<span class="mu-s">How are we doing this?</span>

Votes are tallied every hour on the dot.

You have three basic Approaches that function as a base for your character's strengths and weaknesses when facing problems, represented after the three Noxian principles.

<span class="mu-s">MIGHT</span> — Strength, vigor, health, constitution, resistance, resilience, brutality, violence, combat.
<span class="mu-s">GUILE</span> — Dexterity, agility, precision, charisma, stealth, persuasion, illusion, deception.
<span class="mu-s">VISION</span> — Will, perception, magic, occult, intellect, knowledge, wisdom, strategy.

To perform a <span class="mu-s">roll</span> you just have to <span class="mu-s">roll 2d6</span>, plus whatever points you have in the most appropriate <span class="mu-s">Approach</span> for what you're trying to do.

<span class="mu-s">2-5 - Failure </span> — Suffer all of the appropriate consequences.
<span class="mu-s">6-9 - Complication</span> — The action is partially successful. Something goes wrong in the process.
<span class="mu-s">10+ Success! </span> — The action succeeds without problem. The higher the better!

<span class="mu-s">This post will be a one-shot quest; we'll run the full story and then be done with it for now!</span>

They'd warned you that the weather in the Freljord was the coldest in all of Valoran but you hadn't expected it to be this bad. Snow falls all around you as you try fruitlessly to peer into the horizon from the deck of the warship that's bringing you and a hundred other bastards plus a handful of commanding officers into the frozen hell that is the Freljord. You can't see anything, though; all you get is a white screen of fog and snow in every direction, were it not for the lapping of the waves against the black hull of the ship and the gentle rocking they bring you would think you're not even moving at all!

It's... scary, truth be told. You know this is your one chance, the only opportunity you've got and you don't want to screw it up, and still the fear that grips your heart doesn't let go. You look away from the sea of white to notice General Darron is there, walking from conscript to conscript, all in similar situations to you. Forced into this mission without even knowing what you're doing. All young. All lacking equipment beyond the bare minimum Trifarian armor and blades. Darron, a tall man with dark skin and an even darker suit of heavy armor, is approaching you and you quickly straighten your back, hand to your chest in the proper salute though he's already waving his hands dismissively as he gets closer.

"Name and origin?" He inquires, pulling a small wooden board with papers on it, it's clear he's doing a census of sorts for all the conscripts.

<span class="mu-s">Who are you?</span>
> Name
> Gender
> Nation of Origin

Also choose a Background, check the pic to see the options.

You are a DUCK. You live a good life and enjoy a diet of worms, pondweed, amphibians, seeds, and of course, the occasional spattering of bread.

Life has been slow at the pond.
>What do?

[email protected]

<span class="mu-s">Monday</span>
<span class="mu-s">Grid Sector 11873, Defensive Position "Razorback"</span>

The Bradley 1A5 kept firing with it's auto-cannon at the incoming target. One of it's tracks, the left one, was damaged. The rack of guided missiles had been emptied days ago and there hadn't been the chance to refill them.

Quartermaster "Godmother" was inside the basement of a ruined house, missing it's second floor and portions of the first. The structure of plywood would provide minimal protection or cover, which was why he was underground.

Beside him was Jack Price, the Engineer from MARS Incorporated, now a Lieutenant in what remained of the Armed Forces.

Finally, if he was still alive, was Capt. Harry Grand from the Air Force.
-
-
In the basement was a Javelin guided missile, loaded, but with no available reloads. There was also MARS MPAR, a laser guided upgrade of the FGM-172A SRAW project. That system and a single reload were bundled together. Both would require firing from outside or the precarious top floor.

The other explosive options were the drum fed, six shot 40mm Milkor MGL.... OR three disposable AT-4ERs.

There was closed crates that may or may not have additional supplies, but the three of them didn't know how to operate that many weapons outside the rocket launchers and a basic M16A4.

There was the blowtorch and Quik Patch case, if Jack wanted to try repairing the Bradley.

Faces unfamiliar to you pass by, speaking in a tongue of gibberish that is only partially comprehensible. Half of them wear tribal attire of losers larping as tribal warriors, but their cosmetic scars and muscles were way too refined to be just costumes. The sky rolls in a color you've never seen before.

No more brother wars
>>>/pol/527165776
No more sand nigger propaganda against our Indian brothers

Pick race and location

Jail Quest: a text adventure occasionally illustrated.

A night of drinking and a failed attempt to cheat on cards had landed you the strangest job slash community service sentence you've ever had: ensuring Gongalla Gaol survives the reality storm called Singularity.

