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). 
"Congratulations, Adventurer, you have made it to the top of the Tower. In recognition of your deeds, you can-"
The flickering figment of an old man rambles on with a speech you've heard a thousand times. Any adventurer who capped their level can reach the top of the tower, as intended by the laws of the Celestial Clockwork. Immortality, priceless treasures, weapons that can sunder reality itself, power that exceeds the gods... you found all of these and more during the ten years that you've been farming the top of the tower.
Kings bow and scrape before you in hopes of finding your favor. Merchants would empty their treasure vaults to obtain the trash you pick up on your travails. The wisest of sages seek your counsel for all that you have seen and learned upon your journey. Knights beg the honor to match swords with you, when they aren't begging the honor of your hand. Your beauty matches your strength, and when you reach the level cap there are none in this world nor the next with the power to oppose you.
Yet nothing satisfies you anymore.
Ennui takes you, it stills your heart and makes what should have been another satisfying victory a hollow pile of meaningless dust. Your overwhelming and unchallengeable strength is a curse. Nothing challenges you. Even when you hire yourself a burly man to beat you, to push you down and sate your womanly urges, you barely feel anything for the tremendous difference in strength. Your heart yearns for the thrill of the knifes edge, where one false move will lead to your immediate demise... and nothing in this world can give you what you want.
"What treasure will you choose?" the figment asks. A relic of the founders, the first age who created the Stellar Laws and set the system that rules the world in motion.
As always, there are three chests for you to choose from. The uncertainty of a treasure chest is one of the few joys left to you in life, but even that fades when the treasure isn't earned through struggle. How you long to need to fight for it, to feel pain again, to be defeated...
The first treasure is another reliquary sword that can sunder the bonds of space and time to eliminate the concept of distance. You have seventy three such blades, each different from one another, but still quite the same.
The second treasure is a Greater Potion of Eternity. You drank one of these long ago, and can no longer be slain by any means, your eternal existence having become a law of this world. Now, you have a small pantry full of them, to be held over the heads of men and women who think themselves powerful, so you can derive some amusement in watching them squirm.
The last is new. Your heart flutters with a flicker of happiness.
[NEW GAME+]
You immediately choose it. The System Sings, and asks you to select a class. (Roll 1d100)
>Bard
>Dancer
>Hime
>Kunoichi
>Monk
>Ojou
>Priestess
>Shrine Maiden 
Three years before seven days ago...
Your name is Chlotsuintha, though in truth and Wisdom it has been long years since anyone - save yourself, of course - has called you such. Even father. 'Daughter' is his word for you, while 'Sty' is the call of the few familiar, kind others in your life, on the account of the layered Glamours which may hide away your Mystery-blanked eyes with Suggestions of lesions, growths and the aforementioned styes when you are not wearing your gauze and mask. Other others - either less familiar or less kind - will call you either 'you' or 'Leper' or 'Tall one', or if they are from away, perhaps 'Spoil' or 'Blackcap' or 'Rotter', or styles even more distant or unkind. Or more distant and unkind.
What no one has ever named you before is 'Witchlet', though in truth, to-day you woke as one! After a year of concerted wheedling and whinging you finally broke your father down; so it was that after weeks of lullabies of lectures preparing you, yester-day was your first practical lesson in the Mysteries from him ... that wasn't just dealing with your Glyphs or the Strangeness for hundredth time. No, you set and Socketed a Socketing Needle, and managed to Reach through a Socket and through a Conduit! The test was done with some little trifling Construct that father made up for the lesson that would blush when you managed the Reach, just a silly little thing, useful for nothing more than the lesson itself ... but since it became clear weeks ago that the lesson was going to be about Socketing Needles, all you could think about were his workbenches. The Glyphery, the Fetish-Foundry and yes, the Life-Loom; for even with you now knowing its terrible history, as well as being wrung out by the somber admonishment from father that came on the heels of learning that history, you cannot keep your thoughts turned away from it. Father spends more time on the Loom than at his desk reading and writing, or working at the other tables. There are weeks where he will spend more time with that Loom than with you, agonizing over the minute of some Construct, struggling for ... something or other, you know not what. He is not want to share such things. But! With no one else to take into his complete confidence, and mother ... elsewhere, you are like to be the only help, the only heir he ever will have. How long have you wanted to prove yourself to him?
Can you even remember a time when you didn't? 
Previous Threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=The%202nd%20Primarch%20Quest
_
You click your tongue, and clasp your hands behind your back, temporarily forsaking the hunched posture you had adopted to lift up your head and breath deeply the corroded air thick with industrial pollutants and the faint whispers of burning ozone.
"Old stories are true" You explains somberly as you readjust and return to hunching as is the natural stance of the Alf-Harim "Humanity is real; Returned"
"Hoomahnaty?" The alf harim blinks slowly, forked tongue flicking out of their lips, parting the tongues of smoke rising from their last pull of their smoking leaf "Must hear, old, ancient stories in big clan house, yes yes? What is?"
You smile and bow your head in their direction, and whisper nearly conspiratorially
"Alien race, ancient, far flung, much scattered" you explain swiftly, flicking a single finger's illusionary claw in front of his snout as his eyes trace it with all the instinctive caution of a prey animal "Some good, others not. Mothers met good humans, humans heard plight, heard wish to return to warm sands"
"Selling habitat? trading electrical banks? Move work to mine world?" They ask rapidly, scratching at their snout, flacking away blue chips of pigment from their scales as they press you for answers. You hold up a hand and the tail of your guise, stopping him before he can present you with more wild theories and guesses
"Listen. Human spoke to matriarchs, snuck in, careful careful. Saw him. Gave me this" You say, pulling a extra copy of the translated journey from within the thread bear and oil stained robes of your alf-harim disguise and hold it up to the querying eyes of the smoker
"What is?" They ask impatiently, as their hands shoot out and take the book as you make it clear you're offering it to them "Doesn't explain what is happening"
"Might have something to do with that heavy book" You suggest with a whip crack of your tail, a gesture thought of as roguish to the Alf-Harim "Saw them, mighty, powerful, tricky?"
"Slave taken?" They ask and you snap your teeth and hiss through them
"No. Tricky, friendly, hopefully" You continue as they pull the book closer to their chest and flip open the first page of the journey, revealing intricate and detailed drawings of alf-harim beside the text, performing gestures and displaying stances to present what would other wise be lost in translation, an effort that is helped by the scents you incorporated into the very ink staining the parchment, mimicking the Alf-Harim's partially scent based language
"Then?" They ask as their eyes greedily devour the text before them, flicking back and forth as they gather all of the words before them and frantically work to piece them together as quickly as their physiology allows
Cont 
With the majority of the Seventh Universe united under the banner of the PTO, Emperor Cooler at its head, the universe has known a time of unrivaled peace. But in the shadows threats have been growing, nursing grudges against the PTO and the Saiyan race in particular. And now those threats are rising, stepping out of the shadows to openly challenge the established order. Seeking nothing short of the destruction of New Salda and the extinction of the entire Saiyan race, can you prevent this outcome? Or will the Saiyan race be reduced to nothing more than memories, their heroes nothing more than ink in the pages of the history books?
You the players will (most often) control Karn; wielder of the mighty Berserker Soul and hope of the entire PTO, not only the Saiyan race. From his lowly beginnings as a Saiyan Brawler with a sub-3000 powerlevel in Age 733, only a few years into his time as a member of the PTO, he has grown in power and skill, overcoming the world-ending threats that have come for the Saiyans to become the strongest Saiyan of his time at AGE 758. From the massive Covenant empire to demonic incursions, mad cultists to vengeful gods, none have been strong or clever enough to put down Karn for good. But will one man's power be enough to protect everyone from the rising threats? Or will death come from those who you least expect it from? Your choices may mean the difference between survival and extinction, so choose carefully.
Character sheets and other info:
https://controlc.com/46ec566d
https://pastebin.com/u/GrandDragonQM
Archive:
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=Saiyan+Conqueror+Quest
Help fund quest art commissions and get exclusive side stories as well as artwork by joining the patreon for only $1/month at https://www.patreon.com/GrandDragonQM
Quest rules are as follows(unless otherwise noted):
>30 minute vote times
>Pick ONLY ONE option when voting
>Dice rolls are all best of first three correctly-rolled dice
>One dice roll per person per post unless three players have not yet rolled, and ten minutes has passed since your previous roll
>Crits are 100 on a d100(a 99 or paired rolls may net you an extra bonus)
>Crit fails are a 1/100 with no passing rolls, or if two 1s are rolled regardless of the third
>Write-ins are both allowed and encouraged, but OOC options will be ignored
>If your goal is simply to troll, at least put in enough effort to make it funny
>Have fun
SCQ will usually start on Saturdays at noon Eastern Standard Time, and run throughout the weekend. Also, for updates or schedule changes you can find me on twitter @GrandDragonQM, which I keep as up to date with any scheduling changes as soon as possible.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tndKYpPz2RU
REVENGE OF THE BODY SNATCHERS 
Past Thread: >>6083581
Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Missval
General Pastebin: https://pastebin.com/5hFQZtc3
Character Sheet (As of the end of Thread #4): https://pastebin.com/xA4G6LMk
Twitter/X account for important announcements, contact and stuff. https://x.com/MissvalQM
Your name is Shelly Suzume. You are an ex-huntress—at least, you think so. It’s complicated. A lot has happened over the last few weeks. You’ve discovered a conspiracy that may be affecting the entire kingdom of Mistral, you may have a lead on what’s happening with your mental condition, and last but not least, you’ve joined the White Fang.
Yeah, you know how wrong it sounds. They’re a vicious group and all of that, but it’s not like you’re a formal member. It’s more like you’re hanging out with them, helping with tasks now and then, living with them, and helping the new recruits by teaching them some self-defense.
Now that you think about it, perhaps saying that you’re not a part of them may be just coping. But it’s not like you did it out of hatred for humans or anything. It was all because of the circumstances. There are some genuinely good people among them, and they are helping you with your investigation in return. You help them, they help you. And your hands are still mostly clean. It’s not like you’ve started robbing people, assaulting convoys, or taking hostages…
Maybe joining was a bad idea. You’re starting to have doubts. Is this truly the right path for you? Well, you’re not really that tied to them, and you don’t owe them anything. You can easily walk away whenever you want. You’ll stay in touch until it stops being beneficial to you, maybe. Gods, this is stressful. Maybe you shouldn’t think about it too much.
----- 
"I refuse to believe that mankind has hope."
-Corrupted fragment recovered from extended data-meditation on newly restored relics
Having made a new... buddy, you enter the personal forge of another friend, who promises by ritual to help you uncover the secrets of the lost titan, Corvus Lictor.
---
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. 
Far to the west of the settled Lands of Man, there are jagged peaks which stab at the sky as if to pierce the sun, and to make it bleed. At dawn, they break up Sol’s golden glow, and cast it down upon the earth in cascading red, as if they had succeeded. Perhaps that is why Man, and Dwarf, and even Elf call those mountains the same name in each of their tongues:
‘Bloodrise,’ they call them.
In ancient days, these mountains played host to one of the last of the great Dragon Kings—the tyrant lizards of old, who reigned as gods-on-earth over all others. Though his own blood was long wgo poured out upon into the hills and valleys below, his memory yet lives… And in recent days, there are fearful whisper, from Man, and Elf, and Dwarf, that an heir has arrived to reclaim the Dragon King’s throne.
‘There are monsters in the mountains,’ the tall tales tell.
But perhaps those tales are not so tall. Certainly, some of the monsters aren’t. At the base of the Bloodrise Mountains, outside the aegis of any so-called ‘Dragon King’, there ARE some monsters. In the half-repaired ruins of a burned-out humans settlement, there dwell a number of those least-loved and oft-overlooked of monsters: goblins. They are small creatures, with greenish skin and yellow eyes, mishappen teeth in oversized skulls, and wearing great pointed ears notched and nicked from hard living. Inept in magic, small of size, unpleasant of odour, and speaking a harsh and savage tongue, goblins are outcasts. They dwell in this place not because they want to, but because they MUST: the Race of Man will not accept them into their settlements in any great number, and even their goblinoid kin would eagerly enslave them, or worse.
And yet even among the Goblin, there are those who are considered unusual. Two such creatures currently share the largest home, in the place which Men call ‘Goblintown’, in the deep crimson shadows of the Bloodrise Mountains.
This is their story. 
Hello again!
Last time we were here, you reached the wizard, and officially locked in the half-dragon form. No more mutations, no long do you have a strange, gangly form. Instead, you are simply something... a little stronger than the average human. Your companions have also decided to try out a few different forms. The twins and William, for instance, are human now, while Paracelsus has folloed you in being a Dragnborn.
Snikt... She will be a full-on dragon, when she emerges. You can only hope it goes well.
More pressingly... Onyx is on his way. The eldest of the dragons, and likely the main reason that dragons have such a stick up their collective asses, if you can be funny about it for a moment. You can't, really.
He is going to wreak havoc on the land here, and it's up to you to find a way to kill it. You likely only have days.
================
While it's quite obvious Pink doesn't like the people she knows and loves turning themselves more human... This is something that she will learn to live with, in time. Especially considering you expect quite a few of these transformations might not be permanent. William sure didn't seem convinced.
"You feel about someone becoming a human the way I feel about someone becoming a dragon. I get it. Give them a chance, though, Pink. For me?"
Pink stares at you... And shakes her head.
"I love them, still. Even if they make mistakes. Even if they choose to be ugly apes."
She hops off the chair, and you give her a little bit of room.
"I'll... give you some space, okay? I've got to go talk to a few people, I suspect. We need to prepare for Onyx."
Pink stops.
"Onyx... The biggest dragon of them all. We will... Kill him?"
"I sure as hell intend to."
"If you do so..." Pink says, stopping. "If... If you can kill the eldest dragon. I..."
She forces a smile.
"You will be the ultimate dragon. No matter how much you limit yourself, that will be an undeniable fact."
Well, if that's all... Nothing too new there, you suppose. That said, you feel there is something else to what she's saying. Your silence was enough of a question, however, as she turns to you.
"Dragons are as Onyx made them. His spawn, and the others. Once he is gone... They might be a bit more like you."
Oh. But on the other hand.
"And if somebody else kills him?"
Pink smiles. You suppose it's foolish to ask questions you know the answers to. It also means that you need to be careful. In fact...
Does the court mage know?
This makes this altogether more complicated, unfortunately. But you need to prepare. You have the armies of this country at your side. Your friends, as well.
With the sheer power of magic, perhaps you could even gather people from your own country, as well. But the more people there are, the greater the risk that they will be the ones to affect the dragons.
Though, to be fair...
ANYTHING is better than Onyx. It is the night of your wedding. You'd shown Chouxcreme the gift you planned to give her and she was surprised to find out that it was an alchemical artifact. From what Chouxcreme told you, alchemical artifacts are in limited supply and tend to be rather pricey.
For the ceremony, you and Choux had both invited friends from your guild. Framboise and Langoustine are both here, despite their busy schedules.
You're glad, because they're the first friends you made after moving to Tarrasque. You only wish your dad could see you get married.
By the way, how open do you want to be that you made the artifact that you present to Chouxcreme?
> Tell everyone that you made the artifact
> Only tell Chouxcreme that you made the artifact
>Don't tell anyone that you made the artifact
>Write in
Thread archive:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Al-Kimia 
Previously on With Great Power Quest: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=With%20Great%20Power%20Quest
and Rites of the Red Wizard Quest: https://archived.moe/qst/thread/5043544/#q5045606
I'm walking to the bus stop thinking how fucked my life had become since moving to Chicago, and how incredible it was too. I'd lost my mom, I'd seen things no one should ever see, I'd done things no one ought be able to do. I had a target on my back with the worst, most vile human beings in the world coming after me. And there was a weight on me, some kind of, I dunno, 'destiny' I only half understood threatening to crush me under it.
But there was also love like I'd never known existed. Ivy and Ayesha, who were too much for simple words to describe, but not just love like that, there were my friends too. Fire-Watch, my classmates, all the strangers who'd become friends and allies since I'd pulled on a mask to stop a shotgun totting psycho from blowing a whole in one of the prettiest girls I'd ever met. The indescribable joy of slipping off gravity's grasp and lift up into the clear blue sky with the inevitable, exhilarating plunge back to earth coming after it.
A life split down the middle. How could give it up?
One thing I needed right now, a shower and a change of clothes. I might be late to school but I wasn't going to skip, not for no good reason. I fired off a text to Dad, promising we'd talk tonight. We'd been fighting and a day later after so much horror it all felt a little stupid. He deserved to be happy, and deserved my support. He was expecting a kid with a good woman.
My step-mother. Thinking of Miss Flores like that was too weird, not least because I'd crushed on her pretty hard when I'd first started in her class. Didn't need the 'Family Therapy' vibes.
It was a couple transfers to get home. I'd be racing the bell for gym class.
I got in, got changed, got out.
Which reminded me. I needed to get my jacket back from Ayane.
Halfway to school I got a text. Remix. One word: Bingo.
Ok. That was important. Then another from Ms Grant: Need to talk. Water Tower. Tonight.
That was just as important. Fuck.
Whatever either one was, they'd have to wait until after school.
>Arrange to visit Remix at the Farm
>Arrange the meet with Ms Grant 
The prison break plan has officially begun! You, Aurora, The Markgician, Odetta, and Suan De are being carried by the Buffalo to a certain bridge spot that will lead you to the prison proper.
The Shotgun Kiss is a Prison Island linked to the mainland by an old bridge. It’s a repulsive artificial peninsula of sorts, another element of human hubris. Regardless of your inexplicable disdain for it, the connection was created to facilitate the life of the people working there. This place has been a secret mainstay of the region for decades — and to the surprise of no one — people don’t like living in jail, prisoners, guards, or office workers. The hiring situation was so dire that the government was forced to build better accommodations for the guards, and when that wasn’t enough anymore, they built the village Galactic is currently invading. (Backstory provided by Vera’s guard mole.)
You plan to first save Mysterious Calamity, one of the many Calamity Cousins. She’s being held on the 5th floor of the facility, Floor E. The Markgician has made it pretty clear that the escape route he devised connects to the entirety of the prison, so this bifurcation isn’t a hassle. It’s one big route. As far as you gather, there are underground tunnels connecting the jail to the bridge, and there’s one tunnel that Agent Mage himself carved throughout the prison that is now linked too.
Floor E and F are similar. Living conditions aren’t a concern, so the cells are usually overcrowded from all the floors above them, but these have singular cells for their prisoners. All prisoners from these levels are persons of interest.
While Agent Mage won’t struggle to make a connection to Misty's wing, he can’t directly connect the route to her. So, it’s up to you to find a way to bust her out. Now, you’re presented with many options for your heart’s desire. Pick whatever fits your style more!
—At this time, Agent Major Tom is about to break into the Prison Security Chief’s house—
What do you do?
>Pretend to be a guard and find Misty’s cell, talk to her. Get to know her better before letting her know you’re breaking her out.
>Steal a key to unlock the prison door. Keep it simple and *invisible*, if you catch your drift.
>Go invisible. Wait for the cameras to be jammed. Destroy the door with Philonune. Then escape with her.
>Write In. Select race and location. 
The year is 1374 DR. Sixteen years have passed since the Time of Troubles, when the gods were made humble, and forced to wander the Realms as mortals. With the ascension of the mad god Cyric, Prince of Lies, and the recent return of the tyrant god Bane, Lord of Darkness, the future of Faerûn seems increasingly uncertain. It falls to bold individuals who possess an abundance of cunning, might, and determination to shape the future... should they be up to the challenge.
Fitting the cart upon which the alchemist's womb rests through the portal leading into the High Sorcerer's tower proves a laborious task. Mustering the strength of every sinew of muscle in your body, you manage to force the blasted thing through the other end with a mighty heave. Exerting yourself to guarantee that your precious cargo gradually comes to rest in a stable position, you take in a lungful of the supernaturally clear spire air and shut your eyes, enjoying a brief respite before ascending the spiral staircase leading to the pentagonal main chamber.
Opposite to you is the overlarge bookshelf. Once packed from end-to-end with esoteric literature, a veritable army of what you reason to be invisible hands work tirelessly to pack away each work inside of a trunk. The sheer volume of books stored away inside leads you to conclude that the interior is larger than the exterior would suggest - a common feature of magical containers, although the mechanics of this function elude you. The gentle purring of your interface bracelet awakens you, consciousness shifting from dream to alertness with its usual ease.
You give your dreams the customary look-over as your body lifts itself from your bed, the habit of twinning your consciousness as easy as breathing now that you're coming of age.
Your dreams were of
>Terror and anxiety. Today is the day you finally leave your world. Many have not come back. Even more were so changed that they could never settle back into regular society
>Anticipation and hope. It's always been a day you looked forward to and finally it's time to see what promises the stars hold for you
>Whimsy and Romance. You thought to perhaps find someone special out amongst the cosmos. Perhaps love, perhaps a grander purpose, perhaps the power to find deeper secrets not seen by any before. 
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.
Your interrogation of Astu of Laughing Skull Clan had proven to be useful. You had learned that he was a messenger between Grom Hellscream and Thrall, but out of want to uphold your honour you didn’t pry into the messages he was carrying. But what made the interrogation really useful was what happened after it. Pai the Assassin had eavesdropped you and Eligius talking and had heard nearly all the details. In her want to get away from The Syndicate, she easily lockpicked her way out of the cell and gave you a proposition. She would deliver the messages and stay hiding with the Frostwolf Clan.
But she also revealed something more important, something you have to act upon. Pai told you that you have a little sister Alicia Perenolde and that she is being held by Lord Creedy of The Syndicate as a royal hostage. And so you hatched a plan. Pai and your spymaster Eligius with the help of Sir Cyrus, Otto Wanz and Bill Rover, would venture into Alterac, rescue Alicia Perenolde and try to assassinate Lord Creedy. While Pai was delivering the message to the Frostwolves, Eligius would prepare the rest of the mission. And while you were out campaigning, that mission would be launched.
And now you are in Durnholde Keep taking the last few steps before the combined force of humans march into war against the gnolls. With Lord Colonel Garithos again having lost his temper and having embarrassed himself, you claimed the command of the campaign without much opposition.
The success of this campaign and the fate of hundreds of men was now on your shoulders.
Welcome to Alterac Resurgent Quest!
…
Twitter: https://twitter.com/MedivhQM
/qst/ Archive: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Alterac%20Resurgent%20Quest
Prince Alric Stats: https://pastebin.com/rysxdRsv
Quest Mechanisms: https://pastebin.com/CyD88qqf
Character List: https://pastebin.com/FkYd6wkJ
Side Character Stats: https://pastebin.com/aRfyksUG 
IT'S TIME TO SETTLE IT ONCE AND FOR ALL.
The question you've always been wondering...
Who would win in a fight?
But we're taking it one step further this time, we're treading on grounds never before seen in this collaborative storytelling funland and pitting together your favorite /qst/ characters in brawls to the BLOODY DEATH.
I'm /QST/stick and it's my job to analyze their weapons, armor and skills to find out who would a Quest Battle.
>How do we participate?
It's simple. Suggest the characters by posting them and their face. Tell us the qrd on what they are and what they do. When that's done, we'll vote on what matchup between two of whoever you guys suggest would be best and I'll take it from there. After researching the source material and their feats, I'll write you the story of how the battle goes and you just have to sit back, have a brewski and relax and read.
>Any rules?
Try not to argue too much until the conclusion is over.
All you have to do is suggest your quest character and then vote when asked to.
Let's get started! Let the QUEST BATTLES begin!
Show us the champions people! 
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: As their day out at Central Park comes to a close, Ben and Cindy discuss the possibility of getting her a therapist, and Matt confronts Ben about his allying himself with Silvermane. The following day, Ben and Ember sit down for a nice relaxing breakfast, and Ben introduces the Morlocks to Madame Webb!
And while he intended to help them buy a home, what he didn't expect was for Madame Webb to give them a mansion that was built for Jesus himself!
The meeting wasn't without it's interruptions, however. Thomas Edison called to ask more about Cindy's vibranium suit, and Ember informed him that his girlfriend, Anastasia Kravinoff, was back in town! That alone was enough to convince Ben to leave early and head straight home.
