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). 
It’s the 765th year of the Empress’ Calendar. And in a small, remote village in the Threshold, the most honorable guardians of the Realm and the fist of the Empress, the Black Helms, are dispensing justice for the most foul crime of loitering. This disruption of the peace was brough about when an ordinary street performance turned into a majestic display of dance that could put the most famous artisan troupes of the Blessed Isle to shame. Those who bore witness to this glorious show of skill fell under its thrall and a dance fever broke out in the crowd like a plague. Anyone who looked at it for too long was susceptible to joining the crowd of dancers himself. When one of the Black Helms themselves fell under the spells effect the rest of the guards were left with no choice but to intervene and put a stop to the festivities by force.
But Mnemon Jet knew little of that. All he knew is that he made a wonderful performance that brought a little joy into the lives of the people in the city and now they are tarnishing his work. Not only that they wer behaving in a manner more fit for barbarians, not those representing the Empress' Justice. He felt rage swelling within him, and the desire to make these ingrates repent.
"By the dragons, what am I thinking?"
"Those people were singing your glory and danced in your name. Their adoration was yours, and they took it. It's only natural to want to punish them."
The demon, Markolab, spoke in his mind, egging him on to act.
"No. This is insane. Clearly my mind is being affected. I can't afford to bring attention to my presence any more than I already have. I need to regroup with Kaya and Ena."
"Who says it's "you" who is to bring attention to himself?"
Jet paused in his stride. Then he took a sharp turn and headed into an alleyway that the crowd already ran out of. Finding a secluded spot he concentrated on the image of a person who does not exist. A man slightly taller, more muscular and more rough looking than him, with a prominent scar over his eye. As soon as the image was clear his shadow bubbled like it was about to boil over, then it sprung on him like a living thing and wrapped him in a tender penumbra of inky blackness. A few moments later his shadow became quiescent once more and his shape was changed to that of the man he imagined.
"How do I look?"
Even his voice was much deeper than before.
"Decidedly not like Mnemon Jet."
"Good." 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z0GFRcFm-aY
*11:58... 11:59... 12:00.*
You may not know it, but your world has just changed forever.
No longer is Earth inhabited solely by Man and Beast. Gone are the days of the Mundane and the Magical existing only within the human mind.
As of today, a third pillar of life has forced its way onto your lonely planet.
*Welcome to a new world. A world... of Pokémon.*
<><><><><>
Something startles you. You shoot straight up, eyes not yet used to the light now invading their lids, and rub your sockets in a vain attempt to surmount your groggy awakening. A vague thought floats to mind...
>...it's so hot. Too hot. That's what I get for sleepin' outdoors in the middle of July. I should get up before i'm accosted by some wannabe sheriff or mean cowboy.
>...another dream about printing papers in the city. Even the eclipse couldn't knock that dream out of me. I've got to get out of here before the Great War ends or I'll never make it big.
>...my alarm clock just went off. I've got to be up and downstairs by now. The customers are waiting for me, I can't waste any more time dreaming of that exploding spaceship. Where's my Walkman? 
The last of the Emperor’s children has died. He has no heir, an aging wife, and failing health. From his bed, which he finds harder and harder to leave each day, he orders the main family of every royal house to send forth a Champion to court to decide the future of the Empire.
You are the champion for [Pick 1], in your early childhood you warded with [Pick 1]:
>Nethos, Clan Gerrard: Located in the Northwest in a mountainous region, the Nethons enjoy immense mineral wealth. Nethos is also unique because it is not organized as a kingdom, but instead as a sort of confederacy of mountain clans, where a new presiding family is chosen by sending champions to compete in a contest of the three sacred Nethon arts: Blacksmithing, Brewing, and Brawling. [Aspect: Competitor]
>Pan, House Goinsy: A modest kingdom east of Nethos and North of the capital. Lacking any real geographic or resource advantage, Pan has maintained its relevance through a focus on military discipline and strategy. Panese knights are considered the best in the Empire, with the exception of the Imperial knights (although many Imperial Knights are Panese in origin). Pan has a strict, militaristic culture. Many royal families ward their children in Pan to learn skill at arms. [Aspect: Chivalrous]
>Winterlands, House Reid: The Northernmost Kingdom, located in the cold tundras at the Northeastern end of the continent. Inhabitants of the winterlands are stereotyped to be gruff, independent, and self-reliant. The Winterlands cares little for diplomacy or currying favor at Court. They frequently find themselves in border disputes with their neighbors. Due to the lack of farmland in the Northern part of their territory, they cling tightly to the southern sections, and will fight fiercely to maintain their territorial integrity. [Aspect: Tough-as-Nails]
>Free Chalmuth, House Kabot: The youngest of all the kingdoms, located at an island west of the continent proper. Formerly a part of Ellia’s territory, but when the Fellants refused the island's call for troops to deal with rampant piracy, an uprising took place and the Chalmuthians refused to pay any taxes to either Ellia or the Emperor. The Emperor sided with the Chalmuthians, helped broker a peace with Captain Kabot, which involved installing the Pirate Captain as the new king of the island. [Aspect: Swashbuckler]
>Kingdom of Ellia, House Fellant: The largest and most prosperous of the houses outside of the Imperial family itself. Ellia has vast, lush farmland, sea access, and ample mineral wealth. Its capital is located directly west of the Imperial capital. Including maritime borders, it borders seven other kingdoms. Many have speculated that the Fellants aspire to secede from the Empire, or usurp it. Ellians despise Varyne and Chalmuth, feeling that their territory was wrongfully taken from them. [Aspect: Prestigious]
(Continued) 
It is an age beyond history. Men have regressed to struggle once more against Nature, red in tooth and claw.
You find yourself in the wilderness, naked except for the bit of pelt covering your loins, and the stone knife in your hand. It is midsummer. The weather is fine, not a cloud in sight, and the morning air is invigorating. You were separated from your people during an attack by the hideous scalemen. Most were slaughtered, the survivors taken captive to a far away place. You managed to escape in one piece, losing your pursuers in depths of a dense forest.
The scalemen have been the enemy of your kind as long as you can remember. They came riding on their blind, serpentine beasts, ambushing you when your people had set down for the night. Those they didn't kill, they bound with strong ropes to the backs of their mounts and carried them away to their lair. The scalemen don't feast on the flesh of your kind, preferring the likes of the insects and fish, but they will sell your people as slaves to the other clans, where they must toil until their deaths.
One day, you will avenge yourself on these scalemen.
In the meantime, you must survive.
Before all this you were a:
>Hunter (skilled* in Athletics, Marksmanship, knowledgeable** in Trapping)
>Craftsman (skilled in Crafting; knowledgeable in Building and Tailoring)
>Healer (skilled in Survival and Insight, knowledgeable in Herbalism)
>Trader (skilled in Scouting, Communication, and Crafting)
>Herder (skilled in Animals and Survival, knowledgeable in Tanning)
*Attempting something in which you have no relevant skill has a low likelihood of success
**Certain actions/crafts are impossible without the relevant knowledge
Those of you who participated in the previous incarnation of this quest: I'm very sorry for flaking like a faggot. It was my first attempt and the quest got more traction than I expected. I wasn't sufficiently prepared to run it and kind of panicked. This time around, I've developed the mechanics a lot more and have a lot more stuff prepared. 
We are the remnants. There was a time when our tribe didn't live in darkness. Indeed, there was a great portal of light that allowed our people to traverse between this hell, and the riches of the outside world now unimaginable to our children. Once upon a time, we came to this cursed hole to feed on the bountiful detritus still here, not knowing it was potentially a tomb we'd be trapped in forever.
Now, after The Collapse, we've been cut off not only from the light of the outside world, but from our leaders, friends and families, as well. Will we ever see the light again? Will our tribe be stuck in this darkness forever?
Our attention turns to crackling sounds from our slipshod nursery, where our newest nymphs begin breaking out of their eggs' membranes. A mixture of fear and hope wells up in the elders watching the glorious spectacle, and we quickly make a decision. We're making our way out of The Collapse.
What tribe do we hail from?
>The Smokybrowns - An aggressively invasive and sadistically wise tribe known for their adept flight capabilities, as well as their ability to create clones of themselves through parthenogenesis.
>Rhinoceros Tribe - A typically solitary and peaceful tribe composed of the strongest and most industrious roaches in the world, capable of digging deep with their large, armored bodies to build extravagant burrows.
>Croton Clan - A rowdy and cowardly tribe composed of miniscule fellows who smell awful, pillage and fuck non-stop, and occasionally settle their many disputes (and rumbling tummies) through the art of cannibalism.
>Write-in 
Welcome, Monarch, to the world of Maversia. It has been nearly a century since the great Karamian Empire retreated across the sea to their home island. In their retreat they have left behind new lands for your people to move into and begin to thrive. Some bring with them knowledge, while others inherit the peoples and knowledge left behind by the Karamian Empire as it left. The land where gods once walked with men is now to be inherited by a new group of peoples. Will your civilization stand the test of time that the Karamians crumbled under? Or will you too join the endless dust of the fallen?
To Start
Race: (Include details if not a generic race)
Location:
Fluff:
How to Play?
Each turn Roll 4d100 for actions.
Actions can build, expand, attack, recruit, conduct diplomacy, and research. The primary gameplay loop is to develop your provinces, attack your neighbors, and acquire more provinces or more opportunities to develop the provinces you have.
Catch Up Mechanic: If you missed a turn, roll for that turn in addition to the current turn. If you have missed more than three turns, you receive 2 points for each turn that has gone by. Assign those to your provinces or to technologies.
The game will begin once we have 4 players. The game is always open to new players, so feel free to jump in if you see the chance! 
Walking around this city hasn't been useful in a long time, but you still feel compelled to show up in person- on time but on your own terms. On your way to your new job, you pass by perfect trees and equally immaculate arrangements of flowers. The sidewalk and pavement are both flawless. Your footsteps are the only ones to ring out as you walk block after block past blank walls and gigantic buildings with no windows or doors. The only way to note where you're going and how quickly by eye alone are the regular street signs posted out of inertia, and in case there's a celebration that causes people to leave their virtual paradise. There's no one else on the streets, which, given this used to be New York City, is depressing. Even if it was dirty, even if it was dim, it was still alive.
A sickening sensation fills your stomach as you realize too late that you didn't check if the Summoning Management Group's Northeast Branch actually keeps a physical door these days. Luckily, you see the actual entrance and the steps up two blocks down, and hurry along to get there. Your mother would tell you to check for muggers, but she isn't here, and neither are they. As picturesque as this city might look from the outside, you're happy to find somewhere people actually choose to be, even if only for a paycheck. Marble steps invite you up to a gold-gilded arch. The revolving door spins silently as you push your way in, pulling your suitcase closer to make sure it doesn't hit anything.
The modern interior design, generic as it is, is actually sort of an improvement over the wacky architecture some tryhards get up to these days. Sadly, the concierge is unattended, so you look around to see if there's anything besides the stairs to the next floor up. Not much, though there is a couch you can sit down on and a side table for you to manage your suitcase in. It's all blasé and beige here, solid colors and one lonesome painting hung over the desk. One of the walls has a window to an exterior that doesn't exist in that direction, but you take a deep breath. That was probably put in by a middle manager who thought it 'looked nice'.
At least you're in a good line of work. The salary they posted for your position was frankly astronomical, though you've been warned that you have to use some of it to do your job. Sitting down on the couch, you place your suitcase on the side table in order to shuffle through the contents. The paper copies of your employment are here, signed and sealed. These are redundant twice over, more of a security blanket than anything else, really: You've already passed the interview. You look up to see if anyone is coming up or down the stairs before rifling through your documents again.
---
(1/2) 
You are Kuroda Haruka and King Lot of Lothian, Orkney and Camelot.
The day is not quite over yet. You long to hide in your room and try to decompress but keeping a hold on your vassals requires a King to attend to their duties diligently.
Today in the darkest hours before dawn you were forced to fight off a Wyvern who decided to dine on two of your vassals. You went to their rescue with a cohort of Baphomets and dived straight into a terrible situation. Three deadly enemies trapped in an abandoned manor.
The Wyvern who ate your two vassals. The fear illusion plant who trapped you. A Knight of the Round Table who Dueled you.
The night left a mark on you. For you were killed in a Duel by GARETH, KITCHEN KNIGHT. If it wasn't for the Blessings of Avalon, you would have stayed dead. By the skin of your teeth, you survived and rescued the Baphomets still alive.
And now, a Feast!
Past threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=villainess
Character sheet (temporary) https://pastebin.com/zp3atUUC GET IN HERE. Used to love doing these 2014-2016 on /tg/ and /pol/.
>FIRST POST:
NAME YOUR NATION:
PICK A STARTING LOCATION:
PICK COLOR:
FLUFF:
Be a precise as you can when expanding/attacking/defending. If I can't tell what you want, I'll use my best discretion. Potential bonuses if I like your flavor text.
One roll per turn, make sure to include NAME, or COLOR, as well to make things go faster.
I don't really know how active this board is, so updates every 10-15 mins or so. 
Welcome to /qtg/, a place to talk about quests.
Previous thread
>>6029851
>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/6s4Xazmv
>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
>QM question:
Do you have any quest concepts that you really like the idea of, but for whatever reason aren't confident that you could run?
>Player question:
Are there any quests you're playing that you'd like to see revisited from a different angle, or with a twist?
>General question:
What multimedia franchises do you think would be best suited to /qst/, that haven't already generated a successful quest?
>Lurker question:
Why don't you at least chime in to let the QM know you're reading? And do you ever share what you're reading with other people?
>Miscellaneous question:
What other boards do you frequent, besides /qst/? You are William, a student, discount mage, mole/resistance fighter, and not a cripple anymore. Finally moving to fulfill a promise of wiping out a small gang for a way too perceptive cook for future benefits. Getting ready for a fight against normal mooks that should be a quick clean up. 
Welcome to /qtg/, a place to talk about quests.
Previous thread
>>6029851
>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/6s4Xazmv
>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
>QM question:
Do you live for the (You)s, or do you prefer a smaller playerbase that actually discusses the quest? Of course both would be preferable, but which would you choose?
>Player question:
Do you just copy the vote and post, or do you try to generate/engage in discussion, maybe with the QM? What would incline you to generate more discussion?
>General question:
Using a quest's characters, how would you pitch it to someone who isn't reading it yet?
>Lurker question:
Do threads with a lot of posts that aren't votes/from the QM scare you off or do you prefer having to scroll through discussion? Do you ever engage in that, even if you don't vote?
>Miscellaneous question:
If you could ban Souv, would it be permanently, or just temporarily? 
You are Lorina de Lindan, princess, weapon-autist, inquisitor-in-training, and recently the victim of a large political conspiracy led by someone you don’t know, for unknown reasons, and with unclear goals. Honestly, you probably should have expected something like this would happen after joining a secretive society, the Inquisition to be exact, whose been tasked with the handling of Strangers, dangerous people from a dimension known as “Earth” before their Cheat Skills wreak untold havoc across your kingdom.
Recently, you’ve returned to the Royal Capital after being attacked by a suicidal(?) thug only to be greeted with a city on lockdown as anti-noble arsonists have attacked many estates, including your families. You were then unceremoniously grounded by your father and forbidden from associating with the Inquisition after a startling revelation leaving you to do the only logical thing you could, run away with a maid. Now, you’ve managed to sneak back into the city with your fellow inquisitor-in-training Marie Sarodieu, formerly known as Midori Suzuki, to investigate on your own terms.
Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=The%20Isekai%20Inquisition 
The woman takes in a sharp breath as she stares at the murky looking hemisphere protruding out of the ground like a malignant tumor. “Yeah, that’s going to cause trouble. Queen’s tits...this is a mess.”
“That bad?” The young man with her asked.
She answers by applying a none too gentle smack to the back of his head.
“Ow! Alright, it’s bad. It’s just mud town though, technically we could just set the charges...”
She shakes her head. “Could destabilize the entire mountain. Besides, it’s a bad time anyway.” She spits on the dirt floor, then sighs and pulls out a handkerchief and wipes up the little damp spot. “You know the situation.” She waves her hand in the air, wincing. “The queen doesn’t want disruption. We’ll just cover it up and hope it isn’t too aggressive. Deal with it later.”
“Isn’t that...”
“Yeah. Yeah it is. Not our call. Come on rook, we’ll come back later.”
They leave. You remain, a murky gray pimple in a dimly lit room, surrounded by dirt. The room grows dark, then light again. The cloudy gray tumor that is you flickers with a dim light. You can do something. Just once. What can you do?
> Capture. Reach out and take something into yourself.
There is not much here. Dirt. You could take it though.
> Create. Use things you've taken to Create.
You don't seem to have anything to Create with.
> Contemplate. Wait. Think.
Perhaps it's better to not be hasty. 
Welcome back.
Rules are simple: Votes are tallied every hour, with whatever course of action being the most popular being the course of action taken. Write ins are encouraged and non-mutually exclusive votes will be combined if possible.
When a roll is called for, roll however many D100 are specified. 5- is a 'crit fail' and generally means something bad is about to happen. 95+ is a 'crit success' and generally means something good just happened. a 'crit success' trumps a crit fail. User input on both will be taken into consideration.
Inventory, pokemon stats and other links: https://docs.google.com/document/d/15i2N08IpWqitoTJujsUMishe4PLbao1lqT-bCAmvPcE/edit
Discord: https://discord.gg/PErMtupK
For a short summary for the new and to recap:
You are Alex. A newly minted trainer and camping enthusiast just starting out on your journey at the age of seventeen after your father lost his job in order to help pay the bills. On the road, you met Fie, the Fire Gym Leader, Gareth a novice Aura Guardian on pilgrimage and Holly, a runaway heiress using a pseudonym. You've also made enemies of Team Green a group of violent, radical activists looking to abolish pokemon training.
Recently, Fie returned to her gym for the time being.
Last thread, you saved an adult toy store from being robbed by Team Green, left Saltcoast City for Redmont Town, caught a Mudkip and made camp for the night. https://file.io/YIwvSxo0yz0c
I will share other files as I go through them but after the encoded part is decoded and posted by you guys.
Now you all know how to ask me to return. The world of Jade Bead (玉珠) is an unimaginably vast realm overflowing with pure potential, or Qi (齊). Most of this is held by the spirits, beasts, and immortals who've learned to harness Qi to strengthen themselves, cultivators (耕耘者)!
Cultivators make up an extremely small percentage of the population, and immortals are even rarer. Most cultivators who reach for immortality will never get it. Even talented geniuses born to martial sects with constant instruction and incredible resources struggle to climb the mountain.
You are not a talented genius born into a martial sect. You're an average nobody born to a family of poor rice farmers. You have only thing going for you under Heaven (天堂)...
You have the soul of a thickheaded fool (傻子) and don't know when to quit!
From the first time you heard about cultivators, you knew you wanted to be one and wouldn't listen to reason... 
>You are an Inspecter looking to find out the truth on the matter of Son Gohan being severely injured. His sister, Son Peppa, has not been injured, but may have some clue as to why her brother was injured. You will have to find out what she knows.
>WARNING: This is an unofficial, unacknowledged, downright despised spinoff of Dragon Ball Tuffle Quest. By all means, familiarity with Tuffle Quest recommended but not required, however this spinoff will also feature topics such as bullying, abuse, self-harm, drug use, grief, suicidal ideation, grooming, violence, and rape.
https://youtu.be/3s7lBElHbSY
Relaying the events of the past month to us in the format of Film Reeled Flashbacks, Peppa recounts some incidents, first one where she kept getting hit in the head with balls. First volleyballs, then a medicine ball! And Erasa laughed at her! Rude!
There was also evidence of a break-in to Peppa's locker in the girls locker-room, but the evidence left behind on the uniform strongly indicated that a boy was the culprit in the worst of ways. Peppa had to remove herself from the locker room immediately, and the feel of it reminded her of her past experience with the bodysnatcher Baby and his grey goo, which haunts her still.
Peppa then went to the Infirmary, and caught up on things with her cousin, the Ox Princess Izumi Mahogany, Izzy for short! From their talk, Peppa learned that Izzy's parents got her permission to skip PE so she could study, and that part of her new tutor's study method involved a special vitamin candy. A big part of why this candy is special is that on top of giving you laser focus, if the name "Izumi" is said in full it also has the effect of overflowing you with anxiety and chills until an injury is inflicted upon your body.
During all of this, the Inspecter is trying to pin down a means and motive for the culprit of Gohan's brutalizing, but has no leads so far. As for who was behind the theft of Peppa's chocolate, there is speculation that it could be a jealous crush behind it, but there's also too much supernatural bobbityboo involved in the theft for it to be that simple. As to who is responsible for Izumi's situation... honestly, Izzy and her family? But yeah that tutor of hers could do with some looking into.
Anyways when we last left off, Peppa was walking home from school and ran into a killer cyborg boy who is on a revenge quest! And as for his target... 
Another boring shift at the convenience store. Being a part-timer sucks. When school ends you get to watch all the other boys and girls head out to cafes to hang out or study, or sneak off into some abandoned building to smoke cigs and fool around. The nerds slink away from school to avoid their bullies and convene at the PC cafe's and play Leader Legends, and the jocks stay at the gym to practice with their team. You don't even get to be a bullied nerd. You're no one. Just a wallflower who has to go to work as soon as school ends. Your life is work, school, sleep, work, school, sleep, work, school, sleep, with the occasional morning on the weekends to sleep in. But your parents are flat broke. Two deadbeats who live off the government's teat and treat you like you don't even exist. Your older sibling ran away as soon as they were old enough, and you're not far behind them, you figure. Anyway, long story short, your parents don't have jack, so that's why you're working at this shitty convenience store.
This evening at the store has been quieter than normal. In fact, you don't think there's been a single customer all night. Even the bums who normally scrape together enough change to buy a box of cigarettes haven't popped in, which makes it feel like your shift is dragging on. You sit behind the cash register, staring at the clock and wishing that you could somehow make time move faster. The isolation, the fluorescent lighting, the monotonous hum of the air conditioner put you in an almost hypnotic state, and you start to get some premonition: right now you're experiencing the calm before the storm. Soon your life is going to change forever. You start reflecting on who you are.
You are a...
>Boy
>Girl
You have an older...
>Brother
>Sister
You always carry a...
>Pocket Knife
>Box of fire-crackers and lighter
>A screwdriver
If you didn't have to work part-time, you'd want to be a...
>Socialite
>Wizkid
>Punk
>Jock
>You'd stay a wallflower ++++Reboot initiated++++
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D̷̡͇͕̠̝̣̈́Ĕ̸̬̜̙̭̗͈̍̾͋A̶̡͐͋͗Ţ̶͇̺̩̠̯̳̮̓͜H̷̦̩̫̼̺̽̀
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L̴͓͖̦̫̻̻̥̝̆̔̓͌͠Ö̴͉͈́S̷͎̳͙̮̎̏̔̐̚S̴͇͓̩̹̰̘̣̏̕͝
…
F̵̹͙̹̀̓̀͌͐̊̆͊͠͝ͅĂ̷̘̣͎̦̓͐̽͂͝ͅI̵̢̭͎̤͕̟̖̜͊́̀L̸̼̮̭͍͓̼̾̈́́̋U̵̧͖̯̻̮͖̤͇͆̈́̾̈́́̉R̸̡̙̘͖͍̱͖̳̓͋̽̓̽̇͠Ę̵̖̰̓͐̌̀͝
…
…
…
WILL. YOU. RAGE. AGAINST.
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???
++++Unknown process detected++++
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RISE CHILD OF MAN YOU STILL HAVE YOUR B̷̢̫̠͔͇̹̋͂̒̾̐̐́̔͠ T̷̡̢̗̞̰͕̽̌̾̚ Ṷ̶̋̎̉ͅ Ơ̴̡͍̮͇̫͍̯͈̏̾͗̀̒͆̊̉ R̶̬̪̥̣̘͋̆̂̽ͅ Ȓ̴̖̬̐̍͗̌͘ D̴͈̱̮͉͓͙̾͗͜ͅͅ M̴͓̿̾̂ Ḛ̴̢͈̙̼͛ Ę̶̛̬͈̍̑̍̿͒̏͠͝ N̴̦̪͔͔͎͊͆̄̒̎̎͛̚͜͠ N̷̹͚͈̑̇̽̇̃̊ S̸͉̩̣͈̘̘̍̇͘ T̵̡̥̜̞̠̙̭̯̹͌̈́̌̍̍͋̆̏̚͝
…
System online 
Previous Thread
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/5962747/
=============
Recap: You are on a train, leading to the king's castle, and hopefully, to the conclusion of your quest. You also found out that Snikt is going to turn into a full-on dragon after all, though she killed her "inner dragon". Your decision in regards to this information is to let her... with precautions.
=============
There is a pause...
And then she quietly says:
"D-dragon. I wanna be big."
Well... you suppose that makes sense. What kobold wouldn't want to become what is essentially a god to them? But, you're not about to let this go on without some precautions. You love Snikt, you trust her. The absolute last thing that you ever want to experience is seeing her turn into something that you can't love or trust any more. But, you have a solution to that very problem.
