A hundred years ago, during a GREAT WAR, Maou, THE MONSTER KING, has been defeated and sealed away by human HEROES. For a hundred years, he was biding his time, and recovering his strengh.
During that time, MONSTERS didn't dissapear from the world, but with MONSTER KING sealed, a person would need to be exceptionaly evil to transform. Places with evil aura can also spawn monsters on it's own! But not often. And with monster population low, the HEROES could always beat them back.
But now THE MONSTER KING stirs in his prison. He releases his power into the world in a terryfying roar! Humans who's heart is black on the inside, the ones harboring EVIL within them, cannot withstand the call of their inner monster, and by the power of MONSTER KING'S ROAR they transform!
You see his face. Sharp razor slit eyes etched onto a hulking creature’s giant head, which would give children across the galaxy vivid nightmares, stare into your soul. It produces no feeling of horror or fear, nor any other natural response, because you know him. Those eyes that are locked onto yours are dulled, empty, lifeless. The vacant glare causes your heart to wither in your chest. It was you, you did this, you killed your closest friend. A man who has saved your life, and you killed him. Now his face is slack, muscles relaxed, and his eyes are barren; all that vigour and life that he carried around with him is forever gone, never to return.
It was your choice to kill him. Sith Lord Yvalok presented the options to you. During your months on Lao training as a Sith Acolyte you, Vulfstahn a child of the extinct Sith people, have shown a wild potency with the Force which is unequalled by your supposed peers. This rare talent caught Yvalok’s eyes and has him captivated with your development, wanting nothing more than to see you flourish. The ancient human decided to gift you hate through a choice: slay Urr’tal in a duel or watch as Yira gets gangraped. You gave the withered husk of a Human your answer. With a slash of your sword, you betrayed Urr’tal, ending all the myriad great possibilities he could have achieved in his prodigious lifespan.
The Sith Lord that would be nothing but a frail old man if not for his mastery of the dark side of the Force stands above you as thick red ichor spews from the Whiphid’s severed neck. Forced onto the hard durasteel floor by a burst of lightning, you are enveloped by the growing pool of your friend’s blood. His decapitated head rests in front of you, not able to steal your eyes away from the lifeless face as his matted fur stains from his bleeding. Yvalok monologues and lectures, but you can’t hear him. The unblinking eyes have stolen your world.
>Fed job takes you to a fairy tale. >There is a robot in the fairy tale. >Get cursed with a ghost. >Met some of your co-workers. >Broke ghost curse, sort of. >Fed job takes you to fairy lands to find a missing person. >Now, it's time to split up, team!
This is a collab quest that didn't take off on /i/ so I'm moving it here. It started with submissions from other anons but I'm going to turn it into my own drawquest. I was going to make a Medabots one but the anime is too precious for me to ruin it. I also need to test the waters for some matters.
Wait until I finish dumping if you're participating, thanks.
Grand Zen-Oh, the omni king and ruler of the omniverse has declared there will be a massive tournament to be held in his honor. A grand affair between several universes, each battling it out for the very right to exist. And at the forefront of this grand spectacle will be the Saiyans of Universe 7, who Grand Zen-Oh has grown fond of watching battle. Twenty eight years ago, the Saiyan race were annexed into the PTO as just another race, one of many sent to conquer other worlds. Now, the Saiyans are widely regarded as the strongest warrior race in the entire Seventh Universe, defenders of the PTO led by their strongest, the “Dragon of New Salda” General Karn and his family.
You the players will (most often) control Karn. A man who has grown from his lowly beginnings as a Saiyan Brawler with a sub-3000 powerlevel in Age 733 to become not only the strongest Saiyan of his time at AGE 759, but also personal friend to the former emperor Lord Freeza, father to well over a dozen powerful and unique children, a mentor and teacher to his fellow Saiyans, and the best hope for his universe's continued survival. No one warrior can hope to battle eight other universes' strongest fighters alone and hope to prevail, one man's power and skill won't be enough to overcome the looming threat of extermination. But this coming battle will be the ultimate test of how you've lived your life until now, the choices you made not only for yourself, but for the fate of your entire universe.
Quest rules are as follows(unless otherwise noted): >30 minute vote times >Pick ONLY ONE option when voting >