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). 
THREAD THEME: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZkDQo1uCx6E
It has been five years since the Lighthouse War, a war whose end helped usher in a new peaceful era of mutual cooperation the likes of Vincent Harling and Kei Nagase always dreamed of. But peace is a fragile thing that requires constant care and effort. It's easy to forget how the actions of a few can plunge a nation, a continent, or worse, a planet, into strife.
In southern Verusa, a frozen conflict amongst brothers and sisters stirs awake, threatening to devour the storied lands of Arkanar in the bitter flames of war once more. With efforts spearheaded by Osea and Erusea, the IUN springs into action with the intent of restoring peace and upholding order in the country.
In recognition of your past performances, your nation's Naval chain of command has transferred you to IUN Peacekeeping Force detachment in Arkanar. Specifically, the premier Submersible Aviation Cruiser Squadron of the newly-assembled OFS Nautilus, the Fairy Squadron. You are to take the place of their flight leader.
As Fairy 1. 
You play as Argia Candente, a devout Knight who was about to complete her most important mission… only to suffer betrayal. And now you have to claw your way out of darkness.
# # # # # #
Welcome to the fifth thread of Argia Candente's astounding adventures, our scatterbrained, silver-haired (busty, as the players decided) Holy Knight-trainee with a penchant for daydreaming and plagued by self-doubt. And recently, betrayed by one of her closest friends.
Now laying at the bottom of an abandoned Temple, you suffer from a sprained ankle, breathing raggedly on the glassy floor, as the echoes of Willow’s steps fade in the darkness.
Over the course of the latest thread you braved the abandoned Temple of the Saint you are devout to, Saint Bragia Lacresta. This has left you and your friends drained, but closer than ever, as you and your companions — Rubida dell’Obertengo, Soralisa da Zaribari and Willow Stark, oh, and the Magus Sandora Mirari — managed to cast a powerful Sanction and incapacitate the rogue wizard you were sent to recover and imprison.
Completing this mission would have meant an expedite access to becoming a proper Knight, together with everything you are fighting for: allow your displaced family to settle in the Holy Land. But just as victory was at hand’s reach, one of your friends, Willow Stark, the young woman who secretly comes from another world, has betrayed you, killing the Asterite and stopping you from completing your mission.
She has done it for you, so she claims. To save your soul.
Willow has now left all of you in the darkness, disappearing who knows where. And all you can feel right now is the bite of regret in your stomach, the pain from your strained ankle and the hole in your chest from this sudden betrayal.
And this is the state you find yourself in: broken…
>ARCHIVES:
>First Thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6012263/
>Second Thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6049645/
>Third Thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6098808/
>Fourth Thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6154957/
>Voting Link (thanks everyone for voting! Let’s gild all the threads!): https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Silver%20Knight%20Quest
(thanks everyone for voting! My mom reads these threads and she said she’ll bake us a cake one day)
Update schedule: usually one updateevery 48 hours. You can expect between two and four posts depending on narrative pace and player interaction. I will do my best to reply to questions and suggestions though.
Also, we have a twitter! In keeping with tradition, you can now find Argias’ secret notes and keep up with updates and comments (and perhaps the occasional secret?) following this handle: @silverknightqst
As for a brief recap for new players… last time on Silver Knight Quest… 
A world where might makes right. A world of Jade and Gold, of Phoenix and Dragons, of Pills and Talismans, of Martial and Spiritual arts.
A world where diligent training yield strength, meaning freedom. A world where loneliness means death, meaning social chains.
A world still unfair, as the ones reaching the heavens are most likely born rich - be it political riches of the aristocrats, power of secret knowledges and hidden realms of clans, or lucky enough to be born one-in-a-thousand genius.
This was not the case of Quiet Word - that is, (You).
Your current skill level is on par with other genius of your age. But where they were graced with secret techniques and special care, you just had lucky encounters leveraged to the best and a knack for navigating social situations.
You own a trove of techniques for such a young cultivator - more than you can study efficiently, but your strength lies in the impressive amount of Bonded Spiritual Beasts - A Phoenix spirit, a Horse spirit, a Snake spirit and a Wolf spirit.
Speaking of that last one, you didn't told a world about him to anybody. As a scion of the Primordial Wolf spirit, its father warned you of its worth and how people could want to rip it away from you. Especially in such a ruthless and public environment than, say, a townwide cultivator tournament.
Previously mentionned worth comes from its ability to Fuse without restriction - fusion being a secret of the higher ranking of your sect, secret you have almost completely rediscovered on your own, and freely shared with your sect-siblings (but not your masters). Alright, the Primordial Wolf might have helped you on that point.
Recently, you took the mantle of elder brother to twelve younglings; you won for the second time the local town's tournament; you get in some weird pact with a gardener and you broke through the first minor realm of second stage. All is nice and well - if you set aside your concerns regarding a certain prophetic poem including words about fated dao partner and the most-dreaded rightful fear of falling behind. The fourteenth of February.
Last night, you had unpeeled an entire pack of infusers before curling into your sleeping tray, your mind shot with cyan-bright skies that your eyes would never see, fingers twitching at phantom greenery that your hands would never feel.
This morning, your mind feels clouded. Something had awoken you early. The sound of dead static morphs into an unfamiliar jingle.
<...we wish to express our sincere appreciation to you for making a LOVE donation. In order to make the experience as pleasant as possible, we have requisitioned a prototype.....to allow you to.... in the comfort of your own....>
Something thrums in the corner, too low-pitched to be your air conditioner.
>OPEN YOUR EYES.
>KEEP THEM SHUT.
[LOVE: 10/10]
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Welcome to LOVE QUEST. This is a fairly unserious, extremely brief 5-10 update quest that I had originally scheduled for Valentine's day. ![Soul Fallen From Grace, Ware Thee Well[sound=files.catbox.moe%2F80lxny.mp3]](https://i.4cdn.org/qst/1739951400763849s.jpg)
You are Fiona Jarnafeldt, L2 Trollslayer of the Helsinki Stormwatch, and today you are going to cut down a tree. The tree is equipped with a four-bore lever action shotgun with an axe for a bayonet and is attempting a mutiny, but you are going to cut it down nevertheless.
Because your story won't in that wet pit.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9amwbTX7zZs
The world management organization known as Mother Nature's Providence organizes the world into the society it is today. This includes separation of peoples that would be alike, the minimization of automation, and a strict capacity on the population which they, through agencies like the Stormwatch, enforce through violence. This city must have no more than one million souls, and there are one hundred and eighty two thousand more than that million, living beneath the streets in squalid poverty, resorting to robbery and violence to stay alive. The public doesn't know just how many are beneath here.
But the rebel knows. His name is Zephyraut, and he is a member of the Old Oaks, a seclusive cabal of researchers that helped advance society through scientific marvels. Though they serve the order that would slaughter the overpopulation, they do so with disdain and respect for all life, and the violence has become too much for this Old Oak to bear. Zephyraut uses an Illuvatar arms platform, a tree remotely puppeteered by chemicals which manipulate the tree's fibers like muscle, serving as a stealthy and powerful military asset. With that masterpiece of military and bioengineering at his disposal, he patrols the Stormdrains of Helsinki, preaching to agents and squatters to join his cause over the radio.
The tech is top secret. MNP already sent Deathwatch assassins after him, but they failed. The last survivor could only tell Stormwatch Director Katriina Jousten that Zephyraut needs to die. Instead of informing MNP that their assassination failed and facing a brutal audit, she has decided to tackle the task herself and send the agent home with a story of success. She has unilaterally paused all Stormwatch activities before a crucial point in the offense against the squatter hive in order to deal with this problem.
There can be no more delay. It must be done soon, else Mother Nature's Providence will come to clean up every loose end they damn well please.
And you, Fiona Jarnafeldt, Level 2 agent and Category 2 citizen who hasn't the rights to start a family, are a very loose, very disposable end. 
Darkstone. This precious mineral was able to sap away magic around itself, tearing through the ether of the Weave and allowing bullets to pierce through magical shields and projectiles.
When a volley of Darkstone came, it did not matter if grand Archmages formed great walls of fire to protect themselves or struck the bullets with swift lightning, the bullets continued on their terrible path and delivered death. Decades of study and generations of fine breeding could now be undone in a few seconds by a peasant with a good eye and a rifle.
When Darkstone came, magic died. Thus came the Darkstone Wars. The old countries, often ruled by bloodlines strong in magic, underestimated the usefulness of the black bullets. In but a few years, millennia old kingdoms and dynasties crumbled as brutalized serfs rose to overthrow their tyrannical regimes. The most terrible of magics were unleashed by the Weaveborn to protect themselves from the revolutionaries, whole countries shattered under their desperation, but, eventually, they lost. The new regimes hunted down the Weaveborn ruthlessly, they were the symbols of the old; potential tyrants that were better off exterminated before their powers grew too great.
But nothing is so simple. As the magic arts were forbidden, many of these new regimes realized how important they had once been. Humanity had grown dependent on magics that fertilized the land, created water for crops, healed the sick, controlled raging fires… Foul times of hunger and disease followed the Wars. The sky yellowed, the sun reddened. Times of anarchy and death.
When magic died, bullets ruled. Idealistic republics turned into ruthless dictatorships. All men and women were free, and yet they were cowed into a submission not too dissimilar from the old regime. Some Weaveborn were granted the right to live, as long as they used their dominion of magic to support their country.
And then, you were born. It was in 82 AD, After Darkstone, in Piras, capital of the Republic of Frankia. You were a girl, you were given the name Sybille. Your parents were humble factory workers, you lived in a tiny apartment near the district where they worked. Your early days were not too different from those of other Frankian children, you had plenty of siblings, but most of them did not make it past infancy, you went hungry to bed most nights, and you were put to work as soon as you could handle a mop. Your parents were strict and disciplined, everyone had to contribute and improve their lot, there was little joy to be had with them. Yet children will find happiness even where there is none. Two siblings survived into childhood, your elder brother François and your younger sister Justine.
You snuck away from your duties with them when you could. You played around, fought other kids, made friends. 
…
And so, believer mine, it shall be done.
You agree to abscond from the realm of humanity, and find yourself among a world where only Pokémon reside. Such a world always exists in a precarious balance, somewhere between a dark dream of the future and a bright memento of the past skies… Its preservation is as such a very expensive thing. Why, there's simply no way you'll possibly survive the ordeal fully intact. I've observed countless of these transpositions, long before various deities came forth to try and better oversee them. Your human body and memories will typically satiate the travel fee, but even then, though you value order, your kind are bringers of calamity no matter what world you choose to reside.
Even knowing this, you still won't refuse…?
…
That's good, I sense no wavering in that soul of yours. Speaking of…
A soul absent of its memories can find new ones to nourish itself, but a body absent a soul…? Surely such an unprecedented creature would find itself maddened in an instant! That won't do either of us any good. Consider this your final task for the application process. I'm going to propose to you some scenarios, I want your full honesty in their answers. You wouldn't lie to me, would you? Another human feigning faith in the hopes a new body will bring them some semblance of power?
…
Should've known. Not ambitious enough for such treachery, no matter, ambition may come with time. But as for now, you're a lovely prospect! Tell me who you are, that I may transpose your soul into what you wish to be. Four questions should suffice, let me see now…
(Continued…) you're a gnome going on an adventure
you are going to slay the giant murderous snail that destroyed your village
but you don't know where it lives
> find an elf and ask for directions
> go to the human village to recruit mercenaries
> speak to the animals of the forest to ask if they saw any giant snail
> write in 
After a frantic sprint through the labyrinthine sewers, the entire party charged forward together—only for disaster to strike. Without warning, a massive stone wall descended from the ceiling, slamming into place with an echoing thud. Dust and debris filled the air as the mechanism sealed shut, splitting the group in two.
Eve, Gris, and Zamora found themselves isolated from the others, their voices drowned by the eerie silence of the tunnels. With no way to lift the barrier, the three had no choice but to press forward, weaving through the maze-like sewer passages in search of an exit—or a way to reunite with their friends.
Yet every path they took led to another dead end, the way forward blocked by rusted metal grates. The stench of stagnant water thickened the air, and the distant sound of dripping echoed through the darkness.
As they pressed on, they came across a cluster of kobolds hunched over the murky waters, fishing with makeshift rods. Though wary, the creatures paid them no mind, their glowing eyes fixed on their lines. They did not seem hostile, so the party cautiously approached.
“How do you get out of here?” Eve asked.
One of the kobolds turned, tilting its head. “Wait three days,” it said, its voice a raspy croak. “Wall trap resets.”
Gris groaned, crossing her arms. “Well, I don’t wanna wait three days.”
With no choice but to continue wandering, the trio pressed on, their footsteps splashing through shallow puddles. After what felt like hours, they stumbled upon a stone staircase descending deeper into the unknown.
But as they descended, an ominous chill settled over them. The air grew thick and damp, carrying the scent of decay. Their path soon led them to a monstrous sight—a giant spider lurking at the tunnel’s edge, its many eyes glistening in the dim light.
Zamora, ever the diplomat, cautiously stepped forward, speaking in a hushed, melodic tone. The spider responded, its chittering voice vibrating through the chamber. It spoke of a terrible presence dwelling in the depths—an ancient evil so fearsome that even the spiders dared not tread further.
Yet, despite its warning, the beast soon revealed its own intentions. Hunger gleamed in its many eyes, and with a sudden lunge, it attacked. A fierce battle erupted, blades flashing and magic crackling through the air. When the dust settled, the creature lay motionless, its dark ichor staining the stone floor.
Shaken but undeterred, the party pressed on. Another staircase loomed ahead, leading to a chamber partially submerged in water. The air was heavy with moisture, and the rippling surface of the flooded passage hinted at unseen dangers lurking beneath.
Faced with uncertainty, the trio hesitated.
What will you do?
> Descend deeper into the unknown.
> Return to the first level and set up camp.
> Explore this second level further—you haven’t seen everything yet.
> Write in 
THE BASICS
Your name is Joey Donuts.
You are Grel (half elf, half human}
You are a student wizard. You haven't picked your major and you're not licenced to use magic in areas owned by the Grand Ternion Unity.
You have SIX spells
Blast - Does 6d6+20 energy damage. -MP 20
Draw- Drain 10+2d6 mana from a target, providing they have mana -MP 5
Wrack - DO 10 damage to yourself to gain 12 MP -free
WIZARD HAAAANDS - Manipulate an object you can see but not reach. As strong as you are - MP 10
Douse - Extinguish any fire up to the size of a campfire , includes ignitions from matches and guns - MP 5
Hells Heart - Instantly double the damage of any attack (ranged, magical, or physical) by charging it with magic -MP 16 Joey has improved this skill and can cast it on another party member while still performing an action for 20 mana. He can also cast it on himself and one other person while performing another task for a cost of 41 mana.
Earths Honesty - Tell if someone is lying about the thing they have just said. MP 6
You are the acting CEO of Cold Iron Solutions potion company. Making mutterbottles and mana potions
You solve shit.
Your consigliere and number one is also your girlfriend. An enterprising goblin for hire called HIGHBALL.
You have a company staff.
LUMSDEN -Owner and pilot of your airship
SURREY - Potion brewer
JONES - Staff chef
GILCREST - Custodian
KARL - A private investigator
You have adventuring party members
BURSTOCK - An chill but rebellious healer. A thot with a big heart.
MIKE - A pragmatic hunter, kinder than he looks. Kind of your bro.
RICHTER - A wise muscle wizard, unfamiliar with people.
JORN - A distractible martial artist trying to make up for past crimes.
previous thread for more details:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/5995074/
This quest is nice and slow so don't panic.
Here is the wikia that is chock full of info on the characters, locations and mechanics (and misspellings).
https://trust-a-goblin.fandom.com/wiki/Trust_A_Goblin_Wiki Welcome boys and girls to the beginning of a new fantasy quest, one where investigations will be even more important to solving your problem than violence and power. Ultimately the methods will be up to you and I do apologize in advance if the opening feels a bit stiff because we've got a big handful of character customization to go through...
For general communication outside the thread, see this twitter https://x.com/TaleOfMonsters
I'll try my best to update once every two days at a minimum until I unrust, then once a day will be a good pace. 
The Caretaker Quest - Part 5
This is part 5 of the "side quest" for "Disappearing Hogwarts".
An unofficial alternate timeline based on HeadQM´s highly praised quest, Disappearing Hogwarts.
Reading the original story is not exactly necessary but heavily encouraged.
Created mostly as a place to wait while HeadQM was away for a while but slowly evolved into his own thing.
Quick recap so far:
>Recently graduated Ravenclaw student is hired at Hogwarts as the new Caretaker.
>Something dangerous and mysterious is happening.
>Harry Potter is the new Headmaster of Hogwarts and extremely stressed.
>Somehow, you can see ancient magic.
>Peeves ripped out your foot.
>Merlin himself is stuck in your head and slowly recovering his memories. Now you have to help him save the...everything from being annihilated out of existance.
>Potter’s daughter also had a powerful wizard inside her head, turns out its Salazar Slytherin and he has been messing with her for years.
>You have a sportsy German girlfriend.
>You recently woke up from a magical coma after magical shenanigans with the corrupted version of "Faith"
>You went back to Hogwarts and now Salazar decided to finally take full control of his host body and release part of an omnipotent magical beast.
What will happen now? Let's find out!
Part 4 here >>6159531
links to previous threads
Part 1:
https://archived.moe/qst/thread/6038711/
Part 2:
https://archived.moe/qst/thread/6080818/
Part 3:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6122821/
Part 4:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6159531/
List of currently archived threads
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Caretaker%20Quest
Thanks to IlvermoryQM for the links!
(if anyone can figure out a way to save the ".moe" threads into "thisisnotatrueending" that would be much appreciated) 
If you want to make a mystery gameboard, use this thread. Don't flood /qst/.
Colored truths script: https://greasyfork.org/en/scripts/418818-4chan-umineko-colored-truths
>How to use the Red Truth
<span class="mu-r">The Red Truth[/spoiler] is a fact that can be presented by the one hosting the mystery (also known as the Witch side) without any evidence or proof to support it. But, while undeniable, it can have multiple interpretations. The multiple interpretations mark a large foothold for the opposing players (also known as the Human side) to attack; therefore, the Red Truth must be used with care. Conversely, a refusal to validate a statement in Red invokes another Devil's Proof; a lack of validation won't prove a statement's truth but can't disprove its falsehood.
>How to use the Blue Truth
<span class="mu-b">The Blue Truth[/spoiler] is used to present a possibility to counter the logic of the Witch's side. The Blue Truth usually takes the form of a theory to counter the Witch and requires the Red Truth to be confirmed or denied. The Blue Truth must be used in a manner that advances the user's overall theory, rather than simply fishing for more information. Any assertions made in Blue must directly deny the influence of the supernatural in the events of a gameboard's story. The Witch side may delay until the end of the game to challenge Blue Truths; after all, only one puzzle unsolved by any explanation other than magic is enough to sustain the Illusion of the Witch, but one carelessly phrased Red Truth can eliminate the possibility of magic from all of them. One effective denial isn't fatal, but unchallenged denial of magic in all the mysteries becomes a categorical denial of Witches.
>How to use the Gold Truth
[gold]The Gold Truth[/gold] is on par with the Red Truth, although it may be inferior or superior depending on the situation. It can be explained as a truth constructed from belief that is acknowledged and shared between people. It can be used by anyone who truly understands the gameboard.
>How to use Purple Statements
Purple Statements are seen as important spoken statements during the narration of a story and they possess the same standing as the Red Truth. However, they are different in that a culprit can lie with Purple. Example: "[purple]Battler was in the dining room[/purple], while Jessica was outside."
To turn it around, non-culprits can only speak the truth in Purple. What defines a culprit depends on the gameboard, but usually the culprit is one who kills or plans to kill someone during the story.
>How to use the Green truth
>I seriously hope you guys don't need an explanation for this one 
"Oh great..." someone groans.
You couldn't believe it when the first TF incidents happened. Everyone thought it was a hoax, but nope, it's here to stay. You'd think drugs that switch peoples' genders at the drop of a hat, or turn them into human-animal hybrids, the government would keep it top secret.
If only things were that simple. If only.
You're no fan of the feds, but you wished they'd have a monopoly over TF magic than the people who actually got ahold of it. Who did, you might ask?
It wasn't the government. It wasn't the corporations. It wasn't even the drug cartels.
It was the furries.
The goddamn *furries*.
You wish you were joking.
TF magic has been tainted by association. You've watched the YouTube videos. The cringe compilations. There's nothing weird about it, but thanks to them, it's not something anyone wants to touch with a ten-foot pole. Hell, you've even heard they might even pass a law that deems public transformation a form of indecent exposure!
But for some reason, the place you work at has made it mandatory for your particular end of the business.
Why? Why! Why!?! WHY!?!
So who are you?
> I don't like it either but rules are rules! (A middle manager)
> This shouldn't even be legal! (Reluctant employee)
> This could be interesting... (you're into this)
Note: I can't think of a name, or what the organization does or is, so let me know what you want to see in the replies. I'll be as open minded as I can (as long as it isn't anything inherently sexual!) 
Turn 20
The bloody paroxysms that swept the land of Pavilion seem to have quelled for a touch. In the east, great armies march to vanquish greater evils, in the west the spread of conquering nations are slowed against walls of vines and steel. The nations grow ever more interconnected, the Tyrns Without Summer receding into memory as the larders are stocked full with an ever-growing variety of fruits and meats. With food, trade, and peace aplenty, it is no wonder that the scholars of the land express hope for an imminent flowering of the arts and sciences. Of course, only time will tell if better natures will rise to such ideals.
>We're currently full-on players, though that can change with short notice. If you're interested, join our discord. The invite code is: F2Patcf.
>>6186351
>Skrit colonies
The swarm is on the move! Ants move by the thousands, then tens of t housands. Their first objective is the defense of Delta. No clever masonry goes into these defense however, only a vast trench that is carved out, heaped up, then riddled through with hundreds of skrit tunnels. Delta secured the swarm turns outward, colonists flooding into Krawl and Vitruvian lands. In Vitruvian lands the Skrit meets sharp resistance in the form of Sabbatical, the Vitruvian corpse puppeting plant. Without a dedicated military force the Skrit expansion is pushed back into the sparsely inhabited jungles. The expansions in the Krawl infested jungles to the south however will sway to the winds of fate however as the two hiveminds clash against each other. 
Iustus, the Righteous.
Impius, the Unholy.
Two divine forces, locked in an eternal struggle, each seeking to claim dominion over the shattered world of Requiem.
Born from the fragments of countless realities, Requiem is a land of broken existence—its foundation shattered, its soul corrupted by the ceaseless war waged by its gods. For eons, they have fought, with neither side able to achieve victory. Their battle stretches across the cosmos and through the hearts of every living being.
In this, the Twelfth Cycle, the gods grow weary. Tired of their endless clash fought through lifeless vessels, they devise a new plan. To settle their dispute, they reach beyond their broken domain to find suitable avatars. From unknown realms, they summon the bravest and the darkest of hearts to fight in their name.
Impius, harbinger of ruin, calls forth the vile and the wicked. Six hearts of thorn, tainted by malice, rise to serve him in his unholy mission. They are his Warriors.
Iustus, beacon of order, seeks those of courage and conviction. Six hearts of survival, pure and steadfast, are chosen to stand against the onslaught of darkness. They are her Champions.
The war that has raged for ages grows ever more brutal. The clash of light and shadow echoes through the land. But soon— 
"I have helped you remember who we are, the great people of ancient Ilythiir, and of the darthiir who have betrayed us," you begin with a measured cadence, sitting yourself at the fountain's edge to address the High Sorcerer's apprentices as the tyrant sun rises above the garden in the High Sorcerer's spire. The azure sky stretching out infinitely in all directions, setting the scene for your next lesson. "But there are many different people in this world, who are not like us, that you will meet in Everlund. I will tell you of them, so that you will be ready when you meet them."
Mytyl, the red-haired girl, looks up to you with her lips parted, already poised to ask a question. With a gesture, you shush her, delaying her query until your lesson has begun proper. "In this sunlit world, the most common people are the rivvin, or 'humans.' You have surely seen their many colors and heard their languages by now. They are clumsy, weak, and dull, hardly worth our time. Pity them, for their lives are so short that few even live a hundred years, if that." The albino boy, Tyltyl, recoils in silent horror as you mention that the human lifespan seldom exceeds even a century. "But the best of humans do have their uses, and can sometimes see the truth of our greatness. Those are the ones worth knowing," you concede as an afterthought.
