> While every world travels slowly towards its end, yours has just begun its journey. > For this world, the cycle of Gods and Men spins anew, on freshly birthed lands awash with life. > You are a being of creation, a God, among the first divinities born not long after a world’s genesis. You possess innate knowledge and immense power, with which you may seize dominance and carve out a place for yourself in these savage, untamed wilds.
Welcome to a spinoff installation of Beings of Creation, a long-running tactical civ-style hexcrawl based on your imagination. You are a non-omniscient divine being of great power. You find yourself spontaneously brought into existence in a prehistoric, primeval world, untouched by Gods. The rules are relatively simple, and may be picked up as you go, but the document below goes into detail. Most players are familiar veterans of the game, so don't be shy and feel free to ask questions. https://docs.google.com/document/d/1eOyLUfkbgVFHjIPmNmcW9G2wQE7CZenv69m9yQF_aMY https://discord.gg/SaH8tBttx
<span class="mu-r">With several gods already out of the running, feel free to post a god sheet in the thread if you’re interested in joining in.</span>
OH SHIT NIGGA. You are lady Firemane. Of the (formerly) noble house of Fireborn! You were once the greatest wagon racer this side of the kingdom. Sadly due to shenanigans, you lost everything and went into debt with the Adventurer's Guild in order to survive. But then you found the Inexperienced Hero, Ezekiel "Kid" Rutebega ! You took him under your wing to mold him into the hero he's always meant to be: your devoted apprentice (probably)
Ezekiel's older brother has started his campaign of destruction, he leads his hordes of undead barbarians to ravage the lands. As members of the guild, your party has went on the quest chain to stop said undead barbarian horde.
In pursuit of said barbarian horde, the party is currently going through the SPOOKY FOREST™
Your name is <span class="mu-s">Terian Choke</span> and you are an <span class="mu-s">Urgi</span>. You were stationed as a petty technical officer on the planet of <span class="mu-s">Newroost</span> by the Accord government, which is <span class="mu-i">completely</span> fine by you. You have very little interest in being a military engineer working on the front line against the machine collective or dealing with renegade Redwing regiments out in some cold space colony; instead having the job to secure territory and maintain bases in the blue zone of your species new homeworld. This is also, completely fine. What is <span class="mu-i">not</span> fine is that the bird you bet on to win on is <span class="mu-i">losing all of his events.</span>
<span class="mu-g">”Swim damn you! Swim you sorry excuse for a bird!”</span>
In the Consortium, every type of competitive event is open to sports betting. You may be halfway across the galaxy; but your credits are just as good here or there. Zaloon racing is supposed to be the best type of sport to bet; since the racers are too stupid to take bribes or get disqualified for cheating. They just take whatever performance enhancing drug cocktail their handlers make for them; which is all public information. Perhaps you should have studied biochemistry more if you wanted even more of an edge.
<span class="mu-g">”GO ORANGE!”</span>
He overtakes Blue, then Orange and Red come up close behind. They close their armor plates together and squeeze the water out of the interim space; the diving section of the race is next. You know your racer is going to reach the base of the river first with his own body's divebell technique. Unless...
<span class="mu-g">”No! NO!”</span>
He stops to take in breath, giving critical seconds for the other racers to make it to the dive site. He overshoots his oxygen he'll need, as two other racers rapidly dive to the finish at the base of the river.
That's what the social worker assigned to you keeps repeating. It is to help with the 'rehabilitation' process or some such bullshit. They shoved you into a group home, tell you to study hard to finish your education and force you to socialize with girls your age.
That woman has to know it's useless. You are going to age out of the system and get tossed within the year. What is the point? Everything has no meaning, no duty, no chivalry...
This is all the fault of the Pretty Star Warrior bitches and those Arkadian Kingdom bastards!
Those supernatural assholes destroyed the Sumi gang with their war over humanity and magic. It's hard to know which one did more damage. Was it the Arkadian Kingdom taking over and tainting every gangsters' heart crystal? Or was it the Pretty Star Warriors handing over all the dirty secrets of the gang to the cops after purifying everyone?
Every allied yakuza in the Greater Tokyo association was furious. They issued the zetsuenjo permanent expulsion, a literal death warrant for the Sumi gang. The godfather had to willingly offer up his life and disband the gang to let his underlings off the hook.
You remember digging his grave on that remote mountain. You remember the coldness of the soil, how hard it was to dig with the shovel. Hands bled and blood trickled down the handle, but you didn't stop. The grave had to be deep; it had to be proper for a righteous man.
"Azami..."
You remember how calm the godfather was when he arrived. How he and you exchanged cups and oaths beside that open grave. How he needed help after cutting off his fourth finger joint and still needed to cut two more off as 'penance'. How he jumped in and waited for the bullet without a complaint. How the 'older brothers' cried and cried as everyone piled the cold earth on his body. How it started from the feet up. How no one at the end could bring themselves to shovel the earth over the godfather's face but instead sprinkled it over him.
One cold handful at a time for a true man of honor.
