You were at the village farms tilling the soil in preparation for the sowing when a giant black flying lizard descends from the sky. Mounted on it there is this guy in a dark armor and cloak. He says in a spectral voice "I've come for the tribute!", then his lizard grabs a couple girls and he flies away.
You wouldn't give two shits about it, but one of the girls he grabbed was your crush and the other was your cousin! I mean, both were your cousins, but only one was your crush.
Infuriated, you decide that you're going on an epic journey to get your cousins back.

Right now you just have a hoe and no money to your name though. The hoe isn't even yours.

What do you do?
> Find a stout club and go raid a dungeon for riches, you hear adventurers do it all the time
> Consult the village elders for guidance on your new adventure
> Join a group of brigands for equipment and training
> Write in

ROUND 41:
>The Menace takes NC without contest and donates the remainder of his roll of (40) and then donates his remaining (33) moves to the Cannibals who attack the Emu's (33) vs (8)
>The Ayys make no roll, so the fellowship gives up their own roll have them progress (29) spaces.

Previous thread is at the bottom of the catalog and OP will not return in time.
I'm rolling the game back to round 32 just in case

ROUND 32

>EV 15 vs. Ayys 21, Hobbits 22; Ayys +3, Hobbits +25

>YM 15, PC 10 vs PG 35, Pine Gap +25, Cannibals +10

> Emus 5

THERE'S STILL TIME TO JOIN IF YOU'RE NEW
CLAIM A COLOR AND A TERRITORY
type "dice+1d9999" in Options to roll the dice

You are Kara Zor-El, one of the last living remnants of the once proud Kryptonian Empire. When you were but a babe, the empire fell. You were taken in by another of its remnants: The artificial intelligence known as Brainiac. It nurtured you when you were little, taught you lessons of your Kryptonian heritage, trained you to fight as they did. Direct and unforgiving.

As you grew up, Brainiac reestablished the Empire. He started out only with a few derelict space stations and ships and soon grew to encompass a few systems, bringing under heel various civilizations who owed their growth to Krypton. They were rebels, traitors, they refused Brainiac’s mercy and Brainiac taught them to respect their betters.

You watched it often, orbit bombings. Wars fought between Kryptonian war machines and whatever these species could muster. Whole species punished to toil to pay back for their crimes. Your heart hardened, the Empire was in dire straits, terrible things had to be done for a brighter future.

Soon enough, you were convinced. Krypton had to return. The resources and skills of the civilizations that once bent the knee to the homeworld had to be united to continue its purpose. To expand, to enlighten.

And you reached adulthood. 21 years of age in Kryptonian society. Brainiac outfitted you with an armour made of the best composites from the New Empire, and the most up to date technological advancements the AI could muster.

“Zor-El.” His robotic voice rang from the comms console below you. “My most precious asset, how I longed for you to feel the pride that stems from fighting for the Great Cause.”

“Thank you, Brainiac.” You replied. “I have anxiously waited for this day myself.”

“It is good to hear. Allow me to remind you of your mission: You will be dropped into the government building of the Kazarrian Empire, the foremost polity on planet Racker V after the Empire’s collapse.”

You watched the planet below you as the ship approached the landing zone. A grand urban sprawl appeared below. Brainiac went silent for a moment as the dropship’s shields were taking fire from ground-based orbital lasers. The ship shook for a moment, but soon stabilized under the heavy fire.

“Worry not, Zor-El. Their technological level cannot match ours. Our shields will hold.”

“Yes, Brainiac.” You replied.

“As I was saying, with the taking of the Kazarrian Emperor, Racker V’s united front will collapse. They will understand there is no point in their defiance. Whatever pockets of resistance will remain will be dealt with accordingly. I expect this new strategy I have devised with you as its spearhead to reduce the damages caused by planetary reclamation by…” The console goes silent for a moment. “One hundred a thirty thousand, five hundred and thirteen point five eight zero…” Brainiac drones on with the decimals.

“Brainiac.” You cut it off.

