Archived threads in /qst/ - Quests - 96. page

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> Character Sheet: https://pastebin.com/p1cWKXMd
> Previous Threads: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Arcanum%20Extranimus

Of the Council of Sages, it is said: he who has grown tired of the fear of death has grown tired of life.

The adages – the stories and humor – are no longer entertainment to you now that you’ve watched a friend die. They are painfully true and achingly real.

You don’t know how you let something like this happen to you. In mere hours, a single day spent practicing together, she went from someone you barely knew to the first person who’d ever made you really feel like maybe you could be anything more than a failure, or an empty-headed noble who couldn’t cut it on her own away from home. She showed you what you could be, and made you, at least for a few moments, believe in that as something that could be true; you promised one another that together, the two of you would accomplish the impossible.

When you close both of your eyes, you can still see her. She’s half-buried in rubble and detritus, broken and dismembered body caked in ashes; a jagged bloodstain reaches up to the ceiling where her head meets the wall in your memory. It sickens you. It makes part of you want to drop to your knees and give up and cry. It makes part of you want to carry on – and somehow graduate with only a single proper year under your belt, because she truly believed you would be able to. It makes part of you want revenge.

Kye told you once that when his mother died, things were never the same for him and his brother, even after they stopped shedding tears. They couldn’t go back to normal – so they had to find a new normal. Now, you have to as well, not just because you’ve lost someone important to you, but because in the process, you’ve seen things you shouldn’t have seen and learned things you shouldn’t know and can’t forget. You are at a point that is out of your control, and that frightens you; you’re afraid that you’re going to change, to break, and you can only wonder how much of you will be left and what it’s going to look like at the end.

When you wonder how you’re going to get to sleep tonight, you occupy yourself with hysterical laughter that lasts two or three seconds. Recovering, you pull the window shades shut and tuck Ophelia’s emergency notes back into the oaken chest at the foot of the bed, taking one last look at the other contents – gold bars, pemmican wafers, and an elegant sword – before closing and locking it for the time being.

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You wake up.
The room is pitch black.
You feel you are laying in bed.
You can hear the water dripping outside your window.

>What do you do?

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You awaken from your cryogenic sleep to see the rocky outcroppings of Mars and the UAC main facility. Out at a distance is the beacon of the UAC's progress, the Argent Tower. All of Earth's energy is produced here and distributed across the entire solar system and you have signed on to become one of the new Elite Guards to protect the production of Argent Energy. With this energy being mined directly from hell, they need all the help they can get.

Your ship lands and you hear the other recruits running out. A voice calls out. You feel a bit woozy just coming out of stasis.
>Catch up to the rest of the recruits
>Stay still until hybernation sickness wears off.

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PURPS

Alright so you’ve checked in on Trisha, who’s bed was clearly doubly occupied. In the first time you’ve hear her speak negatively or curse she told you to fuck off. You made out the hair of Jaqeline snuggled up against her while looking in there, so that’s two scratched off the list.

The twins are in the common room, having woke up with a craving for tea. A pot having appeared courtesy of Luc just before your watch, for a while you were angry thinking he’d used his enigma far too soon - but he is a sneaky little gunman; so him stealthing his way to give you a present wouldn’t be too out of the question.

You hear singing at the next door, soft and gentle. Yet lilting at the same time. Peeking in, you see Alice soundly asleep, ever the graceful diva in her little bedcap and frilly nightgown. But Mono is knelt over her bed, window open to let in a breeze while she sings out a prayer to Gine.

> [CONTENTMENT] This is fine.

> [FRUSTRATION] This is not fine. Close window lecture her.

> [WORRY] Stop her singing. Pretend she's keeping you up.

> [CURIOSITY] enquire why she’s singing her prayer.

> Write-In

Star Details:
Tw: @StarbornQ
Cs:https://docs.google.com/document/d/1csg7vC-Yz10aAqk9ZwdCNv24obLGTtM5p6bKkPq1Pgc/edit#heading=h.74gk3dg6mvjp
Starborn Archive: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Starborn
Pastebin: http://pastebin.com/u/StarbornOP

Handler Details:
MGFH Archive: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Magical%20Girl%20For%20Hire%20Quest
Pastebin: http://pastebin.com/u/MGFHQHandler
Twitter: https://twitter.com/MGFHandler

Discord Invite: https://discord.gg/xM2aCYq

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Start Log...
User: (QM)Horizon
Initializing Pre Info...

