“…I think I killed her…”

You will never forget that moment. Her body is laying right next to you, as the blood slowly drips on the snow. You clearly see the face of a murderer. He is right in front of you, still haven't holstered the revolver. You want to take out your pistol and shoot the entire magazine at him. But you just start walking towards him instead. He doesn’t try to shoot you or resist in anyway. He is waiting for you to say something.

“I-”

It’s the only thing that manages to come out of his mouth before you punch him in the face so hard, he falls down to the ground, dropping the revolver. The rest of your squad, that was witnessing the scene starts running towards you. You start kicking him while he is on the ground, but it wont bring her back. Your squadmates arrive and drag you away from him, and you don’t resist. You simply shout:

“I’ll fucking kill you! You are a dead man! Dead!”

And your voice echoes in the distance

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.


Character sheets and other info:
https://controlc.com/46ec566d
https://pastebin.com/u/GrandDragonQM
Archive:
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=Saiyan+Conqueror+Quest
Help fund quest art commissions and get exclusive side stories as well as artwork by joining the patreon for only $1/month at https://www.patreon.com/GrandDragonQM

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.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tndKYpPz2RU


REVENGE OF THE BODY SNATCHERS

IN A WORLD SIMILAR BUT NOT OF OUR OWN: it is the year 1899. Confederacies and petty principalities consolidate themselves in imperial nation states across the global edifice. Empiricism and occultism espouse each other out of the light of The Enlightenment, blurring the line between college and cult. The fabric of society shifts from the manor to the metropolis; the second industrial boom acquaints man with machine for better or for worse. Much like ours, history has transpired in this eerily familiar realm. YET: it is lacks one thing every waking world needs!

A HERO.

Chivalry is dead! Its vestiges remain in the grand armies; an officer's gorget calls back to romantic times. Thousands of modern men's rear sights are recently unblinded by the advent of smokeless firepower, cartridges punching lead through deadly rifling. Outstanding is the craftiness of humanity! The sword shrunk into the bayonet at the tip of martial ranks. And paramors are no more! Only the réal urban femme! Despite the tides of warfare and paradigm the world world still needs—

—A KNIGHT——

—A LIGHT: for a world subdued by smoke, steam, and steel; and alien forces. For a world under the duress of war. For a world at ransom by the erecting of strange companies. For a world captive by wicked spirits. FOR. A. WORLD. IN. DESPAIR.

The world needs HOPE; and someone to keep it as ranger! A suzerain's hunting forest is not without its forester; if none, poachers deplete the game and brings a scourge upon the plot; if so, The Suzerain is assured his enjoyment of such beautiful land!

And that is YOU.

For a world that will be depending on you—Pray, tell:

WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO BE A MAN? TO BE A SON OF ADAM?
>T R U T H: TELL THE TRUTH AND SHAME THE DEVIL. FIND LIGHT WITHIN DARKNESS.
>R E S P O N S I B I L I T Y: TO TOIL AMONGST THISTLES AND THORNS IS A DUTY.
>S T R E N G T H: THE WORLD HATED YOU FIRST; BUT YOU WILL WIELD THE PALM.
>W R I T E - I N

During the dawn of prehistory a creator now forgotten by the masses laid down his bow; his arrow that which was nocked put an end to our antediluvian ancestors. For a world That. Needs. A. Hero—The people will know you by your LIVERY. YOUR:
>HEROIC RED!
>RAPPORTING BLUE!
>UNYIELDING YELLOW!
>CUNNING GREEN!

{THE PLURAL VOTE OF EACH OPTION WILL BE TAKEN. }

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.

May the Emperor save us.

——————
You are a

>>Man
>>Woman

Your name is;

>>write in name

You are a;

>>Void worker
>>Tech-Priest
>>Auspex officer
>>Armsmen
>>Ship scribe.
>> =][=
>>Commissar

——————

>be prepared to boldly go where no man had gone before

DATING START! (Psychopomp GOLD OST - 05 Unborn Structures) https://youtu.be/LpSdHoaEQac

Misfortune has struck, and you've been dragged down to Hell.

You have no idea as to how long you have been trapped in this place. All you can tell is that the screaming is quieter this far out. And somehow, inexplicably, you feel... safe? Yes, safe. For the first time in a very long time.

But you soon find out that you are not alone.

The bowl in front of you is filled to the rim with <span class="mu-r">blood,</span> bright red and lukewarm. A long wooden spoon soaks in the spilled vitality.

On the other side of the table, something smiles down at you, beaming with great expectation. You can hear nothing but the deep, ragged breathing of the thing. And then, with a rasping voice like rusting metal:

"Well? Aren't you going to tell me how it tastes?"

Please recommend an action.
>WAIT.
>ATTACK.
>DRINK.
>WHAT ARE YOU?
>WHAT IS THIS PLACE?
>

==============================================

<span class="mu-r">[LIBIDO: 5/10]</span>
<span class="mu-r">[???: ?/?]</span>

Different values open up new choices.
Different choices lead to different results.
Do keep in mind that stories where <span class="mu-r">blood</span> is shed mostly end in death.
<3

A rip off of ObserverQM's lovely LOVE QUEST.

<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.

Anyway.

You suppose you should introduce yourself.

OFFICE CALM (Atrium Carceri, Cities Last Broadcast, God Body Disconnect - A Thousand Empty Rooms) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5jfU1HN2pSQ

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.

Let's get to work.

:V

I'm tired of uncertainty, is anyone still here?

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

In hindsight, robbing the mansion of a self-proclaimed mad god may not have been the most brilliant idea you’ve ever conceived of.

The plan was simple: sneak in, abscond with a few artifacts of great power, and then sneak back out. Simple, clean, and efficient, a targeted blow to an arrogant tyrant who was much too wealthy for his own good. It’s not as if your schemes never hit snags—no, they more than often happened to, but the offending situations were more often than not scenarios you could realistically overcome. You were swift on your feet, fairly clever, and could disarm anyone in seconds thanks to your power. Whenever you were matched up against haughty nobles and complacent merchants caught unawares, you were nigh unstoppable, a veritable specter to their wandering eyes.

Against this so-called deity? Not so much.

The moment he laid eyes upon your person, you were assailed by a wave of sheer, immutable POWER. Instantly, you were forced to your knees by the pressure, teeth chattering and bones creaking as it felt like the very world itself was smushing you with its thumb. You push against the marble floor below in an effort to keep yourself from toppling over altogether, but it is a demanding struggle indeed, and your poor arms just can’t seem to stop shaking; for a moment, you’re worried they’ll dislocate right then and there. It is at that moment you realize, in a distinct impression of shock and horror, that you are severely and utterly outmatched. No amount of crafty, clever cunning or quick reflexes could unearth you from this ungodly trap, and you suspect it may indeed mark the last time you ever glimpse the light.


But it’s never hopeless, or so the remnants of the Thieves Guild taught you years ago. So even now, even as you are being crushed into the pale stone by an intangible force leagues beyond anything you could have previously imagined, you observe, you think, you plan. You see the man—Lord Cull—grinning at his gaggle of cultists and sycophants, pointing and laughing and gloating at the sheer depth of your failure. There he was, clad in silk, gold-threaded robes stained in bright magenta, an obsidian crown laying atop his pristinely-groomed hair. His pearly whites were almost blinding, and his supreme smugness fuels the last dregs of your defiance, feeding into the dim flames of your willpower constrained by the pressure weighing you down.

Think. Plan. Adapt.


(1/5)