The Dragonair lunges and the crowd roars. "Thunder Wave!" you shout, and your partner executes the move with singular grace, electricity crackling across the arena floor. The opposing Machamp staggers, muscles seizing, and for one bright moment the match is yours.

A kid next to you turns up the volume on his PokéGear, snapping you out of the memory.

You're on a bench in Goldenrod Station with your bag between your feet and a promotional "Moocha" going cold in your hand -- MooMoo Milk and a single shot of espresso, Whitney's smiling face on the cup. The kid next to you, ten or eleven with a Sentret perched on his backpack, is watching Pokémon League reruns on a PokéGear screen no bigger than a playing card. It's not one of your matches, nor your Dragonair, from two years ago. You look away, slightly relieved.

Goldenrod at rush hour is an intolerable racket of voices, horns, and traffic. Commuters crowd into the Magnet Train platform while a group of young trainers clusters around a map kiosk, backpacks stuffed with Potions and dried Oran Berry trail mix. A recruitment poster for the Goldenrod Gym hangs on the nearest pillar -- Whitney's Miltank grinning beside bold text: THINK YOU'RE TOUGH ENOUGH? You've walked past it three times in three separate locations today.

Your PokéGear buzzes in your pocket. The caller ID reads BLACKTHORN GYM and a name that makes you immediately swipe left to dismiss. You slide the PokéGear back into your pocket. Dragonair's Pokéball brushes your wrist as you do so, faintly warm the way it always is. You couldn't bring yourself to box her or trade her away like you did the others. You've been through too much together.

The departures board above the main concourse clicks through its rotations, white letters on black tiles shuffling into place. You hitch your bag onto your shoulder and walk toward the board.

>You're here for the Magnet Train to Saffron City, then to Lavender Town, to take over the local PokéMart for your sick uncle.
>You're here for the ferry to Olivine City. An old friend is in over their head with the PokéMart they bought recently and has asked (begged) for your help.
>You're here for the bus to Azalea Town, where the grandma who raised you has kept the local PokéMart running since before you were born.

<span class="mu-i"> ''He was many a thing to many a person. The wise mentor, who helped the hero on his way; the able wizard, always able to conjure up new tricks and spells; the trustworthy advisor, there to guide the king or queen on their way to greatness; the beloved courtier, whose suggestions always won favour at court; the loyal friend, who stood by through thick and thin; the compassionate healer, who tended to the sick and wounded with care and skill. All of these were masks in one way or the other, and though many spoke of him, none knew him.

He was a king, a priest, a merchant and a sorcerer, and yet he was also the dirty man toiling in the fields and the cutthroat lurking in the alleyway. A thousand roles, and yet he always came back with another: the elven prince, the dwarven master craftsman, the orc warchief, the hooded stranger. He was the priest of the sun god in the sweltering jungles of the south and the incarnation of the winter king in the taiga of the frigid north.

But what lay beneath? But a malevolence unrivalled, a desire to impose order upon all life, to make this world rigid and unyielding to his whims. And he played his parts well; sometimes he arose, deceived a people into worshipping him, and made their land, their people, and their culture but a part of his vision.

Coalition-building might have been his true strength, both in his favour and against him. His efforts led him far, building an empire that stretched from the jungles over the deserts and steppes to the ice caps. From east to west, from north to south, nowhere was truly safe from his reach.

And at the centre of it all lay a place most desolate, a blighted landscape, where nought stood but a dark tower. Here he planned, coordinated, plotted and sat upon his throne, in between leading his dark hosts or going out to conduct his eldritch plans and rituals elsewhere.'' </span>

https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=The%20Shadow%20Rises%20Anew

The deed was done; a rebellion had been squashed once again, their cavern home rendered uninhabitable by your own toxic fumes. Part of you had wished to crawl through, rip the little leader from his hiding hole, and eat him wholesale.

But you elected not to; no, instead you made certain that if there were those who had survived, they would never see the sky again, nor would they hew their way out, for you melted the stone shut. When you finally got out of the caverns, the mountain partially caved in, sealing off any chance of escape for the rebels.

