Humanity has spread out into a massive sprawling empire throughout the galaxy. The edges of the sprawl remain poorly guarded and sparsely settled after all humanity throughout a thousand stars has always been alone save for their own creations which once waged war against them. This is no longer true now an unknown force has begun to attack sector 63 and other sectors and it is up to poorly supplied and desperate sailors to hold them back.


You are the Admiral of the naval fleet of sector 63 one of nearly a 100 rimward sectors on the edge of settled human space. The war has finally turned in humanity's favor the once unending horde of bird ships, who you now know are called the Argono have finally ebbed away. The war is not yet over for yourself; a large enemy fleet has formed and seems intent on finally ending your harassing attacks by striking your home port of Carth. In the last few weeks you've been striking the main body of the enemy fleet in an attempt to weaken the blow that will fall on your home.


Your fleet soon arrives at Cartha having finished your last ambush you should have at the current rate of enemy advance roughly a week before they arrive here. A significant minefield greets you at the jump point exit hundreds of the dangerous weapons scattered in a circle around the point. A signal from the fort which is visible from the jump point is the next thing to greet you, a friendly greeting from Colonel Roose who is legally in command while your gone. It also includes a request for a meeting at some point.

The defense of Cartha can be broken up into three distinct types: static defenses like the fort and mines, naval in the form of ships and torpedo boats operating out of the fort and finally the army which currently mans the fort and holds several positions on the planet. Which to visit first?

>The fleet
>The army
>Static defenses


Past Threads:https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=BrinkQM

War War Never Changes.
They finally fucking did it. The bombs fell not long ago. The world is over. No more people. Just shambling radioactive corpses. No more nations, just glowing craters, dust, and shadows of people that once were. No more seasons, just nuclear winter. Shopping? No such thing. Have fun struggling to find a drop of water or a crumb of food that won't kill you. The RADS oh god the fucking RADS, inescapable and everpresent. Truly the end of the world. Rapture maybe happened and whatever is left...well, most people are quickly giving up on God. Kinda hard to keep believing when the world ended, and you were left behind. Except for the zealots, anyway, but those guys are crazy as the cannibalistic raiders.

That isn't even getting into all the weird shit that keeps happening and becoming. Makes you wish it was 'just' a nuclear winter. Walking corpses. Mutants. Inexplicable anomalies. Unnatural terrain. Strange whispers that you aren't the only one hearing. Honestly, it just keeps getting worse...especially with everything you have to do just to 'survive'. Living...living is just a luxury that only the pre war world got to enjoy. You meanwhile, are just another poor sucker caught up in this clusterfuck, trying to survive.

(This quest will be ripping heavily from games like Fallout, Metro, Stalker, and Bioshock basically anything that fits within the setting theme to keep things interesting)

>Character Creation
You may choose any trait from any game OR include a custom option that may be vetoed by me IF it's too unbalanced. Custom traits MUST include both positive and negative effects otherwise, it's an automatic veto.

The first character will be a young male because this is about a dynasty over the generations. So long as you have a living family member the game will not end however, your characters can and WILL die over time.

Anyway the last character DIED without offspring, resulting in game over, so now it's a restart with some adjustments. So here we go again. I wasn't joking about the difficulty...

Humanity has spread out into a massive sprawling empire throughout the galaxy. The edges of the sprawl remain poorly guarded and sparsely settled after all humanity throughout a thousand stars has always been alone save for their own creations which once waged war against them. This is no longer true now an unknown force has begun to attack sector 63 and other sectors and it is up to poorly supplied and desperate sailors to hold them back.


You are the Admiral of the naval fleet of sector 63 one of nearly a 100 rimward sectors on the edge of settled human space. The war has finally turned in humanity's favor the once unending horde of bird ships, who you now know are called the Argono have finally ebbed away. Your industry soars and the first of the friendly fleets have begun to probe from Mid Rim sector 63 in your own sector to hopefully soon relieve you.