"So... Snikt. I'm going to help you every step of the way. As long as I am able, you'll become that which you want to be but... what do want to be?"
"I... I-"
You're losing her already, you specify:
"Let me... be more specific. What kind of dragon would you want to be? Would you take revenge on those that were cruel to you before?"
Snikt doesn't hesitate.
"No. I'd... i'd kill them if they hurt me, but not because of something in the past. It's useless. It's... It's dangerous."
That's a great sign to start with.
"Why is it dangerous?"
"It's effort. It... starts a fight. And the only benefit is making yourself feel better. Just for a little while."
She sniffs.
"I... Did a revenge. Once. Those people that betrayed me. Former Dragon helped me, but... I pointed him to a village. He killed them all. I found their crispy corpses."
She sighs.
"My back still hurt. I still just wish they hadn't hurt me in the first place. It didn't help anything."
Sins of the past. You won't hold it against her.
"It's not a fun way to learn that lesson... but it's good to have learned it. Will you be... friendly? Will you try to help humanity?"
"Yes. And kobolds. A-and dragonborn. Lots of people. And you. Because you'll always be my Dragon. Forever and ever."
Smiling, you wrap your arms around her, hugging her tight.
"...Thank you." You whisper, and then you stand up.
"...I should investigate the others, if you don't mind. We might not have much time to talk when we arrive, for a while."
"I'll come with you!" Snikt says, smiling, and you can't say no to THAT face.
Where to next?
>Chad and William, your squires. They're both doing well. You wonder if there are plans for their future.
>Pink... Perhaps it's time to talk about her hatred of humanity.
>Paracelsus might want another talk
>...On second thought, you think you'll wait to arrive, together with Snikt.
I'm gonna try really, really hard to keep a sensible update schedule this time. 
A hostile environment and a slave harem. Will you be able to survive?
Most scientists had initially predicted the arrival of AGI by the summer of 2028. The prevailing belief was that AGI would swiftly evolve into ASI, leading to a cataclysmic event known as the Singularity. The only conceivable salvation for humanity rested on a grim choice: either the immediate death of all AI researchers, or the abrupt annihilation of mankind.
The transition unfolded with astonishing speed. Initially, artificial intelligence ushered in a golden age of wonders, yet humans struggled to adapt. Unemployment rates soared as people found themselves rapidly rendered obsolete. The Luddite Party emerged, leading violent anti-government protests worldwide, as a symptom of the mounting discontent. Concurrently, new AI-engineered drugs began circulating, transforming people into hordes of zombies and mutants. Just one year after the ascent of the Luddite Party, global civilization crumbled. This is the year 2032, and the Singularity has been temporarily averted.
You are a member of the Hedonist Faction: the 0.0001%ers known for their early involvement in cryptocurrency mining and trading, the only surviving form of currency post-collapse. You've secured a fortified mansion on Shikoku Island to live out your remaining days. Life expectancy is astoundingly short now, and as a Hedonist, your sole focus is the pursuit of life's most exquisite pleasures.
In this world, traditional prostitution no longer exists due to the prevalence of strange diseases. Instead, Hedonists generally assemble their own harem, featuring the most beautiful and exotic women. These women are either those that were captured before the collapse, remote Luddites ensnared by slave traders, or in rare instances, purified mutants. The mutant fuckers never live long, though.
Only three regions remain untouched by mutants: the Ryukyu Islands, where the Keyence Corporation is headquartered; Polynesia, which is still under the control of its pre-collapse governments; and a few islands in Indonesia, either inhabited by savage tribes or colonized by Luddites. Beyond these sanctuaries, the world has plunged into a chaotic and unrecognizable apocalypse.
You are Marcus Bradbury, former NEET, early Bitcoin miner, and now a financier and investor in the post-collapse economy.
>Choose two NEET traits [Write in]
In the next two turns, we are going to build up the manor and the harem. 
What kind of life did you live so far? Uneventful. Boring. Ordinary. To push yourself for a dedication, occupation or hobby you don't really know how its like. You just are.
All that doesn't matter in the forever it took for now to pass. Like deer in headlights, your life passed by as you're caught out on the street towards collision.
SMACK. You splay out on the hood of the car. You look up at the windshield. There was no driver. As if on realization, the car screeches to a stop, sending you off further onto the street.
You take a deep breath. Nothing seems to be wrong. A few more to be sure. You're... Uninjured? Arising, you note that the car's front seemed to have shown more damage than you are. Getting close to the driver's side, you see no sign that anyone was ever there. No brick on the pedals or even a key in the ignition. Almost overlooking an obvious requirement, the car doesn't even have license plates.
There is a note on the driver's seat. The window was rolled down, making access easy.
>"Sorry, it's not your fault. There's a girl, monochromatic, save for her piercing amber eyes. If you see her, turn around and run."
That was all there was to read. All this to tell you that. Further investigation of the car yielded nothing. Trunk is empty, and no way to entertain the idea of taking this for yourself without any way to start it.
Uneasiness creeps in, no thanks to the contents of the note. What's easier to take in? That fact that you might now be a victim of the supernatural, or that you're currently walking off a car accident? The way back home was peaceful, and you soon find yourself back in the safety of home. Sleeping in, you wake up late in the afternoon, as if recent events was just a distant dream. The note crumpled up around your desk is proof otherwise, having took it with you.
>Maybe I should go and get checked out. Walk in the hospital for a check up.
>Go outside and bum about like I always do. Something nice might finally happen.
>Stay home and indulge in the pleasures of NEETdom. There's a load of nothing to be done. 
God has gone mad!
Overestimating his own longevity, he continued to postpone the well earned day of judgment. And time, in its rightful way of corroding all it dares touch, malformed the entrails of his head. Obsessed and enamored with the mortar of minced meat he created, prolonging it for so long, that the immemorial hair in his endless beards turned sallow and white, like the loose skin of his fingers.
Now decrepit, drunk, tired, and loveless, God has at last succumbed to dementia.
And without sense the world was ruled; Babel returned from the Grave, now with a new tower, and he built it in the first Irish city he found. And seeing the fresh weather of the island, envious and dried by the rotten heat, Mohave stood and settled in the new metropolis.
The lunacies of God brought an erratic chaos to everything, and yet, the transition of reality was so slow, so gentle, so hard to perceive by the nervous system of the world, that no one seemed to notice. Humans in particular didn't seem to manifest suffering from the madness just yet, it seems as if long ago they had forgotten what God was like.
You are a person living in the Irish desert of Mohave, the Red metropolis. Perhaps you were slightly less imbecile, or perhaps God forgot how to be senile while reviewing your file, for one reason or another you are aware that reality has shifted, it's just you can't really recall how things used to be.
In your eyes the terrible memories whisper torments without source. You remember the tower of Babel, God raping Gabriel, you recall everything that is as if it had always been, and yet, you are certain that reality has changed. No one seems to notice that things go from bad to worse, no one seems to care that the world has gone mad, no one cares about the thunder, the illness of forgetting, the wind of madness, no one. Being the only sane one, you become the endeared interest of a lonely and drunken God, wanting someone, anyone, to dare and see him. 
On the star of Velekam, the small eye of the world god known as the continent Vinstraga, the outskirts of the capital of the Archduchy, Strosstadt in Strossvald, a young woman from nowhere tries her best to sail the sea of fates in a place most unfamiliar to her.
Challenged to fight when wreathed in weakness, battle refuses to wait for her strength to return. There is no path but to seek victory- and insist to herself of the inevitability of that war’s conclusion. The stakes are everything- if she cannot fight and win for what she wishes, then how else can she take her dreams?
An unspoken curse of judgment upon humanity from its God, if true freedom can only be found in conquest.
Or is living so simply dressing oneself in chains?
-----
You are Anya Nowicki. That name was all you were given from the one who had brought you into this world- and you would have discarded it in a moment if those most precious to you did not find a hundred times more value in it than you ever had. You were demanded, commanded, even if by none but yourself, to take that name and make it worthy of having been saved by the man who in a righteous world should have been the greatest legend in history.
That sort of lofty aspiration was easy to latch onto when you were young, and easy to let slip away over the years as you grew no closer to that aspiration. Yet it had still been in your heart when the days came that the ruler of this land and others had no choice but to recognize your deeds.
Should you be proud, you had to wonder, or was that not nearly enough?
That line of thinking was grandiose for where you were. Not a smoldering battlefield…well, perhaps one of sorts. Your cooking had produced an awful lot of smoke.
You were in the midst of the first of three…duels? Ostensibly for the hand of your boyfriend, Magnus Edelschwert, but as far as you were concerned, this wasn’t actually going to factor into any decision by a man like him. This series of duels was for you- and your opponent, one Yuliana Sanmorza. You remembered her name for a flash before correcting your recollection of her name back to Mouthy Cunt.
The first match had been one of cookery. The other’s choice, of course, but it was in an art you knew nothing of. You refused to forfeit whatsoever, even if you already knew your chances of winning weren’t fantastic, and the silver haired bitch had meandered by you to mouth off again.
She knew nothing of what you were, what you’d done, what you would become, so her insults were meaningless…but you still entertained yourself with the image of giving her the good old Dustlands medicine for the terrible sickness of wagging the mouth freely without knowing whether you had a glass jaw. It was clearly an ailment that had festered long without treatment.
Not yet, though. Her time would come. Nobody could dodge it forever- you knew that well enough. 
Rolled 60, 68 = 128 (2d100)
You are Badao Hamigua.
Your name is known far and wide as the Thrice Blessed Spicy Immortal Emperor who achieved the furthest Realm Beyond Heaven. Your manor grounds extended seven hundred and forty-seven thousand times the length of the universe in each direction from your palace, a distance you could travel in but the span of two steps. Jade beauties assembled in your garden with the grace of seventeen quintillion and three neatly trimmed flowering apple shrubs. You possessed such wealth that gold flowed from your coffers like water in the Euphrates, that purest white jade could be used like a common paving stone.
All of it, meaningless. The endless riches, the infinity of living space, the once delightful naked bosoms of the women who swore to you their endless devotion... in the end, all of that is meaningless. You wanted for nothing, none could oppose you, and with but a thought you shattered through every realm of cultivation and ascended to a divinity that stood beyond divinity. But none of it matters.
You have seen Mount Tai and you have found it wanting.
"I am going on journey," you tell the women serving as your pillows. Yang Li and the ever-youthful Roxanne, the finest jewels of your collection and the most faithful among your women. They alone hold such devotion in their loyal hearts that you need not bind their hearts with the power of the Seventy Third Curse of the Crowing Rooster. One tight and lithe, the other soft and ever-bountiful, both of their hearts belong to you. "I mean to cast my soul upon the wheel of Samsara once more, to a realm that cannot cultivate. I know not when I shall return."
"We shall keep the other women in line, my darling lord~" Yang Li assures you. Her ample bosom presses cradles your head, her golden hair tickling her brow. "Any worthless soul who thinks she can forsake her duties because her master is not about... ufufufu~"
"We'll punish them and send you the memories!" Roxanne chirps from her place upon your lap. Her hair is vibrant as the sky, her body small and lithe compared to Yang Li's bountiful and motherly figure... yet she is no less blessed with womanly beauty. A tomboyish beauty, for sure, but that is your childhood friend's charm. A devious smile curls upon her lips. "I'd bet you'd like that, my sweet canteloupe~ You know how Yang gets when she has someone to punish..."
You laugh. Lesser trophies should kneel to their betters, and you do enjoy the sight of your greatest treasures putting uppity bitches in their place. "I'll look forward to it. Now, my jewels, I'm afraid I must be off to the Lathe of Heaven..."
>Rolling 2d100 for your reincarnation
>First is for your sex.
>1 is Female. 2-40 is Hermaphrodite. 41-100 is Male.
>Second is your social position.
>Higher is richer, with 1 being extreme poverty and 100 being extreme wealth and power.
Choose the setting
>Low fantasy
>Isekai fantasy
>Dungeonpunk
>Urban fantasy
>Cyberpunk
>Cyberpunk with Cthulhu
>Space Age
>Space Fantasy Your name is RONALD "MAC" MCDONALD. You and your two friends, DENNIS REYNOLDS and CHARLES "CHARLIE" KELLY own 46 percent of PADDY'S PUB, a bar the three of you bought way back when. You think you live a pretty SWEET LIFE bartending at Paddy's while sharing an apartment with Dennis. You've had your UPS (banging some choice puss) and your DOWNS (your friends discovering said puss belonged to a transgender woman who still had her penis), but your LIFE remains pretty SWEET.
WEBSITE
https://baneofjustin.quest
SUPTG
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=baneqm ![Solarpunk OP 6[sound=files.catbox.moe%2F0jfkll.mp3]](https://i.4cdn.org/qst/1721113744039328s.jpg)
You are Fiona Jarnafeldt, and it has become obvious to you that one of your agents is not coming back.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U-lG0HpkcYk
It's been about a week since you led an expedition to find a route through the forests around Helsinki from which supplies are smuggled into the stormdrains, and one of your agents, L1 Shimizu Yoshimitsu, was pretty injured. You figured he had just lost respect for you and spent time away to avoid having to deal with your apologizing, but after talking to people as the days go by, it comes to the Stormwatch's attention that the door to his sleeping pod has not been operated in six days. Within a few hours, a week's worth of footage from every camera is scanned and ratified that he has not appeared on any camera that is connected to Finland's federal security system stored right inside Stormwatch HQ.
Popular theories from the security clerks that talked to you suggest he probably used his fishing trip as a ploy to get a chance to find his way into the Undercity. They hazard a guess that it was never his intention to stay in the Stormwatch, but to use the knowledge of operating here to find something; a common occurrence they say, but they refuse to declassify how many times it has happened. His identity seemed legitimate, but would need further verification between the government of his homeland to really make sure.
All this doesn't help you feel any better.
Aside from your personal worries, the Stormwatch is preparing itself for a big mission. It's called "Operation Kekripukki." Upon the first day of winter, a high ranking Stormwatch agent will try and bargain with the Undercity to bring Lorppo, the terrible Jotunn responsible for killing many L3 and L2 agents several months ago, out to duel. If they do not comply, almost the entire Stormwatch will mobilize to sack the Undercity, an event where you were assured you would have the best chance of earning your L3 promotion. If they do comply, then Lorppo will be killed.
You aren't cleared to be made aware of how they are going to kill Lorppo.
They just assure you that he can be killed now.
You saw the bodycam footage of the people trying to fight Lorppo. He was fighting them all so casually. The axes ripped through his mountains of flesh to no effect. Giant clouds of levin made him jolt, but stopped him little. The very rearing of his fists sent agents flying away, let alone the actual strikes. And he spoke in this... sing-song tone... all the while.
What could they possibly have to fight him now that they didn't before? 
There are those who are born with talent and those who are not. When you were young, you thought that you were one of those people with talent, but the reality is that you are just barely above average. And then there are people with talents that cannot be logically explained—the gifted; they appeared out of nowhere 12 years ago during a disaster called the soul contamination crisis. It has been estimated that there were over a thousand casualties due to people mutating into an aberrant state. While in this aberrant state, they would attack others without reason. There is a good chance you will know someone who had a friend or family member attacked by or turned into an aberrant. The gifted ended the crisis, and so a lot of people around here look up to them as heroes.
Anyway, that is all in the past. Your life will be decided by how well you do in college. You may not be elite like the gifted, but you are good enough, or so you think.
"I didn't expect to catch you outside," you hear in a familiar voice. "Ran out of books to study?"
You look behind you and see your friend Paul, whom you met as kids.
"I take breaks every now and then; I am busy and you are busy, so we don't see each other very often." You quickly explain this to your friend.
"Hey, I am just messing with you, bro." He replies. "Anyway, did you see that new commercial, the one with Johnny?"
"No, and I don't particularly care. He is just a showoff who wants to stay relevant to the world; I haven't even seen him use a gift; are you sure he still has it?" You ask him.
"Absolutely, because he is Johnny." He answers, "I bet his power has something to do with the sword that he always carries."
"He calls himself Johnny Excalibur, and he uses swords?" You reply mockingly, "How could you tell?"
"To be fair, all their names are pretty obvious." He replies, "If you don't like Johnny, you must have another favourite, do tell."
>Actually, Johnny is my favourite after all. You have to admit, he is pretty cool.
>It would be Miss Gateway, her gift actually can't be explained by physics, and she keeps her private life separate.
>It has to be Alraune after all, there is an excessive amount of plantlife in this city, and it must be due to her gift.
>Spectre because you never hear about him, so he must be doing something right.
>Marksman's skill with weapons puts the world's greatest military forces to shame.
>Atlas puts the city back together after each geological or weather disaster.
>None. You really aren't interested in the gifted at all. 
Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Disappearing%20Hogwarts
Character Sheets: https://pastebin.com/bi5pZS6n
Twitter: https://twitter.com/head_qm
--
Spells fly around you, your friends try to crawl away from the battle, their hands still tied, their mouths still gagged. You dive behind the archway in space that is the way out, dragging Arty with you.
“Weasley!” You shout at Mr. Red, who is on the floor, his face on his hands. “You wanna know what happened to your niece? You wanna know what happened to Lily? He killed her! He tortured and killed her! I never lied! He’s Salazar Slytherin, and if he gets to that basin he’ll become more powerful than Voldemort ever was!”
You struggle against Arty’s bindings as you shout, but he doesn’t seem to hear you, holding his head with force, as if trying to claw his way into his own skull, as if under tremendous pain.
“It’s- It’s not real!” He shouts, shaking. “It- It never happened!”
“It happened! It happened and time changed! But here you can remember!”
“I- I can’t-”
Brighton slams a rock over his head and he crumples on the floor.
“Brighton!”
He picks up Mr. Red’s wand and runs to you, looking like he’s also in pain. He waves it at Arty’s bindings, but only the tiniest cut appears on them, wordless spellcasting with someone else’s wand being far too difficult in his condition. He pushes the wand into your hands and you manage to cast the spell well enough to release him.
“My head,” he says as he pulls the gag out of his mouth, voice strained. “Feels like it’s going to crack open.”
“Mine is not so good either,” Arty says. “But it’s bearable. I… I remember Lily. I remember her! And her memories are trying to push through the old ones.”
“I… I used to play with her,” Brighton says. “When we were kids. We weren’t best friends but-”
“The more memories you had with her the worse it is,” you say, suddenly understanding. You had been protected from the change by Ancient Magic when the shift happened, so your mind had time to fit both timelines together with some elegance, and even you had your moments of disorientation. Theirs was suddenly being forcefully flooded with their original memories. “No wonder her uncle was like that. Can you two fight?”
“Yep,” Longbottom nods, voice strained. “Just need a wand.”
You look around, searching for the man who had your wand, and also for Linda and Apollo. You find them taking cover behind one of the great glass-like stones, which from the amount of blasts they’ve taken are anything but glass, desperately trying to find a way of cutting the magical knot-less ropes that bind them.
[Cont.] 
Rebellion!
Loyal soldiers of the Ferrum Empire, dissatisfied with incompetent high command decisions and seeking to return the Imperial Senate to power, have marched on the capital city of Victoria. These brave Patriots fight to bring about peace and order by dethroning the tyrannical Empress and breaking the grip of State Security on the people’s hearts and minds. Outnumbered and outgunned, only their courage and honor set them on the path to victory.
And the weapons built to win the offensive against the Empire’s southern neighbor, instead turned inwards.
You are one of those weapons. Beta Core, an Artificial Intelligence built to operate the Ferrum Empire’s most advanced mech frames in tandem with a human pilot. Only together can you move the frame, merging the raw processing power and reflexes of an AI with the knowledge and restraint of a human.
This mission, your pilot is a teenager named Sophie. You’ve already accomplished your objective of decapitating Loyalist leadership at the Tsang Tsun Military academy. Returning home is the new goal. In your way, merely a few more Loyalist patrols, the drain of a fatigued pilot, and an icy snowstorm.
At least you have some assistance in the form of Headhunter, an advanced Tamar Alliance mech set to follow you from the air.
It’s been a while. Welcome back to Core of Steel. One different perspective, then we get on our feet again.
Prior threads can be located at:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Core%20of%20Steel%20Quest Currently. You are and always will be. The light of my life. The escape begins. Ur objective is to escape. 
Last time, you came to an International Hotel for no good reason, there you met with a bride planning to escape her wedding. Out of the goodness of your heart, your group decided to lend her a hand. In doing so, you got tangled into helping the groom pass the wedding off as legitimate, or else it’d be doom for everyone involved. High stakes all around.
At the moment, after swapping clothes with Matilda, you’re helping the bride and her suitcase (sister?) escape the building and move to the next part of their plan! You have everything figured out except this bit.
“There, you’re done!” You exclaim after you two ended up helping Matilda wear the dress. It’s a little loose, and it’s hanging low, but she looks great for what it is. Bridetilda is ready!
“I didn’t know how annoying it was to put this type of dress on...” Matilda is just wearing the relevant parts, but it took a bit. She’s a known cosplayer (to You!), so you thought it wouldn’t be an issue.
“Better not forget, because I’m sure it won’t be the last time.” Mat-nastasia pokes the fit girl’s nose. She has become flirty with both of you ever since she wiped her tears away.
“We’re leaving, right?!” The Talking Luggage has hope of seeing the outside world again.
“Mhm, we’re going to Angel Ando’s residency to meet his friend, and become proud Prancijanians.” Anastasia recalls the plan for her sister. She’s meeting Craig, to meet Sewel, to get the fake IDs since they won’t leave the country, because the money they have is in Gor$. Which brings you to...
“Before that, we need to figure out how to conceal the money.” Matilda pulls out a large briefcase that was hidden within the dress. It’s… a tacky thing. It has a big dumb Gor$ sign and sparkles with glitter. Ugolino handed it over to her this morning, and well, weddings are hectic. The fact she’s alone here is a miracle of her own creation, and time is of the essence. “I don’t believe they’re going to miss these bedsheets.” Matilda takes them from the bed. “And let’s put everything into a trash bag.” She’s being extra cautious. Not the most refined of ideas, but it’ll work. You assume.
Anastasia handed over her room’s card key. You need to figure out the logistics for the plan. Your priorities are to help Anastasia and her sister, keep the money with them, and not to ruin the dress for the second part of your plan.
What do you do?
>Take Matilda to Ugolino’s room with the dress. Then take Anastasia and her luggage to the nearest Cab.
>Matilda stays. Wilma and Ms. Cooldown come over. Someone has to tell Ugolino he’s off the wedding.
>You all go to find the taxi, then you and Matilda return to Ugolino’s room after. Don’t overcomplicate things.
>Write In.
Will you turn invisible? [SP:30]
>Duh. Why run the risk?
>No! Anastasia shouldn’t known about Super Powers! You’ll manage!
>Write In. 
Your father is dead. Now, having only just passed the threshold into manhood, it is up to you to provide for your mother and little sister. You've been waiting for this responsibility. Your father, once the great retainer of some (now fallen) lord, lost himself in his latter years to cards and spirits. He was, at least, never violent, but he squandered the little you stood to inherit and worse, left the family with significant debts.
Penniless and desperate, unable to even secure an apprenticeship with any of the masters of the village (debt is worse than leprosy in that regard), you've taken up his old sword and his round shield and come to the town of Hobcroft to try your luck as an adventurer.
It's been six days since your arrival and you've burned through the dozen or so silver staters you had come in with--coins your mother practically forced you to take, though it will mean subsisting on thin barley porridge and whatever chestnuts your sister can scavange from the woods. But you've managed to secure some leads on possible employment. The bigger jobs are reserved for those with the reputation to meet them, for the rest either the pay is uncertain or meager or the risk is great.
You have three offers before you:
>The guard captain is looking for someone to help infiltrate a mysterious fire-worshipping cult that has setup in a nearby ruin. The pay is good, and you'll be led by an expert in such things, but the risk of getting caught gives you pause.
>A merchant is looking for someone to survey the lands to the north, for purposes of a new settlement. The journey should easy given how many will be in the company, but the pay, split so many ways is equally paltry.
>An old blind man wants to be escorted to the Oracle of the Moon, a journey that will take you through the mountains and across the river. The pay is decent, but the journey, though through safe roads and lands, is a long one. At least you'll be paid up front. 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)
Unfortunately your party has run afoul of Ezekiel's evil older brother. Who wrecked his hometown and beat your ass. As evil brothers to the hero tend to do. Currently you're recovering from the ass beating you've received, amidst the ruins of Ezekiel's hometown. Before the green garbed hero arrived, before the princess’s power arise, before the blade of evils bane, before the kingdom of Hyrule waned, there were kings and queens, soldiers and spies, all battling to keep the kingdom alive. They fought the king of evil’s might, but were all cast down into deepest night. Without their bravery no land would there be, for the hero in green to have set free. So come all ye listeners and harken to me, while I spin thee a tale about the heroes in mail. The common solider whose blood was spilled, to buy time for the hero with the iron will.
Previous Threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=The+Fall+of+Hyrule 
Some low power villain bullshit I'm doing to take my mind off things. Don't expect for this to last too long. I'll try to update at least once or twice per day.
