons.
Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=NEMESIS+Quest
I aim to update twice a day around 5:00 PM UTC and 1:00 AM UTC. I will update more often if there's a clear consensus or I have the time.
Notes:
Surprising no one, I'm a fucking retard. Kyle is not 25, Kyle is 23. Candi is 24. Oops.
I literally spent a week agonizing about power balancing/power scaling and shit but fuck it. I'm God. QM Fiat.
XXX
You're powerful. Beyond strong, beyond tough, you're someone's worst fucking nightmare. With Valerie and her daughter's blood added to your menagerie of souls you feel the hunger within you deepen, dropping out like the sea floor. Like a turbocharged engine you're going to need to fuel the killing machine you've become. Every kill won't necessarily grant you new powers, but if you abstain for too long you'll find yourself running on empty.
POWERS
>What Doesn't Kill You (Sally)
Serious wounds don't stop you.
>Make Them Disappear (Mall Hobo)
You leave no forensics.
>Behind the Veil (Lasker City Hooker)
See the Veil.
>You Should be Dancing (Rupert)
The power of suggestion.
>Speak of the Devil (Valerie Hedgepeth)
Appear where they least expect.
>Make them forget (Valerie's Daughter)
You are hard to identify. 
You are Noel Tiberius, the reigning warrior-queen of Hazaran. This is very much not Hazaran.
The community you have found yourself in is one small part of the main continent, far enough from your homeland that its existence could be hidden from you for centuries. Five half-blooded warriors like yourself have come here with you as a show of strength and solidarity, along with eight Hazari infantrymen as a token ‘honor guard’. There can be no doubt as to your status, since even on the continent nobody seems to wear crowns set with almond-sized precious gems aside from you. And none carry any visible weaponry, let alone swords nearly as long as they are tall.
That’s probably one reason why when Leto Aristo, mayor of the port town of Kirkines – where you’ve found yourselves – listened to you when you politely insisted that he take you to his leader. He quite simply doesn’t know what to make of you even after you explained who you are. Almost everything about you must be absolutely foreign to his worldview, and so instead of trying to figure you out for himself, he’s chosen to hand off responsibility for whatever you turn out to be.
“At least the food is nice,” Aurora muses, nibbling at one of a few dozen identical baked crackers, topped with thin slices of firm white cheese and what seems to be a jam made from fig. “Very tasty.”
With a little bit of spice added, even your mother seems to appreciate the gesture, and washes her light snack down with an incredibly clear ruby-red wine. “It seems the production methods are quite different here.”
True, the crackers in particular point to mass production of such specialty foods. Where you come from fine bakeries can aspire to some uniformity, but this goes a clear step further than that. The men – and two women – also seemed to appreciate being brought something to eat despite being relegated to sitting outside the room where you and your fellow warriors will be meeting with a figure standing above Leto Aristo in continental politics.
That man soon makes his appearance. His clothing is very much like the three-piece jacket and waistcoat combination which seems to be the norm for men in this community, albeit more finely tailored and with buttons made with fine horn rather than some obviously fake imitation. You rise from your seat to greet him, make a little gesture to prompt Salem to do the same as the last straggler, then just as quickly return to your seat.
“So, mayor Aristo tells me you’re claiming to be some sort of queen,” the man in the nice suit muses, walking to a seat opposite from you across a low table. He produces a pipe from a pocket in his coat before setting the jacket over the back of the stuffed chair and taking a seat. “May I hear your introduction for myself, please?”
>1/2 
You are Uzumaki Naori, and first and foremost you are the great sage of the Shrike clan with all the myriad responsibilities that involves. Second, and most importantly to you on a personal level, you are a spouse and a parent to two young shinobi to whom to intend to entrust the world one day. Third, you are the chosen leader of Amegakure – the village where your own parents once lived, where you grew up, and where you met and trained with your mentors. Considering yourself to be a “human” in addition to this list of qualities was never something you felt necessary, despite the outlandishness of your power.
After today, you may need to rethink that position.
Several years ago you encountered Ōtsutsuki Kaguya, a being of immense power who despite not truly being a “god” comes as close to deserving the title as any living being you’re aware of. She is the source of all humanity’s ability to use chakra, and once was alternately worshiped as a goddess and feared as a demon-princess. Before being sealed into the second moon which now hangs in the sky, you know that Kaguya-hime did something to you. She left you with a gift of sorts, in the form of an eye whose function is to streamline the result of a lifetime of chance encounters and several lifetimes of eugenics.
Your ‘jōgan’ does a few things, in practical day to day terms. Of course it lets you see things in ways normal people can’t, and precision details far beyond the human norm are just the start. You can see into the infrared spectrum – in essence, ‘heat vision’ – and even into the ultraviolet spectrum like birds and butterflies. While most shinobi can sense chakra to at least some extent, you can actually visualize it at a level of precision and detail that would let you use the Hyūga clan’s ‘gentle fist’ technique if you had a reason to. And much like what Kaguya-hime could do, you’re able to use your jōgan to release chakra in destructive pulses of pure force.
But Kaguya-hime’s spirit, for lack of a better word to call what you spoke with at the climax of the last great Shinobi World War, had to make a few tweaks to get that jōgan to work for you. You always thought she was changing the genetics of the eye, but it seems now that you were mistaken. Instead, it’s started to seem as if she changed the genetic structure of your own body to allow for you to use the eye, which has had some knock-on effects.
“Well,” Eida, an ‘experiment’ conducted by the man who sounds like the brains behind the terrorist organization Kara, muses. “It’s hardly my business.
She couldn’t be more wrong. Her hypnotic ability is something that needs to be addressed sooner or later, so in any event she’s kidding herself if she thinks you’re just gonna wander off.
“I’m not sure that’s true,” you observe, in light of your recent realizations. In fact, it would be more accurate to say you’re sure it isn’t true.
“… is that so?”
>1/2 
You are Charlotte Fawkins, Herald and heroine. With the power of your positive spirit, you have overcome deceit, defeat, and divine possession, and now you are going to save the world. First, though, you need to avoid getting kidnapped by the Wind Court.
When you stepped outside, you were half-expecting a lurking Lucky and a net over your head. Or a pitfall trap. Instead there's nothing: dark empty water and the Fen in the distance. And Gil, of course. You made him go out first.
He's eying you like he expects a scolding. "They really were here..."
"I believe you," you say. (Unlike Richard, Gil doesn't lie.) "It's been a while, hasn't it? They probably finished talking. We should go find Monty, so he can tell us what—"
"Are you sure he isn't i-in on it?"
"Monty?" Monty wouldn't conspire to kidnap you, surely. Even though you did expose his spooky past and be mean about it. And even though he did also conspire to steal the Crown. Positive thinking. "Didn't you say he looked mad? He wouldn't look mad if he were in on it, so, um, yeah. And if he is in on it, I'll just escape, so it's no big deal. Plus you'll be there. Right?"
Gil nods unconvincingly.
"Right! Well— he probably wouldn't go back to Game Night if he got really mad, or else he might strangle somebody. So he's probably in his tent. Let's go!"
You point the way, though your verbal enthusiasm is belied by your slow walking pace. Do you actually want to go talk to Monty right now? Do you actually want to escape from and/or defeat the Wind Court? You want to go to bed. You're not going to keel over or anything— your heroic spirit prevents it— but you're not exactly in peak condition, either.
>[ID: 6/15]
Still, you're buoyed by the sight of a light on in Monty's tent. You haven't lost your detectivess skills, even if they didn't work so well with... um... um, positive thinking. It wasn't your fault. A detectivess is only as good as her evidence, and you had a certain somebody wiping it all away.
But it's fine! You're not thinking about that right now. You're peeking into the tent, just in case Lucky's waiting inside, but it's only Monty. He's in his chair. His legs are up on his desk. He appears lost in thought.
Should you barge in? Not if you want him to explain things to you, probably. And it might be sort of rude, now that you're thinking about it. Your Aunt Ruby would never sanction barging in on people. You exchange glances with Gil, then knock on the tent post.
Inside the tent, Monty presses his thumbs into his eyes, then stands and shuffles over to the door. You withdraw hastily as he opens it, his face clouding when he sees you. "...You're up."
"Hello to you too," you grouse.
"...Yes. Er, hello, Charlotte. Hello, Gil." Monty has taken his sweater off. Was he about to go to bed? You suppose you're glad he has any shirt on. "Was there something you needed?"
(1/5) 
And there came a day unlike any other... When Earth's mightiest heroes found themselves united against a common threat...
On that day, they became... The Avengers!
Welcome back to Avengers Quest, true believers!
This is but one of many realities where the group known as The Avengers is formed... But definitely not the one you might be familiar with. The team's fate, and perhaps the entire world's fate, depend on your collective choices!
This is a quest where you will give commands to a character, but with multiple player characters: You can ONLY select commands for ONE character in your post until the next QM post, which is a new "turn".
Nobody "owns" any of the player characters, anybody can play them until the next "turn", but always only one per post. You can change your decision before the QM post if you change your mind. You can give commands to any of the available characters even if someone else has as long as you remember to choose only one. Ties are simply decided by what I think would be most interesting so try to avoid them.
Make sure to write which character you are choosing for in your post.
Last time, in Avengers Quest, Loki attempted to trick the heroes of Earth into fighting each other while he brainwashed Dr. Henry Pym into opening a portal so he could launch a full on invasion, but Thor, Captain America, Iron Man, The Wasp and Moon Knight came together to stop his scheme, but Thor and Dr. Pym were lost to the portal to places unknown.
To prevent similar crises from happening, they teamed up to form THE AVENGERS.
But now, a new threat has risen, and in this issue they will face an extremely dangerous adventure... As they fall... "Under the Death Grip of... KLAW!"
...Some time has passed since the night where New York was invaded by shadowy monsters from beyond, and The Avengers came together to save it... Pym Labs, the source of the invasion and the place hit the hardest by it, is still under reconstruction... And new management.
We find our heroes gathered once more, leading the reconstruction effort, unaware of the incoming bad news...!
The middle of the day at Avengers Labs was as quiet as it can be with these people: Tony Stark funds most of the repair work while Janet Van Dyne makes sure everything is in order, in particular anything relating to the lab, where Mjolnir still remains, unmovable.
And Captain America? He sits in wait for his next mission, time away from the battlefield was always good but he was still not used to it, and seeing Tony Stark check his schedule on his phone (another strange artifact from the future that the good ol' captain struggles to understand!) only made him feel all the more alienated.
"You know I really appreciate all that you're doing for this... But is the logo final?" He says, trying to make some small talk. "Eh, it's a work in progress. Jan will probably whip up a better one soon." Replies Stark with a nonchalant attitude typical of him... You are a Cutémon!
You are one of the rarest types of mon: a mon that looks like a cute human girl!
Like all mons, you gain energy by fighting and defeating other mons. Your trainer is the human boy Joe Apple of Patina. >Previous Thread
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6171943/
>Previously, on Alola Quest, the author of this quest has a job that requires him to go innawoods for like 5 days out of the week where he barely has any signal but it pays too well and the job economy sucks where he lives so he is stuck...
>Also Amon, the young homeless protagonist is in the middle of a battle against Totem Ribombee and her Pelipper pal. But things are about to take a downward turn...
The rain is getting weaker but before it goes out altogether Pelipper goes all out and shoots out one last Hurricane! A massive cyclone hits Foongus! Foongus is blown back and lands with a thud. Poor Foongus faints. But he did not go in vain. Now both Totem Ribombee and Pelipper are paralyzed. But you are down 2 Pokemon.
>Marill, Darmanitan, Castform, and a Croagunk on it's last legs. How we going down? 
Given the recent infestation of civilization threads, I've decided to contribute to the problem- with a twist! Rather than starting a fledgling civilization, you'll be taking the reigns of one in a post apocalypse that will be elaborated on later.
Choose a race!
>Undead (Unable to naturally reproduce; and comprised of many species, your people remember decaying knowledge of the world before. Begin with a crumbling necropolis and a senile Lich King.)
>Elemental (Living magic constructs that reproduce by bringing inanimate objects to life, most commonly found around mana pools that fuel their magic. Begin with the remains of a wizard's tower and whatever tomes survived.)
>Shroomling (Sentient mushrooms that reproduce through division and unconsciously spreading spores throughout the landscape, extremely short lifespans encourage rapid development and poor record keeping. Begin with a fully-functional village surrounded by forest, but no knowledge of the world before.)
>Molemen (Hardy subterranean mole creatures with a weakness to light that reproduce quickly. Larger populations live in elaborate carved caverns. Reliant on nocturnal scavenging and stealing from rival burrows, knowledge and technology is scattered among the isolated groups. Begin with a mountain compound and some knowledge of the world before .)
World details will be given later dependant on player choices; all locations and races can be encountered regardless of player choice. First to three wins! OH SHIT NIGGA. You are lady Firemane. Of the (formerly) noble house of Fireborn! You were once the greatest wagon racer this side of the kingdom. Sadly due to shenanigans, you lost everything and went into debt with the Adventurer's Guild in order to survive. But then you found the Inexperienced Hero, Ezekiel "Kid" Rutebega ! You took him under your wing to mold him into the hero he's always meant to be: your devoted apprentice (probably)
Ezekiel's older brother has started his campaign of destruction, he leads his hordes of undead barbarians to ravage the lands. As members of the guild, your party has went on the quest chain to stop said undead barbarian horde.
You are currently on the way to stop Ezekiel's brother from putting another barbarian horde under his control, and definitely did not encounter some weird shenanigans.
Yes. 
You are the Cabinet of the United States, picked by the newly elected President. With a sweeping new mandate to reform the government and bring the United States Back on Track, The President has decided to give more authority and power to The Cabinet, to prove his commitment to decisive reform and maintaining the democratic principles of this great country. For too long has power been invested in the executive, the responsibility of leadership placed on the shoulders of one man; now it’s time for the democratic will of the people to make itself heard!
Hello and welcome to the Departmental Quest, a multiplayer quest where (you) play as members of the Cabinet of the United States, leading one of its many powerful departments in the administration of me, The President. In this quest (you) can shape the direction of American policy; forge a new path, make it great again, feud among yourselves, or focus on whatever you want. I’ve built this quest with a lot of player freedom in mind, so it’s up to you what you want to do with the powers and responsibilities The President has granted you. Good luck.
Once you’ve read the rules, please pick your cabinet position:
THE CABINET
>Vice President - Veto and voting power, in addition to the writing of executive orders (which the President must sign off on)
>Secretary of Defense (Department of Defense, DoD)
>Secretary of State (Department of State, DOS)
>Secretary of the Treasury (Department of Treasury, USDT)
>Secretary of Health and Human Services (Department of Health and Human Services, HHS)
>Secretary of Homeland Security (Department of Homeland Security, DHS)
>Attorney-General (Department of Justice (DoJ)
>Secretary of Energy (Department of Energy, DOE)
>Secretary of Education (Department of Education)
>Secretary of Labor (Department of Labor, DOL)
>Secretary of Agriculture and the Interior (Department of Agriculture and the Interior, DAI)
In case of simultaneous picking, the two (or more) anons will roll for the position. Losers have to pick a new one.
If you have any questions, about the rules or the details of your role, please ask and I’ll do my best to answer them.
Any vacant positions will operate at a reduced level in the background, but if new up and coming candidates are found they may pick from the vacant spots.
If all cabinet positions are filled and there are still cabinet hopefuls, more positions will be made available.
Alternatively, you may petition the President for control of an existing department or organisation not within this list, subject to Presidential Veto. 
In hindsight, robbing the mansion of a self-proclaimed mad god may not have been the most brilliant idea you’ve ever conceived of.
The plan was simple: sneak in, abscond with a few artifacts of great power, and then sneak back out. Simple, clean, and efficient, a targeted blow to an arrogant tyrant who was much too wealthy for his own good. It’s not as if your schemes never hit snags—no, they more than often happened to, but the offending situations were more often than not scenarios you could realistically overcome. You were swift on your feet, fairly clever, and could disarm anyone in seconds thanks to your power. Whenever you were matched up against haughty nobles and complacent merchants caught unawares, you were nigh unstoppable, a veritable specter to their wandering eyes.
Against this so-called deity? Not so much.
The moment he laid eyes upon your person, you were assailed by a wave of sheer, immutable POWER. Instantly, you were forced to your knees by the pressure, teeth chattering and bones creaking as it felt like the very world itself was smushing you with its thumb. You push against the marble floor below in an effort to keep yourself from toppling over altogether, but it is a demanding struggle indeed, and your poor arms just can’t seem to stop shaking; for a moment, you’re worried they’ll dislocate right then and there. It is at that moment you realize, in a distinct impression of shock and horror, that you are severely and utterly outmatched. No amount of crafty, clever cunning or quick reflexes could unearth you from this ungodly trap, and you suspect it may indeed mark the last time you ever glimpse the light.
But it’s never hopeless, or so the remnants of the Thieves Guild taught you years ago. So even now, even as you are being crushed into the pale stone by an intangible force leagues beyond anything you could have previously imagined, you observe, you think, you plan. You see the man—Lord Cull—grinning at his gaggle of cultists and sycophants, pointing and laughing and gloating at the sheer depth of your failure. There he was, clad in silk, gold-threaded robes stained in bright magenta, an obsidian crown laying atop his pristinely-groomed hair. His pearly whites were almost blinding, and his supreme smugness fuels the last dregs of your defiance, feeding into the dim flames of your willpower constrained by the pressure weighing you down.
Think. Plan. Adapt.
(1/5) 
The world has another side, one with secret societies and hidden powers vying for control. But it is not merely humans, nay. For millennia, creatures which a modern man considers fables have been battling in the shadows, both within their own, and others.
Only the Magical Girls can slay the demons of humanity's suffering, and clean up the supernatural messes along the way!
But that, is for later. Every hero has to start somewhere.
- - - -
You have contemplated you life, and found it lacking. Nothing is going overly wrong, your future is looking decent, probably could line up a decently paying job in a few years if you made the effort.
But for what? What drives you? What fulfills you? Would simply having more be better when the quantity is not the source of your unhappiness?
No.
You hate your life, not for the extent of it’s misery, but for it’s rotting mediocre stagnation.
If you do not value what you have, discarding it should not be a problem. It still strung a bit, now it doesn’t.
So you are on your way, looking for fulfillment. All you found so far was discarded options
Your current search has led you to stand in front of a seedy club downtown. A sign above it glows a soft neon, presenting the letters G A M M A. Weird name. You don’t know if answers lies inside, but you do know that you never tried a place like this before.
How do you get in? Where does your confidence lie?
>They look like they check IDs at the front, but a good amount of junkies are smoking, every few minutes, a group goes in. The bouncer doesn’t look like much of anything either. Maybe you could blend in. (Social Stealth, establishes Instinct)
>There is an alley next to the club. You saw some snake finish her smoke break and use the door. You bet they do it often enough to not bother locking it. (Breaking and Entering, establishes Finesse)
>There is a balcony on the other side, it’s pretty cold, looks empty. Got a rainwater pipe right next to it, easy climb. (Urban Parkour, establishes Athletics)
(1/2) 
DATING START! (Psychopomp GOLD OST - 05 Unborn Structures) https://youtu.be/LpSdHoaEQac
Misfortune has struck, and you've been dragged down to Hell.
You have no idea as to how long you have been trapped in this place. All you can tell is that the screaming is quieter this far out. And somehow, inexplicably, you feel... safe? Yes, safe. For the first time in a very long time.
But you soon find out that you are not alone.
The bowl in front of you is filled to the rim with blood, bright red and lukewarm. A long wooden spoon soaks in the spilled vitality.
On the other side of the table, something smiles down at you, beaming with great expectation. You can hear nothing but the deep, ragged breathing of the thing. And then, with a rasping voice like rusting metal:
"Well? Aren't you going to tell me how it tastes?"
Please recommend an action.
>WAIT.
>ATTACK.
>DRINK.
>WHAT ARE YOU?
>WHAT IS THIS PLACE?
>
==============================================
[LIBIDO: 5/10]
[???: ?/?]
Different values open up new choices.
Different choices lead to different results.
Do keep in mind that stories where blood is shed mostly end in death.
<3
A rip off of ObserverQM's lovely LOVE QUEST. 
Long-coming Return Edition
>What is this?
"The Mystery Dungeons 2e" is a text-based role-playing game created to expand on the setting created by the spinoff series, Pokémon Mystery Dungeon. This has no story relation to the first quest, and is its own new story. Players still isekai themselves into the world and become Pokémon, going on adventures with their newfound guild mates! SFW ONLY
A deeper explanation of rules, related pages, and whatnot can be found here:
https://rentry.org/tmd2many_rules
>I'd like to participate!
