It is estimated that over 5 billion species have gone extinct throughout Earth's history. In the year 21XX, Humanity came to join that number. The chain of events leading up to this exodus has long since been forgotten, but a silver lining remained: Mankind would cease to exist on Earth, yet avoided total eradication by shunting itself into a hidden sanctuary known as the Digital World.
Your dying race discovered the sprawling infrastructure of this virtual ark right as they reached the event horizon of global biosphere collapse. Myriad wars had already broken out over the remaining resources, cutting down substantial portions of the population and resulting in the fall of numerous states. When news broke of this alternate world's discovery, nations looked up from their bloody squabbles, sick of fighting over scraps like dogs, and listened well and hard. Then came the final cooperative effort humanity would undertake: A project to move the minds of every living soul into the network, where trailblazers were working tirelessly to establish a new frontier for mankind. One without borders, without limits, without the contrivances of a material world that was dying thanks to their actions. This effort was a resounding success.
And now, God knows how many years later, you're sick of it. You want out.
The undercity of Dresh’Vol is silent now, but you can still hear the echoes of your disgrace ringing between its carved obsidian walls. You were never meant to leave. No dark elf is. Surface exile is a sentence worse than death—a promise of slow humiliation beneath the burning sun and the contempt of your own kind. And yet, here you are, stripped of rank, wreathed in shame, and cast out of your people’s subterranean empire.
It wasn’t murder. It wasn’t even intentional. You were just a student, barely through your third circle of arcane study, when the spell misfired during the dueling trials. A spiraling weave of uncontrolled energy, wild and unpredictable, ripped through the favored slave of Matron Qelvra herself. The boy turned to ash with a scream that has haunted your sleep ever since.
Normally, House incidents like this are smoothed over with coin and custom, but your family—rich in gold but bankrupt in courage—refused to pay the reparation fine. They said it was politics. They said making enemies of Matron Qelvra was bad for business. And you? You were the convenient scapegoat.
Now, you're banished. You wear a collar inscribed with your debt, magically sealed, binding you to ten years of exile or until you can pay the matron’s blood-price. Your magic remains, but your resources are scant. The surface awaits—with its wild forests, burning skies, and eyes that don’t blink in darkness.
Your house didn't even trust you to survive alone. They sent someone with you.
A shadow moves behind you. You don’t need to look to know they’re still there. Watching. Waiting.
Before you depart, you must choose the tools you'll carry into this hostile world. You may select two spells to bring with you. Or choose only one spell… and accept the company of the guardian your house insisted you take.
> Flame Lash (Red) – A whip of fire that sears enemies and can ignite flammable objects. Useful for combat and survival alike. > Vine Grasp (Green) – Animate the vegetation around you to entangle enemies or create climbing supports. Works even on dry plant matter. > Mystic Ward (White) – A basic protection spell that deflects minor physical and magical harm for a brief time. > Ghost Bolt (Blue) – A shimmering projectile that passes through walls and strikes targets behind cover. Can also be used to trigger distant mechanisms. > Shadow Leech (Black) – A curse that saps strength from a foe and transfers it to you. Weakens enemies, strengthens you. > House’s Hand – Know only one spell of your choice, but take with you a loyal guardian: Velas, a male drow blade-dancer, trained since childhood to serve your house’s elite. Cold, quiet, and fiercely capable, he was sent with you "for your protection." But you know he reports back to your mother. > Write in
It is the 41st century. Great star empires that span galaxies make up the Factions of known space. Two decades of war saw the Factions united against a common foe; the Neeran Empire. With the Empire's defeat the Factions are once again at peace, but few are willing to risk falling into complacency and malaise once more.
Great star fleets still ply the space lanes, keeping the peace and keeping a watchful eye for new threats. These fleets, once built for war, are increasingly being turned towards exploration. The neutral Navigators Guild leads the expansion, plotting new safe routes to distant galaxies. Meanwhile the Factions Alliance military act as their guardians, protecting the explorers and evaluating threats to Faction space.
The Alliance fleets still act as the defenders of Faction space, guarding against external threats. Called on to police the borders of the former Neeran Empire and support exploration efforts, they are stretched thin on all fronts. Fortunately there is no shortage of old soldiers and adventurous youths looking for a cause if the price is right. Some are more sought after than others.
In the Neeran Wars all the Factions suffered to some extent. Entire worlds were destroyed, stripped of life or reduced to rubble. The heart was torn out of the Shallan Federation while the Terran Alliance and Dominion of Royal Houses staggered from lost worlds and a refugee crisis. Worse the Dominion fell into civil war at the worst possible time.
