You are a LALAFELL. A mere eight years old at that. You were sold into slavery in the gladiatorial arena of Ul'dah--a city state which has grown only more cruel and corrupt since Sultan Ravenous Boar came into power. A madman, he elected to make both poverty and starvation illegal in the state which disproportionately affected the primarily Lalafell miners.
Your father sold you off as the youngest of your siblings to save costs and have less mouths to feed. Cutting off the pinky to save the hand, as it were. The Roegadyn ruling class do love to see frail little Lalafell risk their lives fighting for their lives, so they paid a decent penny for you, if that's any consolation.
But that was then, this is now. You are a shivering little man in a cell with nothing but a white tunic and worn down pants who will be sent to die in obscurity for the entertainment of the masses. Yet, still, you deserve a name. What will it be? >Mushir Toshir >Tilbicho Mobicho >Mindafu Cidafu >other (must follow Plainsfolk naming convention)
(Author's Note: An AU FFXIV RP I wanted to write, blending elements from Kenshi into my interpretation. No stat system or dice rolls. If you have any questions, feel free to ask.))
An icy wind blows through the small, barred window of the interrogation room threatening to put out the only torch illuminating the small cramped space. The sound of dripping water patters to the ground in uneven drops as the icicle that had formed under the torch's sconce hours ago melted from the heat of the flame. It was an almost defiant sound as the water refused to return to it's icy prison. It was this battle of the elements that seemed to add to the tension of the small room. Across the table from you were a pair of guards clad in plate and chain mail. One of the two bore a full helm that he never removed. Part of you wondered why. With the temperatures so cold, it must have been incredibly uncomfortable to wear ice cold metal over their head. Or perhaps the helmet was slightly stuffy as most of the man's breath would be contained within the helmet thus keeping it warm.
The sound of something slamming into the table pulls you away from your thoughts. "I'm telling you. We know as much as you do!" Irene shouts as she glares daggers at the two men in front of you. The two of you had been in detainment for about an hour or so after the fight. The guard directly in front of you, a rather serious man who was clearly at the end of his patience speaks up once more.
"And we're telling you that it makes no sense that two foreigners, who just recently arrived, immediately find signs of heresy in our city. So we can only assume that you might have had something to do with this." He says, his arms crossed and hands tugging irritably at one of his sleeves. Irene throws her hands up in the air.
"What more do you want us to say? That we're here to kill the High Priest? Maybe burn the whole city of Valford and it's surrounding towns to the ground?!" Irene shouts back. "We've told you already! We're just travelers!"
"You'd do well to keep your servant in check, sir. Her outbursts look poorly on your house." The guard grunts out through gritted teeth.
"I'm not his servant! I'm his teammate! He's not even a noble!" Irene continues to shout. The two of them had been arguing in circles for quite some time and it seemed that the only thing you and the other guard had in common was that neither of you seemed to have the opening to speak up. Part of you found it very amusing and another part of you found it rather fascinating. Irene was never like this outside of the game. She was always far more calm and collected. As a matter of fact, you don't think you'd ever seen her angry at work.
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.
You are Tristain d’Rusalka, a noble from the United Kingdom of Fodlan born with unique abilities bestowed upon you by the Goddess. You have journeyed across the sea to the desert kingdom of Morfis after receiving an invitation to join a mysterious competition. Though you know little of the trials that lie ahead, the winner of this contest has been promised the hand of Morfis’ Princess, Yulia Xan Phanes, in marriage. Seeking adventures, thrills, and battles that would be worthy of your might, you embarked on this strange voyage with nothing but your trusted axe.
In the three months you have spent in this foreign nation, you have overcome encounters with trained assassins, malicious cultists, former rivals from Fodlan, and even the ancient spirits that once ruled this land. Now, your path has finally led you to the Sorcerer Capital, where the world’s strongest warriors have gathered to compete. Your cousin, Bronte Weaver, whom you have not seen in over three years, awaits you.
>Tristain d’Rusalka >Level 35/50 Wyvern Lord (EXP: 50/100) HP: 69/69 (130%) Strength: 37 (75%) Magic: 25 (50%) Speed: 25 (40%) Defense: 27 (70%) Resistance: 19 (50%) Luck: 21 (65%) >Skill: Resolve (When HP falls to less than 35%, Strength, Speed and Defense increase by 7) >Dragon-kin Wyvern (SPD based chance for Fionn to launch an ice attack, dealing ½ MAG Damage.)
