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). 
With the majority of the Seventh Universe united under the banner of the PTO, Emperor Cooler at its head, the universe has known a time of unrivaled peace. But in the shadows threats have been growing, nursing grudges against the PTO and the Saiyan race in particular. And now those threats are rising, stepping out of the shadows to openly challenge the established order. Seeking nothing short of the destruction of New Salda and the extinction of the entire Saiyan race, can you prevent this outcome? Or will the Saiyan race be reduced to nothing more than memories, their heroes nothing more than ink in the pages of the history books?
You the players will (most often) control Karn; wielder of the mighty Berserker Soul and hope of the entire PTO, not only the Saiyan race. From his lowly beginnings as a Saiyan Brawler with a sub-3000 powerlevel in Age 733, only a few years into his time as a member of the PTO, he has grown in power and skill, overcoming the world-ending threats that have come for the Saiyans to become the strongest Saiyan of his time at AGE 759. From the massive Covenant empire to demonic incursions, mad cultists to vengeful gods, none have been strong or clever enough to put down Karn for good. But will one man's power be enough to protect everyone from the rising threats? Or will death come from those who you least expect it from? Your choices may mean the difference between survival and extinction, so choose carefully.
Character sheets and other info:
https://controlc.com/46ec566d
https://pastebin.com/u/GrandDragonQM
Archive:
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=Saiyan+Conqueror+Quest
Help fund quest art commissions and get exclusive side stories as well as artwork by joining the patreon for only $1/month at https://www.patreon.com/GrandDragonQM
Quest rules are as follows(unless otherwise noted):
>30 minute vote times
>Pick ONLY ONE option when voting
>Dice rolls are all best of first three correctly-rolled dice
>One dice roll per person per post unless three players have not yet rolled, and ten minutes has passed since your previous roll
>Crits are 100 on a d100(a 99 or paired rolls may net you an extra bonus)
>Crit fails are a 1/100 with no passing rolls, or if two 1s are rolled regardless of the third
>Write-ins are both allowed and encouraged, but OOC options will be ignored
>If your goal is simply to troll, at least put in enough effort to make it funny
>Have fun
SCQ will usually start on Saturdays at noon Eastern Standard Time, and run throughout the weekend. Also, for updates or schedule changes you can find me on twitter @GrandDragonQM, which I keep as up to date with any scheduling changes as soon as possible.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tndKYpPz2RU
REVENGE OF THE BODY SNATCHERS 
2510, the Office of Naval intelligence reexamines the Carver Findings and the improved report building upon the prior findings by one civilian scientist, Catherine Elizabeth Halsey, then aged eighteen. Oni's projections matched the grim conclusions of Carver's report up to the year 2525. However, the independent research performed by Halsey predicted a far darker outcome of the projected conflict between the Inner and Outer Colonies of Mankind, that the inaction of the UNSC would spark a war that lasted at minimum for three decades and with the lowest estimated causalities surpassing five billion. The worse case scenario Dr Halsey predicted, the collapse of space fairing human civilization. Upon presenting her independent research to the Office of Naval Intelligence, Catherine Halsey accepted a position within Section III's Special projects division, to conceive a solution and counter to the anticipated interplanetary conflict.
2511, The second generation of the failed super solider project ORION, is initiated, and swiftly renamed by Halsey into the SPARTAN II Project to distance it from the deficiencies of the prior program and the radical shifts from the original project. The most controversial being the selection of the candidates, Young Children selected for their genetic disposition to superior physical and intellectual traits, raised from age six upon and taught warfare and militaristic values to achieve a supreme understanding of war and instill utter loyalty to the UNSC's interests. To screen for select suitable candidates for the program, a database was constructed through the Outer Colony Vaccination program. Initial funding allowed for three hundred candidates for the program, but budget cuts and relocation to other covert and top secret projects, reduced the candidate pool by half.
2517, One hundred a fifty children suitable for conscription into the SPARTAN II Program had been found through the Outer Colony Vaccination Program. However, before the collection of the subjects could begin, the funding available to Halsey and her project was further reduced. In another timeline, the initial suggested reduction of halving the Program's available resource again by half, may have gone through, reducing the tally of the first class of Spartans to a merely seventy five. However, coincidental factors, including the disappointing results of other blacksite projects and a certain high ranking official being caught suddenly ill when budgetary discussion were held, had reduced the loss of funding to the SPARTAN II program by one third instead, for a total of one hundred candidates. Children who would otherwise have lived their lives as civilians, ignorant of the horrors of war, both between the colonies and a threat yet to emerge, are in this version of events, instead chosen and taken from their homes to be trained and raised into SPARTAN super soldiers
Cont 
Long ago, when mankind was young, torn from the chaos of the world by the light of the Judge of All Things, they struggled to understand the world that had been given to them. As order overcame nature, they were surprised and dismayed by the unpleasantness of their world. It was cold, ferocious, and desolate, where the strong devoured the weak alive, and life before the division of heaven and earth was a mad struggle to kill, or die.
“Judge Above,” Mankind lamented, “Is our lot truly naught but to suffer? If so, then take from us this curse of life, so we may at least find peace.”
In those days, the Judge was said to not be silent, as he was even when the First Saint was bequeathed his law, as Mankind was pitifully young. “Despair not,” spoke he, however he did so, “Warm yourselves with the strength you find in one another and that I have given you yourselves. The darkest day shall pass, and afterwards, the light of Judgement and Order will set aflame a new morning, and your world will be a beauteous paradise beyond your imagination. So it shall be forevermore.”
The people were doubtful of the latter claim, but did believe a day darker than they had known would come. So they stood against it, resolved to endure, and survived, but indeed, that day was the darkest to ever descend upon Mankind. Afterwards, the great cold and dark was broken, never to return, as Mankind was fully freed by the light of Order. In celebration and reverence, Mankind would celebrate the Darkest Day of each year as what is known as Langenachtfest in the Grossreich. For what better cause to celebrate could there be, than the beginning of the end of winter? The remembrance of the terrible times of old, and how they came to an end- whatever grim tides may rise, shall be endured, and in its wake, stand Mankind resilient…
-----
December 21, 1933
Langenachtfest season, here in Ysenhof. A city in the heartlands of the Grossreich of Czeiss, the most powerful, greatest nation on the continent, but one that wasn’t so big, and rather west to be anywhere happening and hip. A blanket of snow rested atop the canopy of the city, a fresh dusting covering surfaces previously swept and scraped clean. Twinkling, warm lights were hung alongside holly and winterbloom wherever it could be fit, paper recreations of fruit dangling from the branches of park trees regardless of if they were even the sort to sprout it. Couples could be found all over- most of them fresh in the making, which would be lucky to last. ‘Twas the season. Another day, another suit to stand and stare at while he clacks click clack clicks his keys on his little terminal.
Oh well. At least this one sprung for catering. Mark of a highly mannered client, isn't it? 
What is the pinnacle of sorcery, magic, the arcane arts?
After fifty-seven years of long, ceaseless toil, poring over hundreds of arcane volumes with single-spaced size 10 font, performing thousands of experiments, spending millions of silver, and suffering from a number five on the Hamilton-Norwood scale, you stole fire from the gods. You achieved that long-held dream of all wizards: the means of resurrection, eternity, immortality!
Alas, thaumaturgy is not an exact science.
The theoretical underpinnings of your magnificent enchantment had suggested a duality of spirit and flesh upon which you had staked your own life. Although that duality has been all but confirmed, its true nature has proved less transparent.
You have indeed reversed your years. Your withered seventy year old body has been replaced with a youthful one, free of crow's feet, cataracts, and moderate to severe Crohn's disease. But where you had hoped to reverse fifty merciless winters, bringing you again to the peak of virile manhood, you seem instead to have reversed sixty, bringing you a second time into the midst of tedious boyhood.
If that were the extent of your troubles, if you were still locked away in your tower with your tomes, and servants, and talking birds, it might have been endurable. But trickery of time and fate seems to violate reality itself, and in its amendment strange distortions may occur. Case in point: although you awoke again in a tower, it was not your own. Although you kept your face and even your name, it was at the expense of your history. And although you were (and shall ever remain) a wizard, you appear to have been recast as a squire in a house of meatheaded knights.
It is now the third day since your resurrection (or metempsychosis, as the case may be). You have not adjusted well to this new life. Case in point: your current confinement in the bowels of the southeast tower, with only a chamber pot and a straw mattress for company.
>What was the cause of your imprisonment?
>Insubordination. You had refused to shine the boots of Sir Gideon, a visiting knight.
>Theft. You had been caught trying to work the lock on the lord's strongbox.
>Indecency. The lord's daughter claimed you had been spying on her in the bath.
>Write-in 
Thread archives
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=The%20Imperium%20of%20Man%20Princess%20Quest
Pangea turned around.
“I’ll inform Father and wait with you for him, what he does after is up to him.
Under the covers of night, Pangea returned through the same route she exited the palace. A quiet footstep followed, one in an earnest effort to not be heard followed by another declaring its presence. Pangea turned around, Alpharius stood in his armor holding his power spear. Her shoulders stiffened, while Amar seemed completely unfazed.
“Alpharius… I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“When the sole princess is gone, people notice, Pangea.” Alpharius’ gaze aimed at Amar. “Who is this woman?”
“She is… our contributor to our genes. The other half.”
“What?”
“You must be Twenty.” Amar looked around. “Yet I don’t see Twenty-One. Where is your twin, my son?”
Alpharius’s eyes widened and Pangea gasped.
“Twin?” Pangea gasped. “Y—You have a twin?”
—That’s enough.—
The psychic message boomed, like a chime of a golden bell. At the other hall Father approached, flanked by his two custodians and Malcador. Chills ran up her spines. Malcador, her uncle, her mentor, approached with a furious and cold glare as did Father. They walked past Pangea and stood in front of Amar.
—Neoth.— Amar messaged with a frigid tone.
—Traitor.— Father said. —Pangea, you have disappointed me today. We will discuss your punishment at a later time. Attend the ball, and do not speak of this to anyone.—
Pangea’s shoulders drooped.
—At once, Father.—
At the ballroom, once the horns of the royal family blared so late, the people watched with extra attention.
“Presenting, Princess Pangea. Justice of Verona. Rogue-Psyker Huntress, and beloved sister to the primarchs.” Previous Thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6134429/
>>6134429
Welcome back to False God Quest - a relatively text-light fantasy quest with simple hex art. Both new and old players are always welcome! 
It was rather silent in the staff room where Mik had left all the girls, as the girls were all spending their time alone in ways they hoped would be meaningful. Chrysidus was busy reading some old brochures and newspapers from the facility, trying to improve her reading skills. Oreas was testing her powers on some metal wires to try and see if she could power electronics, hoping she could use her abilities to later help Lydia. Anofelis was curled up one of the beds, snoring softly as she was taking a little nap. Laura was double-checking all the rations and also preparing for Vinisha's arrival, having already set up a bed for her. Kamara was crawling on the ceiling, practicing her colour and shape shifting whilst actively on the move. And Morgan was busy playing chess with Ingmar. "Hmmmm, your last move was your unfortunate downfall!" Morgan would say proudly, Ingmar bumbling in response. "You're really good at this, Morgan."
The compliment would make Morgan chuckle heartily. "Well, I am a master tactician! Now, I suggest you think your next move through, lest your king ends up at the end of my blade!" Ingmar would look at the board, before playing a rather defensive move to protect his king. "How predictable. But you missed one important detail..." She'd make a single move which essentially gave her the checkmate. Ingmar kept thinking about his move, before responding calmly. "Well, uhhhh, I don't think I can really do anything? I can move this, but... then that frees up your knight, I think. I'm not sure. I'm not really that good at this chess stuff." Morgan would put her hand on his shoulder. "Nonsense! You're learning well! It is just that you are facing a tactical genius! I am certain that in no time, you will know all the tricks in the book to defeat your opponents!" Ingmar smiled, before speaking more softly. "I honestly prefer the whole... sword training thing we did earlier. Can we do that again?"
Having someone else interested in learning sword-combat was truly wonderful to Morgan. "Why, I'd love to, Ingmar! How about you put the chess pieces back in place?" As Ingmar did such, Morgan would form a smaller blade from some of her own metal armour. Though Chrys was quick to bud in, speaking softly as she looked up from her newspaper. "If you two are gonna play with your swords again, please do it in one of the rooms of the back, please. I really am not fond of all the noise... or the fact Ingmar accidentally threw his sword the last time you did this." Morgan nodded, as she signalled Ingmar to follow her to one of the storage rooms in the back. "Laura, Oreas, did you two know that... Roraima got a prize for being the first to have worked on at least 30 subjects?" Chrys would soon say, making Laura scoff. "With a guy like him holding that title, it's not even a surprise that this place went to hell." It made Oreas chuckle a little, before she'd put some energy into a lamp she had taken, actually making it glow again. 