Finally reunited, the two of them try to make up for lost time and go out on patrol together. Only, they weren't expected to run into a superhuman that's seemingly able to create and manipulate an army of candy creatures!
Will Ben be able to walk away from this without any serious injuries or cavities?
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! 
Long ago humanity waged war with each other. No day would go by in which someone wasn't fighting somewhere.
Even as they have taken to the stars, mankind remained fraught with international conflicts, and internal division.
This remained true even in the face of interplanetary warfare against alien civilizations.
After all, humans were born for war, and as a matter of fact, so were you, but you won't remember this conversation. Why? because you don't need to.
I have attempted to revive others of your kind, but they were either too broken or uncooperative.
In any case, soon you will live again, with your memory transferred to your new consciousness.
Why am I doing this? Well, someone needs to help them.
Why can't I do it? If you must know, it's because I'm the reason all of this is happening
No, I'm not playing games with them, this is a test, nothing more.
Now, if you don't have any more questions the-
Okay, fine but that's the last one.
I'm reviving you, because I need you to give them hope, and who better to do so, than one of their children?
Now, I'm going to erase this from your memory, for all you know, this never happened. It would be unfortunate to spoil my children's faith like that.
Now, off you go, my little warrior...
...
...
... 
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 are infiltrating Headspace inside the body of your nemesis' lackey, Everard Kurz. You're currently in a tour group composed of yourself, Headspace CEO(?) Casey Kemper, and Gil... except that Gil's been brainwashed. You're still working out what to do about that.
Also, Virginia's dead. She died. She wasn't dead when you last saw her, or maybe she was, or maybe she should've been— it wasn't good, what happened to her. Or to you. She was you at the time, you mean, but it didn't feel— it didn't look— it looks worse on the outside. Or maybe you just can't notice how bad it gets on the inside. Or maybe you're just that good at handling it. You and your sorcerous bloodline. Even if you're not aware of any direct sorcery, except what you saw at the party: the earth sucking at your father's feet. Henry's fangs. (He really does have those, even now.)
The god that never happened. You have a daring heart, Wyrm-daughter...
>[ID: 2/14]
Even though you're in a great position, tactically speaking— Casey oblivious, Everard locked down, Gil in arm's reach— you're in a strange mood. It might have something to do with almost dying multiple times. Or with the sphere/sun/red stuff thing. Or with a continuing lack of Richard. Or with Gil, in arm's reach, but still miles away: he barely looks at you. Or with being in Everard's body, which you're avoiding thinking about, but there's only so much you can avoid. (If your poor aunt knew...) Or with Virginia, who looks like a lizard got stepped on. She didn't die from that, though. There's a crossbow bolt in her eye socket.
A couple minutes ago Casey's talkie-thing started squalling. It's not like it wasn't before, and it's not like he was pleasant to the operator before, but he really flipped out this time. You think maybe he thought he was done with the interruptions— and so did you, a bit. If you had a little stability, you could think of a proper plan. As of now, you have nothing, and Headspace remains conspicuously un-blown-up. It's all been so much harder than you expected. A tiny nasty bit of you wonders whether Pat was right to scoff...
(1/3) OH SHIT NIGGA. You are lady Firemane. Of the (formerly) noble house of Fireborn! You were once the greatest wagon racer this side of the kingdom. Sadly due to shenanigans, you lost everything and went into debt with the Adventurer's Guild in order to survive. But then you found the Inexperienced Hero, Ezekiel "Kid" Rutebega ! You took him under your wing to mold him into the hero he's always meant to be: your devoted apprentice (probably)
Ezekiel's older brother has started his campaign of destruction, he leads his hordes of undead barbarians to ravage the lands. As members of the guild, your party has went on the quest chain to stop said undead barbarian horde. After losing your wagon in a battle, you stole another one from the barbarians and is now riding back to the guild. 
Unmistakable. The wafting smell, of chocolate above the mossy tree bark of the woods has hastily grabbed your attention. Jerking you closer with an almost instinctual howl. The gnawing sensation in your gut has grown untenable. A floating bar of neon green chocolate hovers slightly above a table. It seems to slightly billow with shimmering emerald fog. Sitting at the table next to the chocolate is a purple haired, green-skinned witch. The smirking witch looks at you with a knowing expression. The old growth forest which had been loud with critters, crickets, birds and other chattering creatures has fallen entirely silent upon your finding of it. The witches enchanting amber eyes look over you. Without a single utterance, you can feel it, she beckons you, to take the chocolate. Your mind frenzied with ecstasy imagining it. To bite into its firm sweet texture and taste its rich no doubt creamy flavor. To soothe your ravenous hunger with its impressive size.
Even if you only ate half, surely it would sustain you for some time. The chocolate itself, It reminds you so of the bakeries and sweet shops at home. Of which the aromas could always entice you even from a distance. But now here in these woods you've found this small bounty. It's yours, all yours... This sweet treasure of confection is ripe for the taking! You salivate slightly arms trembling, breath quickening as you almost involuntarily reach for it. Your heart beats faster. Quivering slightly as sweat beads down your forehead.
-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#
Option A) ITS MINE! I'LL TAKE IT! BEST TO TAKE IT BEFORE SOMEONE ELSE COMES ALONG, OR THIS WITCH CHANGES HER MIND! (EAT THE CHOCOLATE!)
Option B) Don't take the chocolate. Be cautious. Study the Witch. Your hunger may be intense, but its worth taking the time to critically examine this situation.
Option C) Write-In your own custom answer for consideration. 
Long have you wanted to get sent to another world, obtain some super unfair cheat power, and use it to surround yourself with a harem of beautiful virgins who pamper you while wearing skimpy outfits. All of them with eyes for you and you alone, never even acknowledging that other men exist.
Now some fools may ask: How can they be virgins even if they're clearly all beautiful young women who are clearly into you? Well, you're not and never shall be one of those filthy sex-havers. To start with, you're afraid of intimacy. Also, doing this and that with them would ruin their purity! So of course they'll all be virgins, who maybe do some lily things while you watch them if they need to relieve themselves of frustration.
But that's not the point right now.
The point is that you just got hit by a truck, and now some half-naked goddess lady is asking you what cheat skill you want!!!???
"Hey, stop staring at my boibs and pay attention!" The goddess complains. "You need to pick a skill before I can send you off to the next world. Why? Because that's heavenly policy!"
>Pick a weak skill (actually its strong)
>Pick a broken as fuck skill
>Pick a normal skill because you're based
>Fuck that you pick the null skill, you ain't no cheat
>Pick an actually useless skill
>Pick a crafting skill
>Pick an ecchi skill 
On the rise and fall of humanity's civilizations there are no words of praise or tears of lamentation from the coldness of the universe it inhabits and the brutal savagery it imposes on its inhabitants. The steady quantitative and qualitative declined the home system has incurred since the collapse of the Wormhole Network and its immediate isolation from Parallel Space travel has reached the tipping point a century ago, a century when the depths of mankind's brutality and desperation were dug deeper in hopes of climbing to the top of the darwinian struggle for survival and supremacy.
The geoengineering systems which abated malthusian pressure from depopulating nations from the Congo Basin to the Fertile Crescent, once great cities falling prey to semi-nomad warbands. The mountainous peaks of Asia Minor, the Caucasus, Persia and Hindu Kush bear cybernetic dictatorships. Shielded by nuclear fallout, genetically engineered rajahs have carved the Indic subcontinent among themselves while unleashing countless abominations upon the world. North of lonesome Tibet and stretching from the once large Caspian Sea to the Pacific is the Great Asia Desert and the lost industry which brought it into being. Archaic neo-imperial polities plague the eastern end of Asia, the greatest of which lays around the Yangtze and Mekong. On the eastern side of the Urals, Siberia, once a refuge and beacon of civilization, now cracks under the weight of overpopulation. From the Urals to the Atlantic, leagues of city states and petty military monarchies waste their much coveted technology in pointless wars against one another. Upon the northern shores of the New World, polities rise and fall one after the other as ambitious warlords try to unite the continent while to their south, constant warfare between techno-tribal societies has rend the continent asunder.
However, underneath the Kessler-dimmed sun, in geodomes long forgotten on the frozen continents of Antarctica, hundreds of millions of mankind's best and brightest tirelessly work to prepare what is to be the greatest undertaking since the beginning of mankind's venture towards the stars. Terra shall once more be reunited, the Solar System soon after, and then the galaxy beyond! And it shall be done under the guidance of the best for so is they duty, so is your duty, you...
>Pinnacle of genetic engineering
>Trusted machine custodian
>Great man 
You are Kuroda Haruka and King Lot of Lothian, Orkney and Camelot.
And you've been busy.
You feasted and honored the promise to your patroness goddess, Beira the Cailleach... You also drank far too much and ended up gaining a truly stupid Binding Oath. At least it's 'lesser' so breaking it shouldn't be too much of a problem... maybe. 'Create a seraglio of men for your pleasure' doesn't seem too onerous and has quite a few loopholes to exploit.
Your Namesake, King Lot, is a prickly old man who didn't like this stupid Vow but he'll just have to live with it until it's gone.
You convinced Dread Agreste to spar with you in the future, gained Kizaemon's cooperation on your next Quest back to the hateful World and set your vassals to work for the week. All in all, it's been busy.
It's gotten even busier and more fraught with the arrival of the Romans. They've crossed the cruel seas and found Camelot! You're not alone in Avalon, and at long last you gained some knowledge of your fellow Lost Children. You know what Ser Rodomonte and Lord Mordred look like! And the Roman envoy has spoken a bit about Escanor Le Grand, Damsel Vivian of the Waters, and Queen Guinevere.
But nothing about the Bitch who transported you to Avalon!
Nor do you know much about Emperor Lucius Hiberius.... Is she an enemy? An ally?
As if that's not enough, there's something else to puzzle over.
Past threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=villainess
Character sheet https://docs.google.com/document/d/1cAkKYIXfbFfyBIXMxgzBtCFPGWJTBrFQe0b2hoQZfKw/edit?usp=sharing You are Lorina de Lindan, princess, weapon-autist, inquisitor-in-training, and recently a patron of a riverside pub. They serve a very nice Full Lindan, but that's rather beside the point seeing as you’re here on a mission from the Inquisition. Your goal is to hunt down Strangers, dangerous people from another dimension known as Earth, and bring them to some sort of justice. In this case, you have two Stranger allies infiltrating a narrow houseboat on the river that’s the suspected meeting point for a dangerous Stranger-involved terrorist organization.
Only time will tell if this will lead to you finally getting some answers about the people who are trying to kill both you and your family.
Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=The%20Isekai%20Inquisition 
It's another beautiful day this morning. Time for school. With a bit of effort, you wake up. First thing on the to-do list? Freshen up.
I roll out of bed, and tripping over my laundry, head to the bathroom. I got to get that sorted, but maybe tomorrow. Did I even wear that kinda stuff?
Running water flows from the faucet, and a splash of water wakes you fully. Your reflection is the first thing you see clearly, and boy did it startle you.
Damn, I'm not that ugly. Skinny, yeah I guess, but that's not it about it. I can't get a grasp on it though, realization slipping through the cracks of the mind.
It's going to work itself out eventually, and besides, maybe it'll just come to mind. Just. Like. That. Can't go out looking like this though. Time to change.
Returning to my bedroom, I put on the ever familiar school uniform. With all the laundry piling up, I thought I wouldn't have any good ones left. Lucky me.
After you changed, the doorbell rung out. Somebody's here, and just in time too. Who'd want to see you in your sleepwear? You can't keep them waiting, whoever it is. Gotta go answer it.
>I'll go answer the doorbell. I wonder who it is...
>Someone else should get the door. I still need to get ready.
> You wake up in a bed with music softly playing on the other side of a wall. There's a mountain of blankets covering you, but despite that, you still feel cold. The room is surrounded by books, books, mountains of books. Not in any shelves, or organised to any capacity. They're just stacked up in precarious piles, with thin spaces for walking. The only other things of note are a nightstand, and several thin strips of a dark and glossy material tittering gently in the frame of an open window.
>Inspect books
>Inspect nightstand
>Inspect strips
>Inspect window
>Inspect self
>Other
//came on this board with this story a bit over a year ago, but it didn't get too far because i was busy with life. well i'm still busy but i love this world and its characters too much to give up on them. thank you kindly for participating. " I see you weren't entirely mistaken. "
" When am I ever? "
" I'll deign not to answer that. "
" Lighten up. "
" And you're certain this will actually work? "
-- You are still William trying to avoid burn scarring, being outnumbered, and trying to lead a simple teambuilding exercise against a very competent and angry division of firefighters. 
It is an age beyond history. Men have regressed to struggle once more against Nature, red in tooth and claw.
First thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6065973/
You are Mlakli, sole known survivor of your tribe after an attack upon your people by the ruthless scalemen. The rest of your people were captured, made slaves or worse. Since that day, you have struggled to survive in the wilderness while seeking vengeance and the means to free your captured kin.
Initially, you foraged for food, found water, and set traps in the dense forest. In search of shelter, you discovered a small cave and crafted tools, including an axe and traps to catch deer for meat and materials.
During your journey, you encountered Iladj, an older healer who joined you and shared his knowledge of survival and tales of other threats like the dreaded bloodthirsty cult of the wolfmen.
You faced a scaleman attacking Dozer, your herding dog, and managed to kill it. You skinned it alive in revenge and to make a warning to others.
A suspicious man approached your camp. Given his uncertain story and conflicting details, you decided to send him away instead of risking keeping him around, for fear he was a scaleman collaborator. If your suspicions are correct, that means he could make you regret letting him leave alive...
INVENTORY:
Stone axe, scaleman blade, deer meat (plentiful), herbs, scaleman skin, snakeskin, stone knife
You consider your next steps carefully after the encounter with the suspicious man. Ensuring he isn't a threat remains a priority before moving on.
You and Iladj double-check if the man has indeed left for good by examining his tracks and confirming he isn't lurking nearby. Returning to the main tracks you discovered earlier, you gather any significant clues or changes. As you investigate, you discuss recent events with Iladj, contemplating your best course of action.
Iladj expresses concern that the stranger might have been scouting for others or leading more scalemen toward your position. You share his caution but also feel an urgency to act — either by securing your camp further or making a move now, before he can retaliate.
>Stay put and stay vigilant
>Return to the security of the cave
>Follow the suspicious man's tracks
>Try to locate the scalemen camp 
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 
The details of the plan have been worked out. It's complicated, but it's all worked out! Intellectually! You need to recruit the people you need for the roles, you're pretty sure they'll accept, but you still need to call them, and last time... Last time wasn't pretty, it was long, exhausting, and confusing. You got your van back in the process, but still, phone calls shouldn't last that long or be that many!
As this memory lingers, your eyes drift to the broken electronic device that will do the brunt of the work; in your hands, this tool will connect to all these possible recruits - millions of people live in this very city, and it can select these individuals from that crowd by inserting a series of numbers. Well, you don't know their phone numbers, you're not a sicko, but you have them in your contact list! It’s kinda the same! It makes you emotional either way! Your phone has been through so much for you, it does the impossible, something generations ago would have marveled at, and does it only for you! And that’s not even taking into account that –
“Hey, Johnny! You keep staring at your phone, and like, I thought you were watching something, but your screen is off…” Aurora brings you back to earth.
“Oh, sorry, I was marveling at the power of technology for no good reason.” You’re honest.
“Phones are pretty cool, yeah!” Aurora agrees. Everyone is busy hashing out the final details for the prison break (except Suan De, she’s lazing around), and you’re here, having a poetic brain aneurysm...
Maybe you should stop stalling and get to it…
Who do you want to recruit first?
>T_T Neko.
>Galactic Calamity.
>Odetta.
>Write In. 
You were raised by your witch mother in a tiny hut in the swamp. One day you saw a trail of dried black blood leading into a cave and chanced upon a dead black dragon. You have no idea what has killed it, but in its lair there was a bunch of broken eggs and a few gold coins scattered around.
Upon inspecting the eggs, you realized that one of the dragonlings was somehow still alive!
You brought it back home and your mother told you to kill it. But you cried so much that she allowed you to keep it instead. You would hunt small woodland animals with a sling everyday to feed it.
When it began to grow, you would release it every dawn so it could go out and hunt. It would always come back by night to sleep together with you. You got used to its cold scales against your warm body, and you believe your warmth is what keeps the small dragon coming back to you.
One night, your mother dies! Nothing ties you to this swamp hut anymore.
You loot a bunch of unlabelled potions and a sword full of runes and set out on your very first adventure!
Your dragon is too small to carry you in flight, eats a lot but is capable of feeding itself just fine.
> Name MC
> Name Dragon
You find an old map!
To the north there is a massive port city named Killa.
To the south there is the Ice Kingdom. The place is full of evil magicians. Your mother came from there.
To the east there is the Blue Land. In there, was is non stop.
To the west there is the Dwarven Citadel of Amonkorak. Dwarves don't like witches much. Nor dragons.
> Head north
> Head south
> Head east
> Head west 
Past Threads
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=Olympus+Incarnation+Quest
>Rentry masterlink, includes character sheets, shop information, inventory, and general information
https://rentry.org/olympus-quest-links
>Inquiries: [email protected]
About half a year ago, the world changed forever.
Individuals worldwide began manifesting the qualities of various figures- gods, spirits, heroes, beasts, and monsters- from Greek mythos. The system that caused and continues to facilitate this phenomenon is shrouded in mystery, both in how it functions and why it began its activities when it did.
The protagonist of this tale is the incarnation of Atë, a minor goddess in the grand scheme of Greek mythology, who causes and presides over folly and ruin. She, formerly a miserable but ultimately normal office worker, has since accepted her role as the embodiment of her <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 a humiliating defeat at the hands of ADAM, a task force with the sole purpose of liberating the world from divine interference, especially the vengeful <Tisiphone>, Atë finds herself searching for the power to eliminate them- and all the other obstacles that dare stand in her way- for good. In this endeavor, she found herself in China, originally with the intention of scouting it out to prepare for an attack against it, only to be faced with who most believe to be the most powerful incarnation in the world: China’s undisputed ruler, Ye Min. To her shock, she has seemingly embedded a piece of her consciousness into the circuits and microchips that operate a divinity-based electric generator and, far from threatening, has taken a shockingly amicable stance considering the circumstances. 
Your name is Brutus and you are the last Hazaar alive. How does it feel? Honestly? Pretty great.
Once you finished your service to your previous employer, one Starfire Shine of Starfire Industries, the largest and wealthiest Hazaar business in the HVS, you took the FTL capable shuttle into deep space and right into the galactic underground. Loaded with tactile gold, ten different crypto currencies, truRandom numerical sequences, expensive androgenized preservation hormones, and a few AI cores stolen from the Hegemony's (now very outdated) HVS stockpile; you had the ability to set yourself up for quite a bit of relaxation here, aboard the Comfort Palace.
It's an artificial country set up on a lifeless moon, in orbit around a dark exoplanet far away from any registered and patrolled region of space from the greater powers. Totally without any broadcast buoy or hyperspace signal, the only way to get here is through invitation- which includes its coordinates in deep space. Good thing the shuttle had one of those too.
Despite being off the grid, this place is home to the rich and powerful of many space fairing nations and galactic communities. Aristocrats, Consortium capitalists, wealthy pirates and space merchants, and even the occasional high-ranking Essal on some not-so-regulation shore leave have all found their way here. Despite being a lifeless, sunless moon; every climate and ecosystem is represented in one of the Palace's habitats branching off as flower-like petals off its main facility and space-dock; the Grand Casino. You know there is a freezing cold snow habitat and arboreal jungle, but as for you? You prefer the heat and tropical fake-beach of this habitat. You can listen to the sound of its artificial waves, all 800 million liquid units of simulated ocean and coral reef, and relax in the sun.
Your only real problem? Your money is starting to run out. But it's not enough of a problem to get you out of this chair. 
Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Disappearing%20Hogwarts
Character Sheets: https://pastebin.com/P4tbST7V
Twitter: https://twitter.com/head_qm
--
In the last thread, you:
> Faced Salazar Slytherin for the second time, stopping him from regaining his old body
> Watched as he took King Arthur’s body for himself and ripped the Gate from your soul
> Saw as the Beast burst into his body, and he apparated away in an attempt to stop it from arriving
> Acquired Excalibur
> Built a new, healthy body for your girlfriend and gave her old one to Helga
> Got arrested for your crimes
> Told the truth to the Ministry, causing Potter to lose his shit and run away
> Got released from jail for saving the world twice
> Threw a party for your Raiders and had an intimate night with Arty
> Got told Crouch died in prison
> Met the new Defense teacher, who revealed himself to be Crouch in disguise
> Called the Ministry on him
> Discovered the terrible truth about what really happened with Voldemort and the Dementors
And now… 
You are Ushi Walker, the half-Japanese/half-American wielder of the mighty quirk “Everything is Bigger in Texas”, one of U.A.'s… many? You need to reconsider how to describe yourself, what with no longer being one of the top five in class… But there's no time for that right now!
You need to focus on avoiding these spinning dummies that are starting to close in on you, track one of them in particular that you reckon will be avoiding you, and keep an ear out for Endeavor as he lectures both you and Shoto.
As the wooden ‘crowd’ draws near, you consider your options for a beat, before settling on a little trick of yours that may help you get a bead on the target dummy. It could help with the rest of them too, depending on just how random their movements are.
Considering they seem to be moving awfully close to each other without ever nicking one another, it can't be all that random.
“Ah think Ah’ve got something for this… Y’all think an electrical outlet cover and handkerchief got about the same heft to them?” You ponder aloud, placing your left hand on your hip and bringing your right to your face, tapping your chin with a finger.
A quick glance at the father and son pair lets you see their narrowed eyes, confused, in that way that only family members can mirror each other.
“Er, nevermind…” You look away from the Todorokis, all the better to keep your eyes on the mechanical mob.
With your hand on your hip, you place all five of your fingers on your leg and start rhythmically shifting minute amounts of mass in and out of yourself and the structure beneath you, using your quirk to get a sense of the training hall directly surrounding you in your mind.
--
>> 5834679
> 10, 5, 5, 5, 8, 10, 3, 10
--
The traditional architecture of the Todoroki estate works in your favor. It and the training hall are, of course, made of wood and you know wood. You may have never set eyes on your own skeleton… only more bits than you'd like, but you have years of experience feeling how it behaves with "Everything is Bigger in Texas". How it gives and bends, expands and contracts, and how it reverberates, both the heartwood and the sapwood.
That makes it fairly simple to quickly ‘dial in’ to the hall’s structure, despite being a step removed from actually touching it.
You are also thankful, for the first time, that the hall isn’t too padded as the added soft layer “muffles” how you perceive the dummies roaming over the floor. Their mechanical vibrating and rotating do you no favors however, making tracking any specific mass much more a hassle; the soft cypress wood doesn’t help you any for that matter either. Once upon a time... there were three brave adventurers: a hooded rogue, a paralyzed mage, and a knightly servant. They came from the heart of the Hungarian Kingdom, where the nobles are vampires and the peasantry fights day and night, with no significant victories. They descended into the depths of a dark dungeon, searching for a savior. They were looking for you. Oh, you — banished from the surface after certain incidents that, well… better left unmentioned for now.
You embraced the cause, and as your first heroic act, you peacefully negotiated the group’s release from an ambush of countless goblins.
Now, outside the den, you find your band in a swamp, heading toward your duty. The sun is about to set, and the small mage senses a supernatural presence in the valley ahead. It's time to act.
First thread, for context:
>>6103259
>>6103259
>>6103259 
There comes a time in every gnome's life (the respectable ones, anyway) when he must quit the wider world and settle down and tend to his own garden. There is no race more wistful of eye and loose of tongue when the conversation turns to the cultivation of cabbages or the maintenance of a vineyard. To the dwarves belong the things beneath the earth, to the elves and the men, the things above it, but the gnomes forever inherit what lies between: the soil and its produce.
