The world has another side, one with secret societies and hidden powers vying for control. But it is not merely humans, nay. For millennia, creatures which a modern man considers fables have been battling in the shadows, both within their own, and others. Only the Magical Girls can slay the demons of humanity's suffering, and clean up the supernatural messes along the way!
Following next, a magical girl begins her first training session.
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On the last Episode, our Heroine, Magical girl SugarRush, has gotten her first introduction to magical girl society. Witnessing the dark land of the Shadow Market where she met an eccentric ‘apprentice’ E, and a non-combatant Sister of the Magical Girls, the troubled Angel. Now, she has arrived on the beach to train with her Magical Girl teammate, Jacky.
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You shake off your troubles, compartmentalization always works, thought it feels like the more you lock away, the quicker you reach your limit. But this is important, you’re here to train with Jacky. She doesn’t seem like the sort to make it too harsh anyway.
So you nod at the short girl. Much like you, clad in bikini and flip-flops, though carrying a small purse. “Lead the way.”
Jacky widens her grin. “Attagirl!”
As you walk on the sand, you feel the gazes taking you in. You stare ahead, while Jacky waves. “I didn’t know when you were arriving, so I’ve been chatting for a while. There have increased drownings, it’s not part of our territory but it’s good to know, both for our own girls, and for the rest.”
You arrive at what might be generously called a bar, but it’s closer to a plastic shack in the middle of a beach, which just happens to have some booze on sale. A surfer dude is manning the counter, eagerly greeting your companion. “Welcome back babe! This the friend you mentioned?” He bears a grin as he scans you, one that falters when his eyes eventually reach your face. You have been told in the past that you have a resting bitch face, though you think you’re just honest with your emotions. “Y’ alright, dudette?” His question seems to carry a hint of genuine worry, but before you can answer, and probably tell him to fuck off, Jacky is already smoothing the situation. “She had a real rough few days. That’s why she’s here, the sun’s out, the water’s great, and some drinks will make that even better.”
The explanation calms him, grin returning and head bobbing with nods. “Yeah, the waves ‘ve been great.” He turns, opening a cooler and taking out four bottles, two of some tripe named cocktail drink, and two of watermelon vodka. “Can I count on you for the Luau?”
Jacky seems almost too smug. “Oh I wouldn't miss it.” She takes the bottles and turns, doing a slight flourish with her hips.
You remember primary school: running past metal doors and out into the recess playground, the teachers would always say "don't play rough." But inevitably someone would cross the line, and pushes and kicks and punches would be thrown over a crude joke or a prank, or for any one of a million stupid reasons.
You were never one of the offenders. But you do remember a close friends being a frequent troublemaker and an almost semi-permanent fixture inside the principal's office; on returning he would parody the principal's lecture in a faux serious voice—”propriety this, behavior that,” and other such things that kids liked to make fun of.
But at the end of whatever day he'd decided to make trouble, you would always spot him sitting on a chair inside a bereft classroom, looking downcast. Then you'd see his mother and the homeroom teacher deep in conversation, walking down the hallway and entering the room, closing the door behind them.
The following day he'd always return muted and solemn, and no roughhousing would occur for several days. You'd learn many years later that at dinner, when his father would ask "How was everyone's day," his mother would report on her son's mischief. Sometimes his father would wait until after dinner to bring out his belt. Other times, right there and then, he would administer his displeasure.
It befuddled you. Education at the point of the sword—a paradox if ever you saw one. But it wasn't something you ever personally experienced growing up, getting "disciplined" in that manner.
Your father…
>wasn’t around much >wasn't around at all >wasn’t prone to violence
You are a dwarf, proud, sturdy, strong. Your race has a rich and ancient history, though you know few details of it. Life finds a way to keep one from sitting down and hitting the books. On your end, it was the constant need to keep food on the table and learn a proper trade.
You do not live in a dwarfhold. In fact, you live rather far from any dwarfhold. This is the city of Anbenncost, the largest city in the Empire of Anbennar. Though there’s all kinds of creatures here, it is ruled, and mostly populated, by humans. You were born and raised here, yet your parents used to live in a proper dwarfhold, the hold of Khugdihr, far to the northeast, at the mouth of the great Serpentspine mountains. It was lost to the Greentide, a great invasion of orcs led by one Korgus, who was killed by a shieldmaiden by the name of Corin, who then supposedly rose to godhood as Goddess of War in the Cannorian Pantheon.
You don’t know much about all of that either. It all comes from rumors, hearsay, sermons… The older dwarves told you most of it, and they are spiteful and bitter about the fall of Khugdihr, you nodded along when they recounted the story of their battles against the orcs and goblins of Korgus but that’s all it was to you, stories and tall tales from your elders. You didn’t fight in the collapsing tunnels of Khugdihr, you didn’t desperately march through the depopulated wastelands of Castanor to reach Anbennar, you didn’t face the initial backlash from the locals when they saw the hordes of refugees at their gates, you didn’t struggle to adapt to strange customs and find work among those who hated you just for being there.
