THE MONSTER KING ROARS!

A hundred years ago, during a GREAT WAR, Maou, THE MONSTER KING, has been defeated and sealed away by human HEROES. For a hundred years, he was biding his time, and recovering his strengh.

During that time, MONSTERS didn't dissapear from the world, but with MONSTER KING sealed, a person would need to be exceptionaly evil to transform. Places with evil aura can also spawn monsters on it's own! But not often. And with monster population low, the HEROES could always beat them back.

But now THE MONSTER KING stirs in his prison. He releases his power into the world in a terryfying roar! Humans who's heart is black on the inside, the ones harboring EVIL within them, cannot withstand the call of their inner monster, and by the power of MONSTER KING'S ROAR they transform!

Your name is <span class="mu-s">Vincent Cruz.</span> You work in a shady government-backed facility in the middle of the New Mexico desert. By all accounts, you are still a complete and total nobody.

You've spent the last five days struggling to survive in this new world. Your new job now involves studying and researching various anomalous entities in order to make money for the Abnormality Regulation Coalition (also known as ARC).

Somehow you've managed to do a good job over the last five days, despite having no formal experience being a researcher. It's been a struggle to get adjusted to everything but you're shocked at how good of a job you've been doing.

You suppose it's not your first time dealing with anomalous entities. You have vague memories of this chained, bleeding <span class="mu-r">heart</span> that you encountered in the past. You don't know why but you feel like that thing is watching you. You're not sure why it's so interested in you, you're a nobody after all.

Maybe that's part of the reason ARC dragged you off the streets? Who knows. Nothing about your new job makes that much sense.

As for a recap of what happened, you just finished your latest shift. You had to fight for your life against a heavily armed man who wanted you dead. You managed to beat him thanks to sheer dumb luck and in the process, you're earnt the mild respect of some of your coworkers. The rest of the day went over pretty smoothly, all things considered.

You also met two new weirdos, Moxxie and Edward, who might be trustworthy enough to hire in the future. You need as many friends as you can in a place like this. Even if most of the 'friends' you have here are way too weird for your liking.

You owe Colt a favor now after you got him drunk because of an experiment. You need to find a way to get some rifle ammo for his gun. That'll be a headache to deal with but you do owe it to him.

You're now ready to start another day. To face the music, to endure whatever ARC throws your way. All you can really do is to find a way to keep surviving. Day after day, week after week, month after month. This is your new life now, whether you like it or not.

Oh well. You're a <span class="mu-s">wageslave</span>, all you really know at this point is work. You might as well do a good job while you're stuck here, right? There's not really any other path for a husk like you. Haaa.

ARCHIVE: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Low%20Rung
VINCENT SHEET/INVENTORY: https://rentry.co/VINCENTSHEET
ALLIES: https://rentry.co/COWORKERLIST
ANOMALY NOTES: https://rentry.co/RESEARCHNOTES

Threads 1, 2, 3, 4: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Halo:%20Spartan%202%20War%20Reports
Active Spartan Roster: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/12PTTzwcNVbQbIC101lrcrQQZKWhK3myTLWEQ0A1ybj8/edit?gid=0#gid=0
_
Sven-033's Qualities: [Special] Giant, [Special] Spartan-II, Maverick, Officer [Lieutenant], Wunderkind, Inspiring.
Sven-033's Advancement Paths: Brawler: Open Hand: 5/10 Bulwark: Unbreakable: 5/10 Grenadier: 4/10| Diplomat 1/6 Infiltrator 1/6 Scrounger 2/6 Tactician 1/6| Jotun 1/4
Sub objective Progress: Artificial Artisan 3/?| Blade Breaker 1/?
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<span class="mu-s"> Current Mission: Mission 4: Operation: FALLEN- VALKYRIE

Mission Wide Optional Sub Objective : Accomplish primary objective without causing Alarm or alerting the locals/ rebel elements to the Spartan presence on black sands

Secret mission wide objective: Prevent the Einherjar on Black Sands from warning the others


Violet Team (Sven-033, Shika-108, Nesta-097, Illya-077)
Primary: Capture or Terminate VIP, Ingrid Askeland, Einherjar Political asset Codenamed Herfjötur, and retrieve her remains if she is neutralized

Optional Sub Objective 1: Capture additional Einherjar non combatants alive or dead

Secret objective 1: [FILE ENCRYPTED]

