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). 
You were just a regular person attending university in his 20s. Studies took up your days and on your free time you would choose to play video games or hang out with your friends.
That is until the intrusive thoughts came...
Friends in your dorm suddenly noticed you began acting strangely, fatigued, jumpy, anxious. Your studies began to suffer. Then your family started asking if there was something wrong as they received worrying reports from the school about your condition.
You tried to keep going as if everything was normal...and fine...and peachy....until one day you just couldn't do it anymore.
And. You. Just. SNAPPED!
(This is a CYOA where you play as a schizo in modern day and depending on your choices, your schizo can end up differently. Not all of them "good", not all of them "bad". Examples of different outcomes include being a Orthodox Christian Monk in a Monastry attempting to achieve unity with God or a O9A Satanic Neo Nazi insurgent or a wandering vagabond who collects spare bottles for cash and many more.)
For now choose the nature of your intrusive thoughts:
A.) Religious: Your Schizo is suffering from intrusive thoughts relating to that of a religious nature. Your schizo has never thought about religion before but now seems to be getting signs from the divine and has no idea what to do with it.
B.) Paranoid: It started with doubts whether your friends liked you but now it has blown into full paranoia over whether strangers want to harm you or not. Your eyes wander every corner, every nook and cranny for any possible means to bring damage to your soft supple body.
C.) Narcissistic: Your schizo is seeing himself in a brand new light. Some would say holy light if your schizo believes in such things. He at least believes himself to be a gift to humanity and sees himself as superior in almost every way and can't stand it when someone breaks his ego even in the tiniest of ways.
D.) Violent: Your schizo is suffering from violent intrusive thoughts which constantly fill him with the visualization of harming others. Cutting people, bashing their heads or breaking their bones are all thoughts that have made it to your schizo one way or another. What your schizo does in response to this is up to you.
E.) Write up your own option of what intrusive thoughts your schizo has been plagued with. 
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 You are falling from the sky. The terrible howling of the void fills your head - you stare fixedly at the blue-white wanderer, Kar Moraeg, the planet below, and ignore the voices from between. Your distant home, the green pearl, falls away into the dark between worlds as you drop like a thunderbolt. Solar sails fan between your limbs, and you have a moment to turn before the sky-fire burns up the sails.
>Turn north, aim for the snows.
>Aim for the warm swamps of the inner belt
>Let the Moraeg guide you as it will 
After arriving in Teraburg, a city teetering on the brink of chaos, the party was forced to seek refuge there, but tensions rose quickly. Caleb, afflicted by a ghoul curse due to a vampire’s bite, was taken to the city dungeons, while the rest of the group, including Gris, attempted to find sanctuary. Meanwhile, the kobold in your group, wary of human cities, stayed hidden in the outskirts.
In Teraburg, Gris fell gravely ill, bleeding uncontrollably due to her resurrection through dragon blood. The group sought out a priest who, recognizing her unique predicament, provided her with a small vial of dragon blood—the last in his possession. He explained that Gris must consume dragon blood every few days to survive, a harsh reminder of the consequences of such a desperate resurrection. Despite her own financial struggles, Gris donated her last coins to the priest in gratitude, determined to support his work in the underfunded temple.
The group then negotiated Caleb's release from the dungeons, convincing the chief guard with a bribe and promising to take Caleb out of the city. Recognizing the dangers in traveling on foot, you purchased a wagon and horse, equipping yourselves for the journey ahead.
Before leaving Teraburg, you encountered a dark elf named Zamora, fleeing accusations of poisoning the local baron. Zamora shared her life story: a pacifist alchemist with seven children from various human partners, she had fled the oppressive society of her kind. She carried an adamantine charm—a gift from the Spider Mother—that extended her already long lifespan. Though cautious of bringing more trouble, you invited Zamora to join your group, valuing her skills in potion-making.
As you traveled, the bard in your group often sang alongside Gris, their music a welcome distraction from the hardships of the road. Heavy rain on the first day slowed progress, and on the third day, you passed an abandoned, fire-damaged tavern. It was there that you decided to summon Nabi, your dragon companion, recognizing that Gris would soon need more dragon blood.
Nabi, nearly recovered from his previous wounds, arrived but seemed uneasy, sensing danger. Moments later, a wyvern rider appeared on the horizon, circling ominously. The wyvern was massive, much larger than Nabi, and clearly searching for an opening to attack. Caleb speculated that Nabi had been fleeing from this creature when summoned.
Realizing escape was unlikely, you organized your group to prepare for battle. Ruth and Megara began crafting a powerful spell, while Zamora readied an explosive potion. Nabi and Caleb stood poised to defend, while Gris aimed to strike the rider if necessary. The wyvern descended, its screeches piercing the air, targeting one of you. The battle loomed as your party braced for the deadly confrontation ahead. 
You awaken to the silent hum of machinery and the steady glow of sterile lights that fill every corner of this strange, alien space. Metal walkways crisscross above and below, a network of endless conveyor belts and surveillance systems operated by your captors. Towering, grotesque figures, their flesh a sickly green hue, ooze with a slow, deliberate fluidity. Multiple bloodshot eyes blink in unison, casting a constant, watchful gaze across the vast chambers. These creatures wear space suits that are patchworks of bronze, copper, and chrome—complex machinery wired directly into their monstrous forms. Each suit bristles with countless mechanical arms, giving them an eerie sense of omnipresence and control, as though they can tend to a thousand tasks without breaking their unfaltering stare. (edited)
[10:56 AM]
You feel the cold weight of a chrome band encircling your wrist—a mark of your confinement here. Those around you bear the same bands, a bleak symbol of silent obedience enforced by an unseen power. You’ve heard the stories whispered among the other prisoners, stories of those who dared to question, resist, or tamper with the prison’s foreign architecture. They were met with a swift, merciless end. When the guards’ many eyes flare with a chilling, synchronized glow, the chrome bands activate. Screams echo, bodies contort, and in a matter of moments, defiance is met with decay—an agonizing transformation into a hollow, desiccated husk. The creatures show no remorse, no satisfaction, only a detached, mechanical precision. They are not here to study you or to torture you beyond the confines of this silent surveillance; they simply enforce.
This place is no ordinary prison. The boundaries of your cell are undefined, seemingly open, yet escape is a mirage. These beings, with their many eyes and tireless gaze, create an invisible barrier as strong as any wall. No one recalls how they arrived in this forsaken place, only that they are here, caught in a web woven by creatures who need neither rest nor relief. They do not seek to understand you or make you suffer.
In this cold, alien confinement, surrounded by unfamiliarity:
Who are you? 
At the top of the Shotgun Kiss, where the prisoners don’t see the light of day, a painting hangs on the wall. Trapped within its colors is the spirit of a horrified girl. A group of idiots wants to set her free. This is where you are.
With the former cultist (and active prisoner) Hubbard’s power to see spiritual potential, you were able to track down Agent Spooky in her spirit form, leading you to the Solitary Confinement part of the prison. Into an old dungeon cell to be more specific. Here, a prisoner is chained to the wall, poor guy is wearing a heavy iron mask, and is in a rough shape — but he’s far from the only suffering soul within these walls. Odetta’s cousin, Jaylene, is trapped within the painting by some type of curse. You have little to no clue why there’s a painting inside this cell, but it’s not the time to ask questions! There are more issues to be concerned with… Mr. Explosion-Earthquake man, aka, the other intruder is here! The person causing havoc through the prison who has nothing to do with the havoc that you and your friends have been causing! Your morally superior chaos!
Hubbard wants you to run away with the painting. Agent Spooky thinks you should handle this directly with the intruder, violently or not. And the prisoner… the prisoner weeps because you’re ignoring him. You’ll keep doing that. But what else?! Your options are limited!
From what you hear, the old guard is not in the best track to stop the interference. Very diplomatic old man, not very effective! Gotta think fast!
What’s the plan now?!
>You think diplomacy is failing because you’re not in charge. Talk to the Intruder, negotiate. You’re both intruders, you’re bound to have something in common.
>Break the wall, and jump out of here with the painting in hand. Climb to the nearest window, the closest to the locker room where Aurora is waiting.
>Even if you are unsure that the intruder is coming into this cell, prepare for a sneak attack in case it happens.
>Write In. 
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, ascension to true godhood.
After a catastrophic failure in a confrontation with the outerversal horror known only by its title of the Uncrowned King, Atë found herself thrown out of her very plane of existence. Completely deprived of the System’s protections and powers, unable to restore her slowly depleting power, and trapped in a reality where everything, from the divinity to the air to the fabric of spacetime itself, is poison to her. With only death awaiting her in this foreign dimension, she must find some way to escape before her very existence is eroded into nothing.
Worse still, some rogue element within Atë's soul seems to be rebelling against her will. Backed into a corner, the banished incarnation will have to fight desperately to survive. 
Recess Quest (Oneshot)
Your name is Lucas Smith. Actually, your real name is Luke Skywalker Smith, you go by Lucas now, because according to Trip Matthews last semester, your parents named you after a character from a movie called Star Wars, a movie that is “For Nerds.” Trip Matthews got a PlayStation 2 recently, not even on his birthday or Christmas, that’s really cool, so you trust his judgement immensely. After all, he’s a fifth grader and you’re just a fourth grader, and you’ve only got a Nintendo 64. In a year’s time, you’ll be a fifth grader, and maybe even have a GameCube, or (if your mom allows it), an Xbox. But for now, you’re at the bottom of the chain gazing at the top.
But it’s not so bad. You’re really good at games, not just video games, but board games, recess games, and PE games too. So much so, you’ve been allowed to sit at the Plotter’s Table. Every recess, this illustrious lunch table decides on a game to play, and over the years the games have been said to be pretty legendary.
What did they say you were all doing today…?
>A Fantasy Quest
>Wild West Cops & Robbers
>Ultimate Tag
>They decided to pick your suggestion, despite your newbie status. (Write-in. Keep in mind I reserve the right to veto write-ins that are too ridiculous.) 
There is a saying that when you have a hammer, everything begins to look like a nail. As sayings go, this one too can be interpreted in various ways, some of which seem deeper or more insightful than others. In one of the more obvious views it illustrates propensity of someone who has gained a new instrument developing an inkling to put it to use even in circumstances where a different approach would be preferable. The metaphor could easily be stretched even further, to include not only tangible tools, but also formal or informal authority, or perhaps distinctive paradigms and frames of mind.
Of course by that point the original metaphor becomes stretched and diluted to the point where one could be better served by finding a different one. Perhaps this is a point where we’ve placed the metaphor into position of the hammer.
Be that as it may, there is going to be a lot of hammers laying around this construction site, yourself being one of them.
This is story of the space archaeologist and freelancer Henri Ford and his valiant crew – Tufferson Kris, a fellow xenoarcaheologist, Lea’Fari nar Namek, a maiden undergoing her rite of passage, and Eve Ferrum, a woman built to be able to get where she is not supposed to go.
Presently, you are Eve Ferrum, an explorer, a friend, a seeker – and a machine. Synthetic woman tracing your heritage from Systems Alliance secret projects through reverse engineered Reaper technology, Cerberus perfidy and once again desperate Alliance scramble to adapt and perfect every resource at its disposal.
A lot had happened in the brief time between your first activation and the present day. After a brief period you could with some imagination call your childhood in a secret Alliance lab on Tyr you were thrust directly into the thick of the fighting against the Reapers in a desperate struggle for survival.
Even though you had honestly not expected to outlast them, fighting at the side of your makers gave you a sense of purpose, that had gradually developed into something more than just desire to see your primary objective fulfilled. You’ve learned of the dreams and hopes your fighting comrades kept carrying despite all odds stacked against them, sometimes to the bitter end; you’ve learned of the bonds they formed among each other, and even against the backdrop of your primary functionalities you’ve come to adopt something from that time into your core.
And it was a good thing that you did, as when the Reapers have been eradicated by the ever mysterious superweapon devised across multiple extinction cycles in a manner that skirted realm of mysticism, it was those fragments of your self that kept you alive. 
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/2024/6098726/
Gongallaverse:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Gongalla%20Gaol
You are Rosa Montagni, and the raid on the Singularity Cult's cave had began in earnest. Working with an ex-lawman and a bandit gang with a grudge towards the cult to prevent the cultists from escaping, your team incidentally joined forces with a mime - a sort of clown special forces - to rescue the kidnapped clown kids and apprehend the cultists. But soon after freeing the kids, you face the boss of this cultist cell: a rabbit whom Millie is quite familiar with. And he's a serial killer! Ostrosk has fallen. The weakened hosts of Chaos march, dispersing in the north and the east, exhausted from their march and conquest of Ostrosk, the crow-headed sorceress roasted and her ashes scattered and her sister, still in a cage, being dragged behind by Rue'Vahn eastwards towards Chamon Dharek.
Previous thread:
>>6106280 
Beneath the Bloodrise Mountain Range, at the westernmost edge of human habitation, there lies a lake. The same sun that lights the grey stone and green trees red and glad by dawn’s first light casts its colours in a beauteous cacophony upon the rippled surface of that body of water each evening, giving the surrounding city—and the barony which lords over it—the well-known name of Sunset Lake. In recent years, though, a shadow has fallen upon those mountains, and it is a shadow which has finally stretched out to swallow the wealthy fishing village and trading hub below it.
There are monsters in the mountains and, it seems, they also live in Sunset Lake.
A few days ago, a small group of strangers arrived in Sunset lake, drawn by tales of the mysterious monster said to lurk therein. This was not in and of itself unusual, for many parties of adventurers had arrived chasing those stories, the possibility of reward. This particular party, however, was strange because many would view them as numbering among the mountain’s monsters themselves: two goblins, a goat-girl sitting astride the shoulders of a living effigy of bundled branches, and two other creatures who defied such easy categorization.
There was ZIth-Zi, the apparent leader and utterly unplaceable in the taxonomic categories of modern racial philosophy: goblinoid in stature and (when she didn’t hide it) in mannerism, yet pretty and pink, shapely and symmetrical, pleasing to eye and ear and nose, and capable of casting spells… or, well, -A- spell, anyway.
And then there was her ‘sister’, like her shadow: Cara-Zi, or Carazzi, or simply CZ. She was green as a goblin, when one noticed her at all. She had an uncanny ability to elude proper perception, and to slip from close scrutiny. When one set eyes upon her properly, though, her oversized black robes hid much that was twisted and wrong even by the standards of goblinkind: scaly scutes across her skin like mosaic scales or scarification; horns upon her head, stubby affairs jutting up from her temples; hair all over, reddish-brown and rough; feet that almost, but didn’t quite, resemble the goat-girl’s hooves.
The monstrous company joined the hunt for the Monster of Sunset Lake almost as soon as they’d arrived. Zith-Zi seduced and insinuated herself into the festivities of a certain rival company to deduce the true nature of their quarry: an overgrown exemplar of those amphibious, dragon-adjacent creatures called ‘drakes’. Cara-Zi’s occult instinct uncovered unsettling magical contamination in the lake, where the monsters passed. 
In the ancient landmass of Zamboo, a sprawling island-continent shrouded in mist and legend, there once arose a powerful lich named Mika. Secluded within his dark fortress hidden deep within twisted forests and shadowy mountains, Mika amassed a monstrous legion of undead, summoning the restless dead from every grave, crypt, and forsaken battlefield. The undead swarmed across the land like a relentless tide, extinguishing entire kingdoms and reducing cities to desolate ruins. Mika's horde was unstoppable, his influence spreading like a stain across the world.
Then, one fateful day, something unexpected occurred. The undead legions, once perfectly controlled by the lich’s terrible will, seemed to fall into chaotic disarray. It was rumored that a great hero had confronted Mika, vanquishing him in a final battle, but no one knew for certain. All that was clear was that Mika's hold over his minions had fractured. His mindless creatures now wandered aimlessly, spreading ruin without direction, their once-coordinated assault now a chaotic nightmare.
Despite Mika’s apparent defeat, the world of Zamboo did not find peace. The undead he raised remain ever restless, and necromancers, dark sorcerers, and ambitious apprentices alike saw an opportunity. They claimed factions of these undead for themselves, creating a fragmented yet endless threat. Now, every living soul on the continent must struggle to survive amidst this apocalyptic world, where necromancers vie for dominance over their roaming dead, and common folk and heroes alike band together to forge new strategies for survival.
Who will you become in this perilous land?
Choose one race and one biome as your homeland.
If you desire allies or secondary races to stand beside you, for each one, you must choose two enemies—those who would see your ambitions crushed beneath the endless tides of the undead. I- Princess Cora of house Maria of the fallen empire of Histresmos, had lost everything I known and own, reduced to just 20 warriors running out of food in the mountains and resorted to petty banditry, trying to only take what is needed, had come to a strange town that suddenly come to existence, Maple Hills, a foreign name for a equally foreign place, full of strange, gray metals, ivory like soft material of all colors, glass so clear that kings would sell entire herds of cattle to buy a single plane cup of cast aside like so much broken pottery, surrounded by cliffs cut completely smooth down to the dirt by whatever act of god or magic that brought this land here.
