You are James Underwood the Younger, and you are about to kill a man. You've never done that before. Not that it would be difficult, said man is pinned to the ground and already dying. Courtesy of James Underwood the Elder, your father. A ninety-four year old man, who calmly had you drive him into Mendig's northern projects to linger in a dark alleyway and wait behind a rancid garbage bin for this man to draw near. At which point he simply got up, strode out into the open, and drove a knife into the man. Once, in the back, then once again into his front after he fell. Puncturing the lungs to prevent him screaming, you figure.
Your father...Dad, was always an imposing figure in your life. A former soldier who never raised his voice and never needed to to get either his son or an entire room of suits to listen. You never got a full picture of what he did for Jefferson, even after the latter's fall, but there was a reason he did not oppose your wish to climb the company's ladder without his influence. Even then, he was trying to shield you. You were in your early twenties, but still a little boy to him. That hasn't changed, especially after Mom died. You sometimes compare yourself to those of his generation, who lived and fought in the war, knew the Rebuilding and golden years that followed. A tougher breed than yours, for sure. Dad never cared. You think he was just happy his only child would not know what he did. And now you are about to step into a war, a deadly game, though hopefully as a player and not an ignorant, unwitting pawn.
Dad is scared. The idea fills you with unease. This man fears not pain nor death, and yet he is afraid now. Scared of what is to come, scared that he is not strong enough to protect you. Of course, how could he, he's a dying old man, the thought still echoes in your head. Well, truly that is where your troubles begin.
A few months ago, Dad discovered something. He didn't tell you how, but he apparently found strange floating stones that no one else could see. They gave him power, unnatural abilities, a small part of his youth back, and the ability to get more. From what he knows, these stones are only found dormant in certain people who have taken another's life. Even fewer still may gain these stones, alongside the ability to use them, when killing the killer. You get the feeling Dad isn't telling you everything. But since he calls them blood stones, he figures that those of his blood may also be like him, able to use them.
So, this goes first you type what we would what (can be anything. literally from a wizard in a world made of weed where you dungeon endlessly or that you are a literal rock.) After that we decide what goes next FIRST COME FIRST SERVE if you are unsure of what to do look at the OP post
hello, can someone of u pls hack my mail cause im trying to play one game but i forgot the pass and i also cant reset it because i losed this mail, i cant prove thats my mail but u can check that this mail is not conected to any of social media. the mail [email protected]
“Honestly, I could name a thousand reasons: I don’t like Prometheus, and I don’t trust him to mold me like a piece of clay. I’m not you, and I don’t want to be— hell, I don’t think I’d even <span class="mu-i">deserve</span> to be.”
“You wouldn’t-”
“There’s only one person in the world I’d want to trust my soul with,” you interrupt, “And it isn’t your dead boyfriend. I have things I worked hard for that I want to keep, people who I really want to stay dead, and I owe a debt of gratitude to the Architect for giving me this opportunity in the first place. I like power, I like having more than other people, but, more than anything…
I want to be free, and I want to be myself. If that means I don’t get to be happy, then, fuck it, who even needs to be? I have a <span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-r">more powerful impetus</span></span>.”
You spread your arms wide, the fake soul of the fake you conjured by the Grand Art creaking and chipping beneath the pressure exerted by your real might, crimson light pouring through the breaks like water from the cracks in a porcelain vase. Arms painfully burst from your back, skin tearing and blood pouring out from the ruins of your tattered sweater. The limbs flex their freshly minted muscle, caressing the soft, tender pink skin, newborn, almost infantile despite their long, sinister build, You topple forward for a moment the weight cracking your spine under its crushing weight until your body reorganizes itself, reinforcing and regenerating shattered bone and torn sinew with metal and divinity, your skeleton shivering and popping as your new anatomy settles into place.
“...I see. Well, it was a free choice, a true choice, so a number of possibilities exist. I guess this just happens to be one where things turned out wrong.”
“You’re too vertical, both of you,” you sneer, “Your world is dead. The man who killed himself was someone you never knew, and he died for someone he never met. As far as I’m concerned, all of those “what if”s are only as real as any other predictive model. A glorified simulation, really. Well, if it’s any consolation, I believe your wish to have been granted before you ever made it: you have never been me, and you never will be.”