The Dominion civil war saw many dozens of Houses conquered by their neighbours or otherwise overthrown. Some simply saw a change in government, changing sides and aligning themselves with their former enemies. Others would be annexed or dissolved outright. Even years after the conflict its remnants still linger. The dispossessed are Knights and nobles of Dominion Houses that have lost their lands and territory. Many still have personal fortunes and enough resources to be dangerous.
Knights Errant are made up of those dispossessed still determined to take up arms in some cause. Entire chapters of Knights Errant exist, some choosing to defend the Dominion, others simply banding together for safety. Regardless of reason these knights are often some of the best warriors in known space and a resource the Alliance does not hesitate to draw upon.
Your House may have long ago fallen but there is still hope for the future. Work for the Alliance protecting the exploration fleets will be dangerous but could provide the tools and opportunity necessary to some day restore your House.
<span class="mu-i">"Happy Birthday, Our Brave Boys. You are now twenty years of age and it is time you embark on your Youthful Journey so that you may learn and grow to return home as men. Make farewells to your family, your friends, and your neighbors, for they will surely miss you, but never forget the Memories you made with them, so you can share them to new friends you will make from across the nation. Make us proud and become the man we need to preserve and continue Our Memories." </span>
Every month, around 10,000 boys are shipped to Sleepy Waters for their twentieth birthday. They travel by rail or paddle streamer from their home village or town, most taking no longer than 16 hours on their voyage. It was a common sight to see so many old boys traveling during the last day of every month, carrying nothing but the clothes on their back, some cash for when they become hungry on their way to Sleepy Waters, and a slip of paper containing their personal details.
Sleepy Waters was not a pleasant sight to behold, entirely devoid from the expanse of farm fields and meadows nearly all boys are accustomed to. Those from the capital aren't as shocked as their rural counterparts but it was sill undesirable for its dull colors and muddy tracks, though the chimneys of smoke was more familiar to them. The boys entered Sleepy Waters on foot, forming a few of the longest lines under a canopy, turning and weaving to fit as many under to get away from the unfortunate rain.
Upon approaching the head of the line, one would come across an older gentleman in a dark uniform demanding each boy's slip of paper in exchange for a metallic tag with a string of numbers. He would copy the number onto the slip of paper given to him and call for the next boy.
***INTRODUCTION*** Greetings, this is not meant to be a conventional quest, instead mimicking some previous threads on /tg/ where I just shared my worldbuilding while drawing cute soldier boys. Often times people will ask questions about the setting or project themselves as a character in the threads, writing their thoughts, dreams, desires, and fears. I almost always entertain every remark and comment in the form of a drawing as the threads move onto a short story following the anons' until into a story's conclusion.
The real purpose of this quest is just for me to draw cute soldier boys.
The bad-ass adventures of two losers under the great big Arceusdamn ball of fire. ==================================== "Dan?" "Yeah?" "I think we're gonna die out here." "Yeah." ==================================== HANGOVER: Lisa: The Timeless OST - Allsides (OST Version) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2CdtYefRxPc
When early SUNROSE appears with rosy fingers and pokes you right in the eye...
You wake up with a burgeoning headache and the most peculiar sense of déjà vu.
A warm sunbeam is shining through the cheap plastic window blinds and directly onto your face, teasing you like a beautiful woman away from the pleasant noise of your dreams. You grimace and shut your eyes tighter.
Perhaps if you keep your eyes closed for a little while longer, the unpleasant morning sun will vanish and the comfortable duskiness of the room will return to engulf you once more, just as a shroud of leaves is draped around a Swadloon. Your room, a fortress against all that is sadness and misery. That sounds good.
You turn to your side and pull your blanket over your head. You start to feel better, but not much.
Then there is a sound. A real sensation, drawing you further away from your ideal state. Damn.
Someone is moving around the room at an agitated pace. There's only one other person who lives with you. And now even through this haze of blood alcohol, you sense the faintest tendrils of that familiar psychic presence tapping insistently at the eggshell-thin walls of your mind.
And most unwisely, you tap back.
You know <span class="mu-s">Garcian Smith</span> as a a lot of things. He's a liar. He's a scoundrel. He's an asshole. He's a knight of the body. He's your shadow. He is your best friend and your brother. You'd say a lot more about him but the most important thing you can say right now is that <span class="mu-b">you both drank way too much last night.</span>
<Hey Dan.> His mental "voice" echoes dully through your collective inebriated haze.