Currently, we're at full capacity as far as threads on /qst/ are concerned. However, there's always the chance that space for another player may grow in the future, or that you simply wish to play outside of /qst/ and the quests hosted here. There are other ways to participate, about which you can learn and do here: https://matrix.to/#/#the-mystery-dungeons-2nd-edition:matrix.org
>Okay, now what?
After you've read up and familiarized yourself with the rules and setting, be sure to hop into the Element: https://matrix.to/#/#the-mystery-dungeons-2nd-edition:matrix.org. Everything that doesn't involve Main Quests occurs here and is helpful for coordination.
Character sheets and the guide to making them can be found here: https://rentry.org/tmd2many_characters
If you feel you might need help, feel free to ask!
Previous threads and summaries can be found here:
https://rentry.org/tmd2many_days
Our LIVE main adventures start on Tuesdays/Saturdays around 6:30PM CST in this thread!
Namefag as your character, with your item and level!
e.g. Sparks, Lv. 56 Pikachu
e.g. Sparks L.56 (Sneak Scarf/Team Shock) The world is shadowed in misery. The two dark humors that rule mankind are Fear and Hunger. Journey with us, guide your weary body through the winds and chattering teeth of the dungeons, lose yourself to the macabre, you dancer of shadows. “…I think I killed her…”
You will never forget that moment. Her body is laying right next to you, as the blood slowly drips on the snow. You clearly see the face of a murderer. He is right in front of you, still haven't holstered the revolver. You want to take out your pistol and shoot the entire magazine at him. But you just start walking towards him instead. He doesn’t try to shoot you or resist in anyway. He is waiting for you to say something.
“I-”
It’s the only thing that manages to come out of his mouth before you punch him in the face so hard, he falls down to the ground, dropping the revolver. The rest of your squad, that was witnessing the scene starts running towards you. You start kicking him while he is on the ground, but it wont bring her back. Your squadmates arrive and drag you away from him, and you don’t resist. You simply shout:
“I’ll fucking kill you! You are a dead man! Dead!”
And your voice echoes in the distance 
It has been three months since you and your wife finally escaped that astral prison. In the material world centuries have passed and the world is in quite a state, but you've been admittedly slow to realize this, as you've both been extremely busy having sex. Nothing unusual about that - just making up for lost time.
And when not making love to your wife, you were engaging in violence. Sometimes to earn the money to pay for the fine food and drinks you were also enjoting, and to replace the fine beds you were ruining, and sometimes to punish men who dared covet your wife because of her radiant beauty. But also because societal norms have taken a massive backslide since that demon war you keep seeing monuments to. Apparently these days people will look at two elven women traveling together and consider them "easy prey".
Nevertheless, excess repetition can make even the most exciting of acts grow tired and dull. With your mutual passions on the wane, you rolled out of bed one morning, slapped your wife's glorious ass, and let her know that it's time to start making your mark on the world again. And she turned toward you with a lazy smile and let you know that she was able to sense the presence of something you assumed lost to time's passage - your wedding gift to her.
And so, following the thread of her magic, you journeyed north, to a corrupted, barren land that hosted the last and most powerful of the demon cults that have sprung up during and after the war. A cult that was finally facing its demise as a coalition of five kingdoms, three religious orders, and at least one dragon was marching upon its great fortress city hidden deep in a barren mountain range.
But armies are slow, cumbersome things and so you caught up quickly. You watched it march. Remarked upon the myriad strands of Fate circling above it - a telltale sign of a divine game reaching its conclusion. Promising valor and tragedy in equal measure. And the birth of a new Hero - or so your wife claims after studying the strands for a time. Which you don't doubt, as she is far more knowledgeable in those things than you.
But the contempt you feel toward the divinities that make mortals their playthings aside, it is of no concern, for even before your imprisonment, you've both reached Second Enlightenment and both chose to sever yourselves from Fate. So the plan is simple: you will retrieve your wife's property from the fortress and leave. So all that's left is to decide on how you will enter:
>You would join the army right before the assault, disguised as one of the many mercenaries that tagged along. The disguises you devised are impeccable!
>With the demon worshippers distracted by the assault, you'd slip in through the secret passage over on the other side of the mountain. Because what cultist fortress wouldn't have one?
>Why overcomplicate things? You'd show up at the fortress a week before the army arrived, walk up and kick in the gate. They'd never expect that. Ilvermory Quest Returns!
Last time you went to class high and coked up! Got bitten by corn with teeth! Realized that something was underneath the huge tree out by the gates, even if it wasn't the wand of Salazar Slytherin! Gave PTSD to a few jerks. Got yelled at by a tiny girl with autism! Helped protect the campus after you may have fucked up some of it's protections! Saved a fairly handsome boy and kept your newest little sister from getting herself killed! Shot guns and kind of sucked!
Now time to head to your sister's Quidditch try-outs and hopefully not die before the weekend!
All here in Ilvermorny Quest!
Updated character sheet: https://rentry.co/rsrnm8dc
Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=ilvermorny
Non-canon lewd-fic: https://rentry.co/4iehi5w8
I will post edited versions of the last treads too but I keep finding little mistakes going through them. 
IN A WORLD SIMILAR BUT NOT OF OUR OWN: it is the year 1899. Confederacies and petty principalities consolidate themselves in imperial nation states across the global edifice. Empiricism and occultism espouse each other out of the light of The Enlightenment, blurring the line between college and cult. The fabric of society shifts from the manor to the metropolis; the second industrial boom acquaints man with machine for better or for worse. Much like ours, history has transpired in this eerily familiar realm. YET: it is lacks one thing every waking world needs!
A HERO.
Chivalry is dead! Its vestiges remain in the grand armies; an officer's gorget calls back to romantic times. Thousands of modern men's rear sights are recently unblinded by the advent of smokeless firepower, cartridges punching lead through deadly rifling. Outstanding is the craftiness of humanity! The sword shrunk into the bayonet at the tip of martial ranks. And paramors are no more! Only the réal urban femme! Despite the tides of warfare and paradigm the world world still needs—
—A KNIGHT——
—A LIGHT: for a world subdued by smoke, steam, and steel; and alien forces. For a world under the duress of war. For a world at ransom by the erecting of strange companies. For a world captive by wicked spirits. FOR. A. WORLD. IN. DESPAIR.
The world needs HOPE; and someone to keep it as ranger! A suzerain's hunting forest is not without its forester; if none, poachers deplete the game and brings a scourge upon the plot; if so, The Suzerain is assured his enjoyment of such beautiful land!
And that is YOU.
For a world that will be depending on you—Pray, tell:
WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO BE A MAN? TO BE A SON OF ADAM?
>T R U T H: TELL THE TRUTH AND SHAME THE DEVIL. FIND LIGHT WITHIN DARKNESS.
>R E S P O N S I B I L I T Y: TO TOIL AMONGST THISTLES AND THORNS IS A DUTY.
>S T R E N G T H: THE WORLD HATED YOU FIRST; BUT YOU WILL WIELD THE PALM.
>W R I T E - I N
During the dawn of prehistory a creator now forgotten by the masses laid down his bow; his arrow that which was nocked put an end to our antediluvian ancestors. For a world That. Needs. A. Hero—The people will know you by your LIVERY. YOUR:
>HEROIC RED!
>RAPPORTING BLUE!
>UNYIELDING YELLOW!
>CUNNING GREEN!
{THE PLURAL VOTE OF EACH OPTION WILL BE TAKEN. } 
~ NOVEMBER 5 2008 ~
Your name is Aspen Foster. For a good portion of your adult life, you have been working within the political scene of the most beautiful state in the union, Colorado. Nobody outside of the state knew you very well, but you had become a familiar face for those who pay attention to your state’s politics.
You are as moderate as they come. Your policies are nothing revolutionary. Nobody is your die-hard supporter and nobody has a seething anger towards you. You are a milquetoast, inoffensive liberal who is perfectly content with staying out of the spotlight and passing completely average and expected laws.
You successfully ran for the Denver city council in 1995. You were elected mayor of that same city in 1999. After losing re-election in 2003, you decided to run for the Colorado House of Representatives the very next year, where you’ve been ever since.
You have been satisfied with the direction of your career. After narrowly winning re-election in Colorado’s lower chamber, you were prepared for two more years of middling legislation. That was, at least, until you received a call from the last person you expected.
“Mr. President.”
Well, not officially president yet. He had just yesterday been elected, but has yet to be inaugurated. Those few months between Election Day and January 20th are mostly focused on one thing. His cabinet. Even though it’s one of the few topics you could’ve expected from him during this time, it still came as such a shock when you hear his voice on the other end of the phone tell you that he is considering you for a position. For a progressive, national figure such as him to want you in his cabinet is nothing short of a product of divine intervention.
“I-…I would be honored, sir.”
He gives you a list of positions that are open, whether that is because the others are taken or he wants somebody else appointed to it. After a few more minutes of brief conversation and letting the president-elect know that you will consider your options, you say your goodbyes and hang up the phone.
“Lord have mercy…”
You decide that you need to go for a walk, even if it is the middle of the afternoon with the sun quickly setting. You just need to breathe in some fresh air. You tell your wife, Meredith, that you are going out and grab the essentials. Phone. Wallet. Keys. Then you’re out.
“I mean, this is so sudden…”
You are satisfied with your station in life. You’ve always believed in modesty as a virtue and too much ambition can kill. However, being a member of the president’s cabinet gives you more opportunities. Not for yourself, but for others. To better people’s lives one policy at a time. That was the main reason you decided to become a politician in the first place. By the time you walk through the front door to your townhouse again, you’ve made up your mind. You will join the president’s cabinet. Now it’s just a matter of which position you will take.
(1/2) 
January 2, 1927, Lapizlazulli, Vitelia
Claude Gaumont had been but a boy when the spark of the Emrean Revolution had blazed into a wildfire, and since the first moments, he had yearned to be one of his people’s champions. The war had gone on, and he had learned more and more about the cause, but when had strength and nerve enough to have a hope of deceiving a less conscientious recruiter and finished the most basic of training at arms, the war had come to an unceremonious end.
That had been half his lifetime past, and ever since, he had yearned to find the battleground where the fate of tomorrow would again be decided. Vitelia seemed to have been that place, and many others had thought the same. A wrong assumption. The Revolution in Vitelia, it seemed, had not been theirs, and Claude had been forced to flee his comrades in the face of a sudden downpour of defeats.
A minor noble called Di Avolo had sheltered the Revolutionary, a stray flower of the Red Garden that he had found and put in a glass vase. Both knew it wasn’t for Claude’s sake, though. He was a toy, an item in a collection. The shame was the price of survival and comfort. All of the others who had not fallen in battle had been rounded up and deported to the wastelands, or scattered and fled on their own. The Utopian Front had left the lot of them in the cold- and even now, Claude repeated to himself…
“Why?” He asked out the window, to the crowd outside, assembled to listen to the man who had vanquished the Giardino Rosso, to that man himself. “What turned the League against us, to side with tyrants?”
In the same room was his new patron- as well as a guest of Di Avolo’s, a young man around fourteen or fifteen. He had a certain handsomeness, but his grey eyes were heavy with a discontent, restless boredom, an empty searching that Claude felt some kinship with. A son of a friend of a friend of Di Avolo’s, visiting here to broaden his experiences, but the boy had little interest in the outside that Claude had seen besides looking at it from a window.
“What an obvious question,” Di Avolo said, “So obvious a child could answer it.” He glanced to the boy, “Well? Go on, tell Signore della Rivoluzione why the Revolutionary League deemed he and his lot unnecessary for their Dawn. We’ve discussed what has been happening here enough.”
Claude could not protest. Di Avolo kept him housed and fed on a whim.
“Do I have to?” the youth said dully, “It’s obvious enough to not be interesting.”
“Indulge us. Tell this man how he came to be here.” 
Prior to 2070, a third world war happened, throwing the population in a downwards decline. Humanity tried solving it’s labor shortage by allowing human cloning, however it backfired, as the blueprints got leaked, and the world was swarmed with an overpopulation of clones. After secret documents got out, confirming the existence of a hundred special operations clones, the practice got banned again globally, and all clone life was deemed illegal, with specialized forces formed to find and capture any remaining clones. Many were captured, put back to work in key industries, many were killed, and some escaped and are on the run.
It is now 2090, both the human and clone populations are unconfirmed, leading to increased distrust and tensions, the world is on the brink of collapse.
Like the old story about Pandora’s box, humans have a tendency to unleash horror upon themselves, and whether this particular cataclysm will be the end of humanity, or merely another bump in it’s journey is yet to be seen.
But you don’t care too much, seeing most humans don’t even view you as equal. Monica Hopkins, a nice name, certainly better than „CCST-64-F“, the factory code printed in the small electronic sheet implanted into your eye. The name was chosen by your creators, all tho the reason being practicality more than attachment.
You were one of a secret line of clone humanoids, created specifically for spy operations, hovewer due to human hubris, your very existence is now outlawed.
You realize your purpose everytime you look into the mirror. A rat meant to spy on the French government, and yet most of the world no longer believes in localized governments.
„Get moving, you’ll miss the train“ a grumpy voice reminds you, Drew Hill is a nice old man. At one point he held a gun up close to your forehead, and with anger in his eyes shouted obscenities at you. That’s long passed, he’s no longer in the police, and even if he was, he’s not one to shoot people for biological differences.
You pick up your bag and trail off. „Have a nice day Drew“ you say before closing the door. You head out to the city, the train already closing into the stop as you approach. While clone labor is outlawed, most places will still hire if the need is there, which has allowed you to pick up oddjobs and part time work across the city. Today you head out to the inner city for a bartending job. It’s well paying, and a nice opportunity to get out in between some people, but the risk of capture increases as more eager bounty hunters seek out clones.
You step on the train and pay for your ticket, most seats are empty, so you get to chose a nice window seat. As the train begins moving you notice a younger woman eying you up suspiciously from the neighboring seats. By her outfit, you can tell she might be a plainsclothes officer, ironically for being out of uniform, most of these cops dress the same.
>Engage the woman in conversation
>Ignore the woman
>Get out on the next stop 
With the majority of the Seventh Universe united under the banner of the PTO, Emperor Cooler at its head, the universe has known a time of unrivaled peace. But in the shadows threats have been growing, nursing grudges against the PTO and the Saiyan race in particular. And now those threats are rising, stepping out of the shadows to openly challenge the established order. Seeking nothing short of the destruction of New Salda and the extinction of the entire Saiyan race, can you prevent this outcome? Or will the Saiyan race be reduced to nothing more than memories, their heroes nothing more than ink in the pages of the history books?
You the players will (most often) control Karn; wielder of the mighty Berserker Soul and hope of the entire PTO, not only the Saiyan race. From his lowly beginnings as a Saiyan Brawler with a sub-3000 powerlevel in Age 733, only a few years into his time as a member of the PTO, he has grown in power and skill, overcoming the world-ending threats that have come for the Saiyans to become the strongest Saiyan of his time at AGE 759. From the massive Covenant empire to demonic incursions, mad cultists to vengeful gods, none have been strong or clever enough to put down Karn for good. But will one man's power be enough to protect everyone from the rising threats? Or will death come from those who you least expect it from? Your choices may mean the difference between survival and extinction, so choose carefully.
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 first three correctly-rolled dice
>One dice roll per person per post unless three players have not yet rolled, and ten minutes has passed since your previous roll
>Crits are 100 on a d100(a 99 or paired rolls may net you an extra bonus)
>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 find me on twitter @GrandDragonQM, which I keep as up to date with any scheduling changes as soon as possible.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tndKYpPz2RU
REVENGE OF THE BODY SNATCHERS 
Last time, you and your hobos (+ Crossbill) played the King’s Game together and it went as well as one could wish. So well that everything developed into interesting activities of the lovey-dovey variety. The result of a man out of control meeting with some wild gals who want to have all types of fun.
It’s deep into the night, these activities are time-consuming and can take a toll on you. But after drinking that special Calamity Cola, you aren’t *that* tired. You’re pretty sure if your eyelids high-five and you continue cuddling with the redhead next to you, you’ll be able to sleep soundly. But if you want to go back to the living room to cause more mayhem, well, the night is young enough. Crossbill might still be up!
Ruby is happily sleeping on your bed (You two cleaned it), she looks like the happiest woman on the face of the earth as her dreams can barely match the reality she experienced. You’re exaggerating, but it makes your heart skip when you see her smile like this — even with her eyes closed.
To go or not to go…
…
Either way, you can’t help but think that it is good to be alive!
What do you do?
>Get comfy. Cuddle with the woman you love, and sleep.
>Kiss the redhead’s forehead, and walk out of the room. Back to the living room with your bestie.
>Write In. 
After your kingdom was destroyed by dragons, your people wandered the wilderness for many years, struggling to survive. Many died in the harsh conditions, but a few persevered. One fateful day, a glimmer of hope emerged when your scouts discovered a beautiful river valley, nestled between gentle hills. The air is fresh, the land fertile, and mountains poke the horizon in both the east and west, offering protection and resources. It seems like the perfect place to settle and rebuild.
But as the settlers begin to make their homes, a conflict arises. The question of who will lead the people to a prosperous future must be answered. Seven potential leaders have emerged, each offering a vision for the new society. As the first seeds of civilization are planted, you must choose who will guide your people.
> Azrael, the Demon Cultist – A mysterious figure, said to have made a pact with dark forces. Azrael promises the power of the shadows and the strength to defeat any who threaten your new home, but the cost may be steep.
> Seren, the Gatherer – A quiet and observant woman who has always had a deep connection to the earth. Seren believes that living in harmony with nature is key to rebuilding. Her focus will be on agriculture, resource management, and sustainability.
> Haldor, the Hunter – A skilled marksman and survivalist, Haldor knows how to track, hunt, and provide for a community. He believes in the strength of the people and their ability to thrive in the wilds, and he advocates for a society where individuals' skills are key to their survival.
> Lira, the Scout – A fast and nimble strategist, Lira excels at finding new paths and danger ahead. She believes that the survival of your people depends on understanding the land around you and being ready for whatever comes next. She plans for the future with precision.
> Bryn, the Warrior – The embodiment of strength and discipline, Bryn seeks to create a society that values honor, duty, and the protection of the people. With battle-hardened experience, Bryn will focus on the security of your people and their ability to defend against any future threats.
> Mira, the Priestess – With a deep faith in the gods, Mira believes that the blessing of the divine is necessary for a strong and peaceful community. She sees the settlement as a chance to establish a center of worship and spiritual guidance that will protect and guide your people.
> Oran, the Architect – Oran sees civilization as a product of thoughtful design. A master builder and strategist, he believes that the future lies in constructing a strong infrastructure, building homes and fortifications that will endure for generations. His vision focuses on lasting structures and carefully laid out settlements. 
(Let's see How this goes, been awhile since I've ran a quest here.)
You are standing in the middle of Central Cities mall, Central Mall, and thus far the day hasn't been the worst. You woke up today and managed to get cleaned up and ready just in time before you were thrown into the mass transport of your little organization. The initial entrance went smoothly, you managed to look adequately intimidating while your boss did their big speech despite your costume. Your squad even got to be placed on acquisition rather than perimeter duty, meaning all you had to do was load the loot and not deal with the chance a superhero might show up.
When Speedfreak showed up, well it got a bit bad. Speedsters sucked to fight, but there was only one of him and we knew staying in groups provided us some minimal safety.
Really it was thanks to your boss that kept things from going any worse.
Who is your boss?
>The Silver Don: He's a guy who styles himself in classic gangster chic, pinstripe suits, hats, gloves, the classic professional criminal get up. It's just that his is made of some weird shiny metal making him bullet proof and weigh a ton and has hidden tommy guns in his sleeves. You of course are dressed similarly, except yours is just a normal gangster suit that comes with a face mask to hide your identity and properly dehumanize you, standard henchman style. You do get weapons themed of mobster stuff though, with made men possibly getting better suits, so that's neat.
>Empress Feliine: A Metahuman with cat powers, she is running around in a sort of speudo aztec/jungle aesthetic. Furs and boiled leather, but keeping it light so she can stay agile. You get to wear plenty more leather padding, fur, and of course a stone like cat mask with prominent ears. Low tech weapons, but sometimes Empress lets her minions use magic stuff, the ones that impress her at least.
