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.
You close your eyes and lean back in your chair, taking a deep controlled breath. The pitter-patter of rain against a window overseeing the lake had always calmed you. It was an indication of how far you had come, how far you had led your people, to go from but a scant few in prebuilt fabs, huddling together against the raging storm, to now have tamed the waters of your surroundings and not only built shelter from the merciless winds, but to have grown and prospered.
And now ? Now that your people are safe, now that their bellies are full and their heads empty of constant worry about the danger of the morrow ? They go and try to kill your son ! To add to the farce, as the bastard tried to blow Magnus’ head off, he had the gall to proclaim his respect for you ! Your wife, Celyn, understandably wants blood, rivers of it for every drop that Magnus had lost. You really cannot blame her for it, if it were you a few decades younger you too would have made sure that there was hell to pay in a more…brutal manner.
Seeing as how you will be sixty in a few years’ time, a lot of the fire and brimstone that had made up your gut had long since cooled. You have to admit, despite wanting to dig out Coen’s guts and use them as decorations, a curious feeling of serenity holds onto you.
It is rare for you to be so sure of mind and purpose without even a moment’s hesitation. The rule of law will be upheld. You will ensure that there are no calls of claims of tyranny, no abuses of power…well, bar maybe one, as Magnus will need a proper command of his own, and it just so happens that the recon corps is lacking a leader. But besides that, perhaps out of romanticized ideals of nobility, or just nostalgia for when you were much younger and naïve, the whole point behind nobles is that they are supposed be bound by ideals of honour, duty, a certain noblesse oblige. An ideal you hope to embody and set down the precedent for the generations that shall follow your own.
Opening your eyes, you look at Celyn. She seems so tired, so worn, her light brown hair already has streaks of grey running across them, wrinkles are apparent where in your memory there were none. She has gotten old, and so had you.
“Dear.” You say, your voice even, the list of names still slowly moving before your eyes. “I cannot become a tyrant. I will not become a monster that slaughters its own people out of paranoia.”
“It is not paranoia to take necessary precautions to ensure the safety of our children !” She says, her choler rising.
The world has another side, one with secret societies and hidden powers vying for control. But it is not merely humans, nay. For millennia, creatures which a modern man considers fables have been battling in the shadows, both within their own, and others. Only the Magical Girls can slay the demons of humanity's suffering, and clean up the supernatural messes along the way!
Following next, an inexperienced magical girl grounds herself in her new life.
- - - - -
Last we left off, the newly minted magical girl, Sugar Rush, has triumphed in her first Barrier. Assisting her sisters in defeating the monster of the storm drains. Detransforming after the fight has caused our heroine to collapse. Leaving her to rest with one of her sisters to watch over her.
While resting, an opportunity presents itself. Why not ask a few questions about the world around?
- - - - -
Questions questions… you sigh.
“You guys didn’t seem to pass out like I did. What’s with that?”
Jacky makes a teasing grin. “Well, we’re stronger for one… But nah, it’s just practice. There’s a connection between the brain and soul with emotions and stuff somewhere in between. When you transform, you get a lot closer to all of that, and when you go back, it’s like dunking your head in cold water.”
Wait. “So why not just stay in the other form all the time?”
Jacky tilts her head. “Eeeeeeh, I mean. I know some people who try, but it ain’t good for you. Being so immersed in all that makes it a lot harder to unwind, and *trust me*, unwinding is the most important of this. Being transformed all the time also goes against some strategies some girls are anal about, but that’s no biggie.”
You take a moment to consider. There seem to be some metaphysics that you don’t have enough fucks to dive into. There is also the implications of the greater magical… everything. Thinking about that part just makes you head hurt. It’s not been even a day, you’re going to take this piece by piece. Though you do wonder. “How long did it take you to adjust to all of this magical girl stuff?”
Jacky pauses, her eyes losing focus for a moment, her expression going slack with reminiscence. “Damn that’s a question…. I guess not too long for me. I didn’t know much else before it, just went with it and tried my best.” She smiles gently, in a way you haven’t seen her smile before, her gaze still in the past. “I started real young though, got helped by others a lot, the start itself wasn’t all too bad just saw it as a game…” Her focus snaps back, her usual grin returning. “But that was a while ago, at least for me, we got some reeeal old ladies hanging around, y’ know.”
Might as well ask. “How long ago did you start?”
She snorts. “Round thirteen years ago, don’t remember the date but around that.”
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.
One of the Barbarian Chieftess of said horde set up a trap for you and your compatriots! She was about to wreck you at the end of last thread but The Hero jumped in just in time! Now Ezekiel's engaged in combat with her!
‘The Courier, in all his might, has shown he can create a mighty nation from scratch! He has cast out the Crimson Caravan, outmaneuvered the politicians sent by the NCR and drove the last organized raider resistance from the Mojave!
But he’s not blind to the common man, having partnered with a Brahmin Baron to bring food to the hungry and set out to employ the denizens of Freeside through the Revised Mojave Rehabilitation Program. Even the impossible becomes possible through his will, saving Mr. House from certain death and exploring the mysterious Lucky 38 to unlock its secrets.