Now you travel around with your employer and a handpicked crew to survey the four Reality Anchors. Hey, beats being tarred and feathered, right?

Previous thread:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6274911/

Gongallaverse:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Gongalla%20Gaol

You suddenly jolt wide awake in an unfamiliar room, with no recollection of the past few hours. It even took you a few seconds to remember you are Rosa Montagni, and another few seconds to realize the other person in the room is your crewmate, Valencio. Slowly, hazy recollections piece together a loose narrative of previous events: you've reached Viridis, the first leg of your journey to the East's Reality Anchor, when you receive news that your go-to destination slash transport, the walking city Freeport, had problems with its engine. Then you were sidetracked into a casino, where you played cards and unwittingly aided a truant Hexbourne student against a haughty twin Hexbourne students sent to retrieve him. Then you got entangled in a complex emotional... something with the casino owner, Don Bosco. Something about your mentor, Sierra (no relation to Sierra, the deity of the South anchor) and copious amounts of drinking? That must be why your memory's so hazy.

You laid on the cold floor, eyes heavy and limbs numb. On your left, the sun had begun to set… Probably the last one you’ll witness. Second by second, life slowly drained from your body. You weren’t a hero or a savior, but you’d like to think you gave more good to the world than evil. With that final thought, you closed your eyes one last time.

“O brave soul…”

Or not.

You stood on a clear floor that reflected you, in an empty space that stretched as far as you could see. The clouds were no longer grey, but fluffy and white in a sea of blue sky. A woman stood, no, an angel…

“I beseech you to save my people. I am Lumina, the goddess of my people. What should have been your eternal rest, I have taken your soul in order to save my world.”

Her wings fluttered as the golden light around her head glowed. Everything passed by so fast it was difficult to catch up. You didn’ t think of yourself as a hero either. You were a survivor.

[Choose character]

>Character 1

The world ended.

It all happened so fast… In a matter of months, the dead rose from the graves like a terrible b-movie, except the infection led to mutations that turned them into monsters. First, you and your family tried to escape. But one by one they all died. Since then, you lived a life of a wanderer, helping the helpless and killing the cruel.

>Character 2

The world ended.

World War III on the other hand? Yeah… That happened. The world went full on FUBAR. The war led to destruction, but shit went worse after a series of natural catastrophes, as if mother nature waited for the worst moment to shit out a punishment. In a matter of a few years, the world you knew disappeared, shredded to a concrete wasteland.

<span class="mu-r"><span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-i">"It was a simple game, downloaded by children with unrestricted internet access in an era long passed. Trends came and went, websites lived and died, and eventually Tricky Treats Online faded from the eyes of the next generation. The children who roamed the instanced streets of Tricky Treats were now adults, and this game -- frozen in time -- were the remnants of their childhood."</span></span></span> <span class="mu-i">-From the analysis video "The Real Game that Really Killed"</span>

You are Margot Merriweather, a woman of order who - despite being a child at the time - opted to play as a "Grown Up Ghoul" embracing the decoration and design of the in-game "Haunted Houses". After a decade of being away from the game, you decided to make a new character, just to peak in and relive those years for a few moments.

Nostalgia was the only thing that seemed to pause your now busy life, so occasionally after getting suitably tipsy you dip into the past. Perhaps in reliving, you gain a further appreciation for the present moment, thus making the seconds more palpable; Or maybe it's pure delusion, and the reality is you're spending your weekend alone again, desperately trying to be a kid. As judgemental as you might feel towards your own desires, you allow yourself to be under this spell, log in to your old account, and add a new profile.

<span class="mu-b">Halloween is that one time of year where all the children conquer any social misgivings for the sake of mountains of sweets. This year - however - is different, because among the candy being given, there are sure to be some <span class="mu-s">Tricky Treats!</span>

Tricky Inc. threw its hat into the candy business, and their product - Tricky Treats - exploded in popularity. Kids can't get enough, Adults can't get enough, and even the monster under your bed wants that Tricky taste!

So what are you waiting for, get out there and do what it takes to snag a bag full!</span>

Choose your Class! :

>Sugar Gobbler (Ring the doorbell, get the candy, ring the doorbell, get the candy... Wanna trade?)

>Trickster (Cough up the candy, or some toilet paper might go flying..!)

>Grown Up Ghoul (I HATE these Tricky Treaters!!!)

>Rent-a-Cop (Protect and Serve! ... After eating some confiscated confectioneries!)

>Minimum Wager (Working on Halloween? This sucks dude!)