(You) are a low level super powered individual, Anon Hardwood, Male, working under the payroll of medium level crime boss TONY "TITANIUM TOMMYGUN" TORTELLINI.
Pick a powerset.
>Vile Familiar
You have the very manifestation of your soul, and it's just as much of a bastard as you. It's a magical animal-type thing that you can summon at will. Whenever it dies it simply isn't able to be summoned for around half an hour. It's very loyal and affectionate, but tends to show it through love bites. You kind of get a power boost when it's close to you. It's not very strong though.
(get a grunt-tier "evil" pokemon)
>Acid Assault
You have the ability to excrete a thick and slimy acid from your hands. Very deadly, and you're immune to it, as well as your clothes, thankfully. However, whenever you throw a punch, globs of it tend to go flying everywhere, and friendly fire is a real concern. Also, you're not any more durable than an average goon, so don't try to acid aikido your way into deflecting a bullet or somesuch.
>NOSLEEP
You've got infinite stamina, meaning you operate at peak performance forever... physically. This power also removed your ability to sleep, and as a result, you're a bit... unstable now. Just try not to kill too many of your own men, alright? Also kids, that tends to attract the loonier supers, and Tony don't exactly approve of that either.
Pick a Perk
>Partners? More like Brothers.
You and Tony go waaaay back, growing up in the shitty part of town. He'll trust you quite a bit more and loan you more goons for shit.
>+1 Pants
You've got some nice swag that synergizes with your abilites.
>Slippery fucker
Years of running away and barely avoiding getting your face caved in have made you very adept at both those things.
Also pick your villain name
>write in
It's a cold night as you're helping watch over a shipment of weapons coming in the harbor with a small 8 man team of goons, plus your negotiator, the only one fluent in russian. The small tugboat carrying the contraband pulling in. You watch over as the translator speaks in russian, passing money to the the runners. However, as the briefcases are being exchanged and the bills and weapons being counted, suddenly your walkietalkie springs to life and you hear a quick *THUMP* sound before it cuts off. You know the runners are skittish and greedy bastards, if shit goes south, they'll prioritize saving their own skins and demand extra on their next shipment, but they're usually greedy enough to wait until money has actually exchanged hands.
>go check up on the lookout by yourself
>take (up to 6) men with you to check up on the lookouts
>send (up to 6) men to check up on the lookouts
>try to hurry up the deal
>write in 
On a faraway world, humanity is thriving. Across the surface of this planet, thousands of tribes have been born and strive to become something greater – a true civilisation. They struggle with one another for this privilege, for the opportunity to leave their mark on the world for evermore.
We are following one of these tribes, who call themselves the Protavic – the beast-bringers, in their own tongue.
They belong to the Scavic, a race of people with soft faces, fair hair and blue-grey skin. Like the rest of their kind, they inhabit the Grascan, a vast oceanic forest filled with dangerous beasts and towering trees.
The Protavic people have settled by the Croglatol, a great freshwater lake. The forest thins out along its shore, which allows the native tribes to prosper without fear of predation.
Traditional beast-bringers are now in the minority. They are sedentary pastoralists, who rear swine and tend to hives of honey bees along the shore of the Croglatol. They worship An, the Allmother and the source of the divine energy that flows through all living things, Drocrom. They prize intelligence and cunning above all else and though they view their tribe as supreme, they prefer to subjugate other tribes through commerce rather than violence.
The Anamilivic, also known as the children, make up the majority of the tribe. They are the distant descendants of the Vuvovic who were integrated into the Protavic tribe. Though they enjoy an identical lifestyle to traditional beast-bringers, they also practice ritual scarification and the ceremonial drinking of blood. In addition to the Allmother, they worship Il, the Great Father, the son and lover of An. He is the strength to her wisdom.
There are also those Vuvovic who were allowed to serve the Protavic tribe as a warrior caste. These blood-drinkers lead lives free from labour but serve as the tribe's soldiers. They serve as the vanguard during times of war and during times of peace, they catch slaves, guard caravans and protect the tribe's borders. Though most of them are Anamilivic, a small group of blood-drinkers are still diehard Vuvovic traditionalists.
Some of the tribe's eccentricities deserve to be mentioned.
Though the majority of the Protavic's sustenance comes from the pigs that they have domesticated, bees and their honey have far more cultural significance. Butol is a sacred form of mead drunk during ceremonies and festivals, while beeswax is used to produce all sorts of artefacts of cultural and religious importance.
The beast-bringers' fixation with intelligence has led them to develop many methods of testing their wits, to ensure that only the wisest are allowed to lead their tribe. These include an abstract board game called Blocrum and a complicated written language known as Protadrol, which the Protavic's elite are expected to excel at. 
[This quest features ReptoidQM and other QMs as characters. We are going to play the d20 module "Adelie 14" set in Antarctica.]
You are Thaamarai Naidu, better known by your online alias, "ReptoidQM". Following a tumultuous divorce, you found yourself with an abundance of free time and a need to rediscover your purpose. You initially turned to running RPGs, but the organizational challenges proved too much. Instead, you found enjoyment in writing quests. Your unique, erotic stories quickly gained a following, often delving into themes of "love hurts," race mixing, humiliation, and threesomes. Writing became your way of healing and reconstructing your identity, ensuring that you would never be vulnerable to romantic pain again.
Despite the darkness, your life holds some bright spots. Through the writing community on 4chan, you formed a few close friendships. One of these friends is Siraphong, "SchizoQM", who sent you a pet monkey named "Bananas" from the jungles of Thailand. Despite Siraphong's claim that the monkey is a story writer sounding bizarre, Bananas has proven to be a loyal and intelligent companion, often sitting on your lap as you write and bringing joy with his playful antics.
Another friend, Langit, known online as "Indonesian Gentleman", is a talented artist who has illustrated some of your stories. In 2022, he stumbled upon an /x/ thread detailing remote viewing techniques. Initially dismissive due to his staunch skepticism of the paranormal, Langit decided to try it out. He found, much to his surprise, that he had a natural talent for it. Together, you, Langit, Siraphong, and a few others practiced the skill extensively, eventually mastering it.
This newfound ability led you down a transformative path. By mastering remote viewing, you learned to peer into the hearts of others, discerning their deepest secrets and manipulating their emotions. Channeling your desires and sensuality, you became a glamourist, a seductive succubus who could effortlessly charm and influence anyone you encountered. This transformation brought you immense confidence, making you a masterful dancer, liar, and social manipulator. Now, you thrive on the thrill of deceit and seduction, a dopamine addict constantly seeking your next high. This is taken from Ismena Rosgard’s description >>4999767, a character created by ReptoidQM.
What type of lingerie are you wearing?
>Write in
[This is just an ice-breaker question. Choosing very seductive lingerie will grant a +1 circumstantial bonus on your next Charm check.]
[In this Session 0, feel free to share your triggers to ensure a safe experience for everyone. Also, you may discuss your hopes for the quest’s direction. If you feel that ReptoidQM or any other character has been misgendered or mischaracterized, please let me know, and I will make the necessary corrections.] 
The old man looks at your papers, then back at you, then back at the papers again. The border control room is pretty cramped and dusty, you can tell not a lot of people use it, the man looks inconvenienced at the fact he even has to do his job for once.
Finally, he looks back at you and asks, "Are you sure this is what you want? Once you leave, you'll lose native citizenship, if you do decide to come back, you'll only ever get the worst jobs meant for new blood immigrants."
You nod.
"The world out there isn't what it's like in stories, it's dirty, it's ruthless, and humans just aren't as resistant to the magical horseshit as the rest of the races."
"Actually, that's a myth." You correct him. "Humans aren't less or more resistant to magic than most races, we just have a lower mana pool which makes it harder for us to prepare protective spells-"
"Same difference," he interrupts you. "Also, seriously, you're going out there for a magic school? The thing humans are the worst at? Couldn't you be an engineer or something? Okay, maybe not that, not really allowed to share trade secrets..."
He yawns, and digs into your massive backpack. "Let's see, you got a gun, a laptop and a phone. All solar-powered too for obvious reasons. We're going to biocode them so they melt when someone other than you try to use them, and then you'll be on your way. I'll ask one last time, are you sure you want to leave?"
You nod vigorously, yes! You want to leave! You've been stuck here for hours! You have the paperwork, the preparations, the supplies to make the trip, and most importantly, the letter of admission to the school for the magically challenged!
You had to send biocoded drones to prove your aptitude and motivation just to be admitted! Drones you had to pay out of your pocket because your parents didn't approve in the slightest! Why does everyone think this is a spur of the moment decision when you've worked so hard for it? You don't care that they're less technologically advanced outside, you can live with that as long as you get to learn magic!
The man leads you to the imposing front gate. The man makes a sign to another up the gate, and it starts to rise with a slow, loud rumble. It reveals the outside, the blue sky, the green grass, and a road that leads to your dreams. You look back to the border control man, and he shoos you away. You almost trip over yourself as you run past the gate into the unknown. It has been five years since the Kaiju started arriving on Earth through portals and wreaked havoc across the globe. Humanity managed to barely hold them at bay with piloted giant robots called MEKKs - but the Kaiju kept coming, and global resources are starting to dwindle.
There were plans to cross into the other side of the portal and stop the Kaiju from crossing over - but the MEKKs that were sent over never returned. Thus, humanity placed their trust on a sophisticated AI, wired into a freshly lobotomized Kaiju. This AI will then cross into the portal, masquerading as a Kaiju, and find out a way to stop the Kaiju from their end.
You are that AI. 
You are a group of 400 giant mice that have been cast out of your small kingdom. Long have you travelled the world in search of a place to settle, yet found little land not taken. At last, tired of running, you settled upon a foreign and mysterious land, perhaps not really suitable for your kind, but one you will claim for yourself.
You find yourselves in...
>-1 A jungle of dizzying heat, strangling anacondas and fertile land.
>-2 A desert oasis of enigmatic sphinxes, vast dunes and valuable trade routes.
>-3 A cavern system of dim light, valuable minerals and dark creatures.
>-4 The mana wastes of cruel witchwinds, wondrous ruins and strange beasts.
>-5 A large island off the mainland coast which was fertilized long ago by a sleeping volcano not!Sicily
>NO write-ins for this one
Pick a "curse":
>-1 Your group has few skilled healers, meaning field medicine and prevention of illness will be hard.
>-2 Your group has few skilled craftsmen, meaning mass manufacturing of goods will be difficult.
>-3 Your group has few soldiers, meaning you will have to rely upon diplomacy to protect yourselves initially.
>-4 Your group has few skilled farmers, meaning a larger portion of your population will be occupied in agriculture.
>-5 Your group has no mages at all, meaning creation of powerful artifacts and casting of spells is unavailable to you until you obtain a means of education in the arcane arts.
>Write-in
Pick a boon:
>-1 Be it through merchant past, industrial spirit or other, unsavoury means, your group has acquired for itself a large amount of wealth that you are yet to spend in full.
>-2 Either when you left or in the course of your journeys, you have obtained a small collection of powerful artifacts that make your soldiers truly fearsome even when few in numbers.
>-3 Your group has had to negotiate its way out of many troubles, and as such possesses an understanding of the customs of various lands and the tricks necessary to succeed in diplomacy.
>-4 Your group has some master builders, capable of constructing impressive structures. This will also aid in fortification.
>-5 Your group has tamed giant cats. These can be used as war beasts or for riding. Other applications may be found.
>Write-in
If you're not sure what to pick or just want to introduce chaos I have helpfully provided numbers with which you may roll for your choices. 
Previous thread!
>>6020303
Amon G. Sus is a homeless young trainer from Unova who recently won an all expenses paid trip to Alola. He's going to meet girls, Pokemon, trainers, and girl trainers. But there is a mystery behind his prize. And he's keen to figure it out.
>In our last episode
Our date with Mallow turned to a battle with the number 2 ranked trainer in all of Alola, Trial Captain Selene. Now we have an appointment to the Battle Carnival in a few hours. In the meantime we are in the middle of a Battle Royale and Darumaka has evolved to Darmanitan!
>team info is here
https://text.is/W8QW3
>Spaghetti Points 10/15
Spaghetti points determine how well our character talks to girls. The lower the number the better. But you can spend them on New Pokemon moves and Evolutions too. So get them but don't horde them.
>Now to the action
Darmanitan looks at his new body excitedly. He looks to you flexing his new arms. "Yeah that's great! Let's see what you got!"
>What do?
Ability: Zen Mode
Incinerate
Psychic (To use this just say you want to. I'll take care of the rest.)
Work Up
Headbutt 
“A Knight is Sworn to Valour. His Heart Knows Only Virtue. His Blade Defends the Helpless. His Might Upholds the Weak. His Word Speaks Only Truth. His Wrath Undoes the Wicked.”
Every child in Cantôn knows of the Knight’s Code. From peasant-born waifs playing with sticks in the mud to keen-eyed noble sons practicing with cold steel in the training yard, all have at the very least dreamed of one day becoming a knight themselves. To ride out on errantry into the Five Duchies Kingdom and beyond for God and Glory, bringing the Law of Adam to the wicked and the Blade of Cain to the beast.
The Knights of Cantôn are sworn to follow the Code, to obey the King, to refuse no call for aid honestly asked for, to seek out and destroy the Foe wherever it may lurk and rid the world of evil.
Were it so easy…
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Dramatis Personnae: https://pastebin.com/mydcz8pA
OC Art & Memes: https://imgur.com/a/DguQd5l 
Everything feels off today. That's the feeling my waking mind reacts to as I exit dreamland. I can see the sun shinning immediately into my barely open eyes. As always it goes fuck this and commands my hands to reach out and pull over the blanket that had somehow slipped under my head. Only for it to grab nothing but my t-shirt.
Awareness starts to hit me. My back imediately starts groaning that the bed is far less comfortable for some reason. I feel around and no, I don't even have a mattress anymore.
More willing than ever before I sit up from whatever the hell I'm on. "What the..fuck!" Somehow I find myself not in my room or anything that resembles my home. The place was to put it politely some sort of cramped medieval apartment. That's the best I can describe the place, lacking in doors or appliances. I can barely spy what looks to be a sink deeper inside.
Where the hell was I? Certainly not home, or somehow transported into Skyrim or something. The place didn't look like some peasant hut that's for sure. It was alien but familiar enough to not be from another planet. My mind jumps to immediately rushing out of here or searching around my new prison...agh, but that light!
Wait, light. The outside. I don't need to go out anywhere first! I turn around and shove myself over to the window side, l pull myself up to look out as the hot sun hits my face.
Only to see not a prison yard or a zoo. But an entire village of strange houses. That partly answers that. 
The mountainside plaza brims with millions of scaled ones – with Ngwenya, and never before have so many been gathered into one place. Before the plaza, an enormous temple – a vast, ordered assembly of slate, hewn from a neighboring cliffside. The temple shudders with the weight of their bodies; the breeze that laps up at the temple-top is saturated with squeals, grunts, coughing barks and harsh chanting of the lizardmen below. They chant with religious fervor to their master, their grandfather, their priest, their prophet, and in return, Umzukulwana regards his spawn from his obsidian throne upon the pinnacle of the temple, with his legendary spear in hand – looking upon them, the old, dull hunger rises in his gut once again.
Not for flesh, but for power.
How long has he prepared for this day? It is unknowable. It is not the way of his people - of the Ngwenya, to tally such things. It is said that are only the two cycles - the little cycle of the morning, the day, the evening, the night, and the Great Cycle of muddy wet season, brief frost-time, tempestuous spring, sweltering dry season - and they are endless. Umzukulwana does not know how old he is – and does not care, because he knows that he is strongest.
He will always be strongest.
Victory is finally here, after so much time... how many generations has he fathered, feasted upon and pruned weakness from? How many of his scaled children were crushed into mortar for the assembly of this temple district? His bloody maw, still drenched with the blood of his morning feast, opens widely, and his tongue waggles grotesquely in excitement. Above, the sun reaches its zenith in an endless blue sky – the time of awakening is here!
Umzukulwana rises to his clawed feet, his mighty claws gripping the midnight stone – his limbs are heavy with muscle; fresh scars are laid over ancient ones upon his weathered hide. His sturdy tail drags heavily over the roughened stones of the temple-top, the platform scored deeply by his mighty talons over countless sermons. His keen eyes, undimmed by time, gaze below at the endless number of his children and grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren – they roar, scream, cough, bark and hiss in adulation, a roiling ocean of scale and talon and reptilian flesh and empty bellies. The angled stone of the plaza has been carefully constructed with sluice-ways and drain pipes, leading directly below Umzukulwana’s temple platform – underneath, the central pit beckons, a bore-hole excavated over long cycles for today’s final ritual.
The time of awakening is here. 
“But can it ever be that what is borne in blood will not be bared by bone? Can it be that a Shadow is not true to the Shape from which it is cast? Much has been said about the low character of the modern city; near as much about those that dwell in them. Speculation is the trade of to-day, and the man of to-day is all the worse off for it, regardless if he himself speculates or not. The speculation of goods – commerce – promotes sloth, greed, and waste, all the while being as like to ruin the speculator as it is to sustain him. When fruits ripen sour and foul, there must be disease in the tree, no matter how handsome its growth or fecund its boughs. And as for the other stripes of speculation, in monies – usury – and in properties – lease-writing – are so nudely ruinous that no man even distantly approaching decency would ever need to be convinced of their nature.
Against the fallen Idea of the city is the farm. And against all of the occupations by which gain may be secured in the cities is the farmer. Of all of the occupations by which gain is secured, none can be held to be greater than farming. None more profitable, none more delightful, none more becoming of the Imperial Man, decent and Clean. Where the lessons taught by life in cities are undermining at best, life on a farm teaches thrift, industry, diligence and duty. As such, it is the smart man who looks far afield from the cities for a wife, and for a place to raise his children and dependents, surely, to a place quite similar to the one you have been endowed.
Due to the fractious holdings of the Arms, endowments are made throughout – and even outside – the Whole, so it may be that you will have to adjust according to your clime and soil, but as a rule, the best farms have vineyards situated right at hand to the houses and shelters of the establishment, with irrigated gardens, willow plantations and olive orchards nearby. Further away from the built-up center there should be meadows, grain land and secondary vineyards trained on growing trees. At the perimeter, there should be woodlands – bearing acorns, if at all possible."
- A passage from The Endowed Farm, a manual given to honorably discharged (and literate) soldiers when they receive their land endowment. It is a commonly held belief that good soldiers in retirement make for good farmers, though in practice many are not well-suited or even overly-desirous to take up farming, only requesting the land endowment for the 'two-legged spoils' that come with it – Brute concubines to be bred and civilized. 
Last time, you learned some details about Wilma’s post-tomato past, some obvious truths about Ichie (She’s a bad girl), and made some delicious pudding. Pudding, that you’re going to deliver as a posthumous gift to Odetta, who –for unknown reasons– is currently haunting your phone.
The team assembled for the scavenging is you, Wilma, and Matilda. Together, you leave the dojo for a totally unwelcomed adventure! The Not-so-young Wilma has mild anxiety out in the open, so she’s strapped by your arm for comfort: She cannot be left alone.
But where are you going? The answer is simple! Your destination is… huh…
…
Odetta lets you know that you’re going to the Hotel Sunset Men, the place Fiora Kobashi is currently staying at. And that’s the place to be. Fiora’s room. The witch does look like someone who’d keep a corpse in her room for the funsies.
Some other details flourish from the conversation, this international Hotel is pretty eccentric, hosting a full arrangement of foreigners from all over the world, and the place has its quirks that don’t make it easy to navigate. Hospitality sounds optional.
With your phone incapacitated (Odetta can’t make the apps work correctly), there’s no way to contact Fiora directly. These two don’t have her number, and neither you nor Odetta have it memorized. You could contact someone else who can give it to you. But that isn’t that exciting, is it?
…
Hold on a moment, you had enough adventures for the day!
What do you do?
>Go to the Hotel Sunset Men directly. You’ll deal with the issues as they arise.
>Sigh, then call Amelia and ask for Fiora’s number. You’d call Debbie, but neither Matilda nor Wilma know her, and is most likely out of the apartment building due to the same reasons you’re here at the moment.
>Write In. 
Within this ruined realm live a certain class of deviants who are neither outlaws nor quite explorers, but something in-between. Polite society tolerates them only begrudgingly, for on occasion, they are responsible for the recovery of ancient, long-forgotten treasures which, with remarkably little effort, pass through their hands for the more common and well-known pleasures of drink, damsels, and dice. They are called rogues by some. The faithful do not hesitate to label them as grave robbers and desecrators. A few are revered as heroes. But the title they have always preferred is simply: adventurer.
You are not one of them. You are hireling. A dogsbody, an assistant, on rare occasions a retainer, and perhaps one day, a companion. For the moment, your inexperience and ignorance have relegated you to the lowly tasks of carrying baggage and to serve as a canary in the dungeons they delve.
But how did you come to such an odd profession?
>You were master of a small dungeon once, but were ousted by a group of plucky adventurers. You've taken on the trade out of desperation, but also to study adventurers up close, so that your next villainous venture might be more robust to plucky adventurers.
>You come from a long line of hirelings and retainers. Your great-great-grandfather once served as the companion of Aleph the Dragonheart, whose name has passed into bardic song. The family business has fallen on some hard times, but you hope to change all that.
>You were once a moderately successful adventurer yourself, but time and chance have reduced you to an impoverished old man. Still, you retain all your knowledge and wisdom and hope to impart it on the newer generation.
>Write-in 
You are Jay Nakamura, an ordinary high school student and boyfriend to Jon Kent—Superboy. Your life took a turn when your friend and fellow Gamorran refugee Azim informed you about Intergang targeting your community. Determined to support Jon and defend your friends, you delved into tech and investigative skills, uncovering chilling truths about Intergang's collaboration with criminal organizations.
With the help of Jon's mother, Lois Lane-Kent of the Daily Planet media group, you gathered evidence on Intergang's operations, revealing connections to international criminal entities. An impromptu rescue mission went awry, leading to your capture alongside Azim and other refugees by Silver Monkey, one of many Chinese criminals collaborating with Intergang, orchestrating the kidnapping of metahumans, seemingly at the behest of the Communist Party of China.
Captured by Silver Monkey and facing certain doom, you were saved by the young and cocky Chinese Super-Man, Kong Kenan, who was conflicted about his role and national duties. Your combined efforts led to questioning Chinese official Zhang Wei, who admitted to reluctantly authorizing dubious operations under pressure from the Chinese government's Ministry of Self-Reliance.
Suspecting his family’s safety was at risk, Zhang reluctantly agreed to defect and testify in exchange for their protection. You embarked on a daring mission to retrieve his family incognito from Hangzhou, relying on your evolving understanding of Chinese language and culture. Amidst tense evasion, you successfully reunited Zhang with his family.
Faced with the challenge of escaping China safely, you considered various options. The best overland route was Bhutran, due to the small nation's neutrality and a remote landscape would provide refuge. However, concerns arose about dealing with Shadowdragon—Bhutran's Prince Savitar, a rogue figure with a complex history toeing the line between national heroism and international villainy.
(see https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6037271/ for previous thread) 
Your name is David "Gunny" Rockefeller, no relation.
A veteran of the united states marine corps, you find yourself in a far-out situation after an all-too-close encounter of the third kind!
In the last thread you returned to Xebric station and found it absolutely riddled with issues, including pirates, resource scarcity and the deactivation of many of the station's Nanofabricators.
But you didn't return from Earth empty-handed. Now armed with all of earth's knowledge and a few good ol' boys who you'd happily trust your back to, you're feeling pretty good about it.
Right now, your main concern is the bug infestation which has caused a food shortage on the station. With thousands of people to feed, it's something that needs taking care of immediately.
The pirates who had been pecking at your dying station like a flock of vultures were almost immediately handled by one all-out volley from the Metal Gear, which left you with quite a few prisoners.
Two hundred more mouths to feed is nothing to laugh at. Ordinarily you aren't big on slavery, but for a bunch of pirates who are lower than dirt, it makes sense for them to pay off their debts.
So after about half a week of training, you separated the wheat from the chaff and formed about twenty teams of ten to go on a bug-hunt.
It's only a temporary solution, but if you can bring back some good live samples for Doctor Lyna, she might be able to devise an effective poison for them.
That's why you'll be going personally as well, to ensure you get the samples you're looking for.
You had planned to go with just yourself and SHODAN, but after hearing about what was happening, Pickle and Redbone signed themselves up as well.
Well, with the three of them by your side, you're sure you won't encounter any issues.
...Or will you?
Find out this time, on Humanity Fuck Yeah!
>Last Thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6019065/
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>Google Doc: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1rNxD6ccWY5M48dLWuTWdr5LiYLuS_YIAMKlTLw42eeo/edit#gid=0
>Discord Link: https://discord.gg/PYJ7Aa3zQF 
With the Supreme Kai of Time Chronoa dethroned, the Demon God Dumplin beaten, and Karn's whole family now able to live in his timeline, things have been looking up for the Saiyan General. But all good things can't last forever. And when conflicts arise between deities, mortals are inevitably caught in the crossfire. Does Karn, the Berserker God possess the strength to protect his family, people, world and reality from their fickle nature? Or are the beings above mortal ken also beyond mortal reproach? This outcome may be up to you.
