You were a black dragon, a terror that haunted the dreams of mortals, your presence alone enough to drive entire regions to despair. In other words, you did as a dragon does; you showed the weak why they ought to fear the powerful. And you took pride in it. Is it not a noble pursuit to teach those lesser understanding of the world?
As a tuition fee you collected all things beautiful. Not only gold and gemstones, but also fine works of craftsmanship, be they arcane or mundane. And, of course, beautiful women, and the occasional men too. Although the fleetingness of youthful beauty made you indulge. After all, they weren't objects to keep forever.
Of all things, it was that last fact that angered an elven goddess. You had always been under the impression that gods won't interfere with mortal affairs, and yet her avatar came to personally curse you.
You were transformed into a weak human, a woman. Impeccable smooth and soft skin, shoulder long and equally smooth black hair, supple mounds on the chest, and just enough fatty tissue on the arms and legs to show generous nourishment the likes of which only aristocracy or clergy can enjoy among humans. And, while you haven't been able to see your face yet, you know without a doubt that the elven goddess has chosen your appearance to mock you. A beauty that you would go out of your way to collect for your hoard.
That beauty is now adorned with leaves and twigs in her hair and scratches on her skin from traversing the forests undergrowth naked. You still think of this body as not yours, despite all the physical sensations to contradict it. The weakness, the cold, the pain. All sensations that you haven't felt in decades. You want your body back, and you want revenge on that goddess. You don't know how to do that. Informing the dragon god would be a big step, but right now you need to survive.
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 a catastrophic failure in a confrontation with the outerversal horror known only by its title of the Uncrowned King, Atë found herself thrown out of her very plane of existence. Completely deprived of the System’s protections and powers, unable to restore her slowly depleting divinity, and trapped in a reality where everything, from the divinity to the air to the fabric of spacetime itself, is poison to her. With only death awaiting her in this foreign dimension, she must find some way to escape before her very existence is eroded into nothing.
Her only remaining hope are the records of the so-called Devil, a legendary sorcerer who supposedly attained something like godhood. Unfortunately, the only known archive of these forbidden texts is the Royal Vault of Malgha, one of the nations in this foreign plane and a fantastical parody of earth and its cultures. Fortunately, the human-esque nature of the residents allows Atë to return to her old tricks, lying and manipulating her way home.
>Six sisters peacefully coexist in a house- at least four hours a day, which is when everyone is sleeping. >No parents. No passive income. Cake is for special days only. The cake is rice with a candle, but with actual salt. -You are the youngest of the sisters, and also the smallest, by far on both accounts. You can't talk. You can't read or write. But you can, at least, throw silent tantrums.
You’ve lived in that shadow for your whole life, tarnished by your father’s sins and misdeeds. But he lived in a shadow of his own, as had his father before him. Your entire family has carried the same burden, your blood poisoned by the taint of ancient decadence and illicit affairs. Rot, as Elle’s prophecy claimed, spreads from the tree’s roots. Not for the first time, you wonder how your father felt about it. Did he turn and flee from his tainted lineage, or did he embrace it? And what of you, what will you do?
Outside your bedroom window, the dense forest waits like a symbol of everything within your heart – one of the crude metaphors that your father used in the dreary poetry of his youth. Dark and dense though it may be, you finally know the path that leads to its heart. You know what awaits you within, a secret entrance to the Demesne and your lost sister. Yet, faced with this reunion, with the other half of your soul, you’ve hesitated.
What are you afraid of?
The forest is not empty, not without life. You know this now. You’ve seen the strange creature living within it, yet you feel no fear. Even knowing how the creature was able to lift Daniel aloft and throw him about like a doll, you know that it means you no harm.
You're a corporate wage slave, trapped in an endless cycle of pointless tasks for a faceless bureaucracy, just scraping by to afford the bare essentials needed to survive.
Lately, you've been obsessing over the urban legend of the Backrooms. Supposedly, by "noclipping" out of reality in just the right areas, one can escape to another world, an empty, endless space, far from the shackles of modern life. The idea unsettles you, but it also tempts you. Maybe this is your chance to finally be free.
On impulse, you walk out of your job without notice. No two weeks' notice. Just gone. With what little money you have left, you start preparing. You've picked up a sturdy leather backpack and are now shopping for supplies.
With the majority of the Seventh Universe united under the banner of the PTO, Emperor Cooler at its head, the universe has known a time of unrivaled peace. But in the shadows threats have been growing, nursing grudges against the PTO and the Saiyan race in particular. And now those threats are rising, stepping out of the shadows to openly challenge the established order. Seeking nothing short of the destruction of New Salda and the extinction of the entire Saiyan race, can you prevent this outcome? Or will the Saiyan race be reduced to nothing more than memories, their heroes nothing more than ink in the pages of the history books?
You the players will (most often) control Karn; wielder of the mighty Berserker Soul and hope of the entire PTO, not only the Saiyan race. 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 grown in power and skill, overcoming the world-ending threats that have come for the Saiyans to become the strongest Saiyan of his time at AGE 759. From the massive Covenant empire to demonic incursions, mad cultists to vengeful gods, none have been strong or clever enough to put down Karn for good. But will one man's power be enough to protect everyone from the rising threats? Or will death come from those who you least expect it from? Your choices may mean the difference between survival and extinction, so choose carefully.
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.
In the grim darkness of the far future, there is only war.
——————
You are a crew member of the Claymore Class corvette, the Emperor’s Glory, one of the thousands of unsung workers on the mile long ship.
The Glory was part of the fleet of sector Zeta-Zeta, one of the many sectors on the wrong side of the Great Rift, and among those who was left with no choice but to try to flee the doomed sector.
The fleet was supposed to try to go through a thin part of the rift- but as many things had in this dark era, it gone terribly wrong. The storm scattered the fleet. Sensors and auspex failed, riots broke out as half the ship gone mad, you survive the week of hell.
We just dropped out of warp. From what you heard is that the Vox is down and that the Astropath is unable to reach anyone.
<span class="mu-s">WELCOME TO THE AMERICAN FEVER DREAM.</span>
Have you ever heard such an eye-catching phrase? The poster before you certainly draws the attention of anyone who notices it. It's endearing, even. Yet you are filled with regret every time you look at it --- the landmine loaded with high-explosive cynicism could blow up in your face if you let your gaze linger upon it for too long.
You walk backwards, plunk yourself down into your office chair, and let out a long exhale out of deep relief, having finished moving the last of the boxes to your new Office in District P. Your wandering eyes drift upwards, following your invisible breath as one would follow a rising trail of cigarette smoke. Sometimes, it's important to mindlessly contemplate the eroticism of ceiling tiles. And some other pleasant-sounding nonsense.
You are <span class="mu-s">JOHN SMITH</span> or, to put it another way, <span class="mu-g">MISTER ANONYMOUS.</span> Your name is not terribly important these days.
But, in the gaze of others, the work that you do has earned you the moniker of a <span class="mu-s">TROUBLESHOOTER.</span> Someone who finds trouble, and shoots it.
You do not have problems, but you have solutions.
So your sought-after peace of mind is fleeting. There are clients to be heard, work to done, rent to be paid, and you hate the future for holding the power of expectations over you.
I heard there are smart guys here on 4chan. I'm going to ask you a simple question... but it's a little encrypted... can you figure it out? I'm just wondering if you can. So... here's: 1 00010 01010 01110 0101110011001 00111010100 1110010111011 0010001 1010 0 110110 1010110 011 1110011011 00010110 00111 1110111001101101 01001 001101100 01011000 111
