Archived threads in /qst/ - Quests - 220. page

DED

>>1163792
Not even close. Phone posting but will update still.

In the meme time, discuss about Roland and future events you'd want to happen. You can also shit post on /spg/once Rolland gets home to Jersey.

>>1160847
>Name
Leon
>father

How many people will play?
If I am one to play then...
>Name
Mark
>Step-Sister

>>1160877
Oh only one MC.

>>1158442
Cool Beans!

>>1158442
Great, a cause for celebration! Let it breathe new life into this board, cause we fucking need some new posters...

>>1158442
Thank fuck, now we have an archive that saves images again.

>>1156278
That is NOT Passie.

Passie has bigger... eyes.

>What happened to the valentine day special?

Is Gurie playing matchmaker again?

>>1156278
>Explore the town

>>1156278
>Explore the town

>What happened to the valentine day special?
Date with Carl?

>>1156242
Question QM elevated as in making Greater Jerusalem the best nation in the world? Because we could improve Egypt and stuff to a +10 prosperity and it'd be WAY above Greater Jerusalem right?

>>1156242

TLDR recap:

> This quest is based on the Left Behind book series, specifically the last book, Kingdom Come.
> The Second Coming happened. TurboJesus rules the Earth from the Temple.
> The Other Light is the official opposition: they are raising a giant army that TurboJesus will effortlessly annihilate on the Last Day.
> You are an AI whose mandate is to ensure that some of Humanity survives the Judgement. Your official job is to handle logistics and manpower.
> You cannot act directly, but you have built an enormous organization. You accomplish goals by directing manpower and special assets (Villains and artifacts) to various tasks. A Villain on a task will allow that task to be roleplayed.
> The world ends in 11 years. Each turn is 1 year, until the endgame officially starts.

>>1156248

"Elevated" is literal: the Millennial Kingdom has no mountains taller than around 100 meters (330ft) because God flattened everything so that Greater Jerusalem would be the tallest place. (This is what the authors of the Left Behind books believe!)

However... if you were to change the narrative on this topic by making enough people disagree with that interpretation AND by making life in your territories reach a post-scarcity state, your theologians calculate that it would break the world order. (It's a bit late to do that now, but yes, that is a possible way to win. Maybe next time I run this quest?)

>>1156260
>bit late

>9 years left
>Egypt at +3

I dunno, It seems still possible.

Wake up

File: wake-up.png (1MB, 1000x563px) Image search: [Google]

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You quickly spring out of a pile of laundry you were using as a bed. You yawn and wipe your one big eye with your hand.

What do you do next?

>>1155432
Take the disembodied floating hand.

To be honest, you couldn’t help but link your tank breaking down to you taking your driver along with you for the mission. Aside from the obvious oddball traits, Malachi was a skilled driver. In what little time you had spent with him, you already had a strong feeling of confidence in his abilities, as well as his ability to coordinate with you. During academy days, there had been more than a few times where you had been assigned novice drivers who would freeze up or misinterpret commands, but Malachi appeared to have experience from somewhere that almost let him predict exactly how you intended to move.

Your other crew members consisted of a gunner who seemed to trust more in luck than his own skills, a skirt chasing sarcastic radio operator turned loader, and a blind girl (who wasn’t really blind, so far as you could tell, but it’s complicated. You were also one of very few people who knew that she was blind.) with the ability to use strange supernatural powers that had been shoved into a much more mundane role as radio operator, and was also your fiancée. At the very least, one of your crewmen was a winner.

You decided to collect your mechanical casualty and its companions, and then call up 3rd company and get them to send your people back. A measly two vehicles would hardly be missed in this situation, after all; given how feebly the Dawnseekers had deemed to arm their unwitting conscripts, even a siege by half as many forces as were devoted would be impossible for the encircled troops to break out of easily. That, and you had a good feeling things would be over anyways. Without a ringleader, the traitorous elements of the lost battalion that had followed Lt. Col Weil would, you wagered, lose heart, and surrender themselves if they thought their leaders had flown the coop without them.