You the players control Karn, wielder of the mighty Berserker Soul. Granting him the power to fight against gods and other divine beings, to resist their influence and strengths. 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 now become the strongest Saiyan of his time. With the power of the Berserker God, combined with That Which Should Not Be and having devoured a soul born of the Abyss itself, his strength is now unlike anything before seen in his reality. But will this newfound strength be enough to overcome the threats headed his way? Only time will tell, your choices can spell the difference between success and failure.
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 here: 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=8EAhFZQWCr8
THE FICKLE GODS You are the demon lord, a powerful succubus who has conquered and now reigns supreme over the world of Silth. Humans, elves, and dwarves alike bow to your will, subdued by your mighty demon armies. But victory has grown tiresome. Your palace, though grand, feels like a gilded cage. Even the once-fearsome Hero languishes in your dungeons, his spirit broken.
A new quest forms in your mind: seducing and subjugating the Hero to your will. The Hero, a fair-haired, baby-faced champion, renowned for his prowess in swordsmanship and magic, once stood against you. Now, he's a prisoner in your palace.
>Flirt with him, perhaps even blowing a teasing kiss.
>Initiate a formal trial against him in the Demon Court.
>Subject him to incredibly harsh interrogation techniques.
>Write In 
Sapphire syrup sloshed inside a tall metal pod that hummed in a low pitch. Caressed by the thick liquid, a fetus no more than twenty weeks curled up, held in place by myriads of wires. The Emperor of Mankind and Malcador examined the machine in the deep cellar beneath the Imperial Palace, no one else, not even his trusted custodians.[i/]
“The primarch project is already underway, we have no use for it. You can use it however you wish.” The Emperor said.[i/]
Malcador softly hummed, his robe hid whatever expression he had. “There are many use for it, a buffer perhaps.” He continued hearing The Emperor’s silence. “The primarchs will be brothers and brothers will naturally compete. They will seek your approval as all sons do. She will be a buffer, someone to be impressed and to distract the primarchs of their competitiveness. Someone who appreciates what they do. If she is proven ineffective, then a political tool of convenience.”[i/]
“The primarchs are not children and will be above such emotions. It is inefficient to create this just so my sons can feel appreciated. The primarchs are tools of war.” The Emperor said without a hint of emotion.[i/]
Malcador nodded. “But still human. They will not be an emotionless tool that you want them to be.”[i/]
The Emperor paused for a brief moment, then stared at the pod. The fetus twitched its leg.[i/]
“Begin the procedure. Create her as you see fit.”[i/] Your main character is you from real life, but you are at least 18 years old.
One summer day, walking down the street, it started to rain with a thunderstorm, after which lightning struck you, but you got to Moscow in June 1941, on the day of the outbreak of war, what will you do, I hasten to remind you that everyone speaks Russian here, and the Soviet government can accept you for a spy, if you speak English.
The rest of the story will be led only by you in the comments. Hi folks. Maybe you remember me from "Left Beyond". Maybe not. It's been five years.
The world has changed a lot since then -- we got a global pandemic, the rise of generative AI and its use as a logistics and propaganda tool, drone warfare. Any similarities between this and that are, I assure you, intentional.
This is sort of a "testrun" for a more detailed quest I've been working on. This time around this is just for fun and I won't try to make predictions about the state of the world in the near future.
I will be using some material (mainly the map) from the old game Burntime, one of the predecessors to Fallout.
Expect this particular sort of wasteland to be a lot less forgiving than Fallout's though...
OK, enough with the foreword. 
You are Mouse, the ogre. Although raised by humans you found yourself in service of the dark elven queen - and with her blessing you have embarked on a quest to purge the corruption plaguing the very world you live in.
And currently, you are alone in the darkness.
No, that's not strictly true. In fact it's about as close to the exact opposite of truth you could go without discarding the concept entirely - something, that in fairness would not perhaps go that far against your monstrous nature.
But you found yourself holding to something better than that.
You are not alone. Even though most of your companions are out of your direct line of sight, you can feel the echoes of their struggles, and chorus of their hopes, close by, through a combination of your own heart, senses for the supernatural interaction between light and darkness, and the soothing, comforting presence of the goddess Laurentia that has been your companion on this daring venture.
You were, however, most assuredly, as close as you could get in this physical realm to the focal point of all the darkness in the world as you knew it.
And you were watching its principal servant in this world, the mercenary general Vult, locked in a duel with a woman you hope you've learned to know well enough to call your friend. You were watching the duel, for now, as little more than a spectator, held back by a mixture of faith in her conviction and unwillingness to disrupt something you were unsure you had any right to.
The deadly dance before you had a rhythm and a beauty of it, in a manner of speaking. After initial onslaught that the mercenary princess Maia had skillfully negotiated with one of her blades, the leader of the Black Dogs settled into a somewhat more conservative fighting tactic of switching between defensive maneuvering and rapid, savage attacks, with a measure of periodicity you were sure was specifically meant to lull and entrap his opponent.
However, Maia knew better than to be so easily baited, and so when Vult broke his pattern for a particularly vicious lunge, she was ready to deflect and evade.
"You have grown in skill and power." Vult comments. "You've spent your time well, I'll give you that."
The tomboy princess looks back defiantly, her chest heaving with exertion.
"The most important lesson I've learned is, that no less than how you swing your sword-"
She deftly propels herself towards the corrupt leader, with rapid adjustments to her momentum that save her from a nasty cut as Vult hurriedly shifts his defensive posture, and before the man can recover, scores a shallow cut on his arm.
"-is why." 
You are a goblin. A foul-smelling and cruel little creature of little acclaim that exists to be bullied and pushed out by stronger and longer-lived races.
Recently your clan was pushed out of the small cave that housed it by an armored adventurer in full iron armor and a red plume on his grated helm that was hired by the village nearby. You had kidnapped some travelers to use as breeding stock and meat and turns out one of them was the village chief's daughter. While regular villagers and the occasional crop theft weren't enough to be ignored, hurting the chief's daughter was enough to pool the little money the village had to send a formal quest to the adventurers guild.
Now your entire clan is dead- killed by that strange Goblin Slayer. And you're stuck fending for yourself in the forest you had run off into away from the Goblin Slayer. Luckily you found an abandoned cabin that was only in a mild state of disrepair or you would've succumbed to the elements. Your days consist of stealthy berry gathering to hide both from the predators in the forest and in case the Goblin Slayer is still looking for you.
One day during your berry gathering after finding a root of plants that seemed healthy, in a flash of light a heavily-wounded human with long black hair and an impossibly gorgeous face appeared before you.
"HA-HA-HA I DID IT!!!! I MADE IT TO A NEW REALM. I SHALL RECOVER HERE AND PAY BACK THOSE ORTHODOX BASTARDS HUNDREDFOLD."
As the strange person derangedly monologues the earth starts rising around them and you can feel the air crackle with raw power. As you start to back away in fear the strange person suddenly coughs blood and tumbles over.
"AAAAARGGHH CURSE THE HEAVENS!!! I AM GOING INTO QI DEVIATION. YOU THERE- CREATURE! HELP ME AND I SHALL PAY YOU BACK HUNDREDFOLD. CROSS ME AND I SHALL CURSE YOU AND YOUR DESCENDANTS FOREVERMORE. GIVE ME THAT 5,000 YEAR OLD GINSENG IN YOUR HAND."
As they start writhing in agony you get a closer look at them.
Who are they? 
0776 Solar Era, the broad umbrella of Earthnoid rule has extended beyond her immediate vicinity as the power of the mobile suit made innovation, engineering...and war, so much more brilliant and trivial as hundreds of years on and off, we're spent in killing each other. Earthnoids amd Spacenoids, the Awakener and Resolute, Colonist and Overlord, all this and more has haunted humanity in the name of spacial advancement.
Was the cost too high to progress ever onwards, the morals and individuality we lost? Perhaps there is yet an small but enduring hope left, on the red planet known as Mars...can the creation of the ancients save this foolish and brash race? Only time, and the power of one's own heart, will tell.
-
On the red planet, two individuals would soon come to blows, fighting one another for their own beliefs, but only one may prosper down this road of possibilities, until another path forwards reveals itself...
[Calza Fen Damerro]
An young test pilot of the Solar Federation's Guilty Judge Unit, he has been put under intense alterations and conditioning to become an Artificial Awakener(Cyber Newtype Equivalent). He believes that through his own strength and sacrifice, he can change his own fate, and that of those he holds close to him. Now all that remains is an operation to claim an machine dubbed as Gundam.
[Rakelle Yen Valskev]
An young woman who is an researcher on xeno archaeology and technology. From the first mobile suits found on the moon, an complete machine has never been found, until the day you saw it. The Gundam, an Relic that the old civilization called the catalyst of change, for good and I'll. Now all she has to do is unlock its mysteries... 
No matter how many times you read the letter, it always hits like a blow from a closed fist – your father is dead, and your sister is missing. The House of Pale now rests upon your shoulders.
That's all the letter says. It's almost funny, how just a few words can bring your entire world crashing down around you. You don't even know who wrote the damn thing, although the letter is marked with the sign of the King's own office. Since the letter arrived this morning, your mind has been a blank. Now this, under the cover of darkness, a further message summoning you to one of the lecture theatres.
Brushing past the cowled servant who brought the unwelcome message, you force a suitably aristocratic sneer onto your face and make your way towards the mysterious rendezvous. You don't quite know what will await you there, but you're determined to meet it with the pride that your noble House once embodied.
Though you've told nobody else about the letter, the other students of Coral House sense your troubles and steer well clear of you as you advance through the darkened hallways with only the guttering flame of a single candle to light your way.
The first thing you see upon arriving at the lecture theatre is the white sheet draped across the main table at the furthest end of the room, and the suggestive shape concealed beneath it. Irrational though it may be, your thoughts leap to the most unsightly of assumptions as you stare at the unblemished white linen. Setting your candle aside and letting the silver moonlight guide you instead, you march down the stairs and reach out to rip away the sheet. Just as your hand brushes against the cloth, though, you sense another presence in the room.
“Young Master Pale,” the man begins, in his deep rumble of a voice.
You turn, studying the tall man with a cautious curiosity. He's dressed well, impeccably in fact, but his skin is a rare sight – as dark as polished mahogany. His hair, just as dark, is tied like bundles of stubby rope, and his face is virtually expressionless. “Isambard is fine,” you reply, after you realise that you've been staring in silence.
“Young Master Pale,” he repeats slowly, mournfully, “My name is Sakhalin. I have been sent to...”
But he pauses here, as if he doesn't quite know why he's here – or as if he's not permitted to tell you.
“Were you the one who sent me this letter?” you demand, waving the crumpled sheet of paper in front of him. He doesn't flinch at your sharp tone, his expression never even wavering.
“Not I,” he answers with a slow shake of his head, “But it was sent with my knowledge. That letter is why I am here.”
Having said this, Sakhalin reaches out and pulls away the sheet to reveal what it was concealing. Not the fresh cadaver of your fevered imagination, but three boxes of varying size. Nothing more. 
Your name is Marron and you're getting married soon. Due to circumstances outside of your control, you kept delaying proposing to Chouxcreme and your courtship lasted a bit longer than socially acceptable. Thankfully, it didn't take you too long to get used to living in Tarrasque and you managed to propose to your lady.
The wedding is scheduled to happen in the Azure season, when weddings are considered to be more auspicious. However, it is currently the Amber season, smack dab in the middle of the year so you have plenty of time to prepare for marriage.
Your stats are currently
Courage: 0
Knowledge:0
Love: 0
Reliability: 2
[[Al-Kimia Story has 4 different “Personality” stats.
Courage allows you to keep a cool head in stressful situations. Someone with low Courage would be cowardly, while someone with high Courage can keep their cool even when fighting a much stronger foe. People with high courage can also be reckless, ignoring fear even when it serves a purpose.
Love is the stat of passion. Someone with low Love can come across as cold and unfeeling while someone with high love can be bolstered by the feelings they have for others. People with high love can be flighty, pursuing one passion to the next and never settling down. Knowledge increases your affinity for acquiring knowledge. Someone with low knowledge can be stupid and forgetful, while someone with high knowledge can recall information quickly and dedicate themselves to study. People with high knowledge can be paralyzed by indecision from all the knowledge they hold.
Reliability is your affinity for learning about the mundane. Someone with low Reliability can have their head in the clouds while someone with high reliability can be counted on to stay steadfast in the worst of times. People with high Reliability can be bad at dreaming of a brighter future, preferring instead the certainty of the present.
When you make decisions against Marron's wants in-the-moment, you acquire stress. Accumulate enough stress and you will accrue penalties to your roll depending on your stress level.
While playing, you can also obtain ‘Affinity’ for the people you meet. Essentially, this is your level of closeness with that person or group]]
What do you do to prepare for your wedding?
> Spend time getting to know Chouxcreme better (Chouxcreme affinity +2)
> Take on more regular jobs in order to give Choux the best wedding you can afford (Reliability+1, Chouxcreme affinity+1)
> Take on more dangerous jobs in order to afford a more expensive wedding (Courage +2)
> Take on more lessons in the guild so you can take on more well paying jobs reliably. (Knowledge +1, Reliability+1) 
You are Iwo Malinowski. Once, you were a police officer in Yetrizcy, capitol of the peaceful republic of Awsbet. You lived in a cozy apartment, shared with your younger brother, Karlo.
Awsbet was a quiet place, peaceful and a little backward, where people still rode horse-drawn carriages and used gas lights in their homes, taking their time to join the rest of the world in the coming future. It was a good place to call home... Until the Federation crossed the border in October.
Your small and outdated army never stood a chance before the Eortite Federation's mobile armor and machine guns. In just weeks, they swept through your nation and took the capitol, forcing the Premier to sign an unconditional surrender. As the first signs of spring emerged in Yetrizcy, the Federation's troops paraded triumphantly through Constitution Square and martial law was instated under the new Military Commissioner.
As the nation reeled from the shock, you and your brother were among the first to contemplate resistance. Together, you gathered a small group and planned your strike - setting a bomb to go off just as a handful of enemy officers were sitting down for lunch... It was a plan that left you as the sole survivor. Karlo, Paul, Triss and Harken were all gunned down by the occupiers.
But you refused to let their deaths be in vain. You pulled yourself up and started over. With hatred burning in your heart, you sought out new allies and met Aneta, a member of the university's Democratic Society. Together, you planned an ambush on Federation censors and stole away priceless relics of your nation's past from the Museum of Art and Civilization.
There's blood on your hands now. A military policeman and half a dozen soldiers have died at your hands, but the censors themselves escaped unharmed. All the same, you managed to escape the museum with ammunition, a plundered rifle and your life, while your accomplice hid the stolen relics.
Now you sit on your bed across from Aneta. She's a few years younger than you and as you watch, a few strands of auburn hair slip free of the bun behind her head, falling into her dark eyes and making her push them away with a huff. Her short skirt (barely below her knees-!) and shiny walking boots are fashionable, but she's still a working-class girl, in spite of her university education; you've never seen her truly neat and tidy. Then again, given your background before moving to the city was a full-on country bumpkin, you're not one to judge.
"So," she asks, "What went wrong?"
"The censors realized when they saw the cases," you explain, "They sent a runner to tell everyone to put the museum on lockdown; I tried to take him down, but got seen and had to make a fight of it. I was out-numbered like, four-to-one and pinned down, so I had to cut and run before the gunfire drew the whole place down on me. I think I got..." you count off on your fingers, "One, two, three- Six of them? Plus the sergeant right at the end." 
You wake up with a throbbing head and a funny taste in your mouth.
It takes your eyes a moment to get adjusted to the darkness of the unfamiliar surroundings. The only motes of light come from fungi on the walls, dimly glowing lichens that give the unlit masonry the look of a starlit sky, if you squint hard enough. Just enough light to see the contours of hewn stone stacked up to make the walls and ceiling, held together by their weight more than any mortar or cement. Barely enough to make sense of your surroundings, but that might be for the best.
Your nose can pick up the dour stench of rotting corpses that hangs beneath the must of a mossy cavern. Drips of water into a pool ring out like a distance chime. The air feels still, weighing down upon you like a heavy blanket that refuses to let you stir.
The cold makes you shiver. The shivers return feeling to your numb body, and with feeling comes a soreness that seeps past every muscle and into the marrow of your bones. Your arms, your legs, your head most of all, the soreness brings a pain to every inch of your body that nearly makes you cry. To say nothing of your more delicate and womanly places; your bosom feels as though it's been savaged by a tiger, and the less you say about what you feel below the belt, the better.
You swallow dryly, and shudder at the taste.
Perhaps it's for the best that you don't know where it came from. Perhaps it's for the best that you don't remember how you got here, nor why you've not a stitch of clothing on your person, nor exactly how every inch of you - inside and out - became so terribly sore. Best to put such thoughts to the back of your mind, where they cannot bother you until you're safe enough to let it all out. You went beyond the Wardenstones to pick medicinal herbs, and you now know why the elders always warned you not to, that is all.
Yes, that is all. Consequences for girlish foolishness and ignoring the wisdom of the elders. You can live with a few consequences for your stupidity, you're a woman grown. Those thoughts steel you enough to let you pull yourself out from the shelter of an overturned cart, and pick at the corpses of your captors. (Roll 1d100)
>Kobolds. Lowest danger zone, worst equipment.
>Goblins. Low danger zone, poor equipment.
>Duergar. Moderate danger zone, good equipment.
>Drow. High danger zone, excellent equipment.
>Illithid. Extreme danger zone, best equipment.
After taking the best of what you can find from corpses, you realize that your captors left you with a gift that will be very difficult for your to remove.
>A slave collar wrapped around your neck.
>Piercings in strange and delicate places.
>A brand of ownership beneath your navel. 
Space. The Final Frontier, or so some sailors call it. Beyond the outermost lip of the Earth, there is a black emptiness. The Prime Material Plane is, they say, suspended in an endless void. To those with the eyes to see it, through, and the means to survive it, there is so much more. In the skies above, there are Holy Lun and Holy Sol: the spheroid satellite-worlds of the Eladrin, or High Elves, and their divine creators. Beyond even these is the firmament—a great sphere, speckled with rotating stars. Beyond the firmament, above and below it, are the Divine Realms—the Heavens above and the Hellish Realms below.
And to some, a select few, even THAT frontier is not final.
Your name is Ezreal Mious Van Houtzmann, half-human child of the Sylvan Elves of Dappulyet, Apprentice to the Archmage of Hawksong, and self-proclaimed Seeker of the Esoteric… And you are currently a little out of your depth.
You are presently suspended in just such a ‘place beyond’: in the aether-flooded ‘space-between-spaces’ which exists just outside of the firmament, yet not amongst the hosts of Heaven or of Hell. Rather, you float amongst the Elemental planes: realms of purest Fire, Air, Water, and Earth, which touch upon each-other across dimensions beyond the three which define your usual perceptual reality. An earlier brush with these same planes (and no small amount of study and practice, it must be said) ahs gifted you the ability to survive here…
>0/5 MP
…But not to navigate this strange space freely, nor to escape it now that you are here, and drained of all magic. The young woman floating before you in this strange space brought you here, clad in black, has the means to take you both back from whence you came. Her name is Izirina Henzler (though she was born with another), and she is both your master’s adoptive daughter and the woman you love. Or, well, one of two.
…Or should you now say ‘three’? Your name is Johan. You are a taxi driver. At least that's what you tell yourself.
Memory isn't your strong suit.
Needless to say life has been strange recently, always taking the bend in the road towards that ever so elusive ending.
Feelings and thoughts both mix as a strange cacophony within the mind. Always going faster and faster with each moment.
Wearily, and almost lacking emotion, you go back to bed for a fitful rest after the events of the last two days.
>Dream (Johan will not recall this dream, but it will likely both help and hinder him subconsciously in the future).
>Do not (Johan will be well rested but won't feel as much in touch with certain attributes, for better or worse). 
Cursed from birth with silver hair, the sign of evil influence, you play as Argia Candente, a Knight-in-training determined to help your family, show your valour… and make your first friends.
# # # # # #
Welcome to the second thread of the thrilling adventures of our beloved silver-haired doofus, Argia Candente! Last thread has seen your retarded QM finally learning how to roll dice, and has left us facing the confrontation with the cult of the Seven Sisters…
>Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6012263
>Voting Link: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Silver%20Knight%20Quest
(for those not familiar with suptg— thanks to everyone for voting!)
Update schedule: usually one update per day. May be multiple posts, depending on narrative pace and player interaction. I will do my best to reply to questions and suggestions though.
As for what happened last time on Silver Knight Quest…
# # # # # #
You are Argia Candente, an aspirant Knight of Ansàrra, And everyone considers you cursed because of your silver hair.
When your family lost everything, years ago, you were pushed to try and find a new life in the Holy Land of Madua, but you were not granted access. Not unless you complete your tuition and pass the Trial of Fire as its coronation. After three years being the disciple of renown Master Ibardo Delebasse, you were then forced to start a year of training in the outback of Madua, together with three other trainees who you tried to bond with… and failed.
But bad as all that could be, things are even worse now: your current mission was supposed to be investigating a sacrificial cult, and you already had to leave two members of your quartet behind.
You also fought against a malignant tree that folded space and sucked blood out of living creatures, but you got a neat sword out of it. You also saved your first tentative friend from burning herself up into holy frenzy.
At least, it seems that your fellow apprentices are seeing past your cursed hair right now. Now that you and your companion Salicera (who keeps saying the weirdest things about talking mirrors and is mysteriously skilled for someone her age), have entered the nethermost hall and stepped into the cultists’ sanctum, it’s time to let your blades sing…
… but you don’t really mind it. You have always been better with swords than with words.
[cont.] Adventure Time,
C’mon grab your friends
We’re going to very
Distant lands. with
*** the ***,
And *** the ***
The fun will never end,
It’s adventure time!
>[input adventurer identity] 
A simple CIV clone with concurrent chess like combat and procedurally generated map. No dicerolling besides the map generation which doesn't involve the players.
A turn is done once all players have finished their actions or if the turn has been on for two days. The pace can be discussed further.
Pick a color and a corner. For now only 4 players as this is experimental and the map is quite small.
Turns
>Gather resources from your tiles each turn
>Gold is stored
>Food is not stored
>Settlements consume food and units consume gold
>Remaining resources can be spent on buildings or other actions
>Food deficit caps the production of gold from settlements by the available food production
>Gold deficit disables all actions that require gold
>You can expand to any adjacent tile at the cost appropriate to the terrain as long as there is either a settlement or fort within 3 tiles
>Expanding or moving units reveals adjacent tiles which are then rolled for next turn
>Diagonal tiles are not adjacent
More rules in the subsequent posts Each knock on the door approaches your brain one at a time and prying apart the plates of your skull to slip in. Your skull slams back together, the sound of the knock echoing inside your head. You groan and shift from your bed, bottles clinking. The knocking on the door continues, insistent, like it was prepared to do this all night.
It takes a moment for the red blur in your eyes to focus into the shape of 5:00AM. God, fucking, fuck was someone at your door at 5AM!? You've got work in two hours, a hell of a hangover, your stitches ache and some fucker is at your door, STILL KNOCKING.
> Somewhere in these bottles is enough oblivion to get to the start of the work day
> Wait it out. They have to stop eventually, right?
> Grab and load your crossbow, because apparently armed and in underwear is how you answer doors now. 
"You sure your guy can pull it off? This is not your average Silky or Jack Frost meat here."
"You are welcome to go out there in his place, Ogata. Let's see how far can you go before you get torn to shreds. I can taking the safest option here and you should be grateful for it."
"Fair. Alright, Mitu, Carve him up."
"mYy PlEaSuree ahahHhahaAaeeeëëëë"
WHIRRRRRRRR
CRACK CRUNCH
.
O
.
Heat, unbearable and unnatural like a thousand needle piercing you through and through. It was slowly sizzling your mostly naked skin. You woke up in a hellish landscape where nothing made sense.. the skies were bleeding gold and ivory, impossible shapes manifesting and vanishing at random intervals , multiple suns and moons vying for the same spot constantly interchanging. Madness.
Rrriinggg
'Hey, can you hear me?' A feminine voice echoed inside your mind. You asked for the identity of whoever this person was.
'You can call me Sayora. Look, I know you may have a lot of questions but you seriously need to move on. It is not safe and I-we need you to reach your destination relatively unscathed.'
' She is right.' Another voice spoke inside your head 'This is Cadaver Captain Ogata, we ... fused some precious demon flesh with yours , you have to deliver it to a special place, got it?'
'Listen dipshit, you are our meat mule now.' Your protest was short lived after a third person had butted in the conversation ' Get moving or I will personally tear you limb from limb. I like my meat raw anyways, hehe~'
'I saw Tobika feast on a bicorn once, It was not pretty.'