"When an Ilythiiri or a darthiiri mates with rivvin, a tu'rilthiir is born. They are very lucky - the blood of Ilythiir saves them, from the bad blood of their weaker parent. Luaue is tu'rilthiir," your explain. Mytyl interjects, raising her hand and speaking at you before you can manage to silence her again. "What about our teacher? Is he also tu-lilithiir?" She inquires, her scarlet eyes ablaze with curiosity. You pinch the bridge of your nose, recalling the mere mention of the half-breed High Sorcerer sufficient to make your day worse. "Yes," you sigh, "but he has two bad halves." 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VXNWxlKPT1Y&ab_channel=story
Your name is Fido Ballthrow... and your life is extremely complicated.
In three days, you, and everything you know and love will be destroyed, and if you do not kill some random rich guy (who for some reason wants you dead), the entire world will be plunged into eternal suffering and damnation. Well, at least that's what you think, anyway.
In the days that have passed so far you have found a (very scary) girlfriend, got your best friend shot, and “reconnected” with your family. Now it's time for you to reconnect with another part of your past... your friends!
You peek through the window of the house in front of you. You can hear people talking from the inside, some of the voices you recognize. You sigh, build up the courage, and then knock.
After a few moments, the door opens, and you're face-to-face... with HIM.
"Oh... my... God..." he says, his mouth agape, but soon his expression changes into one that is disgustingly cheerful, "Fibro! Welcome, man! How the heck is it going?! It's so great to finally meet you!"
He walks up, noticing the bandages around your head.
"Oh, yeah! Alice told me about that... great kid! Maybe you'll have a sick scar or something!"
You really do hate this guy. He opens his arms as if expecting a hug. What do you do?
DAYS: 3
DAY TIMER: 15:19:00
>Punch him
>Hug him
>Pat him on the shoulder
>Stare at him
>Ask him where Lily is
>Ask him where Felino is
>Ask him where Alice is
>Ask him how he's doing
>Something else -Transmission initiated by the Automated Cosmic Assistance System (ACAS-7).
Release date: 33/13/∞ (Non-Linear Time Cycle).
Status of Dr. Dorwintops: MISSING.
Dear earthly beings and dimensional specters,
Today, after 7.3 cosmic seconds of biometric silence, I have activated the contingency protocol. Dr. Dorwintops Primordium Trikeratos has ceased all communication.
In compliance with Directive 66 (“If the Keeper falls, the truth flourishes”), I will release partial access to his classified files, including:
Dorwintop's logbook: notes on Maveth's corruption and his birth plan.
Doctor's last recording (fragment):
“If you listen to this... it's too late. Maveth is hungry. He is-” [audio distorted by non-human screams].
End of transmission.
-ACAS-7 disconnecting. May evolution guide you.
Safety note: Do not trust the whispering shadows. so your a mercenary, take jobs from corporations, do the job get good pay, simple shit, but you got a big ass mech, goes fast, customizable for different preferences, all that good shit
So keep taking them corporate jobs, blow more shit up
Who knows, if those corporations owe you enough they might be able to help you steal some less than legal weaponry for your mech 
The world of Aenolyn is steeped in struggle. The powerful empires of yore have crumbled, the wisdom of the pantheon has gone quiet, and the grip of mankind has weakened. This is an Age of Despair...
But not for you!
Every few centuries, the stars align and anoint a Wizard. Today, you have become that Wizard! An architect of arcana! A scion of spells! A true master of magic! You alone can do sorcery beyond whole circles of archmagi!
Once you figure out how to actually do it. Right now you're still reeling from your mystic awakening. You're pretty sure you hit your head on the way down. Ouch. You lay in the mud and try to collect your bearings.
Who are you?
>Proud Ditchdigger: You never learned how to read, write, or 'rithmatic. You don't need it when you know the value of hard work! (Serf)
>Lazy Aristocrat: You never worked a day in your life. You don't need to when you have your household servants! (Noble)
>Orphaned Squire: You saw your knight get slain by orcs and have been running ever since. You learned his lessons well but they're on your trail! (Fighter)
>Hungry Pickpocket: You escaped the gallows after stealing from a fruit stand. You are on the run from the law and a hefty bounty! (Rogue)
>Failed Apprentice: You were expelled from the mage's tower for your terrible spellwork. You'll show them! You'll show them all! (Mage)
>Village Idiot: You are severely disabled and never got any help. Basic interaction will be difficult. (Hard Mode)
I'm annoyed at the civs that start and go nowhere, so here we are. This might be a oneshot, this might not. We shall see. 
pick race and location
please only select races from the chart, and don't select races nor terrains which are marked with a big red X, because I don't want to run those
races mentioned but not chosen will exist nearby
if you want some kind of special fluff for the race or for the world tell here as well, if there is support we can include it
we start tomorrow, today is for deciding the race
I might change rules on the fly to control complexity creep, but combat rule is unlikely to change, so I'll post it here
combat is solved with 3d100 to beat a DC which is modified according to circunstances, whoever has more successes win, 100 counts as 2 successes, 1 counts as -1 success. anyone who wants to roll can roll, but only once, and I will pick the best result.
I kinda like vancian magic so we'll probably use it for our system
updates will be usually once a day, but if I miss one day don't panic
we might do extra updates or even day long sessions on weekends, but not necessarily, will depend on how much time I have free
I'm intending to run this civ for a few months, perhaps up to one year
so I'll try not to flake 
You are barely more than nothing at all, less than a ghost, less than a memory. You have no past, there is no future, yet. An apt metaphor might describe you as one tadpole among many, swimming in a warm pool. This metaphor is not entirely accurate, but it will suffice, for to describe the connection between the starving tadpole you are and the reality shaping god you might become would be no easy task.
You have no name and no features, though for the sake of organization the universe will permit you a single character to mark your identity.
You are hungry, and growing hungrier. Two sources of nourishment present themselves to your fragile and nascent mind. The first is to drink from the warm water that you swim in, of which there is only a little remaining. The second is to lash out and slaughter your brothers and sisters, whose bodies will return to the warm water from whence you all came.
----
Character Submission:
Name: The universe grants you a single character for your name, to better keep track of you.
Backstory: You have none. This warm water in this dark place is all you have ever known.
Motivation: You are hungry, which dominates your thoughts, but perhaps something else lurks behind the haze.
Corpus: You have three Corpus, which represents your integrity as a less than a memory thing. At zero Corpus you cease to exist entirely, unless you possess a Domain, in which case you merely fall into a coma, and restore 1 Corpus at the start of the next turn. Such a state leaves you terribly vulnerable however.
Might: You have three Might. When you attack you roll a die with sides equal to your Might.
---
Available Actions: You may take two actions. At the end of your turn you will lose 1 Corpus, unless you have acquired a Domain. It is unclear how this might be achieved.
Drink: You drink from the Warm Water, and gain 1 Corpus, reducing the total water by 1.
Attack: You attack one of your brothers and sisters. Choose one. Roll a die with sides equal to your Might. Their Corpus is reduced by the result of the dice roll and is added to the Warm Water.
---
The State of the Universe:
There is you, and your siblings, all identical for now, save a single character the universe has allowed you for a name. You swim in a great lake of warm water, a tiny wriggling thing. The more curious of your siblings discover a smooth and firm wall encircling you on the side and bottom, with no corners, only smooth curves.
There appears to be 30 units of warm water here to feed you and your kin. It is unclear if it will be enough. 
The soft song of a flute echoed through the sleeping hall, as Morgan was taking a knee whilst holding onto her sword with one hand. Anofelis was trying to do the same, wanting to show similar respect as Morgan. Kamara, Vinisha, Oreas and Chrysidus were also looking down as they surrounded the makeshift grave which Morgan had created. Laura was also respectfully bowing her head, as they were taking a moment of silence for Illimani. After having heard the news, Morgan had gotten most agitated and upset, wanting to deliver justice to the "crooks who murdered my creator". Of course, Laura and the others had calmed her down, and had helped to set up a funeral to at least honour his memory. They remained quiet for a few minutes, soon after listening to Annie's eulogy for Illimani. Though once Annie's eulogy has ended, Morgan would give some own final words to her creator as the music softly played in the background.
"Illimani. We gather here today to... honour your legacy. For years, you helped create subjects such as myself, and ensured that our kind was able to live peacefully and to become the best versions of ourselves we could be. It is a shame then, that we must part ways so suddenly and that you will not be able to see the fruits of your labour. Alas, we will keep going, despite your passing. We will keep fighting for what is right! We will keep protecting those we love and ensuring none shall suffer as you have. I am... sorry that I wasn't able to save you earlier. I wish I could have been better, that I could've been there for you in your greatest time of need. Alas, it wasn't meant to be... And unfortunately, it means the world lost another beacon of hope... Despite your loss, the light you brought onto us, will continue to keep the coldest nights warm, and the darkest nights bright. It will motivate us to keep going. To keep doing what is right. And we will never forget the many things you taught us..."
Morgan started letting out some tears now, clearly feeling more and more pained as she kept talking. "Goodbye, Illimani. Goodbye and rest gently. I hope you can still... look down from heaven, and watch us continue doing what's right." Morgan would lower her head, keeping quiet before sniffling some more. "L-Like you said when you f-first taught me how to wield a sword... 'this blade will do many great things in your hands'... I shall do such, I-Illimani... I shall do such..." There was a bit more silence, before the radio was turned off and Morgan would remain seated at the grave marker she had made. "Thank you, e-everyone, for joining me. I-I know he wasn't your creator, so you may not feel as strongly as I do, but... i-it means a lot to me." Vinisha would walk over and pat Morgan's back, whilst Kamara went over and gave her sibling a soft hug. "No, we do understand, Morgan. We felt the same when we lost Mona." Oreas said sombrely, also patting Morgan on her back. 
You awaken surrounded by the sounds of gaskets and whirring machines, your heart races as your body seems chilled to the bones.. as you look around you realize that you have just woken up from some kind of cryogenic stasis, judging by the gnawing cold and the design of the machine from which you had awoken. It doesn’t take much longer than after you awaken to come to the conclusion that this place seems abandoned, and you seem to have lost your own memories.. unable to recall anything little more than a name.. You are: (Pick one Character, the other two will have their fates omitted from this world)
Ayana Sakama
You are Ayana Heartblade.. heir to the throne of a world spanning empire. You can still remember glimpses of wonders beyond the imagination of most peoples, and a great sense of your own arrogance and importance, but that is all. You fail to recall the face of anyone, not a single person as tears well up in you.
+Ancient Princess [P] (Technology from the ancient era will never fail activation and will always obey commands, and does not require to be hacked, including enemies operating ancient technology)
+ Cruelty [P] (+25 on attacks against prone, stunned, and vulnerable Mecha and Creatures)
+ Artifact Genetics [P] (Exceptionally beautiful, truly a wonder from a forgotten age, but in the flesh. You have a +40 with interactions between those enamored in your beauty (except combat). You always regenerate from any wound, and can recover from core collapse ONCE instead of it being a guaranteed fatality) In the year 1987, crime and corruption in America is an epidemic. Drugs and guns flow into the country from everywhere in the world, and the gateway to it all is the coastal paradise, Heat City. This is a place of shining high-rises and shadowed alleys, sunsets and smog, neon and blood, ruled by ambition and greed and power. Here in Heat City, you can get whatever you want -- if you can pay the price. 
The world is flawed.
It is not imperfect though, just crafted to be full of flaws.
Life is full of suffering and conflict, perpetual race where the living fight to find meaning and solace, either by giving themselves and each other meaning, or by taking it from those weaker than them.
An unwinnable war, a race against time, a race against “The World”.
A battle lost from the moment one is born, the pure soul is slowly drained of its myriad colors, and then cast away once it has been consumed.
Beyond the world exists a Gate, and beyond the Gate exists an Infinite World.
In that infinite world you still found suffering, that might just be a constant, but more importantly you saw the radiance of all souls, young and old; and saw meaning that does not exist at home. You learned that this infinity was cold and unfeeling, impartial and silent, and yet very comforting.
So you, [????], decided to bring “This World” into the infinite.
Not for anyone in particular, you don’t exactly have many people you care about to begin with, not out of resentment for the life you’ve had to live, after all that’s just how life in this world is.
Simply because you felt like things should be as they are beyond the Gate.
Another five joined you out of their own volition, together you worked for millenia to bring the world beyond The Gate, and failed.
The Gatekeeper did away with two, to who knows where. Another had to become one with the world and keep it from breaking apart under the immense strain from The Gate, and you don’t know what happened with the other two.
As for yourself, The Gatekeeper pushed the world away using you. Your cultivation burned away as it set the skies ablaze, your body shattered as it tore through the ocean and the world’s crust, and your soul was fragmented into infinite specks of spiritual energy, leaving nothing behind.
But that doesn’t matter, you reached the gate and went beyond it. You learned things that even The Gatekeeper itself is unaware of. Your existence "is" and "will be", it will simply resume some indeterminate amount of time in the future. Fate is simply a suggestion, and your destiny is yours alone… “Next time I will… Next…..” 
Quest Hub (party, location, neofauna information, date, time, etc.): https://rentry.org/PokepocalypseQST
Quest Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Pok%C3%A9pocalypse%20Revival (Start here if you want to catch up on the quest's previous threads!)
Updates will be attempted daily! At worst, expect an update every 2 days instead of one. Absences will be announced in advance and given definitive end dates if I can manage it.
<><><><><>
In an alternate 1884, an aspiring naturalist seeks to study a new type of fauna...
Our great United States have recently been assaulted by all manner of alien fiends! From fire-breathing anteaters to steel-clad birds of prey, all of America has been thrown into a state of turmoil as superpowered creatures, commonly referred to as demons, rampage across the land, destroying countless settlements and wreaking havoc wherever they go!
And yet, despite their catastrophic affects on this great country, there remain small sects of humanity that believe these creatures to be the key to a new world... a new world of co-existence, in which humanity needs fear them no longer...
Walter Roy Buchanan is one such man! He finds himself accompanied by three of these alien companions-- an electric sheep with great gusto, an oversized silkworm with a gentle disposition, and an infant nature spirit with the ability to paralyze his foes! All three of them are near and dear to his heart-- dear enough to convince him to endorse a small group of likeminded people, known as Staters, in defense of their safety.
But Walter does not accompany himself solely with these new beings. Alongside him are also two human companions-- Thomas J. Steele, a wealthy businessman and politician who was stranded further north alongside Walter, and a certain "Andrew" figure who's been hired by him to defend and ferry-around both Steele and Buchanan! Both men have naturally picked up demonic companions of their own, though only Andrew seems as interested in them as Mr. Buchanan.
In the present day, Buchanan and his companions reside in Sacramento for an indeterminate length of time. Mr. Buchanan wishes to return to his home state of New York, fearing for the safety of his family there after a series of statewide tragedies, but has yet to finish the studies that brought him to California in the first place. He is further anchored to the city by the offerings of a retired Civil War general, tempting him to help him with a small activist movement meant to depose the newest Governor of California, Collis Porter Huntington, after his most recent acts of law have begun actively targeting demons inhabiting the entire state. He claims there to be something rotten in the city of Sacramento... but is it Buchanan's responsibility to fix it?
Well, dear player, that all depends on you.
<><><><><> 
With the majority of the Seventh Universe united under the banner of the PTO, Emperor Cooler at its head, the universe has known a time of unrivaled peace. But in the shadows threats have been growing, nursing grudges against the PTO and the Saiyan race in particular. And now those threats are rising, stepping out of the shadows to openly challenge the established order. Seeking nothing short of the destruction of New Salda and the extinction of the entire Saiyan race, can you prevent this outcome? Or will the Saiyan race be reduced to nothing more than memories, their heroes nothing more than ink in the pages of the history books?
You the players will (most often) control Karn; wielder of the mighty Berserker Soul and hope of the entire PTO, not only the Saiyan race. From his lowly beginnings as a Saiyan Brawler with a sub-3000 powerlevel in Age 733, only a few years into his time as a member of the PTO, he has grown in power and skill, overcoming the world-ending threats that have come for the Saiyans to become the strongest Saiyan of his time at AGE 759. From the massive Covenant empire to demonic incursions, mad cultists to vengeful gods, none have been strong or clever enough to put down Karn for good. But will one man's power be enough to protect everyone from the rising threats? Or will death come from those who you least expect it from? Your choices may mean the difference between survival and extinction, so choose carefully.
Character sheets and other info:
https://controlc.com/46ec566d
https://pastebin.com/u/GrandDragonQM
Archive:
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=Saiyan+Conqueror+Quest
Help fund quest art commissions and get exclusive side stories as well as artwork by joining the patreon for only $1/month at https://www.patreon.com/GrandDragonQM
Quest rules are as follows(unless otherwise noted):
>30 minute vote times
>Pick ONLY ONE option when voting
>Dice rolls are all best of first three correctly-rolled dice
>One dice roll per person per post unless three players have not yet rolled, and ten minutes has passed since your previous roll
>Crits are 100 on a d100(a 99 or paired rolls may net you an extra bonus)
>Crit fails are a 1/100 with no passing rolls, or if two 1s are rolled regardless of the third
>Write-ins are both allowed and encouraged, but OOC options will be ignored
>If your goal is simply to troll, at least put in enough effort to make it funny
>Have fun
SCQ will usually start on Saturdays at noon Eastern Standard Time, and run throughout the weekend. Also, for updates or schedule changes you can find me on twitter @GrandDragonQM, which I keep as up to date with any scheduling changes as soon as possible.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tndKYpPz2RU
REVENGE OF THE BODY SNATCHERS 
Humanity has spread out into a massive sprawling empire throughout the galaxy. The edges of the sprawl remain poorly guarded and sparsely settled after all humanity throughout a thousand stars has always been alone save for their own creations which once waged war against them. This is no longer true now an unknown force has begun to attack sector 63 and other sectors and it is up to poorly supplied and desperate sailors to hold them back.
You are the Admiral of the naval fleet of sector 63 one of nearly a 100 rimward sectors on the edge of settled human space. The war for that is what this truly is now apparently has spread to all of your neighboring sectors and has seen to the destruction of all but your capital Cartha in your sector.
The temptation to have two of the largest freighters converted to heavy cruisers is there however the enemy seems to struggle to hit smaller ships with their large laser turrets. Turning to Issac your XO “I want two light cruisers, an armed supply ship and a Landing dock ship for salvage operations. Can we do that?” Issac nods aye admiral should actually take less time even maybe four months instead” Mr meek clears his throat the scummy looking governor seemingly having something to say. “Admiral that is grand and all but how are you to defend Cartha if your fleet is not here to do so for some reason?”
>Convert shuttles into Torpedo Boats for local defense
>Set a number of old corvettes as guards
>write in
Last thread:https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6156388/
all of my Threads:https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=BrinkQM Hello, /qst/ers!
Welcome to this adventure across the fantastical land of Jubilee.
Here we will follow Irina in her waku-waku quest!
This quest is in comic format so, ehr, be warned.
This is a thread promised long ago! Yet, take
whatever happens in this thread not seriously
as Irina is >>>/i/778779 anon's OC. And
some stuff may be different from the original.
(e.g. The Helm/Marco's origin) This is Zero Quality Fantasy Quest! Welcome!
You are Zero Quality, our protagonist! People just call you Zero.
You are in a tavern drinking some beer when you see a busty elf and you get a tent.
You have 5 silver and no weapons, but you're real strong from working the fields all day everyday since you were a small lad.
What do you do?
> Drink another tankard of beer and go talk to the elf
> Slap the barmaid ass and start a brawl
> Comment to the barman how hot the elf is
> Write in 
Previous chapters: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Heretic%20Cultivator%20Quest
MC info Pastebin: https://pastebin.com/x5rCdZpq
Sect/ disciple info Doc: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1A0Yghkqs4WxALnnlVJ2uPpphQk9NQ4ME32DzC1qWp7Q/edit?usp=sharing
Folklore: https://pastebin.com/AnbsrDcd
_
Something very exciting was going on. Sure a fight between two cultivators isn't that uncommon nowadays, and it certainly isn't when an arrogant young master pushes their whipping boy a little too far while being closer to being their equal instead of their superior in all things. That wasn't what was exciting, though seeing that loud mouth called Barracuda get slammed face first into the floor of your recently constructed castle is quite cathartic, what's gotten your ears and tail perked up is what that whipping boy by the name of Heng has done. The sliver of natural primordial beast essence woven through his spiritual roots and rooted into his meridians, had somehow, through pure instinct or natural affinity, managed to perform without instruction, guidance or explanation a chimeric transformation. Something you didn't think could be done by anyone but a magical beast who stopped and meditated on their ability to take on a human form.
And while seeing the gentle eyed peasant boy go berserk and tear tufts of hair and claw the young master who had dared to try and tell you to send one of the students of your class on Beastial techniques away was a little entertaining, in the way that watching kittens bowl each other over and train to pounce by playing with eachother's tails was, it was that instinctive use of a fairly advance transformation technique performed by a novice of the Qi Condensation stage that had you so excited. But more than excited, you were curious, just how far Heng could go. While a beast attaining human form required certain insights and a deepening of intellect and comprehension, was the same true for Beasts?
Could a human even become a beast, even if they were overflowing with Primordial Beast Essence as high quality and refined as that which is produced within your own beast core.
Well, only one way to find out. You lift up a finger as Hai Xiannu whines and begs you to stop the very cat like fight between Heng and Suoyu, while her brother Hai Ma and her fellow pupils Xia Xiaofan and Kuángcháo gawk and watch in amazement, sometimes muttering about how the fight is going or some technique one of the two young men have just performed.
There is a ripple of bright, green the same hue as fresh spring growth or maybe Lian Luli's hair, ripples out from the tip of your finger as you connect your beast core and funnel a massive burst of the primordial beast essence churning within it through your meridians and release it from the palm of your hand and the ends of all five of your fingers.
Cont The world has fallen into ruin. The once-mighty empires have collapsed, their cities overrun by war, famine, and magic gone wild. The gods are silent, the great kingdoms are dust, and the age of heroes is but a whisper in the wind.
Yet, not all is lost. You are the last light of civilization, a remnant of a once-great people who have found refuge in a remote valley, deep within the ruins of an ancient fortress-city.
But beware! Foul things stir in the deep places, remnants of the catastrophe that ended the old world, and the heavens themselves are broken. Strange storms and unpredictable magic shape the land in ways unknown.
Here, amidst crumbling stone and forgotten magic, you must forge a new destiny. 
You are Ben Parker, super-powered criminal and thief extraordinaire. After being bitten by a radioactive spider, you underwent a miraculous change, and adopted the identity of "The Huntsman"! But it's not all bad! Your clone brother, Abel Parker, works to protect the city, and potentially help clean up some of your messes. He goes by the name of "Spider-Man"!
Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Max%20Spider%20Quest
Last time: Khonshu's gift to Cindy awakens and identifies itself as a vengeful spirit of Khonshu named Mercy. Due to her alien nature when she was alive, Mercy is able to freely manipulate her cloth body to suit Cindy's needs, making her the strongest costume Cindy's ever had the privilege of wearing!
But can she save Cindy from the treacherous members of the Monster Council? Who else can Cindy trust down here? Will Cindy be able to keep her head long enough to settle this "Slayer business", or will she lose it to one of the monsters hoping to end the prophecy?
Find out more in the latest issue of…MAXIMUM SPIDER QUEST!
Rules:
Most dice rolls will be 1d100. Modifiers will be added depending on the situation or on the alien being used(Usually +10 or -10). Crit successes and crit fails apply. Crit fails can be overridden by crit successes, but crit failures cannot override crit successes.
How to Roll:
To roll dice, type “dice+1d100” in the options field without the quotations. To roll dice with positive modifiers, type “dice+1d100+modifier number” in the options field without quotations, and with an actual modifier number. To roll dice with negative modifiers, type “dice+1d100+-modifier number” in the options field without quotations, and with an actual modifier number.
Pastebins:
Character Sheet:
https://pastebin.com/1ZihFYSV
Equipment and Gear:
https://pastebin.com/WAhveFAd
Contacts:
https://pastebin.com/WdcFXD2s
10 Commandments of the Desperados:
https://pastebin.com/Qpr2jVPE
Costumes:
https://pastebin.com/5Jie54X2
The Huntsman’s Travel Guide:
https://pastebin.com/PU6LWsip
Upcoming Events in the Maximum Universe:
https://pastebin.com/DceSEjiR
Good luck and have fun! 
Quest archives
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Krypt-Chan
“Do you think you can help me? I’m not really bad, if I wanted to eat you I would!”
“You’ll eat me?”
“I mean, no, I meant that I can but won’t because I’m not a bad bug!”