>New Wave: An Anarcho-Technocrat, which I think they explained isn't contradictory like i thought it was, straped in a cyberpunk like aesthetic. To describe it is difficult, but imagine a named gang boss in a cyberpunk game mixed with a mad scientist, and you got it. Neon lights and pulsing wires covering them and their lab/trench coat as they move around using gadgets. You also get this lovely chaotic style, with your choice of either face mask, oversized goggles, or whatever as long as your face is hidden enough to meet henchman standards. You get access to more high tech weapons made by the boss, and loyal minions getting cybernetics (if you're into that stuff) 
Darkstone. This precious mineral was able to sap away magic around itself, tearing through the ether of the Weave and allowing bullets to pierce through magical shields and projectiles.
When a volley of Darkstone came, it did not matter if grand Archmages formed great walls of fire to protect themselves or struck the bullets with swift lightning, the bullets continued on their terrible path and delivered death. Decades of study and generations of fine breeding could now be undone in a few seconds by a peasant with a good eye and a rifle.
When Darkstone came, magic died. Thus came the Darkstone Wars. The old countries, often ruled by bloodlines strong in magic, underestimated the usefulness of the black bullets. In but a few years, millennia old kingdoms and dynasties crumbled as brutalized serfs rose to overthrow their tyrannical regimes. The most terrible of magics were unleashed by the Weaveborn to protect themselves from the revolutionaries, whole countries shattered under their desperation, but, eventually, they lost. The new regimes hunted down the Weaveborn ruthlessly, they were the symbols of the old; potential tyrants that were better off exterminated before their powers grew too great.
But nothing is so simple. As the magic arts were forbidden, many of these new regimes realized how important they had once been. Humanity had grown dependent on magics that fertilized the land, created water for crops, healed the sick, controlled raging fires… Foul times of hunger and disease followed the Wars. The sky yellowed, the sun reddened. Times of anarchy and death.
When magic died, bullets ruled. Idealistic republics turned into ruthless dictatorships. All men and women were free, and yet they were cowed into a submission not too dissimilar from the old regime. Some Weaveborn were granted the right to live, as long as they used their dominion of magic to support their country.
And then, you were born. It was in 82 AD, After Darkstone, in Piras, capital of the Republic of Frankia. You were a girl, you were given the name Sybille. Your parents were humble factory workers, you lived in a tiny apartment near the district where they worked. Your early days were not too different from those of other Frankian children, you had plenty of siblings, but most of them did not make it past infancy, you went hungry to bed most nights, and you were put to work as soon as you could handle a mop. Your parents were strict and disciplined, everyone had to contribute and improve their lot, there was little joy to be had with them. Yet children will find happiness even where there is none. Two siblings survived into childhood, your elder brother François and your younger sister Justine.
You snuck away from your duties with them when you could. You played around, fought other kids, made friends. welcome back to rubicon 3 merc, post your AC and gear down below and go fucking wild 
A world where might makes right. A world of Jade and Gold, of Phoenix and Dragons, of Pills and Talismans, of Martial and Spiritual arts.
A world where diligent training yield strength, meaning freedom. A world where loneliness means death, meaning social chains.
A world still unfair, as the ones reaching the heavens are most likely born rich - be it political riches of the aristocrats, power of secret knowledges and hidden realms of clans, or lucky enough to be born one-in-a-thousand genius.
This was not the case of Quiet Word - that is, (You).
Your current skill level is on par with other genius of your age. But where they were graced with secret techniques and special care, you just had lucky encounters leveraged to the best and a knack for navigating social situations.
You own a trove of techniques for such a young cultivator - more than you can study efficiently, but your strength lies in the impressive amount of Bonded Spiritual Beasts - A Phoenix spirit, a Horse spirit, a Snake spirit and a Wolf spirit.
Speaking of that last one, you didn't told a world about him to anybody. As a scion of the Primordial Wolf spirit, its father warned you of its worth and how people could want to rip it away from you. Especially in such a ruthless and public environment than, say, a townwide cultivator tournament.
Previously mentionned worth comes from its ability to Fuse without restriction - fusion being a secret of the higher ranking of your sect, secret you have almost completely rediscovered on your own, and freely shared with your sect-siblings (but not your masters). Alright, the Primordial Wolf might have helped you on that point.
Recently, you took the mantle of elder brother to twelve younglings; you won for the second time the local town's tournament; you get in some weird pact with a gardener and you broke through the first minor realm of second stage. All is nice and well - if you set aside your concerns regarding a certain prophetic poem including words about fated dao partner and the most-dreaded rightful fear of falling behind. ![Soul Fallen From Grace, Ware Thee Well[sound=files.catbox.moe%2F80lxny.mp3]](https://i.4cdn.org/qst/1739951400763849s.jpg)
You are Fiona Jarnafeldt, L2 Trollslayer of the Helsinki Stormwatch, and today you are going to cut down a tree. The tree is equipped with a four-bore lever action shotgun with an axe for a bayonet and is attempting a mutiny, but you are going to cut it down nevertheless.
Because your story won't in that wet pit.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9amwbTX7zZs
The world management organization known as Mother Nature's Providence organizes the world into the society it is today. This includes separation of peoples that would be alike, the minimization of automation, and a strict capacity on the population which they, through agencies like the Stormwatch, enforce through violence. This city must have no more than one million souls, and there are one hundred and eighty two thousand more than that million, living beneath the streets in squalid poverty, resorting to robbery and violence to stay alive. The public doesn't know just how many are beneath here.
But the rebel knows. His name is Zephyraut, and he is a member of the Old Oaks, a seclusive cabal of researchers that helped advance society through scientific marvels. Though they serve the order that would slaughter the overpopulation, they do so with disdain and respect for all life, and the violence has become too much for this Old Oak to bear. Zephyraut uses an Illuvatar arms platform, a tree remotely puppeteered by chemicals which manipulate the tree's fibers like muscle, serving as a stealthy and powerful military asset. With that masterpiece of military and bioengineering at his disposal, he patrols the Stormdrains of Helsinki, preaching to agents and squatters to join his cause over the radio.
The tech is top secret. MNP already sent Deathwatch assassins after him, but they failed. The last survivor could only tell Stormwatch Director Katriina Jousten that Zephyraut needs to die. Instead of informing MNP that their assassination failed and facing a brutal audit, she has decided to tackle the task herself and send the agent home with a story of success. She has unilaterally paused all Stormwatch activities before a crucial point in the offense against the squatter hive in order to deal with this problem.
There can be no more delay. It must be done soon, else Mother Nature's Providence will come to clean up every loose end they damn well please.
And you, Fiona Jarnafeldt, Level 2 agent and Category 2 citizen who hasn't the rights to start a family, are a very loose, very disposable end. The fourteenth of February.
Last night, you had unpeeled an entire pack of infusers before curling into your sleeping tray, your mind shot with cyan-bright skies that your eyes would never see, fingers twitching at phantom greenery that your hands would never feel.
This morning, your mind feels clouded. Something had awoken you early. The sound of dead static morphs into an unfamiliar jingle.
<...we wish to express our sincere appreciation to you for making a LOVE donation. In order to make the experience as pleasant as possible, we have requisitioned a prototype.....to allow you to.... in the comfort of your own....>
Something thrums in the corner, too low-pitched to be your air conditioner.
>OPEN YOUR EYES.
>KEEP THEM SHUT.
[LOVE: 10/10]
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Welcome to LOVE QUEST. This is a fairly unserious, extremely brief 5-10 update quest that I had originally scheduled for Valentine's day. 
You play as Argia Candente, a devout Knight who was about to complete her most important mission… only to suffer betrayal. And now you have to claw your way out of darkness.
# # # # # #
Welcome to the fifth thread of Argia Candente's astounding adventures, our scatterbrained, silver-haired (busty, as the players decided) Holy Knight-trainee with a penchant for daydreaming and plagued by self-doubt. And recently, betrayed by one of her closest friends.
Now laying at the bottom of an abandoned Temple, you suffer from a sprained ankle, breathing raggedly on the glassy floor, as the echoes of Willow’s steps fade in the darkness.
Over the course of the latest thread you braved the abandoned Temple of the Saint you are devout to, Saint Bragia Lacresta. This has left you and your friends drained, but closer than ever, as you and your companions — Rubida dell’Obertengo, Soralisa da Zaribari and Willow Stark, oh, and the Magus Sandora Mirari — managed to cast a powerful Sanction and incapacitate the rogue wizard you were sent to recover and imprison.
Completing this mission would have meant an expedite access to becoming a proper Knight, together with everything you are fighting for: allow your displaced family to settle in the Holy Land. But just as victory was at hand’s reach, one of your friends, Willow Stark, the young woman who secretly comes from another world, has betrayed you, killing the Asterite and stopping you from completing your mission.
She has done it for you, so she claims. To save your soul.
Willow has now left all of you in the darkness, disappearing who knows where. And all you can feel right now is the bite of regret in your stomach, the pain from your strained ankle and the hole in your chest from this sudden betrayal.
And this is the state you find yourself in: broken…
>ARCHIVES:
>First Thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6012263/
>Second Thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6049645/
>Third Thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6098808/
>Fourth Thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6154957/
>Voting Link (thanks everyone for voting! Let’s gild all the threads!): https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Silver%20Knight%20Quest
(thanks everyone for voting! My mom reads these threads and she said she’ll bake us a cake one day)
Update schedule: usually one updateevery 48 hours. You can expect between two and four posts depending on narrative pace and player interaction. I will do my best to reply to questions and suggestions though.
Also, we have a twitter! In keeping with tradition, you can now find Argias’ secret notes and keep up with updates and comments (and perhaps the occasional secret?) following this handle: @silverknightqst
As for a brief recap for new players… last time on Silver Knight Quest… 
THREAD THEME: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZkDQo1uCx6E
It has been five years since the Lighthouse War, a war whose end helped usher in a new peaceful era of mutual cooperation the likes of Vincent Harling and Kei Nagase always dreamed of. But peace is a fragile thing that requires constant care and effort. It's easy to forget how the actions of a few can plunge a nation, a continent, or worse, a planet, into strife.
In southern Verusa, a frozen conflict amongst brothers and sisters stirs awake, threatening to devour the storied lands of Arkanar in the bitter flames of war once more. With efforts spearheaded by Osea and Erusea, the IUN springs into action with the intent of restoring peace and upholding order in the country.
In recognition of your past performances, your nation's Naval chain of command has transferred you to IUN Peacekeeping Force detachment in Arkanar. Specifically, the premier Submersible Aviation Cruiser Squadron of the newly-assembled OFS Nautilus, the Fairy Squadron. You are to take the place of their flight leader.
As Fairy 1. 
…
And so, believer mine, it shall be done.
You agree to abscond from the realm of humanity, and find yourself among a world where only Pokémon reside. Such a world always exists in a precarious balance, somewhere between a dark dream of the future and a bright memento of the past skies… Its preservation is as such a very expensive thing. Why, there's simply no way you'll possibly survive the ordeal fully intact. I've observed countless of these transpositions, long before various deities came forth to try and better oversee them. Your human body and memories will typically satiate the travel fee, but even then, though you value order, your kind are bringers of calamity no matter what world you choose to reside.
Even knowing this, you still won't refuse…?
…
That's good, I sense no wavering in that soul of yours. Speaking of…
A soul absent of its memories can find new ones to nourish itself, but a body absent a soul…? Surely such an unprecedented creature would find itself maddened in an instant! That won't do either of us any good. Consider this your final task for the application process. I'm going to propose to you some scenarios, I want your full honesty in their answers. You wouldn't lie to me, would you? Another human feigning faith in the hopes a new body will bring them some semblance of power?
…
Should've known. Not ambitious enough for such treachery, no matter, ambition may come with time. But as for now, you're a lovely prospect! Tell me who you are, that I may transpose your soul into what you wish to be. Four questions should suffice, let me see now…
(Continued…) you're a gnome going on an adventure
you are going to slay the giant murderous snail that destroyed your village
but you don't know where it lives
> find an elf and ask for directions
> go to the human village to recruit mercenaries
> speak to the animals of the forest to ask if they saw any giant snail
> write in 
After a frantic sprint through the labyrinthine sewers, the entire party charged forward together—only for disaster to strike. Without warning, a massive stone wall descended from the ceiling, slamming into place with an echoing thud. Dust and debris filled the air as the mechanism sealed shut, splitting the group in two.
Eve, Gris, and Zamora found themselves isolated from the others, their voices drowned by the eerie silence of the tunnels. With no way to lift the barrier, the three had no choice but to press forward, weaving through the maze-like sewer passages in search of an exit—or a way to reunite with their friends.
Yet every path they took led to another dead end, the way forward blocked by rusted metal grates. The stench of stagnant water thickened the air, and the distant sound of dripping echoed through the darkness.
As they pressed on, they came across a cluster of kobolds hunched over the murky waters, fishing with makeshift rods. Though wary, the creatures paid them no mind, their glowing eyes fixed on their lines. They did not seem hostile, so the party cautiously approached.
“How do you get out of here?” Eve asked.
One of the kobolds turned, tilting its head. “Wait three days,” it said, its voice a raspy croak. “Wall trap resets.”
Gris groaned, crossing her arms. “Well, I don’t wanna wait three days.”
With no choice but to continue wandering, the trio pressed on, their footsteps splashing through shallow puddles. After what felt like hours, they stumbled upon a stone staircase descending deeper into the unknown.
But as they descended, an ominous chill settled over them. The air grew thick and damp, carrying the scent of decay. Their path soon led them to a monstrous sight—a giant spider lurking at the tunnel’s edge, its many eyes glistening in the dim light.
Zamora, ever the diplomat, cautiously stepped forward, speaking in a hushed, melodic tone. The spider responded, its chittering voice vibrating through the chamber. It spoke of a terrible presence dwelling in the depths—an ancient evil so fearsome that even the spiders dared not tread further.
Yet, despite its warning, the beast soon revealed its own intentions. Hunger gleamed in its many eyes, and with a sudden lunge, it attacked. A fierce battle erupted, blades flashing and magic crackling through the air. When the dust settled, the creature lay motionless, its dark ichor staining the stone floor.
Shaken but undeterred, the party pressed on. Another staircase loomed ahead, leading to a chamber partially submerged in water. The air was heavy with moisture, and the rippling surface of the flooded passage hinted at unseen dangers lurking beneath.
Faced with uncertainty, the trio hesitated.
What will you do?
> Descend deeper into the unknown.
> Return to the first level and set up camp.
> Explore this second level further—you haven’t seen everything yet.
> Write in 
THE BASICS
Your name is Joey Donuts.
You are Grel (half elf, half human}
You are a student wizard. You haven't picked your major and you're not licenced to use magic in areas owned by the Grand Ternion Unity.
You have SIX spells
Blast - Does 6d6+20 energy damage. -MP 20
Draw- Drain 10+2d6 mana from a target, providing they have mana -MP 5
Wrack - DO 10 damage to yourself to gain 12 MP -free
WIZARD HAAAANDS - Manipulate an object you can see but not reach. As strong as you are - MP 10
Douse - Extinguish any fire up to the size of a campfire , includes ignitions from matches and guns - MP 5
Hells Heart - Instantly double the damage of any attack (ranged, magical, or physical) by charging it with magic -MP 16 Joey has improved this skill and can cast it on another party member while still performing an action for 20 mana. He can also cast it on himself and one other person while performing another task for a cost of 41 mana.
Earths Honesty - Tell if someone is lying about the thing they have just said. MP 6
You are the acting CEO of Cold Iron Solutions potion company. Making mutterbottles and mana potions
You solve shit.
Your consigliere and number one is also your girlfriend. An enterprising goblin for hire called HIGHBALL.
You have a company staff.
LUMSDEN -Owner and pilot of your airship
SURREY - Potion brewer
JONES - Staff chef
GILCREST - Custodian
KARL - A private investigator
You have adventuring party members
BURSTOCK - An chill but rebellious healer. A thot with a big heart.
MIKE - A pragmatic hunter, kinder than he looks. Kind of your bro.
RICHTER - A wise muscle wizard, unfamiliar with people.
JORN - A distractible martial artist trying to make up for past crimes.
previous thread for more details:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/5995074/
This quest is nice and slow so don't panic.
Here is the wikia that is chock full of info on the characters, locations and mechanics (and misspellings).
https://trust-a-goblin.fandom.com/wiki/Trust_A_Goblin_Wiki Welcome boys and girls to the beginning of a new fantasy quest, one where investigations will be even more important to solving your problem than violence and power. Ultimately the methods will be up to you and I do apologize in advance if the opening feels a bit stiff because we've got a big handful of character customization to go through...
For general communication outside the thread, see this twitter https://x.com/TaleOfMonsters
I'll try my best to update once every two days at a minimum until I unrust, then once a day will be a good pace. 
The Caretaker Quest - Part 5
This is part 5 of the "side quest" for "Disappearing Hogwarts".
An unofficial alternate timeline based on HeadQM´s highly praised quest, Disappearing Hogwarts.
Reading the original story is not exactly necessary but heavily encouraged.
Created mostly as a place to wait while HeadQM was away for a while but slowly evolved into his own thing.
Quick recap so far:
>Recently graduated Ravenclaw student is hired at Hogwarts as the new Caretaker.
>Something dangerous and mysterious is happening.
>Harry Potter is the new Headmaster of Hogwarts and extremely stressed.
>Somehow, you can see ancient magic.
>Peeves ripped out your foot.
>Merlin himself is stuck in your head and slowly recovering his memories. Now you have to help him save the...everything from being annihilated out of existance.
>Potter’s daughter also had a powerful wizard inside her head, turns out its Salazar Slytherin and he has been messing with her for years.
>You have a sportsy German girlfriend.
>You recently woke up from a magical coma after magical shenanigans with the corrupted version of "Faith"
>You went back to Hogwarts and now Salazar decided to finally take full control of his host body and release part of an omnipotent magical beast.
What will happen now? Let's find out!
Part 4 here >>6159531
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/
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) 
If you want to make a mystery gameboard, use this thread. Don't flood /qst/.
Colored truths script: https://greasyfork.org/en/scripts/418818-4chan-umineko-colored-truths
>How to use the Red Truth
<span class="mu-r">The Red Truth[/spoiler] is a fact that can be presented by the one hosting the mystery (also known as the Witch side) without any evidence or proof to support it. But, while undeniable, it can have multiple interpretations. The multiple interpretations mark a large foothold for the opposing players (also known as the Human side) to attack; therefore, the Red Truth must be used with care. Conversely, a refusal to validate a statement in Red invokes another Devil's Proof; a lack of validation won't prove a statement's truth but can't disprove its falsehood.
>How to use the Blue Truth
<span class="mu-b">The Blue Truth[/spoiler] is used to present a possibility to counter the logic of the Witch's side. The Blue Truth usually takes the form of a theory to counter the Witch and requires the Red Truth to be confirmed or denied. The Blue Truth must be used in a manner that advances the user's overall theory, rather than simply fishing for more information. Any assertions made in Blue must directly deny the influence of the supernatural in the events of a gameboard's story. The Witch side may delay until the end of the game to challenge Blue Truths; after all, only one puzzle unsolved by any explanation other than magic is enough to sustain the Illusion of the Witch, but one carelessly phrased Red Truth can eliminate the possibility of magic from all of them. One effective denial isn't fatal, but unchallenged denial of magic in all the mysteries becomes a categorical denial of Witches.
>How to use the Gold Truth
[gold]The Gold Truth[/gold] is on par with the Red Truth, although it may be inferior or superior depending on the situation. It can be explained as a truth constructed from belief that is acknowledged and shared between people. It can be used by anyone who truly understands the gameboard.
>How to use Purple Statements
Purple Statements are seen as important spoken statements during the narration of a story and they possess the same standing as the Red Truth. However, they are different in that a culprit can lie with Purple. Example: "[purple]Battler was in the dining room[/purple], while Jessica was outside."
To turn it around, non-culprits can only speak the truth in Purple. What defines a culprit depends on the gameboard, but usually the culprit is one who kills or plans to kill someone during the story.
>How to use the Green truth
>I seriously hope you guys don't need an explanation for this one 
"Oh great..." someone groans.
You couldn't believe it when the first TF incidents happened. Everyone thought it was a hoax, but nope, it's here to stay. You'd think drugs that switch peoples' genders at the drop of a hat, or turn them into human-animal hybrids, the government would keep it top secret.
If only things were that simple. If only.
You're no fan of the feds, but you wished they'd have a monopoly over TF magic than the people who actually got ahold of it. Who did, you might ask?