Thread archives
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Krypt-Chan
“It has been… Sister Celestine.”
Celestine eyes drifted toward the thing. Should she be in a different location, she would have cleaved the thing in half. Seeing that the thing was inside the most holiest of places with Chaplain Gabriel, she doubted she was facing a foe.
“And what is this?”
“Subject Ninety-Nine, creation of Ordo Xenos under Lord Inquisitor Kryptman to combat the ongoing tyranid invasions.” Chaplain Gabriel said. “She is here as the conclave is being prepared.”
“I see.” Celestine said.
“On what mission have you been sent to be summoned in Terra?” Chaplain Gabriel said.
Celestine’s beautiful visage twisted into a holy hatred in her worrying grimace. Ninety-Nine flinched at the bright searing light emanating from Celestine. The light that touched Ninety-Nine did not damage her, but the warmth of the radiance instead swelled her heart with an energy that she did not understand.
“The heart of Terra is in danger, a great calamity will occur and the threat is within the Imperium’s high command. The God-Emperor has sent me to find the heretic shrouded by foul magic.” Celestine said. “I suppose I will be needing your assistance once again, Chaplain.”
“Then it will be brief.” Chaplain Gabriel said. “I am here to represent the Chaplaincy of the watch fortress I reside in in this conclave.”
“What is the conclave about?”
“Imperium Nihilus, and who shall be sent to investigate the lost inquisitors. Perhaps there is corruption within the inquisition, those with vile intent influenced by the dark powers.”
Celestine glanced at Ninety-Nine.
“Yes… it will not be the first time an inquisitor has been tricked into creating something that would condemn billions of souls when it was meant to save the Imperium.” Celestine withheld a sigh. “But I also know there are righteous inquisitors as well. I will first speak with the Lord Commander.”
Celestine noticed the intense focus of Ninety-Nine.
"What is it, Subject Ninety-Nine?"
>“I like your wings!”
>“You’re very pretty Lady Celestine!”
>Write-in 
Quest Resources (including current inventory, date, time): https://rentry.org/PokepocalypseQST
Quest Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Pok%C3%A9pocalypse%20Revival
Updates will be attempted daily! At worst, expect an update every 2 days instead of one. Absences will be announced in advance and given definitive end dates if I can manage it.
<><><><><>
It is the Year of our Lord 1884, and the United States has just been invaded by creatures beyond modern comprehension!
With power beyond any mere mortal's and ubiquity beyond any eathly species, it's only natural that all of America has taken to calling these fresh invaders "demons". And yet, even with such a title to their name, there arise sympathizers. Sympathizers who insist that, despite their ability to rain down fire and lightning from the heavens themselves, these demons are worth human companionship! That they are not to be feared! Even, somehow, that they can help humanity if we just give them a chance...
Walter Buchanan, our humble protagonist, is one of these sympathizers. He has set out for New York state with his two human companions, Thomas J. Steele and a mysterious "Andrew", alongside a sizeable posse of demonic acquaintances, seeking the safety of his family and a return to his home village of Cooperstown.
We return to him in the current moment, across the country and in America's westernmost state, wrapping up his paid studies as he pursues his smaller goal of reaching Sacramento...
<><><><><> 
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
_
A very exciting match is about to start, the finale of the martial arts tournament of the Qi condensation bracket of the tournament being hosted at the Garden of the Wild Empress temple. Your temple, in your arena. Two of your disciples at the pinnacle of the Qi Condensation stage are about to face off, and you can practically feel your blood boiling from the anticipation alone. Lian Luli, who might be the most talented of the generation behind yourself, and the vengeful ghost of Yujijiao, who has grown into a most ferocious spirit and far surpassed the legacy of her short life as the Oasis guarding beast princess that was dubbed the Jade Horn. A young girl, who is overflowing with vitality, spunk and a strong determination to survive despite how heavily the odds are stacked against her, and a girl who died and lingers on in death, fuming about how tragically short her life was cut down but whose found a second life in death.
Oh what the hell! Why not share your excitement with the crowd! Slapping your palms down on your knees, you shoot up from your seat, startling two of your five guests, He Ping and Ehuang, while the more well traveled Liao Gang, the heretic who is hiding behind inside the robes of a long ago extinct sect and Xue Long, your mother's annoying son who unfortunately could be called your brother, remain cool and composed as you rush to the ledge and throw up your hands
"This is the peak of this event!" You declare loudly voice booming and crashing like thunder as you lift your hands above your head and clench them into fists before hopping onto the ledge, teeth lengthening to fangs in your delirious excitment as your tail sprouts just above your, currently, very human buttocks as you yowl with delight.
Swinging down on hand, you point down at the ghastly visage of a human woman stapled to the neck of a giant serpent at the neck, Yujijiao preferred look and signature style!
"In the northern side! We have the tragically slain princess of beasts, the protector of desert oasis, one of the numerous victims of that foul tempered ogress!" You cheer, lips parted into a grin that doesn't quite fit on your human face, as starlight glimmers from your now lifted and flowing crimson hair "Yujijiao! The Jade Horn! My regent down in the crypts I own and the fairest princess of the dead. A young, fierce spirit, who spreads famine wherever her baleful gaze falls! And the princess born of curses, to whom the lesser dead bow! THE SOLE PRACTIONER OF JIEDIQI (The Famine of Breath, 饥饿的气,) Outside of the blazing cauldrons of Daiyu! She who suckled upon the vendetta born of her own demise!"
Cont 
Holà gentes dames, belles demoiselles, nobles seigneurs et gentils damoiseaux, the Local Lord is back, as promised. I greet our veterans and for the new knights that flock to our banners I give you the links to the previous quests as a festuca.
>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2022/5085315/ thread 1
>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2022/5134375/ thread 2
>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2022/5194246/ thread 3
>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2022/5314154/ thread 4
>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2022/5422744/ thread 5
>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2022/5422744/ thread 6
>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2023/5561322/ thread 7
>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2023/5561322/ thread 8
>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2023/5702984/ thread 9
>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2023/5785267/ thread 10
>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/5920163/ thread 11
>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6011182/ thread 12
>https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6079405/ thread 13
If I remember well good sirs we were just arrived to Lasthold, fief of our beloved lady Takable, to pass some good time with her and train her new household guard. But as per tradition our quest shall begin with a prologue about events in different parts of the world. Here we shall follow Mahmud and the other saracens that because of some inexplicable and probably ungodly phenomenon were transported to Bifuria while they marched against the devious mongols. 
Humanity has spread out into a massive sprawling empire throughout the galaxy. The edges of the sprawl remain poorly guarded and sparsely settled after all humanity throughout a thousand stars has always been alone save for their own creations which once waged war against them. This is no longer true now an unknown force has begun to attack sector 63 and possibly others and it is up to poorly supplied and desperate sailors to hold them back.
You are the Admiral of the naval fleet of sector 63 one of nearly a 100 rimward sectors on the edge of settled human space. The last few days have seen you destroy nearly forty unknown ships piloted by what your men already refer to as birds. Your Escort Carrier the Essex and her escorts have dealt not just one but two serious blows against the enemy and even now your escorts move in to deal the killing blow to the enemy fleet you had ambushed while scavenging a new water purification system for your flagship.
The enemy is doing its best to back away from the ship graveyard even as your corvettes and destroyers stalk out of the mess of broken wrecks hunting the damaged and fleeing ships. The enemy does something you think and human officer would probably be executed for doing they lose all cohesion and begin to run leaving the sole remaining battleship to receive the full wrath of your airwings torpedoes, the last of them you have onboard actually. The rest of the enemy force is just meat for your escorts to rip into with their coil gun turrets and the last of the torpedoes the destruction is so total that none of them even make it halfway to the systems jump point before becoming radioactive hulks after being struck by the torpedoes.
The enemy fleet now lays destroyed and your did so without a scratch but your ammo is gone and you still need to retrieve the replacement water purification system on the derelict cruiser
>Encourage the engineering team to work fast
>Take your time Previous Thread: >>6149613
>>6151518
You don't know exactly how to introduce yourself if you don't know anything, so you just ask her if she's got any ideas.
She doesn't.
>>6151534
She didn't even know there was somebody in the other room, and she says she only woke up after she saw you.
You sigh and surrender to a moment of unknowing while both of you stand around. You don't know anything, she doesn't know anything. It's like a frustration you've felt before, and yet you don't know if you've felt anything before you woke up. You hope maybe things become more clear as this series of events unfolds itself, and you're also not sure if you knew what you meant by that. 
Cursed from birth with silver hair, the sign of evil influence, you play as Argia Candente, a Knight-in-training determined to finally earn your valour and save your family… and protect your friend’s terrifying secret.
# # # # # #
Welcome to thefourth threadof Argia Candente's thrilling adventures, our scatterbrained, silver-haired (busty, as the players decided) Holy Knight-trainee with a penchant for daydreaming and plagued by self-doubt. Together with three other trainees who have become your fire-forged friends, you are now approaching an abandoned Temple of Flame inside a desert made of scorched glass…
During the latest thread you received a mission by the Angel of Ansàrra, crossed the sea to the heathen lands of the Treviri Throne, met with an Asterite mage who got on your nerves, and discovered that one of your friends is not of this world. Yes, the brunette skirmisher who you admired so much, Salicera Fors, is actually one of those so-called Stranders, and comes from another world— and her actual name is Willow Stark!
This has left you baffled, but you are positive that Willow will come to terms with her troubles and hold on to the true Faith.
Especially now that you are so close to achieving your goals.
Complete this mission, and you will be ordained a Knight… and you’ll be able to invite your family to live in the Holy Land.
So close. You can almost grasp it…
>ARCHIVES:
>First Thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6012263/
>Second Thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6049645/
>Third Thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6098808/
>Voting Link (please vote, we’re almost golden!): https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Silver%20Knight%20Quest
(thanks everyone for voting! My mom reads these threads and she’s so proud of this community!)
Update schedule:usually one update every 48 hours. You can expect between two and four posts depending on narrative pace and player interaction. I will do my best to reply to questions and suggestions though.
As for what happened last time onSilver Knight Quest… Pick race and location, except for those I marked with a big X, I don't wanna run those.
No write-ins for the race, please, just stick to the ones in the picture.
I'm on vacation so I'll be running sessions daily, I hope to run at least one full thread, later on we'll see if it goes anywhere.
First to three votes goes, or if we don't have enough in one hour I'll just roll with whatever votes we have. 
You labor beneath the glittering towers of the Elvish Kingdom, where light reflects endlessly on crystal spires, mocking the darkness below. The mines are your prison, and you are one of many—dark elves condemned to extract the precious ores that fuel their grand enchantments. They call you "lesser," "second-born," treating you as tools rather than people.
But you are no tool. You feel it in your bones—literally.
It starts with the discovery deep within the mines. Your pickaxe strikes something strange, something that isn’t ore. You uncover the remains of a great beast, its bones ancient and forgotten. The sight of them stirs something in you, an energy that feels alive, though the creature is long dead. You touch the bones, and for the first time in your life, you sense power in your hands.
You experiment in secret. Small constructs rise at your command—a scurrying hand, a twitching ribcage. The magic flows naturally, as if it had always been a part of you. The other workers watch you cautiously, but they say nothing. No one wants to draw the overseers' attention.
You know the wards in the mines are unyielding, built to keep you trapped. No teleportation, no tunneling to freedom. But magic like yours—magic they don’t expect—offers a chance.
You study the layout of the tunnels, memorizing patrol routes and weak points. At night, you practice with your bone constructs. A skeletal raven takes to the air, silent and swift, scouting paths you cannot tread. The raven brings back knowledge: the enchantment nodes that power the barriers, the location of the nearest exit, the patrol schedules.
Patience becomes your weapon. Weeks pass, then months. The overseers grow lax, assuming you are too broken to rebel. You bide your time, gathering bones piece by piece, building an ally for your escape—a massive skeletal beast formed from the remains of creatures long dead.
The night of the new moon comes, the mine bathed in absolute darkness. The guards are celebrating aboveground, their laughter echoing faintly through the tunnels. You seize the moment.