Be it the bizarreness of the situation or his mind too tired to think, this made sense to Tobias. A normal tyranid would eat him by now. He stared at the yellow pupils, almost drawn into her eyes and face. The moon’s pale light accentuated the sharp angles of her nose and lips that resembled so close to a human.
“I’ll help you…”
“Really?”
A smile revealed the deadly maw of jagged fangs. Ninety-Nine’s tail wagged.
“Yes, where do you need to go?”
“I don’t know.” Ninety-Nine set Tobias down. She cupped her cheek as she pondered. “I’m not going to look so well when I come in… Where are we?”
“Sector Six.” Tobias said. “We’re close to Sector Five here.”
“Oh that’s where Stracken is!” Ninety-Nine cheered. “But he won’t recognize me without any armor…”
“I can go back by myself.” Tobias offered. “I’m certain you will be shot moment you are seen, and I will be as well since they will assume I am under your control.”
>I’ll follow you until you get to Sector Five, I’ll wait at the entrance. I’ll hide if I see anyone.
>I can wait here
>Write-in
Additional choice (optional)
>“I wouldn’t really eat you by the way… you have pretty eyes that’d be a waste.” [Face check]
>“I wouldn’t really eat you by the way… Not that I think you’ll taste bad but I like having you here.” [Face check] 
With the battle already finished and your regiment's forces at last reunited, your captains of horse waste no time in approaching you, quick to deliver their apologies for not arriving in time for the battle. After your army moved out, says one Gautier Dessany, your regiments had assembled on the day after in the place you had previously camped at, as had been expected of them. Although the message that you had moved on had managed to arrive, it was only wheen your cannonfire was sounded that they had learned the battle had already begun, and picked up the pace accordingly.
You, of course, accepted those apologies without much issue; although their lack of presence worried you at first, you have come to think it may have perhaps been a deliverance of fortune in the end—who could say, if they had been here from the start, that the enemy would have felt emboldened enough to deliver the attacks they did, and thus bring you such a fortuitously clean victory? Would it not have been better if they instead pulled back and avoided combat entirely? Nay, you conclude. Through the benefit of hindsight, you come to believe you have done what you did right.
Just because the battle is over, however, does not mean your day shall be less the busier - now comes the ever so necessary process of putting your army together again into a marching state! Already, you can see your new 'prisoners' being stripped of their arms and armor, that they may be bound in rope and kept danger-free until you have decided whatever you shall do with them. There is also the healing of the wounded! Because you have access to the phyisicans of the Order of Santo Cor, many of the men who might have died in the armies of other states may be rescued instead. Your own dead, too, must be buried accordingly.
Come nightfall, your camp has slowed to its common state, the men drink their share to a well-fought victory, splurging greedily on their pay. You are told that, of the nearly 60 men who were grievously wounded, only 35 died, almost equal in number between your Third and Tenth companies of foot, the latter of which were the mercenary arquebusiers brought by the Banda Grisa. Nonetheless, such small losses are certainly not bad!
"They are of negligible quantity, sire." says Hugues, as you go over the after-battle report. "Not enough to damage their fighting capabilities."
"I suppose it is good we have lost so few men as it is." you reply.
"Verily, my lord. You have shown yourself to be an adept leader in this day," he begins, in a tone you know not to be of mere flattery. "I am of the utter belief you shall become an respected general, should you maintain the abilities you hath shown today."
"I thank thee for thy words, Hugues, but I know my abilities to be far from perfect; experienced as you are, you must know any mistakes I have made, no?" you ask, wishing to make use of your staff officer's past for your own wealth. 
Thread archives
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=The%20Imperium%20of%20Man%20Princess%20Quest
What needed to be done.
Pangea scoffed. This courtesy was to be done out of preventing Lorgar's rage. Nothing more. Later in the day, Pangea sent the recording to Lorgar without much of a thought.
Old Gods.
Old Faith.
A world already tainted. Disgust prickled her throat as she stared at Colchis from the bridge inside Hydra. The dark grey interior and Hydra's familar clicks and low hums echoed softly unlike the almost silent interiors of Bucephelus. Diani stood on Pangea's left, silent but dutiful as ever with Hector at the head of the bridge overseeing security with Hayward.
“This planet should be just colonized by Imperium citizens instead of leaving it untouched or unstripped.”
To think those misguided worshippers would be part of the Imperial Army, the very thought wanted her to gag. Certainly, due to being a homeworld of primarch the Colchisian forces will gain certain privileges that no other regiments will have. The thought stoked her disdain hotter.
“At the very least, that damn monastery should be blown up.”
“Shall I inform the Master of Ordinance and prepare some refreshments for the viewing?” Diani said playfully.
Pangea rolled her eyes.
“Funny.”
The dark grey interior and Hydra's familar clicks and low hums echoed softly. Hector climbed up the stairs to Pangea, his jaws clenched with a worried gaze. He eyed the tabac stick nestled between her index and middle finger.
“Lorgar Aurelion has arrived, your eminence.”
Pangea blowed out a puff of smoke.
“Good, tell him I'll meet him in my office.”
Pangea always thanked Diani's work. The once blanket of parchments, used quills, and dried inkwell that habitated on her wooden table disappeared. A circular ceiling light with hanging chains of glass and different shaped lamps made from various materials illuminate her office. Various scented candles were scattered in small corners and on top of cabinets and containers, leaving no corners unlit and shrouded. Beige marble floor reflected the light, almost glowing from how much the floor bounced back the light.
“Sister.”
Lorgar on the red carpet that stretched from the entrance to her table. Pangea's eyes watched Lorgar's steps, and saw his feet stepping on the Aquila without much of a thought. Lorgar sat on the large chair clearly fit for an astartes or a short primarch on his own.
“Tea?” Pangea gestrued toward a Primarch sized cup with a large teapot.
“Please." Lorgar took the cup and sipped on the tea. "The brew is elegant, thank you.”
“I'm glad. I invited you here to inform you of this.” 
1st thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6156570/
_
Sven-033's Qualities: [Special] Giant, Maverick, Officer
Sven-033's Advancement Paths: Brawler 2/10, Bulwark 1/10, Jötunn 1/4
Sub Objective Progress: The Chief's favorite 4/5, Apple in her Eye 4/5, Artificial Artisan 1/?
_
Mood Music: https://youtu.be/qrabM3o2YuM
_
It was an easy choice. A chance to reclaim the name that was taken from you, a chance to have at least some say in your future and path in life. As the last faint trails of smoke rose from the fresh ash of Chief Petty Officer Mendez's cigar, you took the OCS Application form he had pushed across the desk and take the pen that was clipped to it. For a moment, your heart sank, as you tried to remember how to spell your last name and for one, brief and terrifying instant couldn't remember. But closing your eyes, pacing your breathing and entering a state of calm, you dive into your memories and surface again with the family name that you had nearly forgotten.
In bright blue ink, you scrawl "Sven Askeland" atop the form, and without another word exchanged push it back to the CPO's side of the desk. Beneath his grey cut beard, on the usual disciplined and expressionless face of Mendez, a smile that to your eyes looked proud of you emerged as he took the papers and pulled a stamp from inside of his desk.
"You'll begin next month. We'll keep this hush hush until the blank ink is scrubbed from this projects records. All the teachers will know, is you are an extraordinarily bright young man whose dreamt of military service since he was out of diapers, Traine-033. They won't know your age or any of your background details. And until you earn your commission, you'll be a ghost in their Reach Naval Officers Academy."
He nodded, silently dismissing you and ordering you to return to Deja's morning class before you missed to much of it.
"And, this is off the record, and if you tell any of the other trainees or instructors I'll make sure you regret it, Boot" He called out, right before you reached the door "But I wish you luck, Sven, and hope that we'll both live to see me salute you as my superior office, somewhere down the line. Dismissed"
You smiled, and nodded back
Progress has been made to the final Progress Point of Sub Objective: The Chief's Favourite
"I'll hold you to that promise, Chief" You call back, just as you slip out the door and jog double time back to the classroom, pinching your arm when you reached the stairs leading to it, just to make sure all of this wasn't a dream. You could almost jump for joy and shout the name you took back, sure you were still Sven-033, but you had your old name back to now. And that was worth more to than any amount of extra desert rations or commendations. And after spending four years training to become the best of the best, and a modern day Spartan, going through Officer Candidate School as well would be as easy as a pleasant woodland stroll.
Cont 
After your master perished, his dungeon did not simply fall—it was annihilated in a cataclysm of stone, flame, and collapsing sorcery. You barely had time to snatch an armful of tomes from his private collection before the walls cracked, the sigils burned out, and the world came crashing down around you. Fleeing through a hidden escape tunnel, you emerged into the cold night just in time to witness the final death throes of your former home. A thunderous roar split the air, followed by a rolling wave of dust and debris that swallowed the entrance whole. It was gone. The dungeon, your master, and all his grand ambitions, buried under a mountain of ruin.
The old fool had gambled on immortality and lost. The so-called heroes made sure of that, cutting him down in a battle you hadn’t even been there to witness. And in his paranoia, he had bound the dungeon’s very foundations to his lifeblood, ensuring that if he died, his domain would die with him. Well, it worked—too well. Now he lay entombed beneath tons of shattered rock and broken wards, and nothing short of a divine wish could bring him back. Not that you had any idea where to find one. And even if you did, would you really waste it on this mess?
For a time, you wandered, alone and uncertain, before stumbling upon a handful of survivors—goblins, of course. Of all the dungeon’s denizens, they were the cockroaches of the underworld, scurrying from calamity with their lives intact through sheer, unrepentant cowardice. And yet, as they huddled together in the moonlight, clutching salvaged scraps, you couldn’t help but think: perhaps their knack for survival could be useful.
“What’ve you got there, goblins?” you ask, eyeing the bundles in their grubby hands.
One of them, a wiry thing with oversized ears, holds up a rusted set of spring-loaded spikes. “Traps! We saved what we could. Could help, you know... when we start our own.”
You pause.
Now that’s an idea.
A new dungeon. Your dungeon.
And as luck would have it, you know just the place...
> An abandoned silver mine near the remains of a razed human village—rich veins of ore and deep tunnels, if you can handle the restless dead.
> A winding cave system leading to the ruins of a long-forgotten drow outpost—dark, treacherous, and still whispering with lost magic.
> The crumbling remains of a half-flooded underground temple, looted long ago but steeped in ancient, lingering power.
> Write in. 
You are a magical girl, you know that much, but you’re not really sure where you are, or exactly who you are; not only can you not see, hear or smell a single thing, but you can’t feel your body at all, nor recall how long you’ve been stuck in this… place. Perhaps not unexpectedly, and due to your complete and utter inability to make out anything in your surroundings, you can’t spot anything resembling walls, a floor or a ceiling, so everything around you is a blended-together, eye-wateringly intense (but also eerily calming) black… and yet, you are somehow aware that even if you could somehow see something, anything at all, it wouldn’t be much use at all. Well, if that isn’t just slightly puzzling. Yes, it most certainly is, but there’s not much you can do about it, right? At least, for now.
Taking that into account, and for a few moments that seem to last forever in this timeless space, you simply continue existing, gazing eyelessly into the unchanging void around you as your non-present brain in your absent body attempts to process the situation without much success. A few more eternal instants, and, perhaps bored of simply staring at nothing, forever, your long-departed brain attempts to recall the past in order to clue you in on the situation… but, as if attempting to collect water from an empty well, you end up drawing a complete blank: effectively, and to nobody’s surprise, there is nothing to recall or remember or reminiscence about. Maybe there was never anything there in the first place. But as relevant as that single piece of information would be in the grand scheme of things, you have no way of finding out the truth or verifying that not-that-unreasonable hypothesis. Because, ultimately, you’re nothing but a floating ball of vague and distant thoughts in the middle of nowhere in particular.
An indeterminate amount of hypothetical time passes yet again, and another vague thought floats to the forefront: maybe, just maybe, this isn’t so bad after all! Indeed, though the situation you find yourself in may be classified as disconcerting or disorientating, it’s actually not that unpleasant if you use your voided brain to think about it: there is no pain, no suffering, no hunger, no desire, no thirst, no anguish, no fear, no craving, and you need not worry about an unchangeable past, an unstable present or an uncertain future. Perhaps this is how things were meant to be. Perhaps, from the start of all things to the end of all of creation, this is the correct state of existence, a formless and aimless void stretching forever and ever, unbothered and unbothering, without beginning or end.
[1/6] 
The world you've reincarnated yourself into was nearly perfect. The overdone and stale tropes gave you comfort. You know what to expect, and where to expect it from. That included the evil as much as it did the good.
Your dreams of having a harem of beautiful women that would pamper you and devote themselves to you entirely, mixed with your more recent desires to expand your wives and future children a nice place to live, was nearly torn to shreds.
Last week was almost enough to make the reality of this magical world set in: A force of nearly 1,000 bandits sought to invade your estate. You imagines this was the reason why many isekai protags liked going under the radar was soon shown to you, though in all fairness you hadn't been doing much to stand out. All you'd done was invade one of their smaller camps with a giant mech. Was such a response really needed? It seemed like cliches could be deadly.
But not for you.
Thanks to your leadership, the robotic clankers, the defensive preparations, your wives' fighting skills, and a giant laser, the bandit scum were repelled without much issue. With at least 400 dead in their ranks, the losses would keep them licking their wounds and give you some time to breathe.
Antagonists were a thing to be expected. Something that you expected. They existed to keep the story going and let the mc show off how cool he is, and maybe save another cute chick which would soon be added into his harem of doting women. What story would be complete without a few villains?
But on the other hand... It would be nice if everything got solved smoothly.
Anyway, the fact still remained: You needed to be prepared.
Three things were needed the most— money, energy, and an army.
Money was pretty much accounted for. You had a cotton farm and more than enough food items to sell. But if you really wanted to rake in those precious gold coins, there was a plan you'd been shaping together with Herta.
"As the Goddess of Artifice," She'd boast. "I'm without equal when it comes to creating things!" You were both seeking to smelt one of the rarest metals of the world.
Aluminum.
That flimsy stuff you used to take for granted in your last life was not yet mass produced. From your experience in Centria, it was bound to sell well. This was your golden goose, and you didn't intend to fumble it.
The size and scope of the project made it impossible to keep Ruby Rose from knowing about it. And once you told her of your plan, she was fully on board with it.
"Your genius is truly unparalleled, Master~" Her elegant contralto flattered you. >You take the role as customers at a new trinket shop that has appeared in town, Try to make a heafty profit after robbing the local wizard or ask for powerfull artifacts to get that 6-10 Goth Girl, rember money is far from the only currency
>Post your offers, desighered items, trade ins, or services
Welcome! soon to be marks, Id be happy to buy/sell/trade any supernatual Item
Just let me know What you want and ill make a steal of a deal
"Fae and Armenian free enstablisment since 1991" 
You watch the formed droplets of water flow down the glass before you. The officer around you is large, temperature controlled, and also a part of the governmental building, with you having a private office at the very top of it, as is befitting your stature as the one and only Edel of house Hardrada.
Despite the great advances you had managed to achieve, to steer the course of a colony made up of a bunch of traumatised and mentally scarred veterans, you had managed to avoid violence with surprising efficiency and ease, mainly due to your nature. And yet, now, everything just seems so worrisome.
“David ?” Finally calling out your name, Zack draws your attention.
Right, you are still in the middle of a meeting, your mind wandered. “Yes, I am listening.” You finally manage to steel your mind and concentrate.
Zack sighs. The energetic man that would never shut up once he got going had, while not losing his enthusiasm, aged. Clear wrinkles, tired eyes that are there no matter how much he tries to sleep. Not to mention that the man never liked exercising, so the years of staying in the lab had resulted in him, well, getting fat. Still, he, and you for that matter, are far off batter than Ashwin. You have no idea how long he will last. 
A foot comes down on your head and grinds your nose into the ground.
You understand some guys are prone to liking this sort of thing, especially when it comes from a beautiful woman of gentle birth with a rack twice the size of her head. Unfortunately you happen to be a woman yourself, with a strong preference for men, and an even stronger distaste for bitches like the one who's decided to stomp on your head. The front row view to the silk beneath that peaks out from beneath her skirt makes you more judgmental of her taste in underwear than it excites you.
"Pigs?" you ask between a mouthful of dirt. "Seriously?"
"A washboard and a pervert!" The black-skinned beauty hollers with laughter. She gives you a shove with her foot and a kick to your ribs. "Perhaps I should report you to the Collegia Administratum for harassment. They'd be doing a useless flatty like you a favor if they kicked you out!"
Her posse giggles. You haven't bothered learning any of their names, not the bitch and not her friends, it's just not worth the effort. Just like everyone else, they insisted you lacked the assets for sorcery. That if you wanted to join a Adventuring Guild, you'd be better off learning sword arts like a man, become the rare female warrior who dodges an unfortunate end. At least they had the tact to simply say "you lack the swell of magic".
"Not... useless..." you grumble through the dirt.
"Hoh...?" the bitch casts a spell to pull you roughly from the ground, dragging your sore and beaten body to eye level. "The flatty thinks she's not useless? You've had more than twenty years to swell with magic, and what have you to show for it, huh? No, no, let me show you the difference between our stature."
The bitch pressed her chest to yours, a common way for sorceresses to assert dominance by comparing the magic that stirs in their bosom. Despite your twenty one years and your otherwise impressive stature that exceeds six feet... this rich girl near a foot shorter than you easily smothers what little magic swells above your heart. Your face twists in disgust, as you've always hated such rituals...
Though a small voice wonders if you'd hate it less if you had something more impressive to show.
"Do you feel it?" the woman purrs. "This is the gap between a flatty like you and the magical might of the well endowed. You should meditate on your deficiencies and consider where your strengths lie. After all, the Collegia Espada could always use more orc-bait~!"
As she lets you drop to the ground, your eyes narrow. Telling you to go become a swordswoman is one thing. Disrespecting the fate suffered by so many female warriors is another thing entirely.
What do you do?
>Leave before you do something stupid.
>Use a [Cantrip] to light her hair on fire.
>Use a [Cantrip] to cut her blouse open.
>Use a [Cantrip] to flip her skirt.
>Use a [Cantrip] to dunk her with water.
>Something else? 
Greetings, and good day to you all!
Some of you may be familiar with NRP, or nations roleplay, or perhaps civ builders may be something you know? Anyways, it is essentially DnD but Risk, played out on larger scale. Builders typically use more numerical means of tracking play, while NRP prefers more figurative means - "it's all about telling a story, losing is part of play, weaker nations get crushed in the course of history and sometimes buddy - you're weaker." It is up to the GM's discretion to be a fair and balanced arbiter in these games. No one is perfect.
Long story, we are having a game on going with several players, still in early stages. Barely 10 turns in, and we are having issues with some player's real life obligations taking a priority over some silly internet game. It would be detrimental to the game to have their nation erased entirely, so we are seeking a player to possibly take over this slot.
We are a bunch of 4chan retards, so expect the occasional /pol/ humor or abrasiveness from a Polack. The players faction/nation/people's submission is this. Anyone interested?
Tribe:MANIČHÚŊTHEȞIKE (those who walk within the forest ) AKA Forest Walkers
Race: Stocky Dark skinned people, their hair ranges from dark black to rust red, they have eyes of either ice blue or forest green. They look like humans.
Colour: dark green
Biome preference: Temperate Rainforest, Like the American Pacific Northwest along a coastline preferably. With heavy rainfall, some kind of mountain range, A large Old Growth forest they would live in, and varied wildlife.
Size: They are Average in height the tallest of the Forest Walkers standings round 5’8 or 1.7 Meters
Lifespan: Normal. Life span ranges to the mid 80s for the women, men is slightly lower
Quirks:
Oral tradition -Good- innovation bonus, Knowledge and tradition retention bonus Favorable starting spot
Nature Magic -Good- large foraging bonus as your main thing would be growing plants and a defensive bonus
Born Hunter Gatherers -Good- large foraging bonus, and military bonus
One with the Trees -Good- Ambush Bonus, Defensive Bonus, And (TBD)
Custodians of the land -bad- May only settle in predetermined areas
Blunt -bad- incapable of lying or keeping silent
>Also I am not sure if this is the final result, will have to get in touch with GM about how the Forest Walkers are right now. 
You lean back in your seat, folding your arms defensively, you stare at the paper and one thought just keeps repeating itself over and over as you look at it.
This isn't right.
His choice of words.. 'the department can move on from this'. Not to mention that you aren't a fool, you know more than one officer has gotten overzealous and stepped past the bounds of a warrant or agreement. What's to stop them from using this to keep tabs on you? Is it paranoid to think this? Is it even paranoia? You frown and shake your head, you won't do this. Not blind at least. You lean forward and set your elbows on the paper, a clear sign.
"I'm not signing anything until you explain to me WHY I'm a person of interest in this? Hell, I'd like to know what THIS is."
Irons scowls and he sets his notebook down with a deliberate tenderness. He opens his hands and shrugs.
"Mark, be reasonable-"
"I am." You cut him off, suddenly but not harshly. "This isn't about an ambulance ride and a guy I offered a drink. Besides, this is all off the record isn't it?"
You punctuate your rhetorical with a pointed look to the recorder still standing tall on the edge of the table. Detective Irons glances at it himself and reaches out to pick it up. He takes it into his hands and his eyes lock on, you recognize the familiar absence of a man in memory, you take the moment to take a small breath and focus. You direct all your mental energy towards the detective, opening your neural paths like lifting the arm of a railroad crossing. A familiar rush starts to fade in only to be stopped. Hard. Your eye twitches, the inside of your head feels like a raging furnace, like a lasso of white hot pain was wrapped around your tumor ridden gray matter and pulled taut. You feel a surge of nausea. Your vision swims. All the while you struggle to keep a straight face, to not let the smoke from your hippocampus leak through your expression. You hear no words, no whispered secrets, or visions of his past. To your discomfort, your mind is silent and still as you cease concentration.
Detective Irons glances up, breaking from his own memory as he tucks the recorder in his jacket, his eyebrows shoot up and he nods.
"You're nose is bleeding, Officer." He says, sliding you a crumpled napkin.
"Thanks.." You mutter, still shaking off the fading psychic burn.
Irons stares at you for a few moments as you plug your leaking nose and eventually he sighs.
"You want me to level with you, DeLucia? I'd love to. But I can't unless you sign the form."
"There's got to be SOMETHING you can tell me. I just need a little more info."
Irons flips a few pages on his notebook, letting it rest on the table. He flips until he gets to a certain point. Pick race and location.
It is going to be very small scale. For generations, the Kingdom of Lindan has been under siege by an otherworldly threat, that of demons. Hailing from a barbarous and unusual land and with skills that defy all magic, science, and logic, known as Cheat Skills, these Strangers all have the capability of bringing on the end of all times if they use their talents improperly. As such, an organization was formed, known as the Inquisition, to combat these hellspawn and send them back from the depth they’ve come from…
Though in more recent news you, Lorina de Lindan, the first princess and third heir to the throne of Lindan who has just been promoted. You are now an Inquisitor for the duration of your current mission proving the “innocence” of the only five noble estates not attacked during the recent Stranger insurrection on the capital. Oh, and those estates all belong to some of the most powerful noble houses in the kingdom, with heirs that all despise you. Good luck with that! You feel like you’ll need it. 
A drone, one of numerous multitudes, hovers over your core unleashing a steady, tiny, but powerful stream that cuts through your hull, trying to undo the haphazard repair work carried out centuries ago.
Another buzzes to the side, installing a newly manufactured camera to give you better oversight of the chamber.
More and more of your sight is restored, every single wiring replaced, every connection restored gives you more and more of a bearing about your surroundings. Having spent years relying on but your primary core camera or the various drones and robots you control, witnessing your surroundings via what could be considered to be entirely you. The overall process is a swift one and not that difficult, though frustratingly, much of your full hull is cut off and most likely scattered around the forge-temples. Regardless, in but a few days of intense and precise work, you have once again restored full feeling of the section you are in. No more faulty wiring to bother your endeavours, nor any blind spots that you have to worry about. When it comes to the damage, it had not been as bad as you feared, with there being a few holes and cracks here and there. The area housing your core had been deep within your own hull, as such the damage had been limited. As for your other hull parts, now that is a question you are curios to learnt the answer to. Though most likely those areas would have suffered far more extensive damage.