You procured a staff car and took yourself and Von Metzeler down to the maintenance pool. It wasn’t difficult, as the maintenance coordinator had said, to find your vehicle. It lacked the usual emblazoned battalion markings that would be on a properly integrated vehicle. You recognized your crew sitting some distance away from it on the dusty ground.

Krause appeared to have transferred his command, as he was not present. Stein, your gunner, and Hans, your RO turned loader, idly played VierSechs with the replacement driver, whom you were not familiar with. Maddalyn sat off by herself, staring vacantly at a quiet corner of the yard with her back turned to the rest of the crew.

>Call everybody to attention
>Intrude on the dice game first
>Attend to Maddalyn
>Other

Twitter is @scheissfunker for announcements.
Past threads archive: http://pastebin.com/UagT0hnh

>>1155153
>Call everybody to attention

>>1155153
>Call everybody to attention

>>1160713

The Saracens had been agitated lately, perhaps by the Lombards and Norwegians that had been causing them trouble in the North Levant. More and more were coming down, harassing the Templar forces, some even slipping through, attacking pilgrims near Jerusalem. The Templars, he explained, were being overwhelmed, and were requesting any help that Christendom could send.

Your father, once told of the situation, agreed to send six warbands of fifty men, each led by a Knight-Captain. You were one of the six chosen, and you accompanied Marcus on his journey back.

It took a little more than five months to arrive, although mustering the forces necessary was fairly quick, your fleet was harassed by pirates from various Barbary states, so you had to fight off the Moors several times. However, you still made good time, and arrived in Acre on the 4th of October, the Year of Our Lord 1119.

You had joined up with the main Templar force there, and through the Winter, helped stave off increasingly vicious and organized attacks by Saracen forces, protecting the Holy Land from invasion.

In March, however, your allies were informed of a massive Saracen force forming about 800 miles north-east of Acre, supposedly lead by a general of superior caliber. Quickly moving out, your 300 Teutonic brothers, accompanied by 1500 Templars, rode to a mountain pass, 500 miles out, ready to meet the countless Saracen hordes there, to protect the Holy Land.
And so, there you are, in a nameless mountain pass, waiting for the inevitable Saracen horde, hoping only to protect Christendom. Standing at the edge of your camp, watching northward, wondering if this is to be the day you meet them in battle.

A voice comes from behind you, in fluent German.

"So, what do you think of our chances?"

You turn, and see one of your comrades.


Who is it?

>Marcus Weidner, former Teuton, current Templar
>Edgar Gessler, your squire
>Dominik Sessler, fellow Teutonic Knight-Captain

>>1160812
>Marcus Weidner, former Teuton, current Templar

>>1160812
>>Edgar Gessler, your squire

>>1152375 #
You stand at the shrine's entrance and clear your throat.
"And THERE it is, friends! The ugly... truth. YOUR CHILDREN have ascended from the DUNG of man! I alone have been anointed to spread Alagos' mercy! FOR I LOVE YOU! Let the cleansing rains wash you of your impurities! Alagos the mighty!"
«Yes»
"Alagos the unerring!"
«Yes!»
"ALAGOS THE UNASSAILABLE!"
«YOU CAN DO IT KRYSTAL, I BELIEVE IN YOUUUU!»

Roll 1d100 to sway the town into basking under the cleansing rains.

Rolled 31 (1d100)

>>1154593
I'm new here. Can someone give me a run down of what's going on and why there are two scantily clad women in OP.