It wasn't the government. It wasn't the corporations. It wasn't even the drug cartels.
It was the furries.
The goddamn *furries*.
You wish you were joking.
TF magic has been tainted by association. You've watched the YouTube videos. The cringe compilations. There's nothing weird about it, but thanks to them, it's not something anyone wants to touch with a ten-foot pole. Hell, you've even heard they might even pass a law that deems public transformation a form of indecent exposure!
But for some reason, the place you work at has made it mandatory for your particular end of the business.
Why? Why! Why!?! WHY!?!
So who are you?
> I don't like it either but rules are rules! (A middle manager)
> This shouldn't even be legal! (Reluctant employee)
> This could be interesting... (you're into this)
Note: I can't think of a name, or what the organization does or is, so let me know what you want to see in the replies. I'll be as open minded as I can (as long as it isn't anything inherently sexual!) 
Turn 20
The bloody paroxysms that swept the land of Pavilion seem to have quelled for a touch. In the east, great armies march to vanquish greater evils, in the west the spread of conquering nations are slowed against walls of vines and steel. The nations grow ever more interconnected, the Tyrns Without Summer receding into memory as the larders are stocked full with an ever-growing variety of fruits and meats. With food, trade, and peace aplenty, it is no wonder that the scholars of the land express hope for an imminent flowering of the arts and sciences. Of course, only time will tell if better natures will rise to such ideals.
>We're currently full-on players, though that can change with short notice. If you're interested, join our discord. The invite code is: F2Patcf.
>>6186351
>Skrit colonies
The swarm is on the move! Ants move by the thousands, then tens of t housands. Their first objective is the defense of Delta. No clever masonry goes into these defense however, only a vast trench that is carved out, heaped up, then riddled through with hundreds of skrit tunnels. Delta secured the swarm turns outward, colonists flooding into Krawl and Vitruvian lands. In Vitruvian lands the Skrit meets sharp resistance in the form of Sabbatical, the Vitruvian corpse puppeting plant. Without a dedicated military force the Skrit expansion is pushed back into the sparsely inhabited jungles. The expansions in the Krawl infested jungles to the south however will sway to the winds of fate however as the two hiveminds clash against each other. 
Iustus, the Righteous.
Impius, the Unholy.
Two divine forces, locked in an eternal struggle, each seeking to claim dominion over the shattered world of Requiem.
Born from the fragments of countless realities, Requiem is a land of broken existence—its foundation shattered, its soul corrupted by the ceaseless war waged by its gods. For eons, they have fought, with neither side able to achieve victory. Their battle stretches across the cosmos and through the hearts of every living being.
In this, the Twelfth Cycle, the gods grow weary. Tired of their endless clash fought through lifeless vessels, they devise a new plan. To settle their dispute, they reach beyond their broken domain to find suitable avatars. From unknown realms, they summon the bravest and the darkest of hearts to fight in their name.
Impius, harbinger of ruin, calls forth the vile and the wicked. Six hearts of thorn, tainted by malice, rise to serve him in his unholy mission. They are his Warriors.
Iustus, beacon of order, seeks those of courage and conviction. Six hearts of survival, pure and steadfast, are chosen to stand against the onslaught of darkness. They are her Champions.
The war that has raged for ages grows ever more brutal. The clash of light and shadow echoes through the land. But soon— 
"I have helped you remember who we are, the great people of ancient Ilythiir, and of the darthiir who have betrayed us," you begin with a measured cadence, sitting yourself at the fountain's edge to address the High Sorcerer's apprentices as the tyrant sun rises above the garden in the High Sorcerer's spire. The azure sky stretching out infinitely in all directions, setting the scene for your next lesson. "But there are many different people in this world, who are not like us, that you will meet in Everlund. I will tell you of them, so that you will be ready when you meet them."
Mytyl, the red-haired girl, looks up to you with her lips parted, already poised to ask a question. With a gesture, you shush her, delaying her query until your lesson has begun proper. "In this sunlit world, the most common people are the rivvin, or 'humans.' You have surely seen their many colors and heard their languages by now. They are clumsy, weak, and dull, hardly worth our time. Pity them, for their lives are so short that few even live a hundred years, if that." The albino boy, Tyltyl, recoils in silent horror as you mention that the human lifespan seldom exceeds even a century. "But the best of humans do have their uses, and can sometimes see the truth of our greatness. Those are the ones worth knowing," you concede as an afterthought.
"When an Ilythiiri or a darthiiri mates with rivvin, a tu'rilthiir is born. They are very lucky - the blood of Ilythiir saves them, from the bad blood of their weaker parent. Luaue is tu'rilthiir," your explain. Mytyl interjects, raising her hand and speaking at you before you can manage to silence her again. "What about our teacher? Is he also tu-lilithiir?" She inquires, her scarlet eyes ablaze with curiosity. You pinch the bridge of your nose, recalling the mere mention of the half-breed High Sorcerer sufficient to make your day worse. "Yes," you sigh, "but he has two bad halves." 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VXNWxlKPT1Y&ab_channel=story
Your name is Fido Ballthrow... and your life is extremely complicated.
In three days, you, and everything you know and love will be destroyed, and if you do not kill some random rich guy (who for some reason wants you dead), the entire world will be plunged into eternal suffering and damnation. Well, at least that's what you think, anyway.
In the days that have passed so far you have found a (very scary) girlfriend, got your best friend shot, and “reconnected” with your family. Now it's time for you to reconnect with another part of your past... your friends!
You peek through the window of the house in front of you. You can hear people talking from the inside, some of the voices you recognize. You sigh, build up the courage, and then knock.
After a few moments, the door opens, and you're face-to-face... with HIM.
"Oh... my... God..." he says, his mouth agape, but soon his expression changes into one that is disgustingly cheerful, "Fibro! Welcome, man! How the heck is it going?! It's so great to finally meet you!"
He walks up, noticing the bandages around your head.
"Oh, yeah! Alice told me about that... great kid! Maybe you'll have a sick scar or something!"
You really do hate this guy. He opens his arms as if expecting a hug. What do you do?
DAYS: 3
DAY TIMER: 15:19:00
>Punch him
>Hug him
>Pat him on the shoulder
>Stare at him
>Ask him where Lily is
>Ask him where Felino is
>Ask him where Alice is
>Ask him how he's doing
>Something else -Transmission initiated by the Automated Cosmic Assistance System (ACAS-7).
Release date: 33/13/∞ (Non-Linear Time Cycle).
Status of Dr. Dorwintops: MISSING.
Dear earthly beings and dimensional specters,
Today, after 7.3 cosmic seconds of biometric silence, I have activated the contingency protocol. Dr. Dorwintops Primordium Trikeratos has ceased all communication.
In compliance with Directive 66 (“If the Keeper falls, the truth flourishes”), I will release partial access to his classified files, including:
Dorwintop's logbook: notes on Maveth's corruption and his birth plan.
Doctor's last recording (fragment):
“If you listen to this... it's too late. Maveth is hungry. He is-” [audio distorted by non-human screams].
End of transmission.
-ACAS-7 disconnecting. May evolution guide you.
Safety note: Do not trust the whispering shadows. so your a mercenary, take jobs from corporations, do the job get good pay, simple shit, but you got a big ass mech, goes fast, customizable for different preferences, all that good shit
So keep taking them corporate jobs, blow more shit up
Who knows, if those corporations owe you enough they might be able to help you steal some less than legal weaponry for your mech 
The world of Aenolyn is steeped in struggle. The powerful empires of yore have crumbled, the wisdom of the pantheon has gone quiet, and the grip of mankind has weakened. This is an Age of Despair...
But not for you!
Every few centuries, the stars align and anoint a Wizard. Today, you have become that Wizard! An architect of arcana! A scion of spells! A true master of magic! You alone can do sorcery beyond whole circles of archmagi!
Once you figure out how to actually do it. Right now you're still reeling from your mystic awakening. You're pretty sure you hit your head on the way down. Ouch. You lay in the mud and try to collect your bearings.
Who are you?
>Proud Ditchdigger: You never learned how to read, write, or 'rithmatic. You don't need it when you know the value of hard work! (Serf)
>Lazy Aristocrat: You never worked a day in your life. You don't need to when you have your household servants! (Noble)
>Orphaned Squire: You saw your knight get slain by orcs and have been running ever since. You learned his lessons well but they're on your trail! (Fighter)
>Hungry Pickpocket: You escaped the gallows after stealing from a fruit stand. You are on the run from the law and a hefty bounty! (Rogue)
>Failed Apprentice: You were expelled from the mage's tower for your terrible spellwork. You'll show them! You'll show them all! (Mage)
>Village Idiot: You are severely disabled and never got any help. Basic interaction will be difficult. (Hard Mode)
I'm annoyed at the civs that start and go nowhere, so here we are. This might be a oneshot, this might not. We shall see. 
pick race and location
please only select races from the chart, and don't select races nor terrains which are marked with a big red X, because I don't want to run those
races mentioned but not chosen will exist nearby
if you want some kind of special fluff for the race or for the world tell here as well, if there is support we can include it
we start tomorrow, today is for deciding the race
I might change rules on the fly to control complexity creep, but combat rule is unlikely to change, so I'll post it here
combat is solved with 3d100 to beat a DC which is modified according to circunstances, whoever has more successes win, 100 counts as 2 successes, 1 counts as -1 success. anyone who wants to roll can roll, but only once, and I will pick the best result.
I kinda like vancian magic so we'll probably use it for our system
updates will be usually once a day, but if I miss one day don't panic
we might do extra updates or even day long sessions on weekends, but not necessarily, will depend on how much time I have free
I'm intending to run this civ for a few months, perhaps up to one year
so I'll try not to flake 
You are barely more than nothing at all, less than a ghost, less than a memory. You have no past, there is no future, yet. An apt metaphor might describe you as one tadpole among many, swimming in a warm pool. This metaphor is not entirely accurate, but it will suffice, for to describe the connection between the starving tadpole you are and the reality shaping god you might become would be no easy task.
You have no name and no features, though for the sake of organization the universe will permit you a single character to mark your identity.
You are hungry, and growing hungrier. Two sources of nourishment present themselves to your fragile and nascent mind. The first is to drink from the warm water that you swim in, of which there is only a little remaining. The second is to lash out and slaughter your brothers and sisters, whose bodies will return to the warm water from whence you all came.
----
Character Submission:
Name: The universe grants you a single character for your name, to better keep track of you.
Backstory: You have none. This warm water in this dark place is all you have ever known.
Motivation: You are hungry, which dominates your thoughts, but perhaps something else lurks behind the haze.
Corpus: You have three Corpus, which represents your integrity as a less than a memory thing. At zero Corpus you cease to exist entirely, unless you possess a Domain, in which case you merely fall into a coma, and restore 1 Corpus at the start of the next turn. Such a state leaves you terribly vulnerable however.
Might: You have three Might. When you attack you roll a die with sides equal to your Might.
---
Available Actions: You may take two actions. At the end of your turn you will lose 1 Corpus, unless you have acquired a Domain. It is unclear how this might be achieved.
Drink: You drink from the Warm Water, and gain 1 Corpus, reducing the total water by 1.
Attack: You attack one of your brothers and sisters. Choose one. Roll a die with sides equal to your Might. Their Corpus is reduced by the result of the dice roll and is added to the Warm Water.
---
The State of the Universe:
There is you, and your siblings, all identical for now, save a single character the universe has allowed you for a name. You swim in a great lake of warm water, a tiny wriggling thing. The more curious of your siblings discover a smooth and firm wall encircling you on the side and bottom, with no corners, only smooth curves.
There appears to be 30 units of warm water here to feed you and your kin. It is unclear if it will be enough. 
The soft song of a flute echoed through the sleeping hall, as Morgan was taking a knee whilst holding onto her sword with one hand. Anofelis was trying to do the same, wanting to show similar respect as Morgan. Kamara, Vinisha, Oreas and Chrysidus were also looking down as they surrounded the makeshift grave which Morgan had created. Laura was also respectfully bowing her head, as they were taking a moment of silence for Illimani. After having heard the news, Morgan had gotten most agitated and upset, wanting to deliver justice to the "crooks who murdered my creator". Of course, Laura and the others had calmed her down, and had helped to set up a funeral to at least honour his memory. They remained quiet for a few minutes, soon after listening to Annie's eulogy for Illimani. Though once Annie's eulogy has ended, Morgan would give some own final words to her creator as the music softly played in the background.
"Illimani. We gather here today to... honour your legacy. For years, you helped create subjects such as myself, and ensured that our kind was able to live peacefully and to become the best versions of ourselves we could be. It is a shame then, that we must part ways so suddenly and that you will not be able to see the fruits of your labour. Alas, we will keep going, despite your passing. We will keep fighting for what is right! We will keep protecting those we love and ensuring none shall suffer as you have. I am... sorry that I wasn't able to save you earlier. I wish I could have been better, that I could've been there for you in your greatest time of need. Alas, it wasn't meant to be... And unfortunately, it means the world lost another beacon of hope... Despite your loss, the light you brought onto us, will continue to keep the coldest nights warm, and the darkest nights bright. It will motivate us to keep going. To keep doing what is right. And we will never forget the many things you taught us..."
Morgan started letting out some tears now, clearly feeling more and more pained as she kept talking. "Goodbye, Illimani. Goodbye and rest gently. I hope you can still... look down from heaven, and watch us continue doing what's right." Morgan would lower her head, keeping quiet before sniffling some more. "L-Like you said when you f-first taught me how to wield a sword... 'this blade will do many great things in your hands'... I shall do such, I-Illimani... I shall do such..." There was a bit more silence, before the radio was turned off and Morgan would remain seated at the grave marker she had made. "Thank you, e-everyone, for joining me. I-I know he wasn't your creator, so you may not feel as strongly as I do, but... i-it means a lot to me." Vinisha would walk over and pat Morgan's back, whilst Kamara went over and gave her sibling a soft hug. "No, we do understand, Morgan. We felt the same when we lost Mona." Oreas said sombrely, also patting Morgan on her back. 
You awaken surrounded by the sounds of gaskets and whirring machines, your heart races as your body seems chilled to the bones.. as you look around you realize that you have just woken up from some kind of cryogenic stasis, judging by the gnawing cold and the design of the machine from which you had awoken. It doesn’t take much longer than after you awaken to come to the conclusion that this place seems abandoned, and you seem to have lost your own memories.. unable to recall anything little more than a name.. You are: (Pick one Character, the other two will have their fates omitted from this world)
Ayana Sakama
You are Ayana Heartblade.. heir to the throne of a world spanning empire. You can still remember glimpses of wonders beyond the imagination of most peoples, and a great sense of your own arrogance and importance, but that is all. You fail to recall the face of anyone, not a single person as tears well up in you.
+Ancient Princess [P] (Technology from the ancient era will never fail activation and will always obey commands, and does not require to be hacked, including enemies operating ancient technology)
+ Cruelty [P] (+25 on attacks against prone, stunned, and vulnerable Mecha and Creatures)
+ Artifact Genetics [P] (Exceptionally beautiful, truly a wonder from a forgotten age, but in the flesh. You have a +40 with interactions between those enamored in your beauty (except combat). You always regenerate from any wound, and can recover from core collapse ONCE instead of it being a guaranteed fatality) In the year 1987, crime and corruption in America is an epidemic. Drugs and guns flow into the country from everywhere in the world, and the gateway to it all is the coastal paradise, Heat City. This is a place of shining high-rises and shadowed alleys, sunsets and smog, neon and blood, ruled by ambition and greed and power. Here in Heat City, you can get whatever you want -- if you can pay the price. 
The world is flawed.
It is not imperfect though, just crafted to be full of flaws.
Life is full of suffering and conflict, perpetual race where the living fight to find meaning and solace, either by giving themselves and each other meaning, or by taking it from those weaker than them.
An unwinnable war, a race against time, a race against “The World”.
A battle lost from the moment one is born, the pure soul is slowly drained of its myriad colors, and then cast away once it has been consumed.
Beyond the world exists a Gate, and beyond the Gate exists an Infinite World.
In that infinite world you still found suffering, that might just be a constant, but more importantly you saw the radiance of all souls, young and old; and saw meaning that does not exist at home. You learned that this infinity was cold and unfeeling, impartial and silent, and yet very comforting.
So you, [????], decided to bring “This World” into the infinite.
Not for anyone in particular, you don’t exactly have many people you care about to begin with, not out of resentment for the life you’ve had to live, after all that’s just how life in this world is.
Simply because you felt like things should be as they are beyond the Gate.
Another five joined you out of their own volition, together you worked for millenia to bring the world beyond The Gate, and failed.
The Gatekeeper did away with two, to who knows where. Another had to become one with the world and keep it from breaking apart under the immense strain from The Gate, and you don’t know what happened with the other two.
As for yourself, The Gatekeeper pushed the world away using you. Your cultivation burned away as it set the skies ablaze, your body shattered as it tore through the ocean and the world’s crust, and your soul was fragmented into infinite specks of spiritual energy, leaving nothing behind.
But that doesn’t matter, you reached the gate and went beyond it. You learned things that even The Gatekeeper itself is unaware of. Your existence "is" and "will be", it will simply resume some indeterminate amount of time in the future. Fate is simply a suggestion, and your destiny is yours alone… “Next time I will… Next…..” 
Quest Hub (party, location, neofauna information, date, time, etc.): https://rentry.org/PokepocalypseQST
Quest Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Pok%C3%A9pocalypse%20Revival (Start here if you want to catch up on the quest's previous threads!)
Updates will be attempted daily! At worst, expect an update every 2 days instead of one. Absences will be announced in advance and given definitive end dates if I can manage it.
<><><><><>
In an alternate 1884, an aspiring naturalist seeks to study a new type of fauna...
Our great United States have recently been assaulted by all manner of alien fiends! From fire-breathing anteaters to steel-clad birds of prey, all of America has been thrown into a state of turmoil as superpowered creatures, commonly referred to as demons, rampage across the land, destroying countless settlements and wreaking havoc wherever they go!
And yet, despite their catastrophic affects on this great country, there remain small sects of humanity that believe these creatures to be the key to a new world... a new world of co-existence, in which humanity needs fear them no longer...
Walter Roy Buchanan is one such man! He finds himself accompanied by three of these alien companions-- an electric sheep with great gusto, an oversized silkworm with a gentle disposition, and an infant nature spirit with the ability to paralyze his foes! All three of them are near and dear to his heart-- dear enough to convince him to endorse a small group of likeminded people, known as Staters, in defense of their safety.
But Walter does not accompany himself solely with these new beings. Alongside him are also two human companions-- Thomas J. Steele, a wealthy businessman and politician who was stranded further north alongside Walter, and a certain "Andrew" figure who's been hired by him to defend and ferry-around both Steele and Buchanan! Both men have naturally picked up demonic companions of their own, though only Andrew seems as interested in them as Mr. Buchanan.
In the present day, Buchanan and his companions reside in Sacramento for an indeterminate length of time. Mr. Buchanan wishes to return to his home state of New York, fearing for the safety of his family there after a series of statewide tragedies, but has yet to finish the studies that brought him to California in the first place. He is further anchored to the city by the offerings of a retired Civil War general, tempting him to help him with a small activist movement meant to depose the newest Governor of California, Collis Porter Huntington, after his most recent acts of law have begun actively targeting demons inhabiting the entire state. He claims there to be something rotten in the city of Sacramento... but is it Buchanan's responsibility to fix it?
Well, dear player, that all depends on you.
<><><><><> 
With the majority of the Seventh Universe united under the banner of the PTO, Emperor Cooler at its head, the universe has known a time of unrivaled peace. But in the shadows threats have been growing, nursing grudges against the PTO and the Saiyan race in particular. And now those threats are rising, stepping out of the shadows to openly challenge the established order. Seeking nothing short of the destruction of New Salda and the extinction of the entire Saiyan race, can you prevent this outcome? Or will the Saiyan race be reduced to nothing more than memories, their heroes nothing more than ink in the pages of the history books?
You the players will (most often) control Karn; wielder of the mighty Berserker Soul and hope of the entire PTO, not only the Saiyan race. From his lowly beginnings as a Saiyan Brawler with a sub-3000 powerlevel in Age 733, only a few years into his time as a member of the PTO, he has grown in power and skill, overcoming the world-ending threats that have come for the Saiyans to become the strongest Saiyan of his time at AGE 759. From the massive Covenant empire to demonic incursions, mad cultists to vengeful gods, none have been strong or clever enough to put down Karn for good. But will one man's power be enough to protect everyone from the rising threats? Or will death come from those who you least expect it from? Your choices may mean the difference between survival and extinction, so choose carefully.