In my attempt to find out who these people are- me and 4 of my warriors got discovered, and managed to find someone who we could talk to.
Previous thread >>6126111
I will post the update later today 
Last time, you bested the Warden of Hell in a cunning game to secure everyone’s freedom! Who knew that a place that never saw joy before would be filled with it now? Eventually, the massive cheers subside, but not the spirit that brought them. You have to move before Quye cannot feasibly keep his end of the deal.
As requested, every single prisoner who participated in the game, the people supporting you in this room, and Dempsey will be able to kiss this place goodbye. You’ll use the escape route you’re accustomed to. It’s the best you can do, not easier on the logistics side, but going out through the front door is impossible even with Quye’s help. It's not like you were expecting anything differently.
Surprisingly, the demon warden handed over a stretcher for the fallen boxer — A sign of respect, perhaps? Hard to tell for you. Before you can figure out how to handle the injured man, the Prisoner Twins grab each handle to take the mantle. Least they could do, they said. You’ll let them figure out how to go through the hole...
Mark leads the charge down the escape hole, and with the non-prisoners taking precedence (You waved goodbye to Judith, and she waved back!), then the prisoners, you’re killing time waiting at the cell.
“Warden, are you leaving with us? A man like you has no future here after this blunder.” Crossbill is interested in what will be Quye’s future whereabouts.
“Not having a future never stopped me from doing what I please.” Quye isn’t interested in answering.
“The big wigs aren’t going to be happy no matter who’s head ends up on a platter! If you decide to face the consequences and stay, you’ll never see the light of day! Not much of a threat to our Vitamin D-deficient man, but I thought it’d be worth a shout. Being a criminal has its own freedom. See you later.” Solomon says before jumping into the hole.
“C’mon, I gotta make sure you don’t raise your fist in the air and promise to drag us all back in here...” Crossbill’s misgivings are more about his role outside here than if he’s leaving or not.
“I have my target.” Quye wants to snap your neck. This isn’t good.
“A duel by the sunset doesn’t sound half bad…” Dempsey awakens. “Let us face once more.” The boxer wants to take the responsibility. 
Tagline/Blurb: Earn your place in Task Force Vanguard. Your choices determine your fate. Failure is not an option.
>The year is 2003
>The president is some guy who really likes being on a ranch and wearing a cowboy hat. Some kind of Texan who speaks plainly and calmly, like he's talking to small children.
You are subordinate to the Domestic Security Coordination Council, a coordination of the Department of Defense, Department of Justice, Department of Homeland Security, and the Department of Health and Human Services. Your co-workers are Marines, Military Intelligence (Army, Defense), Special Agents (FBI), Detectives or CSI types (Justice), and Doctors/Corpsmen (Health, Marines)
The Homeland Security Advisory System has been set the threat level to High (Orange); at least for the state of Colorado.
The situation in the Middle East is going, depending on the country or area, shocking and confusingly well, or shocking and confusingly terrible. The Department of Defense is strapped for resources and while there is an extensive modernization, all of the new "toys" are being handed to frontline infantry units. Thankfully, the crime level is low and the Department of Justice is well funded.
Your purpose, is to aid and assist Task Force Vanguard. TFV, is one of the most classified sections of the Executive Branch. You have little idea about their exact function, but you've heard that people you once looked up to or studied under were rotated into the organization. You also know that the organization's responsibilities outstrip it's current funding. 
6 Centuries ago 6 witches began their incantation on a distant, windswept island Their feverish whisper lasting 6 days and 6 hours and 6 minutes, repeating over and over, always in perfect sixes. Year after year, decade after decade, century after century their lips mouthed the words of prayer most dark, most foul, dripping with poison. For six long centuries their six cohorts of six soldiers burrowed deeper and built higher, six great fortresses with six greater tower, six great gates and six deep dark labyrinths below. And today, today their dark labour is complete.
The six cohorts of warriors and their six captains don their weapons and armor, gleaming with a shining darkness most unsettling. Their appetites voracious, the great cauldron empty, their ever laughing, ever smiling, ever hungering goddess begins to stir....
Welcome to VVITCH CULT! It's quite simple, a cover of 6 witches, have six captain that commands 6 raiders. You raid as your goddess commands you, eternally, without ceasing, without mercy. You raid for slaves, you raid for sacrifices, you raid for treasure, you raid for glory, you raid for power, you raid to fulfill your own lust for blood.
You hear her, whispering in your head, whispering in your heart, whispering in your soul. "I thirst....."she whispers.
From your great island fortresses, dug 666 feet deep into the earth, with towers stretching 666 feet into the sky, your great vvitches close their eyes, levitating off the ground, and begin to commune, where shall we raid first? Their whispers echo off the slick stone silo walls at the center of the island fortress. (FIRST TO 3 DECIDES [EAST, SOUTH, WEST]) 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. 
You woke up to an ocean of grey.
You, however, quickly corrected this assessment; this grey was of a rather light shade, with a small tinge of blue. You concluded that you were looking at the sky.
Only then you took notice of your body. You were lying on your back.
You heard the wind howling against… something. It sounded like grass. It made you cold. Very cold.
You tried to move, but your legs refused. It felt like they were stuck in the ground.
The mud felt grainy against your skin.
It took a while before you got to your feet. You haven’t done this in a long time. While you stretched your shoulders, you looked at your surroundings.
You were in a ditch of some sort. Looking over its edge, you did not see much more than a field. A field stretching far and wide like a vast sea with small islands of forest here and there. The only other thing disrupting this endless plain was a long, small hill with trees on it. These trees were arranged in a neat row. Curious. You didn’t remember trees standing in neat rows like that.
What did you remember to begin with? You scoured your brain. Nothing came up.
Crawling out of the ditch, the howling wind hit you. After struggling a bit with the force of a particularly strong gust, you set your first step.
You were lying on your belly this time, your foot sunk in the muck hidden below the grass.
Raising your feet high up in articulated strides, you slowly made your way to the row of trees. 
You’re ANTON PEAS: a loose-cannon cop with a hair-trigger temper and a hunger for justice… whatever the cost!
Wait, no… no you’re not–you’re a Grill Jockey at GREASE MONKEY: THE DEEP-FRIED EVERYTHING FAMILY RESTAURANT! Thanks to a demonic ritual gone wrong, you were whisked away to ZORAL: a fantasy realm shrouded in perpetual darkness–the surprise trip leaving you with a plate full of troubles and a head full of holes!
Dazed, confused, and bloodied by the local fauna (and a particularly feisty demoness named Rezalith), you somehow managed to stumble across some friendly locals… or rather they stumbled across you: there’s VOLKA: gentle giantess and Marshall of some kind of militia/neighborhood watch called THE LAMPLIGHTERS, TZAH-TZIE: a spunky bard that kinda latched onto you for inspiration, MOROOK: the stoic ranger and gatherer of alchemical regents, and the ever-grumpy OTI: a moody mage with an interest in your recently-acquired powers…
You heard right! Conveniently manifesting right before becoming a treat for the wildlife, the ability to summon fireballs from your fingertips has helped you out of a few jams… it’s a shame the gift might be demonic in origin!
Needless to say, you’ve been busy! VOLKIR, Volka’s adoptive father and potion seller has promised to assist you in finding a way home–for a price!
20,000 BELLS is his fee, and though you already have several leads on how to acquire said sum, the task is already shaping up to be far more troublesome than it appears. In an attempt to refresh an Innkeeper’s stock of booze, your journey took you to the DOCKS DISTRICT. What began as a simple sidequest has put you through the proverbial ‘wringer’--and might have even put you in the sights of unseen, but surely wicked forces…
Speaking to a shaky sugarseller, THIS is where your story continues…
https://youtu.be/1lR8VLt1Xlk Bright dawning days and solar rays and high suns - and flashing blades and other things.
Looks like they're going to make a fight of it. 
>Previous thread
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6099652/
You are Amon. G Sus an orphan hobo in the Pokemon universe. After winning a dream vacation to Alola he's been wining and dining and getting it on with the ladies while a mysterious conspiracy seems to surround his seemingly "perfect" vacation.
>We are at 4 spaghetti points at the moment.
>Spaghetti points are used to determine how much of a fucking autist you are in dialogs and other rolls for good or bad. They can also be spent on Pokemon evolutions or new moves. So get em but spend them quick. 5 points for an evolution, 3 for a new move
Here is the team!
Foongus: Timid and cowardly, you met him at age 7 when foraging for food. You thought he was a Pokeball due to hunger and he ended up crying due to being afraid. You gave him a last morsel of food to calm him down and he followed you into the city. Now your bros for life. He's more brave during battles as long as its not TOO rough.
Ability: Effect Spore
Mega Drain
Stun Spore
Sweet Scent
And Clear Smog
Castform:
Was met a few months after Foongus. Some faggot with green hair saw you looking for shelter in the rain and offered you Castform to turn the days sunny after "hearing the voice of your Foongus...you meet weirdos amongst the homeless. It worked too! He gave you your original 6 Pokeballs too as means of apology for not being able to do more. You never saw him again. Castform is chipper and sunny! Which is odd given how much he feels like a bag full of water. He always tries to cheer you up! He is pretty bad at battles compared to the rest of your team. He lacks the "killer instincts" but he's loyal!
Ability: Forecast
Weather Ball
Sunny Day...that's about it.
Croagunk:
A spacey chill Pokemon you met him during training Castform and Foongus. You tried to battle him but he kind of just...laid on his back. You tried catching him and it worked. Then when a wild Purrlion tried to steal the berries you scrounged up he Low Kicked the fuck out of it and sent it running for the hills. He seems...odd. Very much at his own tempo and logic. You haven't exactly figured it out yet but he's still a loyal companion.
Ability: Poison Touch
Poison Sting
Drain Punch
Astonish
Mud Slap You must dig.
You are alone.
Naked and Hungry.
She awaits you.
In the darkest reaches of Bothrou-dum.
Pick up your shovel.
Your pickaxe.
You have 1000 Days to live.
>Dig ( Tier 0 tools, 2 days)
>Dig faster (Tier 0 tools, 1 Day)
>Research (No innovation orbs in inventory)
>Scavenge (3 Days) 
You are Charlotte Fawkins, dashing heroine, detective, 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 causing solving problems with the help of trusty retainer Gil and snake(?)/father(?) Richard. Inexplicably, many people tend to "dislike" you, though you've never done anything wrong in your life.
Right now, you're hazy on what's happening.
I think I've done all I could do.
You're in your head. Something is in your body. Bone. Marble. Roses. You can't see. Something is the matter with your eye.
Shh. I'll take care of it. Give me a moment.
You are reaching into your pocket and taking out an eye and you are reaching into your socket and taking out the sun. You are putting the eye in the socket, and you are opening your mouth wider than it goes and swallowing the sun.
Fire and clarity return to you. You are Charlotte Fawkins. The lizard-thing, the Herald of the Bright Epoch, is in your body. You are in a tight space surrounded by Managers, which would ordinarily be frightening, but you remember. They worship you.
For now. I wouldn't press the matter. They are already resistant.
I'm sorry I couldn't smooth the path for you further.
You summoned the Herald so they wouldn't gang up on you and kill you, and because Richard told you to. You're decidedly unkilled, so it's okay. You can figure out an evacuation yourself. But thanks. Richard?
Still cut off. I will return him when I go.
Okay. You hope he isn't mad at you. You hope the Managers don't get mad at you either, because there's four or five with you in the space the size of a closet. They're taking you down, you think, to whatever it is that powers all of Headspace. Whatever it is you need to blow up. Hopefully soon. Ellery is still on his way.
The Management is looking at you. "Is something wrong, Great Herald?" one of them ventures.
"Hmm?" The Herald speaks with your voice in your mouth. "No. It is taxing for me to be here in such full flourish. I must step back for now."
Discomfort and shuffling. There's little else they can do. The elevator is in motion already. "Then you will leave us? Before you have seen what you—?"
"Leave you? Did I say leave?" She scoffs. "Is what I am when I step back not me?"
They need a few moments to parse this. (So do you.) "The client—"
"She is me. I am she. Don't draw foolish distinctions, dog. Face it: your Wingnut has achieved the impossible future. Now I will retreat."
There. Now that is really all I can do. I hope it is enough to fend them off.
Um... thanks. But can't she stay? You don't mind her stealing your body or anything. You're used to it.
I must go. I am an inveterate meddler. I must control myself.
Things will occur as they are and have and will and will always.
Good luck, Lottie. And forgive yourself. It was never your fault.
(1/2) You are a former knight. Your name? Well, that’s something you set out to make for yourself. You’ve been chasing rumors of an ancient artifact of unimaginable power, and now, at the end of your lead, you find yourself standing before a dark, dank cave.
Will you finally be able to crush all your enemies? Will the princess finally notice you? Will your dad finally start talking to you again, since you did that thing at his birthday that one time? or will this be your last quest?! 
To everyone's horror and dismay, you are Nicole Smith. You are a SHIFTer, a human with anomalous abilities who has slowly been mutating more and more over the last few weeks. First it was horns, then it was fur, who knows what's next?
Will you even be human once all is said and done?
Regardless, this is good in your line of work as a Cleaner, a deniable asset used by massive mega-corporations called the Alphabet Companies and anyone else willing to pay you. Most of your jobs are from your Handler a member of a powerful family who asks you to check up on things or 'clean' up messes for him.
All of this is because in the City the massive megacomplex spanning across hundreds of thousands of square miles, being a Cleaner is one of the most efficient ways of making cash if you don't care about your own safety and you can't quite get an actual proper Corporate job. As for how said job is going...
You finally finished tracking down a very important briefcase for your Handler and, with little actual struggle, you retrieved it. Thanks to your job well done you have now gained access to him as a very powerful ally in the future.
After hanging out at the bar with your friends, you proceeded to meet a bizarre alternate version of yourself who was corroded into an anomaly. A mind fuck and a half later, you met a mysterious CEO who wants to help you but only if you can figure out who he is. Trying to push past everything weird going on you got your newest mission:
Harvesting resources from one of I-Corp's most rural, frigid subdistricts.
So far your job here has been going well. You headed to a nearby village to get some side work while exploring the rest of the subdistrict. You then proceeded to meet a Graverobber and negotiated information out of them, hunted down a bank vault filled with valuables, and helped an anomaly out hidden inside of a clock tower.
The spooks, including a doppelganger version of you, were also hunting you down. After an incredibly deadly fight you managed to beat them (which helps Lex manifest his own anomalous ability as well).
You then headed to another village that seemed to have been abandoned. You're now heading down an underground passage hidden underneath a statue to figure out what the fuck happened here and to hopefully finish your QUOTA.
Anything for a buck. At least it's not office work.
ARCHIVE: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Cleaner
PASTEBINS:
MAIN CHARACTER SHEET (Your stats/abilities/perks are written here): https://pastebin.com/3y638TfK
ALLIES (contains their stats, abilities, recruitment costs, and RAPPORT): https://pastebin.com/8gdVZBPe
MECHANICS (contains basic rules about stats and mechanics.): https://pastebin.com/A9nLYWP6
INVENTORY (contains your items, consumables, weapons, etc.): https://pastebin.com/n0MH6M17
CITY INFO (General information about the Alphabet Companies and other notable entities): https://pastebin.com/ZP2JN7mT 
Connecting….
Connecting….
Connecting….
=================
Connection established!
=================
The screen flashes on and a smooth practiced voice travels out.
“Good ~ Morning, Salcot! I’m your host, Mike, who is joined today by Deputy Sarah. Today at Half-lid News Network, we have a loaded headline to get through, so let’s go at it.”
“Today an official report of vigilantes taking shots at various criminal gangs infesting Darkrock has turned into an all-out war between the two with police getting involved at the scene! Why don’t you tell us more about that Deputy?”
A small woman in a police uniform is shown on camera.
“Yes, while on patrol I got a call about an explosion near the abandoned factory-”
*Click*
“The new laws and regulation on magical artifacts and usage has seen a lot controversy- ”
*Click*
“Beauty, is a thing we all crave. So why not take it? With the new Mark IV facial plates, you can remove that ugly thing of the past, and become who you are truly meant to be.”
*Click*
“They can call me crazy, a loony, a fool, or whatever they want. But I’m telling you folks now! Those at the top want to harvest us for evil! Take our children and do deep secret blood rituals to become immor-
*Click*
The display is cut to black, then a sign fills the room. Your head turns to look out from the window.
Rain pours on a metropolitan landscape. Neon lights illuminate the clouds, with various blues, pinks, and reds reflecting off the dark weather. Far away from that, from the convenience of luxury, wealth of kings, and decadence of empires, lies the slums, back alleys, and industrial sectors that keep the dream going.
The streets are filled with decade-old car models on their last legs. Gangs of urchins, street workers, or homeless people can be heard coughing and milling about their day. Faces a mix of anger, gloom, or apathy. In the mix of it all, there is you.
On the second floor of a run-down apartment, you look upon the scene before muted footfalls of a person and a hand slams into the door, startling you out of your idle observation. A hoarse voice boomed through.