Secret objective 2: Capture or destroy the first and last shipment of "Bad Medicine"
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Indigo Team (James-005, Daisy-023, Cal-141, Anton-044)

Primary: Neutralize the Elite Einherjar Unit, the Rødt skjegg, either through complete decimation or extreme loss of irreplaceable veteran fighters

Optional Sub Objective 1: Capture "Erik The Red" Alive

Secret Objective: Prevent a false flag attack planned by the Red Beards, intended to cause further public distress and lower trust in the trustworthiness of the UNSC's peace making efforts
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Lilac Team (Naomi-010, Jorge-052, Solomon-069, Malcom-059)
Primary: Ensure the safety of non einherjar aligned insurrectionist leaders/ groups

Optional Sub Objective 1: Keep all the VIPs alive to Mission end

Optional Sub Objective 2: Keep more than 50% of non essential members of the delegation alive to mission end

Secret objective 1: [FILE ENCRYPTED
Secret objective 2: [FILE ENCRYPTED </span>
_

"Illya, lets talk shop" You say, keeping alert and scanning the Landing Zone's perimeter

"About what, Sir?" She asks immediately, pausing her own watch to glance your direction to acknowledge your request. Which was important, as you hadn't ordered her to give her two cents

"The Covenant Elite Soldier Caste" You tell her and she nods, understanding that you want to have a tactical discussion

"We call them Svartalfar" Shika chimes in "Sven came up with it"

"So that's why the operation was called that" Illya ponders outload "Kurt and the rest of us took to calling them Alligators, Svartalfar is a bit of a mouthful"

"So is Alligator, in all fairness" Nesta butts in, running her hands through her red hair and shaking it as she enjoys the sun and the breeze washing up from the shore.
Cont

<span class="mu-b">ANTON PEAS:</span> that’s your name, don’t wear it out! Originally a mild-mannered grilljockey, a botched demonic summoning brought you to <span class="mu-b">ZORAL:</span> a fantasy world shrouded in perpetual darkness!

You get used to it!

The memory loss and everyone trying to kill you? That’s the tricky part. See, your unexpected trip landed you in one Hell of a mess: not only did you lose a huge chunk of your memories, but you also forfeit your soul to <span class="mu-r">RED</span>--you don’t know the specifics, but essentially your summoning granted you some <span class="mu-r">DEMONIC POWERS</span>, so it’s not all bad!

What <span class="mu-i">IS</span> bad is what you’re up to now: your hellish helper can restore your memories, but he won’t do it for free! The price: delivering the heads of <span class="mu-r">THE FOUR LORDS OF ZORAL:</span> tyrants and titans that rule the darklands with iron fists, claws, and… you dunno, tentacles, maybe? There’s a reason they’ve ruled for so long, however, and despite your platoon of pals and plentiful powers you can’t help but feel a little apprehensive about the whole thing!

Exhibit A: <span class="mu-r">ARCHMAGE TRIER.</span> Arriving in <span class="mu-b">UMBERAL:</span> Zoral’s very own city of tomorrow, you were swiftly introduced to the <span class="mu-r">TEKSOULS:</span> menacing magitek that follow every whim Trier can think up… and you met the guy–he thinks a <span class="mu-i">LOT!</span>

Not to be outdone, you also ran into <span class="mu-r">THE SPICE CARTEL</span>--not only is Umberal their home turf, they’re also running some kind of deal with the Archmage… as for what it is, well, you shudder to think!

Your search for leverage over the Archmage took you to <span class="mu-b">TRIMBAULT ACADEMY:</span> Zoral’s most prestigious magical academy, and whole you managed to snag some goodies and teach a surprisingly-decent class (don’t ask), you didn’t manage to find notes other mages took on their Archmage adversary! Even worse, all signs point to The Cartel snatching them up for their own perfidious plots!

Luckily you had an in: <span class="mu-b">TZAH-TZIE</span>, skilled songstress and your current beau, has an axe to grind with her musical rival <span class="mu-b">LUTZA</span>. Having saved the starlet from a kidnapping on the Umberal Skyrail, you earned your way into holding a concert in Umberal, and some of the biggest names in The Cartel just happen to be huge fans!

You were just about to plot out the details at the glitzy <span class="mu-b">CRYSTALMELT HOT SPRINGS LODGE</span> when you ran smack-dab into The Cartel’s higher-ups… and the big cheese himself, <span class="mu-r">VHALE NESSURMOS</span>.