But it was inevitable, was it not? Such is the fate of all those who oppose you; nobody would remember this place, the peasant might for the rest of their short, miserable lives, but they will die, and a century from now, there will be naught in remembrance but your past conquests, nothing in the present but your edicts and decrees, and the future to be filled with future glory.

This is a world of bloodthirsty monsters, ever hungry cannibals, bandits, brutal slavers. Wild beasts rule the deserts and plains, survival alone is a grueling struggle.

Not even the strong can make it here in this desolate place.
There's no history or record of what it was or how it came to be, there's only survival.

Your beginnings will be no different. You will not be the chosen one. You’re not great and powerful. You are not the center of the universe, and you are not special.

Unless you work for it.

Each choice will take you to a part of the world, it will not be safe nor you will find allies nearby. Choose.

>The Holy Sword (Not all treasure is worth keeping. Someone's going to be missing this.)
>Rock Bottom (Alone, unarmed, naked and hungry. Rock bottom in the middle of the desert. )
>The Slave (Just another slave working in the pits digging rocks and metal to build a pointless statue.)

You are a valiant KNIGHT who has been tasked by your cool and nice KING to find and deliver to him several pieces of DELICIOUS CANDY from the RIDGE KINGDOM.

Your honorable quest for confections has been thwarted, however, by this large and rather inconvenient wall. Whatever shall you do?

Nar Shadda, The Smugglers Moon.

The Gateway to the underbelly of the Galaxy, where millions come every day to engage in the perverse pleasures that Hutt space offers. 50 million statutes are broken each half hour, that is, they would be, if there were any real laws. Everything is a gang on Nar Shadda, from the biggest Casinos to the most run down Spice houses. Everything and everyone can be shipped, purchased, or stolen here.

It's Sometimes Called the "One Honest Ecumenopolis" as it does not lie. Coruscant, Hosnian Prime, Denon, they lie. They pretend all the luxury just spouts up from the ground, ignorant or oblivious to the untold suffering to get a single bolt of cloth or drop of water to their planet. They turn a blind eye or sightspot or feeler from the poverty that exists to make living easy. Nar Shadda has terrible air, a desperate clinging ecosystem, and the most shot to pieces water cycle for several Lightyears. Everything edible to all but the most diseased mutant junkie or bottom layer dwelling savage comes in through the space ports, where it is distributed from each according to their wealth, according to their greed. Other planets ignore the savagery of sentient and sapient life, nevermind the killing and slaughter, but Nar Shadda Doesn't. Why Pretend that Kaleesh and Wookies And Savrips aren't being killed for hides, despite obvious sentience? While Coruscant would deny these Cruelties, Nar Shadda would sell them a gun to blow the brains out of the Huk, Trandoshan, and Human oppressor, for a reasonable price.

Nar Shadda is Hutt Space. Hutt Space is Nar Shadda. Hutt Space is just a reflection of the universe, it has always been here and it will never die. It will never be conquered, and it will never change.

And, Just your luck, you were born here. And by the way the next 15 minutes are looking, you'll probably die here.

The sun rises over the horizon, painting the far horizons of New York City in a cascade of brightness and tones situated around the tall buildings. Today is just a day like any other as you rise, the brightness of the morning sky peeking through your curtained windows.

Stretching out of bed with a fairly dramatic yawn, you hear a voice call out to you, "Honey, come down and eat before the bus gets here!" Your mothers voice resounds from downstairs.

"I'll be down there soon!" You respond, huffing to yourself as you get out of bed and head towards the bathroom.

Turning the shower on and waiting for the water to heat up, you undress and gather your school uniform into a neat pile nearby in your bathroom. Some time passes after you finally clean up and get ready, your blue and white uniform accentuating your lean form fairly well. You look for your student card before heading downstairs and finally find it, the has your picture on it with a name that reads..

>Thomas Tomlinson

>Cheryl Constance

>Tarek Saint-John

>Hitomi Kiyosumi

>It is February 2nd of the Year 71 of the Cosmic Era

>Previous Thread:
>>6357021

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With the fall of the Space Fortress Artemis, the Might of the hijacked G-Weapons is finally showcased for both sides to see in a proper engagement... <span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-i">You, Frieden Moon. Did not take part on it.</span></span> But as you're finally arriving closer to the PLANT colonies in order to discuss the situation of not only Heliopolis' fall but perhaps, the Secrets discovered within it... <span class="mu-i">A question is raised over what it means for the only Natural ZAFT pilot to come back with news for the Homeland's council to hear.</span>

You are <span class="mu-s">Princess Myrcella Baratheon</span> and your problems are too numerous to count.

