You were a black dragon, a terror that haunted the dreams of mortals, your presence alone enough to drive entire regions to despair. The adventurers who dared invade your lair were no match for your might. Their swords clanged harmlessly off your scales, and their magic fizzled like raindrops against a roaring fire. One by one, you dispatched them, your strength undeniable even as their blows left painful scars across your body. The last one, the leader, lay at your feet, gasping his final breath. His defiance burned brighter than his life force. "You will pay for all those girls you kidnapped," he rasped, blood trickling from his lips. "If not in this life, then the next!"
You sneered, the sound like distant thunder. "Your curses are as pitiful as your swordsmanship." With a swift, merciless strike, you silenced him, his body falling limp in a pool of crimson. Turning, you prepared to bask in your victory and indulge in the spoils of your conquest—the captives you’d taken, trembling in the shadows. But before you could take a step, a blinding light illuminated the cavern, its radiance cutting through the darkness.
From the golden glow emerged the avatar of the elf goddess. Her form was ethereal, her silver hair flowing as if caught in a divine breeze, and her emerald eyes burned with righteous fury. You let out a growl, the deep rumble echoing off the cavern walls. "What do you want?" you demanded, your voice weary yet laced with venom. "I’ve had enough interruptions for one day."
"Return the girls, dragon," she commanded, her tone unyielding, "or I will see to it that you are punished."
A low chuckle escaped your maw. "You’re not supposed to meddle in mortal affairs, goddess. Stick to your forests and let me enjoy my spoils. The god of dragons will hear of this interference."
For a moment, the goddess hesitated, doubt flickering in her eyes. But her resolve solidified, her voice ringing out like a blade striking steel. "Your atrocities cannot go unanswered. You will know the suffering you’ve inflicted."
"Wait," you began, raising a claw, "perhaps we can—"
But the goddess’s spell was already upon you. Pain seared through your body, and a blinding flash consumed your senses. When it cleared, the cool breeze of the forest replaced the stifling heat of your lair. You opened your eyes, disoriented, and found yourself lying on the forest floor, naked and vulnerable. Gone were your scales and wings, your towering form and fiery breath. You looked down in disbelief, seeing soft, pale skin and human hands.
Rage and panic surged through you. The god of dragons will hear of this, you vowed silently. But first, you had to survive. The forest around you teemed with unfamiliar sounds, and every rustle in the underbrush felt like a potential threat. Your new form was weak, fragile, and unprotected.
We're back. Sorry for the long hiatus but life got a bit hectic there.
Rules are simple: Votes are tallied every hour, with whatever course of action being the most popular being the course of action taken. Write ins are encouraged and non-mutually exclusive votes will be combined if possible.
When a roll is called for, roll however many D100 are specified. 5- is a 'crit fail' and generally means something bad is about to happen. 95+ is a 'crit success' and generally means something good just happened. a 'crit success' trumps a crit fail. User input on both will be taken into consideration.
You are Alex. A newly minted trainer and camping enthusiast just starting out on your journey at the age of seventeen after your father lost his job in order to help pay the bills. On the road, you met Fie, the Fire Gym Leader, Gareth a novice Aura Guardian on pilgrimage and Holly, a runaway heiress using a pseudonym. You've also made enemies of Team Green a group of violent, radical activists looking to abolish pokemon training.
Recently, Fie returned to her gym for the time being.
Last time, Fluffy learned Body Press and Cosmic Power, you reflected on the Golden Rule, you got to know Martha a bit more and you got in a double battle with a pair of triathletes.
Your name is Lucas Smith. Actually, your real name is Luke Skywalker Smith, you go by Lucas now, because according to Trip Matthews last semester, your parents named you after a character from a movie called Star Wars, a movie that is “For Nerds.” Trip Matthews got a PlayStation 2 recently, not even on his birthday or Christmas, that’s really cool, so you trust his judgement immensely. After all, he’s a fifth grader and you’re just a fourth grader, and you’ve only got a Nintendo 64. In a year’s time, you’ll be a fifth grader, and maybe even have a GameCube, or (if your mom allows it), an Xbox. But for now, you’re at the bottom of the chain gazing at the top.
