Pick Race and Location.

-
(POV shift: You are Kasimir Craney, part of a recon section led by chief explorer Serret.)

You adjust the plating of your protection suit. It is far too tight in some places, and far too open in others. You were just an infantryman a decade ago, so you were quite used to such suits. Of course, back in those days, the suits were of high quality make and actually comfortable, though they had impaired your movement a lot more than this suit, however, the large gaps in your joints that allow for such mobility make you still feel uncomfortable. It is hard to lose instinctual knowledge of using plating that now doesn’t exist to tank shots and make sure they are glancing at best. Now however, you had to unlearn something you had with you for your entire adult life.

Still, you suppose you are better off than those poor buggers. The men around you that you are commanding are all in bulky spacesuits, their movements awkward and each step has to be measured because if they slip, they are not getting back up in any reasonable amount of time in a firefight.

As you march ahead, you halt before a dead tunnel dog. You had been moving down for about fifteen minutes and had continuously run into a group or two of various dead animals. This one is no exception, frothing at the mouth that had long since dried out open eyes that seem to be rotting in real time and the bloated corpse is a mildly disturbing sight.

“Log, another dead one. Looks like a tunnel dog, body’s bloated. Time of death…uh…roughly three days.” You check over the interface before your eyes and log your finding for a future report. Command wants these tunnels cleared, so having a good idea on how effective the bioweapon was is considered a secondary, but an important objective.

“Sir !” You hear over the comm from one of your men. “Chamber ahead.”

“Roger. Weapons ready, fan out and secure us an entrance, keep your eyes on the ground and ceiling they have both diggers and flyers, want two men keeping an eye on one. Move out !” You quickly state raising your rifle and shouldering it, moving into the large open chamber.

Moisture covers your surroundings, and further away, where your torches barely reach, you spot glistening.

“Water ?” One of the men calls out.

“Underground river seems like.” Another answers.

Moving ahead and into the chamber, you do spot what appears to be a rather large lake occupying about a third of the chamber, and sure enough, the noise of flowing water intensifies and you can see that the lake is both intaking water and letting it out.

Other than that, the chamber appears to be large and open with the ground surprisingly smooth with naturally formed pillars maintaining this small serene land.

First thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/2024/93614781/#p93651974

Choosing not to hijack another thread because the mods will probably not be too pleased (I think it only worked / went under the radar for the original thread because it was already about evolution games, so it got traffic from people who play evolution games). I'm not the original hijacker, but I'm keeping the same rules: Go evolve, one alteration at a time.

Cladogram attached; if you evolve from something in the first thread, please specify which one you're evolving from. After that, reply to your chosen ancestor for each evolution.

Do you ever want to . . . take a detour for no good reason?

Jail Quest: a text adventure occasionally illustrated.

A night of drinking and a failed attempt to cheat on cards had landed you the strangest job slash community service sentence you've ever had: ensuring Gongalla Gaol survives the reality storm called Singularity.

Now you travel around with your employer and a handpicked crew to survey the four Reality Anchors. Hey, beats being tarred and feathered, right?

Previous thread:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6023968/

Gongallaverse:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Gongalla%20Gaol

You are Rosa Montagni, and you've just liberated your cousin, Craig, from the accidental clutches of Pinewatch's brothel (who are trying to become a legitimate theater). Then it's back to business - you're investigating some Singularity cult-related incidents at the local lumberyard with Millie and Clyde, in order to get directions to the North side's Reality Anchor. After some time futilely trying to find the lumberyard's ledgers in this book pile that masquerades as a records room, you instead found clues within several tomes of fanfics that were hidden inside. Whoo boy, you've had your fill of amateur literature for an entire year, at least!

Previously on With Great Power Quest: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=With%20Great%20Power%20Quest

There were times on a hot day like this, the heat rising off the cement streets of Chicago so thick it formed a shimmer in the air, that I thought I'd be doing the world a bigger favor going around punching oil executives in the throat instead of tailing my friend Zeke. Something to consider doing one day, when I wasn't so worried about Zeke's intentions. He'd fallen into a bad crowd.

