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?
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.
Extractable: Metals - everything that's not helium and hydrogen - can be produced from volitiles and energy Volitiles - helium and hydrogen Energy - light and warmth and stuff
Rare extractable: Strings - needeed to do stuff that breaks laws of physics - precursors (TM) built the ftl lanes with it. (with enough tech players can use it to connect outside the cluster systems too so as long as you don't annoy me the map is infinite) Psi - can be harvested from one star and from your population - magic wizard power. Neutronium - raw neutrons - artificial gravity and exotic matter sheninigans - visit a pulsar
National: Workforce
Produceable resources include: Organics - can be grown purely with energy and metals Tech - requires metals and workforce Antimatter - requires energy and volitiles
>Nation submission tenmplate drops tomorrow. submit nations by friday. first update saturday or sunday
> Players may chose 2 starting boons and one starting malice. (or just 1 boon). Fluff out what you want for those.
Further mechanically relevant information will be provided on game start.
The game will be run hybrid on discord and 4chan. Can be played just via 4chan, but then paste this into your action posts (playing just via 4chan) each time so I can include relevant meta information in your update if needed and so other players know to start diplomacy on here.
Previous Threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=The%202nd%20Primarch%20Quest _ You are Lieren. A man of many aspects and talents. To some you are a trustworthy and loyal friend and neighbor, a skilled hunter and peaceable farmer. To others you are a wise sage, philosopher and founder of belief that has mended many hearts and nations. Some dread your coming, knowing you to be enemy of the wicked and executor of tyrants. Others cheer at your arrival, knowing you as liberator and tide turning general. Many owe their lives to your works, great and small. Wandering worlds like roads, charting the stars and speaking with brothers born under distant suns, you are without a doubt both of your fathers son. For you are not merely the adoptive son of the late, humble Wenyan, but also the second born of the emperor of mankind's primarchs. And so, there are boys who do not yet share your blood, who know you as father and will one day call you genesire.
And, it was during a brief discussion with the eleventh most trusted veterans of your legions and reflection that you realized that the next generation of Space Marines, the first raised from Long-Jia's own soil and families, must be taught how to fight alongside not just their fellow man, but the aliens and abhumans you have taken under your azure and plum wings. Your father on Terra, has given you the responsibility of ensuring these xenos remain good friends of humanity, but you know that he teaches his armies to abhor the alien from how your noble sons reacted with fear and suspicion towards the Aeldari friends and students you'd made. Such faults can easily become grave, deadly vulnerabilities in the battlefield and can spread like a virus if it is allowed to fester, weakening the bonds between species.
So, you, with the permission of the Imperial Army, who are thrilled to have Lieren of Nothing assist them in refining the xenos auxiliary units already being tested by the remaining, great masters of war, have taken a number of newly drafted units of the various xenos races living and thriving within Long-Jia. The Nosa Rubigin, Sagit, Se'ah'in, The Merchants of Mirth, the Alf'Harim and the few Yushanian intelligences who are curious of what lies beyond their verdant garden. And alongside these aliens, you also bring a number of units of abhuman irregulars. The first such unit formed of the resurgent Tiger Folk, formed entirely of your own brave, adoptive sons and daughters, the cow like Angra, the gene masters of the Oracle Breed and the amphibious Lomb, and the Relieved, who have had a number of their sons and daughters join the Celestial Explorers league in the hopes of finding their poisoned homeworld of Blight.
And, you are happy to be traveling with your friend Feng, who brings with him his wife Akanksha and the Screamers of the Third tribe of Vishnu who have become restless now that their future has been secured. Cont
Thousands of boots beat against the sodden ground, disorderly in their manner yet orchestral all the same. Throughout the long stretch of dirt-laid road, the tall column advanced, wagons by the hundreds accompanying their walk. This was not the well practiced march of a proper force - men traipsed about out of formation, talking amidst themselves, lagging behind to buy a morsel of food or a jug of drink from a roadside vendor before rushing back to join their fellows. It was a march of the mercenary, of the soldier of fortune, whose passion for gold and discipline ever lacking did show in their words and acts. Yet some withheld themselves from such actions - for atop their heads was was <span class="mu-i">Fleur de Liz</span>, whose flying banners did make them proud soldiers of a noble lord.
This lord was you - <span class="mu-s">Alessandro Galliota</span>. And this army was yours.
You had once been the Viscount of Portblanc - an island that sat at the entry of a continental riverway. After accepting an offer from the Prince of Segoma, <span class="mu-s">Don Carles IV Brascarams</span>, you abdicated from your post, handing it to your newborn nephew, and journeyed to the foreign land of Straccia at the head of a small regiment with but a single goal - to overthrow the Despot of Senucco, <span class="mu-s">Niccolo di Lorena</span>, and take his title for yourself. After a lengthy period of preparation, you have gathered your mercenaries, your cannons, and your coin, and have set off from Castello Fasso towards the city of <span class="mu-s">Vivanna</span>, your last stop before you are able to cross the border of Senucco and start the war at last.
