This is a remake of a failed one shot quest i found interesting where you make the choices in the 80s DOS game "The Executive Suite"

The world of Valkemare is one shared by dragonkin and the two-legged folk. Mana ebbs and flows across innumerable leylines, nourishing the countless magical creatures that walk, swim, and fly across its surface. High above, the twin moons, Aurax and Cirion, shine their favour down on the ancient realm.

In this world, your egg has been developing steadily. By now, you —a young dragon— have finished your development, and lie in wait within your sturdy crib. Ancestral memories stir within you, as you wait for an opportune moment to lash out with your egg tooth and fight your way into a beautiful, yet oftentimes hostile world.

Before all this, however, you must grasp the basic tenets of your existence. Where does your egg sit?

>The Alpines
>The Coast
>The Desert
>The Forests
>The Jungles
>The Volcanoes

<span class="mu-s">2076.01.01, 00:01
Night City</span>

Flashing lights cut through sheets of heavy rain, far off fireworks and distant neon advertisements mingling in bright sprays of color among the dark and storm. Pink and cyan starbursts, blossoms of Arasaka crimson and Militech yellow. The dull thumps of the largest fireworks sound moments later, interspersed with the staccato rattle of celebratory gunfire from gonks and gangers alike. A cheery voice sounds through your cheap earbuds, piped in from your agent’s feed of N54.

<span class="mu-b"><span class="mu-i">“ . . . Happy New Years, Night City! Here’s to 2076, another neon bright year in the City of Dreams! Grab that someone special and . . .”</span></span>

Blinking and cursing as a few heavy rain drops land in your ‘ganic eyes, you look away from the overhead show and pull the cheap plastic hood of your transparent single-use raincoat tighter. For a few more minutes you just walk like that, hood tight and head down, alone and cold and hardly paying attention to the droning newsfeed in your ears.

<span class="mu-b"><span class="mu-i">” . . . NiCola! Taste the love! . . . Welcome back to N54 news. As new year celebrations enter into full swing in Night City, tragedy has already struck the Kabuki marketplace in Watson. The NCPD is reporting an ongoing cyber-psycho situation, with casualties reported as already reaching as high as thirty four and expected to grow. Stay safe out there, Night City! Now a word from our sponsor, Budget Arms . . . ”</span></span>

With a flick of your thumb you kill the feed to your Agent, swiping drops of water from its screen. It’s an old model, a little metal box about the size of a deck of cards with a flat screen and no flare to speak of - it’s a decade out of date, but it still runs half decent encryption. Not much else positive to say about it. Stepping under the patchy sheet metal awning of a closed scop shop, you take a moment to check your messages.

“Out alone, kid?” A scratchy voice asks from within the rolled down security mesh of the shop’s counter, interrupting you.

Turning, you spy a tired looking asian man sitting in a white plastic chair concealed in the shadows of the closed shop. Only the light of a mobile comp illuminates him, barely enough to make out an old Militech tattoo on his arm and the silhouette of a stubby pump shotgun laying across his lap.

“...Yeah.” You admit, refraining from getting any closer to the steel mesh, “Mind if I stand here for a sec?”

“Free country, kid. Do whatever you want.” The man replies gruffly, tapping away at the keyboard of his comp for a moment with one hand, “...Get kicked out?”

“Mm. Sort of.” You half mumble back. It’s none of his fucking business, but you’re not half gonk enough to say that to a stranger cradling a shotgun.

Finally you check your lone message.

The Year is 25XX. Mankind has been at the mercy of N.E.X.U.S. (the Neurologic, Electronic eXecutive and Utility System) for centuries, first her benevolence, to save us from our own overcrowding and infighting, then her failing faculties, leaving us to fend for ourselves, and now her madness and malice, having finally determined that humanity is a species of vermin; and vermin must be rooted out!

For no less than 200 years has mankind, fragmented into hundreds upon hundreds of Great Houses fought against the tyranny of The Machine’s fractured psyche, but 100 years ago, the worst and most vicious of N.E.X.U.S.’ 7 main personalities, Kali, had a devious idea; Saturate the world in microscopic nanites. When anything alive touches metal, the nanites gather and build up power to do as much harm as possible. For robots or machinery free from N.E.X.U.S. control, it will shut down, or explode or even attack the user. For simple objects, they will warp and shift, tying itself into a knot, or disintegrating, or even spontaneously exploding!