>Weapons: Silver Axe (+16 ATK), Bolt Axe (+14 ATK, Ranged, Targets RES) Hammer (+8 ATK, 3x DMG vs Armor Knights), Devil Axe (+21 ATK, -20 HP when Used) Iron Bow (+6 ATK),
>Spells: Fire (+3 ATK, 5 Uses) Elfire (+7 ATK, 3 Uses) Wind (+3 ATK, 5 Uses, 3x DMG vs flying)
>Abilities: Crest of Indech: You are able to make a follow-up attack on one foe, regardless of Speed. (4 Charges) Crest of Macuil: Double the damage of a magic spell. (3 Charges) Combat Art: Earthsplitter: Cleave all enemies standing two rows in front of you. (Cost: 1 Crest of Indech Charge) Combat Art: Throw: (Toss your weapon at an enemy and return it to your hand. Ranged attack.) (1 Crest of Indech Charge) Combat Art: Hit and Run: (Perform an attack that allows you to dodge the next harmful attack. Increases SPD by +7 for 1 turn. Costs 2 Crest of Indech Charges)
Welcome back to Our Brave Boys, a quest that is more about worldbuilding (or loredumping) but also a somewhat light RP setting. You are all young men of 20 years of age and are part of the <span class="mu-s">Nation's</span> Apprenticeship Required for Male Youths, otherwise known as ARMY. The Nation is one of many countries of the <span class="mu-s">Empire</span>, but after decades of suppressing <span class="mu-s">Republican Revolutions</span>, the Nation emerged as the leading faction championing the Monarchy, placing the late Princess of your Nation on the throne as Eternal Empress.
The Nation has a mandatory conscription policy for all young men, who must serve for 5 years after conscription at 20 years of age. Nearly a year has passed since the quest has started, although new boys are welcome. You might want to skim through the archive to understand the lore.
I used to write up a short story from every post, but it's been getting difficult for me to keep up. Maybe it's because they're more thoughtful than my previous projects so it's difficult for me to add anything significant to your posts, but I am always happy to read your characters' thoughts. This thread is a good example of what I've done before: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/2021/78944717/
Your dreams of getting a harem in another world have now become a reality.
Getting hit by a truck, meeting a goddess, and having a bunch of women that wanted to get in your pants? It was all part of the classic isekai experience. To have all of this happen to you made you feel like your luck finally turned around.
The crown jewel of your harem was said cute goddess that you met. She always stood by your side, devoting her entire being to you out of her own masochistic volition. She, along with your six other consensual 'slave-wives', were soon to mother your children.
As for you? You blessed with Lunacy Savantae: The power to build impossible things.
You were given a few names and titles — Mr. Doe, Savant Lord, the Master, Lord of Heaven's Landing — but your actual name, John Doe, was what most knew you by. It was, like nearly everything else in this world, a stock cliche.
And that was just the way you liked it.
You had spent more than a week in Centria — buying property, filling out paperwork, going to meetings, setting up a bounty for a murderer, among other things, you've finally returned home.
After a five hour flight on <span class="mu-i">The Vixen's Luck</span>, and the night covered all of Heaven's Landing, which was what you recently renamed your estate to, you returned home. You'd managed to avoid pirate ships and bad weather, safely bringing all of your materials, wives, and ghost.
Despite it all, nobody was demoralized.
"It's good to be at our love nest again, Master!" Herta said, giving you a small smirk.
"Funny how you're the one that's calling it that now." You reply as you step down from the airship.
Herta, the goddess that created this world, was as much of a smug and arrogant masochist as she always was. Once a known as a virgin goddess, she would soon become the proud mother of your twins: A fact that placated one of her deeper fetishes.
"That's pretty much what it is." Cattleya said with a meow. The near-amazonian catgirl took a good look at the place that she now called home, frowning as she set her eyes on the cheese cave by the cresting hill— the very place where she was nearly condemned to become a goblin brood mother. She turned back to you. "It's your land now, guv. An' no one else'll stake a claim to it."
"Well said, Cat." The smoky contralto following Ruby Rose's words spoke to you as she elegantly set foot onto the ground. "My gallant Master has already prepared in advance a million plans for any eventuality. Our successes in Centria are a testament to his schemes, fufufu~"
"Nevertheless we must always remain vigilant." Gerty said in a confident voice, the very image of a Holy Knight. "There are vultures gathering around us—Rostchilde and Forthwythe doubtlessly know of this place now."
A strangled gasp desperately claws at air, forcing oxygen into needy lungs that have not felt its embrace in long months. The ragged, animalistic inhale enunciates to the world that you still live. The cold air you greedily suck in burns your throat like swallowing shards of razor glass. Your world is pain, but pain is good, pain means there is still life in your body, and you have survived this forced resuscitation. As soon as you’ve flooded your body with much-needed oxygen, your chest spasms violently, wracking your frame as wet coughs replace the gasp.