Where do you even begin? Your older brother <span class="mu-s">Joffrey</span> is a charismatic sociopath who enjoys torturing kittens to death. Your younger brother <span class="mu-s">Tommen</span>, for all his good moral character, lacks anything resembling a spine. Your mother, <span class="mu-s">Queen Cersei Baratheon</span>, is a witless imbecile who has convinced herself that she's the most intelligent person in any room that she walks into. Your so-called <span class="mu-s">friends</span> are all your mother's lapdogs, well behaved handmaidens who tell your stupid bint of a mother <span class="mu-i">everything</span> you talk about. Your father, <span class="mu-s">King Robert Baratheon</span>, is prone to rage and drinking when he's not fucking his way through every whore in King's Landing.

To make matters worse, the <span class="mu-s">one</span> human being in all the city you could rely on, who <span class="mu-s">cared enough</span> to hear out your troubles and offer grandfatherly advice, just dropped dead. Old age and a sudden sickness, claimed <span class="mu-s">Grand Maester Pycelle</span>, which might as well have been code for foul play in the height of summer, when his wife and sickly son remained hale and hearty. The one good thing that came from Lord Arryn's death was how mutual grief warmed your relations with your oaf of a father. For all of his many faults, and for all that he ignored Lord Arryn's advice, your father certainly loved the man.

"Took you under his wing, did he?" your father asked, and you pretended that he'd always been so interested in your daily life. "I'm glad at least one of my children could appreciate his council."

If only your father appreciated his council more. Then perhaps you would not have heard the servants whisper of debts accumulating at horrific rates. Instead of saying that aloud, you simply say, "Joffrey doesn't have the temperament to sit still and listen."

Your father snorted like a boar. "No, he doesn't, does he? Proud as his mother, that boy..."

"And he rages like you in the yard," the words left your mouth before you could stop them.

Fortunately, your father took it as a compliment to your brother, and not the criticism of both their petty tantrums as you meant it to be. Joffrey hated losing, and when you couple that with his only modest talent in swordcraft... well, he tended to explode with rage. Still, hearing that lifts your father's spirits out from mourning, if only a little. "Does he now? That's good. He'll become a proper Baratheon yet."

With those words he rose to his feet and mussed up your perfectly curled hair. It's nice, receiving some proper fatherly affection for once, though you do wish he showed it in a way that didn't muck up your favorite maid's work. "Don't stay too long, Myrcella. That's what Jon would say. Pay your respects, and then go do something that you love doing."

You nodded slowly at your father's uncharacteristic wisdom, and asked, "What are you plans for the rest of the day, father?"

It is the year 2026, Earth. You were a more or less ordinary inhabitant of this world, until today. A mysterious figure has appeared to you in a vision and explained that you have been granted two supernatural powers. The power of teleportation, and the power of time reversal. At will, you can reappear in any place you can imagine, and you can revert back in time to any point of your life after the moment you were granted the power.

At first, you didn't believe it. You thought you had dreamed it. But you decided to give it a try, and you teleported to the other side of your room. Then you rewound time back to before you teleported. It works. Now you will have to think carefully about what to do with your power.

But first, who are you?
>Name
>Sex
>Nationality
>Location
>Occupation
>Personal description

And what is it that you desire to use your powers for?
>Personal gain: riches, power, and hedonism
>Further your political ideology (which one?)
>Serve as an agent of the government (which one?)
>Further scientific progress
>Conduct humanitarian work
>Become worshipped as a god
>Other

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?

Character sheets and other info:
https://controlc.com/46ec566d
https://pastebin.com/u/GrandDragonQM
Archive:
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=Saiyan+Conqueror+Quest
Help fund quest art commissions and get exclusive side stories as well as artwork by joining the patreon for only $1/month at https://www.patreon.com/GrandDragonQM

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.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HUT0uwSLQ3I


<span class="mu-s">SINISTER SCHEMES</span>