Now, he departs for the biggest gamble of his rule so far by heading deep into Legion land to heal the Mighty Caesar. Or perhaps the unpredictable Courier Six will once again play the wildcard.’
An uneasy feeling creeps over you as you spent long hours sitting at Barbeau’s bedside, slowly settling in until it becomes inescapable. It takes you a while to realise just what the feeling is. Looking at Barbeau’s face – haggard and worn, brought to the edge of destruction by what he experienced here – feels somehow like a premonition, a glimpse at your own future. Still, you endure the grim feeling for the sake of learning what Barbeau knows, what he’s able to tell you in his rare moments of lucidity.
Time passes, hours turning into days, but you pay little attention as it creeps by – until, that is, your patience finally hits its limit.
Walking on stiff, aching limbs, you skulk back to the company dormitory and all but slam the door behind you. A few eyes turn your way, disinterested employees glancing up at the sudden sound. Ignoring them, you march towards one of the bedrooms at the rear. As you walk, your foot clips against a footlocker carelessly left jutting out into the open. It doesn’t hurt at all, considering your heavy hiking boots, but it’s enough for your temper to flare. With a snarl, you kick the container across the room with a loud bang, scattering the meagre contents across the dorm.
“Isambard!” Alex scolds, looking up from his book. He sees something in your face, then, and the sharpness fades from his eyes. Quickly rising from his chair, he grabs your arm and pulls you away from the staring eyes. Ushering you into one of the bedrooms and firmly shutting the door behind him, he looks you up and down. “What’s wrong?” he asks, before sighing, “Isambard… when was the last time you ate anything? Or slept?”
“I’ve slept enough,” you lie, waving away his concerns.
“What is it, then?” Alex continues, concern darkening his face, “Did Adrian say something?”
“Adrian didn’t say a damn thing!” you spit, “He doesn’t know anything about the Stryx, about anything. This whole trip was a waste of time.”
“Oh come on, lad! Adrian and his wife are alive because of us,” he retorts with a frown, “Two lives saved. I’d hardly call that a waste of time.”
“Two lives saved, but how many people died because of us? Because of me?” you hiss, lowering your voice to a whisper. Ossian’s words surface in the dark waters of your mind as Alex falls silent. For all their sins, the real trouble only started when you arrived. “Madness and death follow wherever I go, Alex,” you continue, “Will I be swallowed up by it too, one day? Will any of you?”
Frieden Moon, a young man troubled by the catastrophic opening blows of the Bloody Valentines War engaged in an expectedly messy attempt to defect and join the PLANT's ZAFT militia through participating in a shady infiltration mission. Having somewhat attained that goal it remains to be seen what will happen as the war intensifies far away from the PLANT's holds...
Individuals worldwide began manifesting the qualities of various figures- gods, spirits, heroes, beasts, and monsters- from Greek mythos. The system that caused and continues to facilitate this phenomenon is shrouded in mystery, both in how it functions and why it began its activities when it did.
The protagonist of this tale is the incarnation of Atë, a minor goddess in the grand scheme of Greek mythology, who causes and presides over folly and ruin. She, formerly a miserable but ultimately normal office worker, has since accepted her role as the embodiment of her . She, along with her partner in crime, the incarnation of Pheme, titan of rumors and gossip, have been working to expand their influence and stack the deck in their favor against not only mortals, but also rival incarnations. In her own eyes, she is no longer human. Her ultimate goal– the elimination of all rival incarnations and, eventually, ascension to true godhood.
After learning that the final conflict against the outerversal entity known to the world as the Uncrowned King, Atë has been of two minds, both scrambling to prepare for armageddon in their own ways. While one part of her soul revels in her cunning and guile after fooling and consuming the greatest weapon known to man, the other is stricken with an uncharacteristic sentimentality. Regardless of whether or not she's ready, what might be the end of everything inexorably approaches.
"Come," you command, beckoning for them to fall in behind you. Thoroughly exhausted, they struggle to comply, fighting to stay on their feet. "I want you to meet the council." Ilanis plops herself on the nearest stool, weakly fanning herself with her hand. "Whuh? Why do I have to go?" She asks, her face ruddy and coated in layers of briny perspirant. Considering the matter, you struggle to come up with an compelling answer. She does, after all, know the council quite well. It was she who first introduced them to you, in fact. You grunt. "Fine. You're done for today. You did did good, girl," you affirm.
Ilanis grins, laying her face across the cool surface of the bar and shutting her eyes.
As for Luaue, the half-breed musters her resolve and falls in behind you without complaint, demonstrating that there is hope for her yet. The girls exchange their farewells as you depart for the Hall of the Elders. As oppressive as ever, the light of mid-afternoon bears down upon you as you lead her through the streets, the way to your destination now familiar to you.
"If you are going to be the protector of our people in Everlund, then you will need to be ready to face the council," you explain as you cross over the bridge leading to the Bell Market at a leisurely pace. "You know the High Sorcerer, Lael Lathalas." She sucks in air through her teeth, searching for the appropriate response. "I do," she answers tersely, her expression ambivalent. "And I've met that Emitia woman as well. She is a good soul and a follower of Sune. Something the two of you have in common, it seems."