Twitter: https://twitter.com/HorizonQM

(Welcome to Endless Horizon. Skill checks are 1d100, best of 3. Quest uses a fate point system. Fate points are earned on triple success rolls [All three rolls were successful]. There is no penalty for triple failures.)

Quest Start://initializing....

It's been a long time since you've been up to Kennedy Station. The last time, you were somewhere near the back end of ten, taking every chance you could to stare out the view ports, trying your hardest to catch a glimpse of any sort of space ship. ISDF Cruisers, Research Ships, Luxury Yachts, anything and everything about the void-faring vessels fascinated you. You always envisioned that one day you would captain a ship of your own, make a sleek pirate-hunting corvette.

Of course, twelve years of aging has taken its toll on your wonderlust. You've worked on surface level drydocks for the last four years, welding and tinkering and bolting everything in to place, trying your damndest to scrape by and provide for yourself. Maybe that feeling of existential deadlock is what inspired you to save up for a trip to the station in search of more lucrative work. You browse through some job postings as you sit in the transit car that rides the cables up to the station, occasionally looking through the windows to the rapidly shrinking cityscape below you. What kind of jobs were you even interested in?


>Shuttle Work. You'll be given a small shuttle craft for transporting clients throughout the Sol system, mostly workers heading to and from Mars and the Jovian stations.

>Hauling. You could sign on with the Titan Corporation as a crew member in a cargo vessel, or even petition to be given a ship of your own. It's lucrative work, if a bit monotonous. Be warned that all sorts of people might be interested in your cargo.

>Maintainence. A research ship heading out to the Frontier systems to study Orrian society needs someone to run maintainence. Your background in construction makes you a vaguely viable candidate.

>Military. You've always wanted to try your hand at joining the ISDF, but their application process is kind of long and arduous. Maybe you could look for a PMC outfit to work with instead?

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You wake up in a white void. This is where you sleep. You see the door about 20-25 feet away from you. You are a robot. Yes, a robot. A soulless automaton worker.

/qst/, What is this guy's name?

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It was when the assassination of an Archduke that the world began to change. The tension of countries began to crack and soon war follows. Proud and forced men began to march to the meat-grinder, hoping to make their countries proud. They never know how simple it is to make a hell on earth.

You are such young man, unknown to the horror lies before you. Whether you are proud or not, your country called for your sweat and blood.


Select Faction:
>Clankers: (WW1:central Power)
Clankers made machines mostly large in order to have great effect
Uses steam engines as their source of war. Steampunk Tech


>Drawinist: (WW1:Allies)
Developed creatures by modifying DNA's called Modified creatures.
Dawrwinists created animal-weapons in order to do greater damage, have better agility. Bio-punk Tech


Background:
>Farmer (+ constitution&strength)
>Hunter (+ Aim& agility)
>Lesser Noble ( Charisma & Morale)
>Teacher (+ Int& wis)
> Write in

>Your Name soldier?

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You are Smith 'Bones' Porter, a private investigator.
And you're sick with dealing with the things that life throws at you.

This day was a whirlwind of strange, mystic events. From you receiving a coin from an envelope, to said coin melting into your hand.
You don't know how that happened nor can you explain what happened next.

You were sent to a dark void, of which the only inhabitant was a copy of yourself, a copy that lacked all of your imperfections, that lacked any semblance of humanity.
But that felt like it was ages ago. In comparison, what you're facing now is another bag of horseshit that you opened.

You stand in front of an old friend, Fredrik Von Weiss. A friend that disappeared years ago, shortly after his wife, who too disappeared under mysterious circumstances.
It would had been a joyful reunion, except for the fact that your friend was now a skeleton, devoid of anything that he was in life. Except of course, for his constant smoking.
Also, he shot you with a glowing orbs of light. Which seemed harmless at first, but managed to punch through the cobble walls of the crypt.

You managed to dodge the shot, and with luck, managed to convince Fredrik, that you were in fact, Smith. You also convinced him to tell you what happened to him, which could be summed with the words "He was cursed."

After Fredrik had explained that he was cursed, he showed you a coin, a coin similar to the one you had received. It was similar not in appearance, but in the nagging feeling in your gut that says everything about the coin was bad news.

"Fredrik" You begin to say, as you walk toward your skeletal friend. "Those coins. They're bad news. The last time I fiddled with one, it exploded into a bright light. Before it sent me to an empty place. There I saw something... Something I can't explain."
You remember the thing you saw. This sends a shiver down your spine. You make a note to avoid that place as best as you can.