It's not that your life was simple either. You are the son of refugees, and a dwarf, in a city that hasn’t yet fully accepted dwarf-kind among them. They’d much rather you left for one of the Cannorian holds, those that were built among mountains far away from the Serpentspine and thus were unharmed by the Greentide. Maybe it’d be best to live in one of those holds but it would be a hell of a trek, and you heard many rumors that they’re not accepting newcomers. They’re full, they say. Well, Anbenncost and its people also insist that they’re full to the brim.
So, if they’re full, then you’re going to make a life of your own as an adventurer. Adventurers are the kind of folks you hear magnificent tales about, they fell evil and restore good. That’s what the tavern songs and bard tales say but you know it’s not so simple. It’s grey, really. You need coin to live, and sometimes the people hiring don’t have the interests of all that is good and well at heart yet they still need a good sword to take care of their issues.
Good, bad, you’re not really sure what your path is going to be, but it’s going to beat slaving away as a menial in the docks of the city for the centuries of live you have yet to live.
Last night got a little wild. Fridays always are. The Tantric Submersion Tanks you run for your manacite side hustle keep your conquests pent up and panting for decades at a time, so whenever you cycle out your batteries for bed-slaves their libidos just don't quit. Heat up the onsen and drop some spice and the only reason why you're not a shriveled up husk this morning is your elven blood, <span class="mu-i">engineered</span> through ten thousand millennia of high alchemy to be superior in every way.
Greater strength, greater speed, greater stamina, greater intellect, greater magic potential. You stand two heads taller than the tallest of their men, with a "sword" to put their entire species to shame and a bosom whose perfect size and shape made their women weep with envy. The very picture of elven perfection, as every Star Ranger ought to be.
The small legion of human bitches you keep aboard your tree-ship as maids, batteries, and bed-slaves were all supposedly the champions of their worlds. Proud lady knights, magical girls, saintesses, and sorceresses, none of them put up much of a challenge when your <span class="mu-i">Red Oak</span> pulled into orbit to harvest their world and bring them into the Aelvar Dominion. Now the lucky ones spend their days keeping your ship clean and their nights polishing your sword. The rest spend their days in near constant erotic torment so that their souls can contribute to the Dominion by producing a steady supply of manacite for your use and profit.
It's not like they'll ever rebel, either. Human souls are easy to manipulate, and you've engraved an indelible crest upon each of them that marks them as your property and makes them yearn for your command.
"Lady Sandra, your breakfast is ready." Your favorite maid breaks you from the thought of continuing last night's activities. Tall for a human, fair of skin and hair, and with tits half as big as yours, she took to her role in your service quite well as you conquered your first world. Plus, she looks good enough in the maid outfit that you don't waste her by putting her in a pod. "Additionally, you will want to know that First Prince Calamar has sent new orders for you over the ansible."
"Good morning Loulou. I take it the council found another garden?" you ask, already knowing the answer. You need to pull your sword out of some pink haired bitch's mouth as you rise from your bed.
"Just so, Lady Sandra," Loulou says. She helps you into your clothes and bats away some of the horny bitches who think they deserve to cling to you or try to whine for another round. There's a perverse pride she takes in batting them away, as she knows that you only tolerate that sort of behavior from her, as she's the most reliable slave you have. "It was not classified, so I took the liberty of reading through the prince's commands and preparing a summary for you."
Giving Loulou's butt a squeeze, you lead her to the dining hall and tell her, "Let's hear it."
Hey /qst/, I'm from China and wanted to share a log from a quest (basically an interactive CYOA/story) we ran on our local anonymous board, X Island. Hope you guys enjoy it.
Here's the link: https://www.nmbxd1.com/t/55362191 If you want to read the whole thing, you might need to sign up (only up to page 99 is visible to guests). Registration requires a Chinese phone number though, so fair warning.
Also, my English sucks, so this was all translated by DeepSeek. Don't blame me if it reads weird lol.
Not sure if this is the right board for quest logs, so I'm posting it here in /qst/. Mods feel free to move/delete if I fucked up.(and I already fucked up in /tg/ ( ﾟ∀。))
The bones of the kneeling man give way as a primal scream escapes his lips, the sack covering his head only provides enough of a barrier to marginally lower the volume of his shrieking.
The crowd watching this brutal execution jeers at the man, "MURDERER", "C'MON LAD, PUT YOUR BACK INTO THE SWING", and other words of mockery slip from the mouths of the audience. The executioner, a large and burly man covered from head to toe in black garments, wields a nearly inhumanely long and heavy looking club. Each swing of it brutalizing the man in what is an increasingly barbaric display of punishment.