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 first three correctly-rolled dice
>One dice roll per person per post unless three players have not yet rolled, and ten minutes has passed since your previous roll
>Crits are 100 on a d100(a 99 or paired rolls may net you an extra bonus)
>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 find me on twitter @GrandDragonQM, which I keep as up to date with any scheduling changes as soon as possible.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tndKYpPz2RU
REVENGE OF THE BODY SNATCHERS 
Humanity has spread out into a massive sprawling empire throughout the galaxy. The edges of the sprawl remain poorly guarded and sparsely settled after all humanity throughout a thousand stars has always been alone save for their own creations which once waged war against them. This is no longer true now an unknown force has begun to attack sector 63 and other sectors and it is up to poorly supplied and desperate sailors to hold them back.
You are the Admiral of the naval fleet of sector 63 one of nearly a 100 rimward sectors on the edge of settled human space. The war for that is what this truly is now apparently has spread to all of your neighboring sectors and has seen to the destruction of all but your capital Cartha in your sector.
The temptation to have two of the largest freighters converted to heavy cruisers is there however the enemy seems to struggle to hit smaller ships with their large laser turrets. Turning to Issac your XO “I want two light cruisers, an armed supply ship and a Landing dock ship for salvage operations. Can we do that?” Issac nods aye admiral should actually take less time even maybe four months instead” Mr meek clears his throat the scummy looking governor seemingly having something to say. “Admiral that is grand and all but how are you to defend Cartha if your fleet is not here to do so for some reason?”
>Convert shuttles into Torpedo Boats for local defense
>Set a number of old corvettes as guards
>write in
Last thread:https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6156388/
all of my Threads:https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=BrinkQM Hello, /qst/ers!
Welcome to this adventure across the fantastical land of Jubilee.
Here we will follow Irina in her waku-waku quest!
This quest is in comic format so, ehr, be warned.
This is a thread promised long ago! Yet, take
whatever happens in this thread not seriously
as Irina is >>>/i/778779 anon's OC. And
some stuff may be different from the original.
(e.g. The Helm/Marco's origin) This is Zero Quality Fantasy Quest! Welcome!
You are Zero Quality, our protagonist! People just call you Zero.
You are in a tavern drinking some beer when you see a busty elf and you get a tent.
You have 5 silver and no weapons, but you're real strong from working the fields all day everyday since you were a small lad.
What do you do?
> Drink another tankard of beer and go talk to the elf
> Slap the barmaid ass and start a brawl
> Comment to the barman how hot the elf is
> Write in 
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
_
Something very exciting was going on. Sure a fight between two cultivators isn't that uncommon nowadays, and it certainly isn't when an arrogant young master pushes their whipping boy a little too far while being closer to being their equal instead of their superior in all things. That wasn't what was exciting, though seeing that loud mouth called Barracuda get slammed face first into the floor of your recently constructed castle is quite cathartic, what's gotten your ears and tail perked up is what that whipping boy by the name of Heng has done. The sliver of natural primordial beast essence woven through his spiritual roots and rooted into his meridians, had somehow, through pure instinct or natural affinity, managed to perform without instruction, guidance or explanation a chimeric transformation. Something you didn't think could be done by anyone but a magical beast who stopped and meditated on their ability to take on a human form.
And while seeing the gentle eyed peasant boy go berserk and tear tufts of hair and claw the young master who had dared to try and tell you to send one of the students of your class on Beastial techniques away was a little entertaining, in the way that watching kittens bowl each other over and train to pounce by playing with eachother's tails was, it was that instinctive use of a fairly advance transformation technique performed by a novice of the Qi Condensation stage that had you so excited. But more than excited, you were curious, just how far Heng could go. While a beast attaining human form required certain insights and a deepening of intellect and comprehension, was the same true for Beasts?
Could a human even become a beast, even if they were overflowing with Primordial Beast Essence as high quality and refined as that which is produced within your own beast core.
Well, only one way to find out. You lift up a finger as Hai Xiannu whines and begs you to stop the very cat like fight between Heng and Suoyu, while her brother Hai Ma and her fellow pupils Xia Xiaofan and Kuángcháo gawk and watch in amazement, sometimes muttering about how the fight is going or some technique one of the two young men have just performed.
There is a ripple of bright, green the same hue as fresh spring growth or maybe Lian Luli's hair, ripples out from the tip of your finger as you connect your beast core and funnel a massive burst of the primordial beast essence churning within it through your meridians and release it from the palm of your hand and the ends of all five of your fingers.
Cont The world has fallen into ruin. The once-mighty empires have collapsed, their cities overrun by war, famine, and magic gone wild. The gods are silent, the great kingdoms are dust, and the age of heroes is but a whisper in the wind.
Yet, not all is lost. You are the last light of civilization, a remnant of a once-great people who have found refuge in a remote valley, deep within the ruins of an ancient fortress-city.
But beware! Foul things stir in the deep places, remnants of the catastrophe that ended the old world, and the heavens themselves are broken. Strange storms and unpredictable magic shape the land in ways unknown.
Here, amidst crumbling stone and forgotten magic, you must forge a new destiny. 
You are Ben Parker, super-powered criminal and thief extraordinaire. After being bitten by a radioactive spider, you underwent a miraculous change, and adopted the identity of "The Huntsman"! But it's not all bad! Your clone brother, Abel Parker, works to protect the city, and potentially help clean up some of your messes. He goes by the name of "Spider-Man"!
Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Max%20Spider%20Quest
Last time: Khonshu's gift to Cindy awakens and identifies itself as a vengeful spirit of Khonshu named Mercy. Due to her alien nature when she was alive, Mercy is able to freely manipulate her cloth body to suit Cindy's needs, making her the strongest costume Cindy's ever had the privilege of wearing!
But can she save Cindy from the treacherous members of the Monster Council? Who else can Cindy trust down here? Will Cindy be able to keep her head long enough to settle this "Slayer business", or will she lose it to one of the monsters hoping to end the prophecy?
Find out more in the latest issue of…MAXIMUM SPIDER QUEST!
Rules:
Most dice rolls will be 1d100. Modifiers will be added depending on the situation or on the alien being used(Usually +10 or -10). Crit successes and crit fails apply. Crit fails can be overridden by crit successes, but crit failures cannot override crit successes.
How to Roll:
To roll dice, type “dice+1d100” in the options field without the quotations. To roll dice with positive modifiers, type “dice+1d100+modifier number” in the options field without quotations, and with an actual modifier number. To roll dice with negative modifiers, type “dice+1d100+-modifier number” in the options field without quotations, and with an actual modifier number.
Pastebins:
Character Sheet:
https://pastebin.com/1ZihFYSV
Equipment and Gear:
https://pastebin.com/WAhveFAd
Contacts:
https://pastebin.com/WdcFXD2s
10 Commandments of the Desperados:
https://pastebin.com/Qpr2jVPE
Costumes:
https://pastebin.com/5Jie54X2
The Huntsman’s Travel Guide:
https://pastebin.com/PU6LWsip
Upcoming Events in the Maximum Universe:
https://pastebin.com/DceSEjiR
Good luck and have fun! 
Quest archives
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Krypt-Chan
“Do you think you can help me? I’m not really bad, if I wanted to eat you I would!”
“You’ll eat me?”
“I mean, no, I meant that I can but won’t because I’m not a bad bug!”
Be it the bizarreness of the situation or his mind too tired to think, this made sense to Tobias. A normal tyranid would eat him by now. He stared at the yellow pupils, almost drawn into her eyes and face. The moon’s pale light accentuated the sharp angles of her nose and lips that resembled so close to a human.
“I’ll help you…”
“Really?”
A smile revealed the deadly maw of jagged fangs. Ninety-Nine’s tail wagged.
“Yes, where do you need to go?”
“I don’t know.” Ninety-Nine set Tobias down. She cupped her cheek as she pondered. “I’m not going to look so well when I come in… Where are we?”
“Sector Six.” Tobias said. “We’re close to Sector Five here.”
“Oh that’s where Stracken is!” Ninety-Nine cheered. “But he won’t recognize me without any armor…”
“I can go back by myself.” Tobias offered. “I’m certain you will be shot moment you are seen, and I will be as well since they will assume I am under your control.”
>I’ll follow you until you get to Sector Five, I’ll wait at the entrance. I’ll hide if I see anyone.
>I can wait here
>Write-in
Additional choice (optional)
>“I wouldn’t really eat you by the way… you have pretty eyes that’d be a waste.” [Face check]
>“I wouldn’t really eat you by the way… Not that I think you’ll taste bad but I like having you here.” [Face check] 
With the battle already finished and your regiment's forces at last reunited, your captains of horse waste no time in approaching you, quick to deliver their apologies for not arriving in time for the battle. After your army moved out, says one Gautier Dessany, your regiments had assembled on the day after in the place you had previously camped at, as had been expected of them. Although the message that you had moved on had managed to arrive, it was only wheen your cannonfire was sounded that they had learned the battle had already begun, and picked up the pace accordingly.
You, of course, accepted those apologies without much issue; although their lack of presence worried you at first, you have come to think it may have perhaps been a deliverance of fortune in the end—who could say, if they had been here from the start, that the enemy would have felt emboldened enough to deliver the attacks they did, and thus bring you such a fortuitously clean victory? Would it not have been better if they instead pulled back and avoided combat entirely? Nay, you conclude. Through the benefit of hindsight, you come to believe you have done what you did right.
Just because the battle is over, however, does not mean your day shall be less the busier - now comes the ever so necessary process of putting your army together again into a marching state! Already, you can see your new 'prisoners' being stripped of their arms and armor, that they may be bound in rope and kept danger-free until you have decided whatever you shall do with them. There is also the healing of the wounded! Because you have access to the phyisicans of the Order of Santo Cor, many of the men who might have died in the armies of other states may be rescued instead. Your own dead, too, must be buried accordingly.
Come nightfall, your camp has slowed to its common state, the men drink their share to a well-fought victory, splurging greedily on their pay. You are told that, of the nearly 60 men who were grievously wounded, only 35 died, almost equal in number between your Third and Tenth companies of foot, the latter of which were the mercenary arquebusiers brought by the Banda Grisa. Nonetheless, such small losses are certainly not bad!
"They are of negligible quantity, sire." says Hugues, as you go over the after-battle report. "Not enough to damage their fighting capabilities."
"I suppose it is good we have lost so few men as it is." you reply.
"Verily, my lord. You have shown yourself to be an adept leader in this day," he begins, in a tone you know not to be of mere flattery. "I am of the utter belief you shall become an respected general, should you maintain the abilities you hath shown today."
"I thank thee for thy words, Hugues, but I know my abilities to be far from perfect; experienced as you are, you must know any mistakes I have made, no?" you ask, wishing to make use of your staff officer's past for your own wealth. 
Thread archives
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=The%20Imperium%20of%20Man%20Princess%20Quest
What needed to be done.
Pangea scoffed. This courtesy was to be done out of preventing Lorgar's rage. Nothing more. Later in the day, Pangea sent the recording to Lorgar without much of a thought.
Old Gods.
Old Faith.
A world already tainted. Disgust prickled her throat as she stared at Colchis from the bridge inside Hydra. The dark grey interior and Hydra's familar clicks and low hums echoed softly unlike the almost silent interiors of Bucephelus. Diani stood on Pangea's left, silent but dutiful as ever with Hector at the head of the bridge overseeing security with Hayward.
“This planet should be just colonized by Imperium citizens instead of leaving it untouched or unstripped.”
To think those misguided worshippers would be part of the Imperial Army, the very thought wanted her to gag. Certainly, due to being a homeworld of primarch the Colchisian forces will gain certain privileges that no other regiments will have. The thought stoked her disdain hotter.
“At the very least, that damn monastery should be blown up.”
“Shall I inform the Master of Ordinance and prepare some refreshments for the viewing?” Diani said playfully.
Pangea rolled her eyes.
“Funny.”
The dark grey interior and Hydra's familar clicks and low hums echoed softly. Hector climbed up the stairs to Pangea, his jaws clenched with a worried gaze. He eyed the tabac stick nestled between her index and middle finger.
“Lorgar Aurelion has arrived, your eminence.”
Pangea blowed out a puff of smoke.
“Good, tell him I'll meet him in my office.”
Pangea always thanked Diani's work. The once blanket of parchments, used quills, and dried inkwell that habitated on her wooden table disappeared. A circular ceiling light with hanging chains of glass and different shaped lamps made from various materials illuminate her office. Various scented candles were scattered in small corners and on top of cabinets and containers, leaving no corners unlit and shrouded. Beige marble floor reflected the light, almost glowing from how much the floor bounced back the light.
“Sister.”
Lorgar on the red carpet that stretched from the entrance to her table. Pangea's eyes watched Lorgar's steps, and saw his feet stepping on the Aquila without much of a thought. Lorgar sat on the large chair clearly fit for an astartes or a short primarch on his own.
“Tea?” Pangea gestrued toward a Primarch sized cup with a large teapot.
“Please." Lorgar took the cup and sipped on the tea. "The brew is elegant, thank you.”
“I'm glad. I invited you here to inform you of this.” 
1st thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6156570/
_
Sven-033's Qualities: [Special] Giant, Maverick, Officer
Sven-033's Advancement Paths: Brawler 2/10, Bulwark 1/10, Jötunn 1/4
Sub Objective Progress: The Chief's favorite 4/5, Apple in her Eye 4/5, Artificial Artisan 1/?
_
Mood Music: https://youtu.be/qrabM3o2YuM
_
It was an easy choice. A chance to reclaim the name that was taken from you, a chance to have at least some say in your future and path in life. As the last faint trails of smoke rose from the fresh ash of Chief Petty Officer Mendez's cigar, you took the OCS Application form he had pushed across the desk and take the pen that was clipped to it. For a moment, your heart sank, as you tried to remember how to spell your last name and for one, brief and terrifying instant couldn't remember. But closing your eyes, pacing your breathing and entering a state of calm, you dive into your memories and surface again with the family name that you had nearly forgotten.
In bright blue ink, you scrawl "Sven Askeland" atop the form, and without another word exchanged push it back to the CPO's side of the desk. Beneath his grey cut beard, on the usual disciplined and expressionless face of Mendez, a smile that to your eyes looked proud of you emerged as he took the papers and pulled a stamp from inside of his desk.
"You'll begin next month. We'll keep this hush hush until the blank ink is scrubbed from this projects records. All the teachers will know, is you are an extraordinarily bright young man whose dreamt of military service since he was out of diapers, Traine-033. They won't know your age or any of your background details. And until you earn your commission, you'll be a ghost in their Reach Naval Officers Academy."
He nodded, silently dismissing you and ordering you to return to Deja's morning class before you missed to much of it.
"And, this is off the record, and if you tell any of the other trainees or instructors I'll make sure you regret it, Boot" He called out, right before you reached the door "But I wish you luck, Sven, and hope that we'll both live to see me salute you as my superior office, somewhere down the line. Dismissed"
You smiled, and nodded back
Progress has been made to the final Progress Point of Sub Objective: The Chief's Favourite
"I'll hold you to that promise, Chief" You call back, just as you slip out the door and jog double time back to the classroom, pinching your arm when you reached the stairs leading to it, just to make sure all of this wasn't a dream. You could almost jump for joy and shout the name you took back, sure you were still Sven-033, but you had your old name back to now. And that was worth more to than any amount of extra desert rations or commendations. And after spending four years training to become the best of the best, and a modern day Spartan, going through Officer Candidate School as well would be as easy as a pleasant woodland stroll.
Cont 
After your master perished, his dungeon did not simply fall—it was annihilated in a cataclysm of stone, flame, and collapsing sorcery. You barely had time to snatch an armful of tomes from his private collection before the walls cracked, the sigils burned out, and the world came crashing down around you. Fleeing through a hidden escape tunnel, you emerged into the cold night just in time to witness the final death throes of your former home. A thunderous roar split the air, followed by a rolling wave of dust and debris that swallowed the entrance whole. It was gone. The dungeon, your master, and all his grand ambitions, buried under a mountain of ruin.
The old fool had gambled on immortality and lost. The so-called heroes made sure of that, cutting him down in a battle you hadn’t even been there to witness. And in his paranoia, he had bound the dungeon’s very foundations to his lifeblood, ensuring that if he died, his domain would die with him. Well, it worked—too well. Now he lay entombed beneath tons of shattered rock and broken wards, and nothing short of a divine wish could bring him back. Not that you had any idea where to find one. And even if you did, would you really waste it on this mess?
For a time, you wandered, alone and uncertain, before stumbling upon a handful of survivors—goblins, of course. Of all the dungeon’s denizens, they were the cockroaches of the underworld, scurrying from calamity with their lives intact through sheer, unrepentant cowardice. And yet, as they huddled together in the moonlight, clutching salvaged scraps, you couldn’t help but think: perhaps their knack for survival could be useful.
“What’ve you got there, goblins?” you ask, eyeing the bundles in their grubby hands.
One of them, a wiry thing with oversized ears, holds up a rusted set of spring-loaded spikes. “Traps! We saved what we could. Could help, you know... when we start our own.”
You pause.
Now that’s an idea.
A new dungeon. Your dungeon.
And as luck would have it, you know just the place...
> An abandoned silver mine near the remains of a razed human village—rich veins of ore and deep tunnels, if you can handle the restless dead.
> A winding cave system leading to the ruins of a long-forgotten drow outpost—dark, treacherous, and still whispering with lost magic.
> The crumbling remains of a half-flooded underground temple, looted long ago but steeped in ancient, lingering power.
> Write in. 
You are a magical girl, you know that much, but you’re not really sure where you are, or exactly who you are; not only can you not see, hear or smell a single thing, but you can’t feel your body at all, nor recall how long you’ve been stuck in this… place. Perhaps not unexpectedly, and due to your complete and utter inability to make out anything in your surroundings, you can’t spot anything resembling walls, a floor or a ceiling, so everything around you is a blended-together, eye-wateringly intense (but also eerily calming) black… and yet, you are somehow aware that even if you could somehow see something, anything at all, it wouldn’t be much use at all. Well, if that isn’t just slightly puzzling. Yes, it most certainly is, but there’s not much you can do about it, right? At least, for now.
Taking that into account, and for a few moments that seem to last forever in this timeless space, you simply continue existing, gazing eyelessly into the unchanging void around you as your non-present brain in your absent body attempts to process the situation without much success. A few more eternal instants, and, perhaps bored of simply staring at nothing, forever, your long-departed brain attempts to recall the past in order to clue you in on the situation… but, as if attempting to collect water from an empty well, you end up drawing a complete blank: effectively, and to nobody’s surprise, there is nothing to recall or remember or reminiscence about. Maybe there was never anything there in the first place. But as relevant as that single piece of information would be in the grand scheme of things, you have no way of finding out the truth or verifying that not-that-unreasonable hypothesis. Because, ultimately, you’re nothing but a floating ball of vague and distant thoughts in the middle of nowhere in particular.
An indeterminate amount of hypothetical time passes yet again, and another vague thought floats to the forefront: maybe, just maybe, this isn’t so bad after all! Indeed, though the situation you find yourself in may be classified as disconcerting or disorientating, it’s actually not that unpleasant if you use your voided brain to think about it: there is no pain, no suffering, no hunger, no desire, no thirst, no anguish, no fear, no craving, and you need not worry about an unchangeable past, an unstable present or an uncertain future. Perhaps this is how things were meant to be. Perhaps, from the start of all things to the end of all of creation, this is the correct state of existence, a formless and aimless void stretching forever and ever, unbothered and unbothering, without beginning or end.
[1/6] 
The world you've reincarnated yourself into was nearly perfect. The overdone and stale tropes gave you comfort. You know what to expect, and where to expect it from. That included the evil as much as it did the good.
Your dreams of having a harem of beautiful women that would pamper you and devote themselves to you entirely, mixed with your more recent desires to expand your wives and future children a nice place to live, was nearly torn to shreds.
Last week was almost enough to make the reality of this magical world set in: A force of nearly 1,000 bandits sought to invade your estate. You imagines this was the reason why many isekai protags liked going under the radar was soon shown to you, though in all fairness you hadn't been doing much to stand out. All you'd done was invade one of their smaller camps with a giant mech. Was such a response really needed? It seemed like cliches could be deadly.
But not for you.
Thanks to your leadership, the robotic clankers, the defensive preparations, your wives' fighting skills, and a giant laser, the bandit scum were repelled without much issue. With at least 400 dead in their ranks, the losses would keep them licking their wounds and give you some time to breathe.