“Time to earn your pay, wake up!”
Reality hits you all at once, the soreness of your back, the stale air, and the biting cold of the room. The only furniture in sight is a ratty bed and a TV stand with a small flat-screen fished out of the garbage. It may not be much but it’s yours.
“I’m up! Just give a few to get dressed.”
“Hurry up! We gotta head out soon.” The child stumbles up the worn cracked steps. She drops one - then two - small pieces of hardened flax-bread into your offering bowl, ringing it like a gentle bell.
"I'm lost..." she whispers, balling her fists in a semblance of prayer. "...please...please..."
You wish to tell her that you control naught but the soft noonday breeze and the flow of dew upon bladed grass. You wish to tell her that you are a god of nothing.
But your voice vanishes between the tall, rustling trees. It has been a very long time since you last heard a prayer.
>[SUNWARD] - Help her look sunward. [-1 FAITH]
>[SEAWARD] - Help her look seaward. [-1 FAITH] 
You are Tristain d’Rusalka, a noble from the United Kingdom of Fodlan born with unique abilities bestowed upon you by the Goddess. You have journeyed across the sea to the desert kingdom of Morfis after receiving an invitation to join a mysterious competition. Though you know little of the trials that lie ahead, the winner of this contest has been promised the hand of Morfis’ Princess, Yulia Xan Phanes, in marriage. Seeking adventures, thrills, and battles that would be worthy of your might, you embarked on this strange voyage with nothing but your trusted axe.
You vanquished a group of pirates that attacked your ship, making several new allies: Alvin, a merchant captain and ‘Adjunct’ of the Royal College of Sorcery, May, a stowaway and thief of remarkable skill, and Adeline, a knight from a disgraced noble family.
You then arrived in Solis, a port city, where circumstances brought you into confrontations with both the locals as well as other contenders for Yulia’s hand. Your strength saw you through these trials, and you acquired additional allies: Cassius, a Morfisian Sorcerer with an admiration for Fodlan, Elric, a young Fodlan noble with little ability, and Cuthbert, a war veteran and Elric’s bodyguard.
After stocking up on supplies and choosing one of two travel routes, you and your party were ready to depart for Morfis, the City of Illusions. In 30 days, the competition would begin in earnest. But for now, you must travel through the desert, facing any perils that may come your way.
>Tristain d’Rusalka
>Level 24/50 Lord (EXP: 0/100)
HP: 51 (120%)
Strength: 26 (65%)
Magic: 18 (40%)
Speed: 14 (30%)
Defense: 20 (60%)
Resistance: 14 (40%
Luck: 12 (55%)
>Personal Skill: Resolve (When HP falls to less than 35%, Strength, Speed and Defense increase by 7)
>Weapons: Steel Axe (+12 Attack), Hammer (+8 Attack, 3x attack vs Armor Knights)
>Spells:
Fire (+3 DMG, 5 Uses)
>Abilities:
Crest of Indech: You are able to make a follow-up attack on one foe, regardless of Speed. (4 Charges)
Crest of Macuil: Double the attack power of a magic spell. (3 Charges)
Combat Art: Earthsplitter: Cleave all enemies standing two rows in front of you. (Cost: 1 Crest of Indech Charge)
>Items: Concoction x3 (+20 HP)
>Gold: 0g
>Tristain’s Party: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1mrlj-c7Oe51qIoat3LJfDSv0Bw2nmExQT2EqlKlWPGw/edit?usp=sharing
>Combat Rules:
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1m_UvIqCmBRzmrlu0mvttVkGRRI8bIkT6iTTrDR_J5zo/edit?usp=sharing
>Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Sorcerer%20Kingdom 
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 What the name implies. I'm trying to get over some GMing nerves and figured, what the heck? Why not a quest.
Most of these don't make it past chargen so I'll keep it simple: pick a feat, a race, a background, a class, and (optionally) pitch some backstory. I'm completely down for homebrew and I'll use 5e because basic. It's Friday night. You've got two ice-cold six-packs of spicebrew perspiring on the left side of your shirt. This weekend will be the same as every other weekend. Getting blackout drunk. Alone. In a one-room apartment in the shadiest corner of Coruscant. This is your life. It's just what you deserve.
"If you're having a party, I could come back later." A man emerges from the shadows of the disorientingly long hallway. He has on plain clothes but the rank badge below his left shoulder marks him as an Imperial officer. For a moment you think you're in trouble, but there's far too many rank tiles to bother with a lowly bureaucrat like yourself.
"What do you want?" you ask.
"To talk. In private. If you're expecting company..." He nods pointedly to the cans of spicebrew.
>"Piss off."
>"Why not? Misery loves company."
>"If this is about the Lera incident, I had nothing do with that."
>Write-in For centuries, in the cradle of civilization, the faith of man has been rocked back and forth like the salty tides of the Red Sea.
Once the Gods of the Old Age allowed themselves to be conquered by modern kings, mankind found itself without purpose or direction. Soon, mankind realized they were yearning for supernatural intervention.
Minor Gods arose from man's abundant faith and began to learn to enforce their divine will as belief in them grew. In their nascent state, the Gods do not yet have the power to directly speak or show themselves to mankind, yet they still find ways to lead new believers to their Domain and Commandments. Which Gods will be elevated into the Pantheon of this New Age?
In this quest, each player takes on the role of a God, and attempts to expand their supernatural reach. Players can join at any time!
Create your God!
>Name
>Domain
>Appearance
>Commandments Cizilivacionn therd, pink race and locate . 
The Town of Mulekick. A bustling mountain town touting clean air, unpolluted rivers, and untouched forests. Shortly after your parents died, you moved here from the city for cheaper, simpler living.
One day while hiking alone on a popular trail behind your apartment, you catch a glimpse of a weird insect you've never seen before. You follow it off the path, and dirt turns to grass, and grass turns to brush. The beetle is many different shades of green, and seems fuzzy or even glowing. You jump over a pile of thin, fallen branches and trees stacked on top of larger logs, not paying attention to where you wander. The path is easy enough, as long as you watch your step. The bug gets tired of you tailing him, and flitters off straight up into the sky. You watch it ascend until it's a little dot.
When you look at your surroundings, you find yourself coming upon a clearing that leads to a rock face. A small cave covered in dead, dry moss, with an entrance you have to hunch to enter, taunts you with a piercing whistle. You look around, alone. You can't be more than ten minutes back to the trail. The sky is getting darker. Hunching down, you shine your flashlight into the cave, revealing that the cave gets big enough to stand in just a few feet deeper, and the moss gives way to stone and weeds. Intrigued, you decide you'll just check it out for a minute, and turn right back.
You take a deep breath and enter the cave. Then, you forget. The radio whirs. A blur of signal messages appears on the radar screen. It looks like a seizing smile. You feel the warmth of the cannon's bracket mount rubbing against your leather boots. The air smells of gun oil. You lower your goggles and peer out over the horizon. A purple mountain lurches in the distance. You know that's where battle station omega is, but you can't see the cannons from here. You bite your lip expectingly. Hoping to see the yellow flash of combat. The signs of struggle are for you the only sign anyone else is alive. But no thunder cracks the sky. All is quiet for now. Maybe you should radio command just to free yourself from isolation. Previous thread is at the bottom of the catalog and OP will not return in time.
I'm rolling the game back to round 32 just in case
ROUND 32
>EV 15 vs. Ayys 21, Hobbits 22; Ayys +3, Hobbits +25
>YM 15, PC 10 vs PG 35, Pine Gap +25, Cannibals +10
> Emus 5
THERE'S STILL TIME TO JOIN IF YOU'RE NEW
CLAIM A COLOR AND A TERRITORY
type "dice+1d9999" in Options to roll the dice 
You dismounted from Scar with a little effort, turning to help the diminuitive maid who'd joined you down in turn. She probably could have gotten down on her own, but you'd be lying if you said your prior conversation hadn't left you more aware of her. There were too many implications for you to unpack right now, though... 'When you got time' was what you wanted to say, but the thought alone elicited a bitter chuckle.
While you had Asche firmly in hand, you took the opportunity to question her earlier reluctance. "Asche, be honest with me. If you and Maran seriously come into conflict, will you be okay?"
Silent guilt shadowed her carefully neutral features. Your grip on her shoulders tightened, firmly holding her in place. She was going to answer before either of you left this spot, and you'd stare the ashamed maid down until she did.
"Mutual suppression is safe." She explained with a small voice. "To break her... Likely also mutual."
"..." You sigh, flopping a hand over Asche's head to ruffle her hair, much to her distress. By the time you'd worked out your irritation with the little maid, it would take her several minutes to try and right it all again - A task she reluctantly set about trying to do immediately.
While it felt heartless, you genuinely did not have the time to comfort Asche the way she probably needed; You couldn't even begin to guess at what had gotten so twisted up in her heart and mind over this past year as to leave her in the state she was in... For now, you resolved yourself to keep an eye on her.
Having appropriately scolded her, you left the maid to make herself presentable and turned your attention towards the pair of Resuri guards who'd kept a watchful eye on you since you arrived atop Scar. You couldn't recall if they were ones you had met the night prior when dropping off the drugged mayor. Did it matter? Probably not. That was sometime ago, though, so shifts had to have changed by now...
"Ser Valen." One guard nodded as you approached, his companion standing straighter at attention. "Welcome back. Please head inside, the meeting won't start for a little while longer."
"Meeting?" You cut your eyes between the guards, a suspicious frown tugging at your lips. "What meeting?"
The unknown meeting going on was curious, you'd even go so far as to call it suspicious considering they seemed to have expected you to attend, but despite this, what had immediately set you on edge was that they had just known who you were. You didn't have to introduce yourself, argue over your bloodline, or threaten people with consequences- They just saw you walk up and greeted you.
...And you hated that this was what made you suspicious. 
You are David Hardrada, founder of the colony of Thunor made up of ex-soldiers whom had laid stake to a world upon the edges of civilized space. Through struggles and dangers, you had found yourself, over a decade after setting first foot upon the world, hosting a foreign lord. Throughout the pleasantries, your empathetic nature had allowed you to read the man well enough to ensure you maintain a good enough relationship for the upcoming negotiations.
After you had retired after throwing a rowdy feast wherein people gathered, socialized, danced, and held a boxing match fighting each other to both went frustration and to have some fun. Unfortunately, you being born a commoner, you lacked the abilities to simply ignore a raging headache currently pounding and trying to break out of your skull. You once again find yourself having to carry out the duties as the reigning monarch (title pending) of Thunorians (name pending).
Trying to stay focused via the power of caffeine, you stare across the table at your counterpart - Margrave Mykell Oreskovich, a vassal of House Orion. Next to you sits your council, next to him sit all of the various officers whose names you, at this particular junction, are not really capable of remembering.
Much to your chagrin, Mykell appears to be entire nonplussed about yesterday, even though he drank much harder liquor than you had. The entire situation had now been more or less entirely dominated by Ashwin, your minister of foreign affairs, and whomever Mykell appointed. A man whose name you failed to catch, but his calm and even tone, similar to that of Ashwin’s actually, has been helping you keep yourself together.
Still, in matters such as there, potentially changing the fate of your entire peoples, it is only a matter of time before both you and the Margrave must make decisions upon the big issues. On this occasion – payment.
Warships are expensive, apparently. A lot more expensive than you had ever thought, being infantry, the most expensive thing you had personally had the displeasure of trying to replace was an APC, and were you damn glad that had not come out of your pocket.
Your scattered internal ramblings aside, even the rudimentary patchwork for the warships is going to drain your common material reserves and then some. Chances are the Margrave and his men will stay here a few months, and chances are, they won’t have enough food, or at least food that they are willing to eat, the same of course goes for water. One of the upsides of not being out in space but around the planet is unlimited shower rations, especially considering the fight these men and women went through. 
Your conscienceness bumps into something, and you realize, with a start that you are alive. You marvel at this for a moment, but it takes only that moment for the crushing silence to announce itself, a thing you could feel, even when formless, crushing you, hurting you, forcing terror into your small reality.
Then, with a horrid, lurching sensation, your body is forced upright as your alien anatomy imitates a gasp as vents across your form open with a start and gulp down fetid, dusty air. Your joints crack, loudly, your eyes slough off their protective film, and on its own, your clawed hand reaches up to the side of your head. Tender, near-spongy, you recognize the feeling of a still-healing wound.
But that is all you recognize. You had been laying in a deep depression, in the center of the chamber, a thin green film at its base. The air is still, the room dark, and dry. It seems to be a Zerg place, but a dead one.
You resolve the tangle of your many legs beneath you and rise to your full, regal height. In the horrid quiet of both your mind and your surroundings, the little knowledge you have seems overly loud:
You are a ZERG BROODMOTHER. An alien horror, a proud servant of the QUEEN OF BLADES. Veteran-organism of a hundred worlds and countless battles. Psionic extension of the living will of the Swarm. Your purpose, is to not only tend to the HIVES and its HATCHERIES, but to direct their living products in battle.
But all that seems far away right now. If the agonizing silence is anything, it's proof that you are alone on this world.
>What should you do first? A cataclysm has struck and every civilized nation you know about has been destroyed. You can't manage magical contact with your Guild either, so the thing must have been worldwide. Monsters show up all over the place.
After running for many days, you find a small enclave in the woods who seems to be surviving, but only barely. After using your magic to repel the attack of some monsters, the locals decide to make you their leader.
You are Shoshana Darkberg, the Beguiler.
There are about thirty or forty people total, hard to tell.
How will you survive the post apocalypse?
> Get everyone together around a fire to do some headcount and skill assessment
> Find a safer place to spend the night, the middle of the forest seems dangerous
> Put people on watch and go to sleep, tomorrow you will see what you do
> Write in 
>Welcome, to a horror themed world of Angels, where faith is strength. And humanity has been forced to ascend to a higher plane of being, a creature of Concepts and Marrow. Where you will fight with Blood, Faith, and Bone. Where the human question has been long since erased and replaced with a new one.
The sound of sole on pavement filled your ears as did the incessant beeping of horns and chatter of the sea of people as you wade through the tsunami of life, ignoring them as you begin your morning commute to work. A cup of coffee in your hand as a substitute for a healthy sleep schedule. The morning commute that is as familiar as it is soil crushing. You rub your eyes with your arm as you feel them begin to itch in the cold October air. However the ache did not go away, feeling akin to the bastard condition known as the migraine.
You sigh and wipe your eyes as you feel your eyes start to water…and then the tears came, and wouldn’t stop. Sobbing fills your ears as you blink through the waterfall’s of your salt as they stream down your face. The sea of people has stopped as everyone has suddenly begun to weep.
Confusion and panic took hold as you stopped your march, the loud crunching of metal is heard as a nearby taxi collided with a streetlight, a middle aged face comes up from the air bag with tears streaming down his face. Despite bleeding from his temple and one eyes now swelling her gets out of the car and cranes his neck skyward.
That’s when for some reason you look up, your not sure why but your out stretched neck now refused to move, with a side eye you can see others doing the same, all with a look of fear and confusion on their faces. The sky, began to bulge downward as if the clouds and sky were some linen screen. Like a cloth filling with water it bulked downward, it grew, the improbable bulge’s size now scrapping against structures meant to touch the sky’s. It’s seize grew width growing behind your sight from your place in the concrete jungle. The cloud still moving on it as if it were a mere screen.
Which is when it burst with a deafening sound. One akin to a scream. Blood fell upon the city like a flood filling it as people and vehicle alike were flung amount its rapid stream’s. You are swept up and pushed against a pillar, you can feel your ribs and legs being crushed slowly by the onset of copper liquid. The pillar behind you holding the humble family owned bookshop’s ceiling suddenly crumbles atop of you. Your vision black as pain sears into you. 
Your name is David "Gunny" Rockefeller, no relation.
A veteran of the united states marine corps, you find yourself in a far-out situation after an all-too-close encounter of the third kind!
In the last thread you captured some live samples of the insects infesting your station for Lyna to study, giving you a bit of information on an otherwise unknown threat.
You also managed to get your mom into custom skinsuit, which has more or less returned her mobility to her, allowing her to walk and act on her own.
After that, you spent a fair bit of time checking on equipment and training the new pirate raiders for the upcoming extermination campaign.
The topic of marriage also came up with Cylia, from whom you learned that Caithans mate for life, and her staying with you forever was just a given in her mind.
But then, you learned something unpleasant that you're currently in the middle of blocking out of your mind forever.
After a quick little three or four day mental breakdown, you drowned yourself in Kyla's embrace and forced yourself back onto your feet.
SHODAN hasn't spoken to you much since then, but the other girls have been taking good care of you.
You decided that the only way to pull yourself up was to just move, and with work to be done in the bug squashing department, that's what you decided on.
The very next day, you were suited up and now find yourself balls deep in mostly unmapped tunnels in the middle of a gigantic, hollowed-out asteroid.
One of the raiders you took with you almost immediately got injured, which you somewhat expected, but that also served to put the remainder of the men on their toes.