"Bastards.." you catch a barely audible whisper coming from what may be a woman behind you.
That's right.. you're not far off from being in the mans shoes ahead of you. Unsure of your bearings or whatever village they've transported you to due to your own coverings over your head, the only sure thing is you deserve to be here by all equal rights and measure. No matter what hole they put you in, no matter how long you were in there for, temptation overcame you.
<span class="mu-s">CRASH</span>
The sound of the poorly constructed floorboards give way and the crowd cheers, everyone waiting in line with you in the back is splattered by something.
"DID YA SEE THAT THERE? BATTERED THAT FUCKERS HEAD CLEAN OFF E' DID!" A particularly excited man shouts from out front the display.
You feel a rough hand grab your arm as it <span class="mu-r">tugs aggressively</span> causing you to yelp in pain, the wound in it from your previous capture not yet fully healed. Looks like you're next for whatever is coming, no tears fall from your eyes, you lay your sights on nothing but the burlap sack covering your head, your vision obscured by the bag.
In these final few moments you close your eyes, visions of the past slowly trickle forth from both before your criminal acts and after. You sigh and try to contain the fear of certain death coming your way, that is until an <span class="mu-r">overwhelmingly sharp pain in your head</span> throttles itself into the forefront of your thoughts. You scream before anything even happens and drop fully onto the floor like an infant.
No, you can't accept this.. to just lay down and die like this? You won't let these bastards make a display out of you.
<span class="mu-b">All the pain in your body suddenly goes away!</span> You stand, despite the efforts of the executioners help trying to keep you down on your knees, you stand defiant before them as an unknown burst of strength takes hostage over you.
The crowd murmurs amongst themselves in confusion, you hear the executioner wasting no time and rapidly approaching you on the stage.
"Oyo... what's that freak doing there now?" A confused man in the crowd says.
From behind the bag hiding your face, you smile. "Oh, but I'm not just any freak.." you start talking back, "I'm.."
>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.
>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: <span class="mu-s">text</span> Italics: <span class="mu-i">text</span> Red: [ red ] <span class="mu-r">text</span> [ /red ] Blue: [ blue ] <span class="mu-g">text</span> [ /blue ] Green: [ green] <span class="mu-b">text</span> [ /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 or by pressing alt+s in-thread (doesn't work in OP)
>QM Question: How in-depth do you plan? Of course no plan survives first contact with the enemy, but how many plot beats do you try to have? Do you have an ending in mind?
>Player Question: How do you feel when a quests ends? Be it naturally or unnaturally (flaked/cancelled). Have you ever been compelled to continue a dead quest? Did you? If not, why?
>General Question: How many quests have you seen finish properly? Do you wish more QMs showed restraint and did more self-contained stories, or do you prefer quests that just keep going so you don't have to stop reading them?
>Lurker Question: There is no question, vote.
>Miscellaneous Question: Hypothetically, if there was a /qst/ board secret Santa like some of the other boards have, would you participate?
With the Tournament of Power brought to a close, the Seventh Universe has emerged triumphant once more. Led by the Saiyan warriors, the Seventh's victory was secured. And with the wish on the Super Dragon Balls used to restore the other universes that were eliminated and erased, the final hidden trial was passed, and all eight of the universes up for elimination were allowed to remain. Yet, even with this victory, peace doesn't last in the Seventh Universe for long. As old hatreds rise and long-buried grudges resurface, will you have what it takes to keep everything you've worked the last 28 years of your life to build? Or will those who seek your end ultimately triumph? That all depends on you, and your choices.
You the players will (most often) control Karn. A Saiyan man who has grown from his lowly beginnings as a mid-tier Saiyan Brawler with a sub-3000 powerlevel in Age 733 to become not only the strongest Saiyan of his time at AGE 759, but also personal friend to the former emperor Lord Freeza, father to over a dozen powerful and unique children, a mentor and teacher to his fellow Saiyans, and the indisputable winner of the Tournament of Power. Wielder of the Berserker Soul, and the powerful Stand Divine Dragon Force, you're fully equipped to handle any threat that comes your way. But what will you do when the threats aren't always physical, when you can't simply punch all your problems away?
Quest rules are as follows(unless otherwise noted): >30 minute vote times >Pick ONLY ONE option when voting >Dice rolls are all best of three correctly-rolled dice >At ten minutes past your previous roll, and there are not yet enough rolls, you may roll an additional roll >Crits are 100 on a d100 >99s or paired rolls may net you extra bonuses >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 also find me on twitter @GrandDragonQM, which I keep as up to date with any scheduling changes.