<Hey Garcian,> you "say." You hiss in regret for responding with thought; it's too late now. With Garcian unable to regulate his telepathic connection, your headache starts to explode behind your eyes as you try to block out the impressions of things you really don't want to see/hear/feel/think about at all. An intoxication psychic feedback loop. All you can get out of the stream of <span class="mu-i">foreign-garbage-thought-feedback-noise</span> is
<span class="mu-i">Pulse Landlord Dark Find Search Run Hide Trash Hate Regret Hound Smoke Scum Fear Backup Seek Urgent Candy Bark Terror Impulse Trainer Look Wake Need Grab Touch Vomit</span>
You groan. It's impossible to make sense of the ocean of words forming noise in your head. You terminate the psychic connection and wrap yourself up tighter. The day may have just started but you're more pajama than man at this point.
Goodnight again, SUNROSE. You saw its orange light for just a moment, maybe you'll see it again tomorrow...
Your name is Anon Hardwood, a 20-something year old man. Well, at least you used to be. You went to bed a human. You woke up a MONSTER. Well fuck.
Thankfully, you don't seem to be feeling the urge to kill humans or similar horrible shit- though that might be because you haven't seen a human yet, you've just kind of been panicking in your apartment for the last few minutes.
Whatever caused this transformation is total bullshit.
>It is totally normal to think about and fear death! We've got monsters! Just because you took care of yourself, made sure to do regular appointments with the doctor to the point he sighs when he sees you, plan for your body to be put in front of a TV in case you just get stuck in your body when you die, and spent the last eight months desperately poring over religious texts so that you don't end up in hell, doesn't mean you're obsessed! It's normal! It's normal! Just because you tried a shady ritual from a questionable site that involved eating some weird meat to help you become healthier doesn't mean anything! Grim Reaper +Tanky as hell +Natural-born aura farmer -you are, at your core, a coward who fears death
>Sure, you don't know anyone else who loves this guy as much as you do, and you might have gotten yourself banned from the Devolution forums for yelling at the Dev for making Yakon blow up so easily, and you might have scared everyone into migrating into a whole new forum when your tore that shithead who unironically thought that the fucking pirate robot deserved an UR in Dokkan more than Yakon, but did you seriously fucking monsterize cause you finally built your awesome cosplay of the best minor villain of dragon ball Z, Yakon, the light devouring Terror from Dark Star, and decided to take a quick snooze before taking it off!? Yakon +fast as fuck boi +I eat your energy blasts for lunch -Yakon died a goon for a greater threat, fate conspires to drive you into the same position.
>This is ridiculous! You wanted to be a hero! You've always wanted to kill those pieces of shit that prey on the weak and make society worse! Actually, since you still want to be a hero, those monsters are even worse than you thought before! and If you really think about it, aren't the humans that do so worse than the real monsters!? They're still humans, yet are just as bad as the monsters, but we're supposed to be merciful just because they are a human!?None of these scumbags don't deserve any amount of leniency! You're going to rip them all apart and make sure no one remembers them as anything more than a piece of trash that died screaming, a warning to scum! False Hero +Incredible willpower +Very convincing non-monster appearance -Incredible bloodlust against both monsters and "bad" humans
>write in, provide some sort of picture and motivation.
For as long as there has been human civilisation, there has been competition, cooperation, rivalry and wars. For all the great heights our ancestors carried us to, they could fall greatly as well. Their legacies, whatever works and scraps their successors manage to gather, will lead to the next great heights, and so the great and eternal cycle shall continue.
From the cradle in Sumeria to the poleis of Ancient Greece, the great empires of the classical period, the feudal mediaeval kingdoms, the competing early modern proto-states, the great imperial powers of the 19th century, and the ideologically charged nation-states of the later eras. Throughout it all, there has been one truth: man can never unify with himself unless the situation would become truly dire.
And so it was; with the coming of interstellar travel would come an era of unity and prosperity. The next two and a half millennia would be a time of great bliss for all of humanity, one where man would come into contact with the alien life that had so greatly captured man's imagination. There would be friendships, there would be wars, and above it all else, there was adventure and advancement. The federation would proudly uphold and exalt its democratic values and would help to share these values with whoever wished to listen.
But all good things must come to an end. And a great malaise would come over this once-great republic. Economic downturns, rampant piracy and a variety of technological setbacks would lead to several successful but costly wars with the alien species, costing man both his neighbours and whatever few friends he had left.
Man was once more alone, something he had better not have been. What followed was half a millennium of coups, secessions, and civil wars. There would be no recovery, not this time. A galactic dark age would descend upon all of humanity, as attempts to recapture something of the past came and went.
By the time you were born, semblances of states had been in place for a while.
The Pan-Solar Empire of Humanity now rules over the largest rump state in the vicinity; it formally claims dominion over all of humanity, though these pretences are often forgotten, even by their own emperors.
You were fortunate enough to be born into a prosperous position among the lower nobility. Your father was, in his time, an able and diligent gentleman who made his career in the civil service, a career he finished with a large estate covering a continent and the title of baron.