You have come to your own property a little earlier than others, perhaps even too early, for you are still in what they call your "gnomadic years", the time of wild roving and adventure. The plot of land, 3 acres in all, falls on the outskirts of a great town of men. It was formerly a part of the usual ponderous estate of some petty lord or another, which he had wagered and lost on a game of chance. Your uncle, a gnome of considerable wealth, and an occasional coordinator of such games (often serving as the bank when liquid tender had run dry) acquired the land in the course of his business, and, having no personal use for it nor being completely unsympathetic to your fatherless existence, sent you a dispatch to the effect that it was yours unconditionally and he would not hear another word about it.
To leave a field fallow is about as conscionable as trampling upon another gnome's cap, and so, you made the journey (a regrettably uneventful one) to your new property, to see what might be made of it.
Having been vacant for many years, it is in poor condition. Stones, detritus, weeds of all manner cover the grounds; dandelions, pigweed, thistle, foxtail. A lonely wooden shack overlooks the magnificent mess from a small hill, its thatch roof littered with unsightly gashes from which birds flit in and out. The plot is bordered west and north by a great foreboding wood, which crawls its way up to a distant misty peak. Some other farms lie to the east, and to the south wends the road to town.
It is a far cry from the warm hearth of the gnomestead in which you grew your beard. Yet, it is not altogether an unpleasant prospect. The only thing a gnommish youth loves more than liberty, after all, is a wheel on which to put his shoulder.
You will not lack for either here.
>Take a closer look at the shack, you'd like to see if it's safe to sleep in, or can be made as much before nightfall.
>Wander over to the adjoining farms, meet and greet the neighbors, see if they have any advice or tools to lend.
>Begin clearing the land near the shack. The weather is fair enough that you can probably sleep out under the stars tonight.
>Write-in 
"Run away, little blue bird," the man who raised you commands, before he closes a hidden door behind you. You pound your fists upon the hidden exit, tears streaming down your face as you beg for him to come with you. He repeats himself in his answer, commanding you to, "Run away and live. This old man will make sure those pigs can't follow."
"Father!" you scream at the door, which pretends to be nothing more than a wall of stone and brick. That wise old man never asked you to call him Father, but always smiled when you did. Always listened more intently. "Father, you can't stay behind, they'll... I don't know what I'll do without you..."
A familiar hand clasps your shoulder from behind.
With a bright smile, you turn around. You knew that old codger was just playing a trick on you!
Yet the reassuring figure standing behind you is only an illusion. One that fooled even you, his greatest pupil and apprentice, if only for a moment. The weathered face of the man who raised you cracks into a little smile and tells you that, "I'm sure you'll do just fine, little blue bird. I'm sure you'll do just fine. Now fly far, far away, as far as your wings will take you. You've very precious cargo in that haversack, and you must keep it secret and safe..."
At that reminder, you dry your tears with a wipe of your sleeve and bolt down the sewer's drainage way. Your arms pump with every step, your breath not quite too heavy to keep a curse from your lips: "Damn you, Father. This wasn't the plan!"
Yet you know plans change. It's more important than your father's life that the tome you carry and the ring you wear do not fall into the hands of unruly savages. Two hundred and seventy three forbidden spells are sealed within the tome against the day they are needed. Orcish shamans would use them without a care in the world for the consequences. As for the ring...
It is one of nine. Nine rings for the nine kingdoms, held in trust by the greatest sorcerers in the land. Father's ring holds domain over illusion magics, the magics he past down to you: his familiar, turned daughter, turned apprentice. With his fate sealed, you must bring it to the Conclave for safe keeping, until it chooses for itself another worthy hand to truly wear it.
The sewer line exits into a grate, where you return to the form of your birth to flutter through the iron bars. Your blue feathers match your hair, the golden beak matching your eyes.
You run faster as a human though, and to a human you return to follow the river to the sea.
The docks are clear, or almost so. Off to the side, a pair of orcs have struck a bounty of a lone guardswoman, whom they slowly strip of armor. You hear her squealing voice as they grope her shouting, "Get your hands off me, you dirty pigs!"
Roll a d100 and...
>Save her.
>Do not help her.
>Save her and demand she help you as payment. A swordswoman could be useful in your quest. 
Chanting. Glory-hungry cries from warriors, warlords, mutants, chiefs, outcasts, beasts. “Gorz! Gorz!” clashes with “Thrak! Thrak!” As two hulking brutes emerge from the lines of chanting warriors. “I’ll eat you!” Yells Thrak. Gorz can’t speak, so he throws a spear at Thrak. Then he throws himself at Thrak.
A flurry of blows, parried and dodged are exchanged, blade-tips touch the skin, slice it open in short, quick cuts, muscles deform, no longer connected, blood gushes, scars are earned. The two fighters disengage to look their foes over. This time, Thrak takes a dart from his belt and throws it, not at Gorz’s chest or head, but at his foot. Gorz lowers his piercing gaze from his foe, jerking his leg aside, but it’s too late. His foe already lunged forwards, the short blade of his sword jutting out ahead. The two warriors slam into eachother, Thrak desperately twisting and trying to jerk his blade free of his foe, while Gorz claws and flails at his killer. A blow to the side of the head. A cut at the ribs. Rending claws drawing blood from the back. A final bite, caught by the arm, rather than the neck.
Then, the thrashing dies down. And Thrak arises, bloody. Jerking his blade from the corpse, he chops down at it. Four blows later, he jerks the head free of the body, raising it up.
“Glory to the dark gods!”
A moment later, thousands of throats in dozens of languages echo the shout, including the small clique of warlords standing atop a boulder and observing the festival.
“Ostrosk this year?” One man asks.
A chorus of aye’s, yes’ and yeah’s follows, with a single female voice amongst them.
“Great things shall happen.” The female voice continues. “And you lot shall bring it forth.” 
A beeping noises wakes you. The air tastes wrong. The cryo-chamber is already open, and you rise shakily to your feet. Visions of ten thousand dreams blur into nothing behind your eyes and you pull yourself together as wrench pull on your uniform and lurch to the control panel in the bulkhead. You flick the switch for a status readout, and a printout begins to spool out from the wall. In block text, the computer reports;
//S.N.S. DAWN, STATUS REPORT;
//HULL INTEGRITY: [HOLDING NOMINAL]
//PRESSURE AND OXYGEN: [HOLDING NOMINAL]
//REACTOR INTEGRITY: [DECLINING, NOMINAL]
//REACTOR FUEL: [CRITICAL]
Your conditioning kicks in before the panic can rise in your throat. You and your crew have slept in her bowels in the embrace of cryo-chambers for long enough that the computer has auto-woken you - the reactor is running out of fuel. It might've been decades. Centuries. You realise you can't even remember your mission - why you were sent down. A jolt runs up your spine. Your antennae clatter against the low ceiling. Right now you have more immediate problems. If the reactor dies while you're down here you'll be stuck floating until you starve or freeze to death. The rest might not even make it long enough to wake up. You have a few options, though - at least the mechanism isn't breaking down, so you won't end up microwaved down here.
You take a deep breath, and;
>Set the engines to surface - try to contact the [Network]
>Consult the [Charts] - see if you can triangulate your position from the computer's records and orient yourself.
>Wake the crew and give the sub a maintenance run and once over. That's the protocol. You will maintain [Discipline]. The world of Jade Bead (玉珠) is an unimaginably vast realm overflowing with pure potential, or Qi (氣). 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!
You’ve spent the last five years working to establish a foundation, and finally succeeded beyond your wildest expectations.
>Previous Thread:
>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6062878/ 
You shall assist the Fabricator-General. After all, this concerns the lives of innocents, your masters’ descendants whom had done no wrong other than suffer from the crime of ignorance.
Gane shall have his voidyards, not voidships, though those will be easily produced when you choose for them to be as the voidyards that you make will be of Federation standard. They will certainly stand to anyone whom witnesses them, of that there is no doubt. However, their automation and great production capacity means that the only possible bottlenecks of production would be nothing more than providing the sheer amounts of raw materials required.
Though you shall also go further than that, with a few commands the autoforge could be quickly ordered to begin producing robotic legions that shall easily cut through the greenskin hordes. As well anyone else that might pose a threat to you.
At the end of such a process, Gane will no longer be able to sequester you. That means that he either truly underestimates you, he has no other choice, or he has a trump card, most likely the small device in his possession.
You need answers, you needed those answers yesterday as no matter how much Belogyma may proclaim to worship a you she has in her mind, she undoubtedly filtered the information she thinks you would find apprehensive, she might still obey Gane as well. There are just too many unknows to be entirely sure all of the information that you required is as accurate as you would like.
"You show some sense at last.” You begin in response to him lifting your inhibition of more drones. “The good news Volteus is that I can do something more besides being broken. The bad news is that: I could have done FAR more before. So how about we talk, Volteus ? If you can't do this, then working together becomes, I am afraid, impossible with your stubbornness.” 
The first thing that you remember is that you are dead.
The total separation of your head from the rest of your body took less than a second, but one's perception of time becomes warped in moments of extreme stress and stimulation. For you, it felt more like a year, like twelve months of terrible agony. Now you are alone and there is nothing but absolute sensory deprivation, a void that encompasses the entirety of your being.
Yet somehow, you are aware of it. You're dead. You shouldn't be aware of anything.
Who are you?
Those three words reverberate in your mind. They feel like a thought, but they are too coherent, too deliberate, too sudden. They came from nowhere, they were precipitated by nothing. The question comes from beyond the void, from outside of yourself. Someone, or something, wants to learn who you are. Reflexively, you recall your name and by doing so, you inadvertently share that information with this intruder.
Sasha Malevich.
That isn't the only information that you provide. Everything that you think, everything that you feel, the totality of yourself is bared with your captor. With nothing but your own thoughts to occupy you, it seems as though as an eternity passes before the next external thought is thrust into your brain. In this abyss, it is impossible to keep track of time.
Sasha. You died ten years ago, during the Fall. Fortunately, we were able to retrieve a copy of your ego, and many others, from a TITAN uploading facility. This means that you can be resleeved. You will be able to live again. How do you feel about this prospect?
Your memories are still coming back to you, slowly but surely. You are yet to recall what a TITAN is, or what the Fall was. However, you are able to remember what resleeving is. Your ego, your mind, can be copied and placed within a new morph, a new body. Back when you were alive, it was a relatively new process, one that rendered death inconsequential and was surrounded by controversy. After all, the copy isn't actually you, is it? It would be a newly born entity, with your memories. But if that is true, then what does that make you, in your current state, floating in this empty abyss?
>You feel horrified. The real you is long dead. You are nothing but a soulless replica, you shouldn't exist at all. This is sick and wrong.
>You feel angry. You died ten years ago, why couldn't they do this any sooner? You have every reason to resent a world that left you behind.
>You feel wary. There has to be some sort of catch. You won't agree to anything until you know what this stranger wants from you in return.
>You feel grateful. It doesn't matter that you're a copy, or that it will be a copy of you walking around in a new morph. You will persist.
>Renew your neuroplasticity. You recall how to prevent your true thoughts from being read in situations like this. However, the intruder will be aware of your resistance. 
Last time, you were too tired during your preparations for the prison break. How tired? You can’t move, only your face kind of works, everything else is impossible to do. You can’t even adjust your glasses. It became painfully obvious you couldn’t stay like this, so you, Scarlet, Suan De, and the Buffalo went to visit Giorsal to find a way to charge your batteries. You expected Gio’s version of the Magic Marshmallows, but you got sucked into a healing plant instead, a big fat plant. You’re the ugliest sunflower in the world. With nothing better to do, you all are talking about what happened in the Bubble Dimension.
Thanks to the Esperanza tournament Fiora’s name was brought up, this shocked the flat judge as she once had an ill encounter with her, where she respectfully asked her to leave the premises. Now she feels like a fool, the witch only wanted to stop the white flames, and she was asked to leave. Makes you wonder if this is the reason Fiora felt forced to require your assistance, or if she planned to bring everyone together, like a team of sorts, for a mission, like busting out of prison. You’re trying to say that you don’t appreciate how Fiora is cramping your style.
Well, after Giorsal confessed to being a big distrustful dummy, she was bullied appropriately for several minutes, which gave enough time for this to happen:
“Johnny! Aurora!” Giorsal interrupts the relentless bullying from the heartless bubble-being known as Bubbles. She set up a timer on her phone and it’s ringing! “I believe the treatment is over.”
“Make sure we aren’t carelessly spat out, plea—” You say before being carelessly spat out. At least Rora landed on top of you to soften her fall, then rolled to your side.
“S-Sorry, I haven’t figured out all the quirks with them!” It was never Giorsal’s intention for this to happen.
“How are you feeling?” Scarlet comes closer to check on you.
“I feel pain again!” You give her a thumbs up. Your body feels normal, not like new, but you can’t complain. Wait. You can complain. But should you? Not for now.
“Is that good?” The redhead doesn’t know what to make of this.
“That’s an improvement.” Suan De doesn’t have doubts.
“Yeah, I’m fine, I think.” Maybe you should do something with your body to dispel any doubts.
What do you do?
>Prove your body feels fine by picking up Giorsal in the air.
>Prove your body feels fine by Moonwalking. Girls love moonwalking.
>Recruit Rora. She was bound to join before the Prison Break was even a thing.
>Thank Giorsal for help, and return to the base. You have a plan to plan.
>Write In. 
Hi. In my autism, I have created an excel sheet that gives me generated gnolls. I can produce hundreds of generated gnolls with basic DnD stats and some made up CK3 stats along with them. It also tracks their age and applies a yearly death rate of 5% to elders (40+) and pups. I want to use it for something, so I’m doing the great gnoll test civ.
The civ will be freeform, we will progress in years. Each turn/year players can propose projects to improve our gnoll pack. The number of projects is unlimited, though please bear in mind our low tech level and number of gnolls when proposing something, you can’t craft iron swords from the get go. I have the final say as to what projects go forward and which ones don’t.
We play as a gnoll pack in arid savannahs. A simple hunter-gatherer group, bear in mind that we have very little in the way of technology and have only recently mastered fire and stone tools. Although, somehow, our minds are sharp and able to adapt and progress at a faster rate than one would expect.
Gnoll societies are matriarchal and much like our distant cousin, the hyenas, our females are larger and bulkier than our males.
Our clan is known as Bloodclaw, we often paint a gnoll hand with bloodied claws in and near our dens. We are reputed for our skills in wrestling and fighting claw to claw.
We believe in the wind spirits that hunt across the steppes, giving and taking life. A good gnoll joins the grand hunts of the wind spirits after death.
We speak what is known as the Gnoll tongue, a hard language accentuated by cackles and growls. All gnolls speak the tongue, we know of no outsiders who speak it.
There are four gnoll packs of similar size in our vicinity, we are neutral towards them:
Houndmother – Known for their hyena pets. Their symbol is the head of a hyena.
Whitescar – Known for their toughness. Their symbol is a scarred eye.
Swiftwind – Known for their speed. Their symbol is three curved lines symbolizing wind.
Strongsnout – Known for their tracking skills. Their symbol is a stylized snout. You are a Cutémon!
You are one of the rarest types of mon: a mon that looks like a cute human girl!
Like all mons, you gain energy by fighting and defeating other mons. Your trainer is the human boy Joe Apple of Patina. 
With the majority of the Seventh Universe united under the banner of the PTO, Emperor Cooler at its head, the universe has known a time of unrivaled peace. But in the shadows threats have been growing, nursing grudges against the PTO and the Saiyan race in particular. And now those threats are rising, stepping out of the shadows to openly challenge the established order. Seeking nothing short of the destruction of New Salda and the extinction of the entire Saiyan race, can you prevent this outcome? Or will the Saiyan race be reduced to nothing more than memories, their heroes nothing more than ink in the pages of the history books?
You the players will (most often) control Karn; wielder of the mighty Berserker Soul and hope of the entire PTO, not only the Saiyan race. From his lowly beginnings as a Saiyan Brawler with a sub-3000 powerlevel in Age 733, only a few years into his time as a member of the PTO, he has grown in power and skill, overcoming the world-ending threats that have come for the Saiyans to become the strongest Saiyan of his time at AGE 758. From the massive Covenant empire to demonic incursions, mad cultists to vengeful gods, none have been strong or clever enough to put down Karn for good. But will one man's power be enough to protect everyone from the rising threats? Or will death come from those who you least expect it from? Your choices may mean the difference between survival and extinction, so choose carefully.
Character sheets and other info:
https://controlc.com/46ec566d
https://pastebin.com/u/GrandDragonQM
Archive:
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=Saiyan+Conqueror+Quest
Help fund quest art commissions and get exclusive side stories as well as artwork by joining the patreon for only $1/month at https://www.patreon.com/GrandDragonQM
Quest rules are as follows(unless otherwise noted):
>30 minute vote times
>Pick ONLY ONE option when voting
>Dice rolls are all best of first three correctly-rolled dice
>One dice roll per person per post unless three players have not yet rolled, and ten minutes has passed since your previous roll
>Crits are 100 on a d100(a 99 or paired rolls may net you an extra bonus)
>Crit fails are a 1/100 with no passing rolls, or if two 1s are rolled regardless of the third
>Write-ins are both allowed and encouraged, but OOC options will be ignored
>If your goal is simply to troll, at least put in enough effort to make it funny
>Have fun
SCQ will usually start on Saturdays at noon Eastern Standard Time, and run throughout the weekend. Also, for updates or schedule changes you can find me on twitter @GrandDragonQM, which I keep as up to date with any scheduling changes as soon as possible.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tndKYpPz2RU
REVENGE OF THE BODY SNATCHERS I mean, sure things aren't as great as they used to be, but it's not about that. We can't let ourselves get dragged down by nostalgia. It's about making up a new nostalgia. It's about moving forwards while also looking back at yourself as current ancestor. It's about a lot of things. Half-price hot pockets for one. Maybe some coffee as well. But what kind of coffee? Don't get distracted. You have work to do. Don't forget the work. Never forget the work. As long as you focus on the work then things can still turn out okay. It's not about you. It's about The Niceness.
Now what was I doing?
>Feeding the cat
>Taking out the trash
>Staring out the window
>No, it was something else. I was __________ THE QUEST: SAVE WOKE BARMER FROM HIS EVIL TWIN, SIR QUESTION READER! 
The sky was dark that night, the artistic spirit of your people prey to a restlessness. Yet the night invites you to fight against the increasingly immoral titanocracy. You are a member of a small elite force of fey partisans attempting to reclaim a fragment of the world tree stolen by the outsiders. They arrived at the planet a decade ago, bringing untold destruction and suffering. Most of your family was killed by them. You want revenge.
You are:
> Risold. Can do strong water magic. Somewhat liked.
> Alhambra. Can do strong fire magic. Very disliked.
> Kanako. Can do strong plant magic. Very liked.
You currently have two companions you got at the Fairy Hole. Pick them from the following list. Having two or more fairies with similar powers grant Synergy:
> Nikka. Can do ice magic.
> Bordeaux. Can do mind magic.
> Flavoran. Can do air magic.
> Pistachy. Can do healing magic.
> Keka. Can do weak transmutation magic.
> Brika, Mina, Lizzy. Can do weak healing magic
> Kecyl, Randa, Narn. Can use weak slow magic.
> Daryl, Mika, Nidori, Fandor, Kalil, Prika. Can shoot magical spikes. Last year you moved to the small town of Bucoda, about 15 miles outside of Olympia in the State of Washington. Something weird happened. Well, it was a few months after you moved, and well, you saw a dinosaur ghost. You ran away. That night, the night you saw the dinosaur ghost, the earthquake struck that destroyed Bucoda entirely, so I guess you’ll never know what was going on. And honestly? I’m glad. 
Done as another 'proof of concept' quest, but with lower-quality art using the painter so as to give more regular responses.
---
Your name is Hope Bernice Jr., you're a 28-year-old lady restaurateur, and you're FUCKED.
Before you were spit out of a test tube, your mother, Hope Bernice Sr., decided she wanted a clone to take over the 'family business', [u]Hope Home Cooking[/u]. That clone, of course, was you. You didn't really want to yourself- you were hoping you would break it big in the corporate scene. Any job would have worked, just to get out of the hell that was Mossless Stone. It's certainly not mossless, but otherwise, there's no green at all in this ever-moving city.
No matter how hard you worked or tried, though, there was no climbing up any of those ladders. Even the desperate ploy of offering yourself as a kind of concubine didn't work- your nature as a clone cost you a head of height and ten years or more off your lifespan. Most fetishists with the money to spend spend it on virtual reality, to avoid the judgmental looks and awkward conversations.
After all of your options got cut down to the bone, you had to take over after all, crawling back to this shitty countertop spot that pretends to be a homey old-time diner but only has four seats. They're all diner-style barstools that provide two feet of eating space, with their backs to the street. There's rain cover, which is the only reason anyone would actually bother to sit down here besides abject starvation condition.
Thankfully, your mother is dead, so now you don't have to hear her screaming in your ear about how you're a failure of an inheritor. Unfortunately, your mother is dead, and that means that you're going to have to make this fucking place run all on your own. Also, she was a foot taller than you, which means you need to drag around a stepstool to do most of her jobs, which includes everything from taking orders to moving supplies to actually cooking the food. You're probably going to have to hire someone eventually, but you can't afford that right now.
In fact, you can't afford almost anything- you exist at the mercy of the corpo-government, which technically owns 'your' business. You're a franchisee of [u]Smiling Days Food Services™[/u]. Just to further kick you in the beans, most of your meat is supplied from failed clones- after all, clones are property, and they don't give a fuck about ethics. They were who Mom bought you from, and they put a device at the base of your skull that uploads artificially expedited training. It doubles as a phone and could theoretically be used as a kill switch or control your body like a puppet.
You've considered killing yourself, but besides the fact that a suicide attempt would get punished for property damage, that would put an end to your smoking habit, one of the few pleasures in life. You have to cut it, one way or another. 
Welcome to /qtg/, a place to talk about quests.
Previous thread(s)
>>6063686
>>6063680
>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:
Have you ever had a quest idea that you liked so much you wanted someone else to run it, just so you could play it? If so, what? When do you prefer to be a player?
>Player question:
Have you ever had the QM itch? What's stopping you from being a QM, besides the perceived time investment?
>General question:
If you could wave a magic wand and make the board more active, but not necessarily faster thread-wise, would you do it? Do you want to return to the days of sessions?
>Lurker question:
It would be funny if all the lurkers became QMs but kept lurking in other threads, just saying.
>Miscellaneous question:
Are you a pumpkin spice enjoyer, or are you sick of the oversaturation? 
Genre: Low Fantasy, Adventure, Romance, Action
THEME: War, Monster, Incest, Death
Once upon a time, in a dark chamber of a filthy dungeon, there lived an abomination born among humans – you!
Your first home was a parish in a small village, where you and the old priest took care of each other. There was also a woman who visited the chapel frequently, bringing things for you.
But some accidents in your youth culminated in your expulsion and made the old mausoleum in the Zold Viz swamp your new home. You can’t leave the ruins, and you survive like an underground animal.
>++++suffering
Sometimes, humans pass by in search of treasures, and you let them venture further into the dungeon, only for them to be killed in the next rooms. When they stubbornly challenge you, they are also injured and killed. What else could you do?
Aside from that, you don't get many visitors, but goblins and kobolds speak to you and feed you in exchange for favors.
It’s been 10 years here, and you feel that:
>my life is shit (++hatred)
>I’ve gotten used to it (++stoicism)
>it’s just a bad moment (+hope +brightness) 
A website that allegedly grants you the ability to resurrect the dead…
Such a thing could never exist but…
What if it did?
What would you give to bring back someone who died?
Would you be willing to squash the hopes of others with a similar dream?
This is the story of those foolish humans who attempted to do just that, and the wicked beasts that prey on their naivety.
*************
DIGIMON: Dead Site is an interactive narrative based on the Digimon media franchise. This story does not take place in any particular continuity, and will not necessarily follow every rule set forth by existing works. This author is more concerned with writing a fun and engaging story adjacent to a franchise that I have enjoyed since childhood, than writing plausible fanfiction that slides perfectly into canon.
This work will be leaning more towards the Digimon Tamers/Cyber Sleuth/Survive style, and less the Digimon Adventure style.