That also made them quite slow to move, and it seems neither bribery nor threats are enough to make them eager to do their jobs in the face of mortal danger.
So you currently find yourself leading by example, putting yourself on the front line for all to see.
Will things go according to plan? What will you find deeper in these tunnels? Will David's mental state hold up over time?
Find out this time, on (probably the last) Humanity Fuck Yeah!
>Last Thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6091170/
>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 
There are times, yes, where you wonder what it is that made you come here. A short month ago, you helped a man by the name of Cephalas escape from both his brother and the empire he was rebelling against. With him out of the picture, you quietly assumed control over the meagre force he was to raise here in the valleys. As such, you have made yourself at home in this half-ruined barracks of the Mithradian Empire, not that it is of much joy to one such as yourself, and you can see why Cephalas was eager to be rid of the place. The git had seen fit to drink most of the wine himself, it seems, considering the amount of wine-stains in the cloth of the curtains and bedsheets.
The Mithradian conscripts he managed to skim from whatever half-dead village he found them in are scrawny, poorly trained, poorly equipped, poorly led, and above all else, their morale is face-first dead in the gutter. Their horses are suited for ploughing and draft work, not war. Your Tauten troops, by contrast, are the finest and perhaps most heavily armoured host within the mountain walls that you now call your home. You wouldn't trust the Mithradian levies in battle, let alone in an independent operation, so you keep them at the base, repairing the building and training. Even then, the language barrier between the two groups has left you doubtful as to their effectiveness in the field when they have to cooperate in joint operations. Hopefully that day will be far off.
Aside from that, there are other matters to attend to. Your mainline communication with the rest of the crusaders has been poor, not because of the enemy harassing your messengers or anything, but because of the remoteness of your position. Most of the crusaders chose to march south, where it was expected the bulk of the infidel's army was located. You haven't received any report about anything, but you have barely been here a month, so you hope to at least receive some news before the direct passes in the mountains snow in, which would make your lines of communication even longer.
The supply situation is calm for now; you bought up enough salted fish along the coastal towns before you went inland, but if you are going to stay here for a longer period of time, it would be a good idea to send some men into the few remaining cities and villages to buy up supplies if the need arises. "The United Kingdom is home to many different kinds of dangers.
In particular, York and the area surrounding it have a Witch Manifestation every = days. Magical Girls are a needed resource in that area, but are volatile within it.
I would wish all living there good luck, but luck will not save you from their clutches."
- Excerpt from The "Territory in The U.K Guide" by £&!*@ *&"^^#@
"Life really can be pretty fairy-tale like at times, if you just try hard enough!"
- Miharu Fukugawa's Mind
"This new world is full of grace and wrath alike. I prithee a grand question: What to do to remind the world of virtue and modesty?"
- Viktoria Walker's Current Dismay
Previous (and first) Thread:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6085308/
Other Threads by Lumina Canima:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=meguca+royale 
It is the year 2907 A.D., humanity, initially flourishing out in the cosmos, has begun to turn on itself, civil wars, secession, profiteers of the industrial war complex, the galaxy was growing more dim as colonies stopped being made, and danger was around every corner.
You are Erik Bridger, high schooler, senior and an all around ace student. Anti-social but proficient in your work, you were soon, and expectantly were 'offered' an position amongst the Mobile Response Force. Said organization being your systems version of the military, an cog in machine serving the Independent Communion of Stars, ICS. An fanatical organization that uses faith to inspire and control the masses to the leadership own ends.
Though he cared for none of this as he looked at the holo tablet he was reading, listing several positions available for Erik to join thanks to his exemplary grades, he was allowed to pick his poison...
[A] Infantry(Join the rank and file on the Frontline in service of the Communion!)
[B] Mech Pilot (Learn the ropes of mech warfare and outmaneuver and overpower your enemies!)
[C] Other (Write-In)
(First time so advice and criticism appreciated) 
Last time, you challenged the Warden who reigns over Fire Field to a dangerous duel of the highest stakes and risks! You two will face each other in a game of Guess Whom is it?! An original game without a trademark that you can sell to children of all ages… Except the ones who like to eat the tiny pieces of everything, like Ame when she was a little more little and you couldn’t play with your line of plastic construction toys — you’ll never forget the day you had to close down Johnny Airlines™ because that tiny bear kept trying to eat your plastic passengers! They were paying customers, how dare she?!
Regardless, the birdy bird moves back to Quye as his side of the board hasn’t appeared yet. The two communicate briefly, a drastic change is about to happen…
Flatly, Quye doesn’t want to play the game proper, but the challenge still goes. To make a long story short, you’re playing Guess Who? on Single Player. By relinquishing his role as an active competitor, he negotiated rules changes:
>You’re going to play on Quye’s turf on Floor F.
>The Prisoners (and some volunteers) will *actually* come over to be a part of this. They will help you out.
>During Phase 1, the game revolves around you asking 5 questions to the Prisoners. They’re forced to answer earnestly. This extra information will come in handy for Phase 2 later, so use them wisely. Or don't! You never won a game of Guess Who? by knowing any of those losers' jobs!
>During Phase 2, it’s the proper Guess Who? gameplay everyone knows and loves. You ask yes or no questions to figure out Quye’s chosen one. He *can’t* lie.
>You have to win in 5 turns or less, or else Quye takes the win. During your turn you can either ask Quye a Yes or No question or guess who his pick is.
>As negotiated, Quye can veto one of the questions *only once*. You’re forced to ask something else, *not* lose a question.
>You can’t make a question that eliminates more than 8 prisoners with either answer given. (Example: During your first question, you can’t ask the Gender of his pick because it’d eliminate 12 people no matter the answer.) If the number of one gender dwindles to 8 or less, you’re allowed to ask the question however.
>The Winner gets a reasonable reward from the loser. 
You are Kara Zor-El, one of the last living remnants of the once proud Kryptonian Empire. When you were but a babe, the empire fell. You were taken in by another of its remnants: The artificial intelligence known as Brainiac. It nurtured you when you were little, taught you lessons of your Kryptonian heritage, trained you to fight as they did. Direct and unforgiving.
As you grew up, Brainiac reestablished the Empire. He started out only with a few derelict space stations and ships and soon grew to encompass a few systems, bringing under heel various civilizations who owed their growth to Krypton. They were rebels, traitors, they refused Brainiac’s mercy and Brainiac taught them to respect their betters.
You watched it often, orbit bombings. Wars fought between Kryptonian war machines and whatever these species could muster. Whole species punished to toil to pay back for their crimes. Your heart hardened, the Empire was in dire straits, terrible things had to be done for a brighter future.
Soon enough, you were convinced. Krypton had to return. The resources and skills of the civilizations that once bent the knee to the homeworld had to be united to continue its purpose. To expand, to enlighten.
And you reached adulthood. 21 years of age in Kryptonian society. Brainiac outfitted you with an armour made of the best composites from the New Empire, and the most up to date technological advancements the AI could muster.
“Zor-El.” His robotic voice rang from the comms console below you. “My most precious asset, how I longed for you to feel the pride that stems from fighting for the Great Cause.”
“Thank you, Brainiac.” You replied. “I have anxiously waited for this day myself.”
“It is good to hear. Allow me to remind you of your mission: You will be dropped into the government building of the Kazarrian Empire, the foremost polity on planet Racker V after the Empire’s collapse.”
You watched the planet below you as the ship approached the landing zone. A grand urban sprawl appeared below. Brainiac went silent for a moment as the dropship’s shields were taking fire from ground-based orbital lasers. The ship shook for a moment, but soon stabilized under the heavy fire.
“Worry not, Zor-El. Their technological level cannot match ours. Our shields will hold.”
“Yes, Brainiac.” You replied.
“As I was saying, with the taking of the Kazarrian Emperor, Racker V’s united front will collapse. They will understand there is no point in their defiance. Whatever pockets of resistance will remain will be dealt with accordingly. I expect this new strategy I have devised with you as its spearhead to reduce the damages caused by planetary reclamation by…” The console goes silent for a moment. “One hundred a thirty thousand, five hundred and thirteen point five eight zero…” Brainiac drones on with the decimals.
“Brainiac.” You cut it off.
“Zero three percent.” Brainiac says. “I have rounded off the last decimal for your cognitive system’s convenience.” 
There is silence.
Not even the wind is heard.
All conversations were interrupted by the great burst of light in the distance, and the sound accompanying it. It was strangely reminiscent of a firework, except for it's placement.
But the silence, as fragile and unnatural as it had been, is broken with the breathing, shuffling and other man-made sounds from the people around you as activity sparks once more in the hearts of people like a train getting out of its station.
You looked saw the individuals you--in your mind--had deemed as the Noirs; Shapes, a cautious idealist. The Lady, stoic and familiar with corpses. Albert, an old detective and ex-cop. Mike, the aggressive kickboxer. And Jamesfield, their leader.
Each of them said nothing, keeping an eye on either the place where a celebration was held for vague reasons, the same area where the flash of light had originated, or upon the two men, who went by the aliases of 'Knife' and 'Jack of Hearts', who had attempted to assault Jamesfield and the Lady. Said men were tied to a tree, harmless for now. But you could see the reasoning behind keeping an eye on them.
Yet the only emotion they showed was confusion.
Your name is Johan. But that's not important now. Your mind had other thoughts to worry about. The foremost being: What just happened?
>Go back there and see what happened. You aren't sure if there's anything to actually worry about, but there's a certain mime named Mimi you wanted to make sure was alright. Just in case.
>Stay here and do not distract yourself. The two criminals could easily use the confusion and division to escape. Something you wouldn't let happen.
>Look up at the sky. It's an orange hue, slowly turning purple. It's getting late, and you want to wrap things up soon. So you'll take the safe road and start deciding with the Noirs on how to deal with these two. Soon enough you'd be back in your hotel room, waiting to fall asleep.
>Write-in. This story was partially generated by AI whilst i was in an altered state of consciousness so i feel it fitting to be forgotten about here. Without durther introduction let me paste it here;
Selina Kyle, the infamous Catwoman, stalked the shadowy alleys of Gotham City, her whip coiled tightly at her side. Her eyes, gleaming like emeralds in the moonlit night, scanned the cityscape for any sign of trouble. She had heard whispers of a new contraption Riddler had been working on, something so ingenious it could redefine chaos. The Enigma Device, they called it, a tool with the power to hack into any system, to manipulate any mind, to bring any plan to fruition. It was a prize worth the risk. Quest fell off because I took a quick nap. I am sorry for it not being archived correctly. Will see if I can get it back from like moe or something. Annoying.
Here is the prompt from before.
>What did you pick up with the extra cash you had? Something small is good. It will be shared by you and your sister. Something like an expanding pouch or a sneak-o-scope is fine. A premium broom is too much. Or do you want to just say you spent it on some outfits? Your mom and dad are more than rich enough that your robes have warming and cooling enchantments. A set of gloves with a protego on them? Some weird potion neither of you could normally make? A gift for Macy or David?
>Write in
We have one vote for having picked up some fancy under things.
I do apologize for not archiving before, did not get that it was so far off the board. Will post a little more after a bit as an apology. "One lasting superstition among the people of Hyrule, is the belief that mirrors are portals to another world. According to myth, mirrors, when left in total darkness, show reflections of this other world. A world of dark shapes and shadows, a world wrapped in twilight."
-Excerpt from "Folk Tales and Superstitions of Hyrule
Previous Threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=The+Fall+of+Hyrule 
Beware of the boy as he is boy no more, rather a man since yesterday. And any young man needs a young woman, the elder has been saying for months. Even though he still feels like a boy, no words in opposition leave his mouth as the matchmaking prospect make him excited in a novel non-boyish way. Miurne is her name, his childhood best friend and bride-to-be, the one who has been his dear friend for the past decade spent in these woods.
The terrain is mountainous, life here is rugged, the forty escapees are poor. Yet the sky is blue and untainted by pollution, their eyes see walls of woods and greenery every day, daily life is simple, distant are the memories of forced labor in the assembling of earth-flattening machinery of monstrous size, made specifically for planets considered worthy of becoming agro-worlds. But the boy doesn't remember all of that, he could barely walk when a group of families, including his, made their way to the other end of the planet on the backs of stolen Tauroses. He doesn't remember but people talk, he knows that sooner or later the ground beneath their feet will start to rumble, the earth-flattening machines will be here for his mountains, for his woods, for his Miurne, for him.
Certain event reminded the retched group of renegades of their vulnerability, certain event made the earth rumble. A bright red flight vessel painted a jet-black strip of burnt fuel across the sky a day ago, on the boy's birthday. The growling of overworked engines drowned any other sound, the tattered hull scattered in pieces all over the place, unable to withstand the atmospheric pressure. Finally the cockpit kissed the planetary surface with mighty force dozen kilometers away from their hideout. The adults in the renegade group were thrown in distress, a crashed vessel meant investigation. There will be a makeshift council tonight as to what measures need to be taken for everyone's security. Despite the calming words of the elder, the boy couldn't help but feel fear creeping in their camp.
Sunlight is still in abundance so regardless of circumstances when the land needs assistance, man answers, especially when his food is on the line. The boy is plowing the mountainous soil along with his father, strapped domesticated creature, native to this land, is pulling a plow.
Suddenly the boy hears an uncomfortable sound of metal hitting harder metal, the plow is dragging an object covered by a thick layer of dirt. He observes a prolonged object with unusual attachment.
>the boy cleans the sword [Sullied Sister]
Suddenly the boy gets a violent headache, the domesticated ox-like creature starts to behave erratically, dragging air into its lungs and exhaling with great force, anxiously. A few dozen steps in front of them a small item glistens red under the sun.
>the boy pockets the precious stone [Tourmaline of Rigidity] 
The world of Pavilion continues on. In the far east the gentle Venks enjoy an era of peace and prosperity, far from any who might menace them. They share the shores of the great lake with many a peculiar people, the ant legions of Skrit, the eclectic homunculi of Vitruvia, and the secretive shadow elves of Habitun. The decidedly peculiar east is separated from the west by the harpy supremacists of Guliseare who lurk in a great mountain range, though their home is threatened by the flames of war. Beyond the mountains are the human kingdoms, remnants of the Tellden empire. The mage lords of the Vizari, the holy legions of Barzaentine, the half orc knights of Orcmanie, the half elf aristocrats of Adenai, and the matriarchy cursed Ordelan. Nestled within them are the changeling city states of Tagaya. On the fringes of what was once the Tellden empire the brutal Domo beastmen and savage Krovian sharkmen lurk, waiting for their chance to strike at the world of men. Further still are the alien Krawl and the Urotti dwarves living on the edge of civilized lands.
As the spring of a new year dawns and the first green shoots appear, the leaders of the world must guide their people to the future, through vicious wars, delicate diplomacy, and past chaotic unpredictable disasters.
>We're currently full on players, apologies to anyone who would like to join
>GLOBAL
Night becomes day as a spectacular meteor shower fills the night sky, punctuated by the earth itself shuddering as great fiery stars strike the ground somewhere far to the south east. The air grows hot and mothers clutch their children tight as wisemen stare in horror. After three hours it ends as abruptly as it began. The mollucoids of Zelheim have been utterly destroyed, though whether it is by the callousness of nature, divine, or a mortal of terrifying power is utterly unknown. The following summer is hot and dry and the harvests slim. 
There is light in this world, even if you have to search for it.
That's what Juno said. Strange words, coming from someone like her. It's as if you've been given a rare glimpse at what lies beneath her spiky armour, at the gentle yearning at the core of her being. There's a part of you that wonders if this might all be one of her games, but... it doesn't feel that way. These rare moments of sincerity have a certain unmistakable feeling to them.
“I had a lot of fun! We should definitely do this again. Although...” Elle muses, picking up the empty bottle of wine and studying it, “Maybe a little more moderation next time.”
Daniel groans from where he lies on the couch, covering his face with his hands. “What did I do to deserve this?” he mumbles to himself.
“You've done nothing, clearly. For no reason at all, you've woken up with a terrible hangover,” you taunt, “Life truly is unfair.”
“Just leave me here,” he moans, “Just let me die.”
“I'll keep an eye on him,” Jan assures you, giving the soldier a sympathetic look, “You go on, don't worry. You are right though, Miss Legrasse, we SHOULD do this again. It was nice, not having to think about... well. You know what I mean, I'm sure.”
You've all got things that you'd rather not think about. Sometimes, it feels easier not to think at all.
“Has anyone seen Miss Tomoe?” Elle asks after a moment, “I thought I heard her leave early, but it could've been a dream.”
“I can't imagine she's the sort who likes lingering goodbyes,” you suggest with a shrug, “She'll come and go on her own terms.” 
Summary: You are Ninety-Nine, a tyranid hybrid made to combat the tyranid
She had to stay strong. This level of isolation was nothing compared to the roaring flames of battle. Ninety-Nine avoided the people in the ship, though once a day she moved with the servitors and pretended to be one just to feel part of a brood. Ninety-Nine watched the servitors move inside a cramped hallway. The ground suddenly rumbled.
“Translating into real space.” The ship’s vox announced.
