The solution to no earthly secret is beyond the grasp of your little elvish head. After living for thousands of years only boredom and the road are your constant companions. Oh, Adelyle too. People always assume that she is your caretaker because of your short height but then they notice the leash around her neck. She is a tall and slender demonette, lead on a leash after loosing her eyesight privileges. She overboiled the potatoes the other day. She is now complaining but it's not your problem.
Humans approach you constantly with offers to buy her, as she is the last of her kind. The attention that she always gets irks you a bit. Just slightly. Now you feel guilty and return her sight. A hopeful potential buyer approaches you again and you enter tirade mode. You start a convoluted story, which is an allegory to a verbal representation of saying that you are a collector too. Then you proudly show off your other, non-person, collection. It is the string of seashells that form a necklace around your neck. Each seashell is taken from the shores of a different sea. Great way to fight boredom and existential dread, you have found.
<span class="mu-b"><span class="mu-i">My goal is to collect a seashell from every sea! Now this is a reason to keep on living!</span></span> you say with childish enthusiasm.
<span class="mu-i">This is stupid</span> Adelyle murmurs to herself. You are forced to take her eyesight again. She puts on her leash with a sigh.
<span class="mu-b"><span class="mu-i">So in short, no, she is not for sale. Keep moving, pal, not my problem.</span></span> The nonsensical verbal barrage repulses the buyer successfully.
Adelyle is very loyal, Stockholm syndrome you assume. One time, after another fit of existential anguish, you let a group of drunk humans to put their what-nots in your whatever and once the demonette learned about your clandestine endeavors, she pursued the men for several days in search of retribution. You went chasing her, concerned about her potential collector value dropping, oh, and her safety, only to find her innocently sleeping under a peach tree, covered in someone else's blood. You took her eyesight privileges for a few weeks, you recollect, she made something that wasn't your problem, your problem, after all. After that whole ordeal you started calling Adelyle Aids, but you do it sparingly now because she tends to cry after hearing her nickname for some reason.
You are Lorinda de Lindan, princess, weapon autist, and inquisitor-in-training. The last few days have been a whirlwind of violence and revelations after joining the neverending hunt for Strangers. Deadly beings from another dimension, each armed with a personal Cheat Skill that left unattended can cause catastrophic damage to both your kingdom and the world itself. If only you never stepped out of line at the Royal Mageknight Academy then you’d never have to enter under the watchful eyes of the Inquisition.
Currently, you’re on the hunt for a kidnapper in the northern city of Ivern along with your fellow inquisitor-in-training Marie Sarodieu, previously known as Midori Suzuki, by masquerading as helpless maidens. Both so you can help prevent more tragedy from befalling your loyal subjects and so you can acquire more information on the strange Metal Castle that appeared nearby not long ago.
Only time will tell if this endeavor proves fruitful.
Through legitimate or other means, nine vampires from across the globe had acquired the <span class="mu-s"> Sanguine Invitation </span> granting them access to Lord Waughann's mansion and its enigmatic rules where the greatest auction would be held across five days. All would seek the most precious artifact in the entire world:
<span class="mu-s"> <span class="mu-r"> The Primeval Vial of Nakathesep </span> </span>
You were one of those lucky nine vampire, They called you...
>Yeera Ysreth <span class="mu-i"> One of the few pureblooded descendants of Nakathesep. This child was going to claim what was rightfully hers one way or another. </span> Wealth: 2 Mil. GP Pros.: Mastery over Critters. Arcane Knowledge
> Mathew Bloodwell <span class="mu-i"> The titular Crimson Baron and the proud owner of 5.4 million human cattle. He bought his way here as expected of a man of his calibre. </span> Wealth: 20 Million GP Pros.: Filthy rich, Daily interests
>Catirina Olbev <span class="mu-i"> The Bloody Countess known for her unrivalled beauty and a morbid obsession with immortality. </span> Wealth: 7 Million GP Pros: Blood magic, seduction.