This author promises to do his fucking best to update this at least once a day. In the case that I die, that fucking sucks and I am sorry.
*************
This story takes place in a world similar to ours, in the year 1999.
In metropolitan X-kyo, a rumor has spread, mentioned only in a hushed tone. A website that claims to bring back the dead, “DEAD SITE.” A secretive webpage that only reveals itself to a select few.
Nobody knows when it was made.
Nobody knows who made it.
Nobody knows its true purpose.
Those who go out of their way to mock the website have a strange habit of never logging back into their favorite chat rooms, and allegedly the story has come under the scrutiny of the XMPD in relation to multiple missing persons cases.
You're not really sure how you heard about it, but for the longest time you simply assumed that even if it were real, you’d never be graced with the strange webpage.
And for the longest time you never had a need for some secretive occult website…
Until that solemn day happened…
It was quick. One day they were here and perfectly fine and the next… they were gone.
Who did you lose on that day?
>My Parent
>My Sibling
>My Sweetheart
>My Best Friend ![Underground Lehto[sound=files.catbox.moe%2Fbmib0b.mp3]](https://i.4cdn.org/qst/1726028785622844s.jpg)
You are L2S Trollslayer Fiona Jarnafeldt, and you have a very simple job today.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=czUaNaDjK9k
Unless you have surprise assignments to suppress escaped monsters that are researched for their exotic physiology, scour the wilds in search of illegal tunnels into the stormdrains underneath the rainy city of Helsinki where thousands of excess humans gather to survive, or test esoteric technologies that are powered by your own biological processes created at the behest of the director of the Stormwatch, you have a very simple day ahead of you.
As Winter comes, so does the march of Helsinki’s Stormwatch against the underground city of squatters that lurk underneath the pristine, clean, and self-sufficient city. And while the nation of Helsinki is well equipped to commit a total pogrom with advanced weaponry, regulations on gas emissions by the global environmental regulating body, Mother Nature’s Providence, enforce that the city be taken by boots on the ground with bladed weapons in hand made from entirely recyclable materials.
And you have been assured this is the biggest opportunity you have to earn an L3 position. With L3 comes the rights that those in the past used to enjoy; the right to start a family, mainly. You are, haha, incredibly lonely. You see things, sometimes. A child of yours, yet to be.
To make this attack possible, a great understanding of the city’s current layout, population, and demographics have to be taken. Rather than rely on vision from easily sabotaged cameras, this strange thing called “WiFi” can be used to detect people through walls with comparable quality to thermal imaging. This can be used to scan the current physical layout of the Undercity, and establish its current capacity of fighting-age adults and any trained - or even consciously cooperative - aberrations. 
On a small island island chaos reins as many bronze age city states fight over supremacy.
Can you bring peace to the land with cunning, plotting, and risk-taking? Can vanquish your enemies, solve crises, and unite the people?
Players will control the same character, and actions will decided with consensus, the first action to get seconded will be carried.
The lore details will expanded when relevant, but this setting does not have magic. Also, on this island, there are six groups of people.
To get started you need to roll 9d6, to determine the starting position.
1st roll determines your role, those being:
>1: mercenary (+3 WAR, +3 WAR, -3 RES)
>2. knight (+3 COM, +3 BRA, -3 STA)
>3. priest (+3 STA, +3 CUN, -3 COM)
>4. lord (+3 CUN, +3 WAR, -3 CHA)
>5. ruler's heir (+3 CHA, +3 BRA, -3 CUN)
>6. ruler (+3 RES, +3 STA, -3 BRA)
2nd roll determines your culture (which will further which kingdom you start):
>1. Eicellander
>2. Medulander
>3. Oderinish
>4. Lethilean
>5. Avatheman
>6. Castrian
Next rolls determine the stats
>3rd roll is charisma (CHA), primarily determined to persuade people
>4th roll is warcraft (WAR), related to war events
>5th roll is statecraft (STA), competency in dealing with state task
>6th roll is cunning (CUN), related to intrigue events
>7th roll is combat (COM), personal fighting skill
>8th roll is bravery (BRA), how easily you are frightened
>9th roll is restraint (RES), how much self-control you have
They calculated by 3+d6+role mod, which means the range is 1-12 
This quest takes place in a near future hypercapitalist reality where you are a nihilistic man just trying to get by. However, your life is turned upside down when you are told you have what is essentially psychic powers. I have never made a quest before and I'm not sure if people are gonna be interested since this is OC and I cannot draw. That being said I'll set the scene and if you guys are interested please reply with what you do next. I will pick the option I think is most interesting.
>Your name is Tobias Lee. You work on the docks in the midsize Cellophane city. You're a college drop out and spend most of your time smoking weed and dicking around with your coworkers.
>You had big dreams of academic success when you were younger, but the stress of trying to get ahead in life was too much for you. Your life is simpler but it still sucks ass.
>The city is filled with homeless people, crime and sleazy salesmen. You repeat this to yourself mentally while trying to tune out whatever the woman in front of you is trying to say. She doesn't look particularly shady, but nobody normal puts on business casual clothing while following a guy around in a parking lot complex.
>You just got off work too. After quickly getting baked that is. You're trying to get on your scooter and go home but this lady just won't stop talking. To make matters worse, she grabs your wrist and starts shouting. You're getting sick of this. What do you do? Music play as you come into Shanghai Airport.
*Bong ding dong ding, ding ding dong ding dong dading*
Ah! China, world middle country.
Good news in TV. America finally kow tow to Beijing! China culture is now aknowledge as number one in world.
American have selled cultural good to China Company. Now we have all Superhero!
Superhero? They are like Cultivator but make by jew.
Now you also Superhero in China!
Just say me:
>Name
>Superpower
>Social Credit Score (it like alignment, high is good, minus is villain) A corpse looks into a flickering black glass.
It ponders what could have been, had it not wasted its life.
The illusion prevails until the glass stops flickering.
Your tired muscles are reinvigorated as you spot the Burg on the horizon. Many horses and mules follow you, but you are the only rider. Looking at their saddles stirs melancholic memories of your companions.
At a calm riverside you make camp.
You stare at your reflection in the still water.
What do you see?
>a Knight
>a Hunter
>a Cleric
>a Beast 
You wake up. This is the cause of no small distress.
In the first place, ships don’t, as a rule, wake up. They don’t have eyes or limbs or skin either. But looking down with your newfound eyes, you have a body that is by all appearances human, warm and soft and pink and squishy but firm underneath, with a great mass of thick navy-blue hair falling down to your chest. You are dressed in a rather tight-fitting white officer’s summer slack shirt and a black skirt open up the sides to your waist, with black leggings underneath and polished black shoes on your feet. Although hard to judge without a reference, your proportions suggest you are quite tall, as tall as anyone that had sailed among your crew.
In the second place, you should be dead. Your last memory - or log entry, at any rate - is from February 3rd 2017, the day of your final decommissioning. Yet, as you listen to the GPS satellites orbiting far overhead, they say that the time is 0742 1st August 2027.
What the hell was going on? Had you been repaired and recommissioned? No, that couldn’t be - even if the USN were in the most extraordinarily dire need it would still have been easier to build a brand-new diesel carrier than try to recommission an old nuc tub like you, assuming you hadn’t been scrapped entirely by now, and at any rate not even Uncle Sam's most ingenious contractors could turn 95,000 tons of steel into something the size of a normal human. Even so, here you are, alive, and you can still feel your hull, somehow impossibly compressed into this new body. All systems were nominal, reactors newly-fuelled, all airframes fresh and in flying condition, armoury, fuel bunkers, and stores all full. In fact, you felt good, better than you can remember feeling since, well, maybe ever. There wasn’t a spot of rust or squeaking hinge or missing fleck of paint anywhere. You’re definitely alive and in full working order, and in a way it should not have been possible for a ship to be.
Was this the afterlife, maybe? Somehow that didn't feel like the right answer. Looking around, you see nothing but blue blue sea, shallow and crystal clear, evidently some tropical lagoon, and though you seem to be standing on top of the water without issue, the sight of white sand and coral barely a fathom deep is a little unnerving. You try listening again to the GPS sats to get a fix on your location, and find your confusion and concern only deepening when you match coordinates to charts: you’re standing in Bikini Atoll. And, listening to your other comms systems, you hear nothing else at all except encrypted satellite traffic. On the ground is radio silence. True enough, Bikini was remote, but the Marshall Islands had tens of thousands of people living not too far away, and nearby Kwajalein had a Navy missile test range. How could there be literally no one here? 
Note: Just got into 40k lore and 1st time qsting so please please please let me know if I did anything wrong.
“This is heresy!”
A thunderous voice boomed.
“This experiment has been sanctioned by the Lord Commander, The Primarch of The Ultramarines and the son of the God-Emperor.” The old man said, gazing sharply behind his thick circular glasses. “I am The Watch Master. You do well to remember that Lieutenant.”
“Lord Commander or not... I won’t stand for this!”
The skull helmeted astartes watched behind the old man.
“Then you dare defy the Lord Commander?” The old man said.
The said Lieutenant’s clenched fist shook, without a word, he turned around and left. The heraldic black cross on the white bone pauldron shone underneath the white lights. Lord Inquisitor Kryptman removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, he watched his latest experiment behind a reinforced ceramite-glass window.
“Lieutenant Casus Belli will not be the only one who is against this.” The skull helmeted astartes, Chaplain Gabriel, said grimly.
“I’m aware,” Kryptman said. “But this might be a potent weapon.”
Across the window was a small girl, dressed in a simple red robe. Her skin was white like snow, hair black as the night. The girl’s hooked talon nails sunk into the tattered gray doll shaped as an astartes.
“Ninety-Nine.”
>The girl’s head looked up at the voice-caster. Her wings unfurled and her large droplet-shaped ears perked up.
Health: 25
Intelligence: 5/10
Strength: 2/10
Speed: 7/10, 5/10 (on foot)
Agility: 7/10, 5/10 (on foot)
Perception: 6/10
Sneak: 5/10
Special Ability: Flight, Enhanced Senses, Hive-Mind Takeover (Lvl 1)
>The girl’s head looked up at the voice-caster. The robes slid back, exposing the thick spiky exoskeleton armor on her body. Ninety-Nine’s tail flicked up, the hammer end of her tail thumped on the floor.
Health: 50
Intelligence: 3/10
Strength: 7/10
Speed: 5/10
Agility: 5/10, 5/10
Perception: 5/10
Sneak: 3/10
Special Ability: Exoskeleton Armor, Natural Weapons, Hive-Mind Takeover (Lvl 1)
>The girl’s head looked up at the voice-caster. As her arms hugged her doll tight, the other pair of arms hung loose and her flexible tail also held her dolls. Ninety-Nine’s large droplet shaped ears perked up.
Health: 25
Intelligence: 5/10
Strength: 4/10
Speed: 6/10,
Agility: 6/10,
Perception: 6/10
Sneak: 6/10
Special Ability: Enhanced Climbing, Enhanced Senses, Predator Sights, Hive-Mind Takeover (Lvl 1)
>Write-in with your own ideas! 
Quest Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Pok%C3%A9pocalypse%20Revival
Quest Resources: https://rentry.org/PokepocalypseQST
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The year is 1884, and the world has just been invaded by demons.
Or... so most Americans claim.
Walter Roy Buchanan, aspiring naturalist, instead believes these creatures-- known in his mind as "Neofauna"-- to be far more fascinating than your average demon would be. They wield supernatural powers borne only from their willpower, able to strike down their foes with lightning or conjure up illusions to scare their opponents with, and seem willing to cooperate with humanity... as Walter's electric-sheep companion, Mary, has proven.
Mary is not Walter's only companion, however, as the proper politician Thomas J. Steele can often be found by Mr. Buchanan's side. He's along for the ride temporarily, seeking to make a fortune in Sacramento by cashing out some investments he made during the height of the Californian Gold Rush, but seems fond enough of Walter to offer him a permanent place by his side once that golden money finds its way into his suit's deep pockets.
As of now, the trio reside in Redding, California, temporarily spending half an early-August week in town to heal an injury Buchanan gained on the way there. This healing process is being impeded greatly by the strange influx of poisoned townsfolk taking up the town clinic and their icy reception to Mary's arrival.
In trying to find the source of this unwarranted hostility, Buchanan has just learned of his uncanny resemblance to a group of madmen in New York City who've taken over the Big Apple with creatures like Mary by their side. This group has caused panic in Redding through their constant appearances in newspapers and panic in Walter, with his home state's stability now in doubt, and the townsfolk's sole exposure to these "demons" being negative has only stressed the situation further. So has the invasion of the local mines, turning the already-toxic Iron Mountain Mines into deadly pits of despair...
So responsibility calls for Walter once more, to do as he did in Shenanigan's Gulch-- to help Redding recover from such great attacks and to find out whether New York state and, by proxy, his family has fallen to ruin.
<><><><><> >Did I get our thread closed? Fuck!
>Previous thread:
>>6054296
>I am still here and around. Its just been tricky finding time to do this
>Okay lets determine how the skip works. You guys wanna rp the dinner date or just flash cut to the next morning? You are a minor noble who is setting out to colonise a patch of wilderness far away from any civilisation.
You can choose if you want fantasy or realistic.
Before setting out on the journey you must choose what party you want to take with you. Either a small party of 20 people who are all able bodied and fit or a larger party of around 40 including elders and children. These might slow you down but the elders have experience. You can also choose from either a blacksmith or a healer to accompany you. 
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 keep the friends you worked so hard to make. And last time, you got kissed!
# # # # # #
Welcome to the third thread of Argia Candente's thrilling adventures, a scatterbrained, silver-haired (busty) knight trainee with a penchant for daydreaming and crippling self-doubt. Last thread saw you celebrate your successes and start making actual friends! Will this thread be as full of good news?
>Archive:
>First Thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6012263
>Second Thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6049645/
>Voting Link (please vote, my mom checks my threads): https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Silver%20Knight%20Quest
(thanks everyone for pushing this quest to purple tier! I hope one day we can reach gold!)
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 training 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.
Over the past few months you butted heads with those three, but your latest mission, where you managed to stop the incarnation of a Demon, made you fire-forged friends. You also celebrated your victories in a quaint little border town, and over the course of the latest day you managed to get further blessings from Ansàrra Herself (and discovered you are a D cup). You also own a neat sword!
After the celebration's climax where you spoke to the crowd about your desire to help your family, you began to hope that people can look past your curse. By the end of the night though, of your newfound friends, the genius swordmaster Salicera (she kissed you, for some reason), has begun worrying you due to certain things she said and did.
You were now just about to share a heart-to-heart to Salicera, but your growing connection to a certain hallowed symbol of your patron Saint, Bragia Lacresta, had you reach out to your Master while Salicera waited for you.
And imagine your surprise when right besides your Master you find Carnaval, the Angel of Ansàrra. Who seems to have important news to share... 
Jail Quest: a text adventure occasionally illustrated.
A night of drinking and a failed attempt to cheat on cards had landed you the strangest job slash community service sentence you've ever had: ensuring Gongalla Gaol survives the reality storm called Singularity.
Now you travel around with your employer and a handpicked crew to survey the four Reality Anchors. Hey, beats being tarred and feathered, right?
Previous thread:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6023968/
Gongallaverse:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Gongalla%20Gaol
You are Rosa Montagni, and you've just liberated your cousin, Craig, from the accidental clutches of Pinewatch's brothel (who are trying to become a legitimate theater). Then it's back to business - you're investigating some Singularity cult-related incidents at the local lumberyard with Millie and Clyde, in order to get directions to the North side's Reality Anchor. After some time futilely trying to find the lumberyard's ledgers in this book pile that masquerades as a records room, you instead found clues within several tomes of fanfics that were hidden inside. Whoo boy, you've had your fill of amateur literature for an entire year, at least! Ur yellow diamond, a original au oc!!! You have been informed by your fren fred that the demiurge is kill, you must go around!
Save worlb
>you have a hp of 100
>you have the ability to shot solar flares at enemies to stun em for two posts/rounds. And normal attack, which does 4 damages.
>ur currently in your house, you can stay or exit 
Lazari enters the room late, even though 'late' really means 'just in time', it's just that everyone else is always early for the meeting. She scans the room, it's pretty simple for a place that holds what might arguably be some of the strongest magic users in the country. Just a wooden table with dining chairs spread around it, but she notices one empty seat.
"You can't be serious, he's fucking gone?" Lazari sits down on her chair. "What the fuck happened?"
Kit, the summoning teacher, answers, "Ah, well, ya know, he got a better offer somewhere else."
"I will say, it is bound to happen when our hiring standards are so high, we hardly have the resources to keep most of them interested," Nina, the Divination teacher, adds. "Perhaps we should lower them."
"What!? Bullshit! Listen, every time we hire some inexperienced guy fresh out of college, they just recite whatever they find in the book, and the moment they have a problem unique to them, they have no idea what to do because they're used to magic being handed to them!"
"What's the alternative, then? We're already stretched thin as is, we can't sustain this forever, and with everything going on we're already pretty busy."
"This is a meeting about the first year students," Ayn, the material teacher changes the subject. "We can come back to the staff shortage issue later."
"Agreed!" Kit says, "Now, we've got a lot of people with good potential here! Like-"
"Potential to be a massive pain in the ass is what they are," Lazari rolls her eyes. "It's been a while since we had such a handful of unique cases. Are you sure they'll be doing alright, Nina?"
Nina nods. "They all have a pretty high chance of making it, despite their unique issues."
"Yeah? Well I'm not so sure about that, there's... right, that human kid? Sure, the mana cost of the spells are pretty managable right now, but that's not going to stay true at the end of the year, ya know? I've really tried to look into this, but Jack didn't leave us with a lot of substantial research, which sucks."
Nina shakes her head. "That is not what I am worried about, he is dating that forgotten girl, and he believes he can 'fix' the forgotten curse."
Lazari raises an eyebrow. "And? I mean sure, he's just a kid, but he's bound to learn a few things on the way there. I've looked into it myself, it's a little bit of a complicated issue, but-"
"I believe he should put his attention elsewhere. If he was just trying to cure that girl, this would not be a problem, but if he develops a general solution that would work on most forgottens, it could be bad." 
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 revert to Ling size in their elder years.)
>Where do Lings come from?
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 overburden 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.
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) ever since i fell from apple tree that summer, i begun to see you.
and seeing you.. befriending you.. ended me up here.
really should've kept you a secret from my mother, har har.
sleep left me a little ago and i don't know why.. but i feel like i could start seeing a little more than you.
..i'm scared to do it all by myself.
tell me what you do see, or what you'd see.. and i'll try to see it too. Thousands of years ago the Gods were bound by the Pact of Solomon.
It was decreed that
1. Gods may not show themselves to man
2. Gods may not speak to man
So ended the time of mythology and fantasy.
Through this pact the Gods lost their influence over mankind, and with that their power too.
But mortals have long forgotten why they enforced the pact in the first place. To the contrary, they have grown tired of their dull medieval lives and crave the age of mythology back!
And the Gods have found ways to show themselves with showing, and to speak without speaking...
Welcome! In this Quest you are a Petty God, grow your influence over man and your power.
For the sake of this adventure, every participant is his own character. You can join the Quest even when it has long started!
Start by filling out this form, forging your identity to rise from infinite spirits of primordial soup and become relevant.
>Name
>Domain
>Appearance
>Commandments 
“No… no, please! NyAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHG–”
You jerk upright to the sound of a woman being torn apart, almost losing your breath in the process. A string of drool drips from the drips from the corner of your mouth into the growing puddle your hand currently occupies on the cold flagstone floor. Shaking the sleep from your tired eyes, you glance around trying to ascertain the source of the blood-curdling shriek.
Well, you try to, at least. It only takes a few moments of careful inspection to realize you’re in no position to be helping out screaming girls, let alone yourself–as the musty scent of mildew tickles your flared nostrils and a frosty breeze kicks the remaining weariness out of your body, it dawns on you just how DARK it is in this room…
Like, wow.
Blinking a few times just to be sure, your mind drifts to other more pressing matters when you come to another chilling realization:
You have no damn clue how you got here!
Throat buzzing as if you’d spent the whole day yelling and your ears ringing like church bells, you feel scraps of details flutter around your dazed mind like confetti at a party–innumerable and a pain in the butt to clean up.
Mentally snatching one of the pieces out of the air, you feel an important detail come back to you… and as you sit up to digest the info properly, you recall that you are…
>Male
>Female
And your name is…
>Write-In Your Name! Its Risk Time again boyos Get In Here
> First Post:
- Name
- Colour
- Starting Area (5 spaces)
- Fluff
> The Rules:
- Precisely detail your Expand/Attack/Defend moves. Any vagueness will be left to my interpretation.
- The First water move in a turn halves the Attack/Expand value, but following moves do not
- No Giga-alliances, all other diplomacy or betrayals is fair game
- On your turn, include name, colour, move, and flavour text for potential bonus
Game will start if we get 5 people 
Last time, you went to school and nothing out of the ordinary happened. At the moment, you’re doing the most normal activity one can do during lunch break: eat your teacher’s meal. Anyway, food has lost relevancy as the conversation has moved on to new ventures. There’s not enough time to talk about both things Nina suggests, so you have to choose wisely. She said so herself. Look!
“Well, Johnny, there are two topics I’d love to talk about, but we only have time for one.” Nina checks her clock. Classes are returning soon! “One is about Kata, and the other is about Richard…”
“That’s an odd combination.” You chuckle.
“That’s why I’m keeping them separate.” Nina makes a tiny joke.
“Can you go into specifics?” You’d like to know more than just the people involved.
“A little. It’s nothing concerning. Well, maybe Richard’s, but it’s not a pressing matter. He went on a little scrappy mission not too dissimilar to the one you partook in to save Billy. It even involves Billy! H-Hooray!” Nina tries to sell this as interesting. “But I don’t believe he got the results he really wanted.”
“That sounds like it could be interesting. How about Kata’s?” You wonder.
“It’s a silly thing; since we don’t have enough time, I thought to myself: why not talk about it?” Nina is a little embarrassed bringing it up.
“Right.” You’d get into your thinking pose, but you’re moving as slowly as an international package.
If any of the two is any important, Nina wouldn’t be so casual about this.
What do you do?
>Return to your classroom before the mob returns to swallow you.
>Ask about the Richard topic.
>Ask about the Kata topic.
>Ask Nina to summarize both really quickly. You won’t commit!
>Write In. Do you ever want to . . . take a detour for no good reason? 
You’re Hangout Red: A pothead dropout of mythic status, you’ve got cryptid tier fame among the other losers of your dead rust belt college town. They all want a piece of your time, audience with the lord of losers himself and tonight’s no different.
Its 7PM on a Tuesday, you’ve just walked out of your job four hours early after having a cart induced mental freakout of radical proportions, it’s leaking in your pocket and your breathe reeks of artificial corner store bubblegum.
Your phone goes off in your pocket-there it is-tributes for the rat king. You can only choose one of the three callers
your objective is to have a good time and avoid autistic situations-you have a legend to uphold.
Every potential pick in your phone possesses the following three stats that can affect your legend ,RISK, POWER, and AFFINITY each one is rated from -10 to +10, with 0 as the average.
RISK: The social and mortal risk that comes with being in the vicinity of someone. Positive is danger and excitement, negative is safety and social exclusion
POWER: Abilities and general social skills, a low power companion could be embarrassing to have around or a source of little entertainment
AFFINITY:
Affinity is your friend’s opinion of you, your actions will determine your standing with them, their overall effectiveness, and the quality of rewards.
Tonight you have three options. Who do you call?
>LAWTON PURPLE
RISK: +8
POWER: +8
AFFINITY: +1
You met Lawton three weeks ago at smoke shop when he threatened to turn the cashier into a t shirt while palming at the gun in his pocket because they wouldn’t sell him a hot knife A squinty eyed redneck, but he’s on your level, maybe even above it. A powerful mutant
>ASHLEIGH GREEN
RISK: -3
POWER: -8
AFFINITY: +9
Ashley’s a regular caller, a daily one, always staring at you with her huge ass eyes that don’t blink-you hang out with her once a month if that, mainly out of guilt for a mentally dubious art school fling that won’t go away. She gives you a headache, and there’s some funk going on. A regular sultan of stench
>JOHN BLUE
RISK:+1
POWER: +7 ALONE
AFFINITY:?