“Zero three percent.” Brainiac says. “I have rounded off the last decimal for your cognitive system’s convenience.”

What is the pinnacle of sorcery, magic, the arcane arts?

After fifty-seven years of long, ceaseless toil, poring over hundreds of arcane volumes with single-spaced size 10 font, performing thousands of experiments, spending millions of silver, and suffering from a number five on the Hamilton-Norwood scale, you stole fire from the gods. You achieved that long-held dream of all wizards: the means of resurrection, eternity, immortality!

Alas, thaumaturgy is not an exact science.

The theoretical underpinnings of your magnificent enchantment had suggested a duality of spirit and flesh upon which you had staked your own life. Although that duality has been all but confirmed, its true nature has proved less transparent.

You have indeed reversed your years. Your withered seventy year old body has been replaced with a youthful one, free of crow's feet, cataracts, and moderate to severe Crohn's disease. But where you had hoped to reverse fifty merciless winters, bringing you again to the peak of virile manhood, you seem instead to have reversed sixty, bringing you a second time into the midst of tedious boyhood.

If that were the extent of your troubles, if you were still locked away in your tower with your tomes, and servants, and talking birds, it might have been endurable. But trickery of time and fate seems to violate reality itself, and in its amendment strange distortions may occur. Case in point: although you awoke again in a tower, it was not your own. Although you kept your face and even your name, it was at the expense of your history. And although you were (and shall ever remain) a wizard, you appear to have been recast as a squire in a house of meatheaded knights.

It is now the third day since your resurrection (or metempsychosis, as the case may be). You have not adjusted well to this new life. Case in point: your current confinement in the bowels of the southeast tower, with only a chamber pot and a straw mattress for company.

>What was the cause of your imprisonment?
>Insubordination. You had refused to shine the boots of Sir Gideon, a visiting knight.
>Theft. You had been caught trying to work the lock on the lord's strongbox.
>Indecency. The lord's daughter claimed you had been spying on her in the bath.
>Write-in

"One lasting superstition among the people of Hyrule, is the belief that mirrors are portals to another world. According to myth, mirrors, when left in total darkness, show reflections of this other world. A world of dark shapes and shadows, a world wrapped in twilight."

-Excerpt from "Folk Tales and Superstitions of Hyrule


Previous Threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=The+Fall+of+Hyrule

<span class="mu-i">"It all comes in threes, in threes, threes..."</span> the caged one cackles as the crusaders finish their third barefooted lap around the mine. The sun scorches the skin and blinds the eye, it's noon in the outskirts of ancient Eridu. Just short of twenty men they are, the long road has tattered them in numbers, in garments, in meat on bone. Yet they persist in their tiredness, performing penance only days after the finish of their long journey.

There is no other way, two nights have passed here, two nightwatch squires have gotten sick. The bishop Adhemar blames his own sins, Ceolmund blames the dirty water that gathers in black puddles everywhere, some blame the one in the iron cage, that is dangling off of rudimentary mine crane high in the sky. Away they were from the glorious battlements of Francia, Adhemar knew, now the humble wooden structures for transport of broken rubble made long ago were their new palisades.

<span class="mu-i">"If Jericho's walls fell after three rounds of encirclement, now let our walls never fall, Saint Michael, as we are paying the same price for the opposite... "</span> Adhemar, leading the procession, finishes their barefoot penance with churchly monologue, extorting health and success from worship worthy figures from the cannon. Behind him are the three knights in the expeditionary group - the german twins Godrick and Gebehart, stuck shoulder to shoulder as always, and behind them - the englishman Ceolmund the Paragon, who is now ordering something to the men...

<span class="mu-i">"Osbert and Thorley, fetch fresh water from the hills we passed as of late, as to rid our bloodied feet of those black pebbles and to bring relief to the two sick boys in the tents... Riley and Aldwin, send the Assyrian to those native abominations and get them back to mine work..."</span>

Someone needs to stand guard tonight, the leaders decide it should be one of them this time.