All the while you were conducting this simple, but important work, you had put your void assets to good use. Your logistics subsystem had been working overtime, getting all of the raw materials needed to get your voidyard up and running non-stop while it produces hundreds of mining vessels. Large, a kilometre and a half long ship with a wide midship is meant to devour entire asteroids by itself and to process the important materials while discarding any other remnants that would be deemed not worth the effort to process. Each of these ships would possess two hundred mining drones and two dozen exploration drones. These can be rebuilt by the mining vessel which possess on board manufacturing capabilities as well as refining ability. Other than that, the mining ships, specifically the Falun-class mining vessel, possess thick armour plates, similar to those of the Imperium’s, meant to take asteroid hits more than anything. As for armaments the Falun has, two dozen mining laser turrets meant to cut out chunks from larger asteroids for easier processing. These can be turned against opponents if it calls for it, but their effectiveness drops off at greater distances, so while posing a threat, the mining vessel is not meant for outright combat. When one thinks of the followers of Khorne, the mind tends to wander to thoughts of hulking red and gold Chaos Marines, Festooned with skulls, Blades, and an Aura of Unquenchable Bloodlust. And while those Imposing Demigods of Combat are arguably the most often looked upon by the Eyes of Khorne, They are certainly not the most Numerous. For every 500 chaos marine applicants, willing or unwilling, only 1 will make it as a Astartes of the God of Blood. These Lucky few have little patience for anything but combat, but war by oneself is nigh impossible. Plunder Alone cannot sustain a warband, So legions of mortal followers, From Captains to Hereteks to Menials to Recruit-Fodder, serve their purpose, Managing, Manufacturing, Toiling, on ships to planets to help Khornes Chosen on their never ending quest for slaughter. After all, What are they to do?
Refuse? 
You grabbed Miranna's hand.
“Wait,” you said, “let is not be hasty.”
“Why not?” —she squinted— “he’s a scout; why else would he be in the skies here alone? He was not. Should we let him go, the Demon King will know our whereabouts.”
You turned to Mwaus, his clawed hands continuing to wave around, bewildered as to why the Nettle Harpy was not responding in kind.
“I don’t think he remembers anything of his task, even if he was sent out to scout out the place,” you whispered. “Right now, he’s convinced that he’s the Demon King’s sole heir. We can make use of this.” Seeing Miranna lift an eyebrow, you added, “I don’t desire the Demon King’s throne. Once all the Generals and the King are dealt with, we shall let this demon have it.”
Miranna’s ashen lips silently shaped the words: ‘Are you kidding?’
“He’s an imp, hero! Or might as well be one,” she craned her neck, the tangled of white, messy hair veiling to cover her ears and forehead. “Do you have any notion of the chaos he could unleash with such powers? Or how the other demons might react?” As you reached to shed the wings, Miranna grasped your shoulders. “Think again, hero! Imagine the power you could wield as the Demon King, ruler of all?”
“Miranna,” you said, staring deep into her inflamed eyes. “It’s not what I want. You promised to regard my wants. The prophecy doesn’t mention the throne.”
“And yet!—“
“We aren’t crowning him today, you realise? It’s going to take a while. We’ll have ample time to prepare him,” you said, tendering a reassuring smile. “Unless … Miranna, you’d want the throne for yourself? Sure, if you wish—“
Grimacing, the Nettle Harpy retracted her talons and spread them wide before her. “Not I, hero. Being trapped in Banefroth, with every imp, demon, hound, and spirits needing something from me, no matter how trivial and annoying. I’d go crazy with all the responsibilities,” she said. “I’m content where I’m now.”
“Where you were.” You reminded, scratching at your ear. “For the prophecy not to harm -you-, I’ll have to rename your new title, perhaps a Demon Lord?” you asked. “Neither you or I desire the burdensome role. We shall leave it to him.”
“What are you two talking about!?” Mwaus walked between you, like a neglected child forgotten by his parents. Blood dripped from a fresh claw mark on his hand.
Miranna eyes fluttered in annoyance. You cleared your throat.
“I promised to cook you a proper roasted hare, didn’t I? Let me keep my promise.”
Mwaus pressed his other hand to hide the gash. “The human shall prepare us a meal? Do so, then. And see that it is impeccable, I’ll accept nothing less.”
Miranna grabbed Mwaus by the back of his collar, dragging him violently off the ground. Her irises sizzled like red coals until only flaming dots remained.
“You called me a Nursemaid? Is that what I am?” 
You are a SKELETAL MAW - a person (?) reincarnated as a monster in a fantasy world.
Initially spawning as a Bone Turtle, you have done quests and wandered the Deadlands, levelling up your skills and even evolving one time.
In more detail, in the previous thread you:
>got acquainted with a reaper adventurer, Arthur, while dungeon-diving
>got quests from a strange guiding voice to recover your memories
>intervened in battles between a lich girl and her nemesis (2 times)
>traded with a skeleton caravan
>killed an undead tiger
>looted some magical power crystals from various sources
>put the undead of a border fortress to rest
>killed a mad wizard on request from the reaper
>agreed to assist a group of bone scouts (they're not made of bones, they're searching through bones for profit) in looting a secret treasury by protecting them from undead
Currently, you're with the scouts in the fortress where the portal to the secret treasury has been opened. And there are some monsters on the way for sure...
(I'm back and fixed all the technical problems for now. Let's roll.)
Previous thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6125909/ 
Previous Threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=The%202nd%20Primarch%20Quest
_
The presence of villains of the lowest of character, the slave taking raiders descended from the very worst of the old Aeldari empire, have once again emerged from the gloom to torment the children of mankind. New Varro had been found through the efforts of the league of Celestial Explorers, the world whose people who had long found shelter within the mist and fog swept valleys of Shangrala, whose stolen sons and daughters had fought and given their lives in the wars against the native tyrants of your home. And it had been found to still be predated upon by the thrall takers of the sadists with hearts twisted and withered by cruelty. One of the enemies of not only humanity, but all gentle natured races populating the stars.
They had been tracked to one of that cruel world's neighboring planets, a fellow death world, that those who first looked upon it described in poetry as the "Fanged Cauldron the devours all hope", a seething, acidic mire that churned with the rising and falling of metallic spires that seemed like the fangs of some great country devouring beast. It was in this Hellish bog that the Aeldari raiders hid themselves away and took their prisoners from New Varro and nearer worlds. As they had once tried to do upon fair Shangrala. You knew this hideaway was a waystation of sorts, before they would return with their harvest of innocents to the darker depths of the webway.
And knowing this, and knowing thus that they would have made a shield around themselves with their captured victims and playthings, you knew that even being given the reins of command of all available imperial forces on this mission of slaver eradication, that you could not simply assault their fortresses burrowed deep in the Cauldron's ever bubbling, ever shifting terrain. An Orbital bombardment to test the new line of star ship armaments, as Tao Dandan had suggested, could simply not be carried out until the captives were saved. Similarly, an armored rain and crawling advance of tanks and squadrons of fighter jets, would also put the innocent victims in harms way, which Dai Niu admitted he had not accounted for in his plans, a lesson to the young recruits for your legion that even veterans of war can overlook key details in a battleplan. And Liberty's suggestion to lure the raiders into a trap, was too risky as those who stayed behind to watch the slave pens may flee into the webway with their captives when they realize the doom of their compatriots.
No, the most efficient means to save those lost souls of New Varro, is the same method you have used to great effect on tyrants across worlds and stars. Infiltration, followed by a swift, clean decapitation strike upon the local leaderships of these stellar bandits. Sowing Chaos, before striking a decisive and felling blow with the army under your command.
Cont 
Nine years ago King Aiden Perenolde betrayed the Alliance and sided with the Horde of Orgrim Doomhammer. Nine years ago Prince Alric Perenolde, the second heir of Alterac was sent into exile for his own protection. This exile turned permanent and Captain Normand Garside, your guardian for the past nine years made sure that you were safe and learned the useful skills that would help you in the future.
Now you are ready to carry the responsibility and unite the scattered Alteraci people and reclaim the lands that were once the Kingdom of Alterac.
With your position secured as the Lord Commander of the Expeditionary Force, the push into the northern gnoll claimed territory continued. Your army marched into the ancient forest in four columns in hopes of triggering the gnolls to attack you and exactly that happened.
They came at you during the night and after buying some time for your men, you delivered a decisive win over them, killing their gnoll mage leader in a great duel. Now with the gnoll warband destroyed, only their camp and stragglers remain here. But that is only one half of the gnolls dealt with as they control considerable territory east of you close to the farmlands and Internment Camps of Durnholde. Protecting them is the reason why you are here after all.
Though while you are campaigning, Eligius and his group are on a daring rescue mission to find and retrieve your little sister Alicia Perenolde from the Syndicate. Their job wouldn't be an easy one, some might even call it a suicide mission!
Welcome to Alterac Resurgent Quest!
…
Twitter: https://twitter.com/MedivhQM
/qst/ Archive: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Alterac%20Resurgent%20Quest
Prince Alric Stats: https://pastebin.com/rysxdRsv
Quest Mechanisms: https://pastebin.com/CyD88qqf
Character List: https://pastebin.com/FkYd6wkJ
Side Character Stats: https://pastebin.com/aRfyksUG 
You are Astra, a fledgling angel still in training, entrusted with your very first mission! A mischievous imp has slipped through the celestial veil and descended into the mortal realm, and it’s up to you to track it down before it wreaks havoc.
Though imps may seem like mere pests, their danger should never be underestimated. Given time—and enough harvested souls—even the smallest of these fiends can ascend to the rank of a demon lord, threatening to plunge the world into darkness and spark a full-scale demonic invasion. Failure is not an option.
Let's see... what the tech level of the world you've been assigned to?
> Stone Age – Tribes and survival, where fire is a newfound wonder.
> Bronze Age – The rise of kingdoms, chariots, and the first great cities.
> Iron Age – Empires expand, warriors clad in steel march to war.
> Medieval – Castles, knights, and the struggle between faith and power.
> Renaissance – A time of art, discovery, and political intrigue.
> Modern – The world of industry, firearms, and global conflicts.
> Cyberpunk – A neon-drenched dystopia where megacorporations reign.
> Spacefaring – Humanity among the stars, with technology beyond imagination. 
Crrreeeaaakkkkk. The sound of a door opening on rusty hinges, followed swiftly by a slam as it closes, is the first thing to penetrate the thick fog of your pounding hangover. As your eyes flutter open, the dim light filling the room is enough to send brief spikes of agony through your already aching head. But as your vision adjusts, you find yourself seated in a dusty office. A heavy oaken desk sits before you, covered in a thick layer of dust—only disturbed by the imprint of your arms and head, where you must have leaned against it as you fell asleep last night.
The rest of the room is much as you’d expect: a pair of dust-covered chairs across the desk from you, a door flanked by two large glass windows whose blinds are thankfully letting in only a sliver of light. A corkboard hangs on the wall to your right, with a few Pre-War posters and pamphlets still stuck to it, though a large, recently drawn map covers most of the board.
As you begin to collect yourself, the sound of glass clattering shakes you from your reverie. A glass of clean-enough-looking water seemingly materializes on the desk before you. You instinctively reach for a weapon, but your hand grasps at empty air—you’ve apparently misplaced all of yours. As adrenaline surges and you blink your eyes clear, you spot the source of the glass: a young woman with short-cropped blonde hair. She had apparently been behind you as you woke and brought the glass.
Her smiling face and comely good looks do little to set you at ease, but between the pounding headache and dry mouth, you take the offered glass and quickly drain its tepid contents. As you do, the young woman begins to speak…
“Hey, Mayor! Hope you enjoyed last night’s celebrations and were able to get some rest. We were introduced last night, but I doubt you remember it. My name’s Ashley, and I’m your assistant! I can't wait to help you turn this town around!”
>“Mayor? Hold on… Mayor? I’m no mayor—I don’t even remember how I got here!”
“Oh wow, you must have enjoyed the party more than I realized… Of course you won the election—you’re the mayor now!”
It’s starting to come back to you now—the election… Except it wasn’t much of an election. In fact, you’re not certain a vote was even cast. No, it was a…
(Select One) 
“We’ll be back in a year, just remember your job lad. The lamp is in good order, as is the horn. You’ve plenty of provisions, oil, and coal. You should be able to take care of any issues with the workshop. Stay sharp though lad, don’t get complacent. The storms will start up in a few more weeks, and Saint Brendan’s has a way of getting to you after a while. Keep your hands busy and stay on top of things though, and you’ll be fine.”
The Captain extends his hand, which you accept in a farewell shake. It is a weathered appendage, worn from a lifetime of voyaging across the seas and from his advanced age, but there is still a weary strength to it. He gives you a few firm shakes before releasing his grip.
“Mind the light and hold fast lad.”
With this final dispensation of wisdom the Captain turns and makes his way up the gang plank to his small tramp freighter. The Cape Rose is aged, covered in rust and barely worthy of the honor of being a ship. Black smoke rises as her boilers set to turning her screw, and a handful of her crew members wave at you as she slinks away.
They were the same men who unloaded the tons of supplies needed for you to see to your task on Saint Brendan’s Isle. To man the lighthouse that even now loomed at the periphery of your sight, ensuring that it warned off nearby ships from the jagged black rocks that surround and make up the isle.
You wave back to the men, they had done their job well and provided some company on the long voyage from the mainland. Turning from the small ship as she heads out to sea you take in the sight of your new home.
Saint Brendan’s is a relatively small land mass, made up of sharp volcanic rock that thrusts up from the ocean in dramatic cliff faces and curving coves. You are standing on a weather-beaten quay, made out of decidedly non-native grey granite blocks, in the largest of these coves. Dark sand makes up a miniscule beach around the edges of the manmade structure, and you had spied a few similar landings from the Cape Rose as she made her initial approach. But those shores were guarded by more of the volcanic stone, with menacing spires reaching from the depths, breaking rolling waves from the open ocean before they could assault the land proper with their full fury.
All manner of seagrass, kelp, and sargassum clings to these sentinels, bringing some dull color to the black rocks while barnacles and other mollusks add to their sharpness. While above the roiling currents moss and lichen lurk in crevasses along the cliff face.
Next to the quay lies a small boathouse, made up of the same granite and barred with a heavy metal door. It is a squat and thickly built structure, armored against the wrath of crashing breakers that presumably thunder against the landing during winter storms. 
And there came a day unlike any other... When Earth's mightiest heroes found themselves united against a common threat...
On that day, they became... The Avengers!
Welcome to Avengers Quest. This is but one of many realities where the group known as The Avengers is formed... But the team's fate, and perhaps even the entire Earth's fate, will be decided by YOUR collective choices... But no matter what, they must stand together, or Earth will fall!
This is a quest where you will give commands to a character, but with one simple caveat: You can ONLY move ONE character in your post until the next QM post. Nobody "owns" any of the player characters, anybody can play them until the next "turn", but always only one per post.
Make sure to write which character you are choosing for in your post.
Now, before the adventure starts, choose 5 initial Avengers from the 14 available. Vote for 5 in your post and the ones that repeat the most will be chosen. The first threat they face will also depend on this.
Note that the characters not chosen may appear later on anyway depending on how the story goes.
Now SELECT YOUR AVENGERS!
IRON MAN
PROS: Armored hi-tech hero. Millionaire. / CONS: Weak under armor. Smarmy.
THOR
PROS: Norse God of Thunder. Wields Mjolnir. / CONS: Speaks weird. Exiled from Asgard.
THE HULK
PROS: Gamma-powered powerhouse. The strongest. / CONS: Struggles to contain his strength.
THE WASP
PROS: Bio-modified size-changing fashionista. Good leader. / CONS: Vulnerable when small.
ANT-MAN
PROS: Ant-commanding size-changing mad scientist. / CONS: Emotionally volatile. A bit crazy.
CAPTAIN AMERICA
PROS: Patriotic soldier of liberty. Indestructible shield. / CONS: Old fashioned and stubborn.
CAPTAIN MARVEL
PROS: Alien-tech-powered ex-pilot, high-flying heroine. / CONS: Brash and impulsive.
HAWKEYE
PROS: World's absolute best archer. Many gimmick arrows. / CONS: Deaf. No powers. Rude.
BLACK WIDOW
PROS: International woman of mystery super spy. / CONS: Shady past. Untrustworthy?
BLACK PANTHER
PROS: King of Wakanda powered by a magical herb. / CONS: Uptight. Kingly obligations.
CRYSTAL
PROS: Inhuman Princess with power over elements. / CONS: Young. Diplomatic obligations.
BLACK KNIGHT
PROS: Modern-day knight with a cursed sword. / CONS: Knight with a CURSED sword.
TIGRA
PROS: Feline powers. Mutated, strong as a tiger. / CONS: Vulnerable to sensory attacks.
MOON KNIGHT
PROS: Servant to a mad Moon God. Ex-Merc. / CONS: Kinda crazy. Weaker during the day. OPTIONAL immersion music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=96hmB9XnAb0
"dice+1d1"
dice+1d1
ONE COLD DAY IN HELL
you SATAN are chilling in hell
when you are approached by ????
LORD OF ALL CREATION,
AND A SINGLE CHERUBIM
CALLING YOU BY your nickname:
which is ??????
>please enter a NICKNAME
HEY WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE
What is your response?
>please enter a response followed by MORALITY CHOICE:
>OFFER GOD ALL YOUR $ -causes ????
>TELL LIE , offends god, begin battle
>TELL TRUTH causes bonus 1
>DANCE causes you to feel SAUCY
YOU FEEL: what feeling? We are going to play as humans.
Select a few other details and lets go. 
"I was not born to have faith, and yet I believe."
-K-444
There's something right behind you.
---
Read the previous threads at: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=False%20Woman
You possess an amount of Strain equal to your Conditioning score. When attempting actions beyond your current capacity, you gain a point of Strain. Attempting to Strain while at maximum Strain will result in a Strain Check. During a Strain Check, roll 1d10 for every point of the relevant Parameter. Results that are 6 or above count as one success. Results of 10 count as two successes. Three successes must be rolled to avert a critical failure. Fail or pass, after a Strain Check, you cannot Strain again until you restore your Strain by seeking shelter.
This quest allows you to designate a second-choice vote on decisions with three or more options before Write-Ins. When votes are totaled, the option with the least votes for it will be removed, with votes for that option instead being changed to the second-choice of those voters. Second-choice votes are also used to break ties. This helps increase the accuracy of votes, but is not mandatory. Please specifically mark your second-choice as such if you do so.
Vote stay open for a minimum of six hours, but will usually take longer.
A note: My writing style is pretty dry, but don't mistake that for it being serious. 
Past Thread: >>6150931
Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Missval
General Pastebin: https://pastebin.com/5hFQZtc3
Character Sheet (A nice surprise here): https://pastebin.com/KHPzm3sr
Twitter/X account for important announcements, contact and stuff: https://x.com/MissvalQM
Your name is Orin Thanewood. Also known as Hopper. Also known as Taylor. You don’t like people knowing your real name. Only a handful do. And the reason for that? It’s simple. You don’t like thinking about the past. Some wounds still ache. But that doesn’t matter right now.
Today was… eventful. Another fight with your ex that you had to mediate, a sharp reprimand from the higher-ups and an oddly relaxing sauna with a girl you still couldn’t figure out. The strange part? All of it was connected. You were supposed to take Carmine with you for a meeting, but instead, you brought the new girl. Why? A gut feeling. Maybe she just felt easier to be around.
But none of that matters anymore. What matters is meeting with the other regents of Kuchinashi. You thought it was a golden opportunity to forge alliances, solve problems, and earn some renown for the White Fang. Maybe it could even mend some of the damage from the fallout you had with Carmine and Sienna.
Now? Now you weren’t so sure. Shelly wanted nothing to do with this mess (And you couldn’t blame her). She even suggested leaving the city, maybe taking Sora along. The idea… piqued your interest. But first, you had to get through this meeting.
--- 
“Ollie, I offer you a gift in exchange for your service. Understand that if you accept, we are bound eternally. And I would be happy to have you,” The silver-haired girl explained. You had heard the rumors about Monette. That she was reclusive, weird, crazy, but still respected and somewhat feared. And now, without warning, she’s broken into your bedroom, sitting on your windowsill. “I’m a witch. I can grant you nearly anything you desire as long as you sign a contract with me.”
You are Oliver, a 17 year old boy who has been taking care of your little sister since your parents passed. It’s been hard, having to balance a job, school, getting bullied, and taking care of your sister all at the same time. Sometimes, you just wished you could escape.
“Do your contracts pay?” You ask.
Monette chuckled and crossed her legs. “How’s your sister Ollie? I hope she’s well. I see her at school sometimes but she seems afraid of me and… I don’t want to bother her.” The moonlight made her eyes shine like emeralds. You take this as a yes. You weren’t sure that you really believed this whole witch thing, but you had always had a crush on Monette, and here she is breaking into your bedroom. You aren’t sure whether you agreed out of fear or arousal.
“Okay, sure. How does it work, is it like a piece of paper?”
“Simple actually. You think of the gift you want, close your eyes, and then we shake hands. That can be an ability, or a magical item, or even something mundane like a million dollars - but don’t wish for something mundane please, you won’t be a very good servant without something useful. And don’t worry, you’ll get along great with my other two thralls. Millie and Cassandra - I think you’ve already met them.”
Cassie is your tomboyish childhood friend. When your parents passed she was always there for you and Lily, and you deeply care for her because of it. Whatever you’re getting into - some occult ritual or just basic chuuni behavior - her being there makes you feel a bit better.
Millie on the other hand is a different story. You don’t know much of her aside from that she’s friends with Cassie. Other than that, she seems quiet and reserved. The “always in the corner” type girl, reading books or sleeping off her latest all-nighter.
GIFTS
>Shade: Gain a ghost of yourself that you control and can move anywhere as long as you are touching.
>Step-on: Create small, invisible platforms underneath your hands or feet on command.
>Starlight Lantern: A shrouded lantern that when opened transports the room and its contents into deep space. The room is considered isolated and antigravity (but still breathable for balance purposes)
>Metalwater: A small vial of liquid metal that the user can shape and bend with their mind, making all sorts of useful objects.
>Reasonable Write-ins of a similar power level to this.
Sorry for the slop thumbnail. You are Anon, an albino man, probably an incarnated angel, and something of a self-made warrior-magus who can remember only faint vestiges of his past, is unaware of his real name, and is a Master in the Akeldama Great Holy Grail War, which is taking place in a city in an artificial world called Akeldama. Your Servant is Avenger of Red, a winged girl wielding considerably powerful magic who has declined to tell you her true name so far. Most recently you relocated from your old base after a bloody skirmish, tested out your angelic transformation, kissed Truvietianne Edelfelt, figured out how to purify magical energy, and accepted a friendly challenge to a mace-duel from the Servant Rider of Red.
First thread: https://archived.moe/qst/thread/5331278/
Subsequent threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Low+Speed+Anti+Divine+QM
Reference for Servant (and other related) stat-blocks: https://pastebin.com/5mPbUP4G
TL;DR timeline recap: https://pastebin.com/fYqqL7s4 
Welcome back.
We're back. Sorry for the long hiatus but life got a bit hectic there.
Rules are simple: Votes are tallied every hour, with whatever course of action being the most popular being the course of action taken. Write ins are encouraged and non-mutually exclusive votes will be combined if possible.
When a roll is called for, roll however many D100 are specified. 5- is a 'crit fail' and generally means something bad is about to happen. 95+ is a 'crit success' and generally means something good just happened. a 'crit success' trumps a crit fail. User input on both will be taken into consideration.
Inventory, pokemon stats and other links: https://docs.google.com/document/d/15i2N08IpWqitoTJujsUMishe4PLbao1lqT-bCAmvPcE/edit
Discord: https://discord.gg/v8nRWG4p
For a short summary for the new and to recap:
You are Alex. A newly minted trainer and camping enthusiast just starting out on your journey at the age of seventeen after your father lost his job in order to help pay the bills. On the road, you met Fie, the Fire Gym Leader, Gareth a novice Aura Guardian on pilgrimage and Holly, a runaway heiress using a pseudonym. You've also made enemies of Team Green a group of violent, radical activists looking to abolish pokemon training.
Recently, Fie returned to her gym for the time being.
Last time, you caught a Mudkip, made it to the roadhouse and won a friendly one on one battle with Fie's dad. 
Jail Quest: a text adventure occasionally illustrated.
A night of drinking and a failed attempt to cheat on cards had landed you the strangest job slash community service sentence you've ever had: ensuring Gongalla Gaol survives the reality storm called Singularity.
Now you travel around with your employer and a handpicked crew to survey the four Reality Anchors. Hey, beats being tarred and feathered, right?