>>1154606
(There was a seven/eight thread arc about how the storm god Alagos got stranded on earth, made Hell his bitch, and went home. He was a replacement for the old god of storms, and the whole Order is in shambles. He sent Krystal, the current MC and harem member, to be his voice on the mortal plane. The scantily-clad women are your bodyguards (sort of, one of them's supposed to be a lizard girl) who spent all their money on bikinis with kinetic shielding. You got them some proper robes so they don't freeze to death. I know it's a lot of information, but this has been a pretty fast paced and weird thread)
The lone bum you were addressing doesn't take your speech very well. He shouts something about taffers and heathens and throws a bottle at you, which misses.
It seems everyone else is taking shelter from the rain.
"I could've sworn there were more people out here..."
Jaylen frowns.
"I bet we'd get a bunch of followers if I flashed my tits."
Faervel sighs.
"Not if there isn't anyone around. Besides, they might not even *like* lizard tits."
Your bodyguards get into an argument as to whether or not lizard tits are a widespread fetish or not.
This wasn't how today was supposed to go.
"Either start stripping or shut up, I need to think!"

>[]Retry your speech. You were just a little too enthusiastic this time, that's all. (Roll 1d100)
>[]Go with Jaylen's plan. Screw it, maybe Alagos can be the god of harems, too. It'd probably bring in more worshippers.
>[]Go back to the inn and wait for dusk. (You still have to visit that one guy...)
>[]Other.

>>1162426
Joseph Joestar

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>>1162436
That name seems like its meant for someone else. someone with more posing capability.

would you like to keep this name?

>>1162443
No. Camus Chode Cleaver.

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>>1159630

Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=es4q5QqmP3Y

Birds bump into your muddy shoes and ankles, shifting about and rustling their wings, taking up every bit of space on the cobblestone.

They swarm around yourself, Ashtia, and Lulette, all huddled in the corner of an alley at some dark hour past midnight. Their numbers are infinite, inscrutable; the sound of their combined cooing an oppressive wave, a face of true chaos.

You still don’t know how you ended up at this point.

The old man yanks a bird off his thick jacket, and you watch dull blues turn and churn around him.

Before leaving the swamp a rafflesia gave you a blade of grass to chew on, and that made the colours fade. But that was this morning so now you can see them again. A flow on the invisible fabric of everything.

It’s a bit distracting.

The old man is staring at you again with his left eye.

Oh. He asked who you were.

>>1159636

“I’m Baphy. I’m a goat.” You gesture to your friends. “This is Ashtia. Ashtia is a wolf.”

“Lulette is a fairy! Bob is a plant!”

The old man- how do you describe him? Grumpy? Crusty? Those words don’t seem that nice- closes his left eye and opens his right.

“Right, great, the hell are you doin’ in my alley?”

You don’t understand. Can you just own an alley?

“We’re being chased,” you reply.

“What? By who?”

“People?”

The grouchy man starts looking around, swivelling and shoving at the ever-present pigeons as he moves. The black and white birds don’t budge at all from their spots on his shoulder and head.

It’s about now that you start wondering if you should just be standing here.

You look at Ashtia and she looks back. She’s smaller than you’ve ever seen her at the moment; that is to say, she’s a normal-sized wolf with blue-gray fur. That also means she can’t talk, but for some reason the wolf doesn’t seem to be as rushed as she was before.

Maybe it’s because there’s a crowd of fearless birds slowly encircling her. The wolf backs away.

“Then what did ya do?”

You blink. “I don’t know?”

“You don’t know a whole lot, do ya kid.”

Well, he’s not wrong.

>>1159640

“‘Course sometimes you get the types that try ‘n lock you up for no damn reason,” he mutters only half to you. “‘Disrupting city order’ my backside. Fah!”

He bends down and grabs a pigeon off the ground, then winds back his arm and hurls the bird straight up. You follow the animal’s path for all of half a moment before it disappears into the night sky, cooing all the way.

The old man dusts off his hands.

“Right, I’ll be going. Once I get these bastards out of the way,” he says, scowling and pushing birds off to the side with his foot. “Always more of 'em whenever you look.”

That sounds like it won’t be happening very quickly. You worry about whether you have time, but there really are too many birds to do anything else.