The ship’s interior pipes and walls creaked heavily. Ninety-Nine whipped her head left and right in panic. Suddenly, the sounds stopped. There was a pulse of silence before the ship’s quiet hum resumed. She shrugged and followed the servitors until they reached a wide space, where tech priests and skiitari gathered. Ninety-Nine climbed on top of a cogitator, then grabbed onto a pipe above, then skulked in the dark to find a way back into her room.
“Subject Ninety-Nine to the command deck. Subject Ninety-Nine to the command center.” The voxes set in many corners announced. “Subject Ninety-Nine to the command deck. Subject Ninety-Nine to the command deck.”
Thanks to following the servitors, Ninety-Nine knew the basic layout of the ship, enough to know the important locations filled with people so she could avoid them. First, Ninety-Nine returned to her room to retrieve her hooded robe, then arrived at the command deck.
Gotta hide it, need to hide it…
As she walked, Ninety-Nine tugged robes to cover her hands and her tail wrapped her waist. She was at the command deck, though she was not sure what she was supposed to do.
>Ninety-Nine looked for Faustinius
>Ninety-Nine looked for Inquisitor Greyfax
>Ninety-Nine approached the tall battle-master with metal tendrils on his back
>Ninety-Nine stayed where she was, she was in the command deck after all and no one told her where she was supposed to be specifically.
Thread 1
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6099832/ 
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 dirty and unwashed in the cool of October. 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's stuffy 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:
>The outbreak was started 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, ask a question, or suggest something, use these square brackets [ ], so I'll know. Welcome]
See previous chapters
>>6046391
>>6087641 
With the end of the Unification War, the fires that once ravaged the now-independent Night City ceased to exist, leaving broken fates and untold damages in its wake. Both sides saw themselves as victors, but ultimately, the corpos came out as the ultimate winners; Arasaka was once again able to extend its tendrils around the West Coast, rearing its ugly head and imperialistic ambition to make the old United States blush at the thought. The more things tried to change, the more they stayed the same.
A year later, the post-war reconstruction is going slow, too slow as many believe. The city council prefers to focus on efforts irrelevant to the common citizenry, who are poorly defended by the understaffed NCPD, bleeding numbers to gang wars that shall shape the city's underground for years to come. The disease is rampant, the birth rates are failing, and the people choose to dig their heads deeper into their BDs, jerking away all their problems. In other words, there's no better place to call home for the downtrodden.
It won't be *your* home for much longer, however. Not with the injuries you've sustained - a hole opened in your side, a bone poking out of your elbow, and an opening in your frontal skull that bled down to your mouth, with a coppery taste reminding you that it'll take just a little longer before you'll draw your last breath.
With the last of your strength, you dragged yourself into this cold alleyway, down where the sewage went, to escape the unfolding chaos on the streets. Something about a Cyberpsycho escalating a fight, and a truck flipping over. Finer details are eluding you, and so far, you've only been able to flip yourself on your front, staring at the steam escaping from one of the manholes.
Details are all mixed up in your predicament, but there's nothing to lose in watching your life flash before your eyes. In your delirious state, you recall that you are. . .
>Adam Kisiner, a mediocre accountant who endured a string of failures before ending up in the reopened Arasaka America, grinding through the corporate ladder for survival. A man who never learned to live, only to fight, now bleeding out on a nameless street, never able to taste the fruits of liberating his soul.
>Philomon Steele, formerly a young revolutionary who abandoned his passion in pursuit of med school. Result? Cushy job as a surgeon at MT, putting limbs on and off all day. He had it all - a girlfriend, a group of friends, a future to look up to, and it all has been severed in one fine stroke. A death full of regrets is the worst kind of death a man can have.
>Imaeda Yasotaro, a self-proclaimed hooligan with no future. Nevertheless, he attended the Night City University with ferocious zeal, all to achieve the approval of his demanding father. Said father once asked him to deliver an innocent little package to a buddy, a fixer, which led him to this tragedy. Dying by the orders of an old man. . . story old as time. 
A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…
STAR WARS
INTERREGNUM
EPISODE III
THE SEARCH FOR SANCTUARY
>>REACAP of the last thread:
The Jedi Knight FARREN GAELLE has returned to the planet AMAGI, where the JEDI TRIUMVIRATE eagerly awaits his arrival. With him are the survivors of the ill-fated KESSEL CONCLAVE, saved from the treacherous plot of JEDI MASTER SHADDAY POTKIN. The TRIUMVIRATE now counts seven new Jedi among their ranks, potential mentors for a new generation of younglings, and a massacre at the hands of DARTH VADER has been narrowly averted.
Bound by a self-imposed exile from EMPIRE space, Farren and his retinue have pledged their service to the MYLAR STAR ALLIANCE. At the command of SUPREME ARCHON KAULES KEIMANN, they undertake a vital mission to deliver aid to the famine-stricken planet ULSIND, devastated by the ruthless TOFF during the Alliance’s OPERATION SPHERE.
But in the far reaches of a nameless system, an UNKNOWN ENEMY stirs. Awakened from a millennia-long slumber, a LIVING SHIP of coral and FIERY DEATH threatened to annihilate the convoy. Farren, confronting an enemy INVISIBLE TO THE FORCE itself, fought with skill and determination. Though poisoned and wounded, he emerged victorious, narrowly escaping death.
Now, with his strength renewed, Farren turns his focus to the training of his young padawan, CEYLA VIKOL, preparing her for the ways of the JEDI SHADOWS as DARK FORCES loom on the horizon...
---
>>Previous thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2023/5655115/
>>Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Star%20Wars%20Interregnum
>>Pastebin (WIP): https://pastebin.com/u/TaskForceKaz
>>Twitter: https://twitter.com/TaskForceKaz As you keep walking deeper into the library, the books are getting...weirder. Some titles you notice include "Knitting with dog hair.", "How to talk to your cat about gun safety." and "Who cut off Grandpa's head?". It has been a while since you saw anyone else and you can't see an exit or sign in any direction
>Look for a book about your situation
>Just keep walking, you're bound to run into someone/something eventually Previous thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6085624/
Rules: Add one alteration per evolution, save in .png, don't evolve a creature if you were the one to evolve it last, link/reply to the creature you are evolving from.
A massive extinction event has occurred, a series of meteor impacts devastates the surface and raises the global temperature sharply, leaving plenty of space to be inherited by new life. 
>Design (D): Jonathan Hickman.
>Alt-Text: An infographic map of Earth labeled “The World” separated into differently colored sections.
>Dialogue Samples: Jonathan Hickman, Kurt Busiek, Bill Everett.
1961
The System is Broken.
After decades of war, the world was rebuilt on a new axis.
The Great Powers carved the planet between them and the Globe spun on this Great Wheel.
But the rise of a new form of power has broken the balance holding up the planet. Atlas has fallen, now is the Age of Marvels.
You are the leader of one of the new superpowers of this world.
The choices you make will affect the fate of the planet and the cosmos beyond. For one of these factions may become the...
ULTIMATE CIVILIZATION
{Which Faction are we playing as?}
>SHIELD
A superscience spy army backed by Western powers and corporate interests.
This band of Cold Warriors seeks to install the USA’s vision of peace across the planet, no matter the human cost.
>ZODIAC
Get a job, buy on credit, go to war, settle down, do whatever they tell you.
This is what those in power want, and this is what the outcast anarchists of ZODIAC fight against.
Big business and big armies tear apart the world, with the common people suffering worldwide.
But a spirit of revolution has taken the world by storm.
This new age of superpowers shows the potential for The Great Wheel that runs the world to be broken in favor of something better—something Free.
>Nation X
The Age of the Atom has awakened something in the human form.
They are the Mutants, a new form of people with uncanny abilities.
They have, like so many other groups this decade, joined together to fight for their civil rights.
This young nation seeks liberation. If that comes through peace, war, or something stranger will be for you to decide.
>Atlantis
Decades ago Prince Namor began his adventurous crusade against white men. Heroes of honor convinced him to join the Allied Cause.
Yet after the war, betrayal left him destitute and Atlantis devastated. With the Wheel Broken a new Age of Atlantis will begin, but will it seek justice, vengeance, or conquest? You are in a tavern. Water is dripping from a wet spot on the rafters, and it smells like something earthy and fungal is growing inside the walls. It is early morning and so quiet that you can hear the crunch of the waterbug you have just crushed beneath your boot.
The tavernkeeper is setting mugs on the counter when he glances over at you. "We don't serve your kind here," he says.
"But I'm human," you reply.
"I meant foreigners. You ain't from around here."
This is true. Where are you from again?
>A remote monastery in the woods, after being left there in a breadbasket when you were born
>A quiet logging town a few leagues yonder, born to a family that owns the local sawmill
>The jungles of an island off the coast of this land, raised by a dragon with 11 heads Choose a name, race, and enviroment for your civilization. 
You are Noel Tiberius di Hazaran, formerly a single-digit warrior, now the warrior-queen of your ancestral homeland. At the moment, you know something very important – something you suspect that the man standing before you knows as well.
“I doubt it came here on our account,” you conclude of the asarakam, the ‘dragon-kin’, you and your cohort just defeated. “It came here for you. And the fact that it knew to come here may mean that the rest of its kind know that you’re here.”
General Waverly, the man currently in command of the last major holdouts of Organization loyalists on your home continent, considers your perspective.
“And what can you offer us to remedy this… situation?”
“That depends,” you reply, crossing your arms as you delve deeper into a thorny, rather unpleasant conversation. “There’s still the issue of Lavinia.”
“Lavinia?” he repeats.
“The island off the coast of the region we call Aquitan,” you clarify. “You’ve been using the northern portion of the island as a staging area for years. I want you off of it.”
“You’re talking about more than simply a major military and research post,” the general insists with a frown. “That facility is among the few we still maintain on this side of the world.”
“This is not your side of the world,” you counter, “and you have no entitlement to any of it. Could you sleep soundly in your own home with my blade laid across your throat?”
“I suppose not,” the general admits, clearly thinking things over behind dark eyes. “But were we to ask you to abandon one-fifth of your nation’s territory, would you simply acquiesce?”
“Probably not,” you reply, “so it’s a good thing we’re not asking you to do that, isn’t it?”
“I see your reputation for difficulty is well-earned.”
“Again,” you growl, finding yourself increasingly short on patience, “this is not your land, but ours. Why would you expect that a queen would be anything less than ‘difficult’ in its defense?”
General Waverly pauses to think again, which is something of a good sign in your mind. Too many times you run into an officer who got to his position my making decisive moves, not necessarily well-informed or even fundamentally smart ones.
“I’ll rephrase,” the general eventually continues. “I understand that your ‘difficulty’ arises from your desire to protect your people, your nation, and even the world as you have always defined it.”
>1/2 
You are Uzumaki Naori, leader of the shinobi village of Amegakure. Before that you were widely regarded as one of the most powerful Commanders in the Allied Shinobi Forces, and before that you were known among those “in the know” as one of the most dangerous terrorists in the world. But as of right now that honor goes to an organization calling itself ‘Kara’.
Fighting against Kara has been more of a frustration so far than anything else, and a generally unusual experience overall. While you and your own former comrades in Akatsuki were constantly engaging with the world, through mercenary work and through Kakuzu’s obsession with collecting bounties, Kara has made it their business model to lay low as much as possible. Even with Sasuke and international support from the Five Great Nations behind the effort, little progress was made until recently in terms of tracking down Kara’s “Inners”.
Interestingly enough it was your son who made the first breakthrough in identifying and intercepting a cyborg woman named Delta, who he brought you in to capture so as to avoid collateral damage. Then he ran into a former Inner named Ōga while on an undercover escort mission – of all things, during a school field trip. That would probably be hilarious had it not presented such a high risk of things going horribly, horribly wrong had it been a different combination of Kara and jōnin. Thankfully, Ōga surrendered herself into custody and agreed to emotional counseling to help her cope with the mild brain damage she suffered in her final hours before leaving Kara.
…
“So yeah, that’s where we’re at,” you sigh, after recounting recent events to Fū. “Dragging them all out one at a time and dealing with them has worked so far, so we’re gonna try it again.”
“Lemme get this straight,” Fū crosses her arms. “We’re gonna take an armored train.”
“Regular one won’t do, so yeah.”
“And we’re gonna pretend to be moving two prisoners to Amegakure,” she continues.
“Yup.”
“So we can force Kara to try and get them back.”
“We’re assuming it’ll work,” you shrug. “But yeah. That’s the plan.”
“And this’ll probably wreck the train.”
“Probably.”
“That sounds…”
… yes?
“… like an AWESOME plan!” Fū shouts excitedly. “I’m going with you, right? Please tell me I’m going with you!?”
>1/2 
"I can understand your position. Having to stretch supplies and trying to keep everyone fed is a situation all three of us have found ourselves in as well. But perhaps they could work off their sentence? Where we come from prisoners are sometimes put to work under strict supervision. There they can still contribute to society and perhaps learn the error of their ways. You could teach them to craft or work the land. Perhaps something difficult that keeps them occupied that few people know how to do. You could have more to trade with other clans if you have more hands to help." You offer. Your host seems unconvinced.
"These men attempted to rob and kill us. You suggest that we feed and teach them our ways." Ming translates as the man stokes the fire between you. "Truly, your land is a strange one."
"I am told I am strange myself." You admit. "However, circumstances in my life have taught me to try and give people a second chance. Many times, all it takes is someone to have faith in you for you to make the change to better yourself. I've seen and lived it myself. That's why I am hesitant to simply kill someone when they could be turned into an ally. Sometimes, more often than not I would like to imagine, people turn to the path of evil because they see no other way out." You ponder for a moment. "There is another punishment my homeland does offer. It's quite rare and extreme but...you could simply remove two fingers from their dominant hand. However, I do stress that this is seen as a bit barbaric and from what you have told us would probably mean death for them." The room is quiet as everyone takes in what you said, and Ming uncomfortably translates what you say.
"It is not our way to follow the whims of strangers. Our traditions go back to the beginning and have kept us alive all these generations. We have no need to listen to those who have not lived like us and pretend to know better." You host says. "However, we cannot deny that you have saved lives with your intervention, and we will not go without repaying that kindness. Technically, it was you who subdued these criminals and because of that they are technically your prisoners. We are simply assisting in keeping them under watch. I will leave their fate up to you. But be warned, should you let them live and they continue their ways then their crimes will also be reflected on you. Both in the eyes of the Gods and in that of the clans. If I were to suggest an option, it would be to strip them of all of their possessions and leave them with a day's worth of food. It will be up to them to return to their roots and survive as their ancestors once did. Perhaps in this time they will contemplate their actions as you so wish." 
The first thing you notice when you wake up is the smell.
Everything around you reeks of rancid acidity mixed with the musty odor of mold and fungus, like you threw up a really bad, really moldy cheese. The ground? below you is rugged, with random shapes jutting into your sides and back. Once you force your eyes open, against your tired, throbbing brain’s complaints, you see the world suffused in a radioactive green glow. No, wait, the world isn’t glowing.
You are. Your skin, hair, everything is glowing.
Looking down at your clothes, soaked in some odd, sticky fluid, you find yourself in better condition than you expected, albeit more than a little radioactive looking. You sit atop a pile of random junk- dirt, garbage, debris, and busted machinery, some of which is dated and some of which is so sleek and modern (despite the dirt and damage) that it seems out of place. Looking down at a speartip jutting out of the rubble a few inches from where you fell, you breathe a sigh of relief that you managed to avoid being impaled.
“The intake came on time, boss!” You hear a rugged voice ring out from behind you. He seems to be speaking some other, completely unfamiliar language, but you find yourself able to understand it perfectly as if it were in English. Wheeling around, you see a cluster of figures emanating light of different colors gathered in the distance. Your eyes are bleary- you can hardly make out any of the details, “Wait, is that Drop-In alive?”
“I think he is! Looks Terran too. He’s all yours, Mike!”
Terran- that means from Earth, right? What the hell is going on?
You see a gentle purple glow climbing towards you. Thinking fast, you pull the rusted spear that almost made you into a shish kabob out from the pile of detritus you’re sitting on. Managing to yank it out, you wield it to the best of your limited ability. This is a world facing change. For Generations the empire of bronze and magic rules. For centuries they prosper by trade and wars. Those were the days of our grandfathers, one by one the great cities burn, one by one empires fell, one by one armies march and broke among each other.
In this time of change, one more change is coming, a strange people from a strange land, a people who;
- They Delve deep into the earth to feed the flames that light there world.
- They are the bulwark of there own empire.
- They are shipwrights, almost finished building a ship for the wrong war.
They are first met by;
-a broken army, last of a fallen empire, led by the last princess of a millennium long bloodline.
-Shipwrecked merchant, momentarily blinded by the arrival of the strange people. 
YER a Goblin of the GoblinSlayer universe. By sheer astronomical odds, while fleeing GoblingSlayer, aka the GobboCaust, you meet anuvva unlucky bastich: Yang Wuhan, 殃污琀, "Calamity-Corrupted Corpsepearl", also known as Divine Demon, Wyrmacide, Sword Specter, Wind Incarnadine, Gore Walker, Blade Emperor, the Absolute™, &c &c, who just got BTFO'd by an alliance of Righteous and Deviant Cultivators from his home universe.