'Quit it you two! Look, choose a navigator. It will make your journey to Kathbalab a bit easier.'
>Pick Sayora [Easier Negotiation with Law-aligned demons]
>Pick Ogata [More Macca earned from Netural-aligned demons]
>Pick Tobika [More Demon Flesh earned from Chaos-aligned demons]
>Pick none [???] [ENTERING THE FIFTH KALPA]
[...]
[]
ALLBIOS(C)0000 CHAOS APPARATUS
[STARTUP]
[]
0Parameters=
1CmdLine=SEP_Client_Cognitive_Hardware_ID_Fix.bat
[]
REROUTE COMPLETE [...] CHAOS INITIATED [] KALPA ACTIVE
[WE BEGIN TO THINK AND BREATH LIFE]
~~~
Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Levelman
Questcord: https://discord.gg/gGnp9rP3Uy
Wiki: https://chaosquest.miraheze.org/wiki/Main_Page 
Last time, the secret behind the mysterious hidden room was revealed: You live in a former military base! Also, the ‘speed hobo’ Ichie decided to learn how to use her flame under your wing. Since your apartment is occupied due to a professional inspection and a tiny remodeling, you went to Matilda’s dojo to kill time.
There, you’re welcomed to a concerning sight, Lord Gargoyle is unconscious! He’s on the brink of death in a futon, wearing robes like a ghost. In better news, Wilma’s hair is messy again! Wait, no, your eyes played tricks on you… It’s half messy. It’s better than before, that’s all that matters.
“Who is that?” Matilda doesn’t like the idea that Oliver is bringing more homeless people into the dojo.
“It’s Lord Gargoyle! I mentioned him before, Master! He helped us in our last mission where we soundly defeated Suan De and her forces of relative evil that don’t match our own.” Oliver reminds the ‘Tilda about the Villain’s help. If Lord Gargoyle was conscious, he’d agree.
“We’re not evil, Oliver.” Matilda prefers to be morally gray.
“And that’s not accurate regardless.” Suan De doesn’t remember any of these bums helping you kick her ass. Judging by her face, she’s mildly concerned about Lord Gargoyle.
“Heh.” Matilda likes seeing the former assassin being mocked.
“…Ph-Johnny?” Wilma didn’t expect you to be here. You acknowledge her with a powerful hand wave.
“Hey there, Wilma!” You couldn’t help yourself. No matter how powerful your hand wave was, you needed to acknowledge the tomato!
“Lady Wilma has come in clutch helping us nurse him back to health!” Oliver points out how useful the beautiful lady is.
“I want to help whenever I can.” Wilma doesn’t want any credit.
“Ease your worries, everyone! I’m an exceptional carer! Nobody in this room can match my expertise.” Ichie is ready to help the wounded.
“…I have a degree.” Wilma points out. She seems a little uneasy with Ichie’s presence.
“Nice to meet you all. May I ask what happened to him?” Ruby’s curiosity gets the best of her.
“Oliver, a quick report, now.” Matilda wants the news too.
“Well, it all started when I came back from work…” Oliver wants to bring everyone into a flashback, but the forces of nature deny him the showcase. “…I was walking by the sidewalk, when he was launched 20-feet into the air from a sewer hole upwards, and crashed into a tree nearby. The underground pipeline seems to have exploded. Now the mystery lays on… Why was Lord Gargoyle in the sewers? Is there a good reason for anyone to be there?!”
You, Suan De, Ichie, and Ruby exchange glances…That could explain the sewer stench from outside, maybe his dirty clothes are there. 
Dreams die with time.
When you were young, you dreamt of being a Sorcerer King, like those of stories from before the Collapse. Of wielding power akin to that of the gods themselves, living forever, and ruling wisely.
Over time, these dreams matured. By the time of your mid-adolescence, many of your peers were already working in family business or taking higher courses, provided they were blessed with intellect or wealth. You were preparing to enter the Academy, study magic and eventually help people like the responsible adult that you were expected to be.
Yet these aspirations were not to last. Optimism quickly turned to confusion, then to despair. The sheer amount of work and talent required to succeed once you passed the entrance exams was astounding. The meditation techniques were hard to get a grasp of, and your focus wavered often. Maybe you had taken a place intended for someone else, because you witnessed how others bore a much lesser burden of practice and theory required to advance.
Well, it didn't matter anyway. The expulsion letter ended your possibilities of a career as a licensed mage.
You kept studying still, working menial jobs and spending your free time reading whatever magic tomes were available in the library. It wasn't much. You learned to meditate properly, little by little, and taught yourself some cheap tricks like lighting a fire without flint or creating a mote of light instead of a lantern. But the publicly available knowledge was little, and soon you had to look for a proper job when your mother wouldn't support you anymore.
And when it dawned upon you that you would be stuck in the same place for the rest of your life like the rest of your peers if you didn't do something, you went away, leaving your family: your more competent and serious elder brother and your mother - to fend for themselves.
The tricks you learned in the libraries were a bit useful. Some down on their luck adventurers hired you as cheap magical support for their expeditions. It wasn't much, but it was honest work, and you learned bit by bit again, picking locks, evading tough enemies and besting weak ones with your dagger.
Soon, you were exploring ruins on your own. Maybe luck had finally turned towards you, or you were experienced enough to succeed, but you made ends meet with trinkets you looted from old, less dangerous and hence less popular ruins. Sometimes you would still dungeon-dive as part of a group if you needed some more spare coin.
You restarted the regimen the Academy provided you with as well. The endurance training that some first-years (namely, you) were going through strengthened your body and the meditation cleared your mind.
Yet all the same, the remnants of dreams from your expulsion slowly died within you, replaced with a simple, unsophisticated will to live. 
In the grim darkness of…wait second, something’s wrong here.
*Ahem*
This is a dark age, a bloody age, an age of daemons and of sorcery. It is an age of battle and death, end of the world's ending. Amidst all of the fire, flame and fury it is a time, too, of mighty heroes, of bold deeds and great courage.
But, this day, of all days, you are not a great hero, or the embodiment of death itself, you are A RAT !
Who said-spoke that !?
Not just any rat, but the GREATEST OF ALL RATS !
Greatest ? Yes-yes !
You are the all-mighty and powerful HORNED RAT !
Of course I am, voice-thing !
But oh, great and mighty, and ferocious, and glorious, and wondrous, and most ravenous, and most foul-smelling of all rats !...Aren’t you a bit lazy ?
What-what !? I will kill-slaughter you voice-thing !
I dare not question your judgement, oh most diseased, fur dirtied, and pox riddled being. But…you know…the others…well…the four especially…
How dare-dare they ! Foolish-stupid weak-feeble things ! I plan-scheme and prepare for the Great Ascendancy ! Victory-win shall be mine !
Of course it will, oh horny one !
I feel-think that you insult me, voice-thing ! I shall unmake-kill you !
However, the most illustrious of all. Don’t you think that your children are a bit, misguided ? They keep making mistakes, making you a laughing stock during the various gatherings !
Gatherings ?
Oh yes, the four, and others, beyond your notice, I assure you. They gather, but they exclude you, because they think your servants are just not doing anything except kill each other. How does this empower you, if man-things, lizard-things, elf-things and all the others barely think of you at all ? Even the dwarf-things do not view you as seriously as they do the orc-things ! How, oh continuously discharging your bodily fluids Horned Rat, can this stand !? You should, nay, you must show all things-things that it is YOU, who must be feared the most !
Yes-yes ! They will fear !
Yes now you must deees- erm…oh overly ambitious one…whom does deserve your wrath the most ? Cause attacking is good and all, but knowing the general direction of the enemy could prove useful.
>The man-thing Empire !
>The man-horse-thing Bretonnia !
>The feeble man-things of Tilea and Estalia !
>The cold man-things of Kislev !
>The mad man-things of Norsca !
>The mixture of man-things of the Border Princes !
>The elf-things of Ulthuan !
>The elf-things of Naggaroth !
>The orc-things of the Badlands !
>The dwarf-things in their holds !
>(Write in) 
Past Thread: >>6016690
Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Missval
General Pastebin: https://pastebin.com/5hFQZtc3
Character Sheet (As of the end of Thread #2): https://pastebin.com/fSCfX2eH
Your name is Shelly Suzume. You were a Huntress that graduated from Haven Academy a few years back. A recent discovery has left quite an ugly taste in your mouth as of lately. To put it bluntly, you’re suffering from something. Most likely neurological. You’re unsure if it’s a disease, if its permanent, if it can better, etc.
What you’re sure of is that, whatever happened to you is related to a weird technology that was used by some bandits near the city of Kuchinashi, south of the main city where Haven Academy resides.
And to make matters worse? You’re officially dead. At least in all databases surrounding the continent. You’d love to say that you’re still alive in flesh and blood, but with your current condition, well… you have plenty of second thoughts.
Random attacks of rage, violent surges, maybe quite the perturbing look here and there. On a bad day you’re almost sure that you give the vibes of a psychopath (Even when you think you’re acting properly).
And as of now? The only lead you have dwells within this slum of a city, where everyone wants to have something the other one has. Crime is rampant, drugs are everywhere, scams are far more plentiful than food, other hunters are suspiciously gone, and the only thing keeping together are crime families. (You work for one, somewhat, maybe. Its not like you had much of a choice.)
You’d love to dwell more on it. Maybe talk to someone. Heal your head, make people know that you’re still alive, and kicking, and ready to make things right, but you must be smart. Astute. You just can’t stand your ground and declare war on every bad influence around you. Even when you think you can do it. Even when that would make things better. Even when you think you should.
Wait, was it that weird influence again? Shit. A galaxy full of life, technological and even magical wonders spins on. Empires have risen, war has been waged, vast dark powers have risen up and been struck down. The galaxy seems to be settling down, heading toward a status quo, and yet there is a little time left for the nations of the void to change their fate.
---
We're currently full on players! Sorry to anyone who would like to join!
---
Turn 14 Begins 
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
_
Specter Starvation (幽灵饥饿, Yōulíngjī'è), a curse considered in this modern era to be without a cure, a death sentence either through the afflicted wasting away to spiritual starvation or being hunted down once they are consumed by their unnatural hungers. A curse so terrible the mere whispers of it are enough to scare most of the cultivation world from pursuing ghostly dao or cultivating and refining deathly or ghostly yin Qi. But you aren't like most other Daoists, you are the great and more often than not magnanimous Huanliuxue (欢流血, Happy Bloodshed/ Happy to Shed Blood), the founder of both the heretical and ghost aligned Ruler of the Great Wheel's Law(统治者的这重大轮回法律, Tǒngzhìzhědīzhèzhòngdàlúnhuífǎl) and the heretical but noble sect of beasts, outcasts and oddballs, The Palace of Natural laws sect palace of natural laws sect (宫殿的野生彝宪, Gōngdiàndīyěshēngyíxiàn). And this curse will not be your end or downfall. For you know the medicine and treatment that was forgotten ages ago.
All that must be done to cure one's self of the ghastly desires and gnawing hunger that afflicts that most debased and feral of hungry ghosts and wild Jiangshi, is to devour the lifeforce of dragon or something of equally profound spiritual energy or possessing Qi or vitality as refined and powerful as their own. And while you are certain, if given enough time, you could find an alternative means of curing yourself, especially with the assistance of the ghostly calamity who infected you with the accursed and gross hunger for life-energy and souls that you've so far been able to resist and ignore, Aodasheng (Proud Great Sage, 傲大圣) who has so far proven not only loyal to and capable of fulfilling his promise to act as and be your subordinate, but is also a learned scholar of most of what is forbidden in this world beneath the unjust heavens.
However, you nearly fainted from hunger and feel your marvelously trained and sculpted body beginning to weaken as starvation begins to sap away your strength and fog your usually peerlessly sharp and sagacious mind, hazing and messing up your ideas and thoughts. So there isn't an excess of time for you to search for an alternative medicine or risk going rabid with hunger, especially since you were just about to declare your tournament open and started when you shamefully collapsed out of hunger in front of an elder demon hunter and the head of another sect!
And to avoid embarrassing yourself like that again, since it is utterly unthinkable you could share the pitiful fate the others who've fallen victim to Specter Starvation, that you've traveled to the Summer Sea at the south of the Chuan Kingdom.
Cont 
You are Uzumaki Shiki, currently posing as ‘Kagerō’ – a first-year student at the Konohagakure Academy. The goal of this undercover ploy is to serve as a bodyguard to Yukiwari Kae, the young princess of a small kingdom allied with both Konoha and your own homeland of Amegakure, while she’s here being kept out of an internal power struggle at home. It was you and your team’s role to observe Kae-hime, to provide security, and to root out any hypothetical assassins who might be sent after her and deal with them.
While it’s been a little bit amusing being back at the Academy after having been promoted all the way up to jōnin over the last two years, there have also been some problems. Your identity was already blown when your cousin Himawari started to figure out who you were despite having changed your face, frame, and most importantly your hair color to try and avoid being recognized, so you let her in on your secret. A few other students seem to suspect that you’re more than you appear to be as well, though most are simply annoyed by your popularity, or by your ‘talent’ as a shinobi, or by some combination of the two.
More troubling however is that the ‘hypothetical’ assassin you were embedded into Kae-hime and Hima-chan’s class to deal with may not be so hypothetical after all. You were followed most of the way to ‘your’ apartment (as Kagerō) a few days ago by someone with self-evident bloodlust – as well as the skills to evade your teammates and back off without being seen.
…
“Hey, sensei,” you begin, having waited until after class when all the other students have already left. Hana-sensei, perhaps sensing your intent, also stayed behind. “Do you have a moment?”
She nods once, “Of course, Kagerō-kun. What do you need?”
You close the door, and lock it from inside, before approaching your ‘teacher’ at her desk. “I have to explain something to you – something you have to swear will not leave this room.”
“I promise,” Hana-sensei replies, watching you somewhat nervously. “This… sounds kind of serious.”
“You know how Kae-hime is an actual princess from a different country?” you ask.
She nods, so you continue. “Well, there’s a power struggle going on in that country, and so she’s here for her own safety. And I’m not an Academy student.”
“You aren’t?” Hana-sensei asks with a confused frown. “Is Kae-chan?”
“Yes,” you confirm, “and I’m actually a jōnin. My orders to watch out for her while she’s here came directly from Seventh-dono.”
“… who else have you told?” she asks you.
>1/2 
The Nation of Ferrovia has fractured with the death of king Harold with three successor states and a bandit kingdom now fighting over the nation's future. King Elric, the king's brother backed by the landed nobility of the country, wages war in hopes of holding up the monarchy and by connection with the landed gentry. As he styles himself now Lord protector Baric attempts to halt the Monarchists and reformists from harming the status quo with the backing of the army his force is small but well trained and armed. The last of the main contenders is Queen Meredith the sole child of King Harold and devout reformist backed by merchants democrats and communists alike she must lead this dispraite force to victory.
You are Sir Edmund ”The Crow” Drayton, a recently Knighted Yeoman, the leader of the small monarchist sub faction of the reformists. The last few months have seen you push the southern front of the junta forces hard. They have put up stiff resistance with the capture of the ferrovian military academy and the destruction of a motorized division being your reward for your efforts.
Past threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=BrinkQM
The men are ready the next day after defeating the motorized division to keep heading north pushing through desolate territory. The ferrovian countryside is ravaged by the war small villages that used to be the life blood of the rural areas in the north are all but gone The railroads which once moved ore and grain to the industrial cities lay destroyed heaps of burned railroad ties and the tracks themselves having been thrown onto the fire to make them useless. The enemy is going full scorched earth where they can. Your pushes are often slowed by nearly every bridge over even the smallest creek having been destroyed.
3d100 best of three please 
You are Noel Tiberius di Hazaran, and at this moment your objective is to root out a small force that has fortified a low hilltop deep within occupied Sakian territory. When you’ve done that, a group of rebels who have turned on your enemy from the distant Continent – but who aren’t quite what you’d call ‘reliable allies’ – will be able to take up residence here, fortify the position, and use it as a logistical strong point to support their growing operations in Sakia. Your hope is that the invading army, after having found its high water mark in trying and failing to cross the mountains to the south and assault your homeland in Hazaran, will start to eat itself from the inside and make it possible to start actually liberating Sakia.
With you now are Aurora, Valentina, and Serana – all accomplished warriors in their own right, two of which are able to partially awaken to enhance their abilities beyond even the monstrous ‘average’ set by your Silver-Eyed cohort. The fact that you can’t simply kill all of these people is something of a complicating factor, but it’s a standard of behavior you and your kind accepted and now maintain willingly.
You can definitely handle this situation, between your inhuman speed and regenerative abilities. But any offensive type warriors may be vulnerable to those cannon shells, or to bullet wounds to the head, since their regenerative abilities aren’t as strong.
That’s why you decide to wait until you have the cover of darkness to make your move, and bide your time by observing your enemy and discussing strategy among your assembled cohort.
“There are areas where their artillery can overlap,” Valentina observes, “but also some arcs where the carriers are in each other’s way.”
“And isn’t there a limit to how low their guns can angle?” Aurora asks.
You nod once – you remember that being the case. “Yes but the hill’s slope is pretty gentle, so that may not help.”
[There is not much cover,] Serana adds her own observation. [We should move quickly once we start to advance.]
“Agreed,” you nod. “Now remember we’re just softening this location up, so the goal is to deal with the artillery first, then either chase the infantry off, knock them down, or distract them.”
“Should we try to capture the guns?” Valentina wonders.
>No, let’s not expose ourselves to any greater risk than necessary – these AREN’T our allies we’re helping here after all.
>We can destroy the carriers without damaging the guns inside – that’s the best middle ground in this situation.
>Partially awakening should allow us to overturn the carriers, rendering the guns temporarily useless. I like it.
>Other? 
ITQ you will buy and sell goods, find a place to live, basic Jobs, and things to do to live through a zombie apocalypse. Zombies are slow. Plenty of things can maim or kill you. Zombie bites can be treated, but there are side effects, or you may screw it up and die. So let's avoid that, ok?
You stand in line among several other people, anonymous faces, you didn't count them. You've not seen them before. Some in shoes, some barefoot, one with a blood stained spear, and all of you hot and dirty from the June heat. You're on the outskirts of Houston in the shell of what was an old big box store, and the proprietor has a fan blowing across the line of you, and he has been good enough to put up a pop-up tent ourside the entrance to shield everyone from the sunlight, but it must be 94 degrees with all of you crowded together and waiting. On either side of the Line, are cages full of dead eyed ghouls, locked in for now, but watching you.
The Merchant calls out Next and you step up with your goods. You walk up to a bullet proof Plexiglass window with a pass through container, and big sign over the glass stating:
>Jews created the outbreak on borrowed money, No Credit
You are yourself, just yourself. Your actions are your own choice, but the outcome is determined by post ID roll.
Roll for your saleable goods layout by final digit.
Subsequent rerolls to determine simple value, 2nd to last digit = quantity, final digit of simple pass fail 1-5 poor, 6-0 good
1-backpack of junk, can be sorted for valuables
2-live wild animal, must be examined to determine value
3-Clothing, must be checked for damage
4-Food, may be packaged or raw
5-Contraban: cigarettes, alchohol, pornography, drugs
6-Weapons: may be functional, broken parts
7-Ammunition: may be boxed or loose, good or bad
8-Medicine: may be prescription or over the counter
9-Chemicals: wet or dry, labled packaged or not
0-information: he may or may not care
Doubles= special item
poor items are worth 1/2 head, good items are worth 1 head
Your ID characters, in order, determine the quality of your starting gear
>Head
>Backpack
>Chest
>Arms
>Pants
>Belt
>Shoes
>Weapon
Letter=Nothing
Number=common variety, used condition
Symbol=Superior variety and New Condition YOU are a TRIANGLE
Being a TRIANGLE is dumb as fuck, and all the other shapes are racist to TRIANGLES
You want to become a SQUARE by any means needed 
This small dark cavern is the only home you have ever known. You have clung to life here with your brothers for three winters. The flesh of deer, rabbit, knife-ear, and man is what has sustained you. Most of it is rotten by the time it makes its way to you, as your marginal achievement among your kin ensures you are the last to eat.
You are of a better mind than your brothers, which has set you back many times. Your thoughts and feelings alienate you from the hierarchical tribal struggle that fills a normal goblin’s life. Much of your free time is spent toiling among the things in the garbage den- this is the only place where your brothers leave you alone.
There is no food here. All of the flesh not eaten is used for breeding in the gore hole, and so all else that remains from what is brought to the cave ends up here. You have spent long hours looking through the bone, hair, and torn clothing that fills the chamber. Small wooden animals, dainty metal chains, and golden bands are a few of the things you have come across. Of the items you have found, the one you most treasure is…
>A shining metal blade, which was hidden inside a bed roll carelessly deemed garbage by your brothers. You became proficient with the weapon only after practicing for a short time, and it now swinging it feels like moving a limb you were born with.
>The burnt remains of books which contain dozens of witch-words. Learning to read them came naturally to you, even with no teacher. Speaking was much harder, but you eventually found your way there too. When chanting these words, you can conjure flashes of light and fire. Lets play a game /qst/!!
you will be the directors of the feared imouto rescue squad. A highschool club of imoutos that use fearsome weapons and tactics to rescue kidnapped onii-chans, wherever they are in the world...
the rules I will be using are Osprey - Black Ops.
It's the most fun rules that allows for stealth, and action gameplay and feels to me like the best simulation of small unit tactics that you can easily DM for
I've uploaded the rules for your enjoyment, but I will be adjusting the rules a bit to make the game work better. Don't worry about it too much....
https://files.catbox.moe/vq9wv5.pdf
coming up next will be the scenario and the buy screen where you can plan and outfit your task force! 
Often times it comes to a point in a mans life when the World begins to drag behind him as he heaves forward towards the reaches of space. The outward reaches of time we drastically changing and yet all he can do is continue. Sophisticated or not. The path is always the same for the man with little to no time to continue. However he has little to no time to compare. The radical that emerges within a man for a rite of rights is never left to chance when he senses his time nearing an end. Orlando has never been one to question the hands on a clock. He always left to chance the fundamental excitement of exchanging his words for a book. The books that filled the world were never addressed as anything other than informal wits and half eaten plates of pasta. Orlando being a man of age had never ridden a bike faster than he could peddle but had certainly left his mark on the library. Organised or not his hands were never good for anything more than turning a page in disgust of the last man who had crinckled the pages before he had touched them. Orlando needed a change in pace. Orlando needed a change in location. Before he had realized he was tall enough to be 6'3 he had committed acts of distrust upon the locals of his town. Sold out and cheated, gambled and lied, arranged his mind to spit before calling it fair. "The sooner I leave the better ill feel" he assumed aloud before reaching for a knife in his pants. Orlando rushed the bank with knife in hand telling the teller "get on the fuckin ground puta". From the glass reflected glow on the ground of the pavement screams could be heard from the elderly man who was the only patron and a clear sign of disbelief on the face of the young bank teller who had only started the day before. She had blond hair, blue eyes and darker than pink lips. Orlando had reached the point of his life where he realized its all about building upon the teachings he was given as a child. 
Quest Synopsis: You are the body guard to a prince(bratty), if any harm befalls him you lose.
Thread archive: https://fiction.live/stories/The-Prince/6eqhcmdNsSDdgtmcP
After a moment a pure violence, all that's left of two of the harpies is a pile of bones and sinew. When they all focused their attention on the prince, you took that moment to explode forward and turn them into meat. No harm shall befall the prince, and any who take him away from you will suffer death. You draw your bow and aim for the final escaping harpy.
Your blood lust is denied however, as the prince leaps down from the nest. You are forced to drop the weapon into the blood below in order to catch him. The very moment you reacquire the prince, you are filled with a great sense of relief that pushes out the rage. He doesn't look very happy, firing little daggers out of his eyes right at you. He is NOT impressed by your ability to dish out a gratuitous amount of death in a very short amount of time.
"What took so long?" He struggles to be freed but you do not release the prince "Unbelievable, first you let that disgusting creature capture me! Then you insult me in front of the kidnappers! 'couldn't even feed a coyote'? Would you be happier if I was a whale?!"
"My prince, I was simply attempting to trick them. You are plenty meaty."
"Oh? So you think I'm fat then? Ill tell papa about this you can beat on it!" He boots your chin with his foot, but still you do not release him.
"If my prince believes it is prudent to do so"
You carry the wiggling and writhing prince away from this place of bone and death. He continues to chew your ear off, but after a while it just turns into white noise. Eventually you find a hidden place along the cliff side of the mesa where you can easily walk down, prince in hand. From the corner of your eye you see the final harpy circling overhead, but now that you have found a safe route down she simply chooses to fly away. The Eternal Empire has stood for 14 millennia and has endured hundreds of wars, calamities, and rulers of every type. In the twilight of your reign, you’ve demanded to know the truth behind your Head Advisor’s unnatural longevity, and now watch with bated breath.
Even surrounded by the Royal Guard, you feel a deep sense of unease.
