Notice: Before beginning, I haven't written in over a year. Life's been busy and I don't have the time to spend on live.fiction for hours on end. (first time posting a story on qst even tho I lurk on other quests here) Secondly, I will be using chatgpt sparingly, mainly for power creation, item creation, side character creation, event starts, and creature creation. I will write everything else with no generated text. You have my word as an author. Thirdly, we will be using a 2d100 system for our MC, who will be male. Depending on the rolls in the quest, this could improve for various talents. Lastly, let's have some fun.
<span class="mu-b"> >Hello world of system sol-5< >Having advanced close enough to a class 1 world, it is time to choose a deity for your world< >Cell’s have awakened, life energy is unlocked, dungeons are being generated< >Historical Artifacts have gained power. Trials have been created< >Legacies are gaining power< >Animals are awakening< >Nukes have been disabled< >Let fortune favor you, my descendants< </span>
So no shit there you were shitting your brains out on the toilet of a tacobell before the world went to more shit then this year's burning man. Feeling something in you unlock, power you could touch deep within you.
>Who are you? >Why were you in Taco Bell? >Where are you in America? >What do you do?
Your name is Sora Windcrest. A thief, a murderer, a rascal, a psychopath, etc. You’ve heard it all. And you're damn proud of how famous you’ve gotten.
Oh right, you’re also with the White Fang. Almost forgot. Loyal? Eh, sure, so long as they let you do whatever the fuck you want.
Lately, though, things have been shifting. People are bailing left and right. Something about your branch being “disloyal to its own” or some whiny crap like that. Idiots. If they’re dumb enough to buy Carmine’s lies, then they can rot in a ditch somewhere far away. And if you ever find them again, you'll be more than happy to handle them with an unhealthy dose of ‘hard love’.
Word is, this branch took a heavy hit. The Black Sheep are whispering that it's hanging by a thread. One or two more fuck-ups and it’s toast. And honestly? You don’t give a shit. The only reason you’re still here is the hope that one day, somehow, Adam fucking Taurus notices you and lets you fight by his side. Unrealistic dream? Maybe. Still, worth sticking around for.
…Okay, maybe there’s another reason. That girl Shelly, she’s been looking for a way out since the start. You’ve known that. It’s why you even entertained the idea. Would you actually leave with her? Maybe. Looks like she even got Da Boss T to consider it. That would be treason. And treason? Treason is fun. So you’ll cross that bridge if, and, or when it shows up.
Anyway, poor girl’s in a tough spot. So is Mr. Doggy Ears. She’s been having near-daily meetings with the big shots. You've overheard bits of them now and then. If only they’d let you join one of those calls just to catch a glimpse of that red-haired bastard…
But nah. If you’re gonna get noticed by him, it’ll be on your own terms. You don’t owe anyone shit. Still, the top-dogs (heh, top dogs, get it?) are at least giving Taylor and Birdie a shot to prove they can get their shit together. Maybe it's worth backing them up. For now.
And let’s not ignore the obvious. Headquarters is empty as fuck. Half the crew’s already peaced out. The only ones left are Shelly’s ride-or-dies. Not surprising, since she seems like a trustworthy bitch. No wonder they’re following her around like a damn private squad. Bitch even gets her own crew while you’re stuck solo? You’ll get the secret on how to do so from her one day.
In all honesty, it feels like she’s the one in charge now. Sure, Taylor’s still “the boss,” but he barely leaves his office. Just a title at this point. And also… he’s back on the bottle. Poor son of a bitch.
You are Noel Tiberius di Hazaran, queen of the realm whose name you share. Until two days ago the “continent” was just some far-off place to you, a place from which armed soldiers and their war machines would arrive to do mischief in your homeland. But now, on the second morning after your arrival, it feels oddly normal.
Sure, the standard of technology is a hundred years ahead of your own home – two hundred in terms of military technology. That’s entirely by design of course. It wouldn’t help the old Organization to have your people using equivalent technology to their own, or else you might be harder to control. But beyond that technology, some of which is gradually being introduced even back home in Hazaran, there isn’t much other than the scale of the land itself that strikes you as being especially foreign.
Perhaps you could say that the prominence of Hazaran’s mountains is much more dramatic, rising as they do across a much shorter distance from the sea to dominate the center of the island landmass you’ve spent the balance of your life on. Maybe there’s more evidence of modern amenities visible from the streets, and the presence of automobiles is somewhat jarring when compared to the horses, wagons, and carriages you’d normally expect. You’re not even sure how many of the people walking between stores and cafes and private homes have even seen a horse. But more broadly their daily lives aren’t too dissimilar from your own subjects’.
There is however one difference that’s relevant to you – the complete lack of yōma.
They’ve been rare these days even in your homeland, though they still do certainly exist. It’s actually something of a mystery how any have appeared after the loss of the Organization’s labs at Lavinia, which by all accounts should have been the end of it.
Add that to the list of questions you’ll want to try getting answered while you’re here.
To do that, you’ve made certain arrangements with the local government. It was a bureaucratic wrestling match just to get the powers that be to consider letting you do what you’ve come all this way for, and even at that it’s plain to see that they don’t like it. Just the word “asarakam” carries such a weight here that at least in this country its utterance carries actual legal penalties under normal circumstances, and so the first challenge was to convince the representatives of the government that your case wasn’t normal.