You summon your skeletal beast, its hollow eyes glowing faintly in the dark. With a whispered command, it charges forward, its claws tearing through enchanted barriers. Alarms blare, and the air hums with magic as the overseers' wards activate.
You don’t stop. The guards appear, shouting orders, their blades drawn. You raise your hands, and the bones of long-forgotten workers stir beneath the ground. Skeletons claw their way to the surface, their jagged remains forming a vanguard. The guards falter, unprepared for the rebellion of the dead.
You ride your beast through the chaos, your constructs buying you precious seconds. The mine's exit looms ahead—a crack of moonlight spilling onto the forest beyond. Freedom is within reach. 
You are an inhabitant of the Nameless Realm. This land is a land of countless paths to power, strange locales, powerful artifacts, and people who take them.
Cultivators on the path of ascension.
This is not who you are. You are one of the many more people who lead normal lives, far from the ones who grasp endlessly for power and their matters. Farmers, medicine men, nobles, whatever.
Yet the past few hours of your life elude you. You wake up in a strange place with 4 others, equally confused. The floor and walls are a cold smooth marble white, pillars rising far into the darkness above.
There are 3 paths ahead you, each one leading into a chamber...full of books. Tomes, manuals, and scrolls on topics which elude you. Though you're certain the contents within are invaluable, should you choose to study it.
Each chamber is marked with an intricate symbol. One of a sword. One of a pond. One of a mirror.
---
This game will take 5 players, first come first serve. Provide a name and 3 aspects of your background or personality from which to draw insight from, excluding any familiarity with cultivation.
For example, you could be a bullheaded person with a history of butting heads with people, an unfortunate quality for someone of a noble background and upbringing. You were disowned for your impudence, going on to become a mercenary who favors an axe. Three aspects.
Each cycle, you gain 3 Actions. For now, it can only be used to explore one of the 3 rooms, revealing a random book inside. Often, but not always, it can be advisable to take actions one by one.
When you explore a room, roll a dice with a size equal to the number of books not yet found. Naturally, this dice lowers as more books are found.
As you explore a room, unexpected events may occur.
More mechanics will be revealed as they come up and become relevant.
- Sword Chamber: 4 books.
- Pond Chamber: 4 books.
- Mirror Chamber: 4 books. 
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
You feel it in a pattern, hitting your head, always in rhythm, like the march of a one-legged soldier. The swiishing sound of rustling leaves accompanies the beat as you are dragged by your leg, somewhere, by something, in a place you do not know. It remains foggy and unclear, yet you cannot think why, as if it had always been so. The visage above you is muddled into a sea of green. A forest, perhaps? You try to turn around and look, then try some more with little success, unsure of how to even move. The thing that hits your head must be the rocks on the ground, yes. You are certain of it. It is not an comfortable feeling. You feel you will be hurt seriously if this continues.
You try to raise your body, yet you cannot will it to do so. You feel so weak and lethargic. You feel so tired. Such a simple act seems impossible to you now, no matter how hard you try. But why were you trying? Yes, the thing carrying you, the man. You try to look, but yet again, your eyes themselves seem to be unable to comply, blinking slowly and tiredly, a blurry form just at the corner of its fields.
You try to call out to the man, to try to get him to stop, and what comes out is nonsense, garbled and unsure. Can he not hear you? You want to stop. You try to move your hands, to grasp upon a root, to stop these hurtsome rocks, but when your hand grasps upon the root, you feel pain, and quickly let go, quickly falling past you as you continue to be pulled. There must be thorns in the roots...if you hold on, you will surely be hurt. Yet if you do not, the rocks will do the same. Is there nothing else? Must all your choices lead to pain? You want to stop...you need to stop...stop...
You open your eyes. 
Ensuring that you have no direct sight of the unknown foe, you instead look through the various sensor data to predict enemy fleet movement. They appear to be hell bent trying to close the distance, burning at full speed even when one of their destroyers is brought low by concentrated lance fire. Seemingly ignoring the loss, the enemy, either brave, cold, or mad, continues its advance.
Due to your peculiar situation, you are incapable of proper coordination. Considering how extremely you were affected by just looking at the foe, you naturally have strong concerns about the humans aboard the Deimean vessels.
Considering all dangers, you had reached but just single solution for the issue – nuke the bastards, as an old saying goes.
Now, the biggest issue at hand is of course the fact that you have no means of control. You would be unable to deploy more powerful weapons that would require your direct guidance. The issue for autonomous weapons is also out, you’d rather avoid the worst-case grey goo scenario.
Everything combined leads to the simplest of weapons. In this case, a dumb weapon, a nuclear device. Sundial – the most powerful nuclear weapon available to you, easily capable of cracking planetary crusts and potentially destabilising entire worlds. Generating enough force to wipe out entire continents at its lowest charge and cracking worlds open at the strongest, this is the most primitive and powerful of your weapons. Just the shockwaves generated by these weapons are powerful enough to potentially level entire mountains and level the terrain into smooth plains. Of course, lacking atmosphere, the destructive capability is vastly reduced, which is why this specific variant is a two-stage device, creating temporary gravitical distortions, pushing the explosions away whilst at the same time moving nearby hostile vessels towards the explosion. 
The camera pans across a dimly lit room filled with scattered papers, a torn wrestling poster, and a single, battered championship belt sitting on a desk. A figure in a sharp, if slightly rumpled, suit stands up and adjusts his tie, staring directly into the camera. It’s The Commish.
“Alright, listen up, folks. If you’re here, it means you’re ready for something different. Something wild. Something… Smack Talk Wrestling Saga.
“Yeah, I used to run the show over on Substack, and let me tell you—it was legendary. But legends don’t live forever when the platform pulls the rug out from under you. No matter. The Commish doesn’t quit. And now, I’m here, ready to rebuild the greatest wrestling universe this world has ever seen!”
He slams his hands down on the desk.
“But I can’t do it alone. A league needs wrestlers, rivalries, and a whole lot of chaos. That’s where YOU come in.”
How It Works
This isn’t your average wrestling league. Here’s how the Smack Talk Wrestling Saga will unfold:
1 Weekly Schedule:
Wednesday Nights: Matches at The Hey Barn—home of the wildest, rowdiest crowds you’ll ever see.
Saturday Nights: Premium events at The Rusty Pelican, featuring title defenses and special matches.
Sunday: Granny’s Supper Recap—a wholesome, chaotic look back at the week.
2 Interactive Gameplay:
Create your wrestler. Submit their name, backstory, strengths, weaknesses, and signature moves.
Control your wrestler’s fate by posting promos, calling out rivals, and suggesting match ideas.
Watch as your choices shape storylines and bring chaos to the ring.
3 Weekly Prompts and Mysteries:
We’ll toss in curveballs—cryptic messages, Aelorian mysteries, and challenges that only the bold can solve.
Meet the Crew
The Commish
That’s me. I keep this circus running. You’ll see me setting matches, stirring the pot, and occasionally refereeing when things get really out of hand.
Granny
She’s the heart of this league—a little old lady with a big attitude. Don’t let her apron fool you; she’s got a ladle that’ll knock sense into anyone who steps out of line. She also serves pie, but only if you’re on her good side.
PeeWee
Our resident high school misfit and conspiracy theorist. He’s in charge of tech and digging into the weird mysteries that seem to follow the league wherever we go. If there’s something strange in the air, PeeWee’s got a theory (and it probably involves Bigfoot).
Open Tryouts: Join the Smack Talk Universe!
Think you’ve got what it takes to step into the ring? The Commish is officially announcing open tryouts!
How to Enter:
Reply to this thread with your wrestler’s details:
Name
Gimmick (hero, villain, or wildcard)
Backstory
Signature Move(s)
Strengths/Weaknesses
The Commish will personally review your submission and roll you into the league. Matches begin this Wednesday at The Hey Barn, so don’t wait! 
You find a an ancient map from the old continent your people came from a long time ago, fleeing from an ancient undead plague. The plague seems to have stopped, and so the continent should be rife for conquest!
You assemble a team and traverse the waves!
You have up to 1000 points to prepare your voyage (you can spend less if you want, but not more).
Ships (you need enough ships to carry all your people and stuff, otherwise some of it will be left behind):
Caravel (capacity for 30 people - it is a sailship, can't move without winds) - 50 points
Rowship (capactiy for 50 people - it is fast but has no weapons, can only ram) - 100 points
Galley (capacity for 200 people - big and slow, but carry several ballista, can sail and row) - 500 points
Population:
Skilled Laborers (5 points)
Masters (20 points)
Legendary (50 points)
Apothecaries
Craftswomen
Diplomats
Engineers
Farmers
Fishermen
Gatherers
Hunters
Jewelers
Managers
Medics
Metalsmiths
Miners
Sages
Schoolteachers
Soldiers
Stoneworkers
Strategists
Tamers
Woodworkers
Other (specify)
(1 point each)
Unskilled Laborers - these people have no particularly useful skills, but they can still haul goods just fine
Leader
Charismatic - little more than a peasant leader, but the people love you and follow you (100 points)
Courtesan - leading through your female wiles, your ease in making allies is unparalled (100 points)
General - you're recognized amongst the best military strategists in the world (100 points)
Optional:
Noble - a member from one of the ancient houses, adds legitimacy to your claim (+100 points)
Monarch - a direct descendant of royalty, who are fabled to descend from the gods themselves (+300 points)
Magician - someone with proven supernatural powers, possibly a half-demon (+500 points)
Resources (each 100 units takes 100 population worth of space; the number listed below is cost in points per unit):
Cattle – 6
Cloth – 12
Cotton – 8
Dyes – 15
Furs – 10
Grain – 4
Hemp – 5
Herbs – 7
Horses – 14
Lumber – 3
Mana Crystals – 20
Ore – 7
Rum – 13
Silver – 16
Sugar – 6
Tobacco – 11
Tools – 9
Trade Goods – 10
Whale Oil – 17
Wine – 12
You may also choose your landing spot on the map. 
Thread #1 Archive:
https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fo/7fem18ut3cdvwtl023tk1/AFSvBTcmGh-HIWJReZVB-vw?rlkey=7i5c5fe3d3jrft2771yqz3g23&st=lhj8ip04&dl=0
//i've never used dropbox for filesharing before so please let me know if it works. i have the first thread downloaded and i want a full archive to be available. lmk if there's any issues here (or if you can see my decade old uploads lmao)
Reconstruction Site (Fire Door) summary:
You woke up in a room with no memory of your previous self. Your room was filled with countless books and a small number of personal effects. You met Iris, a middle aged woman with a prosthetic arm and eye; your childhood friend. She gave you a letter from your old self, explaining that your memory loss is due to them "wishing to undo past wrongs". You can use magic, you enjoy art, and you employ several people for a goal which Iris will tell you once you meet them all. Whether not you will pursue this goal, though, is up to you. You eat and perform a simple spell and learn about Iris' past as a soldier and assassin. You decide not to smoke with her, taking advantage of your new lease on life, despite your resentment towards your previous self. You examine yourself in a mirror, revealing a short stature with a smooth face and large nose. You hair is various shades of brown, with brown eyes and thick eyebrows. You wear black jeans, a big green coat, and a t shirt with "LIFE IS ART" emblazoned on the front. You find out the old version of you was named "Pluto", although you don't believe Iris on that one. You decide to meet up with Cairo, a former member of a religious order, and make your way to a spaceship which Iris pilots. You explore the ship a bit, checking out the fridge and opening some drinks.
You still have some time left on this trip, but according to Iris, there shouldn't be more than 40 minutes left. You've just had a weird drink from the fridge, and gave Iris her sparkling water, which you didn't enjoy. There's still some ship to explore, some self to explore, and some Iris to explore. What do you do? ![The Measure of Souls[sound=files.catbox.moe%2F5qd9vr.mp3]](https://i.4cdn.org/qst/1733490638557916s.jpg)
You are L2S Trollhunter Fiona Jarnafeldt, and you think you’re in trouble. Big trouble.
Earlier today, you were directing a pair of engineers through the stormdrains with your compatriot, L2S Manhunter Saemus Fahy, as the workers installed a drone nest used to observe the squatter city and plot out the encroaching attack on the city. The mission went fine, that’s not the issue. The squatters have successfully reverse engineered the technology from a pneumatic suit they stole months ago, you put them down handily, and a team is on the way to pick up the bodies for processing. That’s perfectly fine.