In exchange for the lifesaving Thousand Year Lingzi you just happened to find just now, he swears to do you no harm and take you as his Disciple - Tudi - or, Toady.
Since then you've been busy:
Scoring a little-girl body for your new Seafood's soul transference; learning the Thousand Segment Carrionpede Form; killing a whole town to stabilize Seafood's new Pall Body, and for fun; joining the Rhean (GS Halfling analog) Resistance against the encroaching Myrmids (GS sentient bug race); investigating a purported subterranean Ancient City key to the Myrmid claim of Historic ownership.
After finding and escaping the Ancient City overrun with... sumfin, you find the fing wot destroyed the City's Dimm Temple in a biggy room far above the cracked rock ceiling.
Fittingly, you were just in the process of cutting into the superweapon's LIVE powercoupling and going into a cliffhanger when the thread hit page 11 and got chived.
Prevs Episodes
Ep1: http://thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6051761/
Ep2:
http://thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6068523
Ep3:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6083225/
Additional Material:
Stats, status and assets, or Stunks:
https://rentry.org/2336mod9
The Goblin concept of suspended value, or Stuffs:
https://rentry.org/d27rseu5
Unholy Matrimony, Seafood's wonderful novel idea for your improvement and his amusement:
https://rentry.org/x8a6vnmo 
Happy Halloween, human mortals of /Qst/, from Overlord Nintjyr of the Voekhet Dynasty. On the 20th of April 2020 on your human calender, the human perpetual Cupanon on the board /tg/ blessed us all with the original Warhammer40k isekai. Neckberdia picked up the series, bringing Cupanon a larger audience, that included I. Many imitators followed in Cupanon's steps when he departed to give us stories of how they would have wrangled the setting with different staring positions, one of whom being my Dynasty's very own royal Cryptek High Transmogrifer Ishskar, who found himself possessed by a human soul that slipped out of chronological alignment by 12 million years into the past. Ishskar's story introduced so many to the Necron faction, and kindled in me a love of literature I didn't know I had. In honor of Cupanon, Ishskar, the official writers of black library, the friends I've made in this community, the audience who took part as background characters in Ishskar's story, the writers of the many isekais, the hobbyists who keep Warhammer40k alive, and my hailing Dynasty of Voekhet, I bring you the haunting retelling of the Necrontyr species, and the legions of the cold undead machines they became...
This story is pieced together from all the official lore I can gather, Ishskar's OC Necron Dynasty of Voekhet, and melded together cohesively by me with a little liberal conjecture.
link to Ishskar's Conclave (discord server): https://discord.gg/2V2q8NSF
But first a few disclaimers. Don't use this as a substitute for official lore, or do I'm not your Overlord. On top of my conjecture, be aware I am also going to be a unreliable narrator slanting the optics to favor my faction. Feel free however to use this as a jumping off point to explore official lore on your own!
Now, play your preferred spooky background ambiance on loop, dust off the sarcophagi of your ancestors, set your RGB steups to green, and enjoy. 
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 
"Did you really think you could succeed? With such a weight of sin, you never even stood a chance. Perish, now, and suffer, as you should, in the afterlife - for all eternity."
...
"WELCOME, weary soul, to ALTERORBIS a-no, THE- world of adventure, riches, exquisite cuties, and- well, A LOT OF OTHER THINGS. Now let's set up your REINCARNATION properly..."
"..."
"..."
The voice whistles.
"Well, aren't you a strange bastard. Looks like with your particular set of TRAITS I can only offer you one of these options:"
[PICK ONE]
>Bone Tortoise [Undead]
Arising from the largest, sturdiest facial shield bones of the Ragnatars, the Bone Tortoise is one of the hardest undead to kill for the inexperienced adventurer. The outer shell encases a vulnerable interior, the entire creature propelled by surprisingly nimble bony legs. Upon reaching its prey, it jump-slams it to death and feasts on the carcass. Like several other undead, it is capable of absorbing memories of the remains it gathers and reinforces itself with. Usually cracked open by bigger undead or those in possession of powerful piercing weaponry.
Rank F-
[Start in the Deadlands]
Power: 5
Magic: 1
Charm: 0
>Ur-lion Cub [Feral]
The giant Ur-lions symbolize valour to the mountain people, and their cubs usually have to employ plenty of it to survive to adulthood. Their mane and hide are not yet formed to be impenetrable to regular weapons, but they compensate for this with their size, being similar in that to common mountain lions. They pack the same strength and rapidly grow until adulthood. The cubs' roars are already deafening and disorienting to others, which they use to full extent to hunt down their prey. They are hunted in turn for their boiling blood, which is a minor alchemical ingredient.
Rank F-
[Start in the Mountains]
Power: 4
Magic: 0
Charm: 2
>Black Hare [Spirit]
Named so because of their lightning-fast locomotion method and similar shape to the regular hare, the Black Hare spawns where massacres of animals take place. They are bigger than their ordinary "cousins" and much more malicious, possessing razor claws and sharp teeth to slay their foes, and seemingly capable of fading into shadows. They fear bright light and are usually inactive during daytime.
Rank F-
[Start in a Forest]
Power: 3
Magic: 2
Charm: 1 I met them at the gate though I usually wait inside. Preoccupied with their own thoughts, impatient, like so many children, they didn’t see who I really was. They never noticed my crown, my pain, the fire in my eyes.
Like all the others they think the Maze was made for them; actually, it is the other way around. They think I am some poet who will lead them through the symbols and spaces of this Underworld. They think I will teach them lessons. They should call me Cerberus…. I am the lesson.
The monstrous walls rise up and run away as far as the human eye can see, circling and dividing. Which half is the Maze?
Even I get lost. It changes–sometimes slowly, imperceptibly … sometimes suddenly. This House is not only made of stone and mortar, wood and paint; it is made of time and mystery, hope and fear. Construction never stops. I take some pride in my role as architect.
They think I will guide them to the center. Perhaps I will….
The sun was very hot.
Together we walked through the gate into… 
It has been millennia since humanity became a star faring race. Enough time for stellar regimes to have risen and fallen, for technologies to be forgotten and relearned and for a diaspora of life; both human and alien to spread across the galaxy.
You are about to embark on a new business venture in star ship construction having recently bought a stake in an ailing shipyard out in neutral space. A run of bad luck and poor decisions has left the yard in a state of disrepair, the work force gutted, and capital reserves low.
It looked like the owner was destined to go bankrupt until they unexpectedly found a new business partner: you[i/].
You are…
>Lady Mayumi Shimada, member of the ruling family of House Shimada; a minor noble house in the the resurgent Empire of Raiha. Frankly the prospects of both you and your family aren’t great. Your meager holdings within the Empire mean you have (relatively) little wealth to bargain with and little clout within the Imperial Court. Having access to your own shipyard would grant some influence within the Imperial Court and perhaps allow you to seek your fortune beyond the Empire.
>Overseer Sizzar of Clan Quezet, member of a reptilian species known as Saurians.Generally your race does not like humans, indeed none of the other Clans would ever consider working with one like this. But the Monitor of Quezet is more open minded than the average saurian. The Clan having their own shipyard would grant them leverage against the hated Solar Union and the machinations of the Major Clans.
>Delilah Lamming, a member of the Mercenary Captain Galatan Starwind’s harem. Starwind bought a stake in the shipyard on a whim before leaving on his latest adventure. Delilah was left behind to handle the business side of things. Frankly it was a nice change of pace from Starwinds hijinks and a chance to pursue her own agenda…
((I don't want to say it's a sequel, but this is based on the events of this thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6019359/)) 
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 - half a step above other genius of your age? Lucky encounters leveraged to the best and a knack for navigating social situations.
You own a trove of technic for such a young cultivator - more than you can study efficiently, but your strength lies in the impressive amount of Bonded Spiritual Beasts - A Phoenix spirit, a Horse spirit, a Snake spirit and a Wolf spirit.
Speaking of that last one, you didn't told a world about him to anybody. As a scion of the Primordial Wolf spirit, its father warned you of its worth and how people could want to rip it away from you. Especially in such a ruthless and public environment than, say, a nationwide cultivator tournament.
Previously mentionned worth comes from its ability to Fuse without restriction - fusion being a secret of the higher ranking of your sect, secret you have almost completely rediscovered on your own. Alright, the Primordial Wolf might have helped you on that point.
Recently, you and your Stable Lotus Harbor friend partook in a capital city tournament organized by the Empress.
This required ample amount of training : all of you broke through 2nd stage before 8, the mark of genius-talent. You had to took strategical decision, and are pretty confident you could hardly have done better. Your fights seems to entrance a bored-to-death audience, giving you the new moniker of "Heartpiercer" - and a theme song https://suno.com/song/18f62c64-7ac6-402f-b6f2-30158f9a51dd
You were even granted the privilege of bowing at the feets of the 15-year-old 4th-stage young Empress - which you gifted a mystical karmic thread.
Now, you're checking on one frenemy and two of the foe that share a trait : all were deeply wounded and you bear some responsibility in the matter. 
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
_
While you consider if the general and grandmaster of the White Jade Devil Opposing Army (白玉魔鬼抗击军队, Báiyùmóguǐkàngjījūnduì), the foremost experts of hunting, fighting, subjugating and killing demons in amongst the sects of Chuan, the giant and somewhat peculiar Bai Shengzhanshi and your bodyguard and advisor, the fierce ghost and namesake forgotten king of the your catacombs Àodàshèng (Proud Great Sage, 傲大圣) would get along and could perhaps become friends, the unbelievably tall and muscular demon slayer continues to excitedly list off every species of devil still known in the orthodox world of cultivation, as he tries to guess which you'll be pursuing to slaughter on your adventures down by the yellow spring. Which he has taken your suggestion of as already being fact and a promise all but sealed in blood and spoken oaths. Its kind of endearing how enthusiastic he is to mercilessly murder evil, speaking of the act the same way a child might their favorite game.
Shandian, the head of the Storm Shrine Mountain Sect (风暴圣地山 ,Fēngbàoshèngdìshān), has put down his drink to watch the free for all melee with extreme and total attention, allowing for no distractions to draw it away from the brawl between the best mortal fighters the lands of Chuan have to offer, who have gotten really competitive in what to them must seem like their last chance to enter your service and be granted to supreme privilege of being the student of a teacher as worldly, traveled and experienced as yourself. Not to mention that you're also the most kindly of mentors as well, of course. However, as you play a little personal game of trying to put faces and racial features to the ever growing number of devils that Shengzhanshi speaks the names of to see if you have a reaction that'll be a tell to show him what exactly you'll be teaching him and his students how to battle and kill as swiftly as you would a mouse with a single smack of your paw, a thought worms its way into your head, like a corpse eating beetle gnawing its way into a casket.
"You know, the cycle of reincarnation, is a great wheel that constantly rotates without a care for what gets crushed in its way" You interrupt, stopping him by lifting a single finger delicately, stopping him as he began to list demon lords you are almost certain died of old age generations ago, since you've never heard about them even though you've gone stomping around hell many more times than the "Sane" would care to risk.
Cont 
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 on Pangea as their emotional support… if Pangea remains loyal that is.
As the sons of The Emperor return to the fold, Pangea created a bond with Alpharius, Horus, Fulgrim, Sanguinius and Angron. She still sees the future of Horus and her brothers’ betrayal but knows in her heart this is just one future, one that can be avoided. After bringing peace to Verona, she faces The Hermit, and eventually learns of Chaos.
With that knowledge, she is under Malcador’s tutelage once more to become the first inquisitor, to protect the budding Imperium and her Father’s dream.
People roamed the markets. Laborers carried crates of goods fresh off the ships. Merchants and customers haggled. Children held their mother’s hand as their eyes wandered from vendor to vendor. And the Princess stalked through the crowd, her gaze focused on a man with shaggy stubble and unkempt hair dressed in a tattered jumpsuit. She tapped into the man’s thought with ease, like entering an unguarded fortress.
They’ll pay for what they did to House Capulet, this will be my vengeance!
Pangea gently pushed through the crowd as she followed the man. She clicked her tongue twice, then paused, then clicked her tongue again. Luna broke from her side and skulked into the alleyway. Pangea parted the crowd quicker, using her psykic power to compel the people to move away.
Verona, oh my beautiful homeland… I’ll take many as I can with me!
Pangea stalked through the market in a hooded robe. The man approached the Albian Crusaders closer. Pangea tasted the man’s rage and disgust. In lieu of more offensive capabilities, she sharpened the subtler psykic powers. The Albian Crusaders continued to be vigilant about the goings on in the market, but were still unaware of one single man amongst the many.
This is for the Capulets and the Great Hermit!
Pangea…
>Waited for the attack. The man pulled his pistol and grenades, but no destruction followed. Instead, the man’s limb froze up. Pangea held the man with her telekinesis. The man screamed in pain, loud enough to grab the attention of the Albian Crusaders and her presence.
>With her divination, she moved in before the man could act. Pangea jumped past the crowds and landed right in front of the man as he pulled two grenades. With a single twirl of Palatine, the grenade and the man’s hand dropped on the ground.
>Write-in 
Previous: >>6085853
Your name is ITSASO MUNTEANU. You are a tall, gaunt, pale, and female IMAGEBOARD LURKER in your EARLY 20S. As your name implies, you are of BASQUE descent, but were born and raised in BUMFUCK, USA. You WERE an unremarkable mortal. Then, a couple of nights ago, you woke up thousands of miles away, decades in the past, and inside the story of JoJo's Bizarre Adventure. Luckily, you are an avid fan, and thus have the power of FOREKNOWLEDGE.
For reasons unknown, you ended up right near the most notorious antagonist of the series, the vampire DIO. Out of survival instinct, you told him of a fate yet to happen (the canon one) and got his interest. You went to his mansion and headquarters, and...have had a nice stay so far. Turns out it'll be over a year before the actual plot of STARDUST CRUSADERS begins.
The first full day, you met some mooks, read some books, and after nightfall got brutally stabbed by the Stand arrow. Thankfully, your will was found worthy, and you awakened a Stand named 『J-E-N-O-V-A』. Yes, after the FFVII one, and yes, you're pronouncing it "Jenova" and not the individual letters. Beyond being shaped like an alien pinecone (a "Mandelbulb"), and possessing some sort of fractal manipulation, you don't really know much about it yet.
After that, you chose to discuss the timeline more with DIO. He knows you're from a future time, but not that you're from a world where he's a fictional character in a comic book series. Nor why exactly you ended up here, but neither do you...He presumes it was part of some plan in his benefit, Fate and Gravity and all that.
You have time to change this world's fate, to minimize the suffering and death in the story you know. You want to stop as much BAD SHIT that happens in the "canon" as you can. But you also want to leave DIO alive. Why? You're not sure about "fixing" him, but to at least redirect his goals to something more beneficial. If good intentions can pave the way to Hell, can evil intentions be steered to the direction of Heaven (without an elaborate plan that resets the world)?
DIO was willing to listen so far, the most relevant item to him being "not killed and pursued by the Joestar bloodline." A truce might even be on the table down the line (pending one full body transplant), but you're the one who has to reach out to said bloodline...
(1/2) 
In the third quarter of 1758, LVFdS departed from the Lenore-Styx Spaceport on her ninety-third voyage. LVFdS was intended to, as had become routine at this point, transport passengers to Terrestria's largest moon, Lily, before completing a full circle of Terrestria as part of a holiday package. This route would have taken three weeks. LVFdS did not complete its journey in scheduled time. As of publication, the LVFdS Incident remains the most fatal space disaster outside of wartime.
-Third Quarter, Day 112, 1758-
JNO Callista Bannon adjusts her tight-fitting cap. Her ashy black hair pokes out of its every edge. The standard navigation officer uniform calls for a flat-topped hat with an oval brim, and the women's sizes generally number fewer than the men's ones. She thinks to herself that when she is promoted from a junior and receives a white-trimmed hat, she will request a size up.
She wants to itch at the collar of her shirt, but doesn't. The captain is watching, and she doesn't want to appear improper. She wants to impress, in hopes that the captain will have a more sympathetic view on her upcoming proposal than any of her closer colleagues.
The captain is not paying much attention to Callista; her attention is drawn moreso to the route projection on the console that the junior officer stands beside. She is irritated that this will be the last time she commands this vessel.
"Unbelievable, isn't it? I've served this ship well. Given it my all. Two years, not the longest time, but two good years. I... ah, I'm sorry. You don't need to hear this."
Her personal attendant, or as she refers to him, the 'captain's mate', gives a momentary pause, an awkward nod and then quietly replies. His baby blue uniform is stained; this morning, he spilled the captain's piping-hot coffee onto himself and had to sheepishly return to the machine for a second serving.
The captain muses on her situation.
>She is Natalya Kornilov. She hails from the Southeastern Union. While docked at Lenore-Styx, she got into a drunken barfight while arguing about the political state of the Union with a Hanii corporate delegate and severely beat the man. She is currently pending detention for this.
