You are a PATRIOTIC MEMBER of the shapeshifting SKRULL RACE. Your benevolent EMPEROR has decreed that, due to an ongoing skirmish abroad, it would be wise to DIVERSIFY their species with all manner of SUPERPOWERS. To this end, they have sent you to a little planet called EARTH that is overflowing with these SUPERPOWERED BEINGS.
Your job is to bring back a FULL TEAM'S WORTH of SUPERPOWERED BEINGS. (According to your superiors, a full team constitutes <span class="mu-i">at least four</span> SPECIMENS-- superpowered beings.) At least <span class="mu-i">one</span> of these SPECIMENS must derive from your own successful EXPERIMENTS (but you shall be rewarded handsomely if you can replicate <span class="mu-i">all</span> of your captives' powers). This must be accomplished within the next TEN YEARS, or else you shall be UNCEREMONIOUSLY EXECUTED for your PATHETIC FAILURE. The more captive SPECIMENs, the better... but they must all be returned to the Throneworld ALIVE so that you can properly demonstrate their capabilities to THE EMPEROR.
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To acquire SPECIMENS, you must take advantage of your THREE MAJOR STATS: <span class="mu-s">CHARISMA, MIMICRY,</span> and <span class="mu-s">GADGETRY.</span> These MAJOR STATS are more thoroughly explained in the RENTRY, but, put simply: CHARISMA will help you lure in your victims. MIMICRY will help you hide from the authorities. GADGETRY will help you experiment upon your captives and turn them into SUPERPOWERED BEINGS. In addition, major stats must be balanced with two MINOR STATS: <span class="mu-s">POPULARITY and SUSPICION.</span> A high POPULARITY can supplement your CHARISMA by making people more willing to trust you, but may also attract unwanted attention. High SUSPICION means GAME OVER-- avoid increasing it as much as possible.
GADGETS are the key to your SUCCESS. They bestow POWERS upon your captives, after all. What POWERs, exactly? You can't know until you use them at least once! The application of these POWERS is somewhat reliant on a GADGET's QUALITY, which is determined throughout its creation through a series of rolls. A low-quality GADGET will malfunction very often, leading to very suspicious EXPLOSIONS coming from your headquarters and possibly harming your SPECIMENs, while a high-quality GADGET will rarely malfunction and sometimes grant BONUSES to particularly successful rolls.
Doomed princes, cunning vagabonds and greedy mercenaries try to prevail in a decaying world. Amongst all men You are Doomed to Greatness, cursed and blessed in equal measure. You will learn: There is no Truth but that of Eternal struggle.
That is the first thing that comes to mind when you awaken in a bed of frost and tundra. All other things proceed from the fact that despite your best efforts, you remain the <span class="mu-i">living</span> vessel of an apathetic and nihilistic entity that could be very easily mistaken for a god. Falling into the void should have spread you so thin across time and space that your frequency would have returned to the primordial chaos. Lost to all but to those who are searching for you, and even then they would need the right equipment. Perhaps that lovely man will succeed, in time, to separate your frequency from the void
Perhaps he already succeeded. Perhaps that is why you are here in the snow, naked and cold, rather than drifting alone in the void with all of your senses blinded - your existence finally given meaning through its cessation. Could this pain you feel be "happiness"?
<span class="mu-s">[No, that is frostbite]</span> The Threnodian's song echoes in your mind, its babbling more sensible than usual. <span class="mu-s">[The pen moves in admiration of pointless frivolity, for the hand that grasps it would only be used for fruitless endeavors. The desire to fill a vessel born to die with the fruit of life is an admirable thing, yet we are but false words upon the page-]</span>
"Shut up," you growl, taking to your feet. You've no desire to listen to the mad ramblings of Aleph-1 any longer than you have to. "If you've nothing meaningful to contribute, then keep quiet."
<span class="mu-s">[Voidmatter, then.]</span> The Threnodian sings a new tune in your mind. <span class="mu-s">[This place runs thick with it, thy birthright as a childe of stardust. Afore the author's pen sinks too deeply into perverse admiration of thy shape and coloration, twist it into-]</span>
"I remember how to shape it," you grumble.
The thing is right. The Voidmatter is thick here, thick enough to form a Void Storm and yet so mysteriously stable that it does not. It bows to your command, the command of the Threnodian with which you resonate - with which, you are one - and slides between the pattern shaped from your own unique frequency. You do not weave it, but rather allow it to take shape... and its final shape surprises you.