But something happened.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=alCtsl65y3o
While on the mission, your radio transmission was hijacked by a strange caller who claimed to someone named Zephyr, a member of a clandestine research team serving Mother Nature’s Providence known as the Old Oaks. On the call he made a mortifying claim: that no amount of hard work or effort will get you to the promotion you seek, that no number of slain monsters however fierce and fearsome they once were really matters to your ends. The only way to earn this promotion to earn the life and family you’ve been fighting to earn is to sell your soul and morals and to kill a child of the city’s overpopulation. A brand of loyalty seared in to the back of your mind for the rest of your life.
Zephyr went on to say that everyone around you in any place of authority has done this. Your mentor, the stormwatch director, even your parents had to have done this. It was either this, or winning the lottery, if you wanted to bring that child that you always wanted, always seeing, haunting you like a ghost, into the waking world. He then made you an offer to try and destroy the system. You took off your radio; you did not want to hear any more of that seditious thought.
You thought that a complete dismissal would be enough to prove loyalty for anybody who happened to hear what was said.
But then a man in black arrived to direct you to an L4 operator’s office. 
"It all comes in threes, in threes, threes..." the caged one cackles as the crusaders finish their third barefooted lap around the mine. The sun scorches the skin and blinds the eye, it's noon in the outskirts of ancient Eridu. Just short of twenty men they are, the long road has tattered them in numbers, in garments, in meat on bone. Yet they persist in their tiredness, performing penance only days after the finish of their long journey.
There is no other way, two nights have passed here, two nightwatch squires have gotten sick. The bishop Adhemar blames his own sins, Ceolmund blames the dirty water that gathers in black puddles everywhere, some blame the one in the iron cage, that is dangling off of rudimentary mine crane high in the sky. Away they were from the glorious battlements of Francia, Adhemar knew, now the humble wooden structures for transport of broken rubble made long ago were their new palisades.
"If Jericho's walls fell after three rounds of encirclement, now let our walls never fall, Saint Michael, as we are paying the same price for the opposite... " Adhemar, leading the procession, finishes their barefoot penance with churchly monologue, extorting health and success from worship worthy figures from the cannon. Behind him are the three knights in the expeditionary group - the german twins Godrick and Gebehart, stuck shoulder to shoulder as always, and behind them - the englishman Ceolmund the Paragon, who is now ordering something to the men...
"Osbert and Thorley, fetch fresh water from the hills we passed as of late, as to rid our bloodied feet of those black pebbles and to bring relief to the two sick boys in the tents... Riley and Aldwin, send the Assyrian to those native abominations and get them back to mine work..."
Someone needs to stand guard tonight, the leaders decide it should be one of them this time.
>Ceolmund the Paragon
>bishop Adhemar
>the twins Godrick and Gebehart 
"Please?"
You cross your arms.
"No."
"Pleeease?"
Your arm remained crossed.
"No."
Your old colleague, Lux, spread her arms on the circular table. She clasped her hands and shook with her head flat on the table. Her blond hair shimmered under the cloudless sunny day. A gentle breeze waved past, cooling the surrounding area of the outdoor cafe you sat in. Her canine ears drooped down.
"How did this come by anyways?"
Lux pulled herself back up. She ate a mouthful of her slice of strawberry cake. Her eyes closed tight in a brief, blissful, sugar high. The coffee, topped with five sugar cube and cream, was raised by Lux, she jerked her head back and downed the sugary abomination of what was a Lunarian Coffee. Lux let out a long and content sigh.
"Our headmistress wanted us faculties to look for new teachers, not from our usual alumnis or the list of candidates. Someone outside of the student's... lifestyle. They need a teacher who needs to ground them in relaity."
"You mean they're bunch of children w you haven't been in the city for years, you enter the market district and take a cursory glance, when your fleeting glance happens to fall on the stall of an old goblin woman, her eyes light up and she rubs her hands together as she looks at you with her bile-green eyes. she engages you in conversation and shows you her wares. some of the 'knives' are simply broken, rusted swords, some of the more well-kept pieces have clear signs of use such as dried blood or pooled poison that has clearly passed its expiration date that stains the bronze. "come, come see my wares and trinkets, they will serve you well and mighty" she flashes her yellow uneven teeth. what is your next move? 
You stare at the door outside. It would be easy to put all this out of your head and just keep it moving. But it doesn't feel right.. you cast a glance at Batman and find he's already staring at you. The unsettling glow of Batman's eyes from beneath that cowl of his make you nervous. Hell, everything about this place makes you nervous. An hour ago you still thought of 'magic' and 'spirits' as possibilities. Chances in an infinite universe, things you never really believed fully but still left the door open for. Only now the door is wide open and you've stared into what's behind it directly and according to John it's done it's share of looking back. Is this really your place? No. It isn't, you weren't meant for dark delves into haunted asylums with masked crusaders. Yet it seems every time you fight to return to normalcy, for the privilege of an honest job, you're exposed more and more to how much deeper the rabbit hole goes. How comically small your role in the world is. You'd laugh if it didn't always feel like the joke was on you. But through all of this bullshit you've never lost sight of what you've stood for, the world wasn't your problem; Gotham and the people in it are. You look again at this man, this Batman, and it feels like another reflection.
Maybe he's meta, maybe he isn't but he's still a person. Someone who had desires, maybe the same ones as you. Just a man who wanted to protect his home. You remember when you first saw the photos in your dad's paper, his suit wasn't much more than stitched kevlar and sports pads despite it his presence was inescapable in the City. He seemed like a manifestation of Gotham's anger, finally fighting back to halt the grinding boot that was turning everyday people into a paste and looking at him now you aren't sure you recognize the man clad in pristine body armor, trimmed with technology that borders on science-fiction. It makes you think, would you from a few months ago recognize yourself? Your own words to Question echo in your head, maybe it's better to just focus on the things you can act on. This is out of your depth and it may be out of his as well, but you can still help where you can.
"You're out of your depth too." You start. "Your utility belt won't be as helpful against the things John's looking for as you think, and given everything he's said about you, you'll just end up drawing attention to both of you if you go with him."
"Maybe." Batman grumbles. "But I don't trust him to wander that place by himself. Even if it was empty."
"Gee, thanks mate." John mumbles, rolling his eyes wildly as he reads his tome.
"If anyone should be his backup, shouldn't it be another magician or wizard or something? He can't be the only one, you guys mentioned someone earlier."
"No." Batman says firmly. "I'm not bringing anyone else into this, I won't risk them."
"But you'll risk me?" You ask, genuinely taken aback.
"You were already in, whether you liked it or not." 
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
Down we went into the dark, and into a terrible heat. It was a tropical warmth, the air thick and humid. I was uncomfortable in my jacket, but kept it on. The only light to see from was the fire in my fist. It cast long shadows down the descending stairs. The walls were stone, at first. So were the stairs. Then the next step beneath my foot became sticky, and the light gleamed a halo off the grool that dripped from the walls. A gloved finger slid along the surface just long enough for me to not want to ever touch it again.
It was fleshy, and wet.
"Fuck this," Grit muttered behind me as we descended into the living nightmare that was the Flesh-Smith's lair.
I don't know how far down we went, but the time we reached the foot of the stairs, we were breathing hard through the baking heat. Ahead of me Ayane's neck glistened, a sheen in her black hair. When the Living Dead Girl looked back, she wasn't frightened, her cheeks and her neck glowing from sweat. Her dark eyes were hard, determined, ready to meet the monster head on.
Putting a hand to her shoulder, I pulled myself in front.
If anyone was going to slay this dragon, it wasn't going to be here.
"We're nearly done with this," Dusk whispered to her sister, squeezing comfort Ayane didn't need into her palm. The sinister mask had dropped from Dusk's voice, for the first time she had the tone of a woman scared for her little sister.
Ayane nodded. "One way or another," she said, more fatalistic than I'd like.
Down a corridor we came to a closed door. A door red and veined, and in its center, a face.
I knew it, or I recognized it. Ferrara, a capo for the Outfit. He had come on bended knee to beg the Flesh-Smith for help in the gang war tearing up Chicago. He'd found out the hard way who he was dealing with. Weeping eyes closed shut, the gangster sobbed in his prison. Poor bastard.
When he opened those horrified eyes, tears running down his wretched face, he gasped.
"Get outta here, go, run," he sobbed, "You don't want what's in here. Not even you, Hotspur."
"Yes, we do," Dusk said, an obsidian talon raised.
He squeezed his eyes shut and began to sob again. The once powerful Chicago gangster, now warped into a grotesque door knocker.
"You don't want this, you don't, you don't..."
>Open the door to confront what lies beyond
>Cut through the door and put Ferrara out of his misery 
Previous Threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=The%202nd%20Primarch%20Quest
_
Yushan, the first world explored by the courageous Celestial Explorers League sent out into the stars from Long-Jia's newly constructed space ports, and the first of Shangrala's sister worlds colonized and the furthest along in the process of being made into a proper habitat for its people and the others who found shelter upon the world you call home, be they human or not. After Guozhi proceeded to the next in the line of his thousand lives and you mourned with your fellow psykerists, and wept many bittersweet tears into the shoulder and hair of your beloved Kanzeon, the colonization and inspection of the world of Yushan had quietly proceeded and rather uneventfully. Now taint of discord or Empyrean energy wellspring was found lurking in its further reaches, and while its lack of fog and mist was unpleasant to the native Shangralans amongst its colonists, there had been no danger beyond what was expected in settling a new world, the threat of treading into and seeking to tame wilderness.
However, you and your most esteemed brother hood of panther hunters, and your sons of the legiones astartes and their own subordinate regiments of baseline humans from Terra, along with a smattering of various abhuman and xenos auxiliaries, had been requested to solve an unexpected problem. The threat posed by the suddenly aggressive wildlife of Yushan, that the colony guard and imperial army of Long-Jia found themselves incapable of overcoming even with their advance weaponry and finely wrought armor and well honed tactics.
The most veteran amongst your space marines, and the survivors of the original brotherhood of panthers, all agree that amongst the many unique and fascinating strains of life present upon Yushan, four pose the greatest and most imminent threat to the brave and selfless colonists, whom have left behind their homes and the stability and safety of modern society to spread both humanities' dominion further across the stars as well as the values and wisdoms that had brought the people of Shangrala together to bask in shared prosperity only made possible through their unity and solidarity.
The habitat flattening "Town Crushing Serpent", with a hide toughened through the incorporation of the minerals that make up the majority of their diet, a natural defense strong enough to resist even sustained plasma fire. A formerly docile one horned brute of a creature prized and selected for domestication for their hardy, insolating fur and protein and vitamin rich milk, that has in recent cases of aggression revealed of previously unknown toxin produced within its singular horn that is singularly lethal and capable of causing deaths most prolonged and agonizing. A gargantuan reptilian beast that resembles the crocodilians of Prospero, that through yet to be determined means, is capable of, with a stare, paralyzing its prey.
Cont 
Lucia threw back her head, snubbing at Miranna’s words.
“I ought to thank you, Harpy, for scaring the villagers into hiding,” she said, one hand steadying the magical tendril at your ankles, while raising the other towards the Nettle Harpy’s head. “It’s less of a trouble for me now.”
“You promised me five minutes,” you called out, nearly stepping out of her snare. You trusted your friend not to punish you for a mistake.
She clenched her fist, leaving it hanging. Glancing your way, she nodded, quickly returning her eyes to Miranna’s.
You lifted both palms to your neck and cleared your throat.
“Miranna. The prophecy says that it’s the Demon Generals I am destined to slay. If those demons cease to be Generals, the prophesied death will need not to befall them.” You turned to Lucia. “Wouldn’t it be best for all? No need for bloodshed.”
Lucia’s lengthy eyebrows brushed together.
“I never said I’ll join your side, young Niklos.”
Miranna let out a heated snort, searing embers flickering at the sharp ends of her claws. “That’s the response you’ll get, Niklos—from all of them. They, unlike myself, hold little care for their lives, or are too naive not to take the prophecy seriously.” She pointed a talon between you and Lucia. “But how do you know her?”
Lucia murmured, her voice gentle and fleeting. “Four … ”
“I don’t want you to join my side, Lucia,” you said, bringing up the hand clutching the knife, your fingers tangling in your hair. You yanked at the locks, not letting go until you felt pain. “Why can’t you women just play along?” Releasing it, you looked back at both of them. With a sigh, you added, “You just have to relinquish your role as Demon General."
“I fail to see how this pertains to what you promised to talk with her about, young Niklos,” Lucia admonished. “Will you?”