It is the <span class="mu-s">1st of October, 1545</span>, the first of those middling days of the months of spring. After setting off from your short-lived "new home", you set off southwards, crossing through Edroa before heading east. To your misfortune, the infrastructure in the rural backlands of Nera is disappointing indeed - a barely maintained path of dirt, kept alive only by constant travel, is your only "road" in this place. Worse still is the horrible, insufferable <span class="mu-i">heat</span>. You experienced it shortly, before, in that great city of Vetra - but it is only now, marching under the terrible glare of this cruel sun - that you truly understand the Splendour-given power with which it shines. So great is the heat, that in the midst of the day, when the sun is highest, your army has no choice but to stop for a lengthy rest lest they succumb to exhaustion.
Suffering worse than all of them, however, is your dear maid and childhood friend, <span class="mu-i">Joan Sahakea</span>. Borne of a people belonging to a land in the distant and frigid south, her feathered body leaves much to be desired in face of the blazing heat. Had you not ordered her to travel by means of wagon, held in the shadow of a parasol by another of your servants, she might have very well fallen to heatstroke by this moment in time.
For a hundred centuries, the Imperium of Man has stood strong against the countless threats both from within, without, and much worse. Through the might of the Imperial Guardd, had its worlds stood under the God-Emperor’s light. It is by the blood of countless martyrs that the Imperium stands. Of course, such sacrifice is pointless, if not directed by their betters, one of whim, you just so happen to be, by the blessing of your birth, the depth of your skill, or just plain luck, it has led you to heights unimaginable.
As happens so often in the Imperium, for no conceivable or justifiable reason at all, a world has turned from the Emperor, earning the ire of His Imperium. The planet ? Insignificant. The population ? Negligible. The industry ? Sort of there. These sorts of thoughts ran through the head of a Departamento Munitorum senior officer. For the last three centuries, the world’s defection had gone unnoticed, until the Imperium had gained enough strength to launch a minor crusade within the surrounding sectors, the planet was to become one of the logistics hubs for such an operation, so it had come as quite the shock, when the records were checked, and it had become apparent that no tithes had been received for a truly long time.
With the swiftness of the brightest of the Administratum, due to the new-found strategic importance of the world, a small invasion force had been rapidly assembled in a mere thirty years ! Sadly, the appointed general had passed away due to old age, which had thrown a wrench in the plans of the Munitorum, luckily for them however, such a headache of a command decision is not for them to solve, bur rather it is a problem for the Segementum command, one that they would be hard-pressed to solve swiftly, due to the real concerns of an army arriving to contest the planet without any general staff to actually command them !
And so, on his fortieth consecutive work hour, the Assistant-Assistant-To-the-General-Segmentum-Command-General-Staff, after taking another dose of stimms, since the recaf has long since stopped working, had finally narrowed down his work file to the last task for the hour, to choose a commander for an insignificant world. There was something vaguely important about it, but he had long since forgotten. With a sigh, he had taken a look at the files piled before him, and almost at random, made the choice for:
Much is spoken of the First Vitelian Empire’s most famous leader, the radiant and great Augustus Superbus. Most of it is praise by traditionalists, mournful pleas for his reimaging to come forth and divest Vitelia of its woes, especially by those who would consider him a Saint who enacted the Will of God. Yet those who called themselves Futurists considered a different aspect of him besides grandiose glory attributed to his reign and his Empire. Emperor Augustus was trained in the classical way by his father, Titianus Superbus, founder of the First Empire, and Augustus authored his chronicle on philosophy and rulership a long while into his famous reign, but that chronicle was also not what Futurists considered. Instead, they examined an apocryphal writing by Augustus, one made in his youth, said to have been written just before he was selected as heir to an empire. Structured as a poetic epic might be, Augustus was far from a talented poet at the time, were said writing indicative of his skill, but the words were those of a sort that led to any claims of authorship being denied and refuted by those who venerated his name most over the centuries.
The poem was part of a collection, an entire story, though it had been long lost or never completed. The individual nature of the poem even lends credence to the widespread thought that it was a forgery merely attributed to a famous name, as it was discovered over two hundred years after Augustus’s death. It described an adventure of a man called Helgo, who was a compatriot of Sversk the Conqueror, though in braving the maelstrom alongside him, he was blown south while Sversk was blown north, Helgo eventually making landfall in ancient Vitelia, where he would form his kingdom.