Somewhere between the clothes you wore beneath the ice of Lahai-Roi and the gown you wore into the void. The thousand star-spangled hands of Aleph-1 grasp your arms and legs more gently than before, shaping into a facsimile of gloves and stockings. The rest of the dress is of the night sky as your gown had been, yet punctuated with the warmth that Sigrika insisted upon with every outing to see the Exoswarm.
<span class="mu-s">[This suits you more than the false smile and despair.]</span> For once the wretched creature to whom your frequency is bound says something you can agree with. <span class="mu-s">[More honest, but not the whole truth, for the whole truth does not suit such a devious woman woven of power and lies-]</span>
"I believe I told you to be quiet," you remind the Threnodian before it starts rambling again.
It's the year 20XX. The discovery and creation of Minovsky Particles has allowed resulted the rapid advance of countless technologies the likes of which the world had never seen before. However, no field was more effected by the discovery than the field of "Mecha Model Building".
Through introducing Minovsky Particles into already existing VR Boards, humans were able to finally make the dream of countless Mecha Otaku a reality: Bringing the models they build as a hobby to life...so they can brawl!
Thanks to this, an entirely new hobby has emerged. One where people of all ages take their models into game stores, schools clubs, and even international tournaments across the world. Where they bring their models and battle against each other in high octane, emotionally charged battles, where the winner takes all!
Their reasons for fighting are as wide as the ocean. But every single person, called Battlers, shares one thing: Their passion for the sport, the love for their hobby, and the drive to prove themselves the best of the best.
And here, in this Quest, you will be one of them.
>TL;DR: This is a Quest set in a world similar to the Gundam Build Fighters Universe. However, instead of it only being about Gundams and Mecha from Gundam Series, this is more akin to a Super Robot Wars Universe. Which means both Real and Super Robots from across time are part of this Setting and able to be used in battle.
>Note: I am no way a Loremaster in regards to Mecha Anime/Manga/Whatever. I have seen quite a few Mecha Animes, read a few Mecha Manga, and played through at least two SRW games while reading Let’s Play of about 4. I know some things but I don’t know a lot. So, forgive me if I have to Wiki up certain bots that I may not know of.
>This Setting is technically “Original” in that there isn’t really a version of it in any kind of Official Media. However, it’s still not and in Fanfic territory as the world is similar to the Gundam Build Fighters World. I.E. It’s basically Heaven for all the characters from various Real Robot and Super Robot Animes/Mangas/Whatever. So, don’t expect this Quest to get super-duper dark or anything like that. It’s gonna be Shonen Style from start to finish.
>Basic Rules: We’re primarily going to be using 1d100, Bo3, with bonuses based on narrative circumstances. Higher = Better with DC usually being there but hidden; I’ll keep the votes open for about 20 or so minutes; Write ins are allowed, but might not always be used; No specific time when I'll run. I'll just do it when I feel like it.
In the glow of dusk, you sit within the stone house, the last of the daylight being a time to finish your working. You smell the freshly rubbed vellum and place the page upon the scriptorium's table, pulling the guide ropes taut. They make horizontal lines across the worked skin, and you push the page over to set the margin before making final tightening once you are sure it is straight. You pick up the quill, rubbing your hand in reflex as it protests taking to the familiar position.
“Oh Gods. Grant me the strength.” You laugh. The Gods are invoked to heal the wounds of warriors, not scribes, but at this moment the pain your hand surely must be at least worth a few battles worth of honor. You already know the words you must transcribe by heart, as you have already made two copies of it today, but you still glance back at the reference again just to ensure there are no mistakes.
<span class="mu-i">From Hroth, came the four princes and just one daughter, born of the last great Hrothian King. This was a strong bloodline. And of these four went out to carve Kingdoms of their own, founding a great city each in their own name, and their names were Inigo, and Alcepass, and Lugh, and Chermeset. But the daughter was the King's favored, as from the day she was born she was beloved by the whole world, and he believed her to be the true future of Hroth. The daughter was to be married to the last Prince of the Halitotians, uniting the two greatest peoples of that age. But upon seeing his hideous face, she refused, and a war broke out between those peoples.</span>
You rub your aching hand. The dusk is longer then you thought, judging from the light outside. You still burn a candle in the murkiness. Soon you will be finished, and may finally have a drink.