>She is Celine Cerceronne. She hails from Borne. For the past six years, she has been a staunch advocate and activist for increasing the rights of Fortunatos and Alhazen. Following the Blue Uprising, this is prohibited strictly in Borne, and she is to be detained.
>She is Gāo Yanmin. She hails from Zheisang. When she was younger, she killed and buried her maturity director due to their abuse. The body has been recovered and links to her have been made, marking her for detention. 
It is a time of conflict.
Driven by greed and by justice, by a righteous and sheer self-interest, by whatever else reasons conjured from the minds of men, a conflict has gripped the very soul of your world. It is a war that spans states and empires, battles fought seas apart for the name of the same cause. It's justifications are manyfold, it's goals even more so. In the end, there is but one certainty, and it is of the death that shall come. The lance is drawn, the sabres rattle, the memory of peace fades, leaving naught but the fog of war.
In this age, warfare has changed - long gone are the days of archers and catapults, replaced by the inaccurate yet powerful firearms and earth-shaking cannons of the modern era. Where there once were men wielding shields and swords there are now pikes and halberds, woven in tight unassailable formations once thought to be ancient history. Monumental walls of stone, once thought to be unassailable, are torn down as if they were made of straw, and in their place, earthen fortifications begin to rise. Though the might of the armed noble cavalier continues to hold it's place, for how long shall it last? Yes, war has changed, but in the end, men still die, cities still burn, and to the victors are left the spoils...
You are but one of the many officers of the many nations of the many fronts that span this war. You are no king nor emperor, no doge nor duke. You hold no lands save for a meagre county whose administration you no longer practice and whose visage you have long forgotten, so many years has it been since you last saw it. Your side and allegiance does not matter. You are the Field Captain of your Army, and for today, that is enough.
Your army, yes - what **is** your army? 
A Fate thread? In the /qst/ catalog? Nani?!
After an end to the hiatus:
You are Anon, an albino man and something of a self-made warrior-magus who can remember only faint vestiges of his past, is unaware of his real name, and is a Master in the Akeldama Great Holy Grail War, which is taking place in a city in an artificial world called Akeldama. Your Servant is Avenger of Red, a winged girl wielding considerably powerful magic who has declined to tell you her true name so far. Most recently you and Avenger teleported toward a staging area for the enemy’s attack, where she had detected an Assassin-class Servant. Charging into a subway station, your pursuit was slowed when you ran into magecraft-enhanced explosive mines and other weapons crafted from the enemy’s hybridization of modern munitions and mystics. Fighting back and inflicting debilitating damage on an androgynous vampire called “Delta” and the Servant Aka no Assassin, who wielded the torture-weapon Noble Phantasm “Phantom Maiden”, you eventually encounter the Dead Apostle Eugene Messerschmidt and the Servant Archer of Black, who arrived as reinforcements. A missing companion, a relatively well-meaning vampire named Sophia, also managed to find you. She wasn’t pleased to find out that Messerschimdt was a commanding officer in the undead army that terrorized the world of Akeldama before the arrival of the Servants. You also learned that Sophia had undergone some kind of transformation since you last saw her.
First thread: https://archived.moe/qst/thread/5331278/
Subsequent threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Low+Speed+Anti+Divine+QM
Reference for Servant (and other related) stat-blocks: https://pastebin.com/5mPbUP4G
TL;DR timeline recap: https://pastebin.com/fYqqL7s4
You refocus your Mana Sight, and when you look at Sophia you can see that her body is densely infused with True Ether. As she takes a deep breath, a large fraction of the True Ether in her body begins circulate and move toward her upper back. In fact, it’s the same part of her upper back where you’ve felt an odd sensation in yours lately, and the sensation returns in earnest as you watch Sophia now.
You shield your eyes as you watch the True Ether begin to physically manifest in a shining white flash. Blinking a few times to clear your vision, you feel as though the ringing vibration of a massive bell is causing your entire body to reverberate.
Out of Sophia’s back are a pair of white wings: shining a pure white light, bright enough to clearly illuminate the tunnel, covered in feathers that make the wings reminiscent of those of eagles, and after a few moments of analysis you conclude that the wings are formed of the True Ether. Taking it all in, a single word leaps to the front of your mind and roots itself there. Right now, you’d have to describe Sophia’s appearance as... 
You are Kobayashi Mamoru, high school student, and a new participant in a deadly game.
You risk your life in hopes of reviving your murdered brother.
Will you be able to defeat other people just as dedicated to bringing back the dead?
Will you discover the truth about this wicked game?
((Will you find a nice boy to kiss?))
- - - - - - - - -
Previous Thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6101844/
- - - - - - - - -
You shake your head, having lost yourself in a fog of thoughts for what feels like days, but it couldn’t have been more than a minute. You feel a cold sweat overtaking you as you avert your gaze from Anji’s.
You’d talked about your sexuality on forums and boards in the past, but actually hearing someone come out to you was a shocking thing to experience. And that was without even processing the whispers from your angelic companion, who seems to be able to see that you are the object of affection in this young man’s heart.
How could he feel that way about someone he just met? He barely even knew you, but maybe he had a thing for guys with a resting bitch face and messy long hair?
You can’t just leave him standing there awkwardly forever, you need to actually say something.
What do you say?
>Your sexuality doesn’t matter to me, Anji. You seem like a cool dude.
>You’re gay? Oh… well that’s funny, I am too… eheh.
>Aaaaaanyways- you have anything to drink? That hike really made me thirsty! 
Humanity has spread out into a massive sprawling empire throughout the galaxy. The edges of the sprawl remain poorly guarded and sparsely settled after all humanity throughout a thousand stars has always been alone. This like all things will change.
2724 Gazelle system 708 days from Earth
You are Lieutenant Commander Tobias Cromwell, the captain of the aging corvette Forgone Mist. You sit in your chair staring glumly out at the inky black void next to the small mining station that was slowly churning out titanium ore from the barren planet below you. It was your opinion this posting was a waste of perfectly good men and supplies. The outer ring was desolate pirates didn't strike out here and no misguided rebel would want unprocessed titanium ore yet you were stuck here on orders of the sector admiral. The ship's XO taps you on the shoulder and hands you a steaming cup of coffee, swiping it from the man's hand you take a sip, the stale beans used to make the drink giving it a foul aftertaste far less pleasant than you hoped, you huff and lean back in your chair. You grumble at your position stuck on the ass end of human space nearly two years distant from earth on the fastest transport, with supplies that didn't last and ships that were antiquated when your grandfather was a young man. It was a single accusation of cowardice during a pirate raid that saw you bumped down two ranks and shunted off to finish your career aboard a corvette. The corvettes dual torpedo mounts and twin coil gun cannons were nothing compared to the heavy cruiser you once had captained and the battleship you were meant to captain as the crescendo of your career in the navy.
1/2 
It was time.
With a single nod, hundreds of machines were set into motion.
The ground shook beneath the tread of titanic feet, the footsteps of giants prophesying doom to all who stood before them.
That the death knell of the Empress’ corrupt rule was at hand, and this earthquake would be the herald of her end.
If the camera crew could get an appropriate shot, anyways.
The snow and absurd whiteout conditions may have ended, but low-hanging clouds and fog spoil any attempts to get more than a few companies worth of mechs flipping on their lights and running pre battle checks in the early morning.
Well, there would be plenty of time to get propaganda shots after victory.
Perhaps it was better that way. Then the public couldn’t see just how patchwork the formations were.
Or what else had signed on to the Patriot cause, however temporary.
No, it would be General Marik, fulfilling his ancestor’s legacy to depose a tyrant once more.
At the head of the army regiments who had seen the evil growing at the heart of the empire. Heroes and Knights, one and all. Liberating the capitol.
An inspiring narrative.
Any aspiring historians obsessed with the truth of the matter could be sated with whatever spliced combat logs were given, or paid off afterwards.
He raised a hand, waving into the nothing.
None of the lights in the white moved any differently.
The wave turned into a salute.
That didn’t matter, either. The only one who could see him was Hendricks.
The lights winked out, another form blotting them out. One. Two. Three.
There was nothing metaphorical about the shaking caused by that three-legged terror.
It was the spearpoint this assault was relying upon. Not only for the line-breaking firepower and massive armor, but because of the ability to project a wide-spectrum jamming field in order to counter the networked targeting modules loyalist forces had been deploying with.
Where it walked, everything would be cut. A zone of silence. Command would fall all the way from battalion or sector down to lance level. All their commanders could do is send in more isolated forces, and hope for the best. Where the higher average skill level of his hardened veteran pilots would prove decisive.
Pressing home a pre-planned attack is easier than shuffling around defenders in reaction. There had been no massive defense works prepared in the city in the time they had been waiting. The miserable weather kept air power out of contention for the critical days. There would be no swarm of plucky trainee pilots to bolster the numbers of the defenders in the eleventh hour.
It was a good plan.
His hand dropped.
But. 
The arduous path to find your bestie has come to a close, what a moment to rejoice! Before you can run it back but in reverse, the earth shakes. An important event is happening, a big wrench in your plans, it seems. Bubbles informs you that there’s another heist happening, details are scarce as the team tries to get a scoop. What an annoying coincidence, and what a lack of creativity on everyone involved in that stunt. They’re cramping on your style! And worse of all, on your plans too...
The team needs time to reassess. Honey Bunny overheard the security’s claims of another intruder around the above ground floors (A to D); Agent Spooky is actively looking for leads, but as a ghost, passing around intel takes time without a camera. Bubbles — as the team’s spokesperson— requests a few minutes of you (and everyone on that matter) laying low to get everything sorted out. You let Crossbill know.
“Tell her we’re super sorry! We’ll talk to you in a bit, I have Honey Bunny to contact!” Bubbles requests to the team. You hear the Veras and the Nekos of the world panicking. That’s a combination you’re glad you’re not seeing. And if you’re wondering about Headphones, she’s quiet because she’s frozen still. Every member of the team is doing good.
“Sounds like we have a few minutes to catch up.” Crossbill half jokes.
“Our escape should be pretty straightforward if we leave. Not sure how long Dempsey can last out there.” You say. “But I trust my team to know their stuff.”
“You better, they’re working hard to make this easier for you.” The Jailbird wholeheartedly agrees with your line of thinking.
“Hold on, Bubbles is telling me something.” Maybe you can’t relax a little just yet.
“Phil Noon, tell me quick, should we prioritize taking you out of there? I-If you’re anxious about the boxing guy, we’ll give you the go!” Bubbles doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you, she heard your apprehensions.
What do you do?
>Get the hell out of here. What are you waiting for? Follow the plan as intended.
>Let them focus on the others. You and Crossbill will be fine even if Rolling Thunder gets defeated. You’re stealth experts.
>If chaos is reigning, let it expand. Break open everyone’s cells on this floor. Create a super distraction to escape.
>Write In. 
The dark halls of the facility were illuminated by a small pocket torch, it scanning the floor for debris whilst avoiding the darker parts further ahead. Aden made sure not to alert his presence too much, just using the torch he had found to get an idea of his surroundings. The lack of night vision made traversing the ruins rather tough, but he kept hopes up. "I think we're getting close to that office space. I just hope the directions those scientists gave aren't wrong." He'd say softly, as his draconic friend nodded along quietly. "Well, we don't have too many places to go, right?" Toyotama said more quietly, to which Aden scoffed in amusement. "Well, we could skip the elevator, and just try our luck with the green section. Then again, last thing I heard of it, some insane rabbit subject got killed there and it's now being swarmed by people."
Aden and Toyotama had set out a plan for themselves, yet were not all that well prepared for the future. Aden just had a small pistol, with nothing else to help out. At least he still had some heavy armour to protect himself with. Though as they headed northwards, they would start taking notice of more and more concerning sights. "I can sense quite a bit of blood ahead. Those offices must've seen plenty of battles." She commented reluctantly, which did pique Aden's interests. Though as they got closer and closer to the offices, they'd start hearing noises coming from behind them. Looking behind them, they saw several shapes moving closer in the darkness behind them. "Shit, shit, shit." Aden mumbled as he looked around for a way out. Once he saw a side-chamber, he'd signal Toyotama to follow. "Quick, in here." He'd rush to the sliding door, trying to open it up yet finding it to be something of a struggle. The sound quickly got closer and closer, Toyotama panicking as well. "A-Aden, Aden! What do we do?! They're coming over to us! I-I don't wanna get in trouble!"
Toyotama tried to speak with a hushed voice, but her panic made it a bit louder. Aden hushed her, before forcing her between himself and the wall. "Stay behind me. Don't show yourself and keep quiet. I'll deal with them." He was clearly anxious, yet tried to keep his cool at this imminent threat. The footsteps got closer and closer, until Aden could see the outlines of five guardsmen with strange cloths covering them. He'd hold out his pistol, and waited for the guards to go into the offense. However, Aden would notice the guards running past him and Toyotama, not even seeming to take notice of the two, despite him showing himself with the torch he had. It left him stunned, as the guardsmen rapidly rushed forward without pause. "A-Aden, w-what are they..." Toyotama mumbled quietly, not even finishing her sentence. Aden stepped forward and looked ahead. "Those were... guardsmen. Facility guardsmen. Were they running from something?" He said, as Toyotama seemed rather confused. This is part 3 of the "side quest" for "Disappearing Hogwarts".
An unofficial alternate timeline based on HeadQM´s highly praised quest, Disapeparing Hogwarts.
Reading the original story is not exactly necessary but heavily encouraged.
Created mostly as a place to wait while HeadQM was away for a while but slowly evolved into his own thing.
Dont expect much quality but if you are looking for a slow quest that somehow is now in its 3rd thread, to pass the time and scratch that wizarding themed itch, you are more than welcome to join.
Your name is Brandon Tedmon, Hogwarts new Caretaker and previously a Ravenclaw student.
Peeves ripped your out foot.
Merlin himself is stuck in your head.
You may or may not have a girlfriend.
And things are getting weirder by the day.
What will happen now? lets find out!
Part 2 here >>6080818 "Children of the stars, are you there?"
SEARCHING (Stone in Focus (Aphex Twin cover)) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rAnS57JF1J0
[You are MORDRED and you have just finished taking a quick shower at the behest of Merrick the maid. It's not that you smell terrible, sweaty, or anything at all for that matter, but you do need a refresher once in a while. Physical and mental.
Your PJs are warm, well-fitted, and fresh-smelling. Your water cup is filled to the brim. Sleep is tempting, so very tempting, but you want to finish your current game of DISFORTUNA before you go to bed. Your big beef computer system is still humming and the game is still paused. You idly wonder how the bizarrely meta character PSYCHOMPOMP feels in this world of frozen time - probably somewhat musty in there.
You sit down, get comfy, and try to pick off from where you last stopped...] You are THEMA MUMINA, the UNDEAD QUEEN of the EGYPTIAN UNDERWORLD. Your syndicate holds tremendous power over the ARAB REPUBLIC OF EGYPT, a feat you'd worked tirelessly towards for nearly a century. You're quite proud of your handiwork, and you value all of your loyal undead subordinates.
However, you can't help but feel somewhat desolate. You've been at this crime thing for years on your own, and you can't help but long for the loving warmth of COMPANIONSHIP. You start to reminisce. In your past life as one of the living, you were married to a wealthy farmer. You didn't quite fancy the man, but considering the immense dowry he offered your family, you didn't really have a choice in the matter. You remember the affairs you used to have with the cute servant girls your husband brought home, and you recall longing to explore deeper, more FULFILLING RELATIONSHIPS WITH WOMEN. You never really did find men all that attractive, anyway. 
Welcome to Nightmare Quest, a Halloween one-shot by yours truly. This will not be a heroic tale. Survival to the very end is a reward of its own, and not one that's guaranteed. If you have the heart to stomach it, then I have only one warning left for you:
Readers beware...YOU choose the scare!
You let out a weary sigh, briefly blinding yourself in favor of pinching your eyes to rub some of your exhaustion out of them. It's not really something you should be doing while driving, but you reason that it's fine - you haven't seen another soul on the road in the past three hours, and it's as straight as a road can be for the next five miles at least. A slight bump in the road causes you to curse as you poke yourself in the eye, and you're quick to throw both hands back on the wheel just in case.
Blinking stars out of your vision, you see that you're still driving down the road, perfectly safe. The front end of the truck seems fine, and there's still absolutely nothing out there. It was probably just a pothole, one that'll never get fixed out here in the woods. If not, then you'd wager it being a particularly unlucky squirrel. You don't really want to stop and check, since you're only an hour away from your final destination and you're eager to get some rest for the night. You've been driving since dawn, after all, and it's probably close to midnight already.
Seconds pass, and you find yourself chewing at your cheek. What if you damaged a tire? Or worse, an axle? You'd be shit out of luck if your truck crapped out on you out here. Some small part of you also worries that it wasn't a pothole, and that you hit something or someone that's now injured and needs help - you try not to think about that too much.