Did we mention he’s also your girlfriend’s husband? And that she freezes up like a clam on Pluto at the mere mention of his name?

Cornered by the Cartel, THIS is where your tale continues…

https://youtu.be/1lR8VLt1Xlk

>CONTD.

You are Marnie, an unwilling resident of City 87-O. After years of putting up with a stifling existence, you've finally managed to carve out a potential path to freedom. Thanks to the actions of you, your Digimon, and your allies, a way out of this digital ark is finally coming into sight.

After training hard, carrying out arduous missions, and defeating several powerful foes, your partner, Phascomon, has unlocked his Ultimate-stage Digivolution: Astamon. Only a few steps remain before you can ascend The Tower, enter the portal at its pinnacle, and make your way into the real world, where you can finally see the sights that have eluded you all your life.

Since your last excursion into the depths of a data center, you’ve been taking it easy at home, watching the news near-constantly while waiting for bots to bust down your door. Fortunately, no such thing seems to be incoming. The raid on the scanning facility has gone unreported, thanks to the lack of public-facing damage, and the city-sanctioned media has no reason to broadcast their own attempt to take you and your allies down.

==

Thread 1:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6216903/

Thread 2:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6254189

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 the campaign in Durnholde over and the loose threads there and back home in Dawnholme tied up, Alric for a moment could turn his thoughts towards enjoying a nice trip to Stormwind City with Malevus as this grand date.

But of course nothing can go as he wants and after dueling Grom Hellscream and getting wounded in the process, Alric realised the political reality in Stormwind being a much bigger and more complex obstacle. The melancholy of King Varian had for all purposes dragged the City to halt and only drastic measures could help the Stormwind City to recover. At least that was his and Lady Katrana Prestor's thinking.

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

Rain filters in through the ceiling, sliding along the support beams in just such a way it misses the numerous pots, pans, and cups scattered around the delipidated apartment and is readily sucked into the mouldy carpet. Which is then again immediately transferred to a new object: your sock. Your very next steps now all dotted with a wet squelch.

"Argh!" You cry, as you balance on one foot to pull the sock of the other, only for said wet sock to cozy up to the business end of the cigarette you had tucked between two fingers, providing a new, enticing after-taste to the familiar menthol as you unknowingly take a drag. "Huurhg!"

It might've been a week or so since you had washed that sock.

How had it come to this?

Well, the demon king lost against The Seven Braves. A poor title for a bunch of delinquents that jumped a guy seven to one. They murdered their way deep into the demon capital, defeated all the bureaucrats present, and killed the ministers while shouting inane things like "Die Heavenly Generals!"

They hadn't been generals and they certainly hadn't been heavenly.

They were butchered all the same and all branches of government were eradicated over the span of a few days. After performing what amounts to genocide, the "Saintes" had the gall to clasp her still-bloody hands together, bat her eyelashes, and say things like "No, we can't kill them all, that would make us just like them!"

And so the remaining demons, conveniently all of middle-rank and lower, were accepted as refugees into human society. What's that? You want to stay here in the demon lands? I see. Hmm? That demon from earlier? Oh, they fell into the river. Yes, lost all their limbs along the way. Wild, isn't it? Anyway, safety and a bright future awaits you in the human nation of Lightsong!

A few decades have passed since then, demons were by and large limited to awful jobs that made little to no money. The timing of the demons' arrival had been amazingly convenient, just as human society was entering an industrial golden age that required a massive labour force. Truly, the stars aligned for humanity.

The era of sword, shield, and spell has long since passed into history. Few still practice the ancient, magical arts, but demand has somewhat diminished now that you can barely chant out the first seven incantations of a spell before a newly arrived bullet in the brain informs you that you shouldn't bother with final three.

Reawaken, O great one, thy time has come at last once more. Long left scorned and forgotten, you have not forgotten the heroes who laid low both you, your fortresses, and your dominion. Now you shall rise from the ashes, reclaim your power and reign supreme once again. Let your enemies tremble at the mere mention of your name, for you are the true ruler of this land and all lands beyond it.

Alas! For it has been too long; while the darkness has kept you safe like a cloak, it has also made you forget. Time and the dark have gnawed at you for too long. For while your trick with placing your spirit within a container might have prevented your demise, it also eroded and disembodied you.

A shrivelled shadow you thus became, ignorant of yourself. Ignorant of form, ignorant of name, what scarce memories you did have of your past mostly addressed you as 'lord' or 'master'. None dared speak it, not before your personage at the very least.