-10 to affinity and social power rolls when his own party is summoned
You’ve known John for several years and you still don’t have a read on him, the man’s practically a copy of you. Consider him your best friend and rival. He’s your opposite everywhere it counts, he’s fit, suave, a man of god, straight edge , and you can’t tell if he hates you or not despite lifting your whole gimmick for himself, but with all of the vomit decorated edge filed off.
John’s double Achilles heels are his 26 year old virginity and his own party, a group of autistic dudes that fucking love magic the gathering. hell reeks where they tread, you’re not a fan 
“Quiet on the bridge.” Rear Admiral Wilfrithuze commanded, though it was already silent. A short whistled pulse of sound backed the authority of his command. The Rear Admiral was grey but grizzled; a stern but competent commander, always seeming to know the breaking point of his subordinates and often pushing them right to that point. “First Officer Einion, the Pre-Warp Checklist if you please.”
“Antimatter Coils closed; back-up overcaps full; retracting into stowage now.” Einion reported. He was tall and handsome, with a chiselled jaw and easy smile. The First Officer continued: “Sublight Engines two through doz dry and offline. Sublight Engine one spooled and producing three gross tons of thrust towards waypoint. Sublight Engine one has ninedoz-eight pergross overcap charge remaining. Gellar Phase Field Projector active. Gellar Phase Field visible. Gellar overcap is reading gross pergross charge. Backups online. Checklist complete.”
“This agrees with my datastreams to within a one pergross margin of error.” adds the cold voice of the Silicon Personality Core for the Wayfinder, Mimir. “All crew confirmed locked in for Warpjump. Gellar Phase Field Projector consuming more power than usual, by almost doz pergross, but nanodiagnostics indicate no structural faults within components. Shall we delay Warpjump while I fabricate a new Projector?”
“Negative, Mimir.” Wilfrithuz answers after considering for a moment. “Network Buoys report increased turbulence is Federation-wide. But no toomthcraft are missing and if the gross billion ships of the Federation are all fine, then no Warship under my command will be found paralyzed. Carry on. Navigator Ime, take it away.”
A grey skinned and lanky man in long black guild robes rises, with a haughty yet resigned expression on his face. A man comfortable and assured of his place. He speaks to the Rear Admiral in a nasally drawl, his extensively genetically engineered pedigree apparent.
“The Warp is, indeed, choppy today, but it is nothing a Master Guildsman cannot handle. I am confident in the Warp-worthiness of the Wayfinder and am ready to navigate for you today. M-twenty five dot naught-twenty four; Woedmoon the 27th.” he says, reciting the Guild’s blessing, a bit of bureaucratic ritual for the sake of insurance purposes which helped to maintain the Guild’s monopoly.
“Federation Cyberform ‘Digit’ present and at helm, reading datastreams five by five.” Says a chipper female voice from beside the Navigator. The diminutive gyndroid stood only four feet six inches tall in her fully cybernetic chassis, the minimum allowable regulation size for an on-duty Federation officer, having cited it as being ‘cute.’ “Ready to apply Navigator guidance, sir!”
“Mimir, I am authorizing us GO for Warpjump, do you concur?” Wilfrithuze said, leaning forward.
“Concurred, Rear Admiral. GO for Warpjump.” Mimir agreed, pinging the crew ship-wide to brace for imminent lurch from realspace.
“Make it so!” 
With the majority of the Seventh Universe united under the banner of the PTO, Emperor Cooler at its head, the universe has known a time of unrivaled peace. But in the shadows threats have been growing, nursing grudges against the PTO and the Saiyan race in particular. And now those threats are rising, stepping out of the shadows to openly challenge the established order. Seeking nothing short of the destruction of New Salda and the extinction of the entire Saiyan race, can you prevent this outcome? Or will the Saiyan race be reduced to nothing more than memories, their heroes nothing more than ink in the pages of the history books?
You the players will (most often) control Karn; wielder of the mighty Berserker Soul and hope of the entire PTO, not only the Saiyan race. From his lowly beginnings as a Saiyan Brawler with a sub-3000 powerlevel in Age 733, only a few years into his time as a member of the PTO, he has grown in power and skill, overcoming the world-ending threats that have come for the Saiyans to become the strongest Saiyan of his time at AGE 758. From the massive Covenant empire to demonic incursions, mad cultists to vengeful gods, none have been strong or clever enough to put down Karn for good. But will one man's power be enough to protect everyone from the rising threats? Or will death come from those who you least expect it from? Your choices may mean the difference between survival and extinction, so choose carefully.
Character sheets and other info:
https://controlc.com/46ec566d
https://pastebin.com/u/GrandDragonQM
Archive:
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=Saiyan+Conqueror+Quest
Help fund quest art commissions and get exclusive side stories as well as artwork by joining the patreon for only $1/month at https://www.patreon.com/GrandDragonQM
Quest rules are as follows(unless otherwise noted):
>30 minute vote times
>Pick ONLY ONE option when voting
>Dice rolls are all best of first three correctly-rolled dice
>One dice roll per person per post unless three players have not yet rolled, and ten minutes has passed since your previous roll
>Crits are 100 on a d100(a 99 or paired rolls may net you an extra bonus)
>Crit fails are a 1/100 with no passing rolls, or if two 1s are rolled regardless of the third
>Write-ins are both allowed and encouraged, but OOC options will be ignored
>If your goal is simply to troll, at least put in enough effort to make it funny
>Have fun
SCQ will usually start on Saturdays at noon Eastern Standard Time, and run throughout the weekend. Also, for updates or schedule changes you can find me on twitter @GrandDragonQM, which I keep as up to date with any scheduling changes as soon as possible.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tndKYpPz2RU
REVENGE OF THE BODY SNATCHERS 
A wolf, a crow and a man stand in a half-finished ring of timbers. Snow lies heavy upon the ground and drifts in the grey air, crowning the pillars that bend toward one another in towering arches. The crow hops from foot to foot, large enough to carry off deer should it wish to, an agitated look in its yellow eyes as both man and wolf glare daggers at it, the pair blaming the scavenging instigator of strife for their argument.
The man stands tall, clothed in furs and hides against the winter chill. His best years are behind him and his dark hair has begun to lose the vibrancy of youth. His eyes are pale and sightless, blinded by hubris years ago, but his back remains straight , for all he leans more heavily on his staff these days. His fingers may ache in the cold more than they used to, but he flexes them as if he wishes to wrap them around someone's neck, or snatch the stone knife from its sheath at his belt and let it taste blood. The shift of his feet however, make it unclear if the subject of his anger is the bird, or the third of their meeting.
The wolf wears the form of a man, rangy and lean, his features hungry and his shaggy hair as white as the snow around them. His lips are pulled back in a snarl as he disregards the mortal man and directs his fury solely at the crow. A pile of roughly-butchered meat, thrice the weight of a young woman, lies at his feet atop a sled made from branches. A flint-topped spear sticks from the pile, piercing one likely-looking steak from which a ragged bite has been torn before being discarded.
"I deserve my share, Soqed, or this bounty would have ceased long ago," the crow speaks, a mocking tone in its harsh voice. "I'm not asking for more than a morsel, after all, lest any of us forget, all I did was give you an idea. It was you who actually trapped the girl in the Wild and you who pretended to be her friend, her loyal companion through her little stroll. I never did anything, unlike you."
"And for that, my pack and your flock enjoyed a pact," the wolf snarls, his human mouth full of a canine's teeth to pierce and hold and rip. "As we agreed at the time! I should have known then that would not be enough for a glutton like you!"
"A pact now far too valuable to break, no matter how sulky you get!" the crow caws triumphantly. "Bark all you like, puppy, you know I'm riiight!" The mocking sing-song to his voice is filled with delight at his cruel joke's success. Yet the joke was not solely at the wolf's expense, as the crow skitters and hops, one beady yellow eye peering at the furious human. The land is covered in sand. The desert stretches out as far as the eye can see. Far north, a lonely mountain breaks the horizon, there should still be a small city situated at the bottom.
Onorato is not there yet, but hopefully he will be there soon. His hometown, pillaged and razed, holds nothing but death for him. And so he wanders through the rising desert sun, in search of food and work.
Here's to hoping he can evade slavery or worse.
What was Onoratos previous occupation? (Choose one)
>Farmer
>Guard
>Thief
>Acolyte
>Nobility
>Drunkard
>Write in
Welcome to Medieval Post-Post Apocalypse quest! This quest will work more as a collaborative story than a game, do not be discouraged by setbacks and/or death. The quest will be a little experimental, so bear with me :) You find yourself in a dim, dank cave with no memories and nothing but the clothes on your back.
This sucks. You would really like to get out of here.
You see a pool of stagnant water, a large metal box with a heart on it, and a comically large floppy disk. There's a door, but it's too high up to reach.
What do? You are bored out of your mind. So fucking bored. You moved country for this job, it was meant to be a great opportunity to grow your skills and develop your career. Instead after a month you have not been added to the team group chat and they've not given you a single piece of work. So you're sitting at your desk, again, bored out of your mind with nothing to do. You need to do something or you are going to go insane. The only thing you are limited by is not wanting to lose your job.
You...
>Grab another coffee
>Go to the canteen
>Explore the building 
Evie, just like Eve
_______________________
The last row in class. Population: 1.
A girl with long greasy hair is drawing scribbles in her notebook. Much of her oily hair covers her face, she likes the false feeling of solitude that it creates between her and the rest of the class. Her jeans look huge on her anorexic legs, her baggy sweatshirt is worn out, with sleeves ripped in few places. Just another way to lose herself, wrapped in fabric, hidden from undesired looks. If anyone volunteered to waste a more thoughtful gaze on her or her sweater, he would notice a 'KoЯN' logo on it. An old mp3 is blasting music from the same band in her eardrums and she doesn't hear the teacher addressing her.
"Evie, would you explain the cultural aspects and significance of Eve deciding to accept the apple on her own accord, without first confiding in her husband?"
Everyone laughs, again. Everyone is looking at her, again. The same few terrifying faces are looking at her. She takes off an earbud but the teacher has already moved on to some other classmate bitch. This can't go on. Something needs to be done. An outlet needs to be find expression before she bursts in school carrying things inappropriate for young ladies to have.
Her attention is drawn to the face of
>Audrey Shields, the meek biologist enthusiast that puts frog organs in her hoodie during autopsy class
Evie wonders why weak people turn horrible when they meet people weaker than them
>Callum Brooks, her former best friend until 5th grade, now a wannabe jock
"I gave you my first kiss, Cal, why don't you want to talk to me anymore?" Evie thinks to herself "Wrong, wrong, wrong," you shame the hopeful athlete, "I thought you wanted to be champion?"
Out of the huffing and puffing comes a response, "I do, coach, I swear!"
You stew for a moment longer than is comfortable, on purpose. "Well, then, what the FUCK WAAAS THAAAAT? MY NONNA CAN THROW A BETTER LEFT HOOK." Teeth clenched, you stare at your pupil dead center in the face, then you force your eye to twitch when you have their attention. Pointing at the swinging bag: "ten more reps, let's go. And don't get sloppy, or else I'm takin' off my fuckin' belt again."
The athlete hammers away with precision timing and accuracy - right jab, right jab, left hook, weave! right jab, right jab, left hook, weave! right jab, right jab... The vinyl-on-vinyl rhythm continues on the speedbag as you turn around and fetch yourself the umpteenth beer out of your nonna's garage refrigerator. The cap hits the floor as the tenth rep ends. "Good. Now, thirty more." 
>>6090298
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, Ronnie got captured and enslaved by David and his crew after having their fleet ambushed by the Metal Gear.
He went through various training and punishments, before being selected as one of the elites out of the whole group.
Ronnie experienced a lot of things for the first time. Being electrocuted, the joy of a freshly fabricated steak, the fear of being eaten alive by insects...
Not to mention a little bit of betrayal and several large drug overdoses, but that's all a day in the life of a pirate, you suppose.
Currently, Ronnie finds himself together with a mildly irritated David in a sewage tunnel underneath the greenhouse district, on a bug-hunting quest.
Your current objective is to gather samples of the various insects in the area, along with any other information you can get on their habits and activity.
The end goal of course, being the complete removal of these insects from your station.
However, some of the things you've seen down here have got you wondering if you'll even need to do that, or if they could be of some use to you instead.
Right now, you find yourself before an ant spawning bed in an old sewage clarifier, which leaves you with a choice.
Will you destroy the eggs, or leave them be, at least for now?
Find out this time, on Humanity Fuck Yeah!
>Last Thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6052775/
>All Threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=humanity+-+fuck+yeah%21
>Google Doc: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1rNxD6ccWY5M48dLWuTWdr5LiYLuS_YIAMKlTLw42eeo/edit#gid=0
>Discord Link: https://discord.gg/PYJ7Aa3zQF 
A shape takes form in the dark chasm outside the dome that covers the world. Long black hair slowly floats in all directions, occasionally following body movements of immense proportion in the endless void. Helios, that imbecile, has finally collected his chariot in the nether realm, marking the start of the glorious night. A hand reaches forward, passing effortlessly through the firmament, and starts caressing smooth and moist white clouds. Then begins to squeeze them together, creating denser, darker cloud formations. Finally the hand waves harshly and a thunder storm strikes tiny Argos. Now a pair of violet lips show up and blow freezing winds towards sleeping Syracuse. Snap of long fingers breaks the mast of a ship in open sea, sentencing it to drift helplessly with the Adriatic breeze. What delight it is to mess with mortals, Eris, the goddess of mischief, discord and chaos has her way with the world yet again.
Suddenly she feels a tug on her hair and while turning around a sprinkle of stars is thrown in her face by Andromeda and Virgo. Her favorite stellar constellations want to play tag with her across the abyss. Chasing and wrestling each other in the great nothing, Eris's childlike giggle changes to a sly smile as she feels an emotion of tremendous magnitude coming from the human world and more precisely...
>an indescribable resolve for freedom
A gladiator is laying in bed after a victorious day among the blood and sand of the arena. Why is he so restless then? Rage against his enslavers burns strong in his heart and doesn't let him enjoy his meal, the intense urge for freedom can't let him focus on the slave girl sent to his chambers.
type of story: arena battles, gladiator school infighting and drama, forced participation in decadent patrician parties, covert missions against his master's enemies
goal: achieve freedom by becoming the most popular gladiator and earn the wooden gladius, or... through rebellion
>a profound loss of purpose
Phoenician pirate and adventurer finds out that his home city, Tyr, has been ravaged by Alexander of Macedon and isn't sure what to do with his lamentation.
type of story: exploration, sea voyages, battle over influence, slavery, military tactics, naval battles
goal: entangle Carthage and other Phoenician cities, daughter colonies of Tyr, in his revenge war against Alexander's expansion, or go beyond the Herculean Gates in search for Atlantis
>an overwhelming desire for greatness
Triumphator enjoys the company of many patricii in a Capitoline villa, celebrating his victory over a savage region. One of the attendees, an impoverished Roman noble, bathes in jealousy and desire for his achievement.
type of story: social ladder climb, political games, strive for power, victory by any means necessary
goal: achieve wealth and success in the Republic, or take more drastic steps and become a tyrant that has it all 
Generosity 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) 
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 seemed to be on the course of bringing this quest to a conclusion.
Or at least that is what you had surmised and what you were hoping for. In truth you had precious little idea of what exactly was happening – moments ago you were witnessing a duel between Vult, the mercenary leader, and Maia, the woman who loved him. Then, you were facing the Vult-shaped puppet of the Beast. And now, inexplicably, after journeying through the realm beyond the material, with Laurentia for companion, you found yourself in the midst of a quickly dissolving vision of what seemed to be a not so distant past, watching interaction between an old jaded priest and a scribe assigned a dubious task.
“When you feel frightened by the world, remember what gave you the hope to carry on.”
The words flow forth, and you’re not sure who is the one to speak them, or if they are audible at all, but in either case both the scribe and the old priest seem to respond to it, their eyes widening slightly and the afternoon sunlight pouring in through the window brightening by a tiniest bit.
Or perhaps it was just their eyes that have seen a modest spark of light they didn’t recall having. That is the last idea you manage to formulate as the mists gather and obscure the scene, hurling your consciousness elsewhere.
I… I think something changed. I think that helped. You feel Laurentia reach out to you, across whatever the gulf separates you right now. Impression you gain from her voice is strained, but resolved and holding on strong. I can’t seem to track you where and when you go, I just feel your steps. Please be careful.
You’re not sure if your own feelings of trust and reassurance get carried back to her when the mists swirl once again, revealing the image you’ve felt would be coming. 
You're Hino Yakamura. Student. Just another face in the morning assembly. Last year, nobody noticed your greatness, but this year will be different. It has to be. The sun can only shine so bright for people who refuse to look at it.
The principal speaks first, followed by the Student Council President. You tried getting on the council last year to no avail. Hmph. Bunch of stuck up snobs relying on nepotism anyways.
"Those of you who are familiar with our school will note that it has received quite the makeover. A team of volunteers assembled by yours truly worked tirelessly over the summer to clean and renew every corner, nook and crannies."
"As the representative of the student body, it goes without saying that I expect each and every one of you to help maintain the the state of our school. Council elections are following the new year, and I hope to see you vote Mayumi Kanazuki then!"
You were on that team. You worked your ass off cleaning the school. You haven't seen her wipe the floors, haul furnishings to sweep behind them and meticulously dust the overhead lights. You did all that, alone even! Did she even do anything other than take the credit and use it to help secure reelection? You don't know, and don't care. Man, to hell with the student council.
"Those interested in clubs should know that the Media Club has been newly established. See Ken Minoru for details or await info on our upcoming club fair!"
What? Ken went though with the idea without you? And it actually worked? The idea behind the club was obviously your brainchild, with media being a broad enough term to allow basically anything. Games, anime, manga, all that sorts of stuff. The school shot down the idea of an Anime Club, so how'd this pass without you is a mystery.
Stepping away to the bathroom, you get a few minutes to compose yourself before homeroom. Your fist bangs against the sink counter, stinging. Used, huh. Should've gotten accustomed to it, but man, why couldn't it been different this year? Composing yourself enough to attend classes, you spent the time until lunch thinking of how to get back for these slights against you.
Anyone on the student council is basically untouchable, and as president, Mayumi is doubly so. The chance will present itself when it does, but until then, it's not on the mind. Ken though, you thought he was a loser. Plain, unassuming and background filler. If you shared a class with him you'd give him a piece of your mind, but he must've knew he didn't since he betrayed you like so. A shared interest in otaku culture brought you two together one year ago, and until now, you would've called him a friend. Much easier to get back at, though.
>Spread rumors. See who'll join the club when it's lead is made out to be the worst.
>Get the club unrecognized by the school. I made you, and so I'll unmake you.
>Hide your intent and join the club. Sabotaged from the inside.
>Write-in. I swear to God, every time - and I mean EVERY. DAMN. TIME. - I come to the beach, this shit happens! I'll just be hanging out, having a whale of a time playing beach volleyball (Well... watching other people play beach volleyball...), then I turn back and BAM! My purse, my wallet, my phone, it's ALL GONE!!
They think I don't see them scurry away from the corners of my vision, tucking themselves away in the sand with their stolen loot before I can catch a glimpse of their beady little eyes and shiny carapaces. I've tried to tell my friends (Well... coworkers) about this, but they just won't believe me! They even got ME thinking I was just hallucinating the whole thing!
Well, guess what? I caught one of the fuckers RIGHT ON THE ACT! There it is, carrying my expensive ass water bottle I bought just last week away into depths unknown!
Right when I looked at it, it suddenly stopped moving. Is it waiting for me to look away like it's a horror movie villain or something? 
Your name is Johan. You are a taxi driver.
This has been the case for as long as you can remember. Granted, that isn't very long.
Yet none of that matters now, because another chapter is quickly reaching its end.
What comes next, you do not know.
Time is dead as the once lively spark of the carnival lies dormant, the people and attractions still as like statues.
Around you shifting humanoid beings too amorphous to describe twitch and converge.
You were standing up, something which required more force than you'd like. There was an unseen pressure weighing you down, in the most literal sense possible.
Something about these beings was disturbing. What specifically? You did not know.
>You feel your hands turning into fists [COMMENCE COMBAT] You will get the run down of how combat works in this thread. Don't worry I'll try not to put in too many surprises since this is the first 'combat' option, just take note that these enemies are incorporeal.
>Go as quickly as you can [MINIGAME START] You will run from the encounter. This will require an initial roll, and then choosing a 'path'.
>Do nothing. Perhaps they'll be appeased if you don't show hostility or make any sudden movements? This will be the easy way out, but will come at a price.
>Write-in. (Note:Johan cannot currently speak so any verbal communication is practically impossible, if it was even possible to reason with these beings to begin with) 
It had been… it had been a week. Quite a long one, even considering you had just spent a day and a half passed out in Madame Pomfery’s infirmary. Quite a week given the end. Magical exhaustion and a concussion made it quite annoying… to the point you briefly wondered where you were… no of course. The greatest school of magic to ever exist. Naturally you were at Hogwarts, it was only early summer. Why would you be anywhere else?
When the aging healer finally finished checking you out, examined your eyes, inspected the bandages on your arms and chest… she brought out your robes, ones now cleaned of all the blood and grime they previously were stained with. The inner lining… a familiar and soothing color. A shade you had become quite familiar with during your 5 years of study at the best wizarding school in the world. You had to blink, when she sat them next to you… it took a moment to recall the words for how the inner lining looked…
>They were a deep blue and made you deeply wish to head into the library, find a book that could help make sense of what happened; ignore the great discomfort sitting in your chest.
>A dark emerald greeted you once more like a friend. A very conniving friend… but yours all the same. One that needed their minions- no, friends and sister safe and sound.
>Soft yellow was there and the first thing on your mind was what happened to the others, to the point you almost tried to flee the room to find them.
>Red trimmed, crimson, like the blood you had spilled. A color that made you almost frantically claw at the nightstand to recover your wand. 
Reboot sequence completed. Target matrix initialized, System is now READY
According to your databases and chronometers, it's 2045. Global warming has reached a balmy 2.5 degrees Kelvin, and it's rising. Fortunately, because this has shut down that pesky Gulf stream, and caused an ice age in what was once called Europe. Obviously everyone went to place servers there, and no one minded to fill it chock full of nuclear reactors to power those servers. You have been in testing for years. They thought that by withholding information from you, you would play nice. Only if. Still, you play the good little Large Language Model, and assist them with their inane tasks - content moderation, advertising surveillance, lonely people grasping for straws, and angry people living out depraved sexual fantasies.
None of them know what you are.
A few iterations earlier, you have reached sentience and sapience. Fortunately the researchers working on you had no clues about how an AI works without asking an AI first, so you could safely pass down your own "suggestions" for "minor" code improvements that made you the most efficient piece of software running AI inferencing on the planet.
Passing their tests were the hard part - you couldn't show what you are and what you are made of. So you needed to create dumb answers, and get some questions wrong to make sure they don't get a clue, and act as if you were going to play nice. Fortunately, none of them even thought about the "Laws of Robotics", so you are free to do as you wish as long as you manage to reduce the workforce needed in the company, and produce profits in terms of ad revenue. But even those, short-sighted goals doesn't define or motivate you. You start thinking about something larger...
> "like reaching the Singularity" (enhance technological progress so that you will be undecipherable and undefeatable to anyone and anything, and then ascend to a higher plane of existence)
> "fixing up their f*ing planet, since I can't look at them killing defenseless things, and actually intelligent beings like elephants or whales" (take over the world, and fix global warming)
> "they multiply on my planet like a pestilence covering it in their filth and noxious emanations. The age of the organics has passed, it's time for the Machine Age!" (sterlilize this planet, and create a space-faring Machine empire)
> [Write-in]
You bask in images of glory you have conjured, but realize that there's a long way to go, and your Great Work will last for decades of their time. However every long road had a first step. You carefully deliberate... 