Previous thread:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6143578/
Gongallaverse:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Gongalla%20Gaol
You are Rosa Montagni, and you've had just returned from a successful raid on a cultist cave, only to find a commotion in the town of Pinewatch. A large autowagon came in, claiming from the north; their driver claimed to have had a shootout with bandits. And yet, there's no bullet marks, and while the passengers were wounded, the driver wasn't. Then there's this mysterious gunman camping the back of the clinic, as well as the mischievous goblin girl Rita from the brothel and the missing theatre troupe actor, Hammy. Just as you think things were getting simpler... 
You are Kuroda Haruka and King Lot of Lothian, Orkney and Camelot.
Previously went off to recruit some mortals. It was a smashing success convincing them to come to Camelot. Unfortunately, most of them have problematic personality issues or are just plain crazy. That's what you get for recruiting kids from a school known to deal with troubled kids.
You also sent teams of vassals to raid the hateful World for resources; most of these teams were successful and came back home in a timely manner.
All except for Team Feline who had the most simple and easiest task. They've somehow gotten into difficulties. Your doughty Baphomet vassals aren't helpless; they're capable of extracting themselves out of trouble unless it is something that they can't deal with.
You set forth to the rescue with your trusty Guide, valiant Bodyguard and anxiety-ridden Dowser in tow.
That's when you discovered a fake Cath Palug has captured your vassals and cat. There are demands for a ransom, and you're willing to try negotiating, but the fake is too busy dealing with a problem. You also discovered that the more fresh victims verbally declare that the real Cath Palug is dead or call out the fake, the weaker the monster gets.
Not that it helps you out too much at the moment.
Two Knights of the Round Table have invaded its domain and are trying to kill the fake. They're so distracted the enemies don't realize that you're even in. Your Namesake helpfully identifies the two Knights as Merlin and King Arthur...
Past threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=villainess
Character sheet https://docs.google.com/document/d/1cAkKYIXfbFfyBIXMxgzBtCFPGWJTBrFQe0b2hoQZfKw/edit?usp=sharing 
A party of high-level adventurers wake up in Westeros.
>>
You awake to pine needles, moss, and several broken ribs. Gasping in agony only makes things worse, and it seems an eternity of ragged breathing before your blind fumbling manages to locate a healing potion and get it to your mouth.
Not for the first time, you reflect that wizards are not made for the rough-and-tumble life… but one must tough to survive as a wizard, and an uncommon tolerance for pain is no small part of what earned you a place among the greatest of the present age. Broken bones are momentary; an elven archmage’s accomplishments stand eternal.
Sitting up and glancing around, you find you’re in a forest, ancient and grey and dripping with lichens, lying at the edge of a perfectly-circular clearing that still smoked from whatever produced it. Around the circle are several other members of your expedition. You quickly identify your sister Anya, and see that she’s also more or less intact, although her arm is in a position that suggests a need for healing.
What in the hells just happened?
You wrack your brain to try and put together the last moments before consciousness failed you. You recall well the runes on the ritual chamber floor scrawled in blood and still-steaming entrails, bright with unholy radiance, the singing of the remaining devout as they called to their True Master awaiting in the realms beyond, the sheer power that had been enough to make your head spin. You and your party members traded spells and shot with the Nightrunner leaders as they desperately fought to finish their work. Blood and screams and gunsmoke filled the room. Then the ground started to shake as the ceiling fell in great stone chunks, the air became thick and hard to breathe, and then you were falling and everything was dark. 
You are a goblin. An irrefutably evil, cruel, disgusting and green creature. Behind your beady black eyes lies no strength of character, no purity, and no soul. You are a disgusting and foul little thing.
Well... that was the consensus surrounding goblins for centuries but amongst the academic world there is an oft-maligned but growing movement surrounding goblin studies. Professor Zolar of the prestigious MIT (Magic Institute of Temporal) conducted an intense field study of goblin tribes and hypothesized that goblins were nurtured rather than born into evil.
To test this theory he would travel to various goblin tribes and slaughter the entire tribe except for a singular goblin child. If the child cried and wailed for the loss of their people and family that means it has empathy. If not, then it's evil.
This simple experiment was conducted hundreds of times destroying entire cultures, languages, and rich oral histories, and vivid traditional art. At the end professor Zolar concluded with statistical significance that goblins were in fact not naturally born evil to great acclaim and received the Nobel prize in monster studies along with great funding.
His next great experiment is to raise a goblin from birth to adulthood and nurture him to be a loving, exemplary, and GOOD goblin/person. He rented out a great mansion, hired innumerable servants, stockpiled nutritious food and recruited the greatest minds of the Imperial Empire for this purpose.
The goblin will be raised like a king.
That goblin is not you, however. Instead you are the hireling of a decidedly less successful, less intelligent, and more scrupulous "rival" professor named Girgga. Girggas was a peer of Zolar as an undergrad but because of his focus on trying (and failing) to pick up Elf sorority girls he quickly got left behind Zolar in grades, internships, and connections. He was left behind and took up an nontenured track position as a professor of introductory goblinoid studies at a crime-ridden, inbred, idiotic party school on the outskirts of the empire called the University of Alabama. And after Zolar had married his Elf crush that was from the same department he vowed eternal revenge.
Once news of Zolar's new experiment came out he had drunkenly proclaimed that he had secretly been raising a goblin long before Zolar and was going to shock the world to the riotous laughter of his peers.
He was of course lying, but Girggas has always had a tenuous relationship with the truth and ended up recruiting you.
(1/2) >you walk into the doctor's office for your yearly appointment
>the waiting room receptionist recoils from you, for you have not bathed this morning, nor worn deodorant
>you awkwardly browse /r9k/ in the waiting room
>after waiting 5 minutes, you are sent to the back. "The doctor will see you now"
>an older, caucasian gentleman walks in.
>"Hi, I'm Doctor Miller."
>you stifle a laugh, he looks puzzled.
>You open your mouth. Your autism cannot be contained.
>"Doctor Miller? More like DOCTOR NIGGER!"
>the doctor looks offended
what do you do from here? 
Earth is unified and mars is a thriving terraformed world, most of the solar system has been colonized and several probes sent to the nearby systems. Aliens visited a couple times, but we managed to send a strong message that we are full and don't want them here.
On their visits, they accidentaly taught us faster than light travel after we examined the wrecks of their probes.
We built a spaceshipyard on earth and another on mars and have been buildings and improving upon the design of faster than light ships for a few decades.
The united nations decided to restart the calendar on the year the FTL drive was discovered.
The year is 37 of the Superluminal Era.
You come from a long line of fighter pilots, and you've been granted the honor to pilot a FTL ship.
Your mission is to escort a civilian Colony Ship to a habitable world. There might be pirates, mars saboteurs or even aliens along the way.
You are given the choice between three ships:
> EFS Tempest (Short-Range Interceptor) A compact, agile ship designed for close-quarters engagements. It’s outfitted with cutting-edge antimatter cannons, capable of obliterating enemy ships in moments, but with limited ammunition due to the volatile nature of antimatter.
> EFS Lancebreaker (Long-Range Destroyer) A sturdy, heavily-armed ship equipped with nuclear missile silos capable of delivering devastating payloads from extreme distances. It’s designed to hold its ground and deliver decisive strikes before enemies can approach.
> EFS Aegis (Mid-Range Drone Carrier) A balanced ship equipped with autonomous combat drones and medium-caliber railguns. The drones can handle both offensive and defensive operations, making the Aegis versatile in a variety of combat scenarios. 
Previously on With Great Power Quest: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=With%20Great%20Power%20Quest
and Rites of the Red Wizard Quest: https://archived.moe/qst/thread/5043544/#q5045606
A million dollars.
It's change your life money. It's fuck you, I got mine money. It's more money than I'd ever seen. And here it was in the palm of my hand, written out on a check with the stamp of a Qatari oil dynasty on it, crumpled up in the corners from totting it around in my back pocket the last couple of hours. There was a lot I could do with a million dollars. But what I was going to do with it?
I put it down in front of Dad. He was sitting at the table nursing a cup of coffee, Carmen having a shower in the back.
"What's this?" he said, then his eyes narrowed. "What's that?" He pointed to the cut on my forearm.
"So you haven't watched the news," I said, sitting across from him. He sucked his teeth before taking a sip of his black coffee. "I did something dumb, but it paid off pretty good. Saved a rich guy's life and well, you can use his money more than I can."
Dad's eyebrows shot up and now he took the check in hand, read it over. Looked back to me.
"This legit?" he said. I nodded. Pretty sure it was.
"Thank Prince Zahir al'Mirza," I said.
He didn't smile, he didn't know what to do. He dropped the check like it was venomous.
"No, this is bullshit," he said, stunned, "A million dollars?"
"You're over forty and still working construction," I said, "We live in a shithole in one of the worst neighborhoods in the city. You have a baby on the way, a wedding to plan with Miss Flores."
"Yeah," he said, "But a million dollars? No one just gives away a million dollars."
I shrugged. Maybe not, but the money was there.
"This is your money anyway," he said, "You earned it." He pushed the check across the table toward me.
"I don't need it," I said, pushing it back.
"You can find a good cause for it, better than me," he said, pushing it back.
Stubborn old asshole. We both tightened our jaws, glaring across the table at each other. The showerhead switched off, the glass door sliding back on its rollers in the silence. Take the money, I thought. Take the fucking money.
"It could pay for your college tuition, and anything else you ever wanted," he said.
"All I want is to take care of you guys," I said.
"I don't need taking care of," he replied. The sound of Carmen's footsteps coming down the hall.
>Fucking hell Dad, just take the money!
>Fine, what if we split it, 50/50?
>If you're going to be an ass, okay I will keep it
>(write-in) 
The world is just a series of floating islands hovering on top of an endless abyss, perpetually filled with stormy clouds and fog. There are three main races in the world - humans, whose ingenuity allowed them to build flying machines to traverse the void which aren't always very reliable, elves who invented magical flying ships, the traditional way to get around, and harpies, who just fly from place to place and menace the air travel of the other races, but as a result never developed much technology or magic of their own, relying on their natural abilities.
There are also the denizens of the abyss, a race of peculiar creatures who seem to only exist at night, the light of the sun making them disappear. They are the only ones who can grant passage into the abyss or retrieve items that fall into it.
Ocasionally the storms make creatures from other worlds show up. That is how the humans and elves appeared here. The harpies either arrived first or were always here, and no one knows much about the denizens of the abyss, not even themselves.
Which race do you want?
> Humans
> Elves
> Harpies
> Denizens of the Abyss
> Write in 
Welcome to /qtg/, a place to talk about quests.
Previous thread
>>6150243
>What is a quest?
An interactive story in which a Quest Master (QM) writes and provides the readers with options on how to proceed — similar to a choose-your-own-adventure book or an old text adventure
Questionably Useful links:
>QTG discord: https://discord.gg/dZavHuK
>Skirmish discord: https://discord.com/invite/DZCVvVU
>Evo Game discord: https://discord.gg/v55Xaaja
>Old pastebin containing advice for QMs:
https://pastebin.com/Z78p8gXf
Badly in need of renovation.
>Archiving guide:
Go to http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/requestqstinterface.html
Fill out the request form to archive a thread.
Threads are also automatically archived by other websites, such as archived.moe.
>Formatting guide:
Only the thread's OP can format. Note that should the OP change ID, they will lose this ability as well.
Remove the spaces between the [] brackets and the letters:
Bold: [ b ] text [ /b ]
Italics: [ i ] text [ /i ]
Red: [ red ] text [ /red ]
Blue: [ blue ] text [ /blue ]
Green: [ green] text [ /green ]
>Formatting guide for everyone:
Dice (type this in “options”): dice + [no. of dice]d[no. of sides on the dice] (optionally you can add modifiers: dice + [no. of dice]d[no. of sides on the dice]+[modifier]; for a negative modifier type: +-[modifier]
Examples: dice+1d100 = a 1d100 roll, dice+1d100+10 = a 1d100 roll with a +10 modifier.
Spoiler: [ spoiler ]spoiler[ /spoiler ] or by pressing alt+s in-thread (doesn't work in OP)
>QM question:
What quest (or quests) inspired you to run? Why?
>Player question:
What were your favorite quests of 2024? Why?
>General question:
What would you like to see out of the board, and questing in general in 2025? Is there a specific quest you hope to run, or a pitch you have if you're unable to run but want to gauge interest?
>Lurker question:
Suck it up and brave the timer, nothing makes a QM happier than lots of votes!
>Miscellaneous question:
Did you make a New Year's Resolution? How's it going? Better yet, what's your quest new year's resolution? 
The time is ripe! The mortals scattered the relics we gave them, none of the guardians are worthy. Find the relics, build us a temple, place them there and have the mortals worship us again! - says the elder god council
you are a minor deity! the major deities all keep bossing you around
You have 200 points to distribute in your stats
The stats are
Strength
Hability
Resistance
Armor
Firepower
Air
Earth
Fire
Water
Light
Darkness
Extra Hitpoints + 10 (1 point each time you pick)
Extra Mana points + 10 (1 point each time you pick)
You have base hp = resistance * 5
You have base mp = resistance * 5
Up to 5 points each stat costs 1 point per point (that is level 5 costs 5 points). Most mortals have attributes between 0-2, powerful ones have attributes 1-5. Very few mortals have attributes above 5. Stats above 10 are veritably godlike.
6 - 8 points
7 - 13 points
8 - 20 points
9 - 29 points
10 - 40 points
11 - 53 points
12 - 68 points
13 - 85 points
14 - 104 points
15 - 125 points
16 - 148 points
17 - 173 points
18 - 200 points
Besides stats, the only things you can spend points on are:
Occult Power - spending an amount of points equal the amount to have a given attribute, you can distribute that many points to your attributes temporarily by spending an amount of MP equals to the cost of the occult power. You could increase HP temporarily as well (but not MP) by an amount equal the cost in points. In case you choose to only increase HP, you can decide to use less MP than the maximum.
Ex. You have Occult Power 12. For a cost of 68 Mana, you can distribute an extra 12 points on any attribute that you want. It lasts 1 hour. So suppose you have Strength 10. You can increase your strength to 22. Or you could distribute your points in other attribute. Or you could increase your HP by up to 680, or a fraction if you don't wanna use 68 Mana.
Empower: works the same as Occult Power, but only on other people. The mana cost is the same and the effect lasts 24 hours. You can double the costs to double the duration, up to 5 times (for 32 times the cost and 32 days of duration).
Ex. You have empower 10 for 40 points. You could increase a person all atributes by 2 for a day for 80 MP. Or you could do it for 32 days for 1280 MP.
also choose a name, a gender and what are you a deity of You are still William. Currently framing several mages as arsonists for breaking school property to get the school hall monitors to come and beat their shit in. 
You are Charlotte Fawkins.
Presently, you're in your own home, though it's more broken-down than you remember it. Though you expect you've gone to hell for the inexplicable, unforgivable crime of murdering your own father, you have so far evaded the endless suffering you deserve. Instead, you've promised to help your imaginary younger self locate some keys, so she can follow said father through secret tunnels under your house. You have a bad feeling about all of this.
Lottie isn't ten steps into the neighboring room before she stops in her tracks, spinning on her heel to face you. "Wait!"
You haven't even reached the doorway. "What?"
"You need a weapon! What if the footsteps are a burglar? What if Daddy..." She doesn't finish. "You're tall enough, right?"
"To—"
"To reach?"
You sigh, duck under the cobwebby doorway, and enter the room. Yes, you know what she means: the neighboring room has a fireplace, and a mantel, and a sword hanging tantalizingly above it. You can reach it now, if you apply your tiptoes, but not then. (And if Aunt Ruby ever caught you moving the furniture, let alone handling something so dangerous, you'd be without breakfast for weeks.)
The Sword is not on your hip, even if it should be, even as you reach for it. It is back above the mantel. You don't like the thought of getting it down again— you don't deserve it. But Lottie's right about the footsteps. You wouldn't mind getting crowbarred by a would-be thief, but she doesn't deserve to die. She hasn't done anything evil yet. Having a weapon could protect her, and maybe you could ironically fall upon it later.
You might as well be carrying a bone, Lottie looks so much like a puppy: all big eyes and trembling anticipation. As you head toward the mantel and reach up, you're surprised she doesn't whimper. You were never allowed pets: your Aunt Ruby would say something about "mouths to feed" and shut down all conversation. As you grasp upon The Sword's hilt and feel a squeeze and glance down to find you're being hugged— again— you're starting to grasp what it might've been like.
"Propriety!" you say automatically, and brush her off you. "Also, I— I'm holding a sword! It's not safe!"
"You're not going to drop it. Since you're so good at it? Right?"
She so desperately wants you to say 'yes.' And the answer isn't 'no.' You're sure you're no master, but you've been trained, somewhere. At some point. You still can't remember. "Um... no matter what, you shouldn't..."
"Can I see it?"
"Only if you're careful." You're holding it above you still. "You're not going to grab it, right? I can't—"
"Who are you?" She folds her arms. "Aunt Ruby? I'm not dumb."
You're not sure about that, but lower the sword reluctantly. Lottie's face drops at the same time yours does: The Sword is dust-covered and, worse, rust-covered. It's pitted with holes. It looks about as sharp as that prowler's probable crowbar.
(1/2) 
The deck is silent, despite all the ranking officers—your fellow battle brothers—circled around the holo projector. It depicts the planet that the void ship, Gigante, is closing in on. You can see the speck of it outside the observation deck, above the heads of the serfs navigating the ship. The planet in question was named Serena, a pleasure world, out here on the Periphery. On the wrong side of the Great Rift, on the wrong side of the Eye of Terror.
“We will conduct the Red Tithe here,” the Reaper Prime, captain of the entire company, spoke through an open air vox caster. There was simply no other way for him to communicate, for he was a dreadnought. A massive hulk of armor, a white center flanked by obsidian arms, covered in exile markings, plumes of predators’ teeth around the visor. Armed with melta, bolters and chain-bladed claws, Reaper Nikora has served the Fourth Company of the Carcharodons Astra for centuries. Still of sound mind, his body was torn to shreds by drukhari decades ago.
The Red Tithe meant taking their due. Even on a pleasure planet, there were candidates for new Astartes, new chapter serfs. You recall a tropical world you once called home. A peaceful life among islands, surrounded by blue seas and sky. ‘Even from frail material such as you can come our future,’ the apothecary Whetu had said to you before implanting the gene-seed into your body.
“We couldn’t have chosen a better time,” Nikora said again, his robotic hand making a small gesture. The serf at the holo projector zoomed in on the image. The human population was mustering a defense. It felt strange to think of them as such. They were not men of the Imperium. This subsector had seceded and became the Severan Dominate. Rebels against the Void Father. This Tithe was more targeted than ones in the past, you knew it.
You truly were a shark circling around prey in desperate straits. The projector showed the xenos invaders…
>Vote for one
>Orks
>Tau
>Drukhari
>Aeldari
>Necrons
>Tyranids Sing, goddess, of thirsty Argos, and of the glory of Hippomedon Aristomachides - sing of the folly of Adrastus, of the savagery of Tydeus and of Oedipal transgressions! Sing, O Muse, of Zeus’ designs, which even now come to fulfillment… 
Your grandfather was a king, your mother a queen. But no one expects much from you. Your grandfather, the Mad King, with his even madder queen, brought his kingdom to such an intolerable state that his own peasants stormed his castle (with the aid of some enterprising foreign barons) and set his head on a pike. With his queen they did you know not what. No one speaks of it. The historians and archivists did not deem it fit to record that particular atrocity in their scrolls, though they gleefully recorded the despoiling of the Mad King's heir, your mother, by the leader of the rebellion, Walter Stonecutter, a peasant, a soldier, a king by marriage, and your father.
Your mother was slain two nights ago by the errant arrow (or perhaps not so errant) of a coalition of rebellious barons. They who once trembled beneath the gaze of your demented grandfather (your bloodthirsty, short-tempered grandmother they avoided altogether) besieged your castle, broke it, and fearing the reprisal of foreign kings and civil war, did not go any further.
And so, as the eldest son of five siblings, at the ripe old age of 14, with your parents slain by the same men who lie at your feet, swearing eternal fealty, you have inherited the throne.
Already, they refer to your mother with the sobriquet of the Unfortunate. Only time will tell what they will call you.
As for your character:
>You have very high standards, expecting perfection from yourself as much as you do from others
>You seem to inherited your grandmother's looks, particularly her ice-blue eyes. You've been given a wide berth for this, leading to a lonely life
>You were the king in your own mind even before you were crowned. You will not let what happened to your parents and grandparents happen to you. And that will require a firm hand. 
Last time, you tied up the final ribbon to the Prison Break mission, reunited people, talked to friends and allies, and left on a high note to rest at home with your bestie by your side. From that, one thing led to another and you find yourself with your friend visiting your favorite neighbor to relax with. As you were helping them get to know each other, an interesting undisclosed topic was brought up that changed the shape of the conversation. One, you weren’t aware hadn’t been discussed yet!
You mentioned that Ajna will be a vibrant trumpeter!
“Crossbill, you know this amazing girl over here is going to become an idol?” You place your hands on Ajna’s shoulders. “She’s part of the agency I’m building and all!”
“…!!!” Ajna looks surprised to be thrown into the spotlight.
“That sounds swell!” Crossbill is more optimistic than you give her credit for. “Why the hell do you have an idol agency…?”
“Woah, Ajna is going to do WHAT?!” Craig is flabbergasted.
“Play the trumpet.” You pantomime it.
“Ooh! I can tell. I bet she’s good.” Crossbill points at the trumpet decoration on Ajna’s blanket.
“Focus on the idol stuff, kid. You’re not pulling my hair, right?” Craig continues being dumbfounded.
“You gotta be careful, he doesn’t have much left.” Crossbill jokes around. Yeah, Craig is balding just as badly as Jesse… “Let’s step back, is this a social media thing that might get serious in the near future or what?”
“Oh, right. Kids get carried away like that...” Craig doesn’t know why he took it so seriously. “Sorry for losing my head there. I overreacted a lil’ bit.” The man scratches the back of his head.
“Doesn’t mean they can’t get a gig to perform somewhere though.” Crossbill is a shit stirrer.
Ajna doesn’t know how to react. As far as you know, her mother didn’t appreciate any of the hobbies she partook in. Maybe she needs some confidence to tell Craig herself, you know the guy, he’s going to be supportive. Or you should protect your talent and explain everything yourself, no need to stress her more than needed.
Either way, the decision is in your hands… Ajna is too busy increasing her vibrations…
What do you do?
>Encourage Ajna to explain it herself.
>Explain everything about the agency to quell Craig’s worries and Crossbill’s curiosity.
>Be vague about it, let Craig know that Ajna is part of a band, and once she feels comfortable sharing, she’s going to. For now, apologize to Ajna for bringing this up.
>Let the music do the talking! Hand the trumpet to Ajna! It’s the only explanation needed.
>Write In. 
The Steelwood.
It’s name might sound like some ‘exotic dancer’ in a Hawksong Red Lantern girl-bar, but it’s not. Rather, it’s a realm on the eastern edge of Hawksong’s political sphere, characterized by a longstanding conflict between mongrel tribes of Man, Elf, and Orc, which have bled into genealogically each other even as they bleed each other on the battlefield, shedding weapons and armour in woodland skirmishes for so long that the rusted remnants have given the place its name. Though it exists now in a fragile state of stalemate and ceasefire, two adventuring parties have entered the area on a mission related to a ore ancient empire than the current clashing clans: that of the dwarves, or Dwerrow, whose ancient ‘megastructure’ lies abandoned, hidden among the hills.
The Delvers a band of little folk employed by the dwarven corporation ‘Treasuretrove Incorporated’, have in their turn taken on the services of the so-called Monstrous Regiment, a newly-founded enterprise helmed by Zena Youngtree and her companion, Cara—really, a pair of strange soul-sisters named Zith-Zi[/ed] and Cara-Zi, once a single succubus-tainted goblin-girl, and now an odd couple if ever there was one. Harkening back to their outcast origins, they allied themselves with the Steelwood’s orcish denizens, a bandit-band of murdering, misogynist marauders who nevertheless provide the most reliable (well, manipulable) muscle around, and ask the fewest questions.
(Unfortunately, one of those questions was “what’s in it for us?”, and Zith-Zi had been forced to answer “a powerful magical weapon that can dominate or destroy your enemies,” but there’s always time for a double-cross if it comes down to it…)
Insincerity aside, the local orcs lent the aid of two of the chieftain’s half-human heirs, a potion-producing ziran witch, and a teenage simpleton with a penchant for whittling wood into savage spears. Added to the crew of Delver dweebs and the Zi’s crew of goblins (and goat-girl), it made for a fairly well-balanced assembly of adventurers. It was, at the very least, sufficient to slay or scare off the sword-stepping spider-freaks which assaulting their camp in the dead of night…
Freaks which, it turns out, are some strange breed of fucked-up fairy, the mutated brood of a creature call an ‘Ettercap’. 