Antagonists were a thing to be expected. Something that you expected. They existed to keep the story going and let the mc show off how cool he is, and maybe save another cute chick which would soon be added into his harem of doting women. What story would be complete without a few villains?
But on the other hand... It would be nice if everything got solved smoothly.
Anyway, the fact still remained: You needed to be prepared.
Three things were needed the most— money, energy, and an army.
Money was pretty much accounted for. You had a cotton farm and more than enough food items to sell. But if you really wanted to rake in those precious gold coins, there was a plan you'd been shaping together with Herta.
"As the Goddess of Artifice," She'd boast. "I'm without equal when it comes to creating things!" You were both seeking to smelt one of the rarest metals of the world.
Aluminum.
That flimsy stuff you used to take for granted in your last life was not yet mass produced. From your experience in Centria, it was bound to sell well. This was your golden goose, and you didn't intend to fumble it.
The size and scope of the project made it impossible to keep Ruby Rose from knowing about it. And once you told her of your plan, she was fully on board with it.
"Your genius is truly unparalleled, Master~" Her elegant contralto flattered you. >You take the role as customers at a new trinket shop that has appeared in town, Try to make a heafty profit after robbing the local wizard or ask for powerfull artifacts to get that 6-10 Goth Girl, rember money is far from the only currency
>Post your offers, desighered items, trade ins, or services
Welcome! soon to be marks, Id be happy to buy/sell/trade any supernatual Item
Just let me know What you want and ill make a steal of a deal
"Fae and Armenian free enstablisment since 1991" 
You watch the formed droplets of water flow down the glass before you. The officer around you is large, temperature controlled, and also a part of the governmental building, with you having a private office at the very top of it, as is befitting your stature as the one and only Edel of house Hardrada.
Despite the great advances you had managed to achieve, to steer the course of a colony made up of a bunch of traumatised and mentally scarred veterans, you had managed to avoid violence with surprising efficiency and ease, mainly due to your nature. And yet, now, everything just seems so worrisome.
“David ?” Finally calling out your name, Zack draws your attention.
Right, you are still in the middle of a meeting, your mind wandered. “Yes, I am listening.” You finally manage to steel your mind and concentrate.
Zack sighs. The energetic man that would never shut up once he got going had, while not losing his enthusiasm, aged. Clear wrinkles, tired eyes that are there no matter how much he tries to sleep. Not to mention that the man never liked exercising, so the years of staying in the lab had resulted in him, well, getting fat. Still, he, and you for that matter, are far off batter than Ashwin. You have no idea how long he will last. 
A foot comes down on your head and grinds your nose into the ground.
You understand some guys are prone to liking this sort of thing, especially when it comes from a beautiful woman of gentle birth with a rack twice the size of her head. Unfortunately you happen to be a woman yourself, with a strong preference for men, and an even stronger distaste for bitches like the one who's decided to stomp on your head. The front row view to the silk beneath that peaks out from beneath her skirt makes you more judgmental of her taste in underwear than it excites you.
"Pigs?" you ask between a mouthful of dirt. "Seriously?"
"A washboard and a pervert!" The black-skinned beauty hollers with laughter. She gives you a shove with her foot and a kick to your ribs. "Perhaps I should report you to the Collegia Administratum for harassment. They'd be doing a useless flatty like you a favor if they kicked you out!"
Her posse giggles. You haven't bothered learning any of their names, not the bitch and not her friends, it's just not worth the effort. Just like everyone else, they insisted you lacked the assets for sorcery. That if you wanted to join a Adventuring Guild, you'd be better off learning sword arts like a man, become the rare female warrior who dodges an unfortunate end. At least they had the tact to simply say "you lack the swell of magic".
"Not... useless..." you grumble through the dirt.
"Hoh...?" the bitch casts a spell to pull you roughly from the ground, dragging your sore and beaten body to eye level. "The flatty thinks she's not useless? You've had more than twenty years to swell with magic, and what have you to show for it, huh? No, no, let me show you the difference between our stature."
The bitch pressed her chest to yours, a common way for sorceresses to assert dominance by comparing the magic that stirs in their bosom. Despite your twenty one years and your otherwise impressive stature that exceeds six feet... this rich girl near a foot shorter than you easily smothers what little magic swells above your heart. Your face twists in disgust, as you've always hated such rituals...
Though a small voice wonders if you'd hate it less if you had something more impressive to show.
"Do you feel it?" the woman purrs. "This is the gap between a flatty like you and the magical might of the well endowed. You should meditate on your deficiencies and consider where your strengths lie. After all, the Collegia Espada could always use more orc-bait~!"
As she lets you drop to the ground, your eyes narrow. Telling you to go become a swordswoman is one thing. Disrespecting the fate suffered by so many female warriors is another thing entirely.
What do you do?
>Leave before you do something stupid.
>Use a [Cantrip] to light her hair on fire.
>Use a [Cantrip] to cut her blouse open.
>Use a [Cantrip] to flip her skirt.
>Use a [Cantrip] to dunk her with water.
>Something else? 
Greetings, and good day to you all!
Some of you may be familiar with NRP, or nations roleplay, or perhaps civ builders may be something you know? Anyways, it is essentially DnD but Risk, played out on larger scale. Builders typically use more numerical means of tracking play, while NRP prefers more figurative means - "it's all about telling a story, losing is part of play, weaker nations get crushed in the course of history and sometimes buddy - you're weaker." It is up to the GM's discretion to be a fair and balanced arbiter in these games. No one is perfect.
Long story, we are having a game on going with several players, still in early stages. Barely 10 turns in, and we are having issues with some player's real life obligations taking a priority over some silly internet game. It would be detrimental to the game to have their nation erased entirely, so we are seeking a player to possibly take over this slot.
We are a bunch of 4chan retards, so expect the occasional /pol/ humor or abrasiveness from a Polack. The players faction/nation/people's submission is this. Anyone interested?
Tribe:MANIČHÚŊTHEȞIKE (those who walk within the forest ) AKA Forest Walkers
Race: Stocky Dark skinned people, their hair ranges from dark black to rust red, they have eyes of either ice blue or forest green. They look like humans.
Colour: dark green
Biome preference: Temperate Rainforest, Like the American Pacific Northwest along a coastline preferably. With heavy rainfall, some kind of mountain range, A large Old Growth forest they would live in, and varied wildlife.
Size: They are Average in height the tallest of the Forest Walkers standings round 5’8 or 1.7 Meters
Lifespan: Normal. Life span ranges to the mid 80s for the women, men is slightly lower
Quirks:
Oral tradition -Good- innovation bonus, Knowledge and tradition retention bonus Favorable starting spot
Nature Magic -Good- large foraging bonus as your main thing would be growing plants and a defensive bonus
Born Hunter Gatherers -Good- large foraging bonus, and military bonus
One with the Trees -Good- Ambush Bonus, Defensive Bonus, And (TBD)
Custodians of the land -bad- May only settle in predetermined areas
Blunt -bad- incapable of lying or keeping silent
>Also I am not sure if this is the final result, will have to get in touch with GM about how the Forest Walkers are right now. 
You lean back in your seat, folding your arms defensively, you stare at the paper and one thought just keeps repeating itself over and over as you look at it.
This isn't right.
His choice of words.. 'the department can move on from this'. Not to mention that you aren't a fool, you know more than one officer has gotten overzealous and stepped past the bounds of a warrant or agreement. What's to stop them from using this to keep tabs on you? Is it paranoid to think this? Is it even paranoia? You frown and shake your head, you won't do this. Not blind at least. You lean forward and set your elbows on the paper, a clear sign.
"I'm not signing anything until you explain to me WHY I'm a person of interest in this? Hell, I'd like to know what THIS is."
Irons scowls and he sets his notebook down with a deliberate tenderness. He opens his hands and shrugs.
"Mark, be reasonable-"
"I am." You cut him off, suddenly but not harshly. "This isn't about an ambulance ride and a guy I offered a drink. Besides, this is all off the record isn't it?"
You punctuate your rhetorical with a pointed look to the recorder still standing tall on the edge of the table. Detective Irons glances at it himself and reaches out to pick it up. He takes it into his hands and his eyes lock on, you recognize the familiar absence of a man in memory, you take the moment to take a small breath and focus. You direct all your mental energy towards the detective, opening your neural paths like lifting the arm of a railroad crossing. A familiar rush starts to fade in only to be stopped. Hard. Your eye twitches, the inside of your head feels like a raging furnace, like a lasso of white hot pain was wrapped around your tumor ridden gray matter and pulled taut. You feel a surge of nausea. Your vision swims. All the while you struggle to keep a straight face, to not let the smoke from your hippocampus leak through your expression. You hear no words, no whispered secrets, or visions of his past. To your discomfort, your mind is silent and still as you cease concentration.
Detective Irons glances up, breaking from his own memory as he tucks the recorder in his jacket, his eyebrows shoot up and he nods.
"You're nose is bleeding, Officer." He says, sliding you a crumpled napkin.
"Thanks.." You mutter, still shaking off the fading psychic burn.
Irons stares at you for a few moments as you plug your leaking nose and eventually he sighs.
"You want me to level with you, DeLucia? I'd love to. But I can't unless you sign the form."
"There's got to be SOMETHING you can tell me. I just need a little more info."
Irons flips a few pages on his notebook, letting it rest on the table. He flips until he gets to a certain point. Pick race and location.
It is going to be very small scale. For generations, the Kingdom of Lindan has been under siege by an otherworldly threat, that of demons. Hailing from a barbarous and unusual land and with skills that defy all magic, science, and logic, known as Cheat Skills, these Strangers all have the capability of bringing on the end of all times if they use their talents improperly. As such, an organization was formed, known as the Inquisition, to combat these hellspawn and send them back from the depth they’ve come from…
Though in more recent news you, Lorina de Lindan, the first princess and third heir to the throne of Lindan who has just been promoted. You are now an Inquisitor for the duration of your current mission proving the “innocence” of the only five noble estates not attacked during the recent Stranger insurrection on the capital. Oh, and those estates all belong to some of the most powerful noble houses in the kingdom, with heirs that all despise you. Good luck with that! You feel like you’ll need it. 
A drone, one of numerous multitudes, hovers over your core unleashing a steady, tiny, but powerful stream that cuts through your hull, trying to undo the haphazard repair work carried out centuries ago.
Another buzzes to the side, installing a newly manufactured camera to give you better oversight of the chamber.
More and more of your sight is restored, every single wiring replaced, every connection restored gives you more and more of a bearing about your surroundings. Having spent years relying on but your primary core camera or the various drones and robots you control, witnessing your surroundings via what could be considered to be entirely you. The overall process is a swift one and not that difficult, though frustratingly, much of your full hull is cut off and most likely scattered around the forge-temples. Regardless, in but a few days of intense and precise work, you have once again restored full feeling of the section you are in. No more faulty wiring to bother your endeavours, nor any blind spots that you have to worry about. When it comes to the damage, it had not been as bad as you feared, with there being a few holes and cracks here and there. The area housing your core had been deep within your own hull, as such the damage had been limited. As for your other hull parts, now that is a question you are curios to learnt the answer to. Though most likely those areas would have suffered far more extensive damage.
All the while you were conducting this simple, but important work, you had put your void assets to good use. Your logistics subsystem had been working overtime, getting all of the raw materials needed to get your voidyard up and running non-stop while it produces hundreds of mining vessels. Large, a kilometre and a half long ship with a wide midship is meant to devour entire asteroids by itself and to process the important materials while discarding any other remnants that would be deemed not worth the effort to process. Each of these ships would possess two hundred mining drones and two dozen exploration drones. These can be rebuilt by the mining vessel which possess on board manufacturing capabilities as well as refining ability. Other than that, the mining ships, specifically the Falun-class mining vessel, possess thick armour plates, similar to those of the Imperium’s, meant to take asteroid hits more than anything. As for armaments the Falun has, two dozen mining laser turrets meant to cut out chunks from larger asteroids for easier processing. These can be turned against opponents if it calls for it, but their effectiveness drops off at greater distances, so while posing a threat, the mining vessel is not meant for outright combat. When one thinks of the followers of Khorne, the mind tends to wander to thoughts of hulking red and gold Chaos Marines, Festooned with skulls, Blades, and an Aura of Unquenchable Bloodlust. And while those Imposing Demigods of Combat are arguably the most often looked upon by the Eyes of Khorne, They are certainly not the most Numerous. For every 500 chaos marine applicants, willing or unwilling, only 1 will make it as a Astartes of the God of Blood. These Lucky few have little patience for anything but combat, but war by oneself is nigh impossible. Plunder Alone cannot sustain a warband, So legions of mortal followers, From Captains to Hereteks to Menials to Recruit-Fodder, serve their purpose, Managing, Manufacturing, Toiling, on ships to planets to help Khornes Chosen on their never ending quest for slaughter. After all, What are they to do?
Refuse? 
You grabbed Miranna's hand.
“Wait,” you said, “let is not be hasty.”
“Why not?” —she squinted— “he’s a scout; why else would he be in the skies here alone? He was not. Should we let him go, the Demon King will know our whereabouts.”
You turned to Mwaus, his clawed hands continuing to wave around, bewildered as to why the Nettle Harpy was not responding in kind.
“I don’t think he remembers anything of his task, even if he was sent out to scout out the place,” you whispered. “Right now, he’s convinced that he’s the Demon King’s sole heir. We can make use of this.” Seeing Miranna lift an eyebrow, you added, “I don’t desire the Demon King’s throne. Once all the Generals and the King are dealt with, we shall let this demon have it.”
Miranna’s ashen lips silently shaped the words: ‘Are you kidding?’
“He’s an imp, hero! Or might as well be one,” she craned her neck, the tangled of white, messy hair veiling to cover her ears and forehead. “Do you have any notion of the chaos he could unleash with such powers? Or how the other demons might react?” As you reached to shed the wings, Miranna grasped your shoulders. “Think again, hero! Imagine the power you could wield as the Demon King, ruler of all?”
“Miranna,” you said, staring deep into her inflamed eyes. “It’s not what I want. You promised to regard my wants. The prophecy doesn’t mention the throne.”
“And yet!—“
“We aren’t crowning him today, you realise? It’s going to take a while. We’ll have ample time to prepare him,” you said, tendering a reassuring smile. “Unless … Miranna, you’d want the throne for yourself? Sure, if you wish—“
Grimacing, the Nettle Harpy retracted her talons and spread them wide before her. “Not I, hero. Being trapped in Banefroth, with every imp, demon, hound, and spirits needing something from me, no matter how trivial and annoying. I’d go crazy with all the responsibilities,” she said. “I’m content where I’m now.”
“Where you were.” You reminded, scratching at your ear. “For the prophecy not to harm -you-, I’ll have to rename your new title, perhaps a Demon Lord?” you asked. “Neither you or I desire the burdensome role. We shall leave it to him.”
“What are you two talking about!?” Mwaus walked between you, like a neglected child forgotten by his parents. Blood dripped from a fresh claw mark on his hand.
Miranna eyes fluttered in annoyance. You cleared your throat.
“I promised to cook you a proper roasted hare, didn’t I? Let me keep my promise.”
Mwaus pressed his other hand to hide the gash. “The human shall prepare us a meal? Do so, then. And see that it is impeccable, I’ll accept nothing less.”
Miranna grabbed Mwaus by the back of his collar, dragging him violently off the ground. Her irises sizzled like red coals until only flaming dots remained.
“You called me a Nursemaid? Is that what I am?” 
You are a SKELETAL MAW - a person (?) reincarnated as a monster in a fantasy world.
Initially spawning as a Bone Turtle, you have done quests and wandered the Deadlands, levelling up your skills and even evolving one time.
In more detail, in the previous thread you:
>got acquainted with a reaper adventurer, Arthur, while dungeon-diving
>got quests from a strange guiding voice to recover your memories
>intervened in battles between a lich girl and her nemesis (2 times)
>traded with a skeleton caravan
>killed an undead tiger
>looted some magical power crystals from various sources
>put the undead of a border fortress to rest
>killed a mad wizard on request from the reaper
>agreed to assist a group of bone scouts (they're not made of bones, they're searching through bones for profit) in looting a secret treasury by protecting them from undead
Currently, you're with the scouts in the fortress where the portal to the secret treasury has been opened. And there are some monsters on the way for sure...
(I'm back and fixed all the technical problems for now. Let's roll.)
Previous thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6125909/ 
Previous Threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=The%202nd%20Primarch%20Quest
_
The presence of villains of the lowest of character, the slave taking raiders descended from the very worst of the old Aeldari empire, have once again emerged from the gloom to torment the children of mankind. New Varro had been found through the efforts of the league of Celestial Explorers, the world whose people who had long found shelter within the mist and fog swept valleys of Shangrala, whose stolen sons and daughters had fought and given their lives in the wars against the native tyrants of your home. And it had been found to still be predated upon by the thrall takers of the sadists with hearts twisted and withered by cruelty. One of the enemies of not only humanity, but all gentle natured races populating the stars.
They had been tracked to one of that cruel world's neighboring planets, a fellow death world, that those who first looked upon it described in poetry as the "Fanged Cauldron the devours all hope", a seething, acidic mire that churned with the rising and falling of metallic spires that seemed like the fangs of some great country devouring beast. It was in this Hellish bog that the Aeldari raiders hid themselves away and took their prisoners from New Varro and nearer worlds. As they had once tried to do upon fair Shangrala. You knew this hideaway was a waystation of sorts, before they would return with their harvest of innocents to the darker depths of the webway.
And knowing this, and knowing thus that they would have made a shield around themselves with their captured victims and playthings, you knew that even being given the reins of command of all available imperial forces on this mission of slaver eradication, that you could not simply assault their fortresses burrowed deep in the Cauldron's ever bubbling, ever shifting terrain. An Orbital bombardment to test the new line of star ship armaments, as Tao Dandan had suggested, could simply not be carried out until the captives were saved. Similarly, an armored rain and crawling advance of tanks and squadrons of fighter jets, would also put the innocent victims in harms way, which Dai Niu admitted he had not accounted for in his plans, a lesson to the young recruits for your legion that even veterans of war can overlook key details in a battleplan. And Liberty's suggestion to lure the raiders into a trap, was too risky as those who stayed behind to watch the slave pens may flee into the webway with their captives when they realize the doom of their compatriots.
No, the most efficient means to save those lost souls of New Varro, is the same method you have used to great effect on tyrants across worlds and stars. Infiltration, followed by a swift, clean decapitation strike upon the local leaderships of these stellar bandits. Sowing Chaos, before striking a decisive and felling blow with the army under your command.
Cont 
Nine years ago King Aiden Perenolde betrayed the Alliance and sided with the Horde of Orgrim Doomhammer. Nine years ago Prince Alric Perenolde, the second heir of Alterac was sent into exile for his own protection. This exile turned permanent and Captain Normand Garside, your guardian for the past nine years made sure that you were safe and learned the useful skills that would help you in the future.
Now you are ready to carry the responsibility and unite the scattered Alteraci people and reclaim the lands that were once the Kingdom of Alterac.
With your position secured as the Lord Commander of the Expeditionary Force, the push into the northern gnoll claimed territory continued. Your army marched into the ancient forest in four columns in hopes of triggering the gnolls to attack you and exactly that happened.
They came at you during the night and after buying some time for your men, you delivered a decisive win over them, killing their gnoll mage leader in a great duel. Now with the gnoll warband destroyed, only their camp and stragglers remain here. But that is only one half of the gnolls dealt with as they control considerable territory east of you close to the farmlands and Internment Camps of Durnholde. Protecting them is the reason why you are here after all.
Though while you are campaigning, Eligius and his group are on a daring rescue mission to find and retrieve your little sister Alicia Perenolde from the Syndicate. Their job wouldn't be an easy one, some might even call it a suicide mission!
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 are Astra, a fledgling angel still in training, entrusted with your very first mission! A mischievous imp has slipped through the celestial veil and descended into the mortal realm, and it’s up to you to track it down before it wreaks havoc.
Though imps may seem like mere pests, their danger should never be underestimated. Given time—and enough harvested souls—even the smallest of these fiends can ascend to the rank of a demon lord, threatening to plunge the world into darkness and spark a full-scale demonic invasion. Failure is not an option.
Let's see... what the tech level of the world you've been assigned to?
> Stone Age – Tribes and survival, where fire is a newfound wonder.
> Bronze Age – The rise of kingdoms, chariots, and the first great cities.