> Rekshin O'Shann <span class="mu-i"> An average craftsman born from a line of famous builders. His family had built the Lord's mansion brick by brick. How convenient </span> Wealth: 500k GP Pros.: Home advantage, Fixer
>Desdemona Flitchet <span class="mu-i"> A shadowy assassin known for her clean kills, a professional who had never left a trace. </span> Wealth: 3 Million GP Pros.: Stealthy, outstanding thief
>Lathan Lake <span class="mu-i"> A self proclaimed thrill seeker who would somehow stumble upon ancient vampire civilizations only to accidently destroy any trace of their existence. </span> Wealth: 6 Million GP Pros.: Durable, Lucky Bastard
>Gahronne Bloodjaw <span class="mu-i"> The undisputed champion of all known major pit fights, killed more men and women in the ring than he could count. </span> Wealth: None ( As a self imposed challenge) Pros.: Strength, Unable to feel pain.
>Serosil von Edvuun <span class="mu-i"> The brilliant mind behind Ferrnol or synthetic blood. She hopes to claim the vial to assist her in her research </span> Wealth: 1 Million GP Pros.: Tinker, Bloodtin guards
>Moongulper <span class="mu-i"> A mysterious man hiding behind a silver mask. </span> Wealth:?? Pros.: ??
With the Supreme Kai of Time Chronoa dethroned, the Demon God Dumplin beaten, and Karn's whole family now able to live in his timeline, things have been looking up for the Saiyan General. But all good things can't last forever. And when conflicts arise between deities, mortals are inevitably caught in the crossfire. Does Karn, the Berserker God possess the strength to protect his family, people, world and reality from their fickle nature? Or are the beings above mortal ken also beyond mortal reproach? This outcome may be up to you.
You the players control Karn, wielder of the mighty Berserker Soul. Granting him the power to fight against gods and other divine beings, to resist their influence and strengths. From his lowly beginnings as a Saiyan Brawler with a sub-3000 powerlevel in Age 733, only a few years into his time as a member of the PTO, he has now become the strongest Saiyan of his time. With the power of the Berserker God, combined with That Which Should Not Be and having devoured a soul born of the Abyss itself, his strength is now unlike anything before seen in his reality. But will this newfound strength be enough to overcome the threats headed his way? Only time will tell, your choices can spell the difference between success and failure.
Quest rules are as follows(unless otherwise noted): >30 minute vote times >Pick ONLY ONE option when voting >Dice rolls are all best of first three correctly-rolled dice >One dice roll per person per post unless three players have not yet rolled, and ten minutes has passed since your previous roll >Crits are 100 on a d100(a 99 or paired rolls may net you an extra bonus) >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 find me on twitter @GrandDragonQM, which I keep as up to date with any scheduling changes as soon as possible.
Old Maple Hill. That’s what they call it, mostly because that’s what you called it, and even then only because it is centered around... Well, a small hill, with an old maple tree, and you were a child, and you never thought it would be the center of an entire community.
Funny how things change.
Your name is Ezreal Mious Van Houtzmann. ‘Mious’ means ‘wisdom’ in the language of your mother's people, the Sylvan Elves of Dappulyet, whom you may never see or visit again; you can only hope she got your last letter, before you fled your homeland in the pursuit of world peace and personal freedom (it’s a long story). “Van Houztmann” is your human father’s surname... Well, sort of. He was born merely ‘Rudolfo Houtzman’, and seems to have added the ‘van’ and the extra ‘n’ as some form of dramatic flourish. You adopted it much later. It means ‘of the strong men’. Despite all your hereditary strength and wisdom, however, sometimes you feel like a leaf on the wind—a summoned wind, a night-wind, generated by the beating of great wings beating in the unseen dark.
Under your stewardship—and that of Izirina and Costella Fanucci, the women whom you love—Old Maple Hill became first a sort of sanctuary and rehabilitation center for those humans of Hawksong—the world’s preeminent metropolis—who had been afflicted by the chimeric plague better known as ‘the dragon-pox'. As a reward for your good works, your trio was granted the hill itself and the land around it was gifted to you in trust, to preserve and protect in the name of the fairy court upon that eponymous hill. After a year-and-a-half abroad—first in homeland and then upon the sacred moon itself!—you returned with divine knowledge of the holy arcane, to share with those grateful and newly-sorcerous subjects of Hawksong who had decided to remain there. Partly this was out of pride, and out of solidarity with Izzy and Costella, and partly due to a sense of responsibility for what you had wrought.
More and more, though, you wonder if you really had any say at all...
Almost four months ago, you undertook a diplomatic expedition to the Sylvan Realms to rescue the monstrous son of Hawksong’s prince Cosnort—secretly some form of ‘aragonborn antipaladin’ in service to the Gods of Darkness. You hadn’t done this out of any love for those horrid entities, or even the Prince Consort or her majesty Queen Ekaterine, but because you believed it the best way to keep the peace between your peoples.