<span class="mu-i">The Hrothians prevailed, and buried the last of the Halitotians in their mountain fortresses, and their kind faded into history forevermore. As for the princess, she fled to the south, as far south as she could go, and married a black king of a tiny kingdom. The Okites, whose royalty now had a trace of white man's blood, came to dominate their desert homeland. But it was not from this union which gave the Okites their golden eyes, but instead from the Princess's dowry. As she so favored by the Gods, from the day of her birth to the day of her death, held in her hands the missing piece of the yellow moon.</span>
Chambered lanterns line the narrow, smoothly carved walls. The dim lighting covers only enough area for you to barely see where you're walking, while the guards make sure to stand behind you and keep watch.
That's right—you were arrested by the palace guard, caught in the act after a heist gone wrong and robbed of any chance of getting out of this hellhole.
The very people who now have you in chains are the same ones who found your family the first time. Your family was forced into servitude under a very wealthy minor house, the Ducards. They were a prominent family from a major faction in their homeland, though compared to the powerful nobles who had recently expanded into the western lands, they were merely minor lords in a realm of constant political power struggles.
Making sure you can't get up to anything, the two guards stop in their tracks for a moment.
"Stop where you are!" one of them shouts. The command in their voice resonates throughout the narrow corridor.
You have no choice but to freeze. There's little other option besides death, and what you were just caught doing will earn you nothing less than a death sentence. The irony isn't lost on you as you stare at the floor in shame.
The guard leading from the front walks up to you. They place a hand on your bare shoulder from behind, as if trying to hold you in place.
"When you enter, you're not to look him in the eyes. You are to know your place—a dog by comparison," the guard tells you.
Before you're given any time to respond, a sharp sting shoots through your spine. Your heart sinks when you realize a blade has been pressed against it. You push the doors open and see a figure seated upon an exquisitely crafted throne. Realization quickly dawns on you, and, as if by instinct, you do as you're told and avoid looking at them.
Brief laughter fills the room, just barely audible. The person before you seems to be enjoying the sight of you.
"You've been given an opportunity. Serve with gratitude, and you will go far," they state.
Still avoiding the gaze of the royal seated before you, you keep your eyes locked on the floor. To do otherwise would mean certain death.
"Guards, would you please explain once again what this person's crimes are?" they ask, a hint of slyness hidden within the question.
Your name is Henry Cobbledick and you're in an office in Atlanta, Georgia. The firm that you work for handles the accounts of a bunch of small businesses in the city. It's not an exciting job, but it pays the bills.
With thirty-five years and an unhealthy paunch under your belt, a bachelor's degree in business administration, and a severe case of male pattern baldness, it's not like you're suited for anything else. The last time that you worked out was when you adjusted the position of your couch last week. The last time that you spoke to someone that cares about you was when you called your mom a couple of months ago. The last time that anyone showed any romantic interest in you was back in college, over a decade ago.
It's not much of a life, but you don't let your depressing circumstances distract you from your <span class="mu-i">interests</span>.
Whenever the floor manager isn't peeking over your shoulder, you often browse all sorts of strange material on your laptop. You escape from the banality of your existence by indulging in esoterica, by hoarding occult knowledge and committing all manner of peculiare symbols to memory. Every now and then, when your commitment to your <span class="mu-i">interests</span> impacts your performance, you have to go through a disciplinary procedure, but you remain undeterred in your pursuit of the unusual.
Where in particular do your <span class="mu-i">interests</span> lie?
>Neopaganism. You practise a mishmash of ancient European heathenry that incorporates Ásatrú, Fyrnsidu, Irminism and so much more. >Thelema. Every day, you strive to distance yourself from your material reality so that you might follow your True Will and commune with your inner daimon. >Goetia. You own a copy of the Lemegeton and have committed many of the seals, circles and sigils that it contains to memory. >Chaos magic. The potent psychic energy that all men possess can achieve anything, if it is unshackled from rigid beliefs and channelled with subconscious intent. >Sex magic. You consider yourself an initiate of the Ordo Templi Orientis and have already unlocked multiple chakras through sexual transmutation. >Martial arts. Having taught yourself Aikido, Baguazhang and Muay Thai, you have merged them to create a 'unique' style of your own. >Alchemy. With your knowledge, you can turn water into wine, lead into gold, and so much more. If only you had access to the right equipment. >Reaction-free technology. Newtonian mechanics are a lie. You know of technology that could make humanity an inter-galactic species within a century. >Syncretic heresy. You blend various heresies into a unique form of Christianity, including Monarchianism, Antinomianism and of course, Gnosticism.