He was also a shrewd investor too and kept many connections with the imperial government over the years. Perhaps that is why you were eventually selected for the post on that fateful day.
Your youth was one of idle leisure and gifted study; no matter what happened, as your father's eldest son, you could always fall back upon the idle life of a country gentleman.
You’re <span class="mu-b">ANTON PEAS:</span> a Grill Jockey at <span class="mu-b">GREASE MONKEY: THE DEEP-FRIED EVERYTHING FAMILY RESTAURANT!</span> Well, you <span class="mu-i">were</span>, anyways. Thanks to a demonic ritual gone wrong, you were whisked away to <span class="mu-b">ZORAL</span>: a fantasy realm shrouded in perpetual darkness–the surprise trip leaving you with a plate full of troubles and a head full of holes!
To say you’ve been busy would be a rhino-sized understatement. In your quest to scrounge up the <span class="mu-b">20,000 BELLS</span> that’ll supposedly buy you passage back home, you somehow managed to run afoul of an all-you-can-eat buffet of plots and plans! Chief among them a sinister scheme penned by the mysterious <span class="mu-r">CULT OF THE WORM</span>... the goal? <span class="mu-s">WORLD DOMINATION!</span>
Probably. You had to dip out of the meeting you snuck into a little early, but you got the gist of it!
You also found out that the cult was planning another summoning ritual in a secret hideout near <span class="mu-b">HJALL’DAH’S PLUNGE</span> to the South… just like the one that brought you here in the first place! Their goal? Summoning a <span class="mu-r">DEVIL</span> to aid their menacing machinations! Having tangled with a demon at a fraction of her power, you can only imagine how much damage a fully-charged hellspawn could do!
Before you could talk shop about your next move, however, you were waylaid by assassins sent by the sinister <span class="mu-r">SPICE CARTEL:</span> Zoral’s golden boys when it comes to organized crime! Spurred into action by your new abyssal amiga <span class="mu-r">REZALITH</span>, you decided to add a quick stop in <span class="mu-b">GOLD TOWN</span> on your road trip down South… Why?
To toast one of the Cartel’s casinos like a marshmallow!
As for <span class="mu-i">how</span> you plan on doing that, well, that’s still up for discussion!
Fueled up by hoity-toity spa treatments, ‘quality time’ with your new gal pal <span class="mu-b">TZAH-TZIE</span>, and your memories slowly trickling back into your head, THIS is where your tale continues…
<span class="mu-i">It is essentially the same premise as After the Fall, but in another setting. Some questions answered after the opening posts.</span>
Yours is a proud nation. Your people hail from the northern forests - in these dark and forgotten places, you have made history, rising to prominence in the time of the Great Migration ages ago to dismantle the old Regian Empire and forge those of your own.
They were not to last. As feudal lords strengthened their grip, so did the kings loosen theirs. For centuries, you engaged in internecine wars amongst yourselves while the powers of Arqa and the Far East dominated the globe. It was not until the previous century, hundreds of years later, that your nation restored its unity as the new empire of Londo.
You tried to claim your place in the sun, obtaining colonies and engaging in conflicts around the world, but when it all culminated in the First Great War, you were defeated, your glorious empire dismantled in favour of a corrupt, defunct republic.
But this was not the end, not yet. An ambitious man, Herman Hertz, rose to power in the beginning of the 1930's to revive the nation. His National Socialist party brought restoration and order in a short time - at the cost of freedoms, some would say... The old faith, thrown away ages ago in favour of Sol, the Sun God, was revived, and many soon became adherents of Rezel, the old gods.
The failures of your previous leaders were blamed on the treacherous Magach - those greedy bankers and businessmen gathering all the wealth for their own perverse pleasure. Whether this was true or not, it was the enemy you needed to band back together.
Once again, your nation rose to prominence, and with the new Regians and Tremon on your side, tried to claim enough land for all your people to live safely and prosper.
But the Acorians, Albians and Ercolians once again claimed victory over you, now joined by the Morzet, those eastern barbarians with no true claim to their land.
It is 1945 now, and with Londo on the brink of defeat once again, you have been chosen by Herman Hertz, the Fuhrer himself, to lead one of the groups meant to hide in the remote reaches of the world, research new technologies - Wunderwaffen of power yet unseen - and strike once again when the time is right, claiming your place in the sun at last.
You have served your country well both in the time of the Empire and under the Fuhrer's command. However, you are getting old now, and even with your belief in the Cause, you know more than anyone when risks are to be taken and when they should be avoided.
Still, you will do your best in this final service to the nation of Lond.
What is your name? >Write-in (something German-sounding is preferable) (1/4)