Ashtia is backed up against a wall now. Her avian foes hop and stack on top of each other to form towers that wobble towards the wolf. Lulette has joined the fray, standing on top of Ashtia and brandishing her clay pot’s bitey inhabitant at the cooing beasts.

Maybe you can just turn back the way- no, no, that way is also pigeons.

Nnn. Okay.

You put your things on the floor, pick up one of the birds, and put it into your bucket.

The situation has not improved.


>
[ ] Keep moving the birds out of the way.
[ ] Stick with the grumpy man.

> See The Veil
[ ] The movement, the flow. Try to focus on it.
[ ] It’s distracting. Try to not think about it.

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In 1152, an alchemist named Abdul Abdulavichskison was said to have cut off his own hand and traded it to the world beyond. In exchange, he was given the power within his other hand to enscribe, in a tome bound in the flesh of infants which he called the Necrobibliograph, the names of the thousand horrors that waited beyond our paltry understanding of reality. When he was finished, the book would act as a doorway and the nightmares spilling out would mean the end of the human race.

Of course, that didn't matter to Abdulavichskison, who had gone bloody stark-raving loonie by that point.

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Luckily for me and you and everybody else, his work was interrupted by a passing Crusader who had heard about what he was up to.

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The Crusader put an end to Abdulavichskison's literary career, but rather than do the sensible thing and destroy the Necrobibliograph right there, he took it with him.

Nobody knows what became of the original, but before it buggered off, six copies were known to have been made.

Three copies were destroyed - one of which I personally destroyed two years ago in Madrid. Another two of the copies were said to be lost in the Great Fire of 1666.

The last copy was mine.

OP: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n8q5pLbnsr4
Twitter: https://twitter.com/ConfettoQM
Archive: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=Psion+Academy+Quest

>>1159592
>>”Do you want to hear the truth, or do you want to hear what you want me to say?”

>>1159592
>”Does it? Oh hey, are those flowers for me?”

Everything is daijoubu.

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=====
>Winter 57, 238 ACR
>The Alchemists’ Guild, Alnerwich
>Marcus Painel

An hour passes, then two before Claudia eventually stirs to consciousness. She moans piteously as her eyelids flutter, writhing along the bench as best she can. Then, they snap wide open, faster than you’d give someone credit for. She goes ramrod straight, lifting herself off the bed as she scans the room with furtive eyes.

The knife and whittling were already away when she first made a noise. You approach slowly, hands raised to show that you have nothing and no ill intent. “Are you alright?” You ask softly.

Her eyes widen, and a trembling finger points to you, but she doesn’t have time to answer. The hall runner comes into the room, squeezing himself through a small crack between the frame and the door itself.

“Missan Claudia!” He cries, swiftly approaching her. “You’re awake!”

The alchemist waves off the boy’s uncertain hand, muttering underneath her breath as she swivels her legs over the bench. “…Henrick…yes, I…I’m alright…”

Henrick’s relief is palpable, even from your distance. “Thank goodness! We were all so worried about you…” Then, his gaze turns to you, full of suspicious intent. “…did the foreigner try anything? If he did…”

You don’t make a move, not even a single facial tick as Claudia’s eyes meet yours. The stoic front you maintain is hopefully enough cover to hide the fact that you’re already planning to fight your way out of here if things go wrong.

Then, her eyes glance towards the table where you had brewed the Blackwater. “…no…Amadeo…he didn’t do anything…” She states, with each word more sure than the last. Her higher functions seem to be unimpaired, or swiftly recovering from the abrupt fainting spell. “…we were just…experimenting…”

And you release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Could that have been phrased better? Perhaps…but you’re not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

She covered for you.

(cont.)

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Still, the boy’s eyes remain suspicious. “Are you sure? Missan, if he’s pressuring you…”

Claudia’s next breath is an exasperated sigh, one born of longsuffering. “I am fine, Henrick. Truly. Amadeo…he would not try anything strange or untoward. He is…” A small bit of emotion plays in the corner of her eyes, that doesn’t quite reach the smile on her lips. “…an honorable man.”

