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?
<span class="mu-s"> Excerpts from the letters of Saint Sidonius Apollinaris
"And the dark mist settled upon the Isles like a blanket of doom. The Empire had left The Isles a generation ago and few from the continent dared venture across the channel, for the first few who tried never came back. The fools who went chasing after them all met the same fate. Dark things dwell in the waters and only on the summer solstice does the mist clear, it is an empty land bereft of God. There is nothing there for decent men, only for the desperate, the fools, and the wicked” </span>
Hello, /qst./ I do not have a story for you. You might.
Every week or two, I will post an ALBUM COVER. You write everything else. The setting, characters, worldbuilding, plot, everything. Reply, argue, collaborate. Make it surreal, grounded, epic, dumb, whatever.
There are no right answers. There is only progress.
First 3 to 5 posts set the tone. I’ll consolidate them into a “canon” direction.
Anons can post characters, events, or lore. I’ll pick the best/funniest/coolest ones to advance the story.
'it's a dream' you think to yourself, you're incorporeal, your body seemingly unimportant, all of your sensations are dulled out, but most importantly of all,
you feel strange, extremely strange, something is not right, but it's alright, you guess, there is nothing you need to worry about, but you just cannot shake of this feeling, this *esoteric* sense of strangeness, but you're stoic, you'll figure this out.
As you come back to your senses, back to reality, you feel like you haven't left the dream world, this feeling of 'strangeness' comes back to you, it sticks to you like water, you will have to figure this out, but before that, reality comes first.
You need to prepare and get to school, you stink, but there is no time to shower, you get out of you bed and go to the toilet, your fatigue weighing heavily on your shoulders, but the feeling of relief from pissing is a small comfort in these long days of tediousness, you put on the same clothes you wore 2 days ago, same with the crusty socks and raggedy shoes.
You are not poor per se, but you hardly care about appearance and you cannot be bothered with getting new shoes, you are pretty conservative about change.
you brush your hair in front of the mirror, it's gotten pretty lengthy so you started brushing it some time ago, it's thick and oily, not exactly the prettiest sight to behold, same situation with the face, oily, and nerdy due to your glasses.
You don't eat breakfast, you prefer to eat a big lunch after school, getting a good breakfast takes too much time, time that is needed to catch a bus in time to get to school in time.
As you leave your home, the cool wind eases a bit more of your fatigue. Today will be a long and boring day, these solaces cool your nerves, "well, here I go" you say to yourself.
You get on the bus and sit by a window in the back of the bus, you got your favorite spot on the bus, it's a nice feeling. As you ride the bus you reflect a bit on *Time*, the word stuck with you ever since you thought about breakfast, you sacrifice your stomach for time everyday, even if you are late decently frequently, whatever, it is what it is, you just need to get through this day, you can't be bothered with philosophy in the morning.
You leave the bus and walk to your school campus, it's modest but nice, it's the town's biggest high-school, but your town isn't too large so the school is modest all the same.
You get to your class a couple of minutes late, the class ignores you and you sit by your classmates, as the class goes on.
Grand Zen-Oh, the omni king and ruler of the omniverse has declared there will be a massive tournament to be held in his honor. A grand affair between several universes, each battling it out for the very right to exist. And at the forefront of this grand spectacle will be the Saiyans of Universe 7, who Grand Zen-Oh has grown fond of watching battle. Twenty eight years ago, the Saiyan race were annexed into the PTO as just another race, one of many sent to conquer other worlds. Now, the Saiyans are widely regarded as the strongest warrior race in the entire Seventh Universe, defenders of the PTO led by their strongest, the “Dragon of New Salda” General Karn and his family.
You the players will (most often) control Karn. A man who has grown from his lowly beginnings as a 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 well over a dozen powerful and unique children, a mentor and teacher to his fellow Saiyans, and the best hope for his universe's continued survival. No one warrior can hope to battle eight other universes' strongest fighters alone and hope to prevail, one man's power and skill won't be enough to overcome the looming threat of extermination. But this coming battle will be the ultimate test of how you've lived your life until now, the choices you made not only for yourself, but for the fate of your entire universe.
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.