It had started with the Committee of Community Vigilance, the voice of the average person concerned by the deadly rise of the 'parafreaks'. And to give them some credit, they had good reason to be concerned. I'd seen what out of control monsters like the Ooze could do, with half digested corpses floating through his gelatinous guts. But then along came the Humanity First movement and their 'militia'. Gun totting thugs harassing children, throwing bombs through front room windows, getting more and more extreme with each unpunished act of violence until an even more radical group, the Patriots, had emerged.

I don't know where exactly Zeke fell on the spectrum of anti-para hate, but last I'd seen him he'd been attending the baby fascist boot camp, 'The Guardians'. Like the Scouts but with pipe bombs. Now he'd wandered off talking weird shit about how 'sorry' he was. The guilt of bad intentions. Hopefully enough guilt not to go through with it.

He booked out of the water park, double strapping his backpack as he hunched forward, skulking his way through the crowd. He was wearing a hoodie even in this mid-summer heat.

Following him in just board shorts probably wasn't going to work. I pulled on a shirt, quickly wetting it through, but at least it hid my scarred up chest. If I'm being honest I wasn't comfortable going around without a shirt, those white mutilating scars there for everyone to see. Playing hero left its mark, and the marks weren't pleasant.

Zeke got out his phone, looked at something, then put it away. He hadn't notice me follow him out. Chicago in summer got crowded. With school out, tourists from all over poured in, and it was a hot enough a lot of people were headed for the lake. It helped give me some cover at least, though it made following Zeke on foot no picnic either, shoving my way through the wide load of a few midwesterner tourists in with their wide kids 'looking for the bean'.

I'd told Ayesha and Ivy what I was up to before heading out but otherwise I was alone. My focus was fixed on Zeke's hunched shoulders.
-
>rolling skill checks is a best of three 1d100 roll, rolling over a DC with bonuses or minuses based on competing factors

>roll 3 x 1d100 + 20 dc 60

Note: Just got into 40k lore and 1st time qsting so please please please let me know if I did anything wrong.

“This is heresy!”

A thunderous voice boomed.

“This experiment has been sanctioned by the Lord Commander, The Primarch of The Ultramarines and the son of the God-Emperor.” The old man said, gazing sharply behind his thick circular glasses. “I am The Watch Master. You do well to remember that Lieutenant.”

“Lord Commander or not... I won’t stand for this!”

The skull helmeted astartes watched behind the old man.

“Then you dare defy the Lord Commander?” The old man said.

The said Lieutenant’s clenched fist shook, without a word, he turned around and left. The heraldic black cross on the white bone pauldron shone underneath the white lights. Lord Inquisitor Kryptman removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, he watched his latest experiment behind a reinforced ceramite-glass window.

“Lieutenant Casus Belli will not be the only one who is against this.” The skull helmeted astartes, Chaplain Gabriel, said grimly.

“I’m aware,” Kryptman said. “But this might be a potent weapon.”

Across the window was a small girl, dressed in a simple red robe. Her skin was white like snow, hair black as the night. The girl’s hooked talon nails sunk into the tattered gray doll shaped as an astartes.

“Ninety-Nine.”

>The girl’s head looked up at the voice-caster. Her wings unfurled and her large droplet-shaped ears perked up.

Health: 25
Intelligence: 5/10
Strength: 2/10
Speed: 7/10, 5/10 (on foot)
Agility: 7/10, 5/10 (on foot)
Perception: 6/10
Sneak: 5/10

Special Ability: Flight, Enhanced Senses, Hive-Mind Takeover (Lvl 1)

>The girl’s head looked up at the voice-caster. The robes slid back, exposing the thick spiky exoskeleton armor on her body. Ninety-Nine’s tail flicked up, the hammer end of her tail thumped on the floor.

Health: 50
Intelligence: 3/10
Strength: 7/10
Speed: 5/10
Agility: 5/10, 5/10
Perception: 5/10
Sneak: 3/10

Special Ability: Exoskeleton Armor, Natural Weapons, Hive-Mind Takeover (Lvl 1)

>The girl’s head looked up at the voice-caster. As her arms hugged her doll tight, the other pair of arms hung loose and her flexible tail also held her dolls. Ninety-Nine’s large droplet shaped ears perked up.