“Yes, that was the follow-up part of it,” you said. “Miranna, in return, Lucia wants that you refrain from damaging the trees. Not to claw them with your talons, nor to scorch them with your flames.”
You rubbed at your temples, casting a glance back at Lucia. "Is there any other harm she ought to avoid?"
“The buildings, and everything else made out of cut wood.”
Miranna waved her hand through the air, fiery trails following her nails. “She just said that she won’t join you!”
“She will, she will, trust me.”
“And why is the welfare of trees of such importance anyway?”
Lucia’s expression hardened, her eyes narrowing like owl’s.
“Because life courses through every tree, Harpy. Every. Tree.”
“That doesn’t stop me from harming everything else though?”
“Miranna,” you pleaded, “you only need to avoid landing in forests or villages, and in case we need to, hold back on using your fire magic. Surely that won’t be that much of a problem for you?” 
"In need of money? Unemployed? Join the POLYTECH expedition to the old planet of Old Earth! No need to buy equipment or weapons! Recruiting...recruiting...recruiting..." You slowly gain your senses, as you wake up on a snowy field. You look around and you see a crashed airplane-sized spaceship, broken in two and covered in flames. There are bodies around it...Must be your crew. You see a man In the distance, but he is far away. You have time to prepare for his arrival.
>Name: Nathan Cooper
>Role: Mechanic
>Personal: An Englishman. Dreamed to be an engineer, but dropped university. Is very good with repairing radios, weapons and technology. Analyses every move and is keen to diplomatic solutions.
>Difficulty: “We got this man! We got this by the ass!” Your skill in analization helps you predict the possible outcome of the fights. You are more likely to find a peaceful way to resolving the conflict. Your skills in repairing can help you in reaching out to any other survivors here
>Name: Yuriy Kovalev
>Role: Squad leader
>Personal: Russian. Used to be an officer in the army, taking part in the uprising against the new POLYTECH government. Accepted the job, due to hitting his rock bottom. Aggressive, but is still a team player. A professional in unarmed combat and leadership.
>Difficulty: “God, help me” You are a good leader and have a lot of skill in fist combat. But you are still a very aggressive person, which can lead to conflicts inside your own group 
For generations, the Kingdom of Lindan has been under siege by an otherworldly threat, that of demons. Hailing from a barbarous and unusual land and with skills that defy all magic, science, and logic, known as Cheat Skills, these Strangers all have the capabilities of bringing on the end of all times if they use their talents improperly. As such, an organization was formed, known as the Inquisition, to combat these hellspawn and send them back from the depth they’ve come from…
Currently, however, there’s one small issue. That being said, you happen to be both a Stranger and an Inquisitor. You are Asher Riven and while normally you’d be babysitting the seemingly much more important Princess Lorina de Lindan, it’s about half a decade too early for her to join the Inquisition and she's probably too busy whimsically frolicking in the blissful ignorance of still thinking her fiance, the one she always keeps raving about, loves her you’re stuck at a minor noble party in a creepy backwater fishing village. Yippee... 
You are Ben Parker, super-powered criminal and thief extraordinaire. After being bitten by a radioactive spider, you underwent a miraculous change, and adopted the identity of "The Huntsman"! But it's not all bad! Your clone brother, Abel Parker, works to protect the city, and potentially help clean up some of your messes. He goes by the name of "Spider-Man"!
Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Max%20Spider%20Quest
Last time: After Ben and Ana thwart a candy-themed crook, and Ben is entrusted with a gumball that's meant to psychically implant a memory into his head, Cindy Moon finds her life turned upside down when a black dog comes looking for her, bringing news that her grandmother is alive and requests her assistance. But before she even gets a chance to visit her, Cindy is attacked and kidnapped by a new and mysterious organization known as "Cradle", that employs the use of young superheroes to do their dirty work. And to Cindy's surprise, she discovers that her mother is not only alive, but she's actually running this organization!
Ben, still under the impression that Cindy was in mortal danger, managed to convince the Kaiju King to summon his ward down to Monster Metropolis. And Cindy, now ripped from her mother's grasp once more, is left with the staggering realization that she possesses the spiritual power of a particularly dangerous fox demon.
How will Cindy's life change from here? Can she trust her family, or even her own patron god, not to hide the truth from her? Will Ben be able to protect her from Skul and his army of monsters?
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! 
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.
The push into the gnoll held territory has started with a flanking maneuver. Taking the army west towards Darrowmere River and then into South Durnholde Hills. Your cavalry had hopefully fooled the gnolls to think of you coming directly at them, while in reality your army slips past the gnolls and you can strike into their soft backsides.
That is at least the plan, but you know that rarely plans go as intended. Soon the troubles started, you got caught in a magical trap laid by the mages of Dalaran during the Second War, but you managed to escape thanks to your magic training and the Fel inside you.
Next you faced Lord Colonel Othmar Garithos trying to claim the campaign's leadership position in a duel. But that buffoon had underestimated you badly and you branded, quite literally, his buttocks with the Cinder Sword. Without that ass around being a pain in the ass, your position as the Lord Commander of the Expeditionary Force was on a solid foundation. No one could threaten your position and you could concentrate fully on removing the gnoll threat once and for all.
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 
The King, St. Klaus IV, is dead, at the age of 114. He has Fathered No heirs. He has named No successors. His Wife, Queen Majesty Gertie II, has not been seen in the public eye for 2 months. There are rumors she has contracted Peppermint Rot, A ghastly plague, That makes bones brittle, Movement difficult, and death, certain. St. Klaus IV was a robust man, a fearless warrior, and a beloved king. His Subjects adored him, and his enemies, At worst, respected his ability to rule. He is to be given the sobriquet, The Uniter, for his deft hand in war and diplomacy.
However, with the king dead, and the Count of Jollyforst, Edwin Gumdrop, A kind, but weak elf, next in line for the throne, the Empire sits at a precipice.
Speak of secession billows through courts like a Highwinter gale.
Grilla, High-Chief-Matron of the Ogre Clans, Sallies her forces.
Grinch bandits, Sensing the weakness, plunder from merchants crossing the Plum Road.
Rogue Sorcerers Dominate isolated who-villages and Craft-Warrens
The High Krampus is calling for another crusade.
Tomten Holds Bar their doors.
Kallikantzaroi, like vultures, begin to appear, watching the goings on with unspoken malice.
All manner of monster ebb from the Snow frosted Forests
And more...
Naughtiness shall prevail, unless... 
"God was confused. Why did man not want to be saved?"
-Unknown, dated M26
You may have made a mistake.
---
Read the previous threads at: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=False%20Woman
You possess an amount of Strain equal to your Conditioning score. When attempting actions beyond your current capacity, you gain a point of Strain. Attempting to Strain while at maximum Strain will result in a Strain Check. During a Strain Check, roll 1d10 for every point of the relevant Parameter. Results that are 6 or above count as one success. Results of 10 count as two successes. Three successes must be rolled to avert a critical failure. Fail or pass, after a Strain Check, you cannot Strain again until you restore your Strain by seeking shelter.
This quest allows you to designate a second-choice vote on decisions with three or more options before Write-Ins. When votes are totaled, the option with the least votes for it will be removed, with votes for that option instead being changed to the second-choice of those voters. Second-choice votes are also used to break ties. This helps increase the accuracy of votes, but is not mandatory. Please specifically mark your second-choice as such if you do so.
Vote stay open for a minimum of six hours, but will usually take longer.
A note: My writing style is pretty dry, but don't mistake that for it being serious. 
Past Thread: >>6115274
Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Missval
General Pastebin: https://pastebin.com/5hFQZtc3
Character Sheet (As of the end of Thread #5): https://pastebin.com/xA4G6LMk
Twitter/X account for important announcements, contact and stuff (It has cobwebs! I also am in the Quest General discord). https://x.com/MissvalQM
Your name is Shelly Suzume. You’re now officially a member of the White Fang. You’re still adjusting to it, and it has its ups and downs. You’re not that much into the ‘anti-human’ thing. You just want to help people, and right now Faunus are the group most in need of your support (plus, you owe a few favors to Taylor, the leader-boss of this branch here in Kuchinashi).
You recently had a tense conversation with the leader of the entire organization, Sienna Khan. Unfortunately, the talk wasn’t what you would call comfortable. The discussion stemmed from a recent tragedy. One of her family members (Aunt?) was killed by someone… or something. Plenty of other members of your branch lost their lives too, and so you went to go enact some justice for the fallen. You promised her that.
And to put it mildly, this has been one of your worst days you’ve had so far.
------ 
Welcome to /qtg/, a place to talk about quests.
Previous thread
>>6120952
>What is a quest?
An interactive story in which a Quest Master (QM) writes and provides the readers with options on how to proceed — similar to a choose-your-own-adventure book or an old text adventure
Questionably Useful links:
>QTG discord: https://discord.gg/dZavHuK
>Skirmish discord: https://discord.com/invite/DZCVvVU
>Evo Game discord: https://discord.gg/v55Xaaja
>Old pastebin containing advice for QMs:
https://pastebin.com/Z78p8gXf
Badly in need of renovation.
>Archiving guide:
Go to http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/requestqstinterface.html
Fill out the request form to archive a thread.
Threads are also automatically archived by other websites, such as archived.moe.
>Formatting guide:
Only the thread's OP can format. Note that should the OP change ID, they will lose this ability as well.
Remove the spaces between the [] brackets and the letters:
Bold: [ b ] text [ /b ]
Italics: [ i ] text [ /i ]
Red: [ red ] text [ /red ]
Blue: [ blue ] text [ /blue ]
Green: [ green] text [ /green ]
>Formatting guide for everyone:
Dice (type this in “options”): dice + [no. of dice]d[no. of sides on the dice] (optionally you can add modifiers: dice + [no. of dice]d[no. of sides on the dice]+[modifier]; for a negative modifier type: +-[modifier]
Examples: dice+1d100 = a 1d100 roll, dice+1d100+10 = a 1d100 roll with a +10 modifier.
Spoiler: [ spoiler ]spoiler[ /spoiler ] or by pressing alt+s in-thread (doesn't work in OP)
>QM question:
How do you carve out around the holidays (or whenever you're busy) for questing, or do you just take a break? Do you have any advice for aspiring QMs who might not have the same time management skills?
>Player question:
Do you ever not contribute to discussions in-thread because it feels like other players are more into it/more knowledgeable? Or do you try to drive discussion no matter what? Is there anything you wish QMs were more clear on?
>General question(a):
If you could give one thing, even something immaterial, to one QM (including yourself) what would it be and who would you give it to?
>General question(b):
Have the recent changes to the site made you less eager to quest? Do you sometimes open the post box and just close the window and walk away if you have to wait?
>Lurker question:
Don't be a scrooge, vote!!!
>Miscellaneous question:
Do you celebrate a holiday this time of year? If so, how do you celebrate? 
The disfigured colossus drops to the ocean with one last hellish scream as a parting gift, with a burst of water swirling up as a bonus, and issuing a calming rain as the astonishment settles in everyone’s faces. All it took was a missile hitting the weak spot created by the giant fireball to slay the beast once and for all. Whatever happens to what’s left of it is for the waves to decide. Agent Beef and the others delivered the final blow, and your escape is all secured!
“[HAEIOU, HAEIOU, HAEIOU, HAEIOU, HAEIOU!!!]” The terrifying laughter of a Calamity echoes through this victory! “[MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.]”
The exuberance is in the air, your ears are almost drowned by the cheers coming from HQ!
“HAHAHA! Yeah! Get fucked!” Odetta loves her explosions! She’s grinning like you haven’t seen her do ever since the painting became a thing. What a way with words she has.
“It’s dead! It’s really really mega dead! Oh my god! Oh my god, yes!” Aurora claps excitedly, then high-fives with Spooky, and she matches her excitement! Then Honey Bunny goes back to clinging onto you.
“I’ll never get used to being chased by this kind of crap…” You half-joke. Neither your Courage or Philonune can convince you otherwise.
“I was… so concerned for a moment.” Lady Steen puts her hands over your shoulder and sighs in relief. She wasn’t having a great time, and it wasn’t merely due to Rora being all over you. “But what was that?”
“Reinforcements…” You smile. “Sweet, sweet reinforcements.”
“The Buffalo… came here with a bazooka…?” Dossenius can’t believe this.
“I… I N-NEVER SAID A W-WORD ABOUT SACRIFICING HIM!” Hubbard covers his bases.