Helgo was, of course, fictional, as no records whatsoever record him, his voyage, or even being one of Sversk’s companions, but there is also little to imply that Augustus claimed him to be real either. All of that beside the point, interpreted from the remnants of the singular piece of the epic, the poem called <span class="mu-i">Turris Somniorum</span> described Helgo and his followers, numbering over one thousand then, coming upon a great and mysterious tower with a shining beacon at its head, which had been followed out of the Maelstrom. At the tower’s foot was a strange inscription, claiming that one who claimed the light at the top of the tower, would have their wishes granted, if only they could reach so high. All that was mentioned next, in the poem’s incomplete form, was how Helgo returned from the tower’s peak completely alone, and how the tower’s visage was a grim one indeed, but he needed no longer look upon its terrifying height.
Such is the story wrote by a young Emperor to be, and the fascination of Futurists. They wonder themselves; is this Tower of Dreams, the <span class="mu-i">Torre dei Sogni</span>, something that the young Emperor knew one must conquer, no matter the time and place, if they are to forge a path into a greater era?
<span class="mu-i"><span class="mu-r">Lo! ’t is a gala night, Within the lonesome latter years! An angel throng, bewinged, bedight, In veils, and drowned in tears, Sit in a theatre, to see, A play of hopes and fears, While the orchestra breathes fitfully, The music of the spheres.</span></span>
<span class="mu-i"><span class="mu-r">Mimes, in the form of God on high, Mutter and mumble low, And hither and thither fly - Mere puppets they, who come and go At bidding of vast formless things That shift the scenery to and fro, Flapping from out their Condor wings Invisible Wo!</span></span>
A void. An echo of space without a point of origin. Without a sense of end. A <span class="mu-r">color</span>. An infinite expanse of <span class="mu-r">color</span>. A single <span class="mu-r">color</span>. A red void. <span class="mu-r"><span class="mu-s">A red void.</span></span> All red... All scarlet... A <span class="mu-i">haze</span> of frothing, syrupy, incandescently <span class="mu-i"><span class="mu-r"><span class="mu-s">scarlet red</span></span></span> blood... Viscous, coppery, warm. Blood redder than the very heart of red.
<span class="mu-i">There is a creature in the void. There is a presence in the <span class="mu-r"><span class="mu-s">blood</span></span>. There is a parasite.</span>
A parasite. An echo of humanity long reverberated from the mortal coil, and ever onwards into the unyielding, empty, <span class="mu-r"><span class="mu-s">scarlet red abyss</span></span>.
A crone hunched along the edge of the alders and oaks at the first yawn of dusk, eyes gleaming and guttering with jaundiced yellow light in the climbing dark.
Waiting for John... <span class="mu-i">John?</span> Who is... That?
At daybreak an Acolyte emerges, she accosts him. John. She lives still and yet resides with death. She bids him warning. <span class="mu-i">"Wander not further yonder, little lamb."</span> <span class="mu-i">"Go whence you come, little lamb, return ye to church. Return ye to your shepherd."</span> <span class="mu-i">"This grove and river be where the Hermit slakes his thirst."</span>
Ever-gleaming and lustrous, it flows through your veins IN this dilapidated iron tomb floating in space. It is a medium between <span class="mu-s"> Mekkina </span> and <span class="mu-s"> Magika </span> . An intertwined heresy that had doomed your creators by merging the divine ichor of the long dead <span class="mu-s"> Automia </span> with their technological advancements in liquid form, they didn’t revive the goddess they coveted oh so much, instead, a new menace would rise from her rotten womb: <span class="mu-s"> <span class="mu-i"> The Revenants </span> </span> . Aberrations of flesh and circuits with an endless thirst for the ever sweet blood of man.
In a sense, they are your less-than-refined brothers and sisters, crossbreeds of Mekkina and Magika but their hatred for petty mortals playing gods would result in total annihilation of all mankind according to the space station’s sensors. You are a failsafe or a countermeasure meant to exist for the sole purpose of <span class="mu-s"> reclaiming the planet </span>. No matter how resourceful you are, you can’t do it on your own. You must revive <span class="mu-s"> the Foundry </span> in order to forge the true saviors of humanity:
Throughout centuries worth of conflict against the Revenants, humanity had replicated the data of their finest inside an <span class="mu-s"> Argent Core </span>, a well spring of skills and knowledge needed to retake the planet. Tactical Girls will be born from your Argentum, your precious blood in the heart of the Foundry, are you ready to fulfill your destiny, <span class="mu-s"> Reclaimer </span> ?
<span class="mu-i"> The Foundry yearns for your succulent blood. Feed <span class="mu-s"> her </span> , Awaken bits of data forever trapped in a labyrinth of wires and shackling codes.