…ouch.

“Now…don’t you have work to do? Messages to ferry, ingredients to note? You’ll never get bronze if you just stand around there and dawdle. Henrick…I’m fine, and I do appreciate you for staying to see that I was alright.”

Henrick’s face is still sour when he departs, caught tight in a grimace as the girl bids him farewell. The runner stiffly bows before shooting a glare at your direction. If looks could kill, you’d certainly be six feet under. Or dissolving in a cauldron of acid, given the current location. The door closes with a resounding CRASH, once more leaving the two of you, Crownguard and Alchemist all alone by yourselves and a silence thick enough to cut with a knife.

“…he’s a good lad.” You break the silence first, offering her a rueful smile. “He reminds me of myself when I was his age.”

That gets a repressed chuckle from her. “…indeed? Or is this another fabrication of your…mask?”

She has you there. “No, truly. Fiercely loyal to friends and loved ones, always trying to intimidate their elders…” You shake your head. “It’s a miracle I managed to stay alive for as long as I have. Still…”

You shift in your seat. “I must ask: why did you cover for me? I mean…I’m not ungrateful that you did. Far from it in fact. But…”

There is a moment before she responds, exhaling deeply as she pinches the bridge of her nose. “…in all honesty? Curiosity. Just simple, inquisitive curiosity and an alchemists’ desire to know the truth. Irrational? Perhaps…” Her cheeks color. “But I think that if there’s anything that you owe me before an apology…it’s an explanation as to why you had to come here in that…disguise…” By now, her face is completely crimson.

>Choose one:
>The assassin’s trail points to her father. She needs to know how deadly things could be for the Guild.
>You just need to access her father’s records. She does not need to know the depth of the situation.
>Custom option.

>>1154244
>>The assassin’s trail points to her father. She needs to know how deadly things could be for the Guild.

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>>1162081

"Detective Norval. Good you've came down. Where is detective McMilligan?" A man calls out to you and clasps your hand with both of his and shakes it roughly but thankfully with a quickness.

"Had to take care of some things. Thanks for bringing me along. Station up north in New York owes you guys one." You say as you shuffle through your overcoat passing over your badge to find a single sheet of paper and produce it to the man before you. On the paper are a series of serial codes for the pictures within the evidence lockers. You've spoken with this man before but only through the phone. He's Sargent Bonnet of the New Jersey department out of Jersey city & Newark. Mostly a man of few words but he seems on good terms with McMilligan.

"Ah.. I expected as much. We brought it with us since this is the third case. That.. cultist's style isn't to stick around in one place for long. Maybe the winter will slow him down," the Sargent says as he snaps his fingers at a few officers standing near a ford.

This looks good

>>1162082
They open the trunk and find a metal case with handles on the sides and one on the top. The Sargent sifts through his suit coat before shrugging and walking over to the car. Walking back and brandishing a key he says, "our boys couldn't find much from these pictures except the poor dames names which might be useful. Must be some freak who's into dolls with blonde hair."

————————•|||||

What do you do?

>[A] "You mind if I take a look around?"
>[B] "Have anything more than just pictures and names?"
>[C] "Thanks for your help Sargent Bonnet. I need to go find McMilligan. It was his deal with you anyways."
>[D] ( write in )

————————•|||||

Welcome to the Bygone Bloodhounds Quest!

The rules are simple but still need to be explained. Majority votes win and if we need to roll I will state it. Rolls are always the best out of three and critical rolls are taken either way. Everything else but combat is a 1d100 and combat is 3d10. If anyone has any questions OOC then I will answer them after the written part just like this or within the discord server.

Twitter: @Kov_QM
Discord Server: https://discord.gg/XumPZQq

I apologize in advance as I'm writing all of this on my phone so there are bound to be problems so bear with me.