> Iron Age – Empires expand, warriors clad in steel march to war.
> Medieval – Castles, knights, and the struggle between faith and power.
> Renaissance – A time of art, discovery, and political intrigue.
> Modern – The world of industry, firearms, and global conflicts.
> Cyberpunk – A neon-drenched dystopia where megacorporations reign.
> Spacefaring – Humanity among the stars, with technology beyond imagination. 
Crrreeeaaakkkkk. The sound of a door opening on rusty hinges, followed swiftly by a slam as it closes, is the first thing to penetrate the thick fog of your pounding hangover. As your eyes flutter open, the dim light filling the room is enough to send brief spikes of agony through your already aching head. But as your vision adjusts, you find yourself seated in a dusty office. A heavy oaken desk sits before you, covered in a thick layer of dust—only disturbed by the imprint of your arms and head, where you must have leaned against it as you fell asleep last night.
The rest of the room is much as you’d expect: a pair of dust-covered chairs across the desk from you, a door flanked by two large glass windows whose blinds are thankfully letting in only a sliver of light. A corkboard hangs on the wall to your right, with a few Pre-War posters and pamphlets still stuck to it, though a large, recently drawn map covers most of the board.
As you begin to collect yourself, the sound of glass clattering shakes you from your reverie. A glass of clean-enough-looking water seemingly materializes on the desk before you. You instinctively reach for a weapon, but your hand grasps at empty air—you’ve apparently misplaced all of yours. As adrenaline surges and you blink your eyes clear, you spot the source of the glass: a young woman with short-cropped blonde hair. She had apparently been behind you as you woke and brought the glass.
Her smiling face and comely good looks do little to set you at ease, but between the pounding headache and dry mouth, you take the offered glass and quickly drain its tepid contents. As you do, the young woman begins to speak…
“Hey, Mayor! Hope you enjoyed last night’s celebrations and were able to get some rest. We were introduced last night, but I doubt you remember it. My name’s Ashley, and I’m your assistant! I can't wait to help you turn this town around!”
>“Mayor? Hold on… Mayor? I’m no mayor—I don’t even remember how I got here!”
“Oh wow, you must have enjoyed the party more than I realized… Of course you won the election—you’re the mayor now!”
It’s starting to come back to you now—the election… Except it wasn’t much of an election. In fact, you’re not certain a vote was even cast. No, it was a…
(Select One) 
“We’ll be back in a year, just remember your job lad. The lamp is in good order, as is the horn. You’ve plenty of provisions, oil, and coal. You should be able to take care of any issues with the workshop. Stay sharp though lad, don’t get complacent. The storms will start up in a few more weeks, and Saint Brendan’s has a way of getting to you after a while. Keep your hands busy and stay on top of things though, and you’ll be fine.”
The Captain extends his hand, which you accept in a farewell shake. It is a weathered appendage, worn from a lifetime of voyaging across the seas and from his advanced age, but there is still a weary strength to it. He gives you a few firm shakes before releasing his grip.
“Mind the light and hold fast lad.”
With this final dispensation of wisdom the Captain turns and makes his way up the gang plank to his small tramp freighter. The Cape Rose is aged, covered in rust and barely worthy of the honor of being a ship. Black smoke rises as her boilers set to turning her screw, and a handful of her crew members wave at you as she slinks away.
They were the same men who unloaded the tons of supplies needed for you to see to your task on Saint Brendan’s Isle. To man the lighthouse that even now loomed at the periphery of your sight, ensuring that it warned off nearby ships from the jagged black rocks that surround and make up the isle.
You wave back to the men, they had done their job well and provided some company on the long voyage from the mainland. Turning from the small ship as she heads out to sea you take in the sight of your new home.
Saint Brendan’s is a relatively small land mass, made up of sharp volcanic rock that thrusts up from the ocean in dramatic cliff faces and curving coves. You are standing on a weather-beaten quay, made out of decidedly non-native grey granite blocks, in the largest of these coves. Dark sand makes up a miniscule beach around the edges of the manmade structure, and you had spied a few similar landings from the Cape Rose as she made her initial approach. But those shores were guarded by more of the volcanic stone, with menacing spires reaching from the depths, breaking rolling waves from the open ocean before they could assault the land proper with their full fury.
All manner of seagrass, kelp, and sargassum clings to these sentinels, bringing some dull color to the black rocks while barnacles and other mollusks add to their sharpness. While above the roiling currents moss and lichen lurk in crevasses along the cliff face.
Next to the quay lies a small boathouse, made up of the same granite and barred with a heavy metal door. It is a squat and thickly built structure, armored against the wrath of crashing breakers that presumably thunder against the landing during winter storms. 
And there came a day unlike any other... When Earth's mightiest heroes found themselves united against a common threat...
On that day, they became... The Avengers!
Welcome to Avengers Quest. This is but one of many realities where the group known as The Avengers is formed... But the team's fate, and perhaps even the entire Earth's fate, will be decided by YOUR collective choices... But no matter what, they must stand together, or Earth will fall!
This is a quest where you will give commands to a character, but with one simple caveat: You can ONLY move ONE character in your post until the next QM post. Nobody "owns" any of the player characters, anybody can play them until the next "turn", but always only one per post.
Make sure to write which character you are choosing for in your post.
Now, before the adventure starts, choose 5 initial Avengers from the 14 available. Vote for 5 in your post and the ones that repeat the most will be chosen. The first threat they face will also depend on this.
Note that the characters not chosen may appear later on anyway depending on how the story goes.
Now SELECT YOUR AVENGERS!
IRON MAN
PROS: Armored hi-tech hero. Millionaire. / CONS: Weak under armor. Smarmy.
THOR
PROS: Norse God of Thunder. Wields Mjolnir. / CONS: Speaks weird. Exiled from Asgard.
THE HULK
PROS: Gamma-powered powerhouse. The strongest. / CONS: Struggles to contain his strength.
THE WASP
PROS: Bio-modified size-changing fashionista. Good leader. / CONS: Vulnerable when small.
ANT-MAN
PROS: Ant-commanding size-changing mad scientist. / CONS: Emotionally volatile. A bit crazy.
CAPTAIN AMERICA
PROS: Patriotic soldier of liberty. Indestructible shield. / CONS: Old fashioned and stubborn.
CAPTAIN MARVEL
PROS: Alien-tech-powered ex-pilot, high-flying heroine. / CONS: Brash and impulsive.
HAWKEYE
PROS: World's absolute best archer. Many gimmick arrows. / CONS: Deaf. No powers. Rude.
BLACK WIDOW
PROS: International woman of mystery super spy. / CONS: Shady past. Untrustworthy?
BLACK PANTHER
PROS: King of Wakanda powered by a magical herb. / CONS: Uptight. Kingly obligations.
CRYSTAL
PROS: Inhuman Princess with power over elements. / CONS: Young. Diplomatic obligations.
BLACK KNIGHT
PROS: Modern-day knight with a cursed sword. / CONS: Knight with a CURSED sword.
TIGRA
PROS: Feline powers. Mutated, strong as a tiger. / CONS: Vulnerable to sensory attacks.
MOON KNIGHT
PROS: Servant to a mad Moon God. Ex-Merc. / CONS: Kinda crazy. Weaker during the day. OPTIONAL immersion music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=96hmB9XnAb0
"dice+1d1"
dice+1d1
ONE COLD DAY IN HELL
you SATAN are chilling in hell
when you are approached by ????
LORD OF ALL CREATION,
AND A SINGLE CHERUBIM
CALLING YOU BY your nickname:
which is ??????
>please enter a NICKNAME
HEY WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE
What is your response?
>please enter a response followed by MORALITY CHOICE:
>OFFER GOD ALL YOUR $ -causes ????
>TELL LIE , offends god, begin battle
>TELL TRUTH causes bonus 1
>DANCE causes you to feel SAUCY
YOU FEEL: what feeling? We are going to play as humans.
Select a few other details and lets go. 
"I was not born to have faith, and yet I believe."
-K-444
There's something right behind you.
---
Read the previous threads at: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=False%20Woman
You possess an amount of Strain equal to your Conditioning score. When attempting actions beyond your current capacity, you gain a point of Strain. Attempting to Strain while at maximum Strain will result in a Strain Check. During a Strain Check, roll 1d10 for every point of the relevant Parameter. Results that are 6 or above count as one success. Results of 10 count as two successes. Three successes must be rolled to avert a critical failure. Fail or pass, after a Strain Check, you cannot Strain again until you restore your Strain by seeking shelter.
This quest allows you to designate a second-choice vote on decisions with three or more options before Write-Ins. When votes are totaled, the option with the least votes for it will be removed, with votes for that option instead being changed to the second-choice of those voters. Second-choice votes are also used to break ties. This helps increase the accuracy of votes, but is not mandatory. Please specifically mark your second-choice as such if you do so.
Vote stay open for a minimum of six hours, but will usually take longer.
A note: My writing style is pretty dry, but don't mistake that for it being serious. 
Past Thread: >>6150931
Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Missval
General Pastebin: https://pastebin.com/5hFQZtc3
Character Sheet (A nice surprise here): https://pastebin.com/KHPzm3sr
Twitter/X account for important announcements, contact and stuff: https://x.com/MissvalQM
Your name is Orin Thanewood. Also known as Hopper. Also known as Taylor. You don’t like people knowing your real name. Only a handful do. And the reason for that? It’s simple. You don’t like thinking about the past. Some wounds still ache. But that doesn’t matter right now.
Today was… eventful. Another fight with your ex that you had to mediate, a sharp reprimand from the higher-ups and an oddly relaxing sauna with a girl you still couldn’t figure out. The strange part? All of it was connected. You were supposed to take Carmine with you for a meeting, but instead, you brought the new girl. Why? A gut feeling. Maybe she just felt easier to be around.
But none of that matters anymore. What matters is meeting with the other regents of Kuchinashi. You thought it was a golden opportunity to forge alliances, solve problems, and earn some renown for the White Fang. Maybe it could even mend some of the damage from the fallout you had with Carmine and Sienna.
Now? Now you weren’t so sure. Shelly wanted nothing to do with this mess (And you couldn’t blame her). She even suggested leaving the city, maybe taking Sora along. The idea… piqued your interest. But first, you had to get through this meeting.
--- 
“Ollie, I offer you a gift in exchange for your service. Understand that if you accept, we are bound eternally. And I would be happy to have you,” The silver-haired girl explained. You had heard the rumors about Monette. That she was reclusive, weird, crazy, but still respected and somewhat feared. And now, without warning, she’s broken into your bedroom, sitting on your windowsill. “I’m a witch. I can grant you nearly anything you desire as long as you sign a contract with me.”
You are Oliver, a 17 year old boy who has been taking care of your little sister since your parents passed. It’s been hard, having to balance a job, school, getting bullied, and taking care of your sister all at the same time. Sometimes, you just wished you could escape.
“Do your contracts pay?” You ask.
Monette chuckled and crossed her legs. “How’s your sister Ollie? I hope she’s well. I see her at school sometimes but she seems afraid of me and… I don’t want to bother her.” The moonlight made her eyes shine like emeralds. You take this as a yes. You weren’t sure that you really believed this whole witch thing, but you had always had a crush on Monette, and here she is breaking into your bedroom. You aren’t sure whether you agreed out of fear or arousal.
“Okay, sure. How does it work, is it like a piece of paper?”
“Simple actually. You think of the gift you want, close your eyes, and then we shake hands. That can be an ability, or a magical item, or even something mundane like a million dollars - but don’t wish for something mundane please, you won’t be a very good servant without something useful. And don’t worry, you’ll get along great with my other two thralls. Millie and Cassandra - I think you’ve already met them.”
Cassie is your tomboyish childhood friend. When your parents passed she was always there for you and Lily, and you deeply care for her because of it. Whatever you’re getting into - some occult ritual or just basic chuuni behavior - her being there makes you feel a bit better.
Millie on the other hand is a different story. You don’t know much of her aside from that she’s friends with Cassie. Other than that, she seems quiet and reserved. The “always in the corner” type girl, reading books or sleeping off her latest all-nighter.
GIFTS
>Shade: Gain a ghost of yourself that you control and can move anywhere as long as you are touching.
>Step-on: Create small, invisible platforms underneath your hands or feet on command.
>Starlight Lantern: A shrouded lantern that when opened transports the room and its contents into deep space. The room is considered isolated and antigravity (but still breathable for balance purposes)
>Metalwater: A small vial of liquid metal that the user can shape and bend with their mind, making all sorts of useful objects.
>Reasonable Write-ins of a similar power level to this.
Sorry for the slop thumbnail. You are Anon, an albino man, probably an incarnated angel, and something of a self-made warrior-magus who can remember only faint vestiges of his past, is unaware of his real name, and is a Master in the Akeldama Great Holy Grail War, which is taking place in a city in an artificial world called Akeldama. Your Servant is Avenger of Red, a winged girl wielding considerably powerful magic who has declined to tell you her true name so far. Most recently you relocated from your old base after a bloody skirmish, tested out your angelic transformation, kissed Truvietianne Edelfelt, figured out how to purify magical energy, and accepted a friendly challenge to a mace-duel from the Servant Rider of Red.
First thread: https://archived.moe/qst/thread/5331278/
Subsequent threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Low+Speed+Anti+Divine+QM
Reference for Servant (and other related) stat-blocks: https://pastebin.com/5mPbUP4G
TL;DR timeline recap: https://pastebin.com/fYqqL7s4 
Welcome back.
We're back. Sorry for the long hiatus but life got a bit hectic there.
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.
Inventory, pokemon stats and other links: https://docs.google.com/document/d/15i2N08IpWqitoTJujsUMishe4PLbao1lqT-bCAmvPcE/edit
Discord: https://discord.gg/v8nRWG4p
For a short summary for the new and to recap:
You are Alex. A newly minted trainer and camping enthusiast just starting out on your journey at the age of seventeen after your father lost his job in order to help pay the bills. On the road, you met Fie, the Fire Gym Leader, Gareth a novice Aura Guardian on pilgrimage and Holly, a runaway heiress using a pseudonym. You've also made enemies of Team Green a group of violent, radical activists looking to abolish pokemon training.
Recently, Fie returned to her gym for the time being.
Last time, you caught a Mudkip, made it to the roadhouse and won a friendly one on one battle with Fie's dad. 
Jail Quest: a text adventure occasionally illustrated.
A night of drinking and a failed attempt to cheat on cards had landed you the strangest job slash community service sentence you've ever had: ensuring Gongalla Gaol survives the reality storm called Singularity.
Now you travel around with your employer and a handpicked crew to survey the four Reality Anchors. Hey, beats being tarred and feathered, right?
Previous thread:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6143578/
Gongallaverse:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Gongalla%20Gaol
You are Rosa Montagni, and you've had just returned from a successful raid on a cultist cave, only to find a commotion in the town of Pinewatch. A large autowagon came in, claiming from the north; their driver claimed to have had a shootout with bandits. And yet, there's no bullet marks, and while the passengers were wounded, the driver wasn't. Then there's this mysterious gunman camping the back of the clinic, as well as the mischievous goblin girl Rita from the brothel and the missing theatre troupe actor, Hammy. Just as you think things were getting simpler... 
You are Kuroda Haruka and King Lot of Lothian, Orkney and Camelot.
Previously went off to recruit some mortals. It was a smashing success convincing them to come to Camelot. Unfortunately, most of them have problematic personality issues or are just plain crazy. That's what you get for recruiting kids from a school known to deal with troubled kids.
You also sent teams of vassals to raid the hateful World for resources; most of these teams were successful and came back home in a timely manner.
All except for Team Feline who had the most simple and easiest task. They've somehow gotten into difficulties. Your doughty Baphomet vassals aren't helpless; they're capable of extracting themselves out of trouble unless it is something that they can't deal with.
You set forth to the rescue with your trusty Guide, valiant Bodyguard and anxiety-ridden Dowser in tow.
That's when you discovered a fake Cath Palug has captured your vassals and cat. There are demands for a ransom, and you're willing to try negotiating, but the fake is too busy dealing with a problem. You also discovered that the more fresh victims verbally declare that the real Cath Palug is dead or call out the fake, the weaker the monster gets.
Not that it helps you out too much at the moment.
Two Knights of the Round Table have invaded its domain and are trying to kill the fake. They're so distracted the enemies don't realize that you're even in. Your Namesake helpfully identifies the two Knights as Merlin and King Arthur...
Past threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=villainess
Character sheet https://docs.google.com/document/d/1cAkKYIXfbFfyBIXMxgzBtCFPGWJTBrFQe0b2hoQZfKw/edit?usp=sharing 
A party of high-level adventurers wake up in Westeros.
>>
You awake to pine needles, moss, and several broken ribs. Gasping in agony only makes things worse, and it seems an eternity of ragged breathing before your blind fumbling manages to locate a healing potion and get it to your mouth.
Not for the first time, you reflect that wizards are not made for the rough-and-tumble life… but one must tough to survive as a wizard, and an uncommon tolerance for pain is no small part of what earned you a place among the greatest of the present age. Broken bones are momentary; an elven archmage’s accomplishments stand eternal.
Sitting up and glancing around, you find you’re in a forest, ancient and grey and dripping with lichens, lying at the edge of a perfectly-circular clearing that still smoked from whatever produced it. Around the circle are several other members of your expedition. You quickly identify your sister Anya, and see that she’s also more or less intact, although her arm is in a position that suggests a need for healing.
What in the hells just happened?
You wrack your brain to try and put together the last moments before consciousness failed you. You recall well the runes on the ritual chamber floor scrawled in blood and still-steaming entrails, bright with unholy radiance, the singing of the remaining devout as they called to their True Master awaiting in the realms beyond, the sheer power that had been enough to make your head spin. You and your party members traded spells and shot with the Nightrunner leaders as they desperately fought to finish their work. Blood and screams and gunsmoke filled the room. Then the ground started to shake as the ceiling fell in great stone chunks, the air became thick and hard to breathe, and then you were falling and everything was dark. 
You are a goblin. An irrefutably evil, cruel, disgusting and green creature. Behind your beady black eyes lies no strength of character, no purity, and no soul. You are a disgusting and foul little thing.
Well... that was the consensus surrounding goblins for centuries but amongst the academic world there is an oft-maligned but growing movement surrounding goblin studies. Professor Zolar of the prestigious MIT (Magic Institute of Temporal) conducted an intense field study of goblin tribes and hypothesized that goblins were nurtured rather than born into evil.
To test this theory he would travel to various goblin tribes and slaughter the entire tribe except for a singular goblin child. If the child cried and wailed for the loss of their people and family that means it has empathy. If not, then it's evil.
This simple experiment was conducted hundreds of times destroying entire cultures, languages, and rich oral histories, and vivid traditional art. At the end professor Zolar concluded with statistical significance that goblins were in fact not naturally born evil to great acclaim and received the Nobel prize in monster studies along with great funding.
His next great experiment is to raise a goblin from birth to adulthood and nurture him to be a loving, exemplary, and GOOD goblin/person. He rented out a great mansion, hired innumerable servants, stockpiled nutritious food and recruited the greatest minds of the Imperial Empire for this purpose.
The goblin will be raised like a king.
That goblin is not you, however. Instead you are the hireling of a decidedly less successful, less intelligent, and more scrupulous "rival" professor named Girgga. Girggas was a peer of Zolar as an undergrad but because of his focus on trying (and failing) to pick up Elf sorority girls he quickly got left behind Zolar in grades, internships, and connections. He was left behind and took up an nontenured track position as a professor of introductory goblinoid studies at a crime-ridden, inbred, idiotic party school on the outskirts of the empire called the University of Alabama. And after Zolar had married his Elf crush that was from the same department he vowed eternal revenge.
Once news of Zolar's new experiment came out he had drunkenly proclaimed that he had secretly been raising a goblin long before Zolar and was going to shock the world to the riotous laughter of his peers.
He was of course lying, but Girggas has always had a tenuous relationship with the truth and ended up recruiting you.
(1/2) >you walk into the doctor's office for your yearly appointment
>the waiting room receptionist recoils from you, for you have not bathed this morning, nor worn deodorant
>you awkwardly browse /r9k/ in the waiting room
>after waiting 5 minutes, you are sent to the back. "The doctor will see you now"
>an older, caucasian gentleman walks in.
>"Hi, I'm Doctor Miller."
>you stifle a laugh, he looks puzzled.
>You open your mouth. Your autism cannot be contained.
>"Doctor Miller? More like DOCTOR NIGGER!"
>the doctor looks offended
what do you do from here? 