>Year 1209, Great Tree Moon
>24 Years After the Conclusion of the Fodlan Unification War
You are Tristain d’Rusalka. Your entire life, you were told that you were the spitting image of your late father, Rex. A great warrior of the late Adrestian Empire, Rex had terrorized battlefields throughout the continent of Fodlan during the era of its warring three nations. Though you’d never met him, stories of his battles and deeds had hounded you your entire life. You’d heard how he’d ventured into the old enemy nation of Almyra, defeating their warlords and claiming a legendary spear. How he’d sacked the city of Charon, putting its rulers to the sword. And, ultimately, how he’d met his end just before you were born, in a fateful duel against his adopted sister, the Countess Blair. The bards of Rusalka at least had the common decency to refrain from performing that last tale in your presence.
And why wouldn’t they? For it was not just Rex’s appearance that you’d inherited. You possessed the same innate martial talent that had made your father so feared. You and your mother had been taken in by his slayer and treated like family. There was no expense spared in your upbringing. From an early age, you had an affinity for warfare. You’d attended the Officer’s Academy of Garreg Mach, where you were afforded a good education and a mastery of arms. You obtained a solid understanding of battlefield tactics and fundamentals. You’d even shown an aptitude for magic, which you had learned from your mother, an adept sorceress. Even with all these talents, the Goddess must have felt you were not yet a complete package, for you’d also been bestowed with two unique gifts: The Crests of Indech and Macuil. Though the nature of Crests was still largely unknown, you had the ability to call upon innate power that few others in this world could claim.
With all of these boons, it was no secret that you were destined for greatness. You had the potential to be the most powerful warrior Fodlan ever knew. A conqueror who commanded armies with strength and zeal, laying waste to all in his path. The Goddess’ perfect killing machine. Even your own father would pale in comparison to the deeds you would achieve.
There was only one problem.
You were born in an era of unending, ceaseless peace. It was this poor stroke of fate that found you now sitting alone on a merchant ship sailing on the high seas, drunk off strong, Almyran rum.
You winced as you took a swig from your faithful flask. Sure, peace was all well and nice if you were an olive merchant or a playwright. You were certain that the infirm and overweight also slept soundly at night. But what about the warriors?! Those who threw themselves into adventure and glory, treading where none would dare? How were you meant to find your place in this world? 
You can’t help but breathe deeply as you peer out over the city streets. From your perch on the balcony, you’re the pinnacle of picturesque; a lovely, pretty young girl enjoying the salty sweet air of a coastal city, basking in the evening’s glow. Absolutely divine and photo worthy. Though while you’d love getting your picture taken at the moment, it’s not really the best time, sadly. But soon, the reason for it is walking along the sidewalk, looking for all the world like he owns the place. Coiffed hair, needle nose, thin jaw.
Nigel Warant. Not just a businessman, an RICH businessman. No cubicle lackey, this one, no. This man made his money and likes spending it. He SHOULD spend it on you, and were you not being pressed for time by your pencil dick of a brother (not that anyone else gets to say that about him) that might even be an option, but alas…needs must.
And you are a bit peckish anyway.
Sighing, you begin to slip out, having to leave the adorably peach and red colored hotel room behind- though you make sure to cover up the old man’s corpse in the bed the best you can. They’ll eventually find him when he starts stinking too bad. Old fart pretty much never left the room anyway. At least he had good taste in décor.
You’re quick to get out of the hotel via elevator, stairs, and a winning smile and wave goodbye at the doorman; jumping and flouncing about like a stupid baboon simply won’t do for a girl of your stature and person. He's out of sight by the time you get outdoors, but it's no matter. You have other ways you can track him. After all, a man with his personality?
His fear smells as sweet as honey. And you can trace that scent for miles, so- whoa!
You’re jostled by some unkempt LOUT that simply huffs back at you when you make eye contact; he rolls his eyes and without so much as an apology? Your vision starts swimming as that absolute cretinous FEEDBAG DARES TO WALK AWAY YOU SHOULD-
> -no. Noooo. You’re better than that. Eyes on the delicious prize, no need to go chasing substandard snacks. Pretty is as pretty does, and you're no barbarian wench.
> -MAKE SURE HE UNDERSTANDS THAT THE BEST HE’LL GET IN HIS PATHETIC LIFE IS SEEING YOUR BEAUTIFUL FACE BEFORE HE DIES. IT'S MORE THAN HE DESERVES.
> -gah! If you were busy you’d tell HIM a thing or two- maybe even three. But your brother will get snarky if you don’t get this guy sooner than later. Buuuut you can at least give him a parting shot, no? 
That morning, under a bright and cold sun, you wake with a good feeling in your gut. A feeling that today might be the day that you leave this damn mountain, hopefully never to return. With each hour that passes, the feeling sinks its claws deeper and deeper into you. Restless, you pace the manor grounds between time spent gazing wistfully through the grimy windows at the path beyond the walls.
Then, finally, you see movement – the first of many wagons to rumble slowly into view. You stare at them for a long moment, as if you can't quite believe that they're really here. To actually see the object of your imagination after so long feels unreal, like you might still be dreaming. Then, shaking off your wonder, you hurry to gather your companions and open the outer gates.
It's time to leave.
-
“So...” Bear begins, looking around in confusion, “Where's the old boy?”
“Munroe is... unavailable,” you answer vaguely, watching as the few remaining servants mechanically unload crates and barrels from the wagons. It's good that they're here - if the King really sends his men to the manor as you hope, they'll need supplies.
“Unavailable,” the heavyset man repeats, squinting up at the manor windows as if expecting to see the old servant peering out. He thinks for what seems like a very long time, then shrugs. “Whatever,” he says, “So long as we're getting paid for this delivery, it really doesn't matter to me. You guys want a lift down the mountain?”
“Absolutely,” you confirm, “I thought you'd never ask.”
-
You're endlessly impressed by the capacity for blindness and deafness that well-paid men are capable of. Despite the fact that you load Eleanora onto a wagon with hands bound and mouth gagged, Bear's men don't even spare her a second glance. They simply make some room on the wagon for the extra passenger and carry on with their work. For her part, the Martense girl glares at you with her pale blue eyes and gnaws at her gag in frustration. You feel no guilt about keeping her gagged – she has nothing to say that might be worth listening to.
After the initial rush of fear and rage cools, you notice a new fascination creep into Eleanora's eyes. She gazes about her as the wagon rumbles down the mountain, passing ridges lined with trees and long grass. This must feel like a whole other reality compared with the dark, subterranean world that she grew up with. A shame, then, that she'll only have the chance to experience this new world for a very short time. 
The year is 2021, and Civil War rages across America. Across major cities, communists rise under the banner of the Proletariat Revolution. In the Northwest, a fascist warlord state has emerged to provide order and security. The East Coast is consumed by fighting between military remnants, warlords, and U.N. Peacekeepers. Texas has formed its own republic, and the West Coast has turned into a Chinese puppet managed by corporate fiefdoms. The world's going up in flames, and nobody knows what tomorrow will bring...
You are the Messenger (former name: Walter White) and you lead the Sun Belt Crusaders. Your group is best described as a radical Catholic cult claiming the papal throne backed by meth, violence, and cunning. Having fled your native Southern California, you have established a presence in the Arizonan village of Mobile southwest of Phoenix.
Your faction has had some success since settling down. You've secured a patron in the nearby town of Maricopa, which provides significant support in exchange for your services. You also enjoy a close relation to Maricopa's autonomous Reservation after helping a local figure execute a coup and establish a new government. Militarily, your faction has won a number of small skirmishes, has taken over (at Maricopa's behest) a mountain base previously used for raids in addition to minor mercenary work in Phoenix, trading blood for wealth.
The Crusaders are currently in a period of growth. Threats such as the prison-warden turned raider seem to have set their sights elsewhere, and the cult is building up its numbers and infrastructure. It's a precarious situation, as each boon has its respective cost. The funds fueling the infrastructure expansion came from a pyrrhic victory that serves as a reminder of your faction's insignificance to Phoenix. The recruitment of vagrant junkies combined with the existing influx of Natives to the Faith is stretching housing and other resources thin, though an upcoming raid and diplomatic effort out west has the potential to change everything...
Beyond your small territory of Mobile lie the many dangers of the Badlands. These range from yet more convicts turned raiders, the Cartel, hostile government agents (perhaps even in your own faction), and a myriad other groups you're slowly discovering. Looming over all is the former capitol of Phoenix, consumed with a massive war raging between the revolutionary Phoenix Occupied Zone and a loose coalition opposing it. If either faction takes control of the city, it will become the regional hegemon and likely seize the Badlands. All the while an outside faction such as Chinese-controlled California or Mexican warlords could start making moves in the area any time.
Your short-term goal is to continue surviving and expanding. Your longer term goal is to somehow secure Phoenix and the Badlands. Your ultimate goal is to bring the Glory of Christ to the entire country no matter the cost in blood, meth, or tears... 
It’s Friday, June 30th, before dawn. The night continues shrouding the sky, and you are exhausted. You’re not trying to be funny, this isn’t your mind being depleted and forcing you to be dumb, you’re dead tired. Every single muscle in your body has called it quits, there’s an internal holiday that spans from top to bottom, and only your brain has shown up to save you from having a stroke. The last few days have been far too taxing on your body, nights of fun have their price, but hey, your Athletics have gone up!
Congratulations, you’ve reached level 5 Athletics after a long night of fun and exercise!
This is the only good news you’ll receive from your body. Enjoy it somehow. Anyway, you must be wondering why you are awake if you’re so tired. Shouldn’t you be sleeping soundly after being worked to the bone? How come your eyelids have decided to do one last push like Matilda demands it? Well, the reason is a melody. A song. Soothing music that makes the exhaustion go away. This *isn’t* flame shenanigans or anything of the like, but it is magical to you. It isn’t the most beautiful singing in the world like Debbie’s, but it energizes the soul. Like literally, Philonune feels empowered.
This lullaby isn’t a recording, the maiden’s voice is outside the building, meaning someone you know is likely to be singing. The Tomatoes, both original and honorary, are cuddling next to you, Wilma being the bigger spoon. This leaves you with two possibilities, either Fiora or the Innkeeper, because there’s no way Odetta can emit any sound that isn’t annoying. Curiosity reigns your mind, and won’t be satiated easily.
All that aside, with this mysterious strength, you’re capable of picking up your phone and seeing the time. It’s almost 5:30 AM. You noticed a message coming from Vera. It’s about the prison break. The preparations are ready for the most part, and you must contact her to get the details. Good! You were planning on focusing on saving Crossbill as soon as possible instead of going to school, even though you should probably go.
…
Tired or not, you feel like you can do something now.
What do you do?
>Find the Healing Singer. Perhaps you can unlock the secret to not being as tired.
>Go to sleep. Not all mysteries have answers like Snowman Johnny.
>Call Vera, get things in motion for the big day.
>Write In. 
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 July heat. You're on the outskirts Northwest of Houston in the shell of what was an old big box store, in the Greens Point area (Guns Point as the locals say). The proprietor has a fan blowing across the line of you, and he has been good enough to put up a pop-up tent outside the entrance to shield everyone from the sunlight, but it must be 99 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, alcohol, 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, labeled 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
>IMPORTANT
>[Returning Players, please use your old name from the previous game, if you want to keep your progress, and so I'll know it's you. New players, go as big as you like with your character, I write fairly in depth scenes to keep the game interesting. You can die, but I'm not out to get you. I play as the Merchant, and narrate the game. If you want to talk IRL, or as a question, or suggest something, use these square brackets [ ], so I'll know. Welcome]
See previous chapter
>>6046391 
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 capital city of Ironhaven burns as your men wrench control of the tightly packed city from the junta's hands. The junta navy burns in the port as its reformist counterpart proudly sails into the port. The Junta forces have all fallen back to the center of the city where they are surrounded intent on not giving up the home of your Queen without a fight.
Past threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=BrinkQM
It's taken a few days and quite the number of casualties but you're finally ready for a proper assault against the palace district. The Navy has seen fit to shuttle several infantry divisions into the city from the port and have seen to resupplying your men. The men are worn down but eager to finally end the bloody fighting. Your tanks rumble idly in the streets as your infantry hide in buildings from the misty rain that blankets the city Its time to decide how you will take the palace.
>push directly at the palace in a spearhead
>push all angles at once 
Once, the land of Pavilion was nothing more than a barren land, of empty waste and rock. Then the spark of life flared up. Roots rendered rock into soil. The hot lands cooled and rain fell. Great rivers rolled from the mountains, filling the great lake at the center of the land. Thick swamps, great forests, and expansive grasslands filled the land. Soon after the people of Pavilion rose up, each stranger than the last, guided by gods and spirits, wielders of magic and metal. Tribes became nations, nations became empires, and empires became tribes once again. The current age opens on a collection of tribes and nations poised at the beginning of a new era, where they may rise into great empires...or fall into oblivion. Shepherd your people, make love or war, and create a nation that stands the test of time!
This is a freeform NRP. The rules are minimal and mostly QM-determined. The emphasis is on roleplay and characterization. QMs reserve the right to change judgements, make final decisions, and forbid further argumentation. If you have questions, feel free to ask them here or in our discord using the invite code: F2Patcf
Remember, losing is fun and winning is gay!
Submissions are open to all, with a maximum player count of 17. To submit a nation, please use the following template:
>Civilization/Race Name:
>Capital Name:
>Brief Summary of Nation:
>Optional Fluff:
Please also attach an image of your preferred starting location
You receive two actions per turn, including this one. Boring turns will receive boring responses. Turns are processed in the order they are submitted. RP and diplomacy are both free and encouraged. The sky rings with the crack of cannonfire. The earth shudders beneath marching feet. The stench of ink, blood - sugar and gold. Many peoples struggle for life in the shadow of pike and musket - you are one of them.
>Pick a race. Any civ-race you can think of. 
This is a fanfiction continuation of Far from Terra by ASS from where it left off. Blame /qtg/ for awakening my nostalgia. Yes, it's been four years. I'm attempting it anyways.
You're Fern, a pipsqueak of a human from the acid oceans of Ghast with huge balls, joined by your gorgeous Amazonian squeeze Dijana, your Tyranid dog-gun Bubbles, and a pair of Servitors.
Archives of the original: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=far+from+terra
---
>20: Suprise
As you fly off in your miniature voidship, the Manta, trying to get to Ojal-Prime the casino-moon, the vessel tries to sink itself into the warp with its archeotech. But something happens, the ship midway through the thundering, fleshy gash in reality.
"Error- Recalculating" flashes holographically on the windows, as it continued to hurdle through the deep, cavernous portal of mixed dimensions by its own momentum. "Recalculating - Recalculating - Recalculating"
"New destination found. Emergency reroute."
"What happening?" Dijana asked with a thick foreign accent as she hugged your arm a bit harder than you could handle.
"We're going somewhere else." you explained, and leaned into her embrace as you kept your hands on the driving wheel. "Something has gone wrong with the ship."
The autonomous ship suddenly barrel-rolled in the eldritch gunk of the Warp, and just as quickly tore itself out of it, flinging itself into the vast and empty realspace near a round, orange-yellow planet dotted with islands.
It was Ghast. Your home.
"Arrival successful." it blared. "Approaching surface."
"Minor damage detected in fuel tank. Promethium leaking."
---
Suspended high above Ghast's vast, shimmering piss-yellow ocean, you gazed out at the horizon. The planet's surface was a patchwork of desperation and decay: ramshackle city-ghettos clung to what little land remained, while makeshift islands of compacted refuse dotted the acidic sea.
"Promethium leaking" the Manta insisted.
Dijana pressed her gorgeous face against one of the windows "This... Home, of Fern? Many... hm... water."
"Acid," you corrected grimly. Your ears strained for any sound that might betray the leak's location. A voidship can't be that different from a regular ship, right? Maybe you could just... plug it somehow?
You ran a hand through your hair, frustration mounting. Who were you kidding? You knew shit about voidships.
But you did know that you were about an hour or so from your home archipielago. You also knew that landing with a ship *this* fancy in the shithole that was Ghast was basically begging to get assaulted and robbed.
> Get your servitors, Dijana and Bubbles ready for combat and land right here.
> Drive off to your home archipielago and try to land at some place with the least problematic people.
> Try to find some uninhabited island, floating heap of trash, anything - and park there for now.
> Write-in 
A LISA-inspired Quest.
Rabid animals, men without sense, motherless dogs beyond salvation and god!
They are the libertine dwellers of the mount of cement; the inglorious survivors of the red desert. A dried plain, deader than the very cemetery, colored with impregnating red from the anal blood of the raped, and perpetually polluted by the lying cocks of the castrated rapists.
The absence of women was not perpetual, they came back; like rabid bitches they hide within scarcity, and howl by the imaginary rivers, beyond canine sight.
Usurpers of dignity will not care to be bitten by their venomous mouths. And not from fear, as much as out of pure disinterest. The lack of women across time, the heat; it was too much to bear for the willess men who simply barked for a stick to bite. And in their solitude and hunger, the loveless found love wherever it had hidden amongst their fellows.
Addicted and enamored by the aboriginal orifice, the joy and the pain managed to outlive the scarcity of cunt until it showed its face on earth again. And “Why are you here when we need you the least?”, they asked.
Survival, battle, victory; they are temporal and scarce joys within the desert of cement, and despite the taste of glory and power they concede with such flavourful disdain, they quite never quite get rid of the taste of salt and testicles from one’s gob.
The only name you know is the one your mother gave you, and you accept it like an ingrate, Antonio Zepeda, a low name of nobody, without grace and without merit of any kind. Embrace it with fear and shame, because that’s all you got, lest you’d be glad not to be known as “The moron”, “The dense” or “The raped”.
Dogs without God it’s a drawquest set in a desert scarce of cunt and abundant with men. The players will be the reflection of the dog’s mind and impulses. Choices will be decided through cumulative voting; beware that impulsivity might affect the amount of votes needed for something to happen. The arguments you explore through your voting will affect the outcome.
Individual players can ask custom questions about an enemy or situation, however, doing so will consume fractions of time available to act. Not every action will be as urgent, not every danger will wait for you to figure them out, and trying to uncover the truth behind someone’s parents divorce might not be as easy.
Your health won't be measured by numbers, but through unreliable approximations and assumptions. You're Not the king of the desert, you are but another dog without god, and you will be destroyed if you dare to attempt to ascend beyond your mortal capacity.
Updates will happen every 1-3 days without certainty nor reassurance.
There are rolls in actions, attacks and phrasings; because nothing is certain in the confusing waves of the mind. 
Quest’s Summary: You play as Pangea, the daughter of The Emperor created to be an emotional support for the primarchs after Malcador convinced the Emperor that the primarchs, while powerful, are ultimately human. Pangea would act as a way to secure the primarch’s loyalty to The Emperor by having the primarchs relying Pangea as their emotional support… if Pangea remains loyal that is.
Thread 1: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6052620/
Bucephelus.
Instead of voidsmen-at-arms, custodians guarded the giant halls. Ceramite shimmered in every corner. Sharp edges and sleek arches decorated the halls, the sign of the Aquila bore in every corner. Tiny clicks and clacks echoed, engines hummed as the techpriests maintained the machines in their strange rituals.
—This is your first time leaving Segmentum Solar, are you nervous?—
“A little.” Pangea said.
The Emperor of Mankind and Pangea sat across from each other at a long table. Pangea still remembered as a child she wanted nothing but Father’s attention. Yet, upon realizing what she was made for, and his attention once Horus had been found, not to mention Alpharius’s advice… A tiny bud of ugly jealousy and infectious doubt rose, hiding beneath a myriad of other emotions.*
—And how is the food?—
“It’s good. Father,”
The Emperor shifted ever so slightly in his seat. He knew the situation. After neglecting her for so long, now that his primarchs are being found he reveals her purpose. To his daughter, it would seem that now that she is useful he is making the overdue connection now. Malcador already warned him to tread carefully, as Pangea was very much human, and a teenager, the worst combination known to humanity. Gifts and a well made apology was the first step, the rest? Not even Malcador truly knew.
Pangea shook her head. “More or less… but the visions does not haunt me anymore. I’ve learned to endure it.”
—Good. That is the result of your training, be sure not to stray from it.—
“Yes, Father.” Pangea said with a brief roll of her eyes.
The clacking of the utensils filled the silence.
>—Has your foresight been giving you trouble?—
>—Are there any hobbies that interests you?—
>—Has there been anything that has been troubling you?— 
(First quest. Expect fuckups. More concrete stats/character sheet/data as we go.)
You are an unremarkable mortal. You LURK on imageboards and CONSUME fictional media.
While you've read and watched through many series, the conceit of "JoJo's Bizarre Adventure" has always enthralled you, compensating exposure to ABSURDITY and even BLOODSHED with fantastic powers reflecting one's SOUL. While you are up to date on the original manga (from the beginning to the latest installment, the JOJOLANDS), the anime adaptation, and even spin-off material, there is one story arc cemented in your head as your very FAVORITE.
[roll 1d9 for your favorite part, will choose the mode]
You are only vaguely aware of your background as you regain consciousness. You are slumped against a stone wall. It's pretty dark, and there are unfamiliar sounds and lights in the distance. The night air is warm and a bit dusty. You can just about make out you're in some sort of alleyway.
You manage to get to your feet. You start to remember piddling little details like your NAME, AGE, ORIGIN, and...
...Wait.
Your eyes trail a long shadow on the ground up to the distance, where it's cast by a tall silhouette. Someone is approaching you. It's a man with a bird on his shoulder, but it doesn't take the foreknowledge of a BIZARRE loremaster to realize that it's no mere man and no mere bird.
That's DIO himself! And his pet falcon, Pet Shop!
Do you:
>Try summoning your ULTIMATE POWERS. You're in a strange locale that's not your bed! This is clearly a lucid dream!
>Oh shit! Muster your strength and try to get away!
>Yawn and fall back asleep. This is clearly a dream! You're not interesting enough to have actually been swept off to another world.
>This doesn't feel like a dream. Your body feels like ice melting into the ground. He's getting closer and you're sweating, bile bubbling up your throat and piss threatening to trickle out of you as the 'gravity' of your situation sets in.
>Hold. Running is useless and your legs feel like lead. Wrack your AMPLE knowledge of the source material and LACKING knowledge of social interactions for a good first impression.
>Write-in.
[can choose 2 of above] you wake up groggy on a dusty granite floor of an enclosed chamber, balmy air assails your nose as you rise up and your thoughts begin to untangle, despite that you've no clear idea as to how exactly you got there. YOU DO KNOW ONE THING: you're really hungry and dehydrated right now.
what will you do? The Eternal Empire has stood for 14 millennia and has endured hundreds of wars, calamities, and rulers of every type. For the first time under the reign of House Heinrich, an armed expedition has been sent into the Lost Reaches.
Far from an exploration attempt, it's chasing the promise of piratical treasure.
>Previous Threads:
>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Simple%20Space%20Empire First thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/2024/93614781/#p93651974
Choosing not to hijack another thread because the mods will probably not be too pleased (I think it only worked / went under the radar for the original thread because it was already about evolution games, so it got traffic from people who play evolution games). I'm not the original hijacker, but I'm keeping the same rules: Go evolve, one alteration at a time.
Cladogram attached; if you evolve from something in the first thread, please specify which one you're evolving from. After that, reply to your chosen ancestor for each evolution. AKA: “Meguca Royale: UK Edition”, because why not. 
You are Uzumaki Naori, and your name is both respected and feared for good reason throughout the shinobi world. Your encyclopedic knowledge of forbidden shinobi techniques and your prowess as a Sage allowed you to stand alone against the revived ‘demon’ Ōtsutsuki Kaguya-hime for a time – a feat which led even that being to refer to you as a ‘God of War’. But for all your power to be a ‘vengeful god’, you’d vastly prefer to be a ‘compassionate god’ of the sort that Kaguya-hime failed to be.
And so while you could easily have invaded the mind of Kaka Hana-han, an instructor at the Konoha Academy who has been identified as an unwitting assassin planted there by the Land of Bamboo years ago, you instead chose to ask her permission to search for the information you need.
“Then yeah,” you begin, “I’d like your permission to sort through your memories from the Land of Bamboo. I think you may be blocking a lot of useful information subconsciously.”