Now comes the hard part. You’ve convinced the people you needed to convince to get information on the location of one of the asarakam. That means now you and your cohort get to go and find that asarakam, approach them, and establish a dialogue – hopefully without it coming to the sort of violence only awakened beings and partially-awakened warriors are equipped for. >1/2
In the name of God, the Most Beneficent, the Most Merciful.
The Sultana was troubled. For a fortnight she had been suffering the same dream, grim, with a startling vividness, such as she had not experienced since her girlhood. They concerned her only son, the prince, now eleven years old, perched upon that precarious threshold between childhood and maturity. Only the other day the Sultana had been devastated to learn that the prince no longer wished to play Shatranj with her. "Shatranj," he had said, "is a game for men. It is not fitting that I should play with you." This, despite that she had herself taught him the rules of the game. They were parroted words he had picked up from one of his tutors, but that was little comfort.
Some rituals are harder to erase. When the prince fell sick one dark moon, his body trembling with feverish chills, it was his mother whom he called for. His mother, to come and wipe his brow and comfort him and whisper in his ear the tales she spun so skillfully and with so much love. So she came, passing through the dark hall alone by the light of a single oil lamp.
The scent of sandalwood and night-blooming jasmine hovered thick in the lavish bedchamber.
"Ummi," the prince said, in a little lamb's voice which smote the Sultana's heart, though she showed nothing of it in her face.
"I am here," she replied, sitting down upon a silken cushion beside the bed.
"Will you tell me a story?"
"Certainly. Of whom do you wish to hear? The hunchback? The fishermen? Perhaps the Vizier's daughter?"
"No, something new. Something I have not heard before."
"As you wish. A story of the great and the small, the wise and the strong and the cruel, the ordinary and the supernatural. But I shall need your help."
"My help?" So great was his astonishment that even in his fatigue he raised himself up on his elbows, his eyes alight with pleasure.
"We shall recount the tale together."
"How?"
"Well, to begin, tell me, ya ruhi, what sort of hero this story shall concern..."
A Power Creature can be anything you imagine, as a clan they can shape a destiny of any form. They might be a team, a family, minions, a pantheon, a company, guardians, etc. They will influence events in two main ways:
>Battle: Enemies will fight to oppose the clan. Battles will be resolved by a shuffled selection of one PC against one opponent, the outcome determined by Combat Style, or, if the same, the most experience.
>Development: The Clan and PCs can affect their surroundings, themselves, and develop new strategies. Effects could include: restoring losses to the clan, changing the dynamics of battle, brokering alliances, gathering information, creating fortifications etc.
To create a Power Creature, simply fill out three descriptions:
>General Premise: (visual reference encouraged), briefly outline basic traits and any aptitude for a role in the clan and with other clan members.
>Movement Class (pick one): SEDENTARY, WRIGGLE, SLITHER, SLIDE, ROLL, CRAWL, RUN, DASH, BOUND, CLAMBER, GLIDE, FLUTTER, DART, FLOW, PHASE or APPARATE. (this will influence selection in the shuffle for battle depending on the distance and terrain traversed)
Once there is at least one PC with a Combat Style of every type, the clan activity will begin. You can then suggest developments to pursue, while more PCs can be created at any time.
Your eyes were strained from staring at the monitor for too long. And in the dark no less. The only sounds that could be heard were the whirring of your CPU fans and the occasional clacking of a mechanical keyboard (despite being so very tired, you couldn’t help yourself from calling random users “faggots” on pain of them continuing to shit up the board).
As you type the final words to a particularly long and spiteful post, you skim through it, rather pleased that you managed to show not only that OP had the reading comprehension of a toddler, but also that he was an EPI pedophile troon in denial. “Mmmhmmm,” went you, agreeing with yourself, as you filled in the captcha.
You clicked ‘post,’ and next thing you know it, your vision faded to black.
When you regained consciousness, the musty leather of your old, stinky gaming chair was replaced with a soft, silken fabric; and in place of the yellowed walls of your room was tiled stone.
“Motherfucker, I’ve been isekaied,” you cursed under your breath.
And in true isekai fashion, an attractive elven woman had been standing by your side while you came to grips with your new reality.
“Milord, the siege isn’t over. What shall we do?”
“What’s our status?”
The elf hands you a crystal orb, in which you have a birdseye view of the facility you’re currently in. It’s a…small stone building of medieval build, no bigger than a gas station; with some reluctance, you could even consider it a castle. There was a translucent dome covering the entire structure, lined with multiple cracks (most likely some sort of magic barrier). But what you couldn’t believe was that it was flying through the skies, high above a sea of ivory clouds! Your awe is cut short by the sight of four other similar castles having encircled you.
“Shall we consult the Clovered Tome?”
No fucking way… A book materialised between the elf’s palms before gently falling on your lap. There was a four-leaf clover on the cover, embroidered in bright green stitching. You flipped to the first page, only to find…
>Use whatever mana remains in the flugelcore to emergency teleport. [0]
>Detonate all non-essential flugelcore modules to send out a devastating shockwave. [0]
You are an exorcist, a psychic soldier that has been extensively trained and indoctrinated by the CAIN organization, for the sole purpose of executing humanity's sins. Sins are monsters that manifest from the negative emotions and traumas of humanity, threats that only things like you are equipped to face. You are stained in a similar way to them, but unlike a sin, you are given the unique chance to reach absolution through unrelenting violence. Do not waste it.
You are about to be deployed to a hunt, against an Ogre sin, a type of creature that is often born of despair and hopelessness. You are the blade that has been sent out to wipe the stain. What kind of blade are you?