Earth is unified and mars is a thriving terraformed world, most of the solar system has been colonized and several probes sent to the nearby systems. Aliens visited a couple times, but we managed to send a strong message that we are full and don't want them here.
On their visits, they accidentaly taught us faster than light travel after we examined the wrecks of their probes.
We built a spaceshipyard on earth and another on mars and have been buildings and improving upon the design of faster than light ships for a few decades.
The united nations decided to restart the calendar on the year the FTL drive was discovered.
The year is 37 of the Superluminal Era.
You come from a long line of fighter pilots, and you've been granted the honor to pilot a FTL ship.
Your mission is to escort a civilian Colony Ship to a habitable world. There might be pirates, mars saboteurs or even aliens along the way.
You are given the choice between three ships:
> EFS Tempest (Short-Range Interceptor) A compact, agile ship designed for close-quarters engagements. It’s outfitted with cutting-edge antimatter cannons, capable of obliterating enemy ships in moments, but with limited ammunition due to the volatile nature of antimatter.
> EFS Lancebreaker (Long-Range Destroyer) A sturdy, heavily-armed ship equipped with nuclear missile silos capable of delivering devastating payloads from extreme distances. It’s designed to hold its ground and deliver decisive strikes before enemies can approach.
> EFS Aegis (Mid-Range Drone Carrier) A balanced ship equipped with autonomous combat drones and medium-caliber railguns. The drones can handle both offensive and defensive operations, making the Aegis versatile in a variety of combat scenarios. 
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
A million dollars.
It's change your life money. It's fuck you, I got mine money. It's more money than I'd ever seen. And here it was in the palm of my hand, written out on a check with the stamp of a Qatari oil dynasty on it, crumpled up in the corners from totting it around in my back pocket the last couple of hours. There was a lot I could do with a million dollars. But what I was going to do with it?
I put it down in front of Dad. He was sitting at the table nursing a cup of coffee, Carmen having a shower in the back.
"What's this?" he said, then his eyes narrowed. "What's that?" He pointed to the cut on my forearm.
"So you haven't watched the news," I said, sitting across from him. He sucked his teeth before taking a sip of his black coffee. "I did something dumb, but it paid off pretty good. Saved a rich guy's life and well, you can use his money more than I can."
Dad's eyebrows shot up and now he took the check in hand, read it over. Looked back to me.
"This legit?" he said. I nodded. Pretty sure it was.
"Thank Prince Zahir al'Mirza," I said.
He didn't smile, he didn't know what to do. He dropped the check like it was venomous.
"No, this is bullshit," he said, stunned, "A million dollars?"
"You're over forty and still working construction," I said, "We live in a shithole in one of the worst neighborhoods in the city. You have a baby on the way, a wedding to plan with Miss Flores."
"Yeah," he said, "But a million dollars? No one just gives away a million dollars."
I shrugged. Maybe not, but the money was there.
"This is your money anyway," he said, "You earned it." He pushed the check across the table toward me.
"I don't need it," I said, pushing it back.
"You can find a good cause for it, better than me," he said, pushing it back.
Stubborn old asshole. We both tightened our jaws, glaring across the table at each other. The showerhead switched off, the glass door sliding back on its rollers in the silence. Take the money, I thought. Take the fucking money.
"It could pay for your college tuition, and anything else you ever wanted," he said.
"All I want is to take care of you guys," I said.
"I don't need taking care of," he replied. The sound of Carmen's footsteps coming down the hall.
>Fucking hell Dad, just take the money!
>Fine, what if we split it, 50/50?
>If you're going to be an ass, okay I will keep it
>(write-in) 
The world is just a series of floating islands hovering on top of an endless abyss, perpetually filled with stormy clouds and fog. There are three main races in the world - humans, whose ingenuity allowed them to build flying machines to traverse the void which aren't always very reliable, elves who invented magical flying ships, the traditional way to get around, and harpies, who just fly from place to place and menace the air travel of the other races, but as a result never developed much technology or magic of their own, relying on their natural abilities.
There are also the denizens of the abyss, a race of peculiar creatures who seem to only exist at night, the light of the sun making them disappear. They are the only ones who can grant passage into the abyss or retrieve items that fall into it.
Ocasionally the storms make creatures from other worlds show up. That is how the humans and elves appeared here. The harpies either arrived first or were always here, and no one knows much about the denizens of the abyss, not even themselves.
Which race do you want?
> Humans
> Elves
> Harpies
> Denizens of the Abyss
> Write in 
Welcome to /qtg/, a place to talk about quests.
Previous thread
>>6150243
>What is a quest?
An interactive story in which a Quest Master (QM) writes and provides the readers with options on how to proceed — similar to a choose-your-own-adventure book or an old text adventure
Questionably Useful links:
>QTG discord: https://discord.gg/dZavHuK
>Skirmish discord: https://discord.com/invite/DZCVvVU
>Evo Game discord: https://discord.gg/v55Xaaja
>Old pastebin containing advice for QMs:
https://pastebin.com/Z78p8gXf
Badly in need of renovation.
>Archiving guide:
Go to http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/requestqstinterface.html
Fill out the request form to archive a thread.
Threads are also automatically archived by other websites, such as archived.moe.
>Formatting guide:
Only the thread's OP can format. Note that should the OP change ID, they will lose this ability as well.
Remove the spaces between the [] brackets and the letters:
Bold: [ b ] text [ /b ]
Italics: [ i ] text [ /i ]
Red: [ red ] text [ /red ]
Blue: [ blue ] text [ /blue ]
Green: [ green] text [ /green ]
>Formatting guide for everyone:
Dice (type this in “options”): dice + [no. of dice]d[no. of sides on the dice] (optionally you can add modifiers: dice + [no. of dice]d[no. of sides on the dice]+[modifier]; for a negative modifier type: +-[modifier]
Examples: dice+1d100 = a 1d100 roll, dice+1d100+10 = a 1d100 roll with a +10 modifier.
Spoiler: [ spoiler ]spoiler[ /spoiler ] or by pressing alt+s in-thread (doesn't work in OP)
>QM question:
What quest (or quests) inspired you to run? Why?
>Player question:
What were your favorite quests of 2024? Why?
>General question:
What would you like to see out of the board, and questing in general in 2025? Is there a specific quest you hope to run, or a pitch you have if you're unable to run but want to gauge interest?
>Lurker question:
Suck it up and brave the timer, nothing makes a QM happier than lots of votes!
>Miscellaneous question:
Did you make a New Year's Resolution? How's it going? Better yet, what's your quest new year's resolution? 
The time is ripe! The mortals scattered the relics we gave them, none of the guardians are worthy. Find the relics, build us a temple, place them there and have the mortals worship us again! - says the elder god council
you are a minor deity! the major deities all keep bossing you around
You have 200 points to distribute in your stats
The stats are
Strength
Hability
Resistance
Armor
Firepower
Air
Earth
Fire
Water
Light
Darkness
Extra Hitpoints + 10 (1 point each time you pick)
Extra Mana points + 10 (1 point each time you pick)
You have base hp = resistance * 5
You have base mp = resistance * 5
Up to 5 points each stat costs 1 point per point (that is level 5 costs 5 points). Most mortals have attributes between 0-2, powerful ones have attributes 1-5. Very few mortals have attributes above 5. Stats above 10 are veritably godlike.
6 - 8 points
7 - 13 points
8 - 20 points
9 - 29 points
10 - 40 points
11 - 53 points
12 - 68 points
13 - 85 points
14 - 104 points
15 - 125 points
16 - 148 points
17 - 173 points
18 - 200 points
Besides stats, the only things you can spend points on are:
Occult Power - spending an amount of points equal the amount to have a given attribute, you can distribute that many points to your attributes temporarily by spending an amount of MP equals to the cost of the occult power. You could increase HP temporarily as well (but not MP) by an amount equal the cost in points. In case you choose to only increase HP, you can decide to use less MP than the maximum.
Ex. You have Occult Power 12. For a cost of 68 Mana, you can distribute an extra 12 points on any attribute that you want. It lasts 1 hour. So suppose you have Strength 10. You can increase your strength to 22. Or you could distribute your points in other attribute. Or you could increase your HP by up to 680, or a fraction if you don't wanna use 68 Mana.
Empower: works the same as Occult Power, but only on other people. The mana cost is the same and the effect lasts 24 hours. You can double the costs to double the duration, up to 5 times (for 32 times the cost and 32 days of duration).
Ex. You have empower 10 for 40 points. You could increase a person all atributes by 2 for a day for 80 MP. Or you could do it for 32 days for 1280 MP.
also choose a name, a gender and what are you a deity of You are still William. Currently framing several mages as arsonists for breaking school property to get the school hall monitors to come and beat their shit in. 
You are Charlotte Fawkins.
Presently, you're in your own home, though it's more broken-down than you remember it. Though you expect you've gone to hell for the inexplicable, unforgivable crime of murdering your own father, you have so far evaded the endless suffering you deserve. Instead, you've promised to help your imaginary younger self locate some keys, so she can follow said father through secret tunnels under your house. You have a bad feeling about all of this.
Lottie isn't ten steps into the neighboring room before she stops in her tracks, spinning on her heel to face you. "Wait!"
You haven't even reached the doorway. "What?"
"You need a weapon! What if the footsteps are a burglar? What if Daddy..." She doesn't finish. "You're tall enough, right?"
"To—"
"To reach?"
You sigh, duck under the cobwebby doorway, and enter the room. Yes, you know what she means: the neighboring room has a fireplace, and a mantel, and a sword hanging tantalizingly above it. You can reach it now, if you apply your tiptoes, but not then. (And if Aunt Ruby ever caught you moving the furniture, let alone handling something so dangerous, you'd be without breakfast for weeks.)
The Sword is not on your hip, even if it should be, even as you reach for it. It is back above the mantel. You don't like the thought of getting it down again— you don't deserve it. But Lottie's right about the footsteps. You wouldn't mind getting crowbarred by a would-be thief, but she doesn't deserve to die. She hasn't done anything evil yet. Having a weapon could protect her, and maybe you could ironically fall upon it later.
You might as well be carrying a bone, Lottie looks so much like a puppy: all big eyes and trembling anticipation. As you head toward the mantel and reach up, you're surprised she doesn't whimper. You were never allowed pets: your Aunt Ruby would say something about "mouths to feed" and shut down all conversation. As you grasp upon The Sword's hilt and feel a squeeze and glance down to find you're being hugged— again— you're starting to grasp what it might've been like.
"Propriety!" you say automatically, and brush her off you. "Also, I— I'm holding a sword! It's not safe!"
"You're not going to drop it. Since you're so good at it? Right?"
She so desperately wants you to say 'yes.' And the answer isn't 'no.' You're sure you're no master, but you've been trained, somewhere. At some point. You still can't remember. "Um... no matter what, you shouldn't..."
"Can I see it?"
"Only if you're careful." You're holding it above you still. "You're not going to grab it, right? I can't—"
"Who are you?" She folds her arms. "Aunt Ruby? I'm not dumb."
You're not sure about that, but lower the sword reluctantly. Lottie's face drops at the same time yours does: The Sword is dust-covered and, worse, rust-covered. It's pitted with holes. It looks about as sharp as that prowler's probable crowbar.
(1/2) 
The deck is silent, despite all the ranking officers—your fellow battle brothers—circled around the holo projector. It depicts the planet that the void ship, Gigante, is closing in on. You can see the speck of it outside the observation deck, above the heads of the serfs navigating the ship. The planet in question was named Serena, a pleasure world, out here on the Periphery. On the wrong side of the Great Rift, on the wrong side of the Eye of Terror.
“We will conduct the Red Tithe here,” the Reaper Prime, captain of the entire company, spoke through an open air vox caster. There was simply no other way for him to communicate, for he was a dreadnought. A massive hulk of armor, a white center flanked by obsidian arms, covered in exile markings, plumes of predators’ teeth around the visor. Armed with melta, bolters and chain-bladed claws, Reaper Nikora has served the Fourth Company of the Carcharodons Astra for centuries. Still of sound mind, his body was torn to shreds by drukhari decades ago.
The Red Tithe meant taking their due. Even on a pleasure planet, there were candidates for new Astartes, new chapter serfs. You recall a tropical world you once called home. A peaceful life among islands, surrounded by blue seas and sky. ‘Even from frail material such as you can come our future,’ the apothecary Whetu had said to you before implanting the gene-seed into your body.
“We couldn’t have chosen a better time,” Nikora said again, his robotic hand making a small gesture. The serf at the holo projector zoomed in on the image. The human population was mustering a defense. It felt strange to think of them as such. They were not men of the Imperium. This subsector had seceded and became the Severan Dominate. Rebels against the Void Father. This Tithe was more targeted than ones in the past, you knew it.
You truly were a shark circling around prey in desperate straits. The projector showed the xenos invaders…
>Vote for one
>Orks
>Tau
>Drukhari
>Aeldari
>Necrons
>Tyranids Sing, goddess, of thirsty Argos, and of the glory of Hippomedon Aristomachides - sing of the folly of Adrastus, of the savagery of Tydeus and of Oedipal transgressions! Sing, O Muse, of Zeus’ designs, which even now come to fulfillment… 
Your grandfather was a king, your mother a queen. But no one expects much from you. Your grandfather, the Mad King, with his even madder queen, brought his kingdom to such an intolerable state that his own peasants stormed his castle (with the aid of some enterprising foreign barons) and set his head on a pike. With his queen they did you know not what. No one speaks of it. The historians and archivists did not deem it fit to record that particular atrocity in their scrolls, though they gleefully recorded the despoiling of the Mad King's heir, your mother, by the leader of the rebellion, Walter Stonecutter, a peasant, a soldier, a king by marriage, and your father.
Your mother was slain two nights ago by the errant arrow (or perhaps not so errant) of a coalition of rebellious barons. They who once trembled beneath the gaze of your demented grandfather (your bloodthirsty, short-tempered grandmother they avoided altogether) besieged your castle, broke it, and fearing the reprisal of foreign kings and civil war, did not go any further.
And so, as the eldest son of five siblings, at the ripe old age of 14, with your parents slain by the same men who lie at your feet, swearing eternal fealty, you have inherited the throne.
Already, they refer to your mother with the sobriquet of the Unfortunate. Only time will tell what they will call you.
As for your character:
>You have very high standards, expecting perfection from yourself as much as you do from others
>You seem to inherited your grandmother's looks, particularly her ice-blue eyes. You've been given a wide berth for this, leading to a lonely life
>You were the king in your own mind even before you were crowned. You will not let what happened to your parents and grandparents happen to you. And that will require a firm hand. 
Last time, you tied up the final ribbon to the Prison Break mission, reunited people, talked to friends and allies, and left on a high note to rest at home with your bestie by your side. From that, one thing led to another and you find yourself with your friend visiting your favorite neighbor to relax with. As you were helping them get to know each other, an interesting undisclosed topic was brought up that changed the shape of the conversation. One, you weren’t aware hadn’t been discussed yet!
You mentioned that Ajna will be a vibrant trumpeter!
“Crossbill, you know this amazing girl over here is going to become an idol?” You place your hands on Ajna’s shoulders. “She’s part of the agency I’m building and all!”
“…!!!” Ajna looks surprised to be thrown into the spotlight.
“That sounds swell!” Crossbill is more optimistic than you give her credit for. “Why the hell do you have an idol agency…?”
“Woah, Ajna is going to do WHAT?!” Craig is flabbergasted.
“Play the trumpet.” You pantomime it.
“Ooh! I can tell. I bet she’s good.” Crossbill points at the trumpet decoration on Ajna’s blanket.
“Focus on the idol stuff, kid. You’re not pulling my hair, right?” Craig continues being dumbfounded.
“You gotta be careful, he doesn’t have much left.” Crossbill jokes around. Yeah, Craig is balding just as badly as Jesse… “Let’s step back, is this a social media thing that might get serious in the near future or what?”
“Oh, right. Kids get carried away like that...” Craig doesn’t know why he took it so seriously. “Sorry for losing my head there. I overreacted a lil’ bit.” The man scratches the back of his head.
“Doesn’t mean they can’t get a gig to perform somewhere though.” Crossbill is a shit stirrer.
Ajna doesn’t know how to react. As far as you know, her mother didn’t appreciate any of the hobbies she partook in. Maybe she needs some confidence to tell Craig herself, you know the guy, he’s going to be supportive. Or you should protect your talent and explain everything yourself, no need to stress her more than needed.
Either way, the decision is in your hands… Ajna is too busy increasing her vibrations…
What do you do?
>Encourage Ajna to explain it herself.
>Explain everything about the agency to quell Craig’s worries and Crossbill’s curiosity.
>Be vague about it, let Craig know that Ajna is part of a band, and once she feels comfortable sharing, she’s going to. For now, apologize to Ajna for bringing this up.
>Let the music do the talking! Hand the trumpet to Ajna! It’s the only explanation needed.
>Write In. 
The Steelwood.
It’s name might sound like some ‘exotic dancer’ in a Hawksong Red Lantern girl-bar, but it’s not. Rather, it’s a realm on the eastern edge of Hawksong’s political sphere, characterized by a longstanding conflict between mongrel tribes of Man, Elf, and Orc, which have bled into genealogically each other even as they bleed each other on the battlefield, shedding weapons and armour in woodland skirmishes for so long that the rusted remnants have given the place its name. Though it exists now in a fragile state of stalemate and ceasefire, two adventuring parties have entered the area on a mission related to a ore ancient empire than the current clashing clans: that of the dwarves, or Dwerrow, whose ancient ‘megastructure’ lies abandoned, hidden among the hills.
The Delvers a band of little folk employed by the dwarven corporation ‘Treasuretrove Incorporated’, have in their turn taken on the services of the so-called Monstrous Regiment, a newly-founded enterprise helmed by Zena Youngtree and her companion, Cara—really, a pair of strange soul-sisters named Zith-Zi[/ed] and Cara-Zi, once a single succubus-tainted goblin-girl, and now an odd couple if ever there was one. Harkening back to their outcast origins, they allied themselves with the Steelwood’s orcish denizens, a bandit-band of murdering, misogynist marauders who nevertheless provide the most reliable (well, manipulable) muscle around, and ask the fewest questions.
(Unfortunately, one of those questions was “what’s in it for us?”, and Zith-Zi had been forced to answer “a powerful magical weapon that can dominate or destroy your enemies,” but there’s always time for a double-cross if it comes down to it…)
Insincerity aside, the local orcs lent the aid of two of the chieftain’s half-human heirs, a potion-producing ziran witch, and a teenage simpleton with a penchant for whittling wood into savage spears. Added to the crew of Delver dweebs and the Zi’s crew of goblins (and goat-girl), it made for a fairly well-balanced assembly of adventurers. It was, at the very least, sufficient to slay or scare off the sword-stepping spider-freaks which assaulting their camp in the dead of night…
Freaks which, it turns out, are some strange breed of fucked-up fairy, the mutated brood of a creature call an ‘Ettercap’. 
The man known as Marik shook his head, eyes blinking.
“We have a confirmed nuclear detonation on force Center.”
“I can see it, Nero.”
The visual feeds had corrected for the flash, filtering and darkening it so that he could look upon the growing cloud.
His second was already pushing the command mech back to its feet, standing it again as an elite pilot does.
Not in the first wave, only an idiot leads directly from the front, but his position in the third wave, the reserves, was carefully planned for.
He could bring them where they were needed most, to drive forwards wherever the push had faltered or where a weakness had been sighted.
Or more realistically, wherever the hell his best guess was, if everyone was operating in the dark.
Though that darkness had just lifted with an enormous flash.
He had watched Kinston’s superheavy stagger beneath concentrated firepower right before the Plaza of Heroes, before returning fire and charging into smoke. His attention had wavered after then, but add to that the proximity of the Senate building, tantalizingly close, and the bastards in power proved again that there was no line they wouldn’t cross in order to try and crush his rebellion.
The Old Man deserved the Imperial Cross for his sacrifice, he mentally noted. And a promotion. Posthumously, of course. No one objects to a dead man being promoted above them.
But it was a good thing he had withdrawn the remainder of Crimson lance before that final push. A smart commander took care of his loyal pieces, and there weren't many queens left to use.
“I’m not getting any traces of jamming. Just residual interference from the blast. Are we still pressing forwards, sir?”
His second asked from the piloting seat.
“Forwards. We make the most of this. They’re not going to expect a fresh force attacking through their own blast wave, after all.”
Turning back would be admitting defeat, and certain death. No matter the losses, he had to win here. 