<span class="mu-s">You are L2 Trollslayer Fiona Jarnafeldt</span>, and you do not love the city you live in.
Helsinki is too sterile. Helsinki is too clean. There's nothing natural about the white metal buildings and black glossy windows, hexagonal solar panels that make up the roads and walkways, the filtered air. When the gods made the heavens and earth, this is not what they had in mind. The artificial world you came to live in was a novelty for some time, but the stuffy plastic smell is giving you headaches. Messing with your mind. You're seeing things. <span class="mu-i">Other than the things you've always seen,</span> at least.
It has been about 3 months since you have joined the Stormwatch, a legion of fighters who keep Helsinki safe by driving out the beasts and squatters occupying the stormdrains beneath the city streets. You do this seeking the elevated citizenship status that comes with doing your part, hoping to one day being permitted to hold in your arms a child of your own flesh and blood. There can only be a million souls in this city, one billion on this earth; you want one or two of them to call your own.
You and your compatriots have been on the trail of thieves who intercepted advanced tech being brought to the Stormwatch HQ, and it seems that they have been using it to develop new weapons. Level 3 Manhunter Sigrun Eugen and her student Level 2 Manhunter Saemus Fahy have been trying to find what they can; how the underdwellers are producing weapons, where they are being seen with them, and if there's any loose ends on the surface that would lead to the epicenter of squatters. But as it happens, these things take time. The underdwellers need to make a mistake to be caught. It's only a matter of time.
Recently, you have been assisting the Stormwatch Director's experimental tech program as an equipment tester. In the first field test of a new tool, the Director had you destroy one of the underdweller's main sources of food. This acid-slinging tool is now being fielded and used to dispose of the corpses of massive aberrations all across the stormdrain. Underdweller activity has to be more lively and easily seen by now, surely.
But it has been some time. Perhaps some proactive choices need to be made to get progress. Perhaps things will turn up over the course of your regular duties. Either way, this pallid modern interior of Stormwatch HQ offers you no comfort.
You are Kai, a newly minted edgerunner trying to scrape by in Night City. Almost two weeks ago your father, an NCPD netrunner, was murdered under suspicious circumstances during a Cyberpsycho attack on Kabuki Marketplace. You’re out looking for answers. Answers and <span class="mu-i">eddies</span>. Eddies to pay for your several ill mother’s medical expenses, eddies for more gear, eddies for information, eddies for allies. Everything in Night City has a price, and everyone has secrets, especially your family. Dad was an Edgrerunner for decades in secret, and your Mom used to be a big corpo scientist for Biotechnica, running a whole genetic enhancement and cloning project you didn’t even know existed - or that you were a part of - until a few days ago. The only person you can fully trust is yourself… and perhaps Alice (Hlin), the ghostly AI that your netrunner father was working with in secret before they both got attacked on New Year’s Eve. The last couple of weeks have been busy with small jobs for the static Aldecaldo fixer Dakota, both solo and with other edgerunners, and right now you’re recovering from nearly getting flatlined trying to infiltrate a Raffen Shiv subnet. Ouch. You’re still one of the freshest faces around Night City's shadows for now, but all it takes to end that is a single bullet - This line of work is a meat grinder, and runners are the meat.
<span class="mu-s">2076.01.012, 07:15 Night City (Kabuki, your apartment)</span>
Sitting on your apartment’s worn old sofa, you munch on a plate of mind bendingly delicious cookies Vicky baked last night. Real chocolate, baked with care, still fresh enough to be almost gooey it is so soft but not crumbling apart… Maybe you <span class="mu-i">did</span> die during that last run, and this is heaven. Vicky is out handling some early morning biz, she just left a few minutes ago with a vest and her Metel, but you weren’t left alone in enjoying these wonderful baked goods.
With every bite you take, Alice savors the flavors and textures as well, a second ghostly sensation radiating throughout your mind as you experience her pleasure at each bite as if it were your own. The cookies are <span class="mu-i">twice</span> as good in this strange gestalt state, and for once you really don’t mind it at all. There are benefits to existing spread between two minds it would seem, when you are acting in accord the intensity of your shared feeling and sensations is… fascinating, if a little worrying still. Your entanglement has deepened after your shared IC induced coma, but you’re determined to find a silver lining to this whole synchronization mess.