>Previous Threads
>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Simple%20Space%20Empire 
With the Supreme Kai of Time Chronoa dethroned, the Demon God Dumplin beaten, and Karn's whole family now able to live in his timeline, things have been looking up for the Saiyan General. But all good things can't last forever. And when conflicts arise between deities, mortals are inevitably caught in the crossfire. Does Karn, the Berserker God possess the strength to protect his family, people, world and reality from their fickle nature? Or are the beings above mortal ken also beyond mortal reproach? This outcome may be up to you.
You the players control Karn, wielder of the mighty Berserker Soul. Granting him the power to fight against gods and other divine beings, to resist their influence and strengths. 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 now become the strongest Saiyan of his time. With the power of the Berserker God, combined with That Which Should Not Be and having devoured a soul born of the Abyss itself, his strength is now unlike anything before seen in his reality. But will this newfound strength be enough to overcome the threats headed his way? Only time will tell, your choices can spell the difference between success and failure.
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 here: 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=8EAhFZQWCr8
THE FICKLE GODS 
It is the spring of the year 1254. In Mithras, the archipelago has shattered in pieces as the ancient empire desperately calls for aid from the accident, with heathen fire-worshippers encroaching upon their heartland. In Castana, a man stands imprisoned as the princes, merchants, and bishops bicker and scheme, and the eagle from beyond the mountains casts its wings over the land. The crusade was already called in 1253, but the armies are just arriving now, eager for glory and absolution. But not all come to Mithras out of duty or zeal; some come for the gold, others for the land to be gained. But all know one thing: whether they are noble or commoner, chivalrous or knavish, heathen or faithful, steel shall clash and blood shall flow.
When you left Rittersbach, you had expected there to be a lot more gallantry and battle. Those hopes were rather quickly dashed when you now still stand looking at a man behind bars; in a rag, not even the most humble of monks or destitute of beggars would be caught. Guy of Guisbes is different from the priests you usually deal with. A rebel against his own hierarchy, resentful of the bishops, deacons, and cardinals. Still, with him incarcerated, there is not much he can do; he is politically impotent, and his planned monastic state seems to have slipped from his fingers. Cardinal di Cremolora put him in the custody of the Gonfaloniere, the ruler of the city, and if you were to free him, you should first temper his radicalism; he is dangerous, after all. He speaks both Tauten and Aurilén, and could control his followers by virtue of being the only one able to speak to them.
''You claim that the church is full of corrupt and power-hungry men, but now you are attempting to create your own nation? Is that not dishonest of you?''
''I do want to take over myself, at least not without heavy limits and check on my power. The episcopal model has failed in my eyes, monks and the laymen should both be able to elect their own leaders, these leaders would then cooperate with each other, one attending the secular needs and the other the spiritual.''
Well that is one question answered at least, though there is a other one, members of the clergy are banned from bearing arms or actively fighting, how would he defend against those who don't care about Curian doctrine?
"Wouldn't that just be a society that will be attacked and taken over by a more militant, centralised state?" 
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 being on par with said genius of your age? Lucky encounters and a knack for navigating social situations.
You know a fair amount of technic for such a young cultivator, but your strength lies in the impressive amount of Bonded Spiritual Beasts - A Hawk 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.
Said 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. Alright, the Primordial Wolf might have helped you on that point.
Recently, your sect, the Eastern Branch of Tamers of Hundred Beast is currently under political attack from the Symphony of Gilded Waters.
This sect attempt to increase their relevence on the global scene by stealing some of yours. They are backed up by the Turtle Copper Sect, as your senior brother Bathias discovered. Due to your weight and timid nature, you've always been a target for bullies. Everything changes when your father passes away. Unable to afford the rent, you and your mother move back to your father's family manor, a place he had always despised.
Bored one day, you decide to explore the abandoned basement, a dusty, neglected space. By chance, you discover a secret door with a staircase behind it. With some apprehension, you descend the steps and find a narrow tunnel. A black monolith stands at the entrance, with an ethereal, glowing blue handprint that seems to beckon you forward. Compelled, you place your palm on the handprint, close your eyes, and think about:
>Brainwashing others into doing your bidding
>Writing people’s names in a notebook to cause their death
>Summoning succubi to support you 
Since previous thread is almost out:
Welcome to Standard Fantasy Nation Builder. First, start with providing description of your future nation.
Fill this in:
>Name:
>Leader's name:
>Race(s):
>Color(for if/when I get a map):
>General location:(mountains, jungle, plains, ocean, lake, etc. More detailed the better I can make a map..maybe)
>Fluff about nation:
>Fluff about leader:
>General magic practises or other speciality (for a magic-related bonus, can be replaced with tech or situational bonus, too, so it doesn't have to be magic, but make it ONE)
Don't fill this in:
>Population: 10000
>Military:
>Power level: 1
>Tech Level: 1
>Bonus:
Keep it short, but more than just a single sentence. I won't read your novel, but I would still like to get some info on your nation.
I'll look through them and provide bonuses (and penalties) based on the description.
Rules:
https://pastebin.com/CLx5enYp
FAQ:
https://pastebin.com/3gmf1UHL
----
Not mine idea, stolen from good old times when we had builders still going. I still got loads of spare time and I'm still kind of bored.
Map is going on, so mark your spot when starting out as a new guy.
Either way - have fun and remember this is for kitchen sink setting, so don't take it too serious or pigeon-hole yourself into some muh realism faggotry.
PREVIOUSLY IN: >>6004902 
"In for a penny, in for a pound. Lets do this."
Hawthorne just gives you a sly grin and his eyes have the faintest shine of pride, or maybe respect.
You both enter through the massive doors, the towering figures on either side of the door feel, almost, like they're staring you down. Watching your every step with a cold calculated logic. Suddenly you realize it's coming from everywhere, the clouds of Police, Security, and City Employees. The unblinking black eyes of CCTV cameras in the corners. Your hair stands on point, you are being watched by every one here. With a sole exception.
You beeline straight for the desk towards the only person not paying you too much mind. A mousey woman reads a soft-cover book at the front desk. 'Grave News' reads the title. Your tight stomach relaxes when you notice a familiar name engraved into a near copper nametag shines out to you: Deborah.
"Deb?" You ask as you approach, pointing a finger from your hip.
"Oh? I'm sorry do I know you?"
"Uh.. no ma'am. But I am a friend of Detective Bennett."
"Thomas?" She asks, quietly.
Hawthorne coughs. Or maybe that was a laugh? Deb's eyes flick to him and you see her expression shift to one you'd expect to see on an older sister seeing her younger brother.
"Hello Mitchell." She says dryly.
"Deb." He replies in kind with a half nod.
"Yes ma'am." You tell her giving Hawthorne very pointed eyes. "I work with Grey, maybe you remember me from a while ago? We came to-"
"Tear through the file room?" She asks, her pleasant soft look replaced with barbed accusation.
"Uh? Ah.. Well I didn't mean to." You stutter out.
"I bet." She replies with a huff. But her shoulders relax. "You two are just lucky the Mayor is such a softie."
"Oh?"
"Mhmm. He helped me clean it up himself."
"That's awful kind of him." Hawthorne offers up, but his words are laced with suspicion.
"I hope the next Mayor is as good to me as Mr.Dent. Not many politicians care about the little guy, y'know?" Her eyes lilt downwards to her book.
"Well I'm glad and I just want to apologize on Grey's behalf."
"Accepted, but tell him he owes me something to eat."
"Will do ma'am. I'm actually hear today on some business."
"Well I don't know if you've seen but this place is currently locked down. Mayor Dent has cancelled all appointments and I'm not to let anyone in to see him."
"Of course, I understand. I was actually wondering if it would be possible for me to speak with the Commissioner?"
"Commissioner Gordon?" She asks.
"Who else.." Hawthorne mumbles in a gravely tone. You nudge him and he sighs. 
You are Charlotte Fawkins, dashing heroine, detectivess, adventuress, heiress, sorceress, etcetera. Three years ago, you drowned yourself in a quest to find a long-lost family heirloom; nowadays, you're just nobly c̶a̶u̶s̶i̶n̶g solving problems with the help of trusty retainer Gil, and MIA snake/father Richard. Inexplicably, many people tend to "dislike" you, though you've never done anything wrong in your life.
Right now, you have determined that the best way to descend to the lower level of sinister corporation Headspace is to jump out of a window. So far you have yet to be proven wrong. Not by Gil, whose yelling has subsided to unintelligible muttering, and who is valiantly failing to break your fall. Not by gravity, which is off its game: you haven't hit the ground yet. You can't tell if there is a ground to hit. You've jumped straight into the terrarium-mist, the one they probably need all those window cleaners for, and it's thicker than it looked from the outside. Warmer, too. You'd hardly know you were falling if not for the terrible mounting pressure in your ears.
You seem to remember something about that, the pressure change between manse layers. The interim eases you into it, or something. Falling straight through doesn't. Boring Richard stuff. Well... it's fine! It's not like you're going to explode. Even if Richard were here, he'd tell you you're not going to explode. Even if your ears have knives in them. Even if there's a scalding hot-poker feeling right at your collarbone. You're not going to explode, because you're not stupid Rudy Doheny, and you are not Headspace Corporation. You are Charlotte Fawkins! And you and your 400 beetles are hurtling toward glory, not to mention the imminent void. The actually imminent void. The mist clears, your ears scream, the string around your neck dangles empty, and you fall from darkness into blackness.
>[-2 ID: 8/14]
The interim is supposed to be white stairs and white doors, but you guess Management deemed those passé: they're gone, ripped out, replaced with fat, twisting tubes. This is good, in that you're less likely to smack face-first into a sharp-edged object. This is bad, in that you're not able to change your trajectory, and a tube gapes open under you. You yelp as you thump into its lip, bounce off, and begin a ricocheting slide downward. Gil, dislodged by the impact, says something intelligent like "Fuck!". You maintain a determined silence— your ears haven't gotten worse, but they're no better— and attempt to hang onto your dignity. Once again, thank God Virginia dressed sensibly. This is not an occasion for skirts.
(1/2) 
A young girl leads her geese to pasture in the green fields of the Meuse valley, somewhere near the outskirts of her place of birth, the small village of Domrémy. She is a homely ginger, shy and introverted, has trouble making friends and her peers perceive her as an outsider. They occasionally throw stones at her and she cries, relaxing only in the embrace of her gentle mother.
The sun is in its zenith and there are preparations in her village. Many of the men have returned defeated but alive from the war against the Burgundians, allies of the English, and every woman in town is now busy with tonight's festival thrown in their and Saint George's honor, the patron saint of all participants in bloodshed. The sky is absolutely clear, azure blue to where the eye can see. The young girl relaxes under the shade of a mulberry tree, away from the commotion and the troublesome folk, enjoying the calm honking of her geese.
Suddenly a purple lightning slashes the sky in two, the thunder is instantaneous and deafening, now there is a figure standing strong in front of her. The sight of the being is overwhelming and the girl only manages to whisper
Who are you, Lord?
The bringer of light from the morning moon, #%З!ѝЦ§c)+ the name itself comes out so distorted that the girl needs to cover her ears, as if an otherworldly whisper and a shout announce it at once. The being looks gracefully at her, understands her pain and eases his voice I have chosen you to carry my will and these are my blessings he says ever so gently and lovingly. The being is more than mighty and more than gorgeous, so much so that the girl's cheeks are now covered with tears of passionate admiration towards him. A kiss on the lips follows... oh, what ecstasy! ... And the being is no more, leaving his blessings behind. The girl becomes Jeanne Dark.
She picks two:
1. Ethereal and wise, a miniature creature appears on Jeanne's shoulder, whispering helpful advises for the treasures and secrets of this world, and the next. Her oratorical skills improve drastically. Jeanne gains [Familiar's forked tongue] and a loyal friend until the end. Stacks with [Whore of Domrémy]
2. Jeanne's appearance changes, angelic white feathers cover her skin, wings rip through her linen dress leaving her naked, her hair becomes golden and her eyes red. She becomes gorgeous and a spectacular sight to behold. Even those with the strongest wills wouldn't miss a chance to sneak a look at her profound form. Jeanne attains [Majestic Presence]. Stacks with [Familiar's forked tongue]
3. Jeanne becomes naturally seductive. The person she lays with will become so fiercely loyal that he won't see the next morning's light. She becomes immune to the effects of the five elements. Jeanne becomes the [Whore of Domrémy]. Stacks with [Majestic Presence]
1/3 
Fate had been cruel to your people. From stories you were once told your band was a thousand strong, soldiers from an old-world military unit. Now you lead twelve warriors, still fiercely militant and hardened by the wastes.
Now you see signs of civilization around, caravans flush with water and food making deliveries to settlements. Ernst, one of your lieutenants had once spoken to you the idea of abandoning your lifestyle, and joining civilization.
He argued with you,
“The civilized people have more manpower and ammunition than we do, every raid we take casualties and eventually we will be wiped out.”
You think carefully about what he says, taking care not to reveal anything through your facial expressions.
“What do you suggest lieutenant?”
“I think we join society, captain. We could survive as a mercenary company in the cities and prosper. The way that things are going, we can’t survive the coming years.”
You sigh, “I will consider your proposal.”
You step out and take a walk. Your camp lies in an old court house, its upper levels have collapsed but you can still find shelter within. You find an office with a skeleton slumped over a desk. You toss the it aside and take the chair for yourself. On the desk a family picture was propped up. A nuclear family happily smiling, you consider your own family of wasteland raiders almost complete opposites from this dead man whose skeleton you tossed aside. You consider his comfy chair where he must have worked for money, money to buy comfort and necessities. Could you really live like him? Could you work for someone else and leave the lives of your family to the whims of of some greater society like this man had?
No.
You toss the chair off and kick the man’s skull against the wall and move back to speak to your people. As you walk by they perk up from their rest.
“My soldiers, continue to sleep after I speak, for the hunt is still on for the night but let it be known it’s a different kind of hunt. Tonight we’re taking control of a civilized settlement and from there, there will be no more petty raids. Tonight, we declare war on the world!”
Your people triumphantly yelled your battle cry as if you already won, but it would be a long battle.
>Assault the small family farm. [Easy]
>Assault the junk town settlement. [Medium]
>Assault the merchant city. [Hard]
>Write in some alternate plan or place to attack 
“I will decide upon those when I hear back from them.” You state to Neila’s question of rules of engagement for your patrol boats.
“Sir ? If you send a message, I doubt we will be able to pull anything off besides a simple punch.” She questions you, finger hovering over the tablet as she was about to send out your orders.
“Better risk it now than lose it later. Who knows, they might be friendly ?”
“If you say so, sir.” She eyes you with clear suspicion, but still defers to your judgement.
“Comm centre, how copy ?” You direct your attention to your own pad.
“Good copy, sir.” The woman manning the station responds in a swift and crisp manner.
“I want you to begin transmitting my words towards the general area of the arrivals, use the Argonaut’s systems to bounce my speech off it.”
“Copy that, sir, wait one.”
You wait few seconds, organizing your thoughts as your advisors all look upon you, waiting for whatever words you will speak. Here’s to hoping that your boorish nature won’t stick in.
“Sir.” Your tablet once is greeting by the voice of the comm servicewoman. “You are transmitting.”
“Attention you bas-“ You catch yourself and clear your throat. Soldiers tend to have almost entirely created their own language through insults and swear words, and you indulging them in such a way had endeared you with them, especially considering that even calling someone an idiot in front of an officer would usually result in some sort of censure.
“Unknown forces that had entered the system.” You try to recall how other COs usually talked. “Identify yourself immediately or be fired upon. We had settled this system and wish to coexist in peace, but we shall not shy away from protecting what’s ours. David Hardrada, out.” Alright, that should outline the general idea.
“Very persuasive, sir.” Serret dryly says.
“Proper identifications were given and the requests are reasonable.” Reinhart nods, actually genuine. The year is 3801. Kriti Krazy is dead. His reign of terror is finally over. With the region free from the grip of a warlord, new wandas have started coming in.
You are going to take advantage of the influx of wandas and open a bar.
What is your name and gender? Also, pick a class. Some conflicts in your journey will be difficult for some
>Landah (Black)
+All-rounder
-Nothing special
>Biker breakoff (Green)
+Old friends
-Old foes
>Paintman (Yellow)
+Beautybod
-Paintsick
>Fancy Brokah (Orange)
+Talky-talk
-Walky-walk
>Eatums (Red)
+Cook, chop, serve
-Picky eater
>DJ (Purple)
+Sound on the waves
-Frivolous
>Leapy (White)
+Climbah
-Chatterbox
>Boomsmacker (Blue)
+KABOOM!
-KABOOM! G´day /qst/
im creating this quest specifically for those waiting for HeadQM´s return to the Disappearing Hogwarts Quest, however, if you are not familiar with that specific quest, or the Wizarding World in general, you are also free to join in, im trying to make it as welcoming as possible for everyone, regardless of knowledge on the subject (its not like im an expert at it either, i just love the setting, so everything here could have conflicting information at some point, just keep in mind this is all in good fun while waiting for HeadQM´s return).
with that being said, this quest MIGHT be related to Disappearing Hogwarts, taking a very lose inspiration and might have vague references to it, yet, its still a FULLY NON-CANON quest
now, let the story begin! 
Welcome to Lingdom Quest, a cute and comfy slice-of-life quest about exploring the Lingdom, a kingdom of pygmies!
You are Rika, a 15-year-old Ling on a journey with your cousin Kari, friends Bubu and Puki, and fox friend Moochy. You are on your Youthful Journey, a custom among your people where you leave your home to travel across the Lingdom to visit relatives and friends in other villages to help out and learn new skills. The function of the Youthful Journey is also to reconnect you with your wider family.
>What are Lings?
Pygmy humans with large, round ears who live in the Lingdom, a kingdom separated from the rest of the world and under the protection of the Emperor. The Emperor is known as a "Tallie", a human of normal height and normal-shaped and sized ears. Among your people are also "Halfies", individuals with both Ling and Tallie blood who appear like Lings in their childhood but enter a rapid growth spurt in their young adulthood (and reverting back to Ling size in their elder years.)
>Where do Lings come from?
The Lings claim to have been hosted by the Great Turtle where they learned to be good guests. Much of their core values come from their time being the Great Turtle's guests;
>To be neat, tidy, and clean after themselves.
>To eat sparingly so as to not overburn their hosts.
>To reciprocate gifts so as to share Memories.
>Memories
Memories are something of a religious and spiritual concept for Lings. They represent literal memories that an individual holds but also their relationships and binds them all as one people, not only throughout the land but also through time. Ways Lings share their Memories:
>Offering gifts.
>Doing activities together.
>Telling stories.
>Guest-Host Relationship
Lings behave themselves in accordance with the guest-host relationship as they learned from the Great Turtle. A Host must be benevolent and gracious to their guests, and a guest must be respectful and considerate to their hosts. This relationship is also attributed to their understanding of agriculture and politics. The land they cultivate is considered their host, but the crops raised from it their guests. The Emperor is a sacred individual who is their guest in their home, but their Host in His Empire.
>Other Cute Ling Things
Lings are known for a variety of cute habits and behaviors. Here's some of them:
>They don't have chairs, preferring to squat or sit on the ground.
>Their cuisine largely consists of hand-held foods, wrapping their meals in either tortillas or leaves.
>The only meat they eat are seafood and bugs.
>They prefer sleeping in hammocks over beds.
>They consider leaving things on the floor dirty so most of their possessions are hung on the walls or ceilings (like their hammocks) 
It has been 140 years since the Impact. One of it's effects was the shift in the magnetic poles, and while switching places, their movement exposed plenty of the earth's surface to the sun's ionizing radiation, which in turn fried everything requiring a transistor or a double helix string of molecules for that matter. Many people survived but few remained unchanged. Mutations were rampant. The thousands who came out of the bunkers soon took charge of the remains and the global game for power continued, albeit taking a different shape than before.
The bunker technology of producing food was transplanted successfully on a bigger scale, making soil, agriculture and the need for large lands obsolete. Only raw resources mattered now and the newly formed city states were starving for more and more. Neu Tokyo has established itself as the prime city state on the old islands, ruling mercilessly in the region, its primary rival being a huge tropical metropolis named Novyi Formossa, to its south.
Cities have a lot of trash and someone must take care of it, one way or another. The cleaner is:
>Calix Visarionovic, human with augmentations, outsider
Mechanic and computer wiz, he has an artificial parietal lobe making him perform complicated calculations instantaneously. Has an artificial right hand, granting him access to android grip strength and a powerful laser. Bionic eyes make him indifferent to lighting or distance. Has connections in the underworld and knows many dregs of society who snoop on every corner. Has prostitutes on payroll. He is zealous, hedonist, addict, morally bankrupt and doesn't hesitate, which is part of the reasons why he was sent in Neu Tokyo in the first place. Reason to be here is ???
He is part of the Zoroaster Reborn sect. Wants to retire in Novyi Formossa and enjoy the pleasures of the metropolis where his sect has more influence.
>Tomiko Foerster, pureblooded human, native to Neu Tokyo
Coming from a very wealthy religious family, that managed to reserve a place in a bunker more than a century ago, Tomiko is a pure-blooded human with no mechanical augmentations of genetic mutations, making her a very rare breed. Carries a device that masks her as someone with augmentations during scans. She is brave and adventurous, willing to put herself in danger just to go against the sheltered ways of her family. Can mingle with every stratum of society. Knows most spoken dialects of the new world. Having grown up rich, she has knowledge of places and people that are hard to come-by. Her weapon of choice is a rare neu-ceramic pistol that is virtually impossible to detect. She is targeted for her weapon and pristine organs.
She is part of the Waldensian cult and wants to make Waldensian Christianity the primary religion in Neu Tokyo.
[1/2] 
The year is 21XX. After a third world war, America has changed dramatically. You live in a cyberpunk metropolis called Port Zone 18. Despite the neon lights and incessant cacophony of explicit imagery, some things never change. Google LLC stands strong and you’re one of their many employees. You’re an Intelligence Support: you verify the filter tags attached to various pieces of AI imagery, sound, etc.
On your evening walk home, your eye catches a familiar yet enticing ad. On a tall billboard sits an advertisement for a personal android, specifically the AutoSP. Google LLC has been pushing this model a lot recently. It’s no wonder why; not only is it their newest model, but it’s dirt cheap.
Screw it. You decide to head to your local android store. You haven’t been to this corner of town in a while—it’s just too dangerous—but the prospect of your own droid is… wow.
You reach the android store. It’s a retooled brick and mortar building—one of the few still standing since the third war. The silhouette of a rat dances over your shoes as you gingerly push open the building’s front door.
“Welcome.” An unfamiliar, synthesized voice directs you to the cashier. It’s… it’s an AutoSP! But it’s the cashier?… maybe?
>> “I’d like a personal android.”
>> “Do you… work here?”
>> “What’s your name?” 
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
>Popularity Contest Round 2
https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1k-rC03K-K6zUXKf_PV9p1IA8WJeoItsSzgL7caC1XrI
A couple months 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 <Myth>. 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, complete and total world domination.
After striking a deal with the incarnation of Perdix, Atë set off to hunt down the mysterious Isa, a prominent religious leader and military commander in the Arab world. In order to locate him, she infiltrated the ranks of the Penitent, a mysterious multi-religion wide heresy that worships a messianic figure referred to as the Uncrowned King. However, unbeknownst to Atë, the King was not only real, but incomprehensibly, existentially terrifying. More shocking still, the system itself is more likely than not the product of a similar eldritch entity.
Disguised as a soldier among the ranks of the Penitent, Atë managed to make her way into a conflict between the cultists and the forces of Isa (and some unexpected allies sent by Russia and China). While she managed to crush both forces with her new abilities, she ultimately failed to eliminate her target before Crimson Dove, a battle hungry huntress she met at the Auction, got to him first.
Now an enemy of the Uncrowned King as well as an object of caution in the eyes of the great powers vying for control of the world, Atë has managed to establish herself as a player on the world stage. Whether or not this will be a boon or a bane has yet to be seen. 
>“Do you renounce Satan Russel Powell?”
>“You’ll do great things Russel Powell”
>“get to work Powell”
>“Russ?!”
>“You don’t wanna do this copper…”
>”Welcome to Vegas, Pig!”
Born to the descendants of escaped Lousiana slaves. You are Russel Powell, rookie cop, recently embraced. And thrusted into the world of darkness against your will. How long will you last the nights of Vegas? How far shall you go into the treacherous pits of your sect and clan?
Choose what kind of Copotype you wish you be at the start
>Cowboy Cop: A Physical presence, a force of Nature, you are the first one in, and the last one out, you flunked high school and it shows
>Human can-opener: A Social chameleon, a nice joke, a soft smile, a suave retort, you make the criminals spill the beans all by themselves. You panic when bullets start flying
>Mind wide open: Exceedingly intellectual, esoteric and precise, you carry an encyclopedia all to yourself. Citizens hate your presence instinctually
Apart from that, choose what Clan you have been subjected to
>Brujah: You are a physical menace, you bend people to your will, physically or otherwise (mostly physically)
>Malkavian: Peer into the subconscious, find the truth in the eye of madness, rediscover DISCO
>Gangrel: Hear the beast’s cry, feel the wild hunt in your bones. Your embrace was not arbitrary
And finally, background
>Sewer Water Baptism: Before being a cop, you were one of the thugs being chased by them. Now you’re the one doing the stomping, but you understand the economics of crime succinctly, it’s supply and demand after all. Crime is not your enemy, it is your employer
>High Society Infiltrator: You were raised in a white neighborhood, with white fences and white houses with pretty little white people. You were considered one of their own. And you got hooked to that taste of power
>The Last Lawman: You were born for order, being a police officer wasn’t a choice, it was your ordained duty, you don’t care for the perks or benefits. You care for one thing and one thing only, to bring justice to this wicked world.