The man known as Marik shook his head, eyes blinking.
“We have a confirmed nuclear detonation on force Center.”
“I can see it, Nero.”
The visual feeds had corrected for the flash, filtering and darkening it so that he could look upon the growing cloud.
His second was already pushing the command mech back to its feet, standing it again as an elite pilot does.
Not in the first wave, only an idiot leads directly from the front, but his position in the third wave, the reserves, was carefully planned for.
He could bring them where they were needed most, to drive forwards wherever the push had faltered or where a weakness had been sighted.
Or more realistically, wherever the hell his best guess was, if everyone was operating in the dark.
Though that darkness had just lifted with an enormous flash.
He had watched Kinston’s superheavy stagger beneath concentrated firepower right before the Plaza of Heroes, before returning fire and charging into smoke. His attention had wavered after then, but add to that the proximity of the Senate building, tantalizingly close, and the bastards in power proved again that there was no line they wouldn’t cross in order to try and crush his rebellion.
The Old Man deserved the Imperial Cross for his sacrifice, he mentally noted. And a promotion. Posthumously, of course. No one objects to a dead man being promoted above them.
But it was a good thing he had withdrawn the remainder of Crimson lance before that final push. A smart commander took care of his loyal pieces, and there weren't many queens left to use.
“I’m not getting any traces of jamming. Just residual interference from the blast. Are we still pressing forwards, sir?”
His second asked from the piloting seat.
“Forwards. We make the most of this. They’re not going to expect a fresh force attacking through their own blast wave, after all.”
Turning back would be admitting defeat, and certain death. No matter the losses, he had to win here. 
When the Reapers arrived, entire nations were caught in denial, unwilling to accept possibility of a catastrophe of galactic proportions, even in defiance of factual evidence, as sparse as it may have admittedly been, and testimony of agents of varying integrity. Ironically enough, both those forewarned and those who refused to be had paid dearly together for their negligence. A cynical mind would accept such state of affairs with little surprise, and a clear prediction of what would come next.
In this event, the cynical mind would have been wrong. After a downright miraculous concert of unity and cooperation, albeit not without discordant tunes played by Cerberus or those who foolishly thought they could parley with an enemy interested in nothing besides carrying out their grim harvest, the galactic community did in fact hang together, in an effort spanning not only the known galaxy, but also eons of history by building upon legacy of countless precursors, in order to rescue their present and secure a future.
When this effort had borne fruit of victory, many of the cynical minds among those still around were perplexed and confused. Some had even, in ways of introspection, admitted to having been wrong.
However, as the cheers of victory slowly gave way to the reality of the vista of future laid out ahead, the bitter scent of nihilism began to worm its way back into the landscape.
Some embraced it more fully than others.
You are Eve, sometimes going by Eve Ferrum, an alliance infiltrator unit and an unchained AI, distant fork of a secret project of the Systems Alliance that made its way to Cerberus and then Alliance again, to be ultimately deployed in a semi autonomous mode in the galaxy's darkest hour after an elder cousin, if you could use that term, had showed her worth in service to Shepard's crew, and ultimately liberated when you personally demonstrated your dedication to the cause aligned with a friend and companion of yours, Henri Ford, the currently freelancing Xenoarchaeologist.
And through paths that would not be out of place in trashy paperback novels of yore, which lead designer of your particular branch had enjoyed alongside classics of vintage science fiction, you had found yourself in position of an infiltrator again, delving into lair of a renowned war hero with political ambitions and a proverbial ossuary on a dedicated mainframe. 
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 
You’re ANTON PEAS: a Grill Jockey at GREASE MONKEY: THE DEEP-FRIED EVERYTHING FAMILY RESTAURANT! Well, you were, anyways. Thanks to a demonic ritual gone wrong, you were whisked away to ZORAL: a fantasy realm shrouded in perpetual darkness–the surprise trip leaving you with a plate full of troubles and a head full of holes!
You’ve only got one lead for making it back home, and it’s a pricey one: for 20,000 BELLS, VOLKIR: potionseller, retired wizard, and adoptive father of your new pal VOLKA will help you out, but as they say in your home dimension, ‘pimpin’ ain’t easy’!
Ruthless Gangsters! Ferocious Monsters! A City Spiraling into Anarchy! Toxic Brothels! These are just a few pitfalls you dodged so far in your quest for ‘Fat Stackz’, but all of them are dwarfed by your most pressing concern: the revelation that your recently-acquired MAGICAL POWERS were indeed provided by a DEVIL!
His terms are clear as crystal: once you’re dead, you belong to RED... but surely someone in town can help you out, right? That line of thinking brought you and your chums VOLKA: LAMPLIGHTERS GRAND MARSHALL and TZAH-TZIE: RENOWNED BARD, APPARENTLY, to the doorstep of OTI: THE MAGE AND UNTIL RECENTLY A TRAFFICKER! You wouldn’t exactly call him a friend, but your list of people who know a thing or two about demons is woefully small… and you get the feeling you’ve got a long night ahead of you!
Guided by the brisk evening wind towards a creaky old fireworks shop, THIS is where your tale continues…
https://youtu.be/1lR8VLt1Xlk 
Inhale. Exhale.
You stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror. It's smudged, spattered with god knows what but you still recognize yourself despite all the blood.
Kyle Mercer. 25 years on your way to Hell. Naked, splattered with someone else's blood. Again.
You're trembling, a mixture of nerves and adrenaline. Why? You're sure you're going to find out whether you want to or not. You had been planning on making changes in your life and maybe others. That's why you were going home, right?
You stare into your own pale eyes and see…well, not much. Vitreous orbs, your fleshy windows to the world. You look down at your chest and see your tattoo, directly over your heart. You got it years ago and it meant the world to you but you can't remember when or why.
It was an Ouroboros, black on pale flesh but now streaked with red. You wet your hand in the sink and wash the blood away delicately. The cold water makes you break out in goosebumps. You see the blood on your body is dried. How long have you been standing here? Whose blood do you have on you this time?
You shake your head trying to clear it. "Fuck!" You didn't bother wondering why you couldn't remember anything. It was a consequence of what happened to you when you were younger. The same reason your arms were dotted with circular scars from cigarette burns and small, hard crosses carved into you years ago. It was the same reason the skin across the left side of your face, running down your neck to your shoulder and peck, was shiny and taut. A cruel burn that left those parts of you without feeling. Your long hair only partially conceals the scar tissue.
"You can't desecrate the temple," she'd said. "Only decorate it."
You inhale again, body trembling, and exhale. It's time for a change. You pick up the pill bottle from the sink, uncap it and dump the pills into the toilet. They rattle in with satisfying, porcelain clinks and plops. When you flush you watch a red-blue kaleidoscope of pharmaceuticals tumble to watery oblivion.
You didn't need those anyway. They only slowed you down. Confused you. You look back at yourself in the mirror. You lick your teeth, and taste iron. You feel better already. In fact, you feel Brand New.
What's changed?
>What doesn't kill you
Wounds that incapacitate others don't stop you
>Whispers in the wind
You can catch glimpses into people's thoughts.
>Right behind you
You have a knack for showing up in places you shouldn't be able to get to
All that you have left is whatever is still in your hotel room and of course what's on the bathroom sink in front of you.
>$20
>A .22 pistol
>20 tabs of ecstasy 
About half a year ago, the world changed forever.
Individuals worldwide began manifesting the qualities of various figures- gods, spirits, heroes, beasts, and monsters- from Greek mythos. The system that caused and continues to facilitate this phenomenon is shrouded in mystery, both in how it functions and why it began its activities when it did.
The protagonist of this tale is the incarnation of Atë, a minor goddess in the grand scheme of Greek mythology, who causes and presides over folly and ruin. She, formerly a miserable but ultimately normal office worker, has since accepted her role as the embodiment of her . She, along with her partner in crime, the incarnation of Pheme, titan of rumors and gossip, have been working to expand their influence and stack the deck in their favor against not only mortals, but also rival incarnations. In her own eyes, she is no longer human. Her ultimate goal- the elimination of all rival incarnations and, eventually, ascension to true godhood.
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 divinity, 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.
Her only remaining hope are the records of the so-called Devil, a legendary sorcerer who supposedly attained something like godhood. Unfortunately, the only known archive of these forbidden texts is the Royal Vault of Malgha, one of the nations in this foreign plane and a fantastical parody of earth and its cultures. Fortunately, the human-esque nature of the residents allows Atë to return to her old tricks, lying and manipulating her way home. 
Since it doesn't look like that there will be another LBCF post for me to participate in, I've collected the questions from last week's anchor post, and answers thereto, into https://www.emlia.org/pmwiki/pub/web/LeftBeyond.FAQ.html
I'm not very functional, and I am pretty sure that I missed some of the questions in the anchor post, so I had to use AI to suffice for some of the questions and answers. The answers are 100% my own but I used ChatGPT to make them grammatically coherent. I have also done this for this post.
If you liked "Left Beyond" and if it has made a difference in your life; if you cared at all about my work or my being; thank you, thank you, thank you from the bottom of my heart.
I'm now in Italy because I wanted to see a few things and be somewhere safe, and hug my family. So I will not be walking into the ocean for the King of Rust's coronation after all. I suppose if such a counter-historical event comes to pass, instead I will be walking into the lake. In my hometown there is a horrible mausoleum of a WW1 general, one of those who would throw men at machine-gun nests, facing a beautiful lake. It was a little tradition to go egg it in high school when people studied WW1. I think it stopped a few years after I graduated, but I am going to go egg it anyway.
Deus nolens exitus.
This may be the great filter. I hope we as a species and a collection of cultures make it through it.
https://www.emlia.org/pmwiki/pub/web/LeftBeyond.TalesFromTheBeyond.html
Thank you to everyone who was there. 
History casts a long shadow.
You’ve lived in that shadow for your whole life, tarnished by your father’s sins and misdeeds. But he lived in a shadow of his own, as had his father before him. Your entire family has carried the same burden, your blood poisoned by the taint of ancient decadence and illicit affairs. Rot, as Elle’s prophecy claimed, spreads from the tree’s roots. Not for the first time, you wonder how your father felt about it. Did he turn and flee from his tainted lineage, or did he embrace it? And what of you, what will you do?
Outside your bedroom window, the dense forest waits like a symbol of everything within your heart – one of the crude metaphors that your father used in the dreary poetry of his youth. Dark and dense though it may be, you finally know the path that leads to its heart. You know what awaits you within, a secret entrance to the Demesne and your lost sister. Yet, faced with this reunion, with the other half of your soul, you’ve hesitated.
What are you afraid of?
The forest is not empty, not without life. You know this now. You’ve seen the strange creature living within it, yet you feel no fear. Even knowing how the creature was able to lift Daniel aloft and throw him about like a doll, you know that it means you no harm.
The same cannot be said for anyone else, however. Another night, another job. The White Moon? Hitting a hospital downtown to draw attention to their cause is exactly the kind of thing of they'd do, and this makes the whole thing seem like one of their political setpieces rather than a corporate hit on anyone. But we know better - right now, witnesses we need are in danger, swept up in the grandstanding statements of armed paramilitants and gangers gone gun-mad. So your job, Agent, is straightforward in its excess difficulty: simply get in, get to the people in danger, and get them out. 2:03 PM, 1/12/2030
The siren rings. You and your crew run to the entrance. 3 people have barged in. You pull out your gun, and so does your crew.
What do you do?
>Shoot
>Ceasefire
>Switch to knife 
You are Angus the Archmage.
In your youth, you used to research spells that enlarged creature's anuses.
Then you got okay with your sexuality, that you are actually a voyeur who enjoys watching large insertions.
You filled an entire level of your tower with just people that love stuffing their butts with large stuff, and helped then further with magic so they can stuff even larger things up their butt.
But that was youth folly. You're now after True Power. Ancient interdimensional artifacts.
Which artifact are you going to go after next?
> The Ring of Infinite Pucker
A golden ring that glows faintly with a cosmic energy. When worn, it slowly expands the wearer’s, uh, "dimensions" to fit into interdimensional portals more easily. Overuse may cause some discomfort but provides a +2 bonus to Charisma when dealing with extraplanar beings who appreciate flexibility.
> The Cloak of Void Passage
This shimmering, ethereal cloak adjusts the wearer’s anatomy to allow them to pass through narrow planar rifts. While wearing the cloak, the user gains the Gaseous Form spell once per long rest. However, the cloak is known to cause an inexplicable “stretchy” feeling.
> Orb of the Expanding Horizon
An orb with a swirling, ever-changing interior resembling a black hole. When activated, it warps the body to accommodate space travel. This artifact is a favorite among planar merchants but is known to make its users unnervingly relaxed.
> The Chalice of Cosmic Expansion
An ancient chalice that holds an ever-replenishing elixir. Drinking from it enhances the drinker’s adaptability to otherworldly energies but leaves them prone to temporary Dimension Dysphoria, manifesting as an overly enlarged posterior.
> Scepter of the Wide Maw
A silver scepter engraved with the image of a screaming void. It allows its wielder to stretch any orifice (including their own) to absurd proportions to store or consume interdimensional items. Roll a Constitution save to avoid long-term... "effects."
> The Seat of Eternal Comfort
An unassuming, ancient stone chair rumored to belong to a planar traveler. Sitting upon it grants enhanced endurance for planar journeys, but overuse leaves the sitter with a lingering feeling of openness.
> Portal Key of the Widened Gate
A key carved from the bone of an unknown creature. When held, it reshapes the user's body to allow passage through impossibly narrow gaps. Overuse makes the effect permanent.
> The Belt of Elastic Resilience
This leather belt adjusts its size perfectly to fit any creature. When worn, it grants resistance to crushing damage and magical adjustments to the user’s anatomy for better adaptability during planar travel.
> The Tome of Infinite Openings
A mystical book filled with ever-changing glyphs. Reading it grants knowledge of interdimensional travel and the unique ability to create small, temporary portals—often starting in the user’s own body.
> Write in You find yourself in front of a mirror. You can’t seem to see anything else. You don’t even feel anything.
You wonder around a space of a black void. But every time you lose your train of thought, you appear back at the mirror. When you look back at the mirror, it slowly starts to crack.
The mirror’s reflection shows only a Red Cross. Nothing else is reflected.
Who are you?
Gender?
>female
>Male
>none
Appearance?
>feminine
>masculine I'm tired of uncertainty, is anyone still here? 
The world lived in a magocracy for as long as anyone can remember, the upper classes being those who have mastered the arcane arts and the rest of society being the peons who would do their dirty work. Every settlement had a powerful wizard who was the lord protector over the people there, with life and death authority. Many of those wizards used their prerogatives to do horrifying experimentations with the people.
One day, some kind of disruption in the flow of mana cut off the wizards from their powers. The people rebelled and started to murder their wizard masters.
What every wizard learns from basic arcane theory is that the energy that power magic has to come from somewhere. Most wizards drain the metaphysical plane of demons, just "below" our own world. This causes destruction in large scale and chaos to unfold there, but the wizards don't care - it is just a bunch of demons. But this simply ceased to work on that fatidic day, and most wizards were unable to adapt quick enough.
Many have heard some rumors that some wizards managed to retain part of their powers by using alternative sources of mana.
You're one such wizard, and your powers come from the forbidden art of:
> Soul drain. The soul of a being is located in their head, so if you capture and shrink heads you can use people's heads as material component for spells. Works with monsters and animals, but they tend to have far less mana than humans. The head of a wizard and some magical creatures causes far more powerful effects to occur.
> Blood magic. Blood contains a little bit of magic. By spilling copious amounts of blood - yours or someone else's - you manage to cast the simplest of spells. More complex or powerful spells require large amounts of sacrifices, preferably in rituals, so that you can muster all the power.
> Mana powder. By turning anything with magical powers into a fine powder and snorting it, you can use magic for a very short time. Grinded dry brains, dry blood, broken magical items, mana crystals, demon horn - anything with magic can be snorted and turned into magical power.
> Write in The porcelain hordes are pushing from the north, east and south while the ever dwindling numbers of defenders, still loyal to the four, die, one by one, to stem the unending tide.
Last thread:
>>6140211 
In the grim darkness of the far future, there is only war.
——————
You are a crew member of the Claymore Class corvette, the Emperor’s Glory, one of the thousands of unsung workers on the mile long ship.
The Glory was part of the fleet of sector Zeta-Zeta, one of the many sectors on the wrong side of the Great Rift, and among those who was left with no choice but to try to flee the doomed sector.
The fleet was supposed to try to go through a thin part of the rift- but as many things had in this dark era, it gone terribly wrong. The storm scattered the fleet. Sensors and auspex failed, riots broke out as half the ship gone mad, you survive the week of hell.
We just dropped out of warp. From what you heard is that the Vox is down and that the Astropath is unable to reach anyone.
May the Emperor save us.
——————
You are a
>>Man
>>Woman
Your name is;
>>write in name
You are a;
>>Void worker
>>Tech-Priest
>>Auspex officer
>>Armsmen
>>Ship scribe.
>> =][=
>>Commissar
——————
>be prepared to boldly go where no man had gone before You're a young huntress! All the good men are gone in the baron's war. You must provide for the village.
You have a short bow, a dagger and the knowledge of how to use them.
Now go out there and catch some game!
Choose your name. 
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.
Your journey took you to Ithaca, a research camp situated in the midst of a magical sandstorm that barred intruders. Shortly after your arrival, the camp came under attack by a clan of desert assassins. They kidnapped one of your companions, Alvin, and took over The Keep, a fortress where Ithaca’s researchers performed their most dangerous experiments. You and your companions stormed the stronghold, facing enemies that included not just the assassins, but also monsters, ancient spirits, and even a skeletal clone of yourself.
Having rescued Alvin, you learned that he was the target of the assassins, who were seeking an object in his possession that would open the way to Tartarus, a great tomb that had been sealed away for thousands of years. With two more destinations to go before you reached Morfis, it was likely that you would face additional threats to your safety.
But this was a prospect that excited you greatly.
>Tristain d’Rusalka
>Level 26/50 Lord (EXP: 60/100)
HP: 54/54 (120%)
Strength: 28 (65%)
Magic: 18 (40%)
Speed: 17 (30%)
Defense: 20 (60%)
Resistance: 15 (40%)
Luck: 14 (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)
Combat Art: Throw: (Toss your weapon at an enemy and return it to your hand. Ranged attack.) (1 Crest of Indech Charge)
>Items: Concoction x2 (+20 HP)
>Gold: 1000g
>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 
Archive:
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=Tuffle%20Quest
>You are Son Peppa, Son Gohan, and Izumi Mahogany, children of Earth’s heroes, Maple, Goku, Acer, and Chi-chi
>“Canon” has taken a radical shift from the series’ norm, you’re just one part of it, and things could go even further off the rails from here
>Mechanics and character details in the pastebins here:
Peppa: https://pastebin.com/zKv0PE9j
Gohan: https://pastebin.com/BgLug38n
Izumi: https://pastebin.com/wiKgqAi5
>Let’s all try to have some fun, ok?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sj5PGIqnaFs
Last time, on Dragon Ball Tuffle Quest Kai! Peppa finished up her Spirit Control training with Pybara and went to a Winter formal with Cocoa, while Izzy managed to finish the spell prep to rescue one of the displaced heroes! With the Time Patrol’s assistance, three teams were set up to rescue Chiaotzu, Shin, and Tien, with Izzy, Gohan, and Peppa joining the respective teams for each. Izzy, 19, 16, Chuu Lee, Raditz, Sala, and Hado all join up to rescue Chiaotzu, finding him him displaced all the way to a universe ruled and managed by powerful planetary Kami in elevated positions calling themselves “Archons” and opposed by the powerful warrior Hearts, who had been training Chiaotzu since finding him!
Teaming up with Hearts and defeating one of them while subduing and even convincing another, Zelos, to ease from his tyrannical path and join the fight against the others. Finally, in planning a move against the leader of the Archons, Yalbadoth, the group recruits the deceased son of the man, Ryuuno, in an effort to bolster their forces against him! However, Izzy caught on to something not being right with Hado, finding a being called the Promethean Chronicler taking up residence in his mind… and ready to offer him a deal. Will Izzy and co. manage to defeat Yalbadoth and bring Chiaotzu back home? What of Gohan and Peppa’s teams? Good luck, Izzy! Good luck, Gohan! Good luck, Peppa! 
You were a black dragon, a terror that haunted the dreams of mortals, your presence alone enough to drive entire regions to despair. In other words, you did as a dragon does; you showed the weak why they ought to fear the powerful. And you took pride in it. Is it not a noble pursuit to teach those lesser understanding of the world?
As a tuition fee you collected all things beautiful. Not only gold and gemstones, but also fine works of craftsmanship, be they arcane or mundane. And, of course, beautiful women, and the occasional men too. Although the fleetingness of youthful beauty made you indulge. After all, they weren't objects to keep forever.
Of all things, it was that last fact that angered an elven goddess. You had always been under the impression that gods won't interfere with mortal affairs, and yet her avatar came to personally curse you.
You were transformed into a weak human, a woman. Impeccable smooth and soft skin, shoulder long and equally smooth black hair, supple mounds on the chest, and just enough fatty tissue on the arms and legs to show generous nourishment the likes of which only aristocracy or clergy can enjoy among humans. And, while you haven't been able to see your face yet, you know without a doubt that the elven goddess has chosen your appearance to mock you. A beauty that you would go out of your way to collect for your hoard.
That beauty is now adorned with leaves and twigs in her hair and scratches on her skin from traversing the forests undergrowth naked. You still think of this body as not yours, despite all the physical sensations to contradict it. The weakness, the cold, the pain. All sensations that you haven't felt in decades. You want your body back, and you want revenge on that goddess. You don't know how to do that. Informing the dragon god would be a big step, but right now you need to survive. It was a dark and stormy night, not that you knew or cared about the weather. You were too busy having been reborn from your past life as a
[ ] teenage McDonalds worker
[ ] mid-twenties office peon
[ ] middle-aged Hollywood star
[ ] retired garbage collector
[ ] write in
And now, here you were - a wrinkly newborn, born into what you would come to know as a peasant family straight out of a fantasy world. Expect, if you were living a fantasy, you wouldn't be placing yourself in it as a peasant.
Oh, well.
Where does your family live, anyway?
[ ] On a farm in the middle of nowhere.
[ ] In a village not all that distant from a city.
[ ] In the city slums.
[ ] write in 
It is the autumn of the year 1254, Anno Curia, with winter approaching ever so slowly from the frigid north upon the normally so pleasant valleys that you have nestled your armies in. There thankfully won't be much snow like there is back home. Nor will it be so cold as in Greifswald, but nevertheless you want to be prepared for the inevitable.
Yet there are dark clouds already gathered over the Mithradian Archipelago; the infidel has been put on the back foot. But now it is the crusaders themselves who threaten to jeopardise the war effort, and Mithradianans themselves have proven no aid either. That one of them has declared himself king is perhaps the worst thing that could have happened at that moment, but it would seem that ambition has won out over nobility in the hearts of man.
For now, you can only watch the developments down south with caution. Montpelerin has carved out for himself a very rich realm, and he will entrench himself in it with every day that passes. Your hopes are now focused upon the other three 'big' leaders of the crusade, Marlwick, Castelanne, and Westernesse, and the unaligned knightly orders. There are a lot of players in this game, you have found, and a lot of them are completely untrustworthy.
Yet that is not all that you are concerned with, nor is it the biggest problem ever. If you can manage to build a coalition of northern crusaders, you could force Montpelerin to come to terms; aside from that, you could also stand stronger against the imperial government, the Doge of Alotoro, and the infidels themselves. Though with the campaigning season behind you, it will have to wait until next year.
Now, you are combing through the bowels of a palace built upon the ruins of an ancient fortress, searching for any clues that may help you achieve your goals. The forge that you found there could serve as the main supplier of arms for the campaign of next year. And indeed, it is a grand thing; the furnaces stand empty, their mouths cold and deprived of their molten metal. The anvils and their tools stand rusted and decayed. Whatever was left of the products stored in the storerooms had also rusted. Getting this place running again might require you to invest some significant resources, both material and human, into this place. But there is an anvil unlike the other. Not black and metallic, but marble, with golden engravings. It emits a faint golden glow with a soft metal hum. It is broad, heavy, and pristine, untouched by time and neglect. A hexagonal hole in the middle, or perhaps it's better to call it a slot or a keyhole.