"Hey Azami, listen. You're thinking about the past, I can tell from the look on your face," the soft voice of the girl to your right interrupts the anger boiling within. You snap out of it and remember you're with several teenage girls sitting in hard uncomfortable plastic chairs arranged in a circle.
Ah, that's right. You forgot where you are and got sucked into the spiral of your memories. This is the group therapy session for 'victims of unknown circumstances'.
A golden noose, colder than any glacier, clings to your neck like a limpet to the hull of a spacecraft. Mad hands claw at the metal rope, trying to pry the burning steel from your scarlet flesh. Fingers try to dig a gap between the skin and the metal, to find some purchase on the polished bands of unmovable iron. They fail, and nails score small dashes on flesh already red. Red light spews from the heart of the crystalline rose, growing brighter as it illuminates ever more of the stone and concrete prison that will be your grave. Words that would cry for help are rendered silent by the amulet that swallows you with unending pain.
Coherent thoughts are long gone; the pain has stripped them from you, debasing you into a wretched animal seeking nought but succour from this agony. Crawling like a wounded nenamor, you claw with each hand one after the other, trying to escape this realm of suffering. Your eyes can see all the details of Tyus’ lair, but your madness robs you of everything other than the vague appearance of the stone tiles that you drag your face against. You pick up minor wounds from scraping your face against the rocks, but you do not even realise the scratches as the torture device blares in your skull.
Your directionless journey is eternal, the ceaseless cavern has no end. Trapped in this curse, you see no escape, but the animal part of your brain keeps you moving, because to stay still will bring death. Like the legend of Argonemus, you are blind and dumb, forced to forever wander this infinite labyrinth. But unlike him, you have not been stuffed full of cybernetics to preserve you from the ravages of time, so that his lament will last until the very stars themselves die out in the sky.
Blood and bile burst from your lips, spilling the acrid liquid onto the floor. You convulse as a second wave follows, staining your robes with the vomit. Retching, you meekly curl up into a foetal position as you shiver in your own filth. The darkness of slumber grows around the edges of your vision, and you shut your eyelids firmly closed. A new bright pain explodes on your right arm as if struck with a bantha prod. This spurs you out of your weak submission, forcing you onwards on this endless journey to find some relief from the suffering.
With a dulled thunk, your head strikes something. Weakly, you raise your head to see what has halted your journey. It is a bed, your bed, in your room. Lifting yourself up with shivering arms, you flop onto your bed, pulling off your foul robes and dive into the sheets. Naked, barring your underwear, you shiver in the warmth, still wearing the small remnants of your vomit. The linen is soft against your delicate skin, it holds your fragile form in its gentle embrace. Finally, graciously, you close your eyes and allow sleep to whisk you away from the pain.
You will follow Jinx, an up and coming treasure hunter who's on her first expedition to an underground city to nab a golden idol that's sure to be worth a fortune!
I'm making a map to use for world-building and I'd like help to make it as organically as possible. Here I have made the natural layout for a medium/large island; boringly similar to a European landmass like the UK. It is temperate with mixed dense forests, large mountains, and giant freshwater lakes similar to the NA great lakes. Geologically its probably formed from a combination of ancient volcanic activity and glacial erosion.
I'd like you guys to add details one at a time, like settlers and POI or maybe creatures or natives, that it builds up like a chronological history. Mundane or fantastical or serious or silly are all fair play, I'd just like to avoid completely illogical nonsense. Also feel free change the landscape in way that make sense on a human time scale, like shifting river and shoreline or man-made changes like farmland and clear-cutting.
The tale of Pavillion is coming to a close. The forces of unmaking, of erasure and annihilation, those whose stories were not told and condemned to oblivion rise once again. Those closest to the problem wage war, chasing revenge instead of preserving the future, each believing they can handle the problem alone. Time will tell.
> We are not accepting new players at this time
>>6363031 >Habitun Cult Adamant Runes. The very idea is seen as frankly ridiculous at first. Adamant is quite nearly impossible to effect by any means, magical or physical, even the simple act of carrying it is quite difficult on account of weight. Typical rune work relies on storing magical power within the object itself, a fact that Adamant utterly ignores. Setting aside the difficulty of even carving such runes (requiring a frankly comical in scope supply of fracture blades), the fundamental designs of runework must be completely upended. An adamant rune cannot rely on the magic within it, it must rely entirely on the magic around it, a self assembling spell of tremendous complexity that the adamant rune imprints onto the world. The designs that spring forth call for a number of concessions in the theoretical objects they would create, chief of which is that they must always be in motion, carving paths through the ambient magic of the world. These techniques flow into an ambitious project, one where a Shadow is encased within an adamant frame, etched with a complex design of runes that empower and provide it with a flexible set of shadowy limbs. For many centuries (or as the Barzans call them, years) the elves of the cult have worked to support and provide aid to their brothers and sisters across the span of “Could have beens”. This tyrn a measure of that debt is repaid, for crates of snarling beasts and manuals of hard earned experience wrangling and managing them is delivered through the portal network. The beasts are settled into their new homes in the dark forests of the Habitun, while a cadre of geists is trained on how to manage them, use them, and perhaps most importantly avoid their predation.
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.