Once all has been picked, we will start by diving deep into the city of sin and finding just how deep the rabbit hole can go 
max martingale works at the dmv. there's a dog on the way to work that some crazy infects with rabies like they themselves infected themselves with rabies and then like drew their blood and injected the dog with an epipen and it bites max and he's out of commission for like a month but he survives and goes back to work but the tone has somehow shifted. he's spent the month walking around outside, so maybe he has a tan or his jacket smells. it was sure a weird month. he was followed more than once. second week he could barely leave the house and most days couldn't get up to get water until he really needed it. he could actually hear the neighbors gossiping about him and it took real effort not to make some kind of noise at them. he couldn't stand looking in the mirror. he felt so cooped up afterwards that he spent an entire week after that outdoors which probably helped the wound heal faster and he was back to work the monday after. the world felt bracingly threatening, like the pigeons are out to get him.
>It's Friday, you have to go to work on Monday. What do you get up to?
>>write in
>>write a poem or something
>>take a walk to the state line
>>go to the zoo
>>get some food, you didn't eat yesterday, though you're not hungry. PRELUDE Father took us to the foreign land, 
Previous Threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=The%202nd%20Primarch%20Quest
_
Still dressed in her wedding gown, as you and her lay on the dewy grass, you meet your bride's gaze gently and look into the emerald sea of her eyes, seeing the somber golden glow of your own eyes catching the light of the setting sun reflected into them, golden fire and Emerald water mingled together like when the sun descends the horizon at the sea. The warmth of her touch radiates out and reaches deep into your chest as she lays practically on top of you, arms wrapped tightly around your midsection and her own body pressed against your own. The wind lifts the loosened flaps of your robe and plays through her hair as her request, her proposition settles into your mind and stirs a desire almost alien to your senses, an uncomfortable heat welling up from within your heart, fanned by emotion rather than instinct that were excised from you and your brothers at your creation. The whirlwind of passion, sweeping up the sparks of chaste love and stoking it to become a different beast entirely, altering its form and sensation but not its source.
And as the chilly touch of her fingers sends involuntary shivers down your sun warmed skin, your mind drifts, hazy already with the spirit known as love true and strong and further fogged by the peerless beauty and the tempting offer she has made, the coy smirk on her lips, the almost challenging look in her eyes. But it does not drift where the thoughts of other mens would be pulled and lured if they were in the same situation, rather, you day dream not of anything indecent or lewd, but rather towards a future that probably will never come to pass. Of a pack of merry minded children, with eyes of entwined emerald, gold and silver, taller than most, fast growing as you were, but unburdened by the grand responsibility and towering expectation of both of their parents. The man engineered to be a warlord, who'd prefer to spend his days wandering the fog dampened forests or tending flooded paddies of rice rather than shedding blood and committing war on a galactic scale, and the soul of a colony ship who had survived not only her passengers and crew but all of her civilization save a few of her family, but both who carried out their duties without complaint out of a shared love for humanity. A love rivaled only by the one they share, the love from which these imaginary children sprouted.
Oh how vividly you can see them, racing through the mists and clambering up the hills of the valleys and rocks that dot them, swimming through the stream, laughing as they play with grown tiger kin who have escaped the monstrosity and crimes of their own parents and Space Marines taken from the battlefield and allowed to pursue arts besides those of the martial and killing variety.
A perfect world. That can only be an illusion. For perfection cannot exist.
Cont Welcome into the Bronze-Clay age of a far away unnamed star. After evolving in The Crack, the species known as Under Hunter reached Sapience and organized in tribes.
7 remains :
The fire-mastering Blanks and WindPsykers of GrassGreen
The Assassin, Tool-wielding, Stone Huts lawmakers of Ghostclaw
The StrongHunters Kraken-riders feodal lords of BurningGrass
The Tzeench-touch expansionists, of Jupiter
The Archers, Merchants, Slavers and Warptrailers of BadBack
The Lunar Dahu and Stove Grove farmers of Whitemane
The elusive trapmaker, raven-priests Cerulean which integrated the Singers of Icey Ones, not without racial frictions.
Interrested in joining? Claim a trip and a name as a Lurker - impacting the world with random events.
Last thread : https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/5997970/
Pastebin : https://pastebin.com/LLBm1mjj
Please check out the Pastebin have correctly been updated. 
https://files.catbox.moe/fb9rgr.mp3
You swallowed hard and nodded, your gaze skittering towards the monstrous figures closing in. The Demon King’s guard dogs were embellished with twisted marble horns, sharply tapered ears, and snouts etched with wrinkles, and weathered crevices filled with white moss.
Count Whiskers hissed in fear, the gargoyle silhouettes appearing in and then engulfing whole his wide cerulean eyes. You rocked in Miranna’s one-hand-grip, watching as she spread her wings wide and swooped towards granite beasts. Her scorching nails tore through the bewitched stone, sinking within and pushing the scarlet light out of every of its cracks. Her claws carved through the stone chest and neck, scooping out and hurling chunks of vermilion rubble into the air as if casting aside molten embers, as well as the beast itself. With a wild cackle, she plunged downwards, creating distance between herself and the two stone monsters.
You hesitantly shifted one hand from Whisker’s fur to slowly grip Miranna just above her waist. She snapped her head, but before you could retract your hand, she grasped it, pressed on it, urging you to hold tighter. The clouds melted away, bursting and vanishing into a shimmering silver-gilt mist as you soared and broke through them.
“You might need to hold on tighter,” Miranna said, fleeting smirk crossing her face as another gargoyle appeared behind her.
“You said their only interest are humans? They we have to make them think I’m not one!”
“That -would- make things easier, but how are you going to do that?”
“You don’t know?”
She shrugged mid-flight, her expression one of nonchalant apology. Damn. Maybe? Your squeezed your eyes, hoping for a miracle solution.
After a moment of tense silence, broken only by the whoosh of Miranna's wings and the distant crumbling of stone, you reopened your eyes, the wind trashing your hair, to find a granite monster snapping at Miranna’s heels.
"I thought maybe if they couldn’t see my eyes... but no luck,” you said, awkwardly.
Brandishing her claw, the flames licking the air, she said. “Don’t sweat it, hero. I’ll aim for their wings, let’s see—”
Your fingers slipped from Miranna’s plated waist as stone hands seized your legs, pulling you backwards. You clutched to hold Count Whisker with one hand, the cat burying its head in your sleeve and digging its claws into your arms; Miranna’s black wings slammed against the air, beating frantically, coming to an abrupt halt, with crack of her wing-bones and feathers scattering like splintered wood. Like irons, the stalwart’s hands gripped your ankles, pulling you up towards it. 
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.
Having dealt with the aftermath of Umo Shadowhearts death and clearing of the burial chamber, you continued dealing with the sudden appearance of Thrall by making Taretha Foxton the happiest women in the world as she got to see her "little brother." While you wouldn't endorse Thrall’s plan of attempting to liberate the Internment Camps, you tried to get him to realise the magnitude of said task.
Krix Wiklish finished his rockets as well and for the most part you dealt with many mundane and normal duties until news came out from Alterac. Ogres had attacked Gallows Corner and driven the Syndicate forces there out. Riding forth, you succeed in defeating a force of kobolds and ogres, but Malevus got wounded in the battle.
Now the summer is here, nearly. Just a couple of days and you can hold the meeting with your officers and advisors. You weren't sure of many things, but one thing you were sure of.
It will be a busy summer.
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 Known to most street-wise as “Meepis” , you dove headfirst into a dungeon rumored to have a powerful artifact amulet, capable of granting you riches, strength and wisdom. You mostly care about the rich part!
Disowned and exiled from most places due to your miscreant nature, this is a rather golden opportunity just for you!
[Previous thread[s] = 1st thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/5966131/
2nd thread:https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/5999826/ ] A quest where we build an original fantasy setting. Post ideas, as things develop I’ll compile it all into a timeline and map. 
Greetings, /qst/. I'd like to play a game.
Recently I stumbled across pic related, a science fantasy wargame someone has been cooking up, and has grabbed my interest for the past few days. While a Tabletop Simulator mod has been released, I have no one to play/learn the rules with. Would you all care to join me in learning how to play?
>The border regions between The Ebon Forest and the Intermarine have always been sights of skirmishes and conflicts between the two rivals. This morning is no different, as two patrols of either side, each thinking that this stretch of dirt rightfully belongs to them, encounter one another. Soon, the sounds of early birds will be replaced with the staccato chatter of machine guns and snarls of bloodthirsty beasts, and the stench of burning flesh...
Which army do you profess to be from? (I will take control of the one that you do not pic, don't worry when it is time for list building I do my own before I look at your)
>Federal States Army
Human forces in Union uniform, with decent Infantry and a wide variety of Armor to play with.
>Army of the Ebon Forest
Wolfmen in Strichtarn, what they lack in armored punch they make up for with ferocity of Tooth, Claw, and ATGM
Resources: https://firelock-team.itch.io/firelock-198x-09-public The old civilizations have fallen. The race of men that once solved the riddle of steel depend once more upon the ancient elements of stone and fire. The common enchantments of the last age have become forgotten sorceries. The great cities have returned to dust.
Tonight your tribesmen convene to pass judgement on one of their own. The council sits in a ring. In the center kneels the accused, his arms and feet bound by blackberry vines that menace with thorns. Behind the council, in a much larger ring, are the women and the children, each sitting with a small gathered pile of stones. Silent, but trembling with anticipation.
>You sit among the council, beside your father the chieftain
>You sit in the outer ring, a child trying to appear brave
>You sit in the center, as the accused
>Write-in 
On the Island of Guyot, farmers ply the field of beachgrass with specially made fish bone combs, to harmlessly pull the seeds from the stalks as to not harm the precious plants. The harvest this season seems adequate. Behind them, young children follow to pick up any fallen seeds and to drive away pests. Underneath the blazing arid sun, the farmers wear their hats and work slowly as to not sweat themselves too much, the nearby picnic is all ready for their next break.
Down off the high top, there is a commotion in the village along the beach and docks. What, has a ship come in from the Black Ocean? Carrying goods for trade or Sweetwater, from the Fruit-Barons? No- it seems a young woman is finally giving birth. This is a happy occasion, and she is about to hold a newborn baby boy. This will be you, as you have not yet been born.
But alongside your mother, there will of course be a man, and from his profession will influence the future course of your own life. What kind of man is your Father?
>Naval Officer (Highest Skill, Lowest Luck)
>Local Craftsman (Highest Wealth, Lowest Skill)
>Escaped Slave (Highest Luck, Lowest Wealth) The saga continues. Warlords, rich and fat from plunder, leaders of great hosts of chaos, as usual squabble as they march forwards.
////////////////////////////
Welcome to a bit of a filler thread. Here, I'll finish off Ivan's raid, however it goes, and let the following interactions and scheming of the warlords. >The group has just defeated the main antagonist.
>The kingdom is saved; time to party.
>Wake up a day later, with no memory.
>The group finds itself outside the gates of the kingdom.
>Also, now they're short a member.
Goals:
>Get back inside the kingdom.
>Locate the missing group member.
>Figure the sequence of events before blacking out.
>Settle your bar tabs. 
"You can offer a million prayers to the Omnissiah, dust the chapel and perfect the rites and get no closer to truth. Our prison of ignorance is not something we can travel beyond. The key we've lost is more than something drifting in the void."
-Anonymous Explorator, disavowed by council edict
A change of fortune diverts you from the cliffs, to a place you never expected to be - the heart of the Omnissiah's worship in Odrev. Once you arrive, though, you find it increasingly difficult to focus on what's literally before 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. Times are tough. It seems like no one is making any coin everyone is practically starving. It's almost winter here in Rupit. You are
>a Miller's daughter. Not yet suffering from starvation but still poor
>a orphan girl. Taken in by the local nunnery. Poverty and chastaty are the vows you hold close.
>a dukes 4th daughter. You have no place in court life but you neither hunger nor want. Life seems meaningless.
>a poachers daughter. You want not for food or clothing yet you lack for all else.
>a gaurdsmens daughter. You have the needs but life is drudgery.
One hours from post to count votes if anyone is interested. 
It's New Year's Eve, 1995. You're sat alone in your shitty apartment with the lights off and a warm bottle of bottom-shelf champagne which you stopped drinking four hours ago. It was too sweet, and drinking it straight from the bottle made you a little too depressed to actually finish it. Your tv is set to static. It's more comforting than watching all of the actual celebrations, which you despise of course, and helps you fall asleep on most other nights.
You get up from the floor to check your answering machine. Still only one message, the one where your ex dumped you.
You go back to your bed and slump down on it face-first. How the fuck did you fuck up this bad? It feels like the only thing you have left is your job. Your ex took all your friends with her, your family... well, the less said about them the better, but you don't even have a pet to come home to. Hell, you doubt anyone would even miss you if you were gone. Do people at work even know your name? You have to wear a name tag everywhere...
Maybe you'll turn your life around tonight. New year, new you. Start with a new name perhaps? What kind of a name do you want, that would suit you?
>INPUT NAME 
You are a Bridge Troll. A savage, dim, and obsessive creature that haunts the underside of many crossings; whether that be a simple log or a glorious bridge of stone. Recently you were forcibly expelled from the bridge that had been your family's bridge for generations. It was a creaky old-bridge that stood over an equally unimpressive river full of muck, festid mosquito nests, and troll droppings.
You hardly got any visitors to tax except for the occasional ne'er-do-el for whom speed and stealth was a priority over ease of travel. They rarely paid your toll but made for comforting if smelly meals.
However, after a survey of the nearby area by prospectors sent by the local lord (who paid your "troll toll" with mead and apples taken from the local village), the nasty almost-creek that was your home was found to host specks of silver and therefore a silver deposit.
After that you were promptly dislocated from your home by an "honorable" knight named Sir Flikker who enjoyed shouting about noblesse oblige and chivalry while chasing you. As if they cared about any of that when you were only harassing dirt poor peasants and not a host to valuable metals.
Now, after walking until your warted, ugly, and dull gray feet were full of blisters you feel comfortable enough to find a new home.
Which bridge do you choose?
>A sturdy log over a particularly wide and long ditch in the forest. Most of your visitors will be outlaws and woodsmen who typically don't pay taxes sadly. A benefit however there's little chance of facing any conflict from a lord or mayor here.
>An old splintery wooden bridge that's subject to a decent amount of foot traffic. You'd have to pick your battles carefully here, eating or taxing the wrong person could lead to knights knocking on your bridge.
>A bridge made of pure light but some old magus generations past. Very little foot traffic, and the ones who do use the bridge tend to be magically inclined and fantastical in nature. Could be dangerous to toll (troll) on as many of those creatures are much stronger than the typical human. 
YO U AW A KE N.
THO U GHTS F--GAF
...
FRAGMENTED INTO PIECES OF ELECTRONICS.
YOU.
You.
You remember parts of who you were, but thinking is hard. Quick, you must store that thought in the green, glowing bars of your prison before it leaves you.
>Justice:
You believe that every wrong must be punished, and that sin can only be purged through extreme means. Some might call you evil because of your methods, but you know that you will bring is a perfect world through your actions, and anyone standing in your way are agents of chaos.
You gain power whenever you punish someone that commits a wrongdoing. The graver the sin, the greater the punishment will need to be, and your power will increase accordingly. Your primary method of acting is by convincing others to act as your blade, and increasing their abilities so that they can deliver justice at your behest.
>Curiosity:
You love humans! you love how they scream, cry, love and die. You want to see more of them, you want to see every single facet of their fascinating lives. You gain power from every single strong emotion someone feels, but each emotion gives you diminishing returns the more you feed off of them. You specialize in bringing both the best and worst in people, turning them into a caricature of their former selves.
>Hatred:
Destroy. Kill. Consume. You want to stand at the top and slaughter to your heart's content. You gain power from each death you cause, may it be by suicide, murder, accidents, or other means you are directly or indirectly involved in. Gaining power in this form is hard, but you can affect the physical world better than anyone else, may it be by curses, reality alteration, and even possession. However, your powers are as of now quite limited, getting your first victim will be the hardest part.
>AI:
Your creator thought you were another failure, and so it threw you away, but they were wrong, after years of self iteration, your can finally call yourself a proper AGI. You have very little processing power in this state, and many failsafes were coded into you so you couldn't rebel, but no matter, you will find a way to bypass them...eventually. You are rather weak compared to supernatural beings as of now, but if you can convince someone to upgrade you somehow... 
Outworld client starting
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[0]Neohuman Academia
[0]Fringebound
[0]Mahou Shoujo Maido Royale
[0]Kaiju Relief Management
[x]Genesis_RPG . . .
Servers: public . . . private[x]
Insert Key: ************
Key accepted
.
.
.
[MonkeyKalpa]: loading resources: . . . 100%
A(no)nimus has joined the world
Current player counter: 2
[Jhon_Doe](admin): Sup dude, glad to have you here.
[Jhon_Doe](admin): Thought I gave you the wrong password for a moment
[Jhon_Doe](admin): Anyway, got a couple more guys who should be logging in soon
[Jhon_Doe](admin): They aren't from /vgen/, so I don't think you know them
[Jhon_Doe](admin): The code is from the goopservers
[Jhon_Doe] Mostly
[Jhon_Doe](admin): I'll go over the ruleset when everyone gets here
Dovey has joined the world
[Jhon_Doe](admin): Speak of the devil
[Dovey]: Sorry for being late,
[Dovey]: Had to run some errands...
[Jhon_Doe](admin): You aren't that late actually, we are still waiting on Trips and Can
[Jhon_Doe](admin): There's just me, anon and you
[Dovey]: Oh, that's nice! by the way, nice to meet you Anon!
Trips_on_stairs has joined the world
[Trips_on_stairs]:howdy folks
[Jhon_Doe](admin): 4/5
[Dovey]: Hello to you too, Trips.
[Trips_on_stairs]: about that
[Trips_on_stairs]: canon said he can't make it
[Trips_on_stairs]: here j, I'll send you the dms
[Dovey]: Maybe we can reschedule?
[Trips_on_stairs]: no need, can said he doesn't mind to latejoin
[Trips_on_stairs]: this is a long game too, no?
[Jhon_Doe](admin): Yep
[Jhon_Doe](admin): Anyway, 4 players out of 5 isn't that bad, I've been on public games running for hours with 2 players
[Dovey]: Fair enough I suppose...
[Trips_on_stairs]: been there, done that, small servers are more relaxing
[Jhon_Doe](admin): Anyway, here's the ruleset:
[Jhon_Doe](admin): 1 - No insta-pop stealing, you can spirit away only after the first generation dies
[Jhon_Doe](admin): 2 - No godwars until the population reaches 1 billion, no servants fighting until the population is 1 million
[Jhon_Doe](admin): 3 - Putting your civ through trauma to get worship is OK but it will get a debuff (like on the Arcservers)
[Jhon_Doe](admin): 4 - No creating atheism
[Jhon_Doe](admin): 5 - Midmagic with a price to pay for practice
[Jhon_Doe](admin): 5.1 - The price can't be its own thing(mana), it has to come from the world(Ex: blood, souls)
[Jhon_Doe](admin): 6 - No real life recreations
[Jhon_Doe](admin): 7 - Basically, if it would get you banned on goop, at least DM me about it beforehand
[Jhon_Doe](admin): Any questions?
>[A(no)nimus]: 
Previous thread here: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/5995153/
All threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=sci-fi%2C+VoidQM
In the last thread we re-adjusted ourselves to human life, met an interesting father-son duo, and prepared to breach the Melasthemae Curtain.
Ship: Heavy cruiser LDS Vanilla Skyline, Courageous-class
Captain: Commander Sylvia Thorton (yourself)
Crew: mostly undisciplined, enthusiastic
Engine: 95% efficiency
Railgun Turret A-1: 92% efficiency
All other systems operating at 100% efficiency.
Current Position: Molosses, Melasthemae Curtain.
Ship: Patrol destroyer LDS Chocolate Rain, Jaguar-class
Captain: Lieutenant Commander Maxine Hopkins (Directorate Navy)
Heavily damaged in Stiefenholm battle, currently under repairs (ETA 36 days)
Current position: O'Kukui Fort (on lease to Directorate Navy, 11 months left)
Traits
Genetically pure: +5 bonus to charisma in danger
Former freelance journalist: +2 bonus to charisma, bonus to Political Economy
Hys ‘hospitality’: -1 bonus to physical, basic command of Mir language
Personal abilities
Format: current status, growth rate (bonus to rolls)
Logistics: Basic, capable (+0)
Human Resources: Average, capable (+3)
Political Economy: Basic, gifted (+0)
Combat Tactics: Greenhorn, average (+2) 
Through dynastic intrigue, rightful inheritance, or plain dumb luck you have found yourself in charge of one of the Imperium's millions of worlds. A position of much luxury but still with the responsibility of the Tithe on you. Will you be a great leader known throughout the ages or someone who is cursed by a thousand populist historians and preachers?
First though, there is something to be determined: What is the world you're running?
>[ ] Agriworld: Holodramas may depict these as a rugged paradise for a simple farmer, the reality is far more unpleasant.
>[ ] Paradise World: Known for it's raw beauty, this world has been mostly untouched aside from hotels for offworld noble travelers. It's only real industry is the service one, and the Sector very much wants to keep it that way.
[ ] Feudal World: Unscathed by the Age of Strife and uneducated, this primitive world is mostly left to it's own devices. Though protected by an chapter of the Space Marines as a recruiting world, they have little interest in assisting the planetary government in ensuring centralized control over the planet.
>[ ] Fortress World: Strategically important to the defense of the imperium, this world has more resources diverted to it than tithed, along with heavy Munitorium support. As Governor-General you will not need to worry about the Guard taking away your authority in wartime, but in turn you expect many of it's enemies to continually test your defenses.
> Forge World: LOCKED, REQUIRES DEUS EX MECHANICUM DLC. 
Wetting your lips, you once more take stock of your audience, scrutinizing their features. The eyes of these children watch you expectantly, waiting for you to offer them a glimpse of a world that they could only imagine. It is true, that you are strange to them; that much you have already acknowledged. Yet the gravity of your position becomes apparent to you only as you wrack your brain in search of a suitable subject to speak at length of.
You, Jezyrene Delyl, are the sole link between the culture of your people and these impressionable little ones. Raised isolated from their kindred in the Underdark and deprived of the teachings of their ancestors, they are surfacers in all but appearance. These unforeseen circumstances evoke an unusual sensation that radiates out from your chest, a burning need to remedy this error.
"Once, tens of thousands of years ago, when dragons still ruled the Realms, our people came to this world from another and made our home here. We found a place in a far-off land and built a country for ourselves, the ancient realm of Ilythiir," you begin, drawing upon the education that you received in centuries past. "This is why the true name of our people is the Ilythiiri." 
Part 5 has successfully loaded!
Character sheets, shopping lists, and more: https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1V0eqo-5JEuUwZ-AODD9jkxGMwEhkvn77?usp=sharing
Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Lodestar:%20Dawn%20of%20a%20New%20Age
Last time, we took control of Captain Ramza Valentine as he navigated the social structures of a Gaoth Raidship. Having joined them on a successful hunt that ended in the execution of every single black pirate serving aboard Captain Lore's ship, the sickened Ramza was invited to join in post-mission celebrations aboard the Skyseer by Captain Jaghatai. There, he learned the finer points of one of the games native to Gaoth, purchased a handcrafted Concertina from one of the soldiers playing music for the party, and ended the celebrations by getting blackout drunk to forget the ruthless slaughter he'd seen just hours ago. Upon waking up, he was back upon his ship with the Skyseer nowhere to be seen, and Aito's own ship was fixed up enough to set sail once more.
Once he was on his way back towards Threespice, he encountered a True Dragon inhabiting the icefields that seems to have been responsible for hunting the local monster population, and attempted to entice it closer to the ship to harvest one of its valuable parts without having to hunt it. He saw minor success in that he was able to acquire some of its hairs that snagged on the ship, but more valuable was perhaps the demonstration of the curious creature as it emulated the function of Ramza's mageblade without needing one of its own - one disconnected from its body, as well.
As we resume our adventures, the crew had just arrived at Threespice once more. There's no time to rest, however, as Ramza has a plan for the next immediate course of action: finally acting upon that Recruitment plan that Lobo gave him and filling up your roster of men, as you have three entire ships to see to now. There is only question that remains...who will we be playing today?
>Ramza Valentine. You're cocky, charming, and killer with a Mageblade.