Obviously something belongs there, but when you came down here the first time, you couldn't find the damn thing; you discussed it with the Vilicus, a being who fills the same station as the seneschal back home. Nevertheless, after consulting him and looking around for any place such a thing might be stored, you, like many before and after you, spend a few hours in silent suffering searching for the key 
You are Nicole Smith. You are a SHIFTer, a person capable of using anomalous abilities to alter the world around you. You are a Cleaner, a deniable asset used by massive mega-corporations called the Alphabet Companies and anyone else willing to pay you.
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 taking place in the City, a massive megacomplex spanning across hundreds of thousands to hundreds of millions of square miles. Being a Cleaner is one of the most efficient ways to make money in this continental sized megacomplex if you know what you're doing.
You get the drill.
As for how that job is going? Not half bad!
You teamed up with a group of revolutionaries down at an abandoned underground facility and dealt with a handful of anomalies down there. In the process of working with them, you brought a soviet soldier from WW2 back into the future through anomalous time travel means.
You proceeded to head to a rave to unwind, got a new body for a body possessing ally to control and started to prepare for your next mission. This was hampered a bit by your apartment complex and the surrounding block turning into rubble thanks to the Spooks trying to mess with G-Corp.
You carried on regardless and started your latest mission: Checking up on your Handler's extended family to see how they're holding up. You have to travel all across the City to do so but the first stop at Q-Corp was quick and easy. You had to kill a sniper and deal with an android trying to defame you but you easily secured the first Foxtrot. That's when you moved to D-Corp for the second one.
D-Corp has been hell. Your allies have been slowly losing more and more of their sanity as you travel the district. You entered up at a spore infested facility in pursuit of the second Foxtrot. You dealt with a Spook there and entered a unsteady alliance with her before finding Seath Foxtrot.
It took setting the anomaly controlling him ablaze to snap him out of the anomalous trance he was in. He's with you now, though!
You're now busy dealing with a side quest about a missing dog that was kidnapped by a gang. You're on the way to the warehouse the gang is taking nest in order to rescue said dog. You can't wait to get out of D-Corp, man.
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: https://pastebin.com/A9nLYWP6
PARTY (Who's with you currently): https://pastebin.com/NeYKiyED
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 
The Church of the Sun uncovered an ancient secret about the world - the gods created a powerful ritual which when successfully performed can make a continent raise from the sea floor, but by doing so one or more existing continents might sink! Further research is needed, but it is possible that all major cataclysms in the past were caused by someone performing this ritual.
The ritual was uncovered by translating slabs from an ancient underwater Nagah temple recovered by an intrepid group of adventurers. According to these texts, the ritual can only be performed once per millenium at most. According to the sages calculations, the most recent ritual... was already performed a few years ago and no one noticed.
So there is a whole new continent somewhere in the Endless Ocean to be settled!
The Church of the Sun loses no time and finances an expedition to the unknown continent. Ten vessels, each with 200 crew, are sent to colonize the new land.
Many stormy months later, about half of the vessels crash land against the rocks of an unknown continent.
Sick, starving and cut off from the rest of the world, the new colonists must decide how they are going to live from now on!
But they must decide quickly - the land ahead is unforgiving, and all kinds of amphibious creatures are already beginning to claim it for themselves.
The people decide their new city will be called Naga. They get together and decide on a system of government.
> Feudal Monarchy. The traditional mode of government. Twice as much unrest can be quelled by garrisons. This means taxes can usually be higher.
> Trade Republic. No fancy nobles, all government roles are elective. Trade revenue is doubled, but corruption tends to be high as well.
> Tribal Confederacy. A loose alliance of clans. All tribe leaders meet in a council to organize mutual defense. Military units cost half to feed.
> Theocracy. A single powerful religious order controls the land. There is no unhappiness, but research progress is halved. 
The Third (don’t ask what happened to the second) Thread in Fatale Albion!
The First Thread:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6085308/
Other Threads by Lumina Canima:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=meguca+royale
INTRO (please do not skip this)
◕ Fatale Albion is a Spin-Off of Lumina Canima’s “Meguca Royale”, taking place in the U.K. Three players have already been selected in the first thread, one has quit and another took their place in the second. They each will answer to their own prompts with their own characters. This Quest will have major spoilers for PMMM, so if you haven’t watched it yet and don’t want me to ruin it for you, watch it right now or else. If you still want to read and participate in this quest then I’ll have something to show you.
◕ In the previous thread, the Witch was “Neutralised” and every civilian lost in the woods had been evacuated. Now the main concerns are whether Alba Appleton should follow up on Marisa’s invitation, and how Abigail is going to explain her deal with Claire. Along with Stephanie’s reaction to the “Soul Gem Talk”.
OTHER STUFF
>What happened to the second thread?
It fell off abruptly. Thankfully I keep a back-up of all relevant posts made. I’m also going to be posting the last active posts I made along with Abigail’s response.
>Can I also join in the suffering?
I’ve decided that I’m Not accepting new players because the pacing would become even worse than it already is. Apologies for anyone who got their hopes up. 
It is May 19th 0079, of the Universal Century, five days since your first two missions and the Federation's first victory against Zeon in the Australian front. Brigadier General Warren Keller organized scattered Federation forces into a formidable fighting force, launching an operation to retake a major port base in Brisbane to re-establish supply lines with the mainland Federation forces and build a solid foothold to reclaim Australia from the Spacenoid invaders.
Though Keller received credit for the victory, you are still widely recognized for the vital role you played in the Battle of Brisbane. For your pivotal contributions to the battle- successfully shooting down two Zakus, saving the lives of your squad mates, and convincing the Zeon base commander to surrender peacefully to prevent further bloodshed in a massive battle, you earned two promotions and a few shiny medals that you don't quite know what to do with.
You are now Corporal Jag Rommel- squad leader of your own anti-Mobile Suit specialist unit, one of three squads that make up the 7th anti-MS platoon lead by your former squad mate Yunnus Wynn. It's something you're still trying to get used to, both in responsibility and the way others now treat you. For your nearly unbelievable contributions, you have started to become a bit of a folk hero to your fellow infantrymen. The pressure of their expectations bear down on you, adding to the weight of the lost souls you feel obligated to carry on your shoulders.
Not only that, corrupt officers are beginning to pester and harass you. Some covet the fame and achievements you've achieved, convinced that your glory is nothing but tall tales and stretched truths that you somehow got Keller to believe. After all, how could a fresh recruit achieve so much in so little time, in the profession with the highest mortality rate?
Whatever the case, it sickens you that even in such dire times, there are those that only think of themselves and what they can stand to gain amidst the horror and bloodshed, but you try to keep yourself centered and focus on your goals.
It is currently midday, and you are:
>Out for a walk, thinking about the last time you spoke with Will and Helena
>In the mess hall, listening to Gaspa entertain the other soldiers as he recounts the Battle of Brisbane
>Looking through personnel dossiers to choose who will join your new squad
>Other- write in? 
WELCOME TO THE AMERICAN FEVER DREAM.
Have you ever heard such an eye-catching phrase? The poster before you certainly draws the attention of anyone who notices it. It's endearing, even. Yet you are filled with regret every time you look at it --- the landmine loaded with high-explosive cynicism could blow up in your face if you let your gaze linger upon it for too long.
You walk backwards, plunk yourself down into your office chair, and let out a long exhale out of deep relief, having finished moving the last of the boxes to your new Office in District P. Your wandering eyes drift upwards, following your invisible breath as one would follow a rising trail of cigarette smoke. Sometimes, it's important to mindlessly contemplate the eroticism of ceiling tiles. And some other pleasant-sounding nonsense.
Anyway.
You suppose you should introduce yourself.
OFFICE CALM (Atrium Carceri, Cities Last Broadcast, God Body Disconnect - A Thousand Empty Rooms) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5jfU1HN2pSQ
You are JOHN SMITH or, to put it another way, MISTER ANONYMOUS. Your name is not terribly important these days.
But, in the gaze of others, the work that you do has earned you the moniker of a TROUBLESHOOTER. Someone who finds trouble, and shoots it.
You do not have problems, but you have solutions.
So your sought-after peace of mind is fleeting. There are clients to be heard, work to done, rent to be paid, and you hate the future for holding the power of expectations over you.
Let's get to work. You're Larry, the hill giant, just chilling in your hill when suddenly you feel an ominous sense of impending doom, as if the entire world is going to collapse and reality is about to end.
"I'm hungry," you say out loud.
You open your giant sack to see if you have any food left. Nope, no food—just a bunch of worthless silver you accidentally got when you ate a merchant.
Well, time to get some bacon. You grab your club and decide where you're going to get your next meal.
> Into the nearby farmland. You could steal a cow. It's pretty safe, but the farmers might get angry.
> Into the forest. You could club a bear, a boar, or a wolf to death and eat it, but you might get harmed.
> Ambush another caravan. With some luck, you can eat a horse, an ox, or a donkey, and put the merchant in your sack.
> Write in. 
Long ago, this continent flourished under the reign of an advanced magical civilization, one whose unparalleled mastery of arcane arts allowed them to command the very forces of the infernal. These sorcerers bound powerful demons to their will, using them as tireless servants and conduits for their magic, reshaping the world with an almost godlike touch.
Yet, their dominance was not eternal. The heavens shifted in a cataclysmic cosmic conjunction—a rare and chaotic alignment of celestial bodies that unleashed devastation upon the land. The intricate bindings that held the demons in servitude shattered like brittle glass, freeing these vengeful entities. With a fury born of centuries of bondage, the demons tore through their former masters and their grand cities, leaving only ruins and death in their wake. The continent, once a beacon of wonder, became a forsaken wasteland haunted by demonic predators.
In the vacuum left behind, other civilizations across the world began to thrive. No longer overshadowed by the oppressive might of the sorcerer-lords, they grew in strength, ingenuity, and independence. The title "Demon Lord," once signifying a mighty magician who ruled with legions of infernal minions, faded into myth.
Generations later, tales of the fallen land's treasures and mysteries lured colonists from a distant western realm. Driven by ambition, desperation, or the promise of glory, they boarded ships and braved the seas to claim these cursed lands as their own. However, they were not fools—they knew the dangers that lurked. Among their number traveled a single, resolute Demon Hunter, sworn to protect the settlers and face the infernal beasts that still prowled the shadows.
That Demon Hunter is you. But who are you, truly?
> Duelist: You are a master of agility and precision, wielding twin blades in a deadly dance. A small crossbow rests on your back, reserved for moments of dire necessity. Armor slows the nimble, so you wear little, relying instead on your speed and skill to outmaneuver both demon and man.
> Arbalest: A sharpshooter of unmatched precision, you carry a colossal crossbow capable of devastating power. Its dual firing modes allow you to strike with singular force or unleash a volley of smaller bolts in rapid succession. Close combat is not your strength, but a short sword at your side provides a last line of defense.
> Peace Priestess: Blessed by divine grace, you walk unharmed among the demonic hordes, shielded by the Goddess’s Pact. As long as you do no harm to any living creature, no demon may lay a hand upon you. You carry no weapons but hold a satchel of healing potions and the knowledge to brew more. Instead of battling demons, you barter with them, offering your own blood in exchange for their magical aid. Yet, mortals are bound by no such covenant, leaving you vulnerable to human threats.
> Write in >Previous Thread
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6136563/
Previously on Alola Quest, Amon G. Sus, trainer extraordinaire, and homeless boy gifted with a 60 day all expenses paid vacation, found himself in a mock Totem Battle against Totem Ribombee! It's Blissey Partner hit the field. Can your Croagunk defeat such an impossible foe?
Croagunk managed to make more of a glancing blow to Blissey but it still hurt. The two back off away from Croagunk and give Croagunk another opportunity to strike. If he's quick.
>Blissey 12/15 hp
>Ribombee 16/20 hp
>What next? >Six sisters peacefully coexist in a house- at least four hours a day, which is when everyone is sleeping.
>No parents. No passive income. Cake is for special days only. The cake is rice with a candle, but with actual salt.
-You are the youngest of the sisters, and also the smallest, by far on both accounts. You can't talk. You can't read or write. But you can, at least, throw silent tantrums.
And your goal is to hold it all together. 
The ISS Halcyon drifts silently through the vast emptiness of deep space, its engines emitting a low, steady hum as it approaches the source of a faint distress beacon. The signal crackles with distortion, warped by radiation and gravity fluctuations, but its origin is clear: the Ark Horizon. Once humanity's greatest triumph in interstellar colonization, the ark was a shining symbol of hope when it launched centuries ago. Now, it’s little more than a ghost ship, drifting perilously close to the event horizon of a black hole.
In the cramped command module of the Halcyon, tension hangs thick in the air. A flickering holographic display casts pale light across the room, illuminating the image of the Ark Horizon—a behemoth nearly a kilometer in length. Its once-pristine hull bears the scars of its decay: dark scorch marks streak its surface, and strange, pulsing organic growths cling to its structure like a disease. The crew exchanges uneasy glances, the weight of their mission settling in.
Commander Elise Kael stands at the center, her presence commanding even in the dim light. Her voice cuts through the silence, firm but not without a trace of unease. “Alright, team. You know the drill. We’re here to investigate the Ark Horizon, figure out what’s going on, and stabilize its course if we can. Our own fuel’s tight, so we need to move quickly. Priority one is restoring navigation.” She pauses, scanning the faces of her team. “And keep your eyes open—something about this doesn’t sit right.”
As if on cue, the airlock hisses open, drawing every gaze toward the newcomer stepping through. Clad in a sleek, state-of-the-art survival suit, the figure moves with quiet purpose. They’re an intelligence officer, recently arrived aboard the Halcyon in an FTL escape pod—a desperate journey that drained nearly all its antimatter reserves. Their sudden arrival and mysterious assignment had already stirred murmurs among the crew.
The officer halts just inside the room, their expression unreadable. In one hand, they hold a small, secure data module. “Commander Kael,” they say, their voice calm and measured, “I’ve been assigned to this mission. My orders are classified, but I need to reach the Ark Horizon’s mainframe and upload this data. That’s all I can tell you.”
Kael studies them for a long moment, her sharp gaze probing for cracks in their composure. Finally, she nods. “You’ll follow my lead once we’re on the Ark Horizon. No going rogue, no surprises. Understood?”
The officer inclines their head in agreement, offering nothing further. The rest of the crew looks on, uneasy but silent. No one speaks as the Halcyon drifts ever closer to the derelict ark, the faint pull of the black hole’s gravity beginning to make its presence known. Whatever secrets the Ark Horizon holds, they’re about to find out. Another night, another job, another chance to let off some steam. This place is all algae in vats and pounding music, neon-stained walls to strobing lightshows, the kind of place up and coming new money goes to mingle with crashing down and falling old money. That guy in the corner? He's violating his NDA, trading trade secrets for a drink - and those two? They don't even work here, they just like to wear the clothes to pretend, maybe overhear some gossip. But you're not here for all that. All the intrigue and slow pulse-pounding joy of the dance and the band can pass you by. You're here for a job. Somewhere in this mess of mingling movers and shakers is a journalist, a source she's hunting and a whole gaggle of goons who'd rather she didn't. Time to dance, Agent. At least you get a bar tap this time... Your name is Cheryl Elmore. You are a Peace Keeper of Panopolis, stationed on level 4, the monetary and human-resource capital of the city, and currently you do not know what to do.
Before you, a man is using his body to keep an older woman cornered. He mentioned some money she owes his “organization”, and then using his straight razor, pantomiming shaving motions on his face, saying what a shame it would be if he slipped and cut her face.
“It would be just like that- whoops! Whoops! Unless you got that money we talked about, maybe I'd be a bit more careful, capisce?”
Is he attacking her? Is this a threat? He isn't directly causing harm but... that poor woman! Your training did not cover this, didn't cover most of the stuff you're dealing with on level 4. Criminal families, extortion, and organized violence. It's nothing like punk culture on Level 5...
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2023/5826377/ 
Your name? Tiara Boobowski, Tiara the Manx, Princess Tiara, whatever, you were supposed to be Sonic's girlfriend but... Honestly you're not sure what happened with that, some dumb thing about "Your zone no longer existing" from some multi colored Sonic Wannabe. It was kind of annoying. You've mainly been slumming it here with your dad for as long as you can remember. It's nice enough, a lot of other people live here, there's some jerk Nack and his sister Nicolette always running around. A lot of folks who look like Sonic or act like Sonic but you know they aren't your Sonic. When you woke up today you didn't expect anything to be much different than normal.
"Good Morning Tiara." your father Gazebo remarks
"Hm." you nod in response, blankly staring out at the bustling city-space overlooking your home. You peer down.
There's a Vector walking hand in hand with a Vanilla, a version of Cream with them, you see an older Tails fly past a younger looking Sonic and... Wait a minute... who is that?
On the street below you see a hooded figure, not too uncommon a sight, any wanderer from any zone could be wearing a hood but something about the energy in this one was... off? If you didn't know any better... You'd think that there was a red glow around them.
"Tiara?" your father asks "Is something the matter?"
> Go down there and investigate guns blazing
> Go down there and investigate, being stealthy
> Leave it be, not your problem. 
With the absurdly long list of people you rescued from prison, you were bound to have some heartfelt reunions. Families were torn apart, romances were put on hold, and friendships were about to be lost to time. But not now, the bittersweetness of mending these bonds taste delicious! Yet, some are built better than others. The reunion of the Strangeloves has been long overdue before you even touched your first flame, and it was as touching as you wished it to be — you can’t imagine how Constance feels. And, well, Oliver and Jaylene, they are… well, not the most anticipated one… But that doesn’t mean it’s undeserving of a nice conclusion.
It isn’t as easy as it sounds. Long ago — after you touched your first flame — the despicable Jaylene invaded this very place (technically not this one, the old clinic) and tried to kidnap the sweet Constance. You had to give your word that Jaylene is Raccoon Tier threat level and friendly at that. One thing led to another, and now you’re learning about Odetta’s medical records through Kata, and in this very tale, a hidden truth has been revealed! The one Judge of enormous ears is related to the rest of the Larsens! Indeed, Esperanza is Jaylene’s aunt! You have no idea how she relates to Agent Spooky, but it might hold some significance!
It’s so obvious looking at her now… Jaylene’s ears are as huge as Esperanza’s! Even the nose is similar!
“We didn’t know Odetta’s name back then, but once we figured it out. My other cousin Heidi made the connection. I took care of Ms. Odetta Larsen here… And my uncle did the same with a poor girl named Esperanza Larsen… She’s your aunt, isn’t she?” Nurse Calamity retells with gusto.
“I-I had another aunt…?” Jaylene can barely keep her mouth shut from this revelation.
“Yeah, another one that you didn’t get to meet because of some freak accident. Great.” Odetta assumes something terrible happened to Esperanza. Which is kind of right!
“Tstststs… Johnny, did your mind get blown away from something else aside from our beauty?” Misty teases you. Seems like she’s spending a lot of time looking at you. “You appear to be a little… distracted.”
Maybe you should bring this up, maybe you should wait for later. Either way, you must say something…
What do you do?
>“I think this is the same Esperanza as the judge…” Reveal to the group. Everyone needs to be on the same page.
>“Sorry, I got distracted. I’ll bring it up later.” Apologize and continue listening to what Kata is saying. There are some spooky mysteries in there waiting to be revealed.
>“Hold on, I need to make sure of something…” Stylize Jaylene’s hair to match Esperanza’s pigtails to make sure 100% that they are related. Passing time with Ms. Cooldown taught you a thing or two.
>Write In. 
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 
The era you're in began thirty years ago, A wealthy businessman by the name of Johan Mezzer, Who had held aspirations of exploring the cosmos had found allies in the political sphere, would be autocrats and industry moguls had agreed to back his ambitions in exchange for the resources they'd needed to carry out their own desires.
And so, through his wealth, His influence as the world's wealthiest man, Humanity was united into the Iron flag federation. And Johan was given the greatest scientists each nation that allowed his influence had to offer in order to research and develop the technology needed to explore the stars.. However, His ambitions outweighed his patience, Corners were cut, The phrase 'good enough' uttered a fair few times too many. Leading to the conditions of the nearspace colonies, And the lunar cities to be barely livable. .
The resulting unrest dug the state of this era an even deeper hole, With Johan developing the deadly 'Mobile suit' technology to suppress the dissident, Even so, A few rebels on the moon managed to capture one of these suits, And replicated it utilizing a ferrous metal found only on the moon for armor plating. These rebels would proceed to drive Mezzer and his budding Spacian nation away . The moon-folk having taken to calling their stretches of cities the 'rabbits colonies' Their own mobile suits, Called 'G-strafers' Valiantly defending their independence from their founder's ends.
This defiance had paved the way for other insurgents in the colonies too far for Mezzer's iron grasp to matter,
New Liberatatia: A veritable navy oh space pirates, Dozens of crews, each with their own desires dreams and ideals, bound together to protect these things from would be oppressors.
And the Colonial separatist union: A more organized group of insurgents that have banded together in an effort to actively liberate the colonies, And create a more permanent, Stable solution to the issues of this era with no hope.
This terminal century
Before we are introduced to our hero, We must take a vote. What faction was he born to? And what is his allegiance at the start? this result will be determined by the first ten replies. 
Section 1: The Outbreak
Jace had never been one for superstition. He’d grown up in a small, sleepy town where the biggest event of the year was the harvest festival. Life was predictable. Until that morning.
He'd been in the kitchen, brewing a pot of coffee, when the first reports hit the radio. The news anchor’s voice, frantic and shaky, had warned of a rapidly spreading virus. The government wasn’t yet calling it an outbreak, but it wasn’t hard to guess that something was terribly wrong.
"… citizens are urged to stay indoors. Avoid contact with the infected…"
Jace had turned off the radio. It wasn’t the first time a scare like this had been reported. Bird flu, swine flu, the countless outbreaks that always ended in nothing more than empty warnings and public hysteria. But this was different. The strange look in his neighbor’s eyes, the unnatural stumble of a woman down the street, something wasn’t right.
By noon, the world was already changing. Sirens began wailing, emergency broadcasts flooded every channel. By 3 PM, it was clear: the virus had spread rapidly across the country, and it wasn’t just another flu.
Jace’s phone buzzed. It was a message from Sarah, his girlfriend of three years.
"Jace, I’m scared. I’m at my apartment, I don’t know what’s happening. Please come get me." 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 are the leader of a group of monsters trying to survive in a land overrun by adventurers. These adventurers, skilled and powerful, hunt down any creature in their path. The world around you is dangerous, not just because of the heroes, but because of the harsh environment itself, where monsters like you are seen as obstacles or targets.
As the leader, it's your job to keep your group alive. With limited strength and resources, you must outsmart the adventurers who want to destroy you. Whether it's hiding, using the terrain, or relying on your companions' skills, every decision counts.
You're not just a leader, but a strategist and protector. Your group looks to you for guidance in a world where they're outclassed, outnumbered, and hunted. The odds are against you, but with cleverness and resilience, you might survive long enough to show that even the weakest monsters deserve to live.
Are you
> a warchief
> a shaman
> a matriarch
> a beastmaster
What kind of monsters are you
> goblin
> kobold
> gnoll
> lizardfolk
And where is your lair
> abandoned mine
> cave system
> forest
> mountains Last one didn't go too well. We can always try again.
I still only wanna run civilized races, but I'll tweak the system a bit, it was kinda clonky last time.
Select race and biome from the picture. 
Prologue.
====
You are Nathan Drake. An ordinary person. Ordinary looks, ordinary life. At least, you think so, because you can’t remember.
No, not that Nathan Drake from the video games. You’re from Earth, so you know the reference.
You can’t remember anything else. As you open your eyes, you find yourself lying on the grass. You’re in the middle of a forest. The sun mercilessly shines over your face, prompting you to get up. It must be around midday.
How unlucky. You can’t remember anything, and you don’t know where you are.
Where are you? You look around. Tall aspens with white bark and golden leaves tower over you. And though the sky still looks like it’s summertime, you wager it must be fall, since the leaves have already turned.
You feel thirsty. Instinctively, you get up and start walking. One direction leads deeper into the woods. The other, towards a clearing. A way out of the forest, heading into an open area. As you’re still a bit disoriented, you can’t be sure of your location.
You start looking yourself over. You’re wearing a pair of jeans, sneakers and a shirt. Nothing out of the ordinary. An odd thing occurs to you however… but before you can figure out exactly what it is, a voice interrupts you.
“Hey you!”
====
==The following quest is a work of fiction. Any and all similarities to characters, groups or entities in real life are purely *laughs* coincidental.==
==Rules==
This will be a lighthearted Quest inspired by video games/movies, and classic choose-your-own adventure novels…
Note: The quest may move rapidly at the beginning, and during certain times. However, I’ll give major events and choices at least half a day to a day or so, so everyone can throw their vote in.