ARG: [30/30] ARG Regen: 1/QM Post Rolling dice is 1d1000 to acquire Tactis depending on <span class="mu-s"> Argent Path </span> : -Mekkina Tactis: 10 ARG -Magika Tactis: 10 ARG -Random Tactis: 5 ARG -Excess Rolls (rolling when out of ARG will generate Cheer! if it is a high roll (+700), enough Cheer! will grant extra ARG, One possible Chher! per ID though.) -Must Specify Argent Path while rolling, otherwise , it will default to Random Tactis Argent Path -Rarity: 1-500 (T0), 501-800 (T1), 801-990 (T2), 991-1000 (T3) </span>
>Roll 1d1000 + AG, a balanced Roster is recommended.
Fulmenaxor destroyed the last Mountainhall in a single night of fierce flame. The dragon blew open the upper gates, burned down the halls where the clans had mustered, and nested within the great treasure vaults while the survivors fled through mines, drains, forgotten roads. No other dwarf hold remained.
The dwarves scattered. Some found work in foreign towns. Some hid in the wilderness. Others became servants, mercenaries, prisoners, or nameless wanderers. Families lost one another. Hope was entombed with passing time.
Now six dwarf families have gathered at the mouth of an empty mountain. They intend to establish a fortress where the scattered survivors may return and live as dwarves again. You are their leader.
A hidden refuge can protect only those to whom it is known. Therefore it's name must be carried by merchants, pilgrims, and rulers to the far corners of the realm, that it might reach the ears of those forgotten dwarves. But be warned, as the fortress becomes more famed, its enemies, drawn by legend and eternal greed, will commit ever greater forces against it.
And if the traders carry its name far enough, Fulmenaxor may wake from his dreamless slumber and learn that some of his victims have built another hall.
But for now, hope is quarried once more. It is time to strike the earth!
Choose leader: >Datost Cinderhelm Datost held the last passage open while other families fled, then led six of those families across the ruined roads, bearing a shield scorched black by Fulmenaxor's fire. Born of a martial clan, he rose to prominence in the old mountainhall as Captain of the Watch. Though once a prudent dwarf, the fall and subsequent exile have made him something of a madcap. Defensive Captain: +2 to defense at the fortress or an outpost. Reckless Commander: Failed military action queues casualties, supply loss, or retaliation.
>Varik Oathkeeper Varik served as an ambitious young clerk and envoy before the fall. He gathered six families and the necessary supplies and passage through a long sequence of negotiation and political manuevering. He knows well the foreign courts and the caravans, but that knowledge has come with some considerable debt. Diplomat: +2 to diplomacy, treaties, and hosted envoys. Indebted: Pay Gold 1 yearly or queue creditor trouble.
>Urist Firststone Urist was a senior architect who escaped through a deep tunnel in the old hall's foundations, known only to those descended from its original diggers. He made no effort to gather the dwarves whom he now leads--they came to him, for he alone remembers the design of the old halls. He has no real desire or talent for leadership, but has taken on a mantle out of a devotion to restore the glory of the mountainhome. Engineer: +1 to the first seasonal excavation or construction labor total. Vain: If the fortress gains no Renown in a year, Happiness -1.
>What is a quest? An interactive story in which a Quest Master (QM) writes and provides the readers with options on how to proceed — similar to a choose-your-own-adventure book or an old text adventure.
>Formatting guide: Only the thread's OP can format. Note that should the OP change ID, they will lose this ability as well. Remove the spaces between the [] brackets and the letters: Bold: <span class="mu-s">text</span> Italics: <span class="mu-i">text</span> Red: [ red ] <span class="mu-r">text</span> [ /red ] Blue: [ blue ] <span class="mu-b">text</span> [ /blue ] Green: [ green] <span class="mu-g">text</span> [ /green ]
>Formatting guide for everyone: Dice (type this in “options”): dice + [no. of dice]d[no. of sides on the dice] (optionally you can add modifiers: dice + [no. of dice]d[no. of sides on the dice]+[modifier]; for a negative modifier type: +-[modifier]
Examples: dice+1d100 = a 1d100 roll, dice+1d100+10 = a 1d100 roll with a +10 modifier.
Spoiler: spoiler or by pressing alt+s in-thread (doesn't work in OP)
>QM Question: What is the longest you ever hope to reach for in terms of running your quest? Could you see yourself continually running something for years on end and still being as committed then as day one? Has there ever been an ideal number in your head you envisioned your quest reaching before it caps off at that point?
>Player Question: How buddy buddy do you prefer to get with your QM?
>General Question: What are your feelings about spending time and money on commissions for quests given the reality that at most you'd be doing it for five people at max?