But it’s not so bad. You’re really good at games, not just video games, but board games, recess games, and PE games too. So much so, you’ve been allowed to sit at the Plotter’s Table. Every recess, this illustrious lunch table decides on a game to play, and over the years the games have been said to be pretty legendary.
What did they say you were all doing today…?
>A Fantasy Quest >Wild West Cops & Robbers >Ultimate Tag >They decided to pick your suggestion, despite your newbie status. (Write-in. Keep in mind I reserve the right to veto write-ins that are too ridiculous.)
Welcome to QUEST ART GENERAL, a quest for showcasing the art of your quest and its characters! Players of all skill levels are welcome!
Quest mechanics: 1. Don't be a spamshit. Multiple posts are fine but keep it below Souv level. 2: You are free to draw/post work of others' characters, but no begging. 3. Keep it SFW. This is a blue board. If you feel the need for otherwise, link it in the thread so it doesn't get nuked. 4. No dramafagging/vendettafagging, or blatant shitting on others' art. Again, this is a quest to draw and vibe about art, /qst/ OCs, and their respective lore. 5. If someone does give you fanart of your quest/character, be sure to thank that anon for their hard work as soon as you can, it's just common courtesy :)
I- Princess Cora of house Maria of the fallen empire of Histresmos, had lost everything I known and own, reduced to just 20 warriors running out of food in the mountains and resorted to petty banditry, trying to only take what is needed, had come to a strange town that suddenly come to existence, Maple Hills, a foreign name for a equally foreign place, full of strange, gray metals, ivory like soft material of all colors, glass so clear that kings would sell entire herds of cattle to buy a single plane cup of cast aside like so much broken pottery, surrounded by cliffs cut completely smooth down to the dirt by whatever act of god or magic that brought this land here.
In my attempt to find out who these people are- me and 4 of my warriors got discovered, and managed to find someone who we could talk to.
There is a saying that when you have a hammer, everything begins to look like a nail. As sayings go, this one too can be interpreted in various ways, some of which seem deeper or more insightful than others. In one of the more obvious views it illustrates propensity of someone who has gained a new instrument developing an inkling to put it to use even in circumstances where a different approach would be preferable. The metaphor could easily be stretched even further, to include not only tangible tools, but also formal or informal authority, or perhaps distinctive paradigms and frames of mind.
Of course by that point the original metaphor becomes stretched and diluted to the point where one could be better served by finding a different one. Perhaps this is a point where we’ve placed the metaphor into position of the hammer.
Be that as it may, there is going to be a lot of hammers laying around this construction site, yourself being one of them.
This is story of the space archaeologist and freelancer Henri Ford and his valiant crew – Tufferson Kris, a fellow xenoarcaheologist, Lea’Fari nar Namek, a maiden undergoing her rite of passage, and Eve Ferrum, a woman built to be able to get where she is not supposed to go.
Presently, you are <span class="mu-b">Eve Ferrum</span>, an explorer, a friend, a seeker – and a machine. Synthetic woman tracing your heritage from Systems Alliance secret projects through reverse engineered Reaper technology, Cerberus perfidy and once again desperate Alliance scramble to adapt and perfect every resource at its disposal.
A lot had happened in the brief time between your first activation and the present day. After a brief period you could with some imagination call your childhood in a secret Alliance lab on Tyr you were thrust directly into the thick of the fighting against the Reapers in a desperate struggle for survival.
Even though you had honestly not expected to outlast them, fighting at the side of your makers gave you a sense of purpose, that had gradually developed into something more than just desire to see your primary objective fulfilled. You’ve learned of the dreams and hopes your fighting comrades kept carrying despite all odds stacked against them, sometimes to the bitter end; you’ve learned of the bonds they formed among each other, and even against the backdrop of your primary functionalities you’ve come to adopt something from that time into your core.
And it was a good thing that you did, as when the Reapers have been eradicated by the ever mysterious superweapon devised across multiple extinction cycles in a manner that skirted realm of mysticism, it was those fragments of your self that kept you alive.