“Shut up. We’re not safe yet. Let’s get out of here before we get too comfortable.” Suan De puts everyone’s minds back on the mission.
“All eyes on the job, huh? You’ll become a really useful recurring business partner.” Lady Steen believes she got another worthwhile contact. As long as she doesn’t leave your hobo drained like the guy she’s carrying, you don’t think anything bad will come out of this.
“Y-Yes! Got it! That’s my cue!” Aurora leads her entity towards Agent Beef and the others. Crossbill, Agent Mage, and Solomon Strangelove are waiting.
Honey Bunny leads you all towards the grand exit through what remains of the bridge. It doesn't take long as you covered a lot of space during the escapade. There isn’t enough space for everyone on the Buffalo, you got 5 more heads dangling on — so the bunny keeps on working! You can catch up with the people on the horned buddy by matching their speed. 
You were reincarnated into another world, got overpowered cheat skills, and were surrounded by hot women. Pretty bog standard isekai stuff, but you wouldn't change this life for anything.
Instead of spending your empty days alone in your room, you found purpose in this new life as a tinkerer and a pilot. Gone was your fear of intimacy, your wife carrying your child inside of her as the ultimate proof of that conquest. Also you had six wives, and they all happened to be your happily consenting slaves.
Hey, that's just how this world worked, you (probably) didn't make the rules. Your first wife did, along with the rest of the universe. Her name is Herta--the Goddess of Artifice and Creation--and she was the biggest masochist you knew. Despite all her quirks (and almost paradoxical arrogance) she was still your first wife and closest companion, happily following your every order. All of your wives obeyed and desired you, but none went as far as your cute goddess.
Yeah, life is pretty good.
===
You're in the middle of working yourself to a sweat, Lunacy Savantae giving you the energy and inspiration to create great things. You had already made a mech, a point of pride for you. Sadly it was locked in your estate's dock, too large to carry along. It might not be a terrible idea to make an airship specifically designed to carry it someday...
Anyway, you used iron ingots--provided kindly by your fit catgirl wife, Cattleya--and other materials for your latest creation: an airship.
(Used up 1,300lbs of metal ingots to create the airship)
(1,000lbs of scrap turned to ingots from Cattleya's work)
It's a beautiful vessel, one that you've been working tirelessly to form.
You probably wouldn't have enough ingots to finish it were it not for the technical improvements done by Ruby Rose, another wife of yours and a self-proclaimed mastermind schemer (although privately you'd come to realize most of her plans tended to fall flat on her face from her love of overthinking things).
On it's sides are small retractable clockwork cannons that pop out of the hull. A larger, more intimidating, iron cannon on the deck could be manually manned. It didn't compare to the BoatMech's firepower but they were a good deterrent for any enemies you might happen to encounter.
Small pods with retractable propellers acted as lifeboats, just in case you all needed to be evacuated.
It was designed to be large enough to comfortably hold wives, guests, food, and cargo to sell. Of these products you'd mostly brought cotton, textiles, clothing, iron, and the giant pearl (mostly to get it appraised rather than sold, since it was a gift from a friend). A few clankers and some automatic sewing machines Herta made were brought along as well.
Finally, it was done. Though you couldn't celebrate yet, you still had to leave for the Centrian City. 
"You are watching BNN, Brython News Network!" The words bouncing around the empty classroom, "Following President Saie'di's invasion of the tiny nation of Hajazz, Alliance forces have mustered along the border to drive out the Ashuri Ground Forces." You remembered the words that you told yourself back in the officer's academy: the best officers ensure the least amount of losses are required to accomplish their objectives. Pulling some strings, you managed to get your hands on an excerpt about yourself that higher-ups would look at before shuffling you around on your first combat experience.
>Name:[Lucian Bedford]
>Formation:[Taskforce Dragoon]
>Note:[Following the family tradition of the Saphidic North West from the Unified Estates of Merica, he copied his father and uncle, who would become officers in the Merico Army. Unfortunately, the stubby horns on his head are a dead giveaway to Tiefling ancestry, and he would face constant bullying from his peers. We believe that this has led to him being more than willing to take offensive options when given the chance. For this operation, such a trait will be a boon.]
>Difficulty:[Wolf] This is a traditional story of leading multi-national troops of the Alliance through a progressively harder war with plenty of firepower to compensate for any mistakes. Where things may get stuck, you can always rely on brute strength to overpower your opponents.
>Name:[Emilio d'Armas]
>Formation:[14e Legionnaire Chasseur]
>Note:[Although coming from potionally organized crime, his relatively rapid progress shows that he is one of the brighter graduates. The Extérieur Légion and the proud tradition of allowing any foreigner membership has worked in our favor this time. This operation will be the first time in over 2 decades that the Legion will be facing conventional warfare. We need officers who will think outside the box since we won't have an endless supply of resources at our disposal.]
>Difficulty:[Fox] The Ashuri Ground Forces you will face will outnumber you. They are entrenched, and you will be progressing through unfavorable terrain. You must be able to outwit and outmaneuver enemy forces if your Alliance forces are to stand a chance. Thankfully, at least all your troops speak the same language.
>Name:[Alif Başir]
>Note:[Confirmed to be of Elfri ancestors, clan Başir is the direct line of the Mamaluk slave warriors from the time of the Ozerman Empire. It should come as no surprise that, like her mother, her grandmother, and all the mothers before her, she would have some tie to the military. Make sure she doesn't rise too far in the ranks. Her aunt, Derya Başir, was a member of the 4th army coup back in the 70's. We must keep an eye on her. 
Earth. Fire. Air. Water. Only the Avatar can master all four elements and bring balance to the world. But the new Avatar, a timid young Water Tribe girl named Itiqqa hasn’t even begun to master herself. Can she bring balance to the world?
=====
Welcome to Avatar: The New Age! As the opening and name of the quest imply, this will be taking place in a similar timeframe as Legend of Korra, though Aang died a few years later and a lot of the stupid shit from the comics and Korra won’t be making an appearance. I’m not saying this will be a fixfic, but I am saying that the only good part of this franchise is the original series. A couple of Korra episodes and like 2/5ths of the contents of the novels are okay too, I guess. What I’m saying is, don’t expect magic carpets, dykes, enbies, or to be able to metagame too hard. Now, without further ado:
=====
Previously on Avatar: During a tour of Air Temple Island, Ainu, a Kyoshi Warrior and new arrival in Union City, had a chance meeting with the new Avatar. The new Avatar, Itiqqa is a diffident young girl who feels unready to take on the responsibilities of the Avatar. Ainu, along with Itiqqa and Noyon, a streetwise teen Ainu met who turned out to be an airbender, quickly found themselves on the run from both the Union City police and the White Lotus who were both searching for the missing Avatar. After escalating encounters with the city’s gangs and the radical Equalists, the trio was seemingly saved by Tarrlok, a member of the United Federation Council.
>1/3 
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 
In the Luxion Empire, convicted criminals are made to repay the damage they have done to society through labour. After all, the state cannot be expected to provide food and lodgings for free to the parasites of society at the expense of the honest contributors, to whom it gives no such luxury. The work done by criminals as atonement by law must be toward public services. Petty criminals are given the option to do manual labour for the duration of their sentence, building and repairing roads, walls, railways, and other public works. However the worst criminals, the murderers, the rapists, the traitors, if they are not executed, are made to join...
The Prison Battalion.
A lone wooden cart trundled along the old flagstone road, the bumps jolting the uncomfortable occupants in the back. You are one of these condemned men...
>Vateus Aren, disgraced former military official and convicted traitor. You were found guilty of aiding the recent failed military coup against the Empress. Normally a man guilty of this crime would be executed, however the evidence against you at your trial was not strong enough to warrant a death sentence. Only one conspirator named you as a co-conspirator, and all other evidence against you was circumstantial. This was, of course, because you are innocent.
>James Dixon, an innkeeper. You had always been an honest man and obeyed the law your whole life. But when you found your wife in bed with that louse, you lost control. The betrayal was too much for you. You admitted everything at the trial, apologised, and begged for the mercy of the court. At least they spared you the noose.
>"Quiet" Tom Wiggins, a serial thief and burglar. You might have landed a safer sentence on a chain gang if that last job hadn't gone wrong. But regrettably, that new crew were rookies. Regrettably, those idiots alerted that guard. And regrettably, you acted quickly and did what you had to do to stop the alarm being raised and stay free. Or so you thought. While you were preoccupied with hiding the body, you were the only one to not escape the warehouse before the patrol came in. Now you've copped a murder conviction, and you're guilty as sin.
>Ned Tanner, a simple tanner as your name would suggest. When girls started to go missing from your village, eyes were turned towards you straight away. You were always an outcast, always distrusted. Everyone always thought there was something wrong with you. Someone might have been forgiven for pitying you as a victim of baseless rumours, until the constables found the bodies in vats in your tannery. 
"The honour of knighthood came first among the civilised people among the Latins of the Middle Kingdom. The art of sword and lance was birthed in the iron years when the kingship was abroad with the barbarians. The Frankomen of the great kingdom have forgotten them, since - though we remember." - The Chronicle of San-Koryu Abbey, The Writings of St. Go-Apsimar the Bladesman
You drink from a laquerwood cup and hold your chest tight to keep from coughing. The conversation around you has dulled - your fellow gentlemen knelt at the low table have emptied their cups and plates both, and look around muttering as if not one has any further tale to tell - at last a young northerner, fellow with the Emishi look about him, looks to you, and asks if you've any tale for the company - from whence do you come?
>You are of noble blood, for certain, but from where did your family come?
>The northern marches of Kyumar, the great-isle, an aristocrat settled among the knights there when the shoguns first marched north.
>The Isle of Pearls, in the distant south - you are of foreign stock, merchants of tea and lacquer with the burghers of Baek and Sildon
>The Curia itself! You are descended from a distant offshoot of the consecrated line of Christ's daughter, from whence the Saint-emperors spring. Certainly you are poorer now. You wake up in a room with a small stool, a large artillery shell and a barred window.
What'chu gonna do? 
Nestled in the heart of the known world lies the vast and diverse continent of Telurya, a land where many races live side by side, each with their own customs, cultures, and ideals. From the towering mountains of the north to the sprawling forests and plains of the south, Telurya is a place of both harmony and conflict, where ancient traditions clash with new ideas, and untold adventures await those brave enough to explore its depths.
The continent is divided by two major factions:
The Northerners
In the frozen wilderness of the north, a proud and fierce people known only as the Northerners have made their home. These beasts, who come in all shapes and sizes—ranging from towering, muscular creatures to more nimble, wolf-like beings—are known for their connection to the harsh land that shaped them. Their society is built around survival, strength, and honor, where the bond between tribe members is unbreakable. Whether they are formidable warriors, powerful shamans, or expert hunters, the Northerners rely on their innate connection to the land and the beasts that inhabit it. They are a nomadic people, their clans spread across the tundra and mountains, always on the move, always adapting. While their ways may seem primitive to outsiders, they hold a deep respect for nature and the spirits that govern the land.
The Southerners
In stark contrast, the Southerners represent the more traditional races of the world—humans, elves, dwarves, and halflings. These civilizations have flourished in the more temperate and fertile lands of the south, where agriculture, trade, and magical innovation thrive. The Southerners are known for their advanced cities, rich cultures, and often complex politics. While humans are the most numerous of the southern races, the elves and dwarves maintain ancient traditions, and the halflings are known for their charm and hospitality. The Southerners value knowledge, diplomacy, and the arts, and their societies are governed by a mixture of monarchy, council, and merchant influence. Though they live in relative peace, the competition for power between these races is fierce, and not all is as harmonious as it may seem.
The balance between these two factions has been a fragile one, and as tensions rise, the future of Telurya hangs in the balance. Will the Northerners push southward, bringing their savage strength to bear? Or will the Southerners find a way to coexist with the beastly tribes, or perhaps even unite against a greater threat?
Select a faction, a theme appropriate race and a biome. If you so desire, point out in the map where you want to start out. In the world of Hainei, there are many groups in many places, always stirring with machinations unfolding as they move. The goals of the many often lead them into conflict. The probability is always high.
~~~
This quest is a side story that takes place in the universe of Chaos: The Quest for Redemption. New readers are encouraged to start from the beginning to grasp the context of what you are about to witness.
Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Levelman
Questcord: https://discord.gg/JFAMdJskHn
Wiki: https://chaosquest.miraheze.org/wiki/Main_Page Risk Straya is going pretty slow so I'm opening up a parallel game
This map was proposed by TED during the summer game and I've been excited to see it played
INSTRUCTIONS:
Select a name, color, and location to start playing
type "dice+1d6" to roll the dice for your number of attacks or defenses
You Will receive a (+1) for every area you completely occupy (Marked by the thick boarders) The conception. The miracle of life. This is where it all begins. You are the egg that was released at the right time and you are the first successful sperm to meet the egg. You start your existence now.
>Roll 1d2 to determine if you implant successfully in the uterus. 
The light of the full moon shines upon you and your peers as you stand in the open courtyard of the academy. The sky is clear, with not a single cloud to obscure the gaze of the stars.
A name is called---but not yours---and a child steps forward onto a stone platform.
"Place both hands on the orb," says the archmagus.
The child complies. As his palms make contact with the glass-like surface of the orb, a faint white glow lights up from within its hitherto pitch black interior.
The light gradually grows brighter until its luminosity stabilises, whence it begins taking on a pale blue sheen, like that of hydrangeas. Throughout the entire process, the child remains motionless, as if in a trance.
"A very fine result." The archmagus strokes his long grey beard. "Welcome to the academy."
With a gleeful smile, the child skips back to the crowd and more people are called. Not all elicit a reaction from the orb, but among those that do, the light emitted varies wildly in brightness, colour, and intensity.
Finally, it is your turn. The orb up close is far larger than you expected, almost twice the diameter of your thirteen-year-old cranium. You glance at the archmagus. His figure towers over you; and from where you stand, his visage appears obscured by the wide trim of his pointed hat.
"Go on," he prods, gesturing with his staff for you to proceed.
As your hands get closer to the orb, a sense of unease begins building in the pit of your stomach. It reaches its zenith as you make contact, culminating in what you can only describe as a jolt of pure energy bursting from every inch of skin on your body that leaves you disoriented.
When you come to your senses, you find yourself in a space of infinite blackness, stretching on and on in all directions. However, you still feel your feet planted on firm ground.
Before you can react, a blinding light violently forks towards you, accompanied by a great roar. It fills you with a vision of...
>A fractured sky with obsidian clouds thrashed about by howling winds.
>A colossal wave marching through the void, bringing along with it effulgent sparks on its crest.
>Folds in the void opening up like eyelids, revealing a massive eye staring right back at you. You are still William sparred with self-lighting firefighters, beat the shit out of the voices in your head, and now preparing to go back to university that descended into a multi-way gang fight. 
First thread: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/78475385/
Part 2: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/78533839
Part 3: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/78583130/
Part 4: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/78620743
Part 5: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/78673520
Part 6: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/78741798
Part 7: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/78798673
Part 8: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/4766508
Part 9: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/4801549
Part 10: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/4864481
Part 11: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2021/4980716/
Part 12: (Forgot to archive it waaa)
And the New Discord Link: https://discord.gg/bjwNytCRYR
>”Chief archivist, overlord, master-” Sannet reverently uttered.
>His chief curator Sannet, knelt before him as a show of obeisance.
>”Solemnace rejoices at your return, lord-”
>Trazyn carried on past his curator, deeper into the gallery chamber.
>Sannet would rise and carry on behind him “A successful endeavor, my lord?”
>”A most successful endeavor indeed.” Trazyn chuckled.
>Trazyn triumphantly held up the familiar shape of a vermilion cube, a tesseract labyrinth.
>”A most SUCCESSFUL endeavor indeed” He repeated. 
Summer has finally arrived, and with it, the chance to dive into the digital worlds that promise adventure and escape. You’re Jack Malone, a high school sophomore with time to burn and not a lot of cash to spend. After hearing the buzz about *Battle for Athera*, the latest MMORPG captivating players across the globe, you’re ready to give it a try. The game boasts sprawling landscapes, intense battles, and a unique twist: you can choose to fight for justice as a valiant hero—or embrace the darkness and play as a monster.
But there’s a catch. Playing as a hero costs a steep $20 monthly subscription, not to mention the temptation of endless microtransactions. With your wallet nearly as empty as your fridge, the choice is clear. You'll be starting your journey as a monster. It’s free-to-play, after all, and you relish the idea of clawing your way up from the bottom, earning your power the hard way.
The game boots up with a fanfare of orchestral music, and soon, the character creation screen appears. Five grotesque, low-level monsters glare back at you, each with its own strengths and weaknesses.
The question looms: Which monster will you choose? 
In the dawn of civilization, where humanity takes its first faltering steps toward order and progress, you rise from the mists of obscurity, a being of unparalleled might and mystery. You are no mere mortal—your very presence inspires awe and terror. Whether born from ancient magic, forged in the fires of the earth, or summoned by forces beyond comprehension, your power eclipses that of the common folk like a blazing sun outshines the stars.
The villages are fragile and disorganized, their people too preoccupied with survival to dream of greatness. They huddle together, building simple shelters, planting meager crops, and whispering fearful prayers to spirits they cannot see. Yet you stand apart, your strength undeniable, your potential limitless.
The world itself seems to acknowledge your presence. The earth trembles beneath your steps, storms gather at your command, and the faint-hearted flee before your shadow. You see the cracks in the fragile order of early society, and you realize this nascent world is a blank slate—a canvas on which you can paint your legacy.
Why should you bow to the whims of lesser beings? With your gifts, you could forge an empire, become a deity in the eyes of mortals, or bend their fledgling societies to your will. Whether you will rule with wisdom and justice, reshape the world in your vision, or crush all who oppose you beneath your heel, the choice is yours.
But power does not come without its burdens. For all your strength, there is something within or around you that holds you back—a curse, a flaw, or a challenge that even you must face. This weakness, small as it may seem now, has the potential to unravel your plans if left unchecked.
The world is yours to command, but greatness comes with a price. What will yours be? 
You are Kuroda Haruka and King Lot of Lothian, Orkney and Camelot.
It's been an interesting week, you've sparred against Dread Agreste, learned a bit more about the personalities populating Camelot like the Candy Maker and Spy, tried to figure out more about the Romans and their empire and got gifted a very useful Relic by Emperor Lucius Hiberius.
Of course, getting something nice and useful doesn't mean that Lucius Hiberius is genuinely interested in befriending you. It seems more like the opening of trying win an oath of fealty to make her Kingdom more powerful. Also, she placed a bounty on capturing 'Queen Guinevere' alive because she fancies the boy... No matter how you think on that, it's not a comfortable discovery.
Oh, and you discovered that Avalon is the grave of many Lost Children gone widdershin'. You've learned the existence of such Blessed as King Urien of Gorre, Augustus and King Pellinore.
Depressing.
Better to focus on the potential to Gate to the island of Romulus through the escaped slave Arminox. The enslaved dollman escaped from the Roman ship, Zama, and is in your custody. If you get gather enough Mana, the Anarchists will attempt to make the journey.
With that goal in mind and the return of the Guides from the Quarries and their resupply of Stones, you are ready to start raiding the World in the morning!
But first, you need to discover who died and cause the stars to fall. Yatagarasu the Guide has suggested going to the Temple...
Past threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=villainess
Character sheet https://docs.google.com/document/d/1cAkKYIXfbFfyBIXMxgzBtCFPGWJTBrFQe0b2hoQZfKw/edit?usp=sharing 
-- -- -- ? X X X
You wake up before the alarm rings, that's a first. However, for perhaps the first time since you've been trapped in this timeloop, you look forward to today, that's because your spirit finally managed to get you a way to remember a certain someone. All that's written on that note is that you have a girlfriend, that you're forgetting her, and that you should not betray her trust here, but that's enough for you.
Sure, you can't remember her face, or what she sounds like, or what kind of person she is, or why you even loved her, but that's fine! As long as this note exists, you know that you have someone to come back to, so you won't do something you might regret later in this temporal prison. Speaking of temporal prison, now would be a good time to reiterate what you know about your situation thus far.
For one, it's possible for someone in the loop to figure out that something is wrong using those fumes that Claire inhaled. You're not sure how helpful of an info that is, but it might at the very least convince some people here of what you're going through. Another is that 'M', a powerful being you've interacted with for a short time, is as described by your spirit 'knowledgeable, powerful, immature' and to 'not listen to them, find your own solution'.
You've also found out that Claire has a crush on you, but you doubt returning her feeling is enough to get out of the loop, not like you would even if you had to. Worst case scenario, you can stall until a teacher wakes you up from this nightmare.
That should cover most of what you've learned about the loop, you cover your loop immune note with a book, so your parents don't mess with it, and get prepared for school. Usual banter from your parents, Claire waiting for you at the door, offering the brush- damnit, you forgot to brush your hair AGAIN.
Claire smiles at you on your way to school. "You look happy today, did something happen?"
You DO feel in a good mood now that you don't need to constantly strain your mind remembering that girl. You should ride that happy feeling while it lasts.
>Going through the school as normal doesn't do much, maybe you could skip classes while staying inside the school instead?
>Explore the city with Claire
>Go through the school as normal, maybe you'll get an opportunity to talk to your parents about something if they aren't angry at you for skipping.
>Maybe you should treat Claire a little. You don't need to return her feeling, you can just try to be extra nice today.
>Something else? (Write in) ...ah. It appears as though you are a THANKSGIVING TURKEY. Your demise is imminent. What will you do?
>Accept your fate.
>Do not.
>Write-in. 
His wail was liable to wake the dead. His brother and two others held him back with a tender expectation that any moment he might test their grip. He did. It seemed he might even make it to her, but his brother caught a wrist and wrestled him back. The muddy thoroughfare was laden with people, silent but for an occasional sob rising into the cold morning air. All eyes were on the palanquin.
It was flat, open-topped, solidly built, unadorned. On it lay seven bodies, eight now as the Sonziz lifted her into the last of the open space. Fourteen, maybe fifteen years old. The cheeks gave it away, though they’d already started to wither despite the effort put on her by whichever amateur took the task. Skin brushed and clean, powder and pale cream, lips daubed bright. The other half of her face was sallow though, lips receding, skin starting to fall down into the canyons of her skull. There was a harsh line at the nose where the amateur had stopped, shaken no doubt by the sound of the bell. Nobody expected a second tithe.
The man wailed again. Higher pitched than one would think him capable considering his bulk. He spilled small, fragile pieces of her name into his hands as the fight left him, drop by drop.
“Mi-mir-m-e.”
His breath began to race, the fact that she was being taken becoming real. It did to everyone eventually. Some small, small spark of hope blossomed in him. It did for everyone, eventually. His eyes turned towards you. Everyone’s did, eventually.
“M-marcel! You can’t let them! She was free…they can’t take her, we already paid. P-please. GIVE HER BACK TO ME!”
He lunged for the palanquin with every mote of wrath left to him. He slipped his brother, the butcher, and the chandler, red-eyed with wet cheeks. He reached for her before you could speak…but it wasn’t fast enough, it never was. One of the Sonziz moved like a sunlit snake and the man’s arm was cracked in half at the elbow, flapping back toward his shoulder as the momentum spun him into the mud at your feet. The splatter sprayed out over your boots, his stoppered breaths made bubbles. He started crying again as you lowered yourself to sit on your heels.
“It’s over, paire. It’s over. There was nothing you could do. Remember that.” 
The stars blur past you as you make a tight turn around a barren moon. Your ship, the Viper Strike, hums with the familiar sound of its powerful engines, the vibrations running through your hands as you grip the controls. Your HUD flickers, updating the mission log: Locate General Raxos Valen and neutralize the threat.
But something doesn’t feel right. Your sensors ping, picking up an unusual anomaly just beyond the asteroid field ahead—something's off. There’s a faint distress signal, masked by an interference wave. It's not on any of the known frequencies and definitely not part of the bounty.
Curiosity gnaws at you. You've spent enough time navigating the underbelly of the galaxy to know when something doesn’t add up. This signal—it's too deliberate, too hidden. Whoever sent it didn’t want anyone to find it, and that’s exactly why you’re headed toward it now.
The stars ahead shimmer with a strange intensity, and as you glide into the uncharted nebula, you spot a debris field. Wreckage from what appears to be an abandoned research station. But there's no sign of Valen or his fleet.
Only more questions. You bring the Viper Strike in for a closer look, weaving between scattered metal pieces as the ship’s sensors try to lock onto the distress beacon. The signal grows stronger, pulling you further into the depths of space.
Suddenly, a new message flashes across your console:
“If you’re reading this, it’s already too late. The Core is real. Valen must not find it. You are the only one who can stop him.”