<span class="mu-i">The year is <span class="mu-s">5 AB (After Bloom)</span>, and you live in what is now called <span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-b">Biltmore City</span></span>, a community of survivors settled in the ruins of the historic Biltmore Estate in Western North Carolina.</span>
<span class="mu-i">The year was 2009, and the time was 3:31:54 AM EST on Friday, April 10th when <span class="mu-s">The Bloom</span> occurred. In the span of 12 minutes and 49 seconds, the entire Earth experienced a super-rapid forestation of all terrestrial surfaces.</span>
<span class="mu-i">Trees erupted from the ground and into full maturity, regardless of any manmade materials present - asphalt roads were obliterated, buildings were toppled, and underground structures were perforated with roots. All human infrastructure was rendered essentially inoperable and unsalvageable due to the density and ubiquity of the trees. Some areas burst instead into fields of exotic flowers, and buildings or vehicles therein were merely engulfed by vines, instead. In many other places freshwater springs surfaced inexplicably, generating ponds, creeks, or even rivers.</span>
<span class="mu-i">The biodiversity of this perpetual forest defies common logic. Banyans, alders, acacias, eucalyptus, olives, and towering sequoias can all be found inside of the same ten acres, regardless of geographic location, sometimes twice or three times their 'natural' size. Animal life appeared in much the same manner, out from behind trees or from warrens revealed by new roots, equally diverse and at home in all locales. Lions now prowl the slopes of what were the Rocky mountains and pythons hang from the branches of magnolia trees in the now forested Siberian steppe.</span>
<span class="mu-i">The most devastating element of <span class="mu-s">The Bloom</span>, however, was what it did to the human population.</span>
<span class="mu-b">ANTON PEAS:</span> that’s your name… don’t wear it out! Feels like it’s been ages since a botched summoning ritual brought you to <span class="mu-s">ZORAL</span>: a fantasy world shrouded in perpetual darkness… but you’ve really only been here for a few days–and BOY have you been busy!
Your memories? Foggy! A way home? Uncertain! People trying to kill you? Very Yes! To say this new world is treacherous would be an understatement, to say the least, and to make matters worse, an archdevil who calls himself <span class="mu-r">’RED’</span> is your best chance at remembering who you were!
His price? Slaying <span class="mu-r">THE FOUR LORDS:</span> a kooky quartet of tyrants and beasts who jealously rule their slice of Zoral with an iron fist… or claw… or whatever they have! Having just put an end to the overdue reign of <span class="mu-r">ARCHMAGE TRIER</span> in the never-sleeping city of <span class="mu-s">UMBERAL</span>, your aggressive altruism freed none other than <span class="mu-b">KNODD</span>, Earthmother and god of the land!
Juiced up on divine powers and named the <span class="mu-i">first</span> <span class="mu-b">’CHAMPION OF THE GODS’,</span> your new status attracted the notice of several high-rung folks, chief among them <span class="mu-r">THE STAR-CLOAKS:</span> a clandestine cadre of mages devoted to maintaining order in Zoral, no matter the cost! Weirder still was when you met their Guildmaster: <span class="mu-b">VOLKIR</span>! Volka’s adoptive father and curmudgeon par excellence, the old coot didn’t waste much time in tossing a new crisis your way: per what you heard from Trier, there’s a <span class="mu-r">SIEGE</span> headed to <span class="mu-s">CROSSROADS</span>! Who’s planning it and why? The details are foggy, but who better than you is there to help save the day?
Having just acquired several Emergency Supply caches for the city from a pair of Spice Cartel Holdouts, you turn your heroic attention towards your next task: investigating a group of <span class="mu-r">HEDGE MAGES</span> holed up in one of Crossroads’ many parks… and maybe even recruiting them to your side! With the trade hub bursting at the seams from civil unrest and outside influence, you can use all the help you can get your mitts on… something tells you this ain’t gonna be easy!
Making your way across a rapidly-deteriorating city, THIS is where your story continues…