Health: 25
Intelligence: 5/10
Strength: 4/10
Speed: 6/10,
Agility: 6/10,
Perception: 6/10
Sneak: 6/10

Special Ability: Enhanced Climbing, Enhanced Senses, Predator Sights, Hive-Mind Takeover (Lvl 1)

>Write-in with your own ideas!

You are a minor noble who is setting out to colonise a patch of wilderness far away from any civilisation.

You can choose if you want fantasy or realistic.

Before setting out on the journey you must choose what party you want to take with you. Either a small party of 20 people who are all able bodied and fit or a larger party of around 40 including elders and children. These might slow you down but the elders have experience. You can also choose from either a blacksmith or a healer to accompany you.

>Year 1209, Great Tree Moon
>24 Years After the Conclusion of the Fodlan Unification War

You are Tristain d’Rusalka. Your entire life, you were told that you were the spitting image of your late father, Rex. A great warrior of the late Adrestian Empire, Rex had terrorized battlefields throughout the continent of Fodlan during the era of its warring three nations. Though you’d never met him, stories of his battles and deeds had hounded you your entire life. You’d heard how he’d ventured into the old enemy nation of Almyra, defeating their warlords and claiming a legendary spear. How he’d sacked the city of Charon, putting its rulers to the sword. And, ultimately, how he’d met his end just before you were born, in a fateful duel against his adopted sister, the Countess Blair. The bards of Rusalka at least had the common decency to refrain from performing that last tale in your presence.

And why wouldn’t they? For it was not just Rex’s appearance that you’d inherited. You possessed the same innate martial talent that had made your father so feared. You and your mother had been taken in by his slayer and treated like family. There was no expense spared in your upbringing. From an early age, you had an affinity for warfare. You’d attended the Officer’s Academy of Garreg Mach, where you were afforded a good education and a mastery of arms. You obtained a solid understanding of battlefield tactics and fundamentals. You’d even shown an aptitude for magic, which you had learned from your mother, an adept sorceress. Even with all these talents, the Goddess must have felt you were not yet a complete package, for you’d also been bestowed with two unique gifts: The Crests of Indech and Macuil. Though the nature of Crests was still largely unknown, you had the ability to call upon innate power that few others in this world could claim.

With all of these boons, it was no secret that you were destined for greatness. You had the potential to be the most powerful warrior Fodlan ever knew. A conqueror who commanded armies with strength and zeal, laying waste to all in his path. The Goddess’ perfect killing machine. Even your own father would pale in comparison to the deeds you would achieve.

There was only one problem.

You were born in an era of unending, ceaseless peace. It was this poor stroke of fate that found you now sitting alone on a merchant ship sailing on the high seas, drunk off strong, Almyran rum.

You winced as you took a swig from your faithful flask. Sure, peace was all well and nice if you were an olive merchant or a playwright. You were certain that the infirm and overweight also slept soundly at night. But what about the warriors?! Those who threw themselves into adventure and glory, treading where none would dare? How were you meant to find your place in this world?

Thousands of years ago the Gods were bound by the Pact of Solomon.
<span class="mu-r">It was decreed that</span>
<span class="mu-r">1. Gods may not show themselves to man</span>
<span class="mu-r">2. Gods may not speak to man</span>
So ended the time of mythology and fantasy.
Through this pact the Gods lost their influence over mankind, and with that their power too.
But mortals have long forgotten why they enforced the pact in the first place. To the contrary, they have grown tired of their dull medieval lives and crave the age of mythology back!
And the Gods have found ways to show themselves with showing, and to speak without speaking...

Welcome! In this Quest you are a Petty God, grow your influence over man and your power.
For the sake of this adventure, every participant is his own character. You can join the Quest even when it has long started!
Start by filling out this form, forging your identity to rise from infinite spirits of primordial soup and become relevant.

>Name
>Domain
>Appearance
>Commandments