You're currently on patrol facing off against a small fleet of enemy ships made up of 4 battleships, 2 battlescruisers and 12 Heavy cruisers facing off against your veteran picket line of corvettes, destroyers, and several light cruisers along with your freshly converted semi guided missile cruiser. The enemies' lasers dance around the picket line as the push forward even as your missile cruiser comes to a stop and turns to give the enemy their broadside. There's several large flashes as all 12 of its missiles fire and burn fast toward the enemy capital ships. There is some swearing over comms as the missiles zip past the picket line and your strike craft but the pilots and captains are too busy dodging incoming fire as they loose their own torpedo strikes to give too much complaint.

Could I get a 1d100 best of three please

Past Threads:https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=BrinkQM

Welcome to CBF, a game set in the cyberpunk future of Charleston, SC, using the horror/urban fantasy world of Changeling: The Lost (and most of the rest of World of Darkness) as it's larger backdrop.

You will be a <span class="mu-g">Changeling</span>, someone that was taken by the <span class="mu-r">True Fae</span> to an alien realm, <span class="mu-r">Arcadia</span>, across the hedge between reality and dreams. They left a <span class="mu-g">Fetch</span> behind in your place, a simulacrum that took your place among your friends and family, making your disappearance unnoticeable. While in captivity, you were traumatized, and forcibly transformed into a creature, or perhaps a decoration, or tool. You've since escaped, back to the real world, back to Charleston, SC, now, in the year 2198.

You command certain supernatural abilities by making contracts and pacts with the forces of nature and reality, and can also make magically binding bargains with other Changelings and mortals. To non-fae creatures, you are by all appearances a human, maybe quite similar to your original self, but possibly older, younger, scarred, or with certain traits having since been altered - time passes in strange ways within <span class="mu-r">Arcadia</span>, and the marks left by the <span class="mu-r">True Fae</span> vary in their subtlety. Other Changelings, fae creatures, and certain other supernatural beings, however, can see past the <span class="mu-g">Mask</span> of concealing faerie magic, and view your true self - be that a musclebound troll, or an automaton cobbled together from wax and copper in your own former image.

Megacorporations and stranger monsters than yourself pull the strings of society in these neon nights, and you will struggle with maintaining your humanity, and sanity, while navigating the maddening world of the fae, and the soul-crushing dystopia that's been produced by generations of greedy, sociopathic humans. You escaped from the creature that abducted you some ten years ago, and have survived in that time by honing your skills and picking your battles.

You are a failure.

Your life was an unmitigated disaster. A comedy of errors that would be funny... If it wasn't you.

You USED to be a star. You USED to shine brighter than any other.

You were a prodigy. You used to be... Someone. Everything you ever wanted and needed was within your grasp and you lost it.

Now, though? You're nothing; your purpose has been ripped from you and you can't let it go. Everyday exists for you to daydream about what could have been. A pointless and painful exercise in imagination.

However, you've realized something. If you can't achieve your dreams maybe your children can. It wouldn't be you, but at least your child would embody some of your essence. Their story would start from you- you would be an undeniable puzzle in their greatness.

And that's almost enough.

The question is... What was your passion? What is your regret?

>Sports
>Hero
>Music
>Art
>Academics
>Nobility
>Write-In

>be you
>be at the edge of the world
>your people are finished
>the last great city is a sinking husk behind you
>the Old King is dead, choked on his own prophecies
>the crown is in your pack, heavy with failure
>ahead lies only the Black Sands, a sea of ash under a dying sun
>the scrolls say nothing lives there
>the scrolls were wrong
>something is moving in the ash, and it has seen you
>the survivors at your back are silent, waiting
>choose

Something shook the blackened acid-metal surfaces of the cylindrical capsule - the piercing tip breached its way into the fleshy and distinct cavity. Inside of the transverse was a number of crystal tubes, pressurized with yellowy chemical sleep - helpless figures inside. Each was clad in a tight elastomer suit, covering the mid thigh to the shoulder and lower jaw, with a circular cutout from below the ribs to the upper pelvis. The suits dug into the skin, the flesh beneath bloated with chemical sleep - several, in fact, had grotesquely filled the tube in entirety; gurgling and moaning as they suffocated, pressed against the crystal.
A few did survive - recent memories crudely wiped, and re-implanted with the nature of their mission:
> Primary goal: Destroy the Furnace Record
> Secondary goals: Kill Pontainlou, kill Germfather Gustav, destroy the Gas Injection Depot.
Any agents that survive to complete the primary goal, will be psychically broadcasted directions on how to be safely extracted. Completion of secondary goals will reward additional pardons and indulgences.