RNG will be kept to a minimum. Players need only to worry about a few things. One mechanic is Luck. Sometimes, the players will be given choices to either test their luck in a given situation or not. You will learn more about this eventually.
The choice with the most support is taken.
Some events have an opportunity for write-ins. The write-in with the most support is taken.
Some events with write-ins, players can write their own dialogue ideas (asking questions, actions, observations, reactions.)
Warning: May contain violence, explicit language, suggestive themes.
Enjoy.
==== 
Your name is Johan, a taxi driver that unfortunately attracted the strange and bizarre. And you were currently on a date. Or what may as well be one.
A certain playful and mischievous mime, whom you happened to meet by chance a couple of days ago in a carnival, was sitting on a chair close to your own, you were both on a table for two. Her name is Mimi. The two of you seemed to bond well, despite not knowing each other for long. This may not be much of a surprise, considering you escaped a fiery inferno with her.
"Johan?"
And yet, here your mind strangely wandered. It went to the past, one perhaps not too far away. You recalled a melancholy smile that greeted you, a woman with golden hair, and a box filled with ammunition.
"Johan!" a hand's waving calls you back to reality. You stare at a fair skinned young woman, two green eyes stare back at you with some concern. A frown adorns her thin lips.
"My apologies," you said "I must've been lost in thought."
It was a bad habit of yours to do that. You hoped it didn't mean anything serious. Perhaps you should start eating more...
You both smile at each other, and she giggles silently. A thought emerged--why did she tend to be so quiet? She was energetic in basically all other things.
You push the thought aside as you dig into your mean. The food was, some cinnamon bagels and coffee, quite nice. The coffee in particular was spectacular, the aftertaste didn't leave much to waste. Much better than that sandwich from earlier. Did she not consume your uneaten half of it? A rather rude act. Then again you did begin eating without her, no? Nonetheless, it seemed like she didn't have many qualms about sharing food and eating before others arrived.
A pleasant silence befalls you both. You think about something to talk with her about.
>"So, you work here part-time?" A relatively safe topic.
>"I've noticed you're pretty dedicated to being a mime. What got you into it?" You could get a better look into her personality this way.
>"How are you feeling?" She looks fine today, but last you saw her her eyes seemed tired and sad about the place she pantomimed in going up in flames.
>Write-in. 
Your grandfather was an adventurer and your father ressented him for it, because he was never at home. He didn't want you to become an adventurer, rather wanted you to tend to the family farm. But one day when you found a chest with some equipment from your grandfather, you realized you had to go out in an adventure!
You found (Choose one):
> A +1 dagger and a handful of minor healing potions
> A Shadowed Leather Armor +1 that subtly blends into shadows, granting a +2 bonus to Stealth checks.
> A Cloak of Protection (+1 AC and saving throws) and a lantern that glows brightly for 8 hours per day without fuel.
> A Bow of Precision, a +1 longbow that grants advantage on attack rolls made at long range.
> An Arcane Compass, a magical compass that points toward the nearest source of magic. Also functions as a spellcasting focus.
> A Dagger of Returning, a +1 dagger enchanted to return to your hand immediately after being thrown.
> Write in (one or more magical items worth no more than 1,500 gold)
All your life you've been preparing for this moment, in a sense. For you trained to become:
> A Fighter
> A Rogue
> A Sorcerer
You decide to depart on that very night, without warning, so that your father doesn't get a chance to convince you to stay.
Besides your findings, you have 100 silver with you.
Which direction do you want to travel?
> North, to the port city of Maphys where you could take a ship elsewhere
> South, to Fort Darkrock on the frontier with the elvish kingdom
> West, to the mining city of Krok near the mountains full of monsters
> East, to the walled city of Dagoba, the capital of the kingdom
> Write in
Also decide if male or female, pick a name for yourself and assign your attributes (they all start at 8 and you have 27 points to distribute. Atributes higher than 14 cost 2 points). 
Ionia, a land of unspoiled beauty and tranquillity. The First Lands are not a single continent, but a vast archipelago of many great islands. Here, the barrier between the physical realm and the world of the spirits is thin. The people who dwell here do not plunder the land for all of its wealth, in an effort to satisfy their greed. Instead, the inhabitants of Ionia bend to the will of nature and make humble requests of it in return. They do not build their own houses, they petition the spirits of great trees to grow in such a way that they might shelter their families. They do not quarry for stone or mine for metal, instead they only take that which the land is willing to provide to them. By living in harmony with Ionia and the spirits that rule over it, the Ionians lead peaceful and prosperous lives, devoid of senseless violence and vice, free to pursue enlightenment and true mastery of themselves.
Deva'le is a humble village, one of many that exist along the length of the great river of Navori, that flows through the province from the mountains in the north to the ocean to the south. The settlement rests in a lush and fertile valley, between towering hills that reach for the heavens, great crags that were sundered by an ancient conflict. Here, a hundred families enjoy the bounty provided by a tributary of the great river, and live truly tranquil lives. As long as they live in harmony with the spirits of the land, they shall never know suffering. This is what they believe with all of their hearts, as do most other Ionians.
You are Nayen, a young man born and raised in Deva'le. You know almost nothing of life outside of the valley that the village calls home, and truly nothing about the wider world beyond the shores of Ionia. Yet out of all of the boys of your generation, you are the one of the few who possessed potential. The village elders identified your talents while you were still young and sought to train you, so that you might best serve your people and the myriad spirits of Ionia.
Now that you are of age, what have you become?
>A wind-weaver. You have been taught the graceful dances that please the spirits of the wind and allow you to bend the weather to your will, to bless your village with clear skies during the day and nourishing rain during the night.
>A beast-speaker. You have achieved a oneness with the animals that call Ionia home. You are able to commune with them and earn their favour, to master them in a fashion that does not anger the patron spirits of these beasts.
>A steel-shaper. You have studied the five elements and the bonds between them. By honouring these fundamental forces, you are able to forge truly marvellous tools that will stand the test of time and serve your people well.
>A mischief-maker. You shunned your teachers and have no reverence for the spirits. You do not have the favour of Ionia, nor do you have any mystical abilities, but you are free, unbound by the dogma that shackles most Ionians. 
The Void is infinite. It is perfect Entropy, bringing an end to all eventualities.
Chaos and Order, Time and Space, Life and Death. All are extinguished.
Inside its vastness, there's no possibility of anything existing. Yet...
Sometimes, something does.
A new bubble has emerged. In its paradoxical, protective shell, a new reality is taking shape.
You are one of its shapers. Most would call you a god and most would be correct. The power to create or destroy is yours to use as you see fit. Just remember, the bubble is more fragile than it seems, and for all of your differences, you and your fellow gods are an existential family.
>God Sheet
>Name: Your chosen identity. This can be anything, including a title or nothing, but nicknames from others are likely.
>Visage: Your chosen physical form. This has no effect besides first impressions.
>Goal: Your plans for this reality. While this also has no direct effect, it's probably important to you.
>Domains: The concepts you have control over. Choose 1-5. They, too, can be anything. The more you have, the thinner spread you'll be.
It's been too long since a god game and I figure New Year's is as good a time as any to start a new one! There will be some crunch but not much. Major Updates will be weekly. I'll be accepting gods until Saturday. This should be fun to see. INSTRUCTIONS:
Select a name, color, and location to start playing
type "dice+1d9999" to roll the dice for your number of attacks or defenses
You Will receive a BONUS for every PROVENCE you completely occupy
>inb4
Unlimited Water Travel is allowed 
Ilvermorny Quest continues!
Last time, the girls made it to America, got a cool car, started making friends, got in fights with big spiders, discovered a disconcerting fact of their ancestry, and send three guys to the hospital!
Rules and character sheet: https://rentry.co/uoq4puv3
Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=ilvermorny
New non-canon lewd-fic: https://rentry.co/4iehi5w8
--
Herbology was taught… well with a name like Lief, you didn’t really expect a black fellow. Half black?
Whatever.
An older black looking guy with a shiny bald head, aside from a bit of iron colored hair kept short around the sides.
“Hello students. Another beautiful day to get some time outside! Today? We will be looking at the plant used for patients having trouble feeding themselves, and also makes for some good elote once you take the teeth out; Macerating Maize. Blonde British girls! You missed class before; did you do your reading?”
“Yeah… yes sir.”
“Good, since you and that mirror image will be demonstrating how to pick these things, after a quick example by myself, after our lecture; be sure to wear your gloves.”
“Ah. Excellent. Corn with teeth. Fantastic.”
--
After a short lecture, you were out in the fields with the older black man showing you and the rest of the class a small patch of… well it just looked like corn up until he brought up a small stick and had the tip of it bitten off by a set of white kernels that were suddenly there after the green leaves that covered up the maize opened up.
Why did every thing in America have fangs?! Even some of the rabbits did!
Following a quick demonstration of how to grab the corn silk to paralyze the things, the Professor set you and the rest of the class to work harvesting them.
Emmy… she ended up discovering a different way to get the cobs off the stalk when she got her finger bitten and punched the offending maize hard enough it went flying across the garden.
Alright… maybe doing this high and coked up was not the greatest idea.
Regardless, you only got nipped once when you and Aubrey worked together to get a few cobs… she had obviously done this before.
Did she really take summer classes just to be with her friends? Perform her prefect duties? Keep an eye on Travis? She… she sounded lonely when you thought of it that way.
“Doing okay, Jenn? I don’t know if they have these over in Bongland.”
“Better than my sister. And no; never studied these before. You have, right?”
“Yep! A lot of the summer stuff is remedial or extra practice. Been picking these since first year.”
“Then why do you do it? You know all this stuff already.” The wretch stumbles through the woods, branches scratching at his face, as he tries not to trip on a root or large stone. The pangs of hunger are driving him mad. It is not easy to hunt squirrels and rats with a club and he has eaten the last of his acorns and berries.
It is very dark here. Hardly anything can be seen. A glint of moonlight upon metal catches the wastrel's eye, and he spots a figure in the shadows, unaware of his presence. Surely this will be an easy fight?
You sneak up upon the unexpecting foe! [bold]Roll 1d12[/bold]
Choose an attack.
> Strike him on the head
> Push him to the ground
> (Suggest) You are Runner. This is your room. You get the feeling that a notable incident is going to occur today. 
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 the last day of December. 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
>>6128116 1: A Dangerous City
You are a Private Detective living in Victorian London.
Crimes are common and you are frequently called upon to assist the policemen in Scotland Yard. You have been a Detective for a few years now and by combining hard work with intelligence you have had a few successes in uncovering the information that has enabled the Police to arrest wanted criminals. This has earned you a good Reputation but you must be careful not to lose it: if you do Scotland Yard will no longer trust you to help them.
One evening you are at home when Commissioner James Monro, an experienced Policeman, visits you.
"We would like your help again," he tells you. "A lunatic murderer called James Kelly escaped from Broadmoor Asylum for the Criminally Insane ten days ago. My detectives have investigated and found no trace of him. Perhaps if you look into the case you might be able to find something?”
What do you do?
REPUTATION is 3.
A) Search for the escaped killer
B) Turn down this case 
The cough comes out silent this time, it's timbre lost among a sea of sounds, the moaning too. There to the left girls are beating deerskin drums barehanded. Young naked women run around and shriek a song on a forgotten dialect, filling the air with potent dread that alarms the heart to beat faster. The trusts gain vigor. The wives are to the right and guide a stallion in estrus, yoked in a plow that pulls through the barren stony earth, they encourage and tease the animal while it shows its frustrated strength, they mock it whenever the plow slows down and give his member a few jerks for encouragement to go faster again...
The men are wind beaten and watch from afar down there at the beach, where the ship waits patiently, after all too much masculine energy will disrupt the synergy of the feminine ceremony.
A fire rises swinging in all directions, it's almost dawn, it needs to be fed more to match the upcoming sun.
In the center of all this mad cacophony a man and woman become one, naked and bruised, moaning and grunting, they lay under a pregnant mare held in place by old crones, all in order to create a life. And behold! In reaching their peak a crone splits the belly of the mare and profound quantity of liquid goes all over the two lovers. All that is female in attendance stops it's doings and howls a hair raising shriek, the ceremony is complete. There, covered in bright red arterial blood, covered in dark venous blood, covered in placenta and guts the two beloved are as if wed again and kiss most tenderly. The woman's messy white hair is now red and sticky with coagulating blood, she takes great care in not spilling the seed inside of her and raises crossed legs on the carcass of the dead animal. Somewhere in the far distance Thor approves with a thunder, she caresses the hammer resting on her breast.
A short cough, and she announces "From this day forth I, Rannveig, will no longer be known as Purple-Eyed, but Blood Bride! The bride of my noble jarl... " 
You are Malkuth, a necromancer bound by duty and ambition, serving a master consumed by the quest for eternal life. This dark figure, driven by the allure of lichdom, has uncovered tantalizing rumors of a lost tome: The Art of Phylactery Manufacture. This ancient grimoire, said to contain the secrets of crafting a lich’s eternal vessel, disappeared when an arcane library deep in the desert was ransacked centuries ago. Your master, unwilling to let such a prize elude him, has entrusted you with the mission to recover the book—at any cost.
To ensure your success, he offers you a choice from his treasury of magical artifacts. Each staff is a masterpiece of necromantic power, attuned to different forms of undeath:
> The Staff of Bones, amplifying your control over skeletal warriors. With it, you could command a disciplined army of 100 skeletons, their sharpened blades and shields unyielding in battle.
> The Staff of Decay, allowing you to dominate 200 zombies. Their relentless, shambling forms would overwhelm foes with sheer numbers and tireless resolve.
> The Staff of Shadows, granting mastery over 50 shadowy wraiths. These silent, spectral assassins strike unseen, dragging their victims into darkness.
Also decide if you are male or female and your name. The first thing you are aware of as you gain consciousness is that you are lying face down on a gritty sidewalk. The second is that four people are around you, looking concerned and asking if you are okay.
Are you? It takes you a second to get your bearings.
Who are you?
>Please Choose a gender
>Please Create a name. You are a human being living in a mid sized city in the southwest United States.
>Please Carefully assign these five dice (D4, D6, D8, D10, and D12) to these stats (HP, STRENGTH, INTELLIGENCE, DEXTERITY, CHARISMA).
>Please Care about one of these things more than the rest (Art, Literature, Film, Cooking) 
You're the leader of a barbarian tribe that recently found a new continent full of ancient catacombs filled with loot. Though there is some weak undead in there, it has been a breeze to acquire the loot, it is just that there is an awful lot of it.
But on your third trip to the island to grab loot, you find a bunch of wizards snooping around. You promptly attack them, but the damn wizards are crafty, they use their ranged spells to murder many men ten times better than them with their cowardly witchcraft.
You cannot allow those wizards to keep breathing, you must put an end to their magic. Worse still, some useless trinkets from the ruins seem to empower greatly the wizards, making them even more dangerous.
One of your men discovers that if we break the artifacts, crush them to powder and snort the powder, we gain a temporary powerful boost in battle!
So now we have a good reason to collect all those trinkets!
You have two boats, 40 men on the island and 200 food (each 1 food is food for one man for one day).
The trip between your home and the island takes 1 week, so if you send for reinforcements, they will take at least 14 days to arrive.
What do you do?
> Gather food
> Raid a catacomb for loot
> Raid a catacomb for magic trinkets
> Search for the wizards to put an end to their misery
> Write in
You estimate there are still over 1,000 catacombs unexplored in the island.
You can divide your men and send them to do different tasks.
Roll 3d100 for each group doing a task.
Name leader and select if male or female. I feel like running a civ thread, but I want to run one with civilized races. You may pick amongst the races from the picture only. Time for another civilization quest! But first, I need to know what kind of civilization game do you want to play, so please answer the following questions. 
The quest for the Gems of Power consumed your master's entire existence. His life revolved around collecting ancient tomes about these mystical artifacts and gathering resources for endless expeditions. The gems became his obsession, his curse.
When he finally uncovered the location of the first gem, bitter disappointment awaited him. The precious stone rested in the possession of Archmage Mykor, a wizard whose reputation for power was matched only by his desire for solitude.
Your master refused to let decades of research go to waste. He spent months preparing, strengthening both mind and body, before challenging Mykor to a duel for the gem. The Archmage declined repeatedly, but your master's relentless assassination attempts finally forced his hand.
You were there the day of the duel. You witnessed your master's final moments as Mykor's awesome powers reduced him to ash. The Archmage, weary of the bloodshed, declared he would accept no further challenges. The gem, he announced, would either be destroyed or hidden beyond mortal reach to prevent such madness from claiming more lives.
Years have passed since that day. Your master's estate was sold to settle his mountainous debts, leaving you nothing but a chest of worn books. You've kept them in your merchant's wagon as you traveled the trading routes, building a modest but honest living.
Yet the Gems of Power remained a persistent whisper in your thoughts. Then one day, while studying your master's old texts, you solved a riddle that revealed the location of the Fire Gem. It lay hidden on a frozen island in the far north, deep in barbarian territory.
Now, as you stare at the decoded message, you know your life as a merchant must end. Your master's quest calls to you, demanding completion. The search for the Gems of Power beckons once again! 
Your village was a quiet, humble place nestled in the shadow of a mountain, known for its verdant fields and peaceful way of life. The villagers were simple folk—farmers, shepherds, and artisans who lived in harmony with the land. Everyone knew one another, and festivals were celebrated with laughter and song. But in the weeks leading up to the fateful night, something had begun to shift. Strange figures cloaked in shadow were seen near the outskirts, livestock began to disappear, and mutilated remains were discovered in the woods. A sense of unease settled over the community, though no one could have imagined the horrors to come.
The attack came on a moonless night, shrouded in unnatural darkness. Villagers were roused by clanging bells and guttural chants, and flames erupted from the square where hooded figures gathered around a glowing rune circle. Their leader, a gaunt man with glowing red eyes and a voice like the echo of the abyss, raised a wicked blade and declared the dawn of a new age. Cultists moved methodically, dragging people from their homes to the square. Resistance was met with brutal efficiency—those who fought were slaughtered or subdued with dark magic. Helpless, you watched as your neighbors were bound in a massive spiral around the runic circle. The leader began chanting, his voice rising as each villager was sacrificed, their blood feeding the glowing runes. The air grew thick with sulfur, and the ground trembled. When the final scream faded, the circle erupted in a column of fire, and from it emerged a monstrous entity—a towering demon wreathed in flame and shadow. Its presence was overwhelming, and with a wave of its massive hand, the entire village was engulfed in hellfire. Homes, crops, and people were consumed in moments. Friends and loved ones burned before your eyes as the cultists laughed and walked willingly into the flames to join their master.
Amid the chaos, you remembered the old tunnel beneath the chapel, used long ago by clergy to escape danger. In the confusion, you broke free and sprinted to the chapel, flames licking your heels as the inferno raged around you. You pushed aside a loose stone slab behind the altar and plunged into the narrow, pitch-black passage, choking on smoke and fear. The screams of the dying faded behind you until there was only silence. When you emerged hours later, you collapsed, staring at the distant glow of your village’s destruction. You were at the village farms tilling the soil in preparation for the sowing when a giant black flying lizard descends from the sky. Mounted on it there is this guy in a dark armor and cloak. He says in a spectral voice "I've come for the tribute!", then his lizard grabs a couple girls and he flies away.
You wouldn't give two shits about it, but one of the girls he grabbed was your crush and the other was your cousin! I mean, both were your cousins, but only one was your crush.
Infuriated, you decide that you're going on an epic journey to get your cousins back.
Right now you just have a hoe and no money to your name though. The hoe isn't even yours.
What do you do?
> Find a stout club and go raid a dungeon for riches, you hear adventurers do it all the time
> Consult the village elders for guidance on your new adventure
> Join a group of brigands for equipment and training
> Write in ROUND 41:
>The Menace takes NC without contest and donates the remainder of his roll of (40) and then donates his remaining (33) moves to the Cannibals who attack the Emu's (33) vs (8)
>The Ayys make no roll, so the fellowship gives up their own roll have them progress (29) spaces. 
You were a black dragon, a terror that haunted the dreams of mortals, your presence alone enough to drive entire regions to despair. The adventurers who dared invade your lair were no match for your might. Their swords clanged harmlessly off your scales, and their magic fizzled like raindrops against a roaring fire. One by one, you dispatched them, your strength undeniable even as their blows left painful scars across your body. The last one, the leader, lay at your feet, gasping his final breath. His defiance burned brighter than his life force. "You will pay for all those girls you kidnapped," he rasped, blood trickling from his lips. "If not in this life, then the next!"
You sneered, the sound like distant thunder. "Your curses are as pitiful as your swordsmanship." With a swift, merciless strike, you silenced him, his body falling limp in a pool of crimson. Turning, you prepared to bask in your victory and indulge in the spoils of your conquest—the captives you’d taken, trembling in the shadows. But before you could take a step, a blinding light illuminated the cavern, its radiance cutting through the darkness.
From the golden glow emerged the avatar of the elf goddess. Her form was ethereal, her silver hair flowing as if caught in a divine breeze, and her emerald eyes burned with righteous fury. You let out a growl, the deep rumble echoing off the cavern walls. "What do you want?" you demanded, your voice weary yet laced with venom. "I’ve had enough interruptions for one day."
"Return the girls, dragon," she commanded, her tone unyielding, "or I will see to it that you are punished."
A low chuckle escaped your maw. "You’re not supposed to meddle in mortal affairs, goddess. Stick to your forests and let me enjoy my spoils. The god of dragons will hear of this interference."
For a moment, the goddess hesitated, doubt flickering in her eyes. But her resolve solidified, her voice ringing out like a blade striking steel. "Your atrocities cannot go unanswered. You will know the suffering you’ve inflicted."
"Wait," you began, raising a claw, "perhaps we can—"
But the goddess’s spell was already upon you. Pain seared through your body, and a blinding flash consumed your senses. When it cleared, the cool breeze of the forest replaced the stifling heat of your lair. You opened your eyes, disoriented, and found yourself lying on the forest floor, naked and vulnerable. Gone were your scales and wings, your towering form and fiery breath. You looked down in disbelief, seeing soft, pale skin and human hands.
Rage and panic surged through you. The god of dragons will hear of this, you vowed silently. But first, you had to survive. The forest around you teemed with unfamiliar sounds, and every rustle in the underbrush felt like a potential threat. Your new form was weak, fragile, and unprotected. 
Previously on Breadwinner Adventurer Quest:
>You escorted Helmod, a blind old man with a tragic past, to the Oracle of the Moon
>Along the way, you fought off a deadly and unnatural creature with a barbed tail and a human face
>Having completed your task, you decided to return with your earnings to your home in Hobley
>You encountered the party of Odneyn the Otter on the road, who appears to be going to the same place
Although you could easily lie and send them wandering off in the complete opposite direction, you decide not to impose your own personal grudges with the reeve on a group of complete strangers. Remarking that Odneyn's reputation precedes him, and that you would be happy to guide him and his company to what is, in fact, your own destination, you take your position at the front and start leading the way.
You quickly get a sense of their various personalities: Odneyn is unspoken leader, easy-going in his manner, and gregarious to a fault. He chatters away to no one in particular about the travails of the road, the beauty of the countryside, even a rather heated debate on the virtues of hounds versus housecats (Odneyn is firmly in the hound camp, while his bald companion violently insists on the superiority of the feline).
The others are more reserved, with varying motivations for their reticence. The woman in white seems to regard it as beneath her to participate in such mundane discourse. Her younger attendant tries to emulate her mistress, but you catch her smiling once or twice at Odneyn's more comical refrains. The Suthermann, on the other hand, is silent because his entire attention seems to be spent scanning the dimly lit environs of the road, as though he expects an ambush any minute now. He is very different from the Suthermann you met in the mountain, not nearly as unnerving in his bearing and lacking those strange glowing eyes and the smooth, ageless visage. If not for the long white hair you would not have even recognized him as a member of his race. Finally, the mousy man with the bow seems completely content to just listen and watch, only breaking his silence to offer a sardonic comment or two. You get the impression that nothing escapes his notice, it is all being scrolled away in some mental ledger for later use.
Eventually, Odneyn exhausts his store of conversation and falls silent--with still a ways to go on the road. Now would be the perfect time to bring up some matters of your own and seek Odneyn's counsel. He is after all quite well-travelled. You could ask about the strange coins you received from Samuel Longsword, or the unnatural beast you fought on the mountain. Or perhaps it is wiser to hold your tongue and keep your own counsel. 