Yet you were great and powerful once, the terror of a hundred kings. Sacker of a thousand cities, master of untold legions and hordes of both disciplined blackguards and savage barbarians.
Others saw you as a god incarnate, or at the very least the high priest of a very cruel and demanding god, who was to be appeased with tributes of gold, silver and manpower. Yes, lesser princes, khans and chieftains willingly kowtowed and fought over your ever-fickle favour.

But all of that is gone now, scattered to the wind; your empire fell with you. No servant could ever keep it together. As you lay dying, you made your last desperate gambit. You transferred your soul out of your dying body and into an object.

Oh, it was a brilliant plan, an exit for just such a scenario. But you hadn't foreseen the consequences. It was long, too long, far too long for you to be able to do anything; you withered and diminished. Seething and crying until your spirit lost the ability to form a coherent face. Was this it? Would you spend an eternity in silent suffering? Forgotten and tormented by a world that had moved on from your greatness?

Perhaps not so, for as you lay in your diminished state, you watched from one of the gemstones, which were like windows, set within the object which you had chosen.
Choose an option.
Jewellery
>A ring
>A necklace
>A bracelet
Weapons
>A mace
>A sword
>An axe
Miscellaneous
>A grimoire
>A chalice
>A staff

Your name is <span class="mu-s">BrightReef Grover</span> and you are finally a <span class="mu-s">Science Scout</span>!

Among the youth of Swallia; public service is considered a great mark on a resume for a future career, and a great use of a young person's time. Before being mated or mature enough to engage in the workforce; it is a method to expend youthful energy towards something useful. But you wouldn't know much about that; you're more interested in the merit badges, the sash, and the cool stuff you get to do.

The Scouts are a direct subsidy of InterCon; the governing body of your independent planet. Swallia and its two moons are in an autonomous zone and are free from the predations and exploitations of other powers in space. This is guaranteed by your protector-in-all-but-name state; the Jaxtian led Hegemony. But once again, you don't really know much about that. You're just a kid, you're much more excited about summer vacation on the last day of school. You even get to meet the representative from the Eugenic & Science policy department of the Swall government. Cool!

Welcome to <span class="mu-i">Knights of Nothing</span>. For those of you who were part of “The Testament of Tatamu” quest a few years ago, this takes place in the same post-apocalyptic universe, albeit closer to the beginning of the timeline. The setting errs closer towards hard(er) science fiction.

For those who don’t know me, I’m Kaz, and I’ve been a QM since the last few years back when quests were still on /tg/ before we made the jump. My last active quest was “Star Wars – Interregnum”. For those familiar with me, it’s been a long time. Sorry for disappearing without any warning. Long and short of it was a mixture of burnout, writer’s block, and IRL/day job getting in the way of things.

In any event, I’m back in a limited capacity. I’m back in trade school and doing irregular contract work, which leaves a creative-sized hole in my chest. So I’m writing once more, with the goal of trying to do 1-2 updates per day. For those waiting for <span class="mu-i">Interregnum</span>, it’s coming soon(TM). My block was really starting to show towards the end of the last thread, and I need to square the circular peg on either fixing it or wiping part of the slate clean.

The mechanics of this quest draw heavily from the Fantasy Flight Games <span class="mu-i">Genesys</span> narrative dice system, albeit modified and changed for questing format, which is the same system that <span class="mu-i">Interregnum</span> uses.

Now, without further ado…

==============

<span class="mu-i">The world stopped, then began anew.</span>

>>Location: Unknown
>>Date: Unknown

The burden of consciousness is abruptly forced upon you – sudden and without any warning.

Your first breath is a wet, choking sputter that catches in your throat. Something thick and viscous coats the inside of your esophagus, nearly strangling you from the inside. Each attempt at inhaling or expelling only makes it worse, every aborted retch an aborted reminder that your body has seemingly turned against you.

Panic surges before rational thought can catch up. Adrenaline sears away the last remnants of a dreamless sleep, burning away a mental fog clouding your mind until only the rawest survival instinct remains, and a painful hyper-awareness of your immediate surroundings.

And then you feel them – cold, conforming walls pressing against your body, smooth and pliant, firm and unyielding as they conform to your panicked thrashing. Your hands slap against a curved surface only mere inches away from your face. The realization shoots through you like ice in your veins.

You are enclosed.

Entombed.

Trapped.

(cont.)