Surviving agents:
> Fusil - Grapevine Cult Psychic
Description: A grotesque mystic of the apocalyptic Grapevine cult. Believes in the great coincidence and upholds the cult doctrine. Skin is pale grey like all clones, lips are drawn back from drinking tumor wine. His forehead is engorged from his overdeveloped brain.
Skills: Knows basic psychic abilities.

> Marmora - Insect Ranch Midwife
Description: Buxom farmhand from an insect ranch, where creatures are grown for repurposable biomass. Skin is pale grey like all clones, her hair is wiry and curly. Body is muscular and disproportionate from rearing mammoth grubs.
Skills: Immense strength.

> Vittori - Data Clan Spy
Description: Petite and unassuming, but more fragile than most clones. Skin is pale grey, hair is short. An additional eye grows in the middle of her forehead, and one arm is lost to degradation. External stomach sac implant hangs off the hip, implanted by their Data Czar.
Skills: Espionage and infiltration.

> Linter - Neo-Chauvinist
Description: Neo-Chauvinist from the Orangutan Cities, skin dyed olive to emulate womb-made humans. Hair is short and face is covered with stubble. Build is slight but muscular. Fingers are surgically elongated.
Skills: Deduction and rhetoric.

> Which agent are you?
As you awaken, the failing release valves on the remaining chemsleep tubes give way. The three other surviving passengers aboard the transverse begin to thrash in agony and pound on the inside of the crystal tube.
> Which additional agent do you move to rescue?

It has been millennia since humanity became a star faring race. Enough time for stellar regimes to have risen and fallen, for technologies to be forgotten and relearned and for a diaspora of life; both human and alien to spread across the galaxy.

The Raihan Empire is but one splinter of the human diaspora. At its height the Empire spanned eight star systems but eventually corruption and decay set in. The Empire collapsed, its great works crumbled, its worlds became isolated. For a thousand years it was so…

Until a new warlord arose on Raiha, one that managed to quell the disparate factions fighting over the Throne world. When all his enemies were vanquished he marched upon the palace district where the remnants of the Imperial family cowered. However, instead of seizing the throne for himself Arcturus Garan pledged himself and his army to the service of the remaining Empress and took the title of Lord Commander.

Together the Empress and Lord Commander began the process of rebuilding the Empire, first securing the home system, then bringing each of the wayward colonies back into the fold.

Five out of the original eight colonies have been absorbed back into the resurgent Empire. Only the systems of Noto, Higg and Kornen actively resist annexation. Together they have formed the NKH Defence Pact, or simply the Pact.

Now the Pact must guard its independence against the growing might of the New Raihan Empire. The odds are not in their favour, they are outnumbered and outgunned, but the Imperial Forces have not yet regained their full power and the war is not over yet…

((This quest is an indirect sequel to Space shipyard quest, knowledge of previous threads is not required but it will do much to add context. Previous threads can be found here: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=space+shipyard))

In a dark place, a <span class="mu-b">made-man</span> struggles against his bonds. Before him, several tools glimmer and sway gently along the wall, the strange bald druggist who knocked him out playing with them. The room is barely illuminated from the streetlights, passing cars, and electric billboards of Level 4. True darkness and silence is not common here.

“...It's always women, prostitutes. Transient kids. People who won't be missed. That's no fun. I think doing it to men is much more fun; but not because you're a boy. More because it's not somebody you'd expect. It could be <span class="mu-i">anybody</span>.”

<span class="mu-b">”You want money? I got money. Pacelli connections.”</span>

“You will be next great creation. Worth far more then any amount of dirty criminal money.”

<span class="mu-b">“Who da fuck... wait, you're from Level 2?”</span>

The man doesn't say anything, instead the stranger brandishes a razor, testing its sharpness against a finger, turning to the mobster. He looks over his captive, eyes looking for the juciest piece to cut first. The mafioso tries to pull out from the rope, the chair squeaking. He sweats. Bribes will certainly not work.

<span class="mu-b">“You'd be smart to let me go, psycho. I'm a dangerous man, and I know dangerous people!”</span>

He grins at the mafioso with a golden tooth.

“Exactly. That's the fun part.”