"Then, it sent me here. I don't know why, but god knows that I didn't want to be sent here." You take a deep breath. "Vhat?" Fredrik utters, completely confused.

"Also, I'm about to do something stupid." You take the coin from the Skeleton's hand. The mark on your left hand glowing brightly as you do so.
Then, you see them.

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You are Daelag Breedlove III, and you grandfather was one of the greatest necromancer who ever lived. His only aspiration in life was to become a Lich, but sadly, he failed in this task. When the time came, the opportunity presented itself, he chose not to ascend to Lichdom. He had built himself a dynasty with his wife, Charlotte, and his Mistress, Madeleine, and couldn't bring himself to leave it so soon.

Your father, Daelag Breedlove II, was the oldest of seven children, and inherited your grandfather's title as lord of the mountain range. He took a ten-cent whore as his wife, tarnishing your family's reputation, and had only one child, you, before mysterious circumstances took his wife's life. He had three children with his second wife, Martha, before far less mysterious circumstances led him to suicide.
Now, your dynasty is crumbling. Martha is a back-stabbing harlot.
Your siblings are not fit to rule, despite having only the best intentions. If your step-mother has her way, one of them will replace you, soon.
Your have decided to assert your dominance over the entire continent by ascending to Lichdom, and bringing glory back to your family name.
Your quest begins on a great golden throne, with several of your advisors kneeling before you. You feel your step-mother's presence, behind you and to your left.

After several moments of silence, you tighten your grip on the wooden armrests of the throne, leaving slight imprints in the wood.
"Well? What do you require of me? I don't appreciate having my time wasted."
The advisors glance at each other, before Martin, the oldest and most trustworthy of your advisors stands up, keeping his head bowed.
"Ah, sire... There have been reports of a revolt, in the Northern Mountains... They complaim that their taxes are too high, and that we don't offer enough protection to make up for it."
You scoff, the solution immediatly obvious to you.

>"Offer more protection."
>"Lower the taxes."
>"Round up a few of the perpetrators and execute them, to send a message."

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You are a Traveler, wandering the land in search of adventure. In your journey, you arrive at a crossroads. There are four paths leading in four possible directions, North, East, West, and South. You do not know what lies at the end of each path, to discover, you will have to travel the path.

> Which path do you take?
> ______?

> Traveler
> HP: 100/100
> Lv: 0
> XP: 0/10

> Equipment:
> Iron Sword
> Traveling Clothes
> 3 Rations

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>/qst/ Thread Archive: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Beyond%20the%20Gate
>QM Twitter: twitter.com/SmileytheQM
>General Info (Updated as I go): http://pastebin.com/ffH25ciB

You awaken to the feeling of something tugging at your arm. When you open your eyes and look over, you see Coral trying to drag you out of bed.

"G'mornin' you" You say, as you sit up and rest the sprite on your hand. "I take it Caiah's up and about?"

Coral nods.

"Cool" You say. Then you hop out of your bed and put Coral down on the table so you can get dressed.

"Up already?" Derrick asks.
"Seeing Caiah off" You say. "Wanna come?"

Derrick breathes in and rolls onto his back. "Ah, why not" He says, as he sits up. "Go on, I'll be out in a minute"

Once you're dressed, you set Coral on your shoulder and head for the door.

>Go see Caiah

>Wake the girls

>Other

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Inhuman screams echoed in the dark hallways of the Palace of Mourning. Mighty marble pillars and tortured stone faces of numerous saints ignored them, just like they always did. However these screams were different from those that usually visited these halls.

Lonesome cleaner servitor stopped its monotone task for a moment and looked towards the direction of the screams, but its demented, lobotomised brain couldn't find a satisfactory response to the situation. Alarm has already been raised, so there was nothing it could do. It heard footsteps running from behind and a moment later Sister Har-Duran and her squad ran past the servitor. Once long ago, in the past life, servitor knew Har-Duran. She is the best the Cult of Mourning has to offer, an elite killer with 117 trophies on the walls of her cell. Servitor knows this, because once they were sisters in arms, comrades, lovers. But as it often happens in death cults, competition and intrigue proved to be undoing of their relationship. Har-Duran did something unspeakable, but it was her sister that was forced to take the blame and pay the price.