Previously on Breadwinner Adventurer Quest: >You escorted Helmod, a blind old man with a tragic past, to the Oracle of the Moon >Along the way, you fought off a deadly and unnatural creature with a barbed tail and a human face >Having completed your task, you decided to return with your earnings to your home in Hobley >You encountered the party of Odneyn the Otter on the road, who appears to be going to the same place
Although you could easily lie and send them wandering off in the complete opposite direction, you decide not to impose your own personal grudges with the reeve on a group of complete strangers. Remarking that Odneyn's reputation precedes him, and that you would be happy to guide him and his company to what is, in fact, your own destination, you take your position at the front and start leading the way.
You quickly get a sense of their various personalities: Odneyn is unspoken leader, easy-going in his manner, and gregarious to a fault. He chatters away to no one in particular about the travails of the road, the beauty of the countryside, even a rather heated debate on the virtues of hounds versus housecats (Odneyn is firmly in the hound camp, while his bald companion violently insists on the superiority of the feline).
The others are more reserved, with varying motivations for their reticence. The woman in white seems to regard it as beneath her to participate in such mundane discourse. Her younger attendant tries to emulate her mistress, but you catch her smiling once or twice at Odneyn's more comical refrains. The Suthermann, on the other hand, is silent because his entire attention seems to be spent scanning the dimly lit environs of the road, as though he expects an ambush any minute now. He is very different from the Suthermann you met in the mountain, not nearly as unnerving in his bearing and lacking those strange glowing eyes and the smooth, ageless visage. If not for the long white hair you would not have even recognized him as a member of his race. Finally, the mousy man with the bow seems completely content to just listen and watch, only breaking his silence to offer a sardonic comment or two. You get the impression that nothing escapes his notice, it is all being scrolled away in some mental ledger for later use.
Eventually, Odneyn exhausts his store of conversation and falls silent--with still a ways to go on the road. Now would be the perfect time to bring up some matters of your own and seek Odneyn's counsel. He is after all quite well-travelled. You could ask about the strange coins you received from Samuel Longsword, or the unnatural beast you fought on the mountain. Or perhaps it is wiser to hold your tongue and keep your own counsel.
You're Larry, the hill giant, just chilling in your hill when suddenly you feel an ominous sense of impending doom, as if the entire world is going to collapse and reality is about to end.
"I'm hungry," you say out loud.
You open your giant sack to see if you have any food left. Nope, no food—just a bunch of worthless silver you accidentally got when you ate a merchant.
Well, time to get some bacon. You grab your club and decide where you're going to get your next meal.
> Into the nearby farmland. You could steal a cow. It's pretty safe, but the farmers might get angry. > Into the forest. You could club a bear, a boar, or a wolf to death and eat it, but you might get harmed. > Ambush another caravan. With some luck, you can eat a horse, an ox, or a donkey, and put the merchant in your sack. > Write in.
Individuals worldwide began manifesting the qualities of various figures- gods, spirits, heroes, beasts, and monsters- from Greek mythos. The system that caused and continues to facilitate this phenomenon is shrouded in mystery, both in how it functions and why it began its activities when it did.
The protagonist of this tale is the incarnation of Atë, a minor goddess in the grand scheme of Greek mythology, who causes and presides over folly and ruin. She, formerly a miserable but ultimately normal office worker, has since accepted her role as the embodiment of her <Myth>. She, along with her partner in crime, the incarnation of Pheme, titan of rumors and gossip, have been working to expand their influence and stack the deck in their favor against not only mortals, but also rival incarnations. In her own eyes, she is no longer human. Her ultimate goal- the elimination of all rival incarnations and, eventually, ascension to true godhood.
After a catastrophic failure in a confrontation with the outerversal horror known only by its title of the Uncrowned King, Atë found herself thrown out of her very plane of existence. Completely deprived of the System’s protections and powers, unable to restore her slowly depleting power, and trapped in a reality where everything, from the divinity to the air to the fabric of spacetime itself, is poison to her. With only death awaiting her in this foreign dimension, she must find some way to escape before her very existence is eroded into nothing.
Worse still, some rogue element within Atë's soul seems to be rebelling against her will. Backed into a corner, the banished incarnation will have to fight desperately to survive.