A massive, three kilometer long vessel. It’s bulbous, manta-ray like hull sitting silent and practically inert. Its weapons batteries are silent and its engines sit idle. If it wasn’t, then it would have been contemptuously easy for the vessel to turn your ship into a burning hulk in only a few minutes. And on your own, there wouldn't have been much you could have done to fight back. It’s massive, alien form a harbinger of doom, a fact reinforced by a rap sheet of burned worlds.
It is a covenant CCS class battlecruiser.
A part of you feels privileged already. Very few humans come this close to one of the covenant’s mainline warships, and live to tell the tale. Of course, a lot of that is simply down to the fact that the ship’s own computers had been turned against the crew. The first they’d known of that fact, had been when the air itself had been rendered poisonous, killing anyone that wasn’t wearing a personal air system. Which coincidentally meant that the command cadre had been wiped out, while only the lowest ranking members of the crew had been left alive.
The remaining members of the crew would need to be wiped out. Every room, on every deck, of every section of the 3 kilometer long ship. And already, the various other commanders and marine officers were debating the topic. How many men would be needed? How would they be deployed? And how would you command the ship once it’d been cleared? Those questions and more were being bounced around between various groups in your flotilla. But for now, you are content with simply admiring your recent handy work.
You are commander Norman Wells, and surprisingly enough, this isn’t the first time you’ve stolen something from the split lips.
>Catch up on the commander's conversation. What are your fellow officers concerned about? >Listen in on the marine briefing. How are they planning on taking the ship? >Ask your AI about the situation aboard the cruiser. After all, she’s the one with a strangle-hold on their computer systems. >Other (write in)
More than a year has passed since the call to arms by pope Urban II in Clermont. Religious zeal spread wildly though all of Christendom, gathering fanatics, monks, liegeless soldiers, the disinherited and the second sons to the banners with the cross. A huge mob of Christian peasantry, hastily rushing towards the Holy Land lead by <span class="mu-i">Peter the Hermit</span>, met their doom in the treacherous terrains of Asia Minor six months ago. <span class="mu-b"><span class="mu-i">Turks...</span></span> <span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-i">Bohemond of Taranto</span></span> scoffs. A boulder of a man, Norman by descend, is sitting alone in a high balcony, facing the huge city. As per his request, the Greek ruler, pretentiously calling himself the emperor of all romans, Alexios Komnenos, granted him a tower to serve as his guest quarters. He likes his solitude and the overindulging comfort of the Imperial palace isn't the right place for his soldier heart. Yet he admires the view, Constantinople truly is magnificent in its sheer size.
Bohemond, diligent as always, was first to arrive. The metropolis was set as the gathering point for the nobles who were joining the crusade. For the past few weeks he met the arriving <span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-i">Baldwin of Lorraine</span></span>, <span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-i">Godfrey of Bouillon</span></span>, <span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-i">Robert II of Flanders</span></span> and their retinues, all experienced and respected commanders. Then came bishop <span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-i">Adhemar de Monteil</span></span>, a dear acquaintance of Bohemond, selected by the pope as the crusade's spiritual leader. In another week's time came <span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-i">Hugh of Vermands</span></span> and <span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-i">Stephen of Blois</span></span> - the former just a boy, the latter - a noble without any notable achievements. Then there was <span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-i">Peter the Hermit</span></span> who miraculously survived the Turkish attacks. Despite failing the peasant's crusade, he is warmly welcomed by the orthodox Greek community. Finally the rich but inexperienced duke <span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-i">Raymond IV of Toulouse</span></span> arrives with a huge retinue. Bohemond surmises that he must be contributing almost forty percent of all crusader forces.
Alexios Komnenos is always there with Bohemond, greeting each new arriving crusader noble, inquiring about their journey, graciously providing lavish gifts, luxurious resting quarters, brand new barracks for their men and horses, calculated smile on his lips. In exchange for supplies along their long way, the crusaders are scheduled to swear oaths to the emperor in a few days, guaranteeing that all conquered lands by the crusaders will be returned to the Byzantines with the exception of Jerusalem.
Morale: High ---> piety: +piece of the True Cross +Adhemar +Peter the Hermit -in a city (prostitutes/drinking) | provisions: +food in the city +water in the city +many war and pack horses