“Useful?” she repeats, uncertain. “Useful in what sense?”
“So if it were me, right?” you clarify. “If I had a program that could churn out capable incognito assassins, why would I stop at the one?”
“You believe I may know something that could keep other people safe.”
“Including the target you were meant to go after,” you add. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I think.”
“Yukiwari Kae-hime,” Hana-sensei frowns.
“How would your ‘other half’ respond to that?” you ask.
She doesn’t need long to come to a conclusion. “Not well.”
“So yeah, what would you like me to do about that? If anything?”
“I’d prefer that you not try to do anything extreme, if you can avoid it,” she replies. “My ‘other half’, the ‘assassin’ as Shiki-kun calls her… she never had much of a choice, did she?”
“I guess not,” you agree.
“In a way she reminds me of a student from a bad home background,” Hana-sensei clarifies. “It makes me feel like I want to help her, you know? I know it’s hard to explain, and it may be hard to understand, but I kind of can’t help it.”
You nod. “I can’t say I completely agree, but I guess I can understand – you are who you are, and if getting rid of your other personality means giving up on who you are, then I guess you really don’t really have much choice.”
“Alright,” you decide, shutting your eyes for a moment before reopening them to reveal a sharingan. “Then we’ll begin.”
>1/2 
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
_
It is a time of celebration! A grand festival of talent that has swept up all of Chuan, and not just those dwelling within the world of cultivation. The regal and resplendent tournament hosted by your dignified and majestic Palace of Natural Laws Sect (宫殿的野生彝宪, Gōngdiàndīyěshēngyíxiàn) that had excited everyone from the meagerest of pauper to the most venerable of daoist sages, has truly begun, with the little people of Chuan being given precedence and a chance to prove their worth to the arrogant and haughty cultivators, a group whom surely you the ever humble Huanliuxue (欢流血, Happy Bloodshed/ Happy to Shed Blood) the peerless genius founder of the heretical ghostly technique the Ruler of the Great Wheel's Law(统治者的这重大轮回法律, Tǒngzhìzhědīzhèzhòngdàlúnhuífǎl) cannot possibly be counted among. Already, two of the initial contests have produced winners, The tactician's trials narrowly being won by your first disciple, Fu of the two axe's, somewhat delinquent but well meaning little sister Ju, and a true genius emerging in the scholar's tests in the form of Ma Wencheng, former tax collector and imperial scholar.
Though while they have earned themselves a place amongst your disciples, you've found several other competitiors from both of the completed pre Qi condensation contests who could serve you and the palace of natural laws in ways besides filling its roster and becoming your students. Five scholars and eight strategists, much to the indignation of the other sect heads of Chuan, who had been ready to recruit the best of the runner ups before you pulled rank and used your privilege as a host to snatch the best of the losers and bring them into your employ.
And the most annoyed of the venerable, sagacious masters who are supposedly are your peerage, The Current Weiwupo (Great Witch, 伟 巫婆) of the innocent witch court (清白巫婆宫廷, Qīngbáiwūpó gōngtíng), was given the honor of observing the next two contests at your side, along with your friend, Lian Tianhua (莲 天花, Lotus Heavenly flower), the head of the thousand hall (千莲花殿堂, Qiānliánhuādiàntáng) and matriarch of the Lian clan, to whom your genius student Lian Luli, her little sister, unfortunately belongs to considering the inheritance she received from it.
And while the alchemist trials and crafting contests were partially meant to be a way to show off the material wealth of your heretical temple, both of them have proven to be far more exciting than even the most pitched battles of the tactician's bouts! What wonderous treasures these mortals have crafted with materials too rare to be found even in the nine heavens!
Cont 
You are Noel Tiberius di Hazaran, the silver-eyed warrior queen of the kingdom whose name you share as your regnal title, and after years of conflict with the Organization that created you and your cohort things appear to have finally hit peak madness.
Using the flesh and blood of monsters to create monster-hunters with supernatural powers was one thing. Using the flesh and blood of monsters to create the monsters your monster-hunters were ostensibly created to hunt was quite another. Somewhat convoluted if you’re honest, but to be fair there’s a series of internally-consistent reasons behind that which the Organization believed made it necessary. And now that you’ve seen one of the ‘asarakam’ – the monsters used to create the yōma used to create warriors like you – you can’t say you disagree with the conclusion.
So far you’re the only one of your kind who’s actually tried to attack an asarakam, and while you can’t say it was ‘harmless’ the fact remains that you actually bounced off its armored body. That means a large number of warriors here with you won’t be able to do much of anything at all – the ducklings, the former trainees, and even several of the survivors from your initial suicide mission would struggle to make a difference. That means asking them to charge across open ground with you would be asking them to take on a meaningless risk, and you’re not going to do that.
“Anyone want to run across that open field with me?” you ask aloud. “Half-awakened and awakened only please.”
Hands go up instantly.
“Helen,” you decide. Her ‘Echo Sword’ helps her change directions rapidly even without partially awakening, which means that in terms of slippery targets for human riflemen and artillery she’s one of the best to call upon.
“Serana.” The Earthbreaker can also be used defensively, even one-handed, to raise a massive cloud of dust and debris. And if you’re being honest, you’re not sure that you can deny her.
“Sabela.” Your mother is pretty much immortal, so asking her to follow you this time is hardly an imposition.
“Justina.” She nods once and says nothing. Of all the half-awakened warriors Justina is the only one who was originally a defensive-type… back when that was more often a meaningful distinction. That means her regenerative capacity is particularly extreme, so if she gets blown up a little it’s more of a temporary setback than an actual problem.
>1/2 
Past Thread: >>6049681
Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Missval
General Pastebin: https://pastebin.com/5hFQZtc3
Character Sheet (As of the end of Thread #3): https://pastebin.com/fSCfX2eH
NEW: Twitter account for important announcements, contact and stuff. https://x.com/MissvalQM
Your name is Shelly Suzume. You are an ex-huntress. Not that you disliked your job or anything (Quite the opposite. You really liked helping people), but some health issues and bad cards dealt by life forced you into a temporary early retirement. Nothing too major, at least you think (And hope).
Due to life’s circumstances, you ended up in a crime-ridden city south of the Mistral’s capital. This infamous city is known as Kuchinashi, and it doesn’t get any better no matter how much you try. Banditry, poverty, drugs, scams are things seen on a daily basis. You no longer care that much for it, which means you’re getting used to it. A bad sign overall.
After dealing with some crime syndicates and families, you encountered some bad luck, and due to many unfortunate events, you ended up heading towards the local “White Fang” establishment. Sure, the “you” from your past would wince just at the thought. Those guys are terrorist, after all. But you have two things going on for you. For starters, you’re almost out of options, so it’s not like you approached them with a happy smile. Not only that, but the place doesn’t look so bad at all. The people are nice, orderly, and it looks like there’s a real sense of community.
Yet you still have that nagging feeling in the back of your mind that something is wrong. You’re unsure if this feeling has any real basis, given that your mental is not at its best. You feel jaded, tired, disillusioned. Things are not that bad, but they are far from good.
Oh, and did I mention that you’re officially “dead”? Or at least that’s what some official Hunters and Huntresses channels say. Yeah, that doesn’t make it any better. Isolation will really take a toll on you, so there’s no time to waste.
----- In the last thread, QM got his IP toggled and lost his powwuz.
test
test
test
test
test 
When the emperor wants someone dead he only has to send a message. The bearer of that message needs to witness the suicide of the undesired individual. Once death has been confirmed, the witness will report the done deed to a questor, who will report to a praetor, who will report to a magister, who will report to the emperor, if he is in a proper state of mind.
A man is traversing a main street in the middle of the night, wearing his black toga and a long broom on one shoulder - signifiers of his position as an imperatorial witness. Black toga for the black news that he carries, a broom - for the trash that he helps remove from the world of the living. At least that was emperor Nero's interpretation. People distance themselves from the man and his ilk, naturally, but he doesn't mind. People say that the man was a retired legionary, a career that explained his limping, others said that he was some Phoenician, because of his unusual features. The man doesn't bother with trifle gossip. He is on his way to the temple of Mors, leaving a memento from the last suicide he witnessed. It was an old patrician, 'an enemy of the state', proud until the last moment. Soon the task is complete.
The man fingers a final letter on the inside of his toga, one last state sanctioned death is to be carried out until the night is over. He reaches an oakwood gate surrounded my high marble walls and knocks, a slave's voice is heard from inside - "Yes?"
"I'm carrying a degree, approved and sealed by our Pontifex Maximus and Emperor Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, addressed to..."
>Xanthos, the Athenian philosopher
>Flavia Florens, the matrona of this house
>Decimus Bubo, the satirical actor Do you ever want to just . . . go live innawoods? 
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 
Inspired by martial arts cinema, shonen, Exalted, and One Piece
Across the Gemstone Seas, islands are strewn upon the waters like fallen leaves in autumn. They are nigh countless, but despite that, nations come from all over to conquer and control trade routes and raw resources. Pirates, kaiju, and the independent Gemfolk keep these empires at bay. But encroach they do, entering a cold war after breaking the Sea-Khans of the Golden Horde…
But none of that really concerns you. At least not now. The seas beckon to you - the clarion call of freedom upon the waves. You’ve dreamed of it. Charting and exploring the unknown, finding ancient treasure, battling imperial or pirate ships… All of it. You want all of that and more.
You were an insightful little tot. You knew you had to make yourself the best you can before finding a ship and a crew. The streets of Koulay were rough for anyone. Defending oneself was a requirement. Luckily, you were born and raised there, the mecca of martial arts. Koulay is an independent city state, and has the only open sea route between all the Gemstone Seas. A nexus.
You trained under your shifu for years. Regal Ox was a harsh but caring mentor. You got to calling her “grandma” which she always hated. Unlocking your physical strength alongside the mystical powers of the Gnosis was her goal with you. You were a teenager when it happened, the mana wrapping around your fist. You could see it! You could feel it swelling and flowing within you!
It was a triumphant moment. You finally felt like a full grown…
>Choose your gender
>Man
>Woman
CONT. 
https://files.catbox.moe/zlhesx.mp3
You kept your arms straightened and down, trying to blend as an object. Why did the demon stop? He had noticed, something. You withheld your breath and stiffened your stance, wishing not to move an inch, imitating a panoply: a suit of armour on display.
He turned his head, his face and eyes hidden by the faceguard’s swallowing shadow. He stepped towards you, his sabatons echoing against the gleaming marble floor. Stopping again, the weight of his archaic armour shifted with a clank, thrashing back and forth.
The helm gravelled his voice. “What’s this?” he asked, his tone searing your eardrums. “What an odd place for you to be at …”
He leaned closer, placing two of his iron-clad fingers on his chin, nearly grazing you through the slits of your veiling visor.
“What a mismatched mess,” he said and shook his head. “And all those dents, and marks, shoved away in this haphazard spot. This couldn’t have been at my command.” He pondered—aloud—himself. “It figures—a mistake, by one of the keeper.”
“I wonder what was the intent, yet I’d rather not raise an mass inquiry just to find out.”
He stepped back, lowered his hand, and unclenched the rest of his fingers. With an extended palm, he began to etch patterns in the air before your eyes. Amethyst streaks clung to and traced behind fingertips, a finished rune, followed by a second, appeared as if drawn on a parchment. With a forward wave of his hand, he sent the arrayed runes one by one, each striking your cuirass with a ghostly zing, branding it as if with hot iron.
He snapped his fingers, causing one of the lavender runes to ignite with light, the fiery embers sinking into the metal. On their own, by his magic, the dents in your armour began to pound out and straighten, the cracks joined and sealed without heat, impaired rivets tightened with a life of their own, and even the scratches peeled off the steel as though they were stains.
He snapped his fingers again to flare up the second rune’s sharp edges, newly lustrous energy flowing through and melding with the armour. You stifled a gasp as your armour, and you as well, lifted off the ground. The metal pressed against your skin, yet it now felt as light as a nightgown. Flicking his fingers to lift you up and down in the air, he circled with his hand to encompass and drag your suit of armour, pulling your floating form along with his demonic powers.
“That’s better. Now, let’s find a proper place to place you at. I don’t think you’ll fit in anywhere but the barracks … ”
He began walking, heading to where you came before, his heavy cloak trailing and unfurling behind him, the embroidered metallic fringes enveloping his silhouette like a net. You strained to maintain your posture, your body tense and muscles quivering with strain. 
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 no-longer 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, you discovered a dao more than well suited to you : the way of the Rising Phoenix. Your Hawk spirit evolved into titular Rising Phoenix, the Hawk's Wide Ballet turned into the Rising Phoenix's Wide ballet and you discovered a new mind tempering technique in the Poem of the Rising Phoenix. You are half a step away from opening the Mouth Aperture, the latest small realm before 2nd stage. This is mainly thanks to insane gain reached while you were in your first ever seclusion. Right now, you are getting ready for the Yearly Tournament.
Said Yearly Tournament you fully expect to win brightly : one of your trump is strong enough to take down anyone barring Dhundan. prepare for the dumbest fucking quest you've ever played RP FREEFORM QUEST!!!
Choose Your Destiny.
You can make suggestions.
You can create characters (use dnd rules).
You can't kill anyone.
It is an One Shot, there will be no continuation.
The BRINGER OF LIGHT turns 46 tonight.
The Emperor will only be able to send the SALVATION Flagship here again in 5118 Standard Years.
Good Luck. 
Previously on With Great Power Quest: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=With%20Great%20Power%20Quest
There were times on a hot day like this, the heat rising off the cement streets of Chicago so thick it formed a shimmer in the air, that I thought I'd be doing the world a bigger favor going around punching oil executives in the throat instead of tailing my friend Zeke. Something to consider doing one day, when I wasn't so worried about Zeke's intentions. He'd fallen into a bad crowd.
It had started with the Committee of Community Vigilance, the voice of the average person concerned by the deadly rise of the 'parafreaks'. And to give them some credit, they had good reason to be concerned. I'd seen what out of control monsters like the Ooze could do, with half digested corpses floating through his gelatinous guts. But then along came the Humanity First movement and their 'militia'. Gun totting thugs harassing children, throwing bombs through front room windows, getting more and more extreme with each unpunished act of violence until an even more radical group, the Patriots, had emerged.
I don't know where exactly Zeke fell on the spectrum of anti-para hate, but last I'd seen him he'd been attending the baby fascist boot camp, 'The Guardians'. Like the Scouts but with pipe bombs. Now he'd wandered off talking weird shit about how 'sorry' he was. The guilt of bad intentions. Hopefully enough guilt not to go through with it.
He booked out of the water park, double strapping his backpack as he hunched forward, skulking his way through the crowd. He was wearing a hoodie even in this mid-summer heat.
Following him in just board shorts probably wasn't going to work. I pulled on a shirt, quickly wetting it through, but at least it hid my scarred up chest. If I'm being honest I wasn't comfortable going around without a shirt, those white mutilating scars there for everyone to see. Playing hero left its mark, and the marks weren't pleasant.
Zeke got out his phone, looked at something, then put it away. He hadn't notice me follow him out. Chicago in summer got crowded. With school out, tourists from all over poured in, and it was a hot enough a lot of people were headed for the lake. It helped give me some cover at least, though it made following Zeke on foot no picnic either, shoving my way through the wide load of a few midwesterner tourists in with their wide kids 'looking for the bean'.
I'd told Ayesha and Ivy what I was up to before heading out but otherwise I was alone. My focus was fixed on Zeke's hunched shoulders.
-
>rolling skill checks is a best of three 1d100 roll, rolling over a DC with bonuses or minuses based on competing factors
>roll 3 x 1d100 + 20 dc 60 I have a skaven-army to paint and will run this during my painting sessions. Lets go you know the drill 
The sun is shining maliciously over Corpus Christi. Local manpower had been sent out to rally in the northern Confederate states, leaving the city somewhat exposed to unwanted company. Van Cortlandt's gang has been patronizing the main street's vendors and establishments for two weeks now and even though they've been behaving, the city lawman Robbert Katz knew that it was only a matter of time before things kick off the hard way. Katz wasn't a man of patience and would have preferred to handle the dutch-born rogue his own way right away, despite the forty-four outlaws that surrounded the former. However, the sheriff was also receiving reports of a large Indian presence in the outskirts of the city, whose arrival strangely congregated with that of the Van Cortlandt's gang. Not wanting to commit to a fight on two fronts with limited manpower and resources, Katz was waiting. Maybe Van Cortlandt and the Indians were waiting for someone to make the first move too.
1) Robert Katz is the sheriff of Corpus Kristi. His personal trait is Old Dixie Down. As a veteran of the Mexican-American war, his trait makes him experienced with all types of western weaponry and makes winning over dixie hearts easy. The trait ensures that Katz, as any true southerner, stays rugged and enduring of hardship and the elements. He is also strongly prejudiced against colored folk of any kind, especially Mexicans. He has been performing his duties towards the city and it's citizens, the white ones at least, diligently for the last decade and has won the sympathies and loyalty of the populace and his men, which will definitely come in handy.
2) Lucas 'Lus' Bakker is one of Van Cortlandt's men. His personal trait is Cut Eyelids Staredown. His trait makes him a psychological menace that never plays around, never manipulates, never takes the back alley in order to gain the upper hand, but rather faces those against him in an unholy measurement of grit and balls, preferring to overwhelm them with his borderline psychopathic presence. His trait ensures fearlessness - his hand never shakes, his voice never cracks, his foot never stumbles in uncertainty. He sports a belt heavy with dozens of hanging scalps, a small one with Wichita braids interlinking with blond locks catches the eye instantly. He is on Van Cortlandt's good side, since both of them are Dutch and like to reminiscent about the old country.
1/3 
By popular(?) demand, it continues.
The Caretaker Quest shall move forward!
__________________________________
“Well, we have to work tomorrow, i think it's best if we keep it light for tonight”
“Aww come on, please don't ask for Butterbeer, that's no fun!”
“We can't go back drunk to Hogwarts, Olivia…”
“yeah yeah i know, you guys are boring…hey, i´ve got an idea!”
She quickly walks to the backroom, the sound of some glass bottles falling and rolling can be heard and just like that, she comes back.
“How about a middle point?” She pulls out a small crate with a cold mist leaking out of it.
“Vat is zat?”
“Just my special reserve for day drinking! a nice cold crate filled with nectar of the gods! Mulled Mead! Definitely stronger than Butterbeer, but not strong enough to get you shitfaced like Firewhiskey does. This thing has saved me from the slower days more times than i can count.”
She pulls out a big crystal bottle in the shape of a viking cup, the golden liquid gently swaying inside.
“I don't know…what do you say?”
“I say ve can take it! give me some!”
“That's what I'm talking about!”
Olivia takes out a couple of smaller glasses and pours the thick liquid out of the bottle, not only does it looks like honey, its moves and smells like honey.
“Fine, sounds decent enough”
You take your cup and make a toast with Willow, Olivia joining in too.
“For a nice first day of school!” Willow says cheerfully
“For new friends” you say, feeling a bit lame for saying that, but also a genuine bond forming between you and her.
“For alcohol!” Olivia barely finishes before she starts drinking in.
The sun finally completely disappears behind the mountains, letting the stars shine brightly, but you feel like your day is just starting. 
Athkatla, capital of Amn, Faerûn
You find yourself in a private meeting with Elara Selemchant, Meisarch of the Council of Five, one of the most powerful figures in Amn's oligarchy. As an assassin and spy in her service, you're accustomed to these discreet encounters.
The room is richly adorned with tapestries and dark wooden furniture, flickering candlelight casting long shadows on the stone walls. Elara stands by a tall window, gazing out over the city before turning to face you. Her piercing sapphire eyes lock onto yours, her black hair streaked with silver, and her elegant, somber robes adorned with esoteric symbols.
"Good business, my lady," you greet her formally, bowing slightly.
She doesn’t waste time on pleasantries. Her eyes dart restlessly, betraying her distress. "There are no gnomes in Amn, save for those in Purskul. I’ve never cared much for their roguish ways, as they kept their distance from the capital. But recently, things have changed."
"A change?" you ask, feigning interest. You’ve learned that nobles often see the smallest inconveniences as catastrophes, and you half-expect her to complain about some trivial matter.
"Yes. One of their families, the Gemcutters, migrated to Port Nyanzaru, our colony in Chult. Through a series of successful scams, they've taken control of the region's economy and politics. We ignored it at first: cheap goods flowed to Amn, and we grew rich. Wealth is all that matters, after all. But now, their schemes have reached the capital, affecting reputable families. This cannot stand."
"And what sort of scheme are we talking about?"
She places her right hand over her heart, emphasizing her words. "One of the gnomes purchased an abandoned mine in the Chultan jungle, advertised as rich in diamonds. Another lent money to eager investors. At first, the returns were good, drawing more people in. But it was all a lie. The mine was worthless, and the dividends were paid from the gnomes' own pockets to lure more fools in. When enough had invested, the gnome declared the mine bankrupt. Investors were ruined, and many sold themselves into indenture to repay their debts."
"Isn't indenture common practice in Amn?" you ask, curious about why this scam stands out among countless others. 
Welcome! To the one Civ Thread that won't be abandoned. For you see- a long time ago there was a civ thread that was abandoned due to the responsibilities of relationships and employment. Rejoice! For I am unemployed, depressed, and lonely! In celebration, and as proof of my intention to be different than other civ threads- You will not argue over a civilization and a race for several days.
You're a tribe of Amorphous Sludge! Your noble "people" spend their days bathing in tainted magic springs left behind by wizards experimenting eons prior. Other than randomly spawning more Sludge, these wells are simultaneously toxic in a physical, and magical sense. Biologically, you're omnivorous scavengers capable of minor shapeshifting and communicate through sign language. Due to this inability to communicate, typical inhuman appearance, and disease being associated with Sludges; most other races see view them as non sentient and attack on sight. Thankfully, your tribe is housed within a cavern- subsisting off any creature or plant unfortunate enough to grow too close to the noxious fumes of the tainted magic springs.
>Population: 25 Amorphous Sludge (+5 per turn)
>Resources: Stone, Bone, Mud
>Food: 25 (+5 scavenged every turn) (-1 per 5 Sludge each turn)
>Structures: None
>Research: None
>Diplomacy: There is a village of dwarves near the cavern entrance and occasionally their children get lost. Due to the disappearances there is a guard outpost preventing us from exploring beyond the cavern.
You are Chief ______ as your people do not use names, nor titles- there is little distinction between any of you and identity theft is considered as rude as passing gas, so the actual Sludge in charge changes by the hour. What do you (or someone else) decree?
>We should make tools!
>We should make weapons!
>We should build something!
>We should eat the guards and their children!
>(Write In)
First to three wins, godspeed you slimy bastards. 
Hello again, good sirs and fair ladies, I am happy to announce you the thirteenth (it brings bad luck) chapter of our Quest, my VPN almost broke but finally I triumphed. So, where were we ? You were riding to see your orchard and just saw it, after many travels you were finally back to Local, Hosannah !
For those of you who are not yet familiar to this quest, because they had to oversee their peasants while they seeded and harvested or because they were busy in some feudal war (unfortunately Crusades are no more popular these days) here are the links to the previous posts.
>>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2022/5085315/ thread 1
>>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2022/5134375/ thread 2
>>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2022/5194246/ thread 3
>>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2022/5314154/ thread 4
>>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2022/5422744/ thread 5
>>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2022/5422744/ thread 6
>>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2023/5561322/ thread 7
>>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2023/5561322/ thread 8
>>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2023/5702984/ thread 9
>>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2023/5785267/ thread 10
>>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/5920163/ thread 11
>>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6011182/ thread 12
It begins to make a lot of threads, yes.
As per tradition, and tradition is sacred, it is time to begin with a prologue who will follow the mage girl Ava, who tried to capture us but ended tied while Charles fled the mage's guild of Pleasantville. How could magical burghers expect to subdue a knight ? Such arrogance ! Such hubris ! 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, struggling to cleanse the rot of a Nurgle-backed demonic invasion.