This is a continuation of the settler lord quest, which can be found here: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Settler%20Lord%20Quest

Link to the pastebin: (Contains the timeline, dramatis personae and other things.) https://pastebin.com/u/Adlershorst

Welcome to the greatest city in the wide world, softsoul. You’ll fit right in - or find yourself flowing down the river.

You are a Mask(ed vigilante) hired on the the Red Market Whisper Trade to fulfill the needs for extrajudicial arbitration. Or put differently - sometimes, someone needs someone else to beat someone third up and you step in to provide the particulars.

Come on, softsoul.
Put on the Mask.
Wrap your hands.
Make a mark on the grand old city. So much is going wrong around here, someone will have to do something about it. It might just have to be you.

It is the year 404 AC and Westeros lies a broken land, ravaged by war, sickness and ambition for the vacant Iron throne, from the ancient Wall in the north to the evergreen Rhoynar of Dorne, all lay claim to the Iron throne or those older kingships of the age of Kings. It is a time of chaos as the continent faces an uncertain future as the only authority recognised by all is the sword, in such a times a man can be anything he wishes, lowborn or high, rich and poor, he is only limited by the ebb and flow of fate and the reach and grasp of his ambitions.

But he makes what he does of it and only the gods know where he ends....
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Our Hero deeds & companions: https://pastebin.com/DxjYPx9X
Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Westeros:Interregnum

Welcome to /qtg/, a place to talk about quests.

>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 gamebook.

Questionably Useful links:

>Old pastebin containing advice for QMs:
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Badly in need of renovation.

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Fill out the request form to archive a thread.
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>/qst/-related Discords:
Quest General: https://discord.gg/bAnhvd83WV
Skirmish discord: https://discord.com/invite/DZCVvVU

Skirmishes are quests where each player creates and controls a single character rather than controlling on a central protagonist — similar to a D&D party.

>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:
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Italics: text
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] + [no. of sides in a dice]

Example: dice+1d100 = a 1d100 roll

Spoiler: spoiler or by pressing alt+s in-thread

>QM question:
Do you have any minigames or sidequests in your thread?

>Player question:
What pushes you on in reading your favorite quest?

The flame of the future felt so far away. Like a star whose luster was so unimaginably distant that none of its warmth accompanied the light.

Once, in a time that you lost grasp of in memory in spite of it only being a few years ago, you and your best friends had been at that clifftop café in Lapizlazulli- you, Leo, and Cesare, speaking of- what else- the forthcoming, and futurism, the vehicle which would bring forth such to Vitelia, and then the world.

“If anywhere is to bring about the Dawn,” Cesare said emphatically, “Would it not be Vitelia? Look at us at this table. Anywhere else on this continent, we would be two different peoples, but since our grandfather’s grandfathers, we have become one people. It can’t be much further to become one Class, surely. Greater obstructions have been conquered than stand before us now.”

“I concur,” Leo said, “Even if the Professor won’t let us write what he considers to be <span class="mu-i">insurrection</span> material, the nobility are the ones who stand the most in the way- and they have the most to lose. Yet fall they must, either gracefully or no. As the First Empire did to smash the barriers between peoples, so must a bomb shatter the castle of the nobility if they stand in the way of the Forthcoming Dawn. It’s just a fact. It will happen whether they like it or not.”

Cesare put a hand on his cheek and leaned on the table and gave his coffee a contemplative look. “Although, is that truly the way forward? Did the First Empire do it, or did it simply happen because the First Empire existed?”

Leo was a big, brutish looking man, but appearance belied truth. “I’m sure that at least some of it was a result of the Empire’s active effort.”

“Yet,” you observed, “It was also led by nobility above all the others. I imagine any highborn would have aspirations of being Emperor if the highest office now was not that of King, his ministry, or the <span class="mu-i">Signore Delle Opinioni</span>.”

“Or <span class="mu-i">Vilja Domkarl</span>,” Cesare added, “But what I was getting at, is that perhaps our unity comes from the fact that it fell, as did the Second Empire that sought to become the First. What I believe, the thesis for my Contemporary Vitelia class, is that our unity comes from an idealized vision of what once was, and an unwitting working towards the future based off of an imperfect vision of, well, what we think was perfect.”

Leo frowned and pondered his own coffee- it was empty, and he waved towards the café where the waitress was watching the lot of you talk. “That’s a disquieting thought,” he said, “Because if that’s true, then the way towards the future requires not a great triumph, but a tragedy so ruinous it reaches everybody and unites them in ashes.”