Your breath catches in your throat. The Core. You’ve heard rumors, old whispers about a powerful artifact capable of manipulating space and time. You didn’t think it was more than myth.
But now, you're not so sure.
What will you do next?
> Investigate the wreckage: You approach the research station's wreckage to search for more clues, hoping to find some information that will explain the message.
> Follow the distress signal: You decide to track the source of the signal, heading deeper into the nebula, despite the risks of what you might encounter.
> Contact your employer: You send a quick message to your employer, updating them on the situation and asking for advice on how to handle the new developments.
> Exit the nebula: Something feels off. You can leave now, heading toward the bounty’s original target and avoiding whatever lies in the nebula.
> Activate stealth mode: You engage the ship’s stealth systems, preparing to quietly monitor the area without drawing attention to yourself.
> Write in 
Welcome to QUEST ART GENERAL, a quest for showcasing the art of your quest and its characters! Players of all skill levels are welcome!
Quest mechanics:
1. Don't be a spamshit. Multiple posts are fine but keep it below Souv level.
2: You are free to draw/post work of others' characters, but no begging.
3. Keep it SFW. This is a blue board. If you feel the need for otherwise, link it in the thread so it doesn't get nuked.
4. No dramafagging/vendettafagging, or blatant shitting on others' art. Again, this is a quest to draw and vibe about art, /qst/ OCs, and their respective lore.
5. If someone does give you fanart of your quest/character, be sure to thank that anon for their hard work as soon as you can, it's just common courtesy :)
Drawing Resources:
https://pastebin.com/Dbyjxmfd
LOOMIS:
> https://alexhays.com/loomis/
Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain (user recommended):
> https://www.drawright.com/
Animation resources:
> http://www.theanimatorssurvivalkit.com/
Iterative Drawing - The Fastest Way to Improve:
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k0ufz75UvHs
How to Draw Interesting Poses:
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b1nxf5KQ2Js
Anatomy Quick Tips: Hands:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hzl3eaxAJpo
Painting like a Sculptor:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zC3OxonJcXQ
Basic Drawing for Digital Painters (Shape Control):
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eyu-bbWkGTU
How to Draw Hair:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NHewz3JbKrQ
User-recommended art channels:
https://www.youtube.com/@Sycra
https://www.youtube.com/@sinixdesign 
Welcome back.
We're back. Sorry for the long hiatus but life got a bit hectic there.
Rules are simple: Votes are tallied every hour, with whatever course of action being the most popular being the course of action taken. Write ins are encouraged and non-mutually exclusive votes will be combined if possible.
When a roll is called for, roll however many D100 are specified. 5- is a 'crit fail' and generally means something bad is about to happen. 95+ is a 'crit success' and generally means something good just happened. a 'crit success' trumps a crit fail. User input on both will be taken into consideration.
Inventory, pokemon stats and other links: https://docs.google.com/document/d/15i2N08IpWqitoTJujsUMishe4PLbao1lqT-bCAmvPcE/edit
Discord: https://discord.gg/v8nRWG4p
For a short summary for the new and to recap:
You are Alex. A newly minted trainer and camping enthusiast just starting out on your journey at the age of seventeen after your father lost his job in order to help pay the bills. On the road, you met Fie, the Fire Gym Leader, Gareth a novice Aura Guardian on pilgrimage and Holly, a runaway heiress using a pseudonym. You've also made enemies of Team Green a group of violent, radical activists looking to abolish pokemon training.
Recently, Fie returned to her gym for the time being.
Last time, Fluffy learned Body Press and Cosmic Power, you reflected on the Golden Rule, you got to know Martha a bit more and you got in a double battle with a pair of triathletes. 
The world felt unreal, a dizzying descent into chaos. You were walking home from school, your mind preoccupied with trivial worries—homework, what to eat for dinner—when a drunken man staggered into your path. His glassy eyes locked on you, his movements unsteady but deliberate. You tried to sidestep him, but he lunged, grabbing your arm with surprising strength.
"Get off me!" you shouted, kicking and struggling against his grip. Despite your resistance, his sheer weight began to overpower you. Panic surged as you realized this wasn’t just a random assault; his gaze was wild, feral. He lunged for your neck—not to punch or grab, but to *bite.*
A blur of motion interrupted your terror. Uzuma, one of your classmates, appeared seemingly out of nowhere. With a fierce yell, he tackled the man, dragging him off you. Relief flooded you, but it was short-lived. The struggle turned gruesome as the man sank his teeth into Uzuma's arm, tearing into flesh.
"Run!" Uzuma shouted, his voice strained but urgent. Without thinking, you obeyed, adrenaline propelling your legs forward. Uzuma was right behind you, clutching his injured arm, but as you ran, his pace slowed. His breathing grew labored, guttural.
"Uzuma?" you called hesitantly, looking over your shoulder. To your horror, his face had twisted into something inhuman—his eyes glassy, his teeth bared in a snarl. He lunged at you with unnatural speed.
Heart pounding, you sprinted down the street, weaving through the chaos. The world had descended into madness. The once-familiar roads were now filled with grotesque creatures—people turned into monsters, their flesh mottled and decayed.
You darted into an alley, your chest heaving as you screamed, the sound echoing off the narrow walls. Just when you thought all hope was lost, a door creaked open beside you. A man, dressed head-to-toe in latex, peeked out. His appearance was bizarre—like he’d stepped out of some underground nightclub—but his wide, fearful eyes reflected your own terror.
"Get in!" he hissed, pulling you inside. You stumbled into a dimly lit stairwell and followed him down into what could only be described as a dungeon. Chains, whips, and all manner of equipment hung on the walls. You hesitated, thinking you’d traded one nightmare for another, but the man was oddly gentle. He stammered as he spoke, his voice nervous but kind.
"Stay quiet. They’ll hear us."
Before you could question him, the monsters broke through the door upstairs, their snarls echoing down the stairwell. The man’s face paled. "Follow me," he whispered, guiding you through a hidden exit. As you ascended into a building above, he lingered behind to secure the door.
"Go!" he shouted, but his words were cut short by a scream. You glanced back to see him overwhelmed, his body convulsing as the monsters bit into him. 
**Chapter 1: Blood and Ashes**
It was early dawn when the abbess had roused us. I was still rubbing rheum from my eyes when we'd unceremoniously shuffled out of sullen halls of St. Elise— the orphanage I'd spent the 16 years and three seasons of my life— and into a truck, cramped and packed with about two-dozen or so prospective soldaten for the Emethian war-horde.
The gruel we'd eaten early in the morn stung acrid at the back of my throat for each lurching turn we took towards Raubzpich. I was doing my best not to stain my clothes, pressing my face into my moth-eaten rucksack with the little belongings I still had. I remember the deafening pitter-patter of rain against canvas, the flickering shadows cast by the singular swaying oil lamp illuminating the cabin, and the occasional flash of lightning that burned through my eyelids before the boom of thunder would rattle my bones. When we'd arrived at our destination, they said it was only noon, but the storm had blocked out the sun, and I could scarcely avoid tripping over my worn shoes as we were herded into the fort, a lumbering crowd of children no older than eighteen, shivering and smelling of rain trudging through the mud, following the lights of the officers like giant silken moths.
We were first forced to relieve ourselves of our belongings, then our hair, then our clothes. After that, we were *inspected*.
No, measured. Holes violated, eyes, ears, teeth, and gums scrutinized, dark blood drawn and spit collected into twin glass vials. The crook of my elbow still stung when we were forced into the showers, as the mage who'd drawn my blood took a sample of my humors twice after the first needle had bent painfully into my flesh.
I shuffled under a waiting showerhead, averting my eyes from the nude forms of conscripts readily chatting away around me, preferring to stare at the blotches of scarlet rushing down my skin, between the tiles, and into the drain. I reached out, fingers grazing the copper dial, twisting it slowly. My eyes fluttered shut as a torrent of warmth surged over my skin, driving the chill from my bones. St. Elise didn't have warm baths, just a rag and a bucket you had to draw water from the well outside yourself.
I wasn't quite sure if I could get used to the life as a conscript just yet, but this was a definite plus.
1/3 
The city of Astralor has long since fallen from grace. Its towering spires, once symbols of unmatched power and wealth, now loom over a decaying labyrinth of corruption, darkness, and despair. The elite indulge in their decadence within gilded halls, while the streets below fester with the forgotten, the damned, and the desperate. Beneath the glittering surface, there is no light, only shadow — and in that shadow, The Hollow Garden thrives.
The Hollow Garden is a brothel like no other. Here, the city’s most powerful men and women come not only to satisfy their desires but to bury their darkest secrets. And for Agna, a woman cursed with a strange gift, those secrets are what keep her alive.
Agna’s eyes do not see what others see; they peer into the soul. She can read the deepest desires, the unspoken fears, and the hidden truths of anyone she touches. This ability has made her both a prized possession and a prisoner to the city’s elite. The powerful come to her with their burdens, seeking release — but it is Agna who bears the weight of their sins, their shame, their hidden cruelties. It is a curse that leaves her cold, hollow, and disconnected from the world around her.
She plays her role, feigning a life of luxury and submission, but always with one foot poised to flee. There is no escape from Astralor, no way out of the prison she has been trapped in — until one evening, when everything changes.
A figure steps into The Hollow Garden. The Collector, they call him. His presence is unsettling, a chill in the air that clings to the skin. His eyes glint with knowledge and power far beyond that of any mortal. And he has a proposition for Agna. A dangerous proposition.
"Your gift is wasted here, Agna," he says, his voice smooth, cold — as if the words themselves are laced with poison. "I seek to bring down the corrupt rulers who have enslaved us all. But to do that, I need someone who can see beyond their masks. Someone who can guide me to their darkest secrets. You, Agna, are that someone."
> Join The Collector’s plan: Accept the Collector’s offer and use your gift to uncover the city’s most guarded secrets.
> Refuse and escape: Walk away from the Collector’s proposition and attempt to flee Astralor.
> Confront the Collector: Reject both rebellion and escape. Dig into your own past, uncovering the truth of your curse and the dark forces that have shaped your destiny. 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? 
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. 
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! 
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. 
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. 
With the majority of the Seventh Universe united under the banner of the PTO, Emperor Cooler at its head, the universe has known a time of unrivaled peace. But in the shadows threats have been growing, nursing grudges against the PTO and the Saiyan race in particular. And now those threats are rising, stepping out of the shadows to openly challenge the established order. Seeking nothing short of the destruction of New Salda and the extinction of the entire Saiyan race, can you prevent this outcome? Or will the Saiyan race be reduced to nothing more than memories, their heroes nothing more than ink in the pages of the history books?
You the players will (most often) control Karn; wielder of the mighty Berserker Soul and hope of the entire PTO, not only the Saiyan race. From his lowly beginnings as a Saiyan Brawler with a sub-3000 powerlevel in Age 733, only a few years into his time as a member of the PTO, he has grown in power and skill, overcoming the world-ending threats that have come for the Saiyans to become the strongest Saiyan of his time at AGE 758. From the massive Covenant empire to demonic incursions, mad cultists to vengeful gods, none have been strong or clever enough to put down Karn for good. But will one man's power be enough to protect everyone from the rising threats? Or will death come from those who you least expect it from? Your choices may mean the difference between survival and extinction, so choose carefully.
Character sheets and other info:
https://controlc.com/46ec566d
https://pastebin.com/u/GrandDragonQM
Archive:
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=Saiyan+Conqueror+Quest
Help fund quest art commissions and get exclusive side stories as well as artwork by joining the patreon for only $1/month at https://www.patreon.com/GrandDragonQM
Quest rules are as follows(unless otherwise noted):
>30 minute vote times
>Pick ONLY ONE option when voting
>Dice rolls are all best of first three correctly-rolled dice
>One dice roll per person per post unless three players have not yet rolled, and ten minutes has passed since your previous roll
>Crits are 100 on a d100(a 99 or paired rolls may net you an extra bonus)
>Crit fails are a 1/100 with no passing rolls, or if two 1s are rolled regardless of the third
>Write-ins are both allowed and encouraged, but OOC options will be ignored
>If your goal is simply to troll, at least put in enough effort to make it funny
>Have fun
SCQ will usually start on Saturdays at noon Eastern Standard Time, and run throughout the weekend. Also, for updates or schedule changes you can find me on twitter @GrandDragonQM, which I keep as up to date with any scheduling changes as soon as possible.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tndKYpPz2RU
REVENGE OF THE BODY SNATCHERS 
Past 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.) 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. 