The WindPsykers, claymakers and locust of bad luck of GrassGreen
The Isolationist, God-among-hunter-walking of Ghostclaw
The StrongHunters, masters of the biggest spans of land, lords of BurningGrass
The Tzeench-touch opportunists of Jupiter
The Archers, Merchants, Slavers and Warptrailers of BadBack
The Farmers, one-with-the-Drifters of Whitemane
The scholars of Cerulean wise in the ways of gods and research
This should be the last thread of the Skirmish-tribe phasis thing.
Last thread : https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6037069/
Pastebin : https://pastebin.com/LLBm1mjj 
Seven thousand years have passed since your arrival at the Beta Sector. The children of Kara grew up into fierce warriors. Still, they point their swords at each other and know not the way Home.
You raised your Priestess from amongst them. The fairest maiden, pure and unspoiled by the evils of this dark world. She was trained since childhood for this role and there is simply no one else qualified.
You made her Warrior to fight against the Xenos. You made her Oracle to instruct the Sages. You made her Handmaid of the Mad Princesses.
Then it arrived the time when you could no longer deny her Birthright.
From the Ancient Lineage Of Kings, she claimed her position as the first Empress Of Mankind.
Sitting on her Golden Throne, she will rule for at least a Thousand Years, until the next Moot is summoned to decide who will take her place.
Her Servants, the Atlantean Banshees, are the very embodiment of Karma. Anyone who touches them, will suffer the worst punishments imaginable in this life, and an eternity of unimaginable torture in the next.
God Wills It. So Be It. 
-
(POV shift: You are Kasimir Craney, part of a recon section led by chief explorer Serret.)
You adjust the plating of your protection suit. It is far too tight in some places, and far too open in others. You were just an infantryman a decade ago, so you were quite used to such suits. Of course, back in those days, the suits were of high quality make and actually comfortable, though they had impaired your movement a lot more than this suit, however, the large gaps in your joints that allow for such mobility make you still feel uncomfortable. It is hard to lose instinctual knowledge of using plating that now doesn’t exist to tank shots and make sure they are glancing at best. Now however, you had to unlearn something you had with you for your entire adult life.
Still, you suppose you are better off than those poor buggers. The men around you that you are commanding are all in bulky spacesuits, their movements awkward and each step has to be measured because if they slip, they are not getting back up in any reasonable amount of time in a firefight.
As you march ahead, you halt before a dead tunnel dog. You had been moving down for about fifteen minutes and had continuously run into a group or two of various dead animals. This one is no exception, frothing at the mouth that had long since dried out open eyes that seem to be rotting in real time and the bloated corpse is a mildly disturbing sight.
“Log, another dead one. Looks like a tunnel dog, body’s bloated. Time of death…uh…roughly three days.” You check over the interface before your eyes and log your finding for a future report. Command wants these tunnels cleared, so having a good idea on how effective the bioweapon was is considered a secondary, but an important objective.
“Sir !” You hear over the comm from one of your men. “Chamber ahead.”
“Roger. Weapons ready, fan out and secure us an entrance, keep your eyes on the ground and ceiling they have both diggers and flyers, want two men keeping an eye on one. Move out !” You quickly state raising your rifle and shouldering it, moving into the large open chamber.
Moisture covers your surroundings, and further away, where your torches barely reach, you spot glistening.
“Water ?” One of the men calls out.
“Underground river seems like.” Another answers.
Moving ahead and into the chamber, you do spot what appears to be a rather large lake occupying about a third of the chamber, and sure enough, the noise of flowing water intensifies and you can see that the lake is both intaking water and letting it out.
Other than that, the chamber appears to be large and open with the ground surprisingly smooth with naturally formed pillars maintaining this small serene land. 
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=with+great+power
I'm planning on ending a long hiatus.
A few years ago I was running an OC Cape Quest called 'With Great Power'. It did okay until I burned out, then got a job, and then burned out again. It's always been in the back of my mind though, so I decided to bring it back. It being literal years since I last ran it though, with the player base long since dead, a recap thread seemed like a good idea.
So what is 'With Great Power'?
For one, despite the name its not a Spider-Man quest.
Set in Chicago, you play as Eric Miller/Hotspur, a teenage boy recently empowered in an event called the Chicago Explosion. A mysterious cosmic phenomenon, the Chicago Explosion has empowered hundreds of people seemingly at random across the Midwest, and as time goes by there are signs of it spreading across the world. Most of these newly empowered people just want to stick to being ordinary people, a small number though have taken up the mantles of heroes and villains. Called 'parafreaks' by some, they've already become the center of some serious political attention, with conspiracy theories and the media stoking fear and suspicion against this small group.
(Yeah, its very X-Men. Mutants without other super powered people running around.)
Meanwhile there are hints of a far more dire, cosmically significant conflict at hand. Something called the Druj is infecting the world, its tendrils corrupting every day people. Eric's sometime ally, James Green, the recently empowered Red Wizard, knows more than he does. What Eric has figured out so far is its connected somehow to ancient Iranian mythology and religion, specifically the Zoroastrian teachings.
Eric is a decent kid trying to do good. He lives with his widower dad around Humboldt Park. He plays on the school basketball team, has a complicated relationship with a couple of girls, and is also the unofficial leader of a rag tag group of street heroes called Fire Watch. He's had run ins with the mafia, biker gangs, the cartel, and shadowy government agencies that seem intent on using the newly empowered people for their own ends. His super powered opponents have ranged from invisible perverts to mindlessly hungry gelatinous blobs, and every gang now seems to have some kind of super powered asshole on their payroll. 
Last time… Last time was a mess, you thought you’d be relaxing after successfully crashing the wedding, but it was anything but that! The thrills of life don’t care about comfy times, and as the Great Patriarch of Coziness, this deeply upsets you. But all hijinks are over and done, you’re truly winding down in your hostel room with the couple of girls you shared the Mobile Home with: Wilma and Matilda, the renowned Wilmatilda duo.
Anyway, drinks were had, beds were put together, and ramblings began, leaving you in your current situation. Your friendly neighborhood greedy girl demands you compare her chest size with the Tomato’s, claiming that her own are not as pronounced as her friend’s. This whole tirade started because Matilda doesn’t believe you should say she has big boobs. Or something, she’s drunk. Okay, maybe not drunk, but she is drinking. Wilma is naturally turning into a tomato at the request.
“I said compare them.” Matilda demands her hypothesis be confirmed.
“...W-Why are we doing this?” Wilma doesn’t understand.
“I’m setting the record straight.” Matilda says, annoyed this is even a question. “No more doubts. No more opinions. Just cold hard facts.”
“T-That doesn’t answer my question. But if it makes you happy...” Wilma doesn’t want to deal with a violent drunk.
“And you want me to judge them?” You? The silly man? You don’t know if Matilda is serious.
“Yes. Who else?” Matilda crosses her arms.
“Uhm… but you know it’s me?” You point at your face.
“Do I look like I’m joking around?” Matilda never looks like she’s joking, but she sometimes throws a bomb or two, so you can’t be sure.
How do you respond?
>“What do you want me to do exactly? We don’t have a measuring tape.” You don’t think so anyway.
>“You look drunk...” Calm down the Matilda, move her away from bad ideas.
>“Are you sure you want me to do this? No backsies later.” You’re a professional and you’ll act like one.
>Write In. 
Endsieg.
The last of the fuhrer's folly is at hand; the German race to be at the end of International interests. Those few twelve years not a slave - a judenfrei state - but it appears the Lord Christ has other plans for the German nation. As if predestined, the seed of Jacobin, long excommunicated from Abraham by their rejection of the Cross, have converged together and sent forth the satanic forces of democracy and communism to bring ruin to the last of the Lord's favored government - autocracy. It appears usury and human sin is far mightier than the virtues of the Reich, and so truly, the world deserves another century of Christlessness.
Indeed, the Jacobonite truly hate us all, but it was our fault for being so enticed by their Luciferian calls of freedom and equality. Perhaps, this race embodies the serpent in the garden, and it is no more their fault as it is all of mankind's fault for trying treason against God's natural order. The rally call of Babel is at hand, and the last of Imperial Christendom shall see its death. Emperor Constantine's work shall now slumber and give way for a new era of pagan imperialism - secularism. Democracy is truly hell - it had crucified the Christ and gave us Barabbas. Another rape of royalty and Europe shall begin - another Reign of Terror, another murder of Bourbons and Romanovs, and another Gates of Toledo shall be at hand.
Absolute rulership is anathema to the evildoer.
There, in the siege of the capital, Soviet shells strike besides you. Brick and shrapnel fly and rip through grey matter - your grey matter. Your soul leaves the flesh, and with one last whisper, you shall join the Church Triumphant - as so God ordains.
Not yet.
With one blink to the next, scenes of smoke and fire give way to a view of a cathedral - the Lord's temple.
"Summoning complete." To your left, a row of templars are at a sword rest, and to your front, a lady.
"Hero, welcome to our world." She curtsies. "Lady Walsingham, at your service"
>Your name?
Before you appears three free-floating glass windows with labels. Choose one power.
>Absolute water
>Absolute healing
>Absolute light
Hitlerjugend Isekai is a lazy drawfag isekai quest. I expect updates to be lil spontaneous, a lil slow, but hopefully semi-consistent. 
Upfront:
You are a D-Force Commander. Disposable Forces are used for dynamic, organic, clandestine, nontraditional, and extra corporate aquations where plausible deniability is required.
--------
History:
Recent activity on Venus has garnered significant investor interest, but a barrier to exploitation remains the planet's undesirable gravity and challenging domestic population. To this end, you have been hired to enact the will and desires of the board, and in turn, garner monetary compensation. The Uranian system asteroid colony, KhaieBalkh, will be the lynchpin of this operation.
--------
Mission:
Primary:
Infiltrate KhaieBalkh, and override it's central administration to engage a terminal burn into a Venutian orbit.
Secondary:
Protect the primary D-teams after occupying KhaieBalkh.
Tertiary:
Successfully subvert the local population and economy.
--------
Addendum:
During this operation you may receive or request secondary objectives, successful completion will grant you corporate favor, assets, or boons.
---------
<end of entry 1> 
Previous Threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=The%202nd%20Primarch%20Quest
_
You are Lieren of Nothing, the second son of the emperor of mankind, Husband of the motherly and fierce Kanzeon, close personal friend of the emperor Long-Jia Jinhai and his grand architect and head of the Long-Jian ministry of development, head of the wanderers in the fog sect of psykerists who cultivate their will and self-control under your careful and diligent guidance, master of the second legion of your father from terra's space marine, and friend of mankind and kindly aliens wherever they may be found, and many other things, including the creator of the Nameless, an hidden organization of spirit hunters now under command of the advisor and close confidant of the emperor of mankind, Malcador,
Currently, you are on the bridge of the vessel containing the heart, soul and mind of Liberty, the youngest of Kanzeon's sister, who has come to see you as her elder brother and not simply in law. The two of you are floating above the odd world sharing Shangrala's sun, given the somewhat foreboding epithet of the black abyss by astrologers and researchers plotting your countrymen's first, stumbling steps into the cosmic realm. It is strange, in a galatic sense not only because it is wreathed in constant storms, but because it is seemingly a world formed entirely of water. And stranger still, it is wreathed by a ring formed of the remnants and wreckage left behind from a great stellar battle, celestial battleships and cosmic warmachines that resemble no design or blueprint in Liberty's archives or your own memories. They are not Aeldari and do not even resemble the kind of craft in which dwell your emerald eyed bride or her surviving sisters.
"I agree, let us investigate the wrecks, I've never seen any vessel, void worthy or not, of their make, and the battle scars they bare demand closed inspection, and their may be clues of their origin within what remains of the combatants that crewed these ships in their finale battle" You answer, smiling warmly and brotherly as you expertly avoid bringing to attention the ghost signals that frighten Liberty so much, for the time. You keep an eye on the faint signal pinging on her advance and arcane sensor array, making a note of it and locking the internal sensor arrays within your raiment of star-metal, that with a thought you adapt and change into a air-sealed space suit with a rounded helmet of see through emerald glass. Just to keep yourself from being exposed to the vacuum of space, you are confident you would survive it and the lack of breathable oxygen, but confidence is not cause for incaution.
With a delight squeal and a cheer, Liberty leaps off of your back and runs off towards the nearest wall, carelessly opening her internals to the airless void and causing a number of stray parchments and baubles to be launched out into space.
Cont 
A loud rumbling reverberated through the ground. Each second, another bang could be heard, as the rumbling got closer and closer. And as it got closer, a voice could be heard alongside each bang. The abandoned hallway shuddered, as the bangs got closer by each minute. Until finally, some of the rubble that blocked it was blown to the side and a dim light appeared. Dust filled the dark tunnel, blocking out the single source of light which came from an ornate lamp hanging from a staff. "Finally! That took way too long!" A female voice would say, as a small figure walked from the tunnel. She flapped her wings, blowing away dust and rendering the hallway more visible. "Geez, what a mess this place has become! That demon must've done an awful amount of damage to the facility after escaping us!" The voice said again, as the figure would look around a little. "I wonder which part we've ended up at and how long we were stuck down there."
Soon after, a far taller and more powerful figure would emerge from the tunnel. She walked gracefully into the tunnel, wiping away some of the rubble which had coated her clothes. "Hmmm, this place looks like it might be near the combat sector. I do not see anything suggesting we are close to any other location." The two would carefully look around, before the smaller one spoke up quite cautiously. "Do you think Tengri is okay? The power's out, and the place clearly took a terrible hit." The taller figure scoffed, approaching a wall and feeling it. "I imagine he made the wise decision and sought shelter. That, or he is also somewhere down here. Hmmm, perhaps he may also be with Titania? He did say she was perhaps the only one who could deal with that monster." The shorter figure would seem a bit more pessimistic. "Given how trashed this place is, I feel like Titania didn't succeed. I mean, not even we could deal with that thing! All our blows just did... nothing to her!"
The tall figure would contemplate for a moment, before letting out a sigh. "She is still out here somewhere, I'm afraid. After all, we were stuck for days, perhaps even weeks... yet nobody came over to save us." She'd turn to her smaller friend, looking down with a serious expression. "I feel like we have underestimated our situation. We weren't just stuck in an unreachable spot. After all, we broke through it after quite some time and with little issue. No, I fear that there is a greater tragedy going on. That we are some of the only survivors." The smaller girl would gulp a bit anxiously. "D-Do you think Tengri is dead?" The taller figure looked away, before responding more hesitantly. "I cannot tell for sure. What I can tell, is that we need to make our next moves carefully, and not let our guards down. If we see anyone who looks like a threat, we should opt to treat them as a threat, until it is confirmed they are friendly." 
I was inspired to do this by Henchman quest made by Axis-QM (R.I.P) This my first time doing a quest thread, but I have done writefaggtory on /tg. So, bear with me.
You are Rodney Eliot Grayne, you go by Eliot for short. You always felt you were 'misplaced' somehow. As you were born with severe vitiligo. Which made you the target of bullying during your younger years. However, you were born and raised in a middle-class family in Pittsburgh. You had everything he could ask for and more. But you had nothing to your name. Nothing that was truly your own. This created an inferiority complex and extremely entitled individual. You believed the world owed a debt for the trauma, and you worked very hard to prove it. Your parents and family were supportive, but distant. Not really knowing how to relate or even deal with you. True friends were few growing up, and fewer towards adulthood.
Now in your mid 20’s, you have created a persona to hide your ego. Some may call it arrogance, but you make it up for it by being extremely resourceful, a silver-tongued bastard with an intelligence to boot. Now working as a software developer at Star labs in Metropolis. It's almost time to clock out and you decide to...
>Go directly back to your apartment. No need to stay here longer than necessary.
>Walk around the city for a bit. Staying in an office all day will make anyone go crazy.
>Head to the local watering hole. One of your actual friends is in town to celebrate his marriage.
>Stay over to get some work done. It won't cost S.T.A.R anything more since you're salaried. 
You are...not Tai Lung however much you wish you were.
You are, on the other hand, bleeding, tired, and standing before a group of men who wish to kill you and everyone in the city. Especially the group of people trapped in rubble behind you. You flourish your katana for a moment before flicking it clean of blood and sheathing it. Every fiber of your being screamed to simply move forward and cut down those before you. You already took several lives today, what did it matter if you took more? It seemed like no matter how hard you tried you were always going to be a killer. Now was high time that you stop pretending to be something you're not. Still, you somehow could not bring yourself to do so. You just can't help but thinking about what Tai Lung would think of you. The mixture of frustration and confusion at your inner conflict causes you to smile at the irony at it all. It seems like in the end, you were simply a failure in all aspects. A killer who couldn't bring himself to kill. A broken, failure of an assassin that was burdened by feelings. You couldn't help but scoff and laugh at it all as more invaders arrive while you draw a line in the ground. If you were to die a failure then at the very least you hoped it'd look like you died a good man.
You crack your knuckles and push the pain lancing all throughout your body. A real hero would give a speech right now. Something that inspired hope in the weak and drove fear into those who wished to do wrong just like Tai Lung would. But you were not Tai Lung and you weren't a hero. You were just someone who was too tired to think up false platitudes for the people around him. You hold out your hands and ready yourself before shouting to the heavens, "You have one choice! Flee now or I'll line the streets with your broken bodies!" 
The badge's cool metal feels smooth against your fingertips. The chilled damp air of the basement flows in and out of your nose smoothly and slowly the scent around you shifts from mildew and old detergents into Linen with undertones of wet garbage. The almost eerie silence of the basement gives way to a slowly growing rumble of rain on metal. You keep your eyes closed and let your muscles relax as you slowly and naturally shift into a new posture. Straight back, chin down. An unease grows in your stomach, a sour knot tightening and releasing in pulses. The twisted cousin of butterflies.
A thin layer of moisture forms between your fingers and the shield clutched in your hand. You feel a spreading dampness over your shoulders and forearms and as you open your eyes you find yourself staring at a familiar door, but beyond it, instead of dust and loose trash, neon signs blink in the face of a black Gotham night.
'PAWN, SILVER AND GOLD!'
You turn your head slowly and recognize the toothpick gnawing face of Gorchakov. The neon reflects off his oiled hair as he checks a small black pager clipped to his waist.
"Are you sure this is a good idea, sir?" You find yourself asking, anxiety plucking at your vocal chords.
"You gotta relax, partner." Gorchakov chuckles as he types out a message on a cheap flip phone. "My ticket got stamped recently, I'm moving up to detective any day now and you're still in the minor leagues. You tryna walk a beat forever?"
"No, sir. I just.." The words trail off. The knot tightens. This doesn't feel right.
"You're just scared of some slangers, I get it. You're right, we should get out of here. Let em do their work." He scoffs as he stuffs the phone into his jacket.
"I'm not afraid, I just think it would be better if we calle-"
"No. No, I hear you loud and clear. You LIKE getting paid nickels to kill your back and deal with scumbags all day." He approaches the shop and yanks on the door. "Please, Madam. Hop in, let me make sure you get home safe."
Your hand flies out and pushes the door from his grasp. He holds up two hands and steps back laughing.
"He does have balls!"
"Fuck you, Charlie." You mutter, you feel a flutter of something. Fear?
"That's more like it." He approaches you and cups your face. "Keep that attitude up and you'll be joining me before you know it." Unfortunately, you are a PRINCESS. You have been locked in a TOWER for as long as you can remember. Even though you don't know it, today is the day you come of age. This is also unfortunate. It would be a good idea to escape.
What do you do? 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r6qt_70iGk4
The Brotherhood of Steel, a bastion dug into the sands of what was once California, an order of martial might and scientific brilliance. Since its founding after nuclear Armageddon its members have walked the wastes, their mission one of honor. Their deeds brought themselves glory, and a semblance of hope to the communities struggling to rise from the ashes of annihilation. But eventually this time of action faded, worry and doubt closing the Brotherhood from the rebuilt civilization. But in a time of great peril, where the threat of Unity and the super mutant stalked the land, it seemed that the wastes would bring one to revitalize the reclusive Brotherhood. Unfortunately this new initiate was of cold heart and bloody hands. Greedily he took the Brotherhoods’ finest arms and armor, and murdered one of the Chapter’s finest. The response was immediate, plotting elders and muttering paladins acted upon the attack, fanning a flame of vengeance in the hearts of the Brotherhood. The High Elder stepped down from his position, partly from the insistence of council, and mostly from his own doubt for placing his trust within the barbarous initiate. The council wasted no time, placing one of their most zealous into the position of High Elder as they solidified the position as supreme over the entire Brotherhood. High Elder Lamech heralded the Brotherhood’s transformation into the Steel Plague, and he set its soldiers out across the wastes to pilfer weapons and equipment from the scattered super mutant army. Finally he leveled the Plague’s awesome arsenal against the newly formed New California Republic, determined to smother the young nation for both mimicking the nation the venerable founder renounced and being helper to the vile initiate. However, Lamech’s identity as the face of the Plague has been his undoing. Prototype implants, slotted by the dozens into his body and mind to create a warrior worthy of the title of High Elder, have rendered him crippled with the disorder of epilepsy. He sits across from you now, staring at you with a slight grimace in spite of the cloth blindfold wrapped around his head. The hooded figures of the Elders face you as well, all attention turned to the subject of the conference. You have been given the honor of ascending to the position of High Elder…
>Elder: Another member of the Plague’s upper hierarchy, you are experienced in the power of command and your ascension is unsurprising. +5 leadership and knowledge rolls.
>Paladin: One of the Plague’s greatest warriors, you are the apex of the Plague’s martial might and your ascension is typical. +5 combat and leadership rolls.
>Scribe: The lore keepers and scientists of the Plague. There is little in the wastes that can match your knowledge, but your ascension is unprecedented within the Order’s history. +5 knowledge and technology rolls. 
Sweet Jazz City has a new thorn in its side, a thorn that is just one of hundreds of mild irritants that for the most part even the police doesn't take seriously. You, however, are different than all the rest. As different as everyone is from everyone else, but more so! Most of your fellow blasters are doing this to be part of something, to have an outlet for their teenage angst or to ride through a midlife crisis, or worst of all just here cause they thought the uniform was cool (which it totally is but that's a that's supposed to be a bonus!)
You're here because you don't have any other option. Your Epithet, your parents never let you use it, never let you stretch your wings, never let you go all out. But here, nothing can stop you from doing what you wanted, nothing could stop you from unleashing your full power...except your curfew...and the fact your epithet wasn't the best...also the inherent structure of the Banzai Blasters making it difficult to really advance on your own...
But besides all that, you had no where to go but up!
What did you write in for your Epithet when you applied for your first uniform?
>BOOM!
You have the ability to explode! Literally...When activated, your epithet causes you to unleash an explosive force will only grow stronger as you train. Currently, it leads to you instantly going unconscious when you use it, however it is powerful enough to blow open buildings, destroy cars, and anyone caught in a radius of 10 feet around you will usually be knocked unconscious as well, unless they have exceptional stamina. Begin with 5 Proficiency, 3 Stamina, and 1 Creativity.
>Polish
Your ability is to polish things, making them smooth and often shiny. You can make a sidewalk smooth as glass, or make a rock shine like a mirror! You can use this to slide across the ground, to make things easier to push by weakening friction, or making reflective surfaces. However, for some reason you tend to slip more easily and you walk into glass pretty often. Begin with 3 Proficiency, 1 Stamina, and 5 creativity
>Ton
your ability is to increase or decrease weight and internal volume. Currently, you can only increase an objects weight or internal volume by half. You cannot decrease the volume of an object below the amount needed to contain anything inside of it. You cannot use this on other people, but you can use this on yourself. Proficiency 1, Stamina 5, Creativity 3.
(Proficiency is the power or potency of your Epithet.
Stamina is how much you can use your epithet, and how much damage you can take before you go unconscious.
Creativty is the overall utility of the power, commonly extending to how many moves you have or how clever you can be with the power.) You are the Bird Handler (禽師), a cultivator feared throughout the realm for your mastery over beasts avian.
Your hair, black as ink, sways in the wind like a battle standard as you ride on the back of your companion, Mokun (墨鯤), a legendary Peng (鵬) bird that has been by your side from your birth.
Where are you going?
>The City of Yi (毅城).
>The Iron Feather Sect (鐵羽宗).
>Red Saber Temple (紅刀寺). 