The other you remains silent, but you press on, the constructed world tearing away as your Impetus overrides the Grand Art, its caster no longer present to protect it from your will. Your body lifts into the air, scarlet fetters burst from your fingertips, slowly taking the qualities of the Sunset, first hard to notice, vermillion and magenta, then, less subtle, gold, lilac, blue, white, black. The chains bind to the fabric of the incomplete reality itself, each wild movement of your arms tearing out another piece.
<span class="mu-i">A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...</span>
<span class="mu-s">STAR WARS</span> <span class="mu-s">AGAINST THE REPUBLIC</span>
War has engulfed the GALACTIC REPUBLIC Two months have passed since the CLONE ARMY captured the strategic world of GEONOSIS, but the Republic has been unable to press its advantage.
The Republic has won most of the pitched battles fought so far, but all have been at the periphery of SEPARATIST space, and at a steep cost. Already, hundreds of thousands of clone troopers and over two hundred JEDI KNIGHTS have fallen in battle.
Robbed of the initiative by the Republic’s surprise attack, the Separatists leverage their resource and manpower advantage, only committing their DROID ARMY to force the Republic into bloody, wasteful campaigns.
After a series of daring raids by independently Separatist commanders, both sides reevaluate and reposition themselves for the long war ahead…
=====
Welcome to Star Wars: Against the Republic. This quest, as the name implies, takes place during the Clone Wars. This quest is be basically entirely Legends (i.e. from the old EU) with very little if anything taken from the canon outside the movies. Yes, this includes the 2008 The Clone Wars cartoon, which is impossible to fit into the Legends continuity. Darth Maul is dead, barring anything unforeseen, Anakin Skywalker will remain a Padawan until the middle of the war, Mandalore is CIS-aligned and is not a pacifist monarchy, Nightsisters are a minority on Dathomir which as minimal contact with the Galaxy at large, Asajj Ventress is a Rattataki, and General Grievous is both a master strategist and a serious personal threat, etc.
It's been a while since the last thread, but this one is intended to cover a lot, so I'll try to be more consistent with updates.
You don't remember much about your past. Your life before the plague settled within you is a mystery. The plague doesn't affect you, and you're not sure how it would affect others if they got infected. You feel an itch to spread it though. You also feel like you'll grow stronger and maybe learn something about the plague if you do.
Your little body still aches, not from the plague, but rather as if from a long journey making your muscles sore.
Around you, in the dark, is flowing waste, the pitter-patter of water drops on wet stone, and the stench, the unmistakable stench of the sewers. You think you also hear the squeaking of other rats. The stone tunnels stretch before you.
What will you do, little rat? >Find someone to spread the plague to. A misfit dwelling in the sewers? Other rats? >Map the area. Check what's above the sewers. Maybe there's something of note within them as well.
You are Fiona Jarnafeldt, L2S Trollslayer, and you are in serious trouble.
Today you were deployed on a mission to save dozens of kidnapped citizens from the starving squatter city under Helsinki. You saved dozens from a sect of cannibals, only to come across a strange realization; they may have been receiving aid from a rogue government agent who wanted nothing but to see the system you work for destroyed. This rogue agent, a living tree by the name of Zephyr, operated within the Stormdrain to provide... something to the underdwellers. Information, probably.
Maybe it was him that helped pull strings to delete camera logs. Covered the tracks of the thieves. Maybe he even told them about what was carried on a train that came into Helsinki the month before you joined, causing a battle that killed dozens of Stormwatch members.
On the train was a suit of pneumatic powered armor, fashioned from kevlar and carbon fiber components from the stormy city of Chicago by their advanced heavy robotics division. This suit was made exclusively for an elite member of the Stormwatch of lanky proportions. The intended owner, L4 Nonoka Sumika, has an unusual and atypically tall and thin stature that should have made it so, even if stolen, no regularly shaped human could be able to wear it without so much modification that it couldn't work.
And yet, that suit stands in front of you, fully operational, standing eight feet tall, its broad hat casting a black shadow over the <span class="mu-i">thing</span> that has come to possess it.