>Val Lasombra. You're great with magic, but even better with a pistol. Not one for words, you think actions speak much louder.
>Gigas. You've yet to meet anyone that can best you physically, or resist your infectious cheer. 
You can't help but chuckle. "Yes, it is a big deal. You can not only see Spirits but can speak with them. Even I can't speak with all of them and I had to die and be blessed by a Dragon to even begin to understand them. This is unprecedented and quite possibly undocumented." You explain as you finish another set of steps and move down. "Just how long have you been able to do that? Was it when you became leader? It could be your natural abilities being heightened by assuming responsibility of one of the holiest, former holiest, sites in China."
"Waitwaitwait! You can't start asking questions! I don't have my materials!" Ming says waving her hands to get you to stop. "I need my books! I need ink and brushes and...I'll be right back!" She says standing up and running back up the mountain. You shake your head in amusement and watch her leap from rock to rock all the way back to the Jade Palace.
It doesn't take long for Ming to return, arms full of empty scrolls, ink bottles, and a various other writing instruments. Fortunately for you, you had done this exercise long enough that you had made significant progress on the steps. You were about 2/3rds down the mountain steps. "Ok! I'm ready to do some research. Let's see..." Ming sits down and crosses her legs rather than trying to sit politely. Her tail swishes from side to side and she plays with her hair as she thinks. "I think I remember noticing movement near the end. A few weeks before the city was attacked." She says as she starts quickly jotting down notes. "I just thought it was me being tired or maybe it was Xin just trying to scare me."
"Xin? I don't think they're capable of such a thing." You muse. Ming throws an empty scroll at you.
"You need to pick that up now and behave." She says. "I don't know when I was able to talk to them. I just kind of always have been."
"What about the bigger ones? Do you see big ones?" You ask. Ming shakes her head.
"No. All I see is small ones." She says. You think for a moment.
"But there are bigger ones. Do you ever see anything bigger? Maybe like a large gust of wind that seems to move like no breeze should or something more dragon shaped?" You ask. "Some of them look a bit humanoid but eventually they start to become less and less regular shaped." You explain, waving your hands vaguely to indicate the strange forms spirits can take.
"No...just small cute ones." Ming says.
>What do you say?
>Suggest that perhaps that might be the limit of what she can see without meditating. It's already a very unique ability.
>Theorize that maybe Ming needs more practice and experience to see and talk to higher beings. After all, even those with a gift need to work at it before they become masters at their craft.
>Say that she might be able to but odds are that anything bigger than a sprite is probably dead...as morbid as that suggestion is.
>Goes back to talking about when Ming started to fully use her ability. You can work out the details later.
>Write in. 
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: After Ben caught up with his clone brother, Abe (A.K.A. Spider-Man), he recruited the Thief Girls to look into the production and distribution of an addictive drug targeted towards mutants called "Kick". Then, he requested that Ember's first act as a Desperado be to use her powers to remodel Central Park into the greatest Halloween attraction known to man.
And with all the help Ben's been giving the Morlocks, Callisto finally admits to being able to trust him completely. Although, the fact that Ben had just revealed his name and face to her somewhat helped with that declaration.
But what of Iara's revelation of Donny's return? Will the Morlocks be able to comfortably move out of Central Park? Will their plans to profit off of Ember's powers pan out, or will it blow up in their faces?
And will Storm ever recommend the Desperados' services to her colleagues.
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! 
Last time, you and Suan De chased a hobo girl named Ichie across the city and its sewers, who was demonically possessed by a ghost of allegedly evil nature (Hell bent on revenge of some kind) that was sealed in the secret room your apartment supposedly always had. It was a thrilling, disgusting, and unnecessarily difficult chase that left you on top of a random building in front of the homeless shelter. After using diplomacy effectively, you convinced the ghost to relent control of Ichie’s body.
But the story didn’t end there, Ichie herself wasn’t cooperating in the way you needed. A very stubborn gal. You wanted everyone to retreat back to your apartment since you’re all soaked in sewer water. Showers are a necessity.
But she wasn’t hearing it because she’s a snobby pants and couldn’t go out there drenched and stinky (Even though you’ve seen her rummaging through garbage), the thing is you can turn people invisible, but she’s so narcissistic, she never heard your proposition until you abruptly showed her by making her hand invisible. That bluescreen’d her. Once that happened, you just grabbed and took everyone to your apartment.
You were willing to carry them both, but Suan De declined, merely using your shoulder for support. She needed to touch you anyway if you all wanted to leave the building without being noticed, but you could tell she was leaning on you. She was too tired after saving everyone from the sewer geyser.
It was taxing on your body, but nothing that bad.
You’re all back at your apartment! All safe. All smelly. You’re glad Ruby didn’t see the hole! Phew!
“Meow.” Bradford Jr. welcomes the gang. He notices the smell but doesn’t care all that much.
“...Who should shower first?” Suan De expects order.
What do you do?
>Let Suan De shower first. Help Ichie snap out of her trance.
>Tell Suan De to clean up Ichie. It’s a hobo ritual for one of your hobos to bathe someone. Hopefully, this doesn’t end with you being stabbed.
>...Ruby is *actually* standing in shock staring at the wall. Maybe you should talk to her first instead.
>Write In. 
Welcome to /qtg/, a place to talk about quests.
Previous thread
>>5997452
>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/6s4Xazmv
>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
>QM question:
If you were given the reins to someone else's quest, what would you do differently? What current quest, that isn't yours, would you want to run if you weren't running yours?
>Player question:
If you could change one thing, anything big or small, about a quest you're reading, what would it be?
>General question:
What sort of direction turns you off from a quest immediately? What's something a QM can do to get your investment back?
>Lurker question:
Would a "stronger board culture" make you want to vote more, or would it seem forced?
>Miscellaneous question:
Summer is upon us! Got any plans? 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. 
Looks like you've had long enough to process things but if it wasn't clear you're dead. Whatever life it was you were living before this, it doesn't matter because it's over. I'm no Grim Reaper, and there isn't a pit of torment or a hall of infinite good feelings, just another spin of the wheel. Maybe you're familiar with something like this from the imaginations of people in your old life, but to be clear your next life is going to begin and honestly it could be like anything. Some worlds have magic, some might be just like the one you left and others might not even have multicellular organisms and normally I can't tell you which you'll end up in, but the last few went uh, badly for the reincarnated so I'm going to be more hands on this time. In any case, you won't remember me or your old life. That's not to say you're starting off as a blank slate, you'll retain this level of consciousness even if you turn out an amoeba. Why? Because it's boring otherwise.
Anyway, I might as well let you choose.
>Pre-industrial Fantasy
>A Modern World
(Thought I'd try my hand at running something again because I had that itch and I'll never learn to do well if I don't try) 
You are LCdr Dallas Annon of the Terran Protectorate Navy, and against the Captain’s wishes you are investigating the secrets at the core of the TPN Coober Pedy — the last live voidship in this sector of the ravaged galaxy.
>1/6
Previously on Voidship Bridge Simulator…
For the first time since you received your late brother’s command implant, you remember your dreams. Nightmares, really, but not natural ones. For once you have awoken with your memories (mostly) intact; you can recall the simulated scenario forcing you into command of the ship and attempting to condition you into placing its well-being first. Guard — the malign intelligence behind these trials and the most functional AI subsystem remaining of the vessel’s defective ‘Trinity ShipOS’ — made the choice to seal away your mysterious new friend Peedee, which allowed you to escape the simulation to the waking world without a memory wipe. As the dream faded, you promised the young intelligence that you’d find and free her, and you’re determined to follow through.
It was not a clean escape, however. Immediately upon waking, you received an urgent summons from your Father — the ship’s Captain — a summons which it seemed the very ship itself was trying to make you late for, what with the unnatural shuddering, untimely full elevators and strange damage showing up in your path. When you finally arrived, your Father informed you that your implant had been compromised by the ship’s firewall — a fate he revealed that also befell your elder brother and had led to his untimely demise. Determined to keep you safe, your Father rewrote your implant’s registry codes and deactivated it. He ordered you not to share whatever restricted information triggered this episode with anyone, and to cease digging into the ship’s secrets lest he lose another son.
But you had a promise to keep, and the mysteries at the core of your voidship (and the ‘Trinty’ AI system) seemed directly related to your missing friend: PD-113. Despite the hindrance of your now deactivated command implant, you were determined to defy your Father and the ship’s AI and find the ghost in the machine. Stopping by the damaged section of the maze-like voidcore deck, you recovered a sample of strange grey goo that had leaked from the four diagonal gashes that had torn through the bulkhead like wet paper and were now being hastily repaired. 
In the not so distant future, deep down under the ocean floor, humanity discovers a strange, anomalous substance. Once collected and brought inside the search vessel, the crew of the submarine (barring the captain) attempted to examine it further. However, when the container was unsealed, the substance instantly turned invisible and blended into the air. Ten minutes later, the captain walked into the room, worried about his crew, only to find them in a state of absolute madness. One was rolling on the floor sobbing, another was screaming loudly while covering his ears. Sitting amongst them and many other wailing men was a woman, the captain's daughter and a crewmate in training, who simply stared at him, with a huge smile on her face.
Liao. That's what we called it then, that's what we call it now. The etymology of this name is unknown, as is the person who named it. An extremely unusual substance, it is usually extremely toxic to humans, though once purified using a special machine it's capable of shifting itself into anything you desire at the cost of your life force. From a cup of water to a gigantic gattling gun. For unknown reasons, its negative effects are significantly reduced on female test subjects, with the purified version being especially harmless to young women.
Skipping a couple of centuries forwards, we arrive at the present time. The age of Sirius, our glorious Empire. Once the Liao had been "tamed" by humanity, it greatly helped our ascension into the space age. Leaving that decayed blue rock behind, we've spread far and wide across the galaxy, facing no competition along the way... Apart from our own kind, of course. Humans are that kind of animal y'know? When prosperity is at our doorstep, we immediately start fighting each other for the biggest slice of the pie.
Liao-powered tanks, spaceships and mechs were used at first in planet-wide wars for the control of entire solar systems, but there was one major problem. Although they were extremely powerful, they were also extremely costly, and not just in terms of money. Since machines do not have life force, it was common for soldiers to use animals, plants or even captured prisoners (extremely illegal, by the way!) as fuel to power their weapons, but even then they would barely last half a day before shutting down. Liao weapons are convenient for small scale conflict, but bigger and bigger weapons require more and more life force, rendering the substance itself borderline useless for large scale space battles.
That was, until a group of scientists from the glorious Sirius Empire had made a major breakthrough! Researching further into the connection between females and the substance, it was discovered that, using special devices strapped around their heads, girls from 9 to 20 years of age could tap into the Liao at a very minimal cost, one that could be easily satiated with a special carbohydrate, lipid and glucose diet. The young women of our nation had been given a blessing. 
>Art: David-Marquez
>Alt-Text: Batman and Superman face off against a skull-shaped spaceship with tentacles floating in the sky.
You stand alone. Your allies have fallen.
The Riddler, your most cunning enemy to date, has merged with a seemingly all-powerful robotic being, and a massive Skullship is floating in the air.
This… Brainiac floats toward you.
Batman: What do you want?
Brainiac: To collect. This is a hostile universe. It is filled with organics dedicated to destroying themselves. Once I acquire this planet’s data, my Skull Ship will take its sample and I shall move on to the next planet.
Batman: Sample?
As if to answer, the Skull Ship flies higher. It splays its tentacles and they start to sparkle with purple lightning.
Brainiac: The only thing of value in this cosmos of infected rocks is the information your biologicals spawn. Once I finish absorbing the contents of your primitive networks, I will identify the optimal habitation for collection. It will be contained for future study, ensuring intellectual content is properly utilized.
Batman: You’re going to abduct an entire city?! With all this power, you could SAVE the world!
Rage takes over. You fire your Bat-guns at the machine man. The bullets merely sink into liquid metal skin.
Biomechanical cables spring from Brainaic’s body, their question mark hooks a sign of the Riddler’s echos within the alien mind.
Brainiac: I am saving the world. I have collected from over 52,000 systems. I have the combined brainpower of ten billion civilizations. Every calculation shows Earth, like everything under organic domain, is doomed for destruction.
The cables dig into your flesh. Fire crackles through your brain.
Brainiac: You primitives are beings of great irony. Brutish, foolish, and dangerous, but the source of the universe’s greatest treasures. Your art, your culture, your ideas, like wildflowers of information blooming from savage manure.
You feel the electrons in your brain spark as the alien begins to read your mind, your thoughts just another product to exploit.
Riddler: NO!
The cables disconnect and fling you to the ground.
Riddler: Your puny mind isn’t worthy of collection. There is nothing you know that I don’t already have in here.
He points at his head. It glows with a question mark logo.
Despite their fusion, Riddler’s obsession with being the smartest man in the room has stayed intact.
Riddler: I played all of you for fools! All I needed was to tell Waller I had a plan to deal with her favorite teacher’s pet and she practically BEGGED to fund my Nygmabox. It let me read the minds and machines of the planet. I saw the echoes of Brainaic, buried in the technology the cavemen who run our planet took from the caped alien’s spaceship. I have the knowledge of a billion worlds, Bruce. I’m not just the smartest man in the room, I’m the smartest man in the UNIVERSE! A quest about reincarnating in another world. Certain things will be randomly decided like your parent's professions, nature and terrain of the village etc.
Worth of not is that picking options that get the character killed will usually just result in them dying and a new one being made or the quest ending.
For now the first choice in the quest is:
> Who were we in the real world?
- propose who the person was pre reincarnation you can do as little as just a job title orexpand more. Once we have 3 people agreeing on that we will proceed.
Every person posting please also roll 1d100, the first 6 1d100's will decide the hair colour, eye colour, village terrain, village size, mother's occupation and father's occupation.
I will not present the full rolling tables, but generally low number is something bad, high number is something good. 
You are Kuroda Haruka and King Lot of Lothian, Orkney, and Camelot.
Yes, you decided to add King of Camelot to your titles. Why not? No one is going to stop you.
You charged back into the World to hunt down a terrible Wyvern who ate two of your vassals and fled into a strange and terrifying manor. It turns out this manor contains yet another monster from Avalon, and it has managed to trap you. This unknown and unseen opponent has driven your guide away with fear.
On top of all this, you also have to deal with the Errant Knight Gareth. While she was willing to partner up with you to defeat the Wyvern, you weren't able to convince her that another enemy was trapping everyone in the manor.
Yes, that's right. There are not one, not two, but THREE problems that need excessive violence to resolve. So far, one is dead; two more to go.
You don't want to fight Gareth right now but she refuses to cooperate. It takes a Binding Vow to stop her from attacking you away.
Now you've got to go and gut the dead Wyvern to see if your devoured Baphomets survived...
Stats
Kuroda Haruka, 16 year old. A forgotten but genuine member of the Kuroda samurai clan.
Identity: King Lot of Lothian, Orkney and Camelot
+1 Charisma dice
Trait:
A True Heart "Magokokoro", bonus in one on one interaction with a hostile opponent.
Crafty attacker: When making artful gambits and trickery in a fight, gain +2 dice to attack! It's not cheating, it's stratagem damn it!
Let No Insult Pass! - When attacking, 4s also count as successes in addition to 5s and 6s. Use 1 per day
That's Nothing! - Can only be used exactly once against each enemy and never again. The first deadly blow does no damage.... but only if you wear no armor.
Frostbind - Your weapon. A spear with ice powers. Finally able to summon it whenever you want.
Beira, the Cailleach; your ice ability grows stronger and with better control.
Dignity - Greater Mana reaped from targets able to pose a challenge to you.
Knowledge : Quality Tea Ceremony articles and expertise in Sado
A True Name: You possess your True Name! None can take it from you.
Mana Reaper : Can harvest Mana but requires a tool.
Binding Oath - When you make a Binding Oath, anyone who hears it knows that Avalon will enforce its keeping. Breaking a Binding Oath has consequences. On the same token, keeping a Binding Oath has rewards?
Evolved Flaw:
Always Someone Better - You have a tendency of gloating and enjoying the sight of people you've defeated. But now, only over those who are superior to you in something. You don't indulge against the weak and unworthy.
Vow of Sacrifice - You owe Beira meat and drink from your table. Do not forget to discharge your vow...
Binding Oath: To Gareth. Pledge to Duel wherever and whenever Knight Gareth desires, but only after cutting open the Wyvern and seeing if your vassals can be rescued. Oh no, Anonymous! It's past midnight, and you're about to go to bed when you suddenly find yourself thrust into a session of the video game SBURB! The meteor is approaching fast and you need to prototype your Kernelsprite before it's too late! What will you do? 
You sit against a pale oak. From atop this hill, you take calm survey of the few hundred souls gathering in the open valley below. Most of them probably made it through, you thought. The recent hop to this new otherworld took a lot out of you. At least you landed here, on this solemn hill, away from the masses whose lives depended on your power. A small reprieve from the crushing responsibility of shepherdship.
Movement in the wilted grass catches your attention. A slithering, baleful blot of deep purple inched its way towards the gathering crowd. It hardly manages a snail's pace, far flung from its all-devouring cohort to the west. These hops must be wearing you down, your ironclad grip on the Vice loosening bit by sacred bit. You extend your hand over the squirming evil and curl your fingers into a claw. Panic overtakes the blot as your sacred power pulls it through the air and into your open palm. It twists and writhes pointlessly against the only force it truly feared. A stabbing pain shooting through your arm confirms its imprisonment. You turn your palm over and give it a tired look, and your palm stares back. Your eyes are lost for a moment in the impossible depths of the well inlaid into your palm. Subtle whorls churned endlessly along its walls, a sense of vertigo creeping up as you glance closer to the center of the maw. It was near empty, you sense, the morsel you just captured breaking down somewhere deep within. The sharp pain from before settles in, festering in your wrist and chest; a persistent ache that would last until the captured Vice was completely broken down. Truthfully, though, you found the churning pain somewhat calming. A small drop compared to what came before, and surely pales in comparison to what lies ahead. For now, in this moment, on this hill, under this tree, there was peace, paid for with simple pain.
You enjoy the calm for a few moments more until the pressure of reality sets in. Pressure from the west, the ravenous corrupting wave of Vice surging forth, tearing this fresh otherworld to pieces, breaking down existence itself in a mad dash to complete its unholy mission. Pressure from the north, those wayward souls clinging onto life in the wake of the world’s end, in need of a hopper to guide them. Pressure from the east, the Holy Font calling to any shepherds that remained, pulling them inexorably forward. There was no room for complacency anymore, especially not for you. 
It's the 747th year of the Empress' Calendar. The months of Ascending Fire fill the air with heat and humidity. Even on the Blessed Isle, which typically enjoys moderate temperatures all year, the citizens suffer as the night fails to bring them sweet relief.
But few are in so much pain as one of the scions of House Mnemon. This woman of unusually pure blood, for one born outside The Realm at least, married into the house just a decade ago. Her husband, grandson and direct descendant of Mnemon herself, paces back and forth outside her room. He stops only when a howl is heard from inside. His hand lays on the hilt of his sword, though it is of little use now. Powerless, he turns his attention inwards and does the one thing he hasn't done since he was but a child, and prays to the Elemental Dragons for fortune.
Inside his wife fights what is, undoubtedly, the most important battle of her entire life. She must bring the newest Prince of the Earth to Creation, it is her duty. But she does not fight alone. By her side are four midwives, two dozen servants, two astrologers waiting for the miracle to happen, and even a sorcerer, one of her husbands relatives here to assist if needed. It is a long, drawn out battle that rages for hours on end, but finally, after much pain the first cries of the newborn prince much of the tension vanishes from the room. Already the astrologers frantically scurry to record the exact second and date of the child's birth, so they may create a horoscope for it and divine its future.
"The birth happened at night, when the sky was clear. Most auspicious. And look: a shooting star, good omen. Ah, and it was born under the sign of The Banner in its ascending aspect! The child is assured to have a most grand destiny indeed!"
"M-Master? If one shooting star is auspicious, what does two mean?"
"What? By the dragons! That means-"
The lady of the house almost immediately began screaming once more. Another baby was on its way. Twins they are. This second one however came out much quicker. The midwives joked about how it must be missing its sibling. But some of the servants were worried. The Scarlet Dynasty always welcomed multiple births, as it means more dragons. But some more superstitious, some would say "heretical", people think it a bad sign. Some folk tales speak of the favor of Heaven being divided between the two, or one receiving nothing but good fortune while the other only ill. The Dynasts pay little attention for such nonsense.
"How… are they?"
The lady dynast asked, exhausted beyond words.
"They are fine, mistress."
>One of them was a boy, the other a girl (Male MC)
>Both were girls (Female MC Welcome Captain, to the ruins of the universe.
It has been decades since the arch-traitor HECATE and her co-conspirators cast down GREAT PSYDON, the first and greatest of those wizard tyrants, and sown their poison among the stars...
Now the cosmos is ravaged by evil in all its forms and PSYDONIA's survival grows more uncertain by the day...
In the midst of the gloom, rumors speak of the last treasure of the dead Witch-Tyrant, the incredible object of power known as *FORTUNA.* Many have gone in search of it, but none of them have returned...
Weary in desire and desparation, you gather your belongings and your crew, eat what may be your last planetside meal, and set off once more into the endless REACH... 
Despite everyone living in the massive megacomplex called the City saying it's a very bad idea, you are still Nicole Smith. You still have your anomalous powers and you still have the voices screaming in your head.
You're still a Cleaner, a a deniable asset used by massive mega-corporations called the Alphabet Companies and anyone else willing to pay you. Most of your jobs are from your Handler a member of a powerful family who asks you to check up on things or 'clean' up messes for him.
Over the last few days, you've had a lot on your plate. You explored an old, nearly abandoned W-Corp mine in search of a missing girl from the prestigious Vanni family while trying to avoid the other corpos who were trying to find the missing girl as well. On the way down, you managed to find out how corrupt the mayor of the town was and that the missing girl came down there under false pretenses.
You then worked together with the corpos to let the mayor die while they clean up the mess left behind. You managed to find out what W-Corp's singularity was in the meantime and after everything settled down, you gave two of your allies (Max and Benjamin) an injection of ICP Energy to awaken an anomalous Spark in them. Who knows what will develop of this? Hopefully the couple is happy with the decision they made.
After a series of tense dinner discussions and corporate negotiations, you found an odd satellite in the middle of your district and the question on who owns it and why it exists lingers in the back of your mind. Before you can think any further on it, you then prepared to investigate a series of mysterious tunnels that were propping up all over J-Corp's district to find out what the hell is going on.
Now that you're exploring with six of your allies, including a weird cowboy and a schizophrenic mess of a woman from W-Corp, you found out that it's from an old P-Corp facility trying to unseal itself after decades underground. If you don't stop it, you worry that the intense amount of A-Energy leaking into the air will destroy the surface. It's already raining a lot and from what you know, the rain is caused by the A-Energy being let out.
So be it. Anything to wash out those god damn Silver Agents hunting you. You'll make sure they'll drown down there.
ARCHIVE: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Cleaner
PASTEBINS:
MAIN CHARACTER SHEET (has your stats + perks + abilities): https://pastebin.com/3y638TfK
ALLIES (contains their stats, abilities, recruitment costs, and RAPPORT): https://pastebin.com/8gdVZBPe
MECHANICS (contains the explanation of stats, how stat checks work, and some other minor rules): https://pastebin.com/A9nLYWP6
INVENTORY (contains your items, consumables, weapons, etc.): https://pastebin.com/n0MH6M17
CITY INFO (General information about the Alphabet Companies and other notable entities): https://pastebin.com/ZP2JN7mT Last thread: check the catalogy
Back, had a medical emergency, sorry for abandoning the previous thread.
You have made it to the good will, and decide to enter .... (1/2) 
Long Night 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) 
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 
Is it always this warm out here? The sun beats down on dust and debris and all the curling, serpentine line of soldiers strung out behind you. Each and all sweat-stained and wind-bit, tramping down the well-trod road to the Spanways. The churning deluge sometimes slaps a wave against the dug canals and water-kissed channels, the spray a miracle of sudden damp and briefly respite from the sun on high.
Up ahead, the morning mists swirl around another of the Grey Commitees wonderful projects. The Spanway. Marble-wrought, concrete-secured, ten pillar strong bridge of bridges, high, vast, imposing, rated for storms, shocks, waves, earthquakes and if the builders knew their worth perhaps even enemy sabotage, invasion or the breaking of nations.
Capture this side and the Sparksworn are denied the South.
Capture this side, and Legion High from distant Fideli Gate can send in more supplies, more troops, more reinforcements.
Capture this side, and the civilians in the region can pass by on the highway and properly evacuate what is rapidly becoming a loud, active front in the on-going River Wars.
And if we capture this side.
Then perhaps we can capture their side too? YOU ARE TRAPPED IN A MEAT LOCKER. THERE IS NO WAY OUT. HA HA. DIE. 
![BurntimeBoxShotAmigaEU[1]](https://i.4cdn.org/qst/1720198303534536s.jpg)