As if guided by some ghost of past self, servitor moved towards the source of screams, which were now accompanied by the clashing of swords and barking of bolt pistols. Seven minutes ago sensors detected breach in one of the outer walls. Mere three minutes later Har-Duran's squad engaged the attacker, 16 death cultists with a combined recorded kill-count of over a thousand victims. In two minutes they were all dead. Servitor wasn't pleased, cleaning the corridor will take at least a day and it will require ladders to remove the body from the chandelier. It moved around the carnage for a bit and then stumbled upon something. Servitor diligently picked up Har-Durans torn-off head and looked into her single remaining eye. For a moment a flicker of past life seemed to find a way to its mind, but then it faded back to nothingness. Screams continued further down the corridor. Cleaning will take longer than expected.

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>Archive: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=Bladebound%20Retainer%20Quest
>Previous Thread: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/1270021/
>Twitter: https://twitter.com/TaskForceKaz
>Pastebin: http://pastebin.com/u/TaskForceKaz

[STATS]
>Combat: +++
>Social: +
>Knowledge: ++

[Abilities/Traits/Perks]
>Indomitable, Rank 1: Ignore the penalties imposed by Blood Loss. Does not negate health loss.
>Atelier of Death, Rank 1: Craft your own Bombs and Poisons.
>Blutmörder: +10 to Combat Rolls made against Blutlings and Blood Mages.
>Fleetfooted: If a Natural One would be among any roll related to acrobatic feats both in and out of combat, immediately disregard it and either take the highest roll or reroll again.
>Nimble Fingers 2: +40 to non-attack actions involving your hands (lockpicking, pickpocketing, etc.).
>Specter’s Dream: A technique to allow one to rest while remaining aware of one’s surroundings. (4/8/12 hour intervals each with their own bonuses)
>Knowledge: Nobility (Aderaveth): Take a flat 50 to Knowledge rolls concerning this subject.
>Knowledge: Underworld (Aderaveth): Take a flat 50 to Knowledge rolls concerning this subject.

You are Marcus Painel, the troubled son of the late assassin Lucien Painel, dead by your own hands at the age of nine. At the age of eighteen, you have already loved and lost, and the blood of dozens stains your hands a crimson red of retribution. But a chance meeting at the brink of death has found you as the bodyguard to Princess Ellana Crowmond, youngest of the royal family of the Aderaveth Empire. Inducted to her service as her Crownguard, you have sworn to keep her safe from harm by whatever means necessary.

Recently, your travels have led you to the river fortress of Alnewrich, governed by Lord Adamus Mazur. While he and Lord Kieran Pullman have taken an expeditionary force to quell a rebel garrison, you have seen fit to trace the steps of the assassin who came after Ellana. The trail you tease has lead you to the Alchemists’ Guild, and the daughter of the Grand Alchemist. And by…unorthodox means, you have secured yourself a reliable means of infiltration.

Having uncovered the root of a chilling conspiracy, your thoughts and attentions turn to a more domestic (and quite possible) affair among the noble echelons of the Empire.

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>Hey guys. Trying for a change of pace for a quest to run alongside my XenoMorph Quest. This will not be a civ so they shouldn't interfere with each other in the old noodle.

>Rules. Good to have them because without them we are just raging /B/tards. Rolls are D100, best of first 3, crits win and cancel crits. You roll with your vote when prompted. highest roll wins.

>Setting. This will be a post-apocalyptic low-Fantasy Quest set in a Desert/wasteland populated only by those desperate or stubborn enough to live there.

Quest begin

Your boots settle upon upon the sand blasted surface of the Asphalt road. A rusted octagonal sign nearby tells all who approach "S-OP". You lift your goggles from your eyes as the wind dies down, the sand whistling through the air settling like gritty snow. You wet a rag from your canteen (you passed a spring a while back so you don't feel wasteful) and wipe your face carefully, sighing at the cool relief. You sweep your coat back and marvel that you have made it this far. Although the wastes are mostly empty the inhabitants are generally unfriendly.

>Who are you?

>Name

>Gender

>Backstory

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Welcome back my favorite bunch of homicidal rape-murder aliens! Last time on XenoMorph quest we asserted our control over Main and Beta deck, wiped out a colonial Marines assault team with moderate losses and wound up with a veritable fortune in Hosts and corpses. OP sank into the deepest reaches of the oceans of faggotry but returned to his chosen people.

You glorious chucklefucks.

Google doc-
https://docs.google.com/document/d/183VLgKW-e1pft0lL_S6moVp4gqhfJAb7CA--3YRNw1M/edit?usp=drivesdk

Archive- http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=CursedQm

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