That thing is an aberration of humanity, that goes by the name of "She." Given its stature, it would be rated as a Troll, but being armored in what it is, it's far more dangerous than its class suggests. Though sources had claimed She was a Finnish river spirit by the name called a Nakki, this is something else entirely. The sensation of water observed by others was misinformation gleaned from the pneumatic exhaust of subliminated hydrogen radiating from the suit and sound She seems to keep uttering, a verbal tick similar to the sound of residual hydrogen mixing with air to form water.
This is the story about a world divided between humanity’s accelerating advancements in technology and their mastery of arcane magicks.
Two heroines from opposite sides of the coin were brought together by fate itself to uncover the conspiracies brought forth by humanity’s unsettling progress. will they be able to bring balance to the world, pull a divided world back whole, or will their failures cause the segregation of humanity from its progress into an unrecoverable spiral into chaos? The choices are all up to YOU…!!
This is the story about technology, magick, stars, adventures, and breaking a curse.
This…..is “STARGRAVING”.
SCHEDULE: Every Monday-Thursday from 1:40PM-6:00PM EST
Keep in mind, I’m very new to Quests, as this is my first one. Nonetheless, I hope you stay tuned and enjoy!!
Hi! This is my gay larp story. Please don't laugh at me. It's not quite as fantastical as everything else here but I hope you enjoy it. Decisions will either be from a presented set that can be overridden by popular will at my discretion, or by simple suggestion. Will use d100, applying "Degrees of success" rules that may be familiar to some. For those unfamiliar, rolling a 50 on a dv 40 is 1 degree, 60 2, 70 3, and so forth.
YOU HAVE LIVED IN BRITISH OCCUPIED AMERICA FOR YOUR ENTIRE LIFE, AS DID TEN GENERATIONS BEFORE YOU.
26 YEARS AGO, A COORDINATED SERIES OF ATTACKS ACROSS NEW YORK, PHILADELPHIA, AND BOSTON LEAD TO PARLIAMENT PASSING THE "ANTI-TERROR AND SECURITY ACT OF 2000", GIVING CROWN POLICE, ROYAL ARMED FORCES, AND THE VARIOUS INTELLIGENCE MINISTRIES BROADER POWERS THAN THEY PREVIOUSLY HELD. SURVEILLANCE IS A FACT OF LIFE.
IT IS 8:00 AM ON MONDAY, IN [Boston/NYC/Philadelphia]. YOU HAVE JUST LEFT THE FRONT DOOR TO YOUR HOME/APARTMENT. YOUR SHIFT AT [Retail store/Industrial Facility/Office] IS IN AN HOUR. TODAY YOU WILL [Walk, Take the bus, Take the subway, Take a cab]. THE AIR IS CRISP AND COOL, THE SKY A STEELY GREY. AN URBAN-CAMOUFLAGED ARMORED CAR TURNS LEFT ON THE BLOCK BEFORE YOU, IT'S DIESEL ENGINE WHINING MONSTROUSLY. AS IT PASSES YOU, THE EMPTY PUPIL OF IT'S REMOTELY CONTROLLED 12.7MM TURRET MEETS YOUR GAZE, TRACKING YOU FOR A FEW SHORT SECONDS BEFORE PIVOTING TO REGARD THE POTENTIAL THREATS AHEAD.
Nine years ago King Aiden Perenolde betrayed the Alliance and sided with the Horde of Orgrim Doomhammer. Nine years ago Prince Alric Perenolde, the second heir of Alterac was sent into exile for his own protection. This exile turned permanent and Captain Normand Garside, your guardian for the past nine years made sure that you were safe and learned the useful skills that would help you in the future.
Now you are ready to carry the responsibility and unite the scattered Alteraci people and reclaim the lands that were once the Kingdom of Alterac.
With the campaign in Durnholde over and the loose threads there and back home in Dawnholme tied up, Alric for a moment could turn his thoughts towards enjoying a nice trip to Stormwind City with Malevus as this grand date.
But of course nothing can go as he wants and after dueling Grom Hellscream and getting wounded in the process, Alric realised the political reality in Stormwind being a much bigger and more complex obstacle. The melancholy of King Varian had for all purposes dragged the City to halt and only drastic measures could help the Stormwind City to recover. At least that was his and Lady Katrana Prestor's thinking.