Perhaps you should go back and check to see what it was you hit? Or at least stop here and check on the damages...though, you can't deny that a more selfish part of you says that you should keep going until you hit your destination - repairs can maybe wait until tomorrow, assuming there's even any that need done!
>Pull over here and now, check for any potential damages.
>Do a U-turn, head back a couple hundred feet to see what you hit.
>Keep on trucking, you are NOT going to get out in some dark forest in the middle of nowhere at MIDNIGHT.
As for your current destination...where was it, again?
>A cabin that you inherited from your recently-deceased grandfather. You want to see if he left any memorabilia there.
>A particularly cheap apartment building in a small town that you recently purchased. You need to check on the tenants and make sure the building is up to code!
>A hotel. You heard about a circus being set up in the place you're heading to, and you plan to check it out tomorrow.
>Somewhere else? (Write-in!) You are ACE ARCHIBALD PAXTON, and together with your one and only friend, a member of your school's MYSTERY RESEARCH CLUB. 
You are a masterless wanderer, a spell or sword for hire. The bards and romantics call you an adventurer. You are poor and have no renown, only just starting out. You've come to the Restless West in search of fortune, fame or power. Maybe all three. Your past is behind you and the long road ahead of you.
From where do you hail?
>Each choice gives a cultural Skill and three classes the region is known to produce. Our character doesn't necessarily have to be of those three.
>Mysido the Magical nation (White, black, red mages)
Every Mysidan receives a basic understanding of magic and aether, even if you can't cast. You gain the Arcane Adept Skill.
>The Northern Grahla Tribes - (Dark Knight, Dragoon, Ranger)
Chill winds and harsh winters carve through the northern fjords and mountain valleys of Grahla. Everyone learns how to survive, hunt, kill, and track prey. You gain the Huntsman Skill.
>The Eastern Ryuukage kingdom (Samurai, ninja, monk)
Your politeness and socializing skills are great. You know how to sway and influence people into liking you. You gain the Immaculate Etiquette Skill. 
Welcome to /qtg/, a place to talk about quests. Mods please don't delete this, the other one hit the image limit while it was on page 5.
Previous thread (it hit the image limit early)
>>6102738
>What is a quest?
An interactive story in which a Quest Master (QM) writes and provides the readers with options on how to proceed — similar to a choose-your-own-adventure book or an old text adventure
Questionably Useful links:
>QTG discord: https://discord.gg/dZavHuK
>Skirmish discord: https://discord.com/invite/DZCVvVU
>Evo Game discord: https://discord.gg/v55Xaaja
>Old pastebin containing advice for QMs:
https://pastebin.com/Z78p8gXf
Badly in need of renovation.
>Archiving guide:
Go to http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/requestqstinterface.html
Fill out the request form to archive a thread.
Threads are also automatically archived by other websites, such as archived.moe.
>Formatting guide:
Only the thread's OP can format. Note that should the OP change ID, they will lose this ability as well.
Remove the spaces between the [] brackets and the letters:
Bold: [ b ] text [ /b ]
Italics: [ i ] text [ /i ]
Red: [ red ] text [ /red ]
Blue: [ blue ] text [ /blue ]
Green: [ green] text [ /green ]
>Formatting guide for everyone:
Dice (type this in “options”): dice + [no. of dice]d[no. of sides on the dice] (optionally you can add modifiers: dice + [no. of dice]d[no. of sides on the dice]+[modifier]; for a negative modifier type: +-[modifier]
Examples: dice+1d100 = a 1d100 roll, dice+1d100+10 = a 1d100 roll with a +10 modifier.
Spoiler: [ spoiler ]spoiler[ /spoiler ] or by pressing alt+s in-thread
>QM question:
Does your MC celebrate Halloween? What is their favorite Halloween activity? Are they a tricker or a treater?
>Player question:
What would your favorite quest character dress up as for Halloween? What's their favorite Halloween candy?
>General question:
Do you do anything for different seasons/holidays in the quests you read/write? Do you wish there was more of that sort of thing, or do you find it disruptive?
>Lurker question:
Vote or you'll get tricked!
>Miscellaneous question:
Got any Halloween plans? You are Maple Son-Mahogany, husband of one and mother of two.
Your husband is missing, and your children have been tortured, physically and psychically.
>WARNING: This is an unofficial, unacknowledged, downright despised spinoff of Dragon Ball Tuffle Quest. Familiarity with Tuffle Quest recommended but not required, however this spinoff will also feature topics such as bullying, abuse, self-harm, drug use, grief, suicidal ideation, grooming, violence, and rape.
https://youtu.be/1mkBL39qxm8
From what you've gathered from your daughter through some psychic probing of your own, you have a list of things to look into. Your name is Fido Ballthrow. In a stroke of bad luck, you've found yourself stuck between a rock and hard place. Your sister (whom you abandoned years ago) has come to live with you after your mother murdered your father and went to prison, and she is... not very happy with you. Your girlfriend, Lily, whom you promised to spend the rest of your days with, is now angry that it will no longer be just you and her. And, of course, to make it all worse, in three days, the world will end, and you will be dead. It's times like this that you wonder what it is you did to deserve a life like this.
Previous threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=downerquest 
Oh man, the world’s really gone to shit over the last couple decades. Monster attacks are on the rise practically everywhere, and our brightest minds can’t figure out why. It could be habitat destruction, atmospheric instability, or an omen of the End Times, but what matters to you is that the economy’s been in a slump for the entirety of your adult life. Nobody wants to set up shop if their employees are going to open a phishing email and fall prey to a cyber-curse, or be spirited away by kelpies on the subway. Or wake up drained of all fluids by a succubus after a one-night stand. Or, just, get fucking incinerated by a red dragon. Whatever it is, whether human lives or commercial real estate, it’s all falling apart remarkably quickly.
In an attempt to curb the looming threat, which clearly has local law enforcement overwhelmed, the World Overseers brought back the bounty system from olden times. There are so many desperate people out there that more than a few have been willing to risk it all for the sake of a juicy bounty; and there are juicy bounties to spare, so long as you’re willing to square off against an ancient magic beast or blood-crazed mutant monster. It doesn’t come with insurance, but if you’re somewhat skilled at killing, bounty-hunting can be your last chance out of the cycle of poverty, shift-work, and unemployment lines. 
December 31, 1925
Donom Dei, Vitelia
In the capital, the Holy City, in the grandest square of the heart of the city where statues of long dead emperors stood watch over the streets that converged here, the people of the nation flocked to see what many had whispered would be their hero. To listen, perhaps not even, to merely behold. People were still struggling to squeeze their way forth, though the man of the hour had already risen atop a grand platform.
The man who stood at the podium was no noble, no representative of the throne, but the people of the city gathered as though they had been summoned nevertheless. A swarthy, dark Sea Vitelian, so broad and tall he looked like a triumphal monument rather than a normal man, stood tall before leaning over the lectern, a microphone able to carry his voice to all, where in old times the crowd might lose the words over the vastness of the throng.
This man was Giovanno Leone, a veteran of the war against the Grossreich, a famous warrior who had won hundreds of battles fighting alongside the elite Arditi in the frontline without suffering any disfiguring wounds, a man of uniform and no shortage of medals. Instead of wearing such, however, he wore the colors and cloth of a common city fellow and no constables were close to protect him, rather, kept out at the edges where they nervously waited for a riot from this provocateur. More than a few in the high places of power had clamored for his arrest, but on top of being so physically imposing that few policemen dared to confront him with the threat of capture, others had shielded his ascent, seeing a rising star that they might use the light of for their own ambitions.
Leone was aware of both of them, and intended to satisfy neither. As far as he was concerned, the Kingdom of Vitelia would not endure beyond its final monarch, and what was born afterwards would finally surpass the First Empire, as it had yearned to do since that glorious time had come to a calamitous end.
The audience was vast enough that silence was impossible to call for. That didn’t bother Leone. He knew that, once he spoke, all would quiet themselves. No one else had come here to be heard, not in these times. I am here, friends. Bonetto. Cesare. Too many others to mention. I am here because of you. 
You glanced at the she-demon, your freezing hand slipping atop hers seeking warmth, and perhaps more. “Miranna” —you were cautious not to give the soldier’s son any undue ideas— “there is something I need to see to first. You go ahead as we agreed, to the enclave; see if you can catch Whiskers there or along the way.”
Embers flared in her eyes as she tilted her head back, fixing the armoured soldier with her gaze. He clenched his weaponless fists and drew a deep breath under her intimidating stare, as if bracing for battle. Miranna wheezed.
“That pest troubles me not: I’m sure you can best him; but are you -sure- you should waste time on this, whatever ‘this’ is?”
With your palm now warm, you brushed her talons and then dropped your hand. “Yes. Please return once you find him, thought, else it’s going to be a long journey for me … if I even knew where to go, which I don’t."
Her teeth clicked as she flashed a grin, her immense ebony wings unfurling like a dark stain against the landscape’s canvas. With a beat, she ascended, stirring another swirl of dust that blew away the green blades of grass that survived the first.
“Will I find you here once I return?”
“There should be a village nearby,” you said, to displeased harrumph of the soldier. “I’ll be there somewhere, but you’ll spot me regardless, won’t you?”
With another stroke, her wings lifted her even higher, her voice falling down like a drumming thunderclap. “I’m not going to lose sight of the he— you, that’s for certain. I shall be swift upon my wings, so you best be too!” Her silhouette dwindled into a speck, together with her laughter.
“So your name is Niklos?” the soldier remarked once Miranna had vanished. “You seemed awfully familiar for a prisoner; even for one forced to serve her?”
“It’s complicated,” you said and paused. “And what is yours?”
“Yuriy, family name’s Tallow.” He reached for the crossbow. “May I have it now?”
You offered it to him, softening your grip, making it it easy for Yuriy to take it. Thought no stairwells grazed those plains, should he attempted to load the weapon, you knew you could grapple and overpower him before that. You pressed your toe into the earth to lift a broken sword he was eyeing, and then, after turning it once in your hand, you tossed it into the bog with the rest of the abandoned weapons.
Yuriy strapped the crossbow to his belt, the leather creaking in response as he scoffed at your throw. “The demon said you could handle me, but I don’t see it.” He gestured with his shoulder for you to follow. “ … Are you not cold like that?”
“I’ll manage.” 
The wind bites at your face, harsh and unforgiving, carrying with it the faint, bitter scent of death. You pull the hood of your ragged cloak tighter around you, hiding the fine clothing beneath. It's not the time to flaunt appearances, not when you’re this close to your quarry. At your hips, your dual swords hang with a comforting weight, their edges sharp and deadly. Your repeating crossbow is clenched firmly in your grip, each bolt loaded and ready for the kill. You can feel the ache in your body—three days without food, one day without water—but your resolve drives you forward. The thirst gnawing at your throat is a constant reminder of just how close to the edge you are, but you can’t stop now. Not when the demon’s lair is near.
You unroll the map, its magic shimmering faintly in the dusk light. You see it immediately—a new threat. The red swirl of a demon portal has appeared, pulsing as if alive, not far from your current path. The sharp scent of sulfur fills the air, confirming the worst. A new portal, and with it, new demons ready to spill into the world. You glance south. There’s a village two days away, a place that would be easy prey for these creatures once they get a whiff of human life. You’ve seen it too many times before—demons hunt by scent, and it won’t be long before they sniff out the village.
To the north, a river. Just a day’s journey, and it could offer you the precious water your body so desperately needs. But you know what lurks there. Demon fish infest the waters, vicious and deadly, and your magic map can’t track them—water blocks the magic’s reach. You could handle them, maybe, but who knows how strong they are in this region?
Then your eyes fall back to the original target—the demon you’ve been hunting for days. Its lair is close now, close enough that you can almost taste the fetid air seeping from its depths. The demon must have water, maybe food. If you push on, you might make it before you collapse from thirst. But this new portal… if you leave it unchecked, the demons will spill out, free to wreak havoc.
You’re running out of time and energy. The village is vulnerable. The river holds risks of its own. The demon's lair promises survival—if you can reach it. But now, the portal threatens to upend everything.
What will you do? The map pulses in your hand, as if urging you to make a decision before it’s too late.
> Continue chasing the big demon: The lair is close, with water and maybe food, and killing the demon would be a significant victory. But the new portal will go unchecked, releasing more demons.
> Head to the river: There’s water there, but demon fish are dangerous. You don’t know how many or how strong, but you need water to survive.
> Head to the village: You could save the village, but it’s two days away. The demons from the portal won’t take long to find it.
> Head to the new portal: Close the portal before the demons spread, but without water or food, you’re on borrowed time.
> Write in 
Bored the Magic God decides to take up a popular hobby and creates his own planet. For now it's simple, just a lump of dirt with oceans and nothing else not even a light source yet, but he will slowly change all that over time. Normally life wouldn't be possible at all but this is the work of a God, certain rules can be broken. Wanting to get to the interesting part he adds four simple life forms to the bottom of one of the oceans, all made from things he has easy acces to.
The first creature, a predator, is made from a drop of his own blood. It isn't very fast or strong but hard to kill since it's entire body is malleable. Using this malleable body it envelops it's prey whole. The god dubs this creature Bloodslime.
Next he modifies a simple earthworm to act as his world's scavenger and geophage. Using some hairs he gives this creature feelers and simply calls it Geoworm.
Using a small branch of one his plants the God creates the Leafling, obviously to act as the plants of his world as well food for his last creation.
After having looked for a good material to make a herbivore with the for a long time the God and simply used some leftover lard from his last meal. This so called Lardfish is the fastest of his creations.
Normal Evo games apply. Evolve creatures, one alteration at a time. Don't evolve a creature if you were the one to evolve it last and save your work as a .png 
Banks face is calm and serious, but you can see it in his eye, an air of uncertainty creeps in. You sigh and shrug.
"I understand where you're coming from, Banks and I wouldn't have framed this as a choice if I was just going to take the choice from you when you make the one I don't like."
You see a frown settle onto his face and wave a hand.
"Look I know you aren't a coward, you've put your ass on the line plenty in the past. But this IS the job, by definition, it's not about us looking out for ourselves. It can't be."
"I won't be able to do the job if I get iced out because I turned rat on a detective, Mark. Are you expecting me to stay a beat cop forever? Walk the block until I'm old enough to finally get the bare minimum pension?"
"Oh come on, Banks. Your pension? You expect me to believe this would be about money?"
His face goes slightly red and he speaks quietly.
"No.. even if you did believe that I wouldn't let you think it for long. You know this isn't about money, but it IS about family. I'm getting married soon and one day I wanna have a kid or two, not to put too fine a point on it but that takes money. Money that being a beat cop isn't going to get me. I need to plan my future, to get a few stripes or move into admin.. I can't put it on Susanne to support us."
"I hear you.." You say quietly, taking a moment to chew your breakfast before it goes too cold. "You have the right to make whatever choice you think is best, but I don't think you'll sleep well at night if you let this go."
"Why's that?"
You swallow another bite.
"Because you're like me. Protect and serve isn't just a slogan to you, guys like us actually care about the city. The people in it. Those career moves you're planning take time, are you still gonna feel this way in two years? In five? If Gorchakov slips by are you going to feel right taking those stripes?"
He stays silent. His eyes still holding yours.
"My investigation turned up a couple things." You continue. "But the main thing that stuck with me is Officer Derek Free. He was Gorchakov's partner before he went through his next partner which was the one you replaced."
"Alright?"
"He's dead." You state. Your mouth going dry, tasting slightly of acrid smoke. You sip at a black coffee and wash the taste away. "Gorchakov killed him, emptied an entire clip into his back."
"Jesus Christ.." Banks mumbles, his eyes finally breaking from yours.
"He's dangerous. I know you said no, but now you know as much as I do. If we miss Gorchakov then Free's death was for nothing, the deaths we don't know about, the lives he's ruined. It's all for nothing. That said, I understand if you still say no."
You watch his hands curl around his mug. His pallid, pale knuckles growing pink from the warmth.
"Would you do it?"
"Would I-" Hey there. I wanted to play an awakened assassin vine in a DnD game and can’t so I thought it would be fun to do DnD 3.5e with one character(the assassin vine) on /qst/ to see how it goes. Thread posters will play the character and whatever the popular decision for what the character should do is will be the one chosen so that it’s actually a game and not me picking and choosing to fit what I want. Lets choose a place to begin our adventure:
1) A forest
2) A cave
3) A town
4) The Outer Planes
5) A desert
6) The bottom of an ocean
7) On a ship at sea
8) In a dungeon
9) In space
=====
The character sheet is here below. If you want any changes to the character, now is the time to suggest changes. We’ll name the vine after we get started. There’s no plans for this and it will be made up as we go along.
https://og.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2947600 
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 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 You are Brian Wilson.
Your band is on top of the world.
David just quit the band.
You are a God unto men.
And Mike is looking really fucking punchable right now.
What do you do?
Going to keep things simple for this one. Roll for things like attacks and extreme actions (eg: jumping out a window, or running over Steve Love).
Enjoy. 
"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 
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 
"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. 
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? 
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 
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.
----- 
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. 
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/ 