>Ceolmund the Paragon

>bishop Adhemar

>the twins Godrick and Gebehart

I was reading cyberpunk lore and saw that many countries were featured and mentioned and I wondered.
How would the balkans look like 50 years from now? Both in a in-cyberpunk setting and real life.

There is silence.

<span class="mu-g">Not even the wind is heard.</span>

All conversations were interrupted by the great burst of light in the distance, and the sound accompanying it. It was strangely reminiscent of a firework, except for it's placement.

<span class="mu-r">But the silence, as fragile and unnatural as it had been, is broken with the breathing, shuffling and other man-made sounds from the people around you as activity sparks once more in the hearts of people like a train getting out of its station.</span>

You looked saw the individuals you--in your mind--had deemed as the Noirs; Shapes, a cautious idealist. The Lady, stoic and familiar with corpses. Albert, an old detective and ex-cop. Mike, the aggressive kickboxer. And Jamesfield, their leader.
Each of them said nothing, keeping an eye on either the place where a celebration was held for vague reasons, the same area where the flash of light had originated, or upon the two men, who went by the aliases of 'Knife' and 'Jack of Hearts', who had attempted to assault Jamesfield and the Lady. Said men were tied to a tree, harmless for now. But you could see the reasoning behind keeping an eye on them.
Yet the only emotion they showed was confusion.

Your name is Johan. But that's not important now. Your mind had other thoughts to worry about. The foremost being: What just happened?

>Go back there and see what happened. You aren't sure if there's anything to actually worry about, but there's a certain mime named Mimi you wanted to make sure was alright. Just in case.
>Stay here and do not distract yourself. The two criminals could easily use the confusion and division to escape. Something you wouldn't let happen.
>Look up at the sky. It's an orange hue, slowly turning purple. It's getting late, and you want to wrap things up soon. So you'll take the safe road and start deciding with the Noirs on how to deal with these two. Soon enough you'd be back in your hotel room, waiting to fall asleep.
>Write-in.

You are David Hardrada, founder of the colony of Thunor made up of ex-soldiers whom had laid stake to a world upon the edges of civilized space. Through struggles and dangers, you had found yourself, over a decade after setting first foot upon the world, hosting a foreign lord. Throughout the pleasantries, your <span class="mu-g">empathetic</span> nature had allowed you to read the man well enough to ensure you maintain a good enough relationship for the upcoming negotiations.

After you had retired after throwing a rowdy feast wherein people gathered, socialized, danced, and held a boxing match fighting each other to both went frustration and to have some fun. Unfortunately, you being born a commoner, you lacked the abilities to simply ignore a raging headache currently pounding and trying to break out of your skull. You once again find yourself having to carry out the duties as the reigning monarch (title pending) of Thunorians (name pending).

Trying to stay focused via the power of caffeine, you stare across the table at your counterpart - Margrave Mykell Oreskovich, a vassal of House Orion. Next to you sits your council, next to him sit all of the various officers whose names you, at this particular junction, are not really capable of remembering.

Much to your chagrin, Mykell appears to be entire nonplussed about yesterday, even though he drank much harder liquor than you had. The entire situation had now been more or less entirely dominated by Ashwin, your minister of foreign affairs, and whomever Mykell appointed. A man whose name you failed to catch, but his calm and even tone, similar to that of Ashwin’s actually, has been helping you keep yourself together.

Still, in matters such as there, potentially changing the fate of your entire peoples, it is only a matter of time before both you and the Margrave must make decisions upon the big issues. On this occasion – payment.

Warships are expensive, apparently. A lot more expensive than you had ever thought, being infantry, the most expensive thing you had personally had the displeasure of trying to replace was an APC, and were you damn glad that had not come out of your pocket.

Your scattered internal ramblings aside, even the rudimentary patchwork for the warships is going to drain your common material reserves and then some. Chances are the Margrave and his men will stay here a few months, and chances are, they won’t have enough food, or at least food that they are willing to eat, the same of course goes for water. One of the upsides of not being out in space but around the planet is unlimited shower rations, especially considering the fight these men and women went through.