Locked in a cycle that oscillates between deep, hungry inhales and violent coughing fits, your eyes open and see nothing. The darkness is complete and total. You spy no source of light in the void that wrestles against the inevitability of night. Your mind is dull and numb. It still lagging from your awakening, struggling to do anything more than its base functions. Cold enshrouds you, wrapping you within its horrid embrace. Goose pimples cover your naked flesh as the chilled air caresses you, sucking out all your natural warmth. Teeth chatter within your mouth, and you crawl up into an even tighter foetal position; your body is trying and failing to beat back the cold that has infected your soul.
As the icy numbness recedes, the pain returns, coating every inch of your body like a cruel reminder of your suffering. You spasm wildly as pain intermittently shoots through different parts of your body, mimicking lightning never hitting the same spot with the agony-inducing stab, at least never hitting the same place twice in a row. Each involuntary twitch is confined, restricted, and imprisoned; the movements are halted from completion by an unyielding force.
Still blind, you register the constraints that bind you, with the realisation you fight against them like a rabid Sullus-Tiger. Pushing upwards in an attempt to get to your feet, you shove your face into metal wire that does not give. Your hands blindly claw at the cage that keeps you pinned to the ground, fingers fruitlessly fight the durasteel. They fail to find a weakness or to scythe through the metal. Now you notice you are not even able to lie straight, your cage has you trapped in this foetal position with only a few inches of space on any side. Kicking at the prison, you are as successful as a child stomping in protest against their parent. The woven metal that holds you captive will not break under your hopeless, infantile assault.
The rebels had won, they had taken everything from you, even your <span class="mu-s"> precious daughter </span> , She who was blessed with the <span class="mu-s"> Ichor of the gods </span>. You were too late to save your precious Seleno in time. Her crystallized soul was entrapped in a body besieged by rot and decay, You have done what you could throughout the last few days but you could not stop the inevitable especially as an usurped king unless...
<span class="mu-r"> "Do you wish to free me? A copy of a copy of your kingdom's nightmares?" </span> said the last shard of Frenkesia, the mother of all that was unholy. Only your royal bloodline knew where she was trapped. Your entire body would shiver about her unsightly and mostly featureless face. An blasphemous <span class="mu-s"> adoll </span> that should not exist in the first place...
"I seek your forbidden knowledge so I may forge a new body for my daughter. No tricks of mine can sustain her rotting body." you kneeled before her, desperation had bent your knees. You would do anything for Seleno.
<span class="mu-r"> "Fool me not, o young king. I know of your forefather's curse. I will be bound to your body, i will not taste true freedom unless you exchange something... dear to you for my services, what will it be, your 'highness' ?" </span>
>My kingdom, ravage it at your will. >My flesh, you can burrow into it once my daughter can breathe again. I will be your perfect host. >Wealth beyond measure, with your knowledge, I can make an army of adoll to take over what is rightfully mine >A steady supply of Ichor. The very blood of the gods courses freely in whatever adall we will fashion together >No...I will bring ruin it all, you are evil incarnate. I can not set you free.
Rules are simple: Votes are tallied every hour, with whatever course of action being the most popular being the course of action taken. Write ins are encouraged and non-mutually exclusive votes will be combined if possible.
When a roll is called for, roll however many D100 are specified. 5- is a 'crit fail' and generally means something bad is about to happen. 95+ is a 'crit success' and generally means something good just happened. a 'crit success' trumps a crit fail. User input on both will be taken into consideration.
Discord: Rules are simple: Votes are tallied every hour, with whatever course of action being the most popular being the course of action taken. Write ins are encouraged and non-mutually exclusive votes will be combined if possible.
When a roll is called for, roll however many D100 are specified. 5- is a 'crit fail' and generally means something bad is about to happen. 95+ is a 'crit success' and generally means something good just happened. a 'crit success' trumps a crit fail. User input on both will be taken into consideration.
You are Alex. A newly minted trainer and camping enthusiast just starting out on your journey at the age of seventeen after your father lost his job in order to help pay the bills. On the road, you met Fie, the Fire Gym Leader, Gareth a novice Aura Guardian on pilgrimage and Holly, a runaway heiress using a pseudonym. You've also made enemies of Team Green a group of violent, radical activists looking to abolish pokemon training.
Recently, Fie returned to her gym for the time being.
Last thread, you beat an ass who was harassing Martha, reflected on your previous battles and cuddled with Nika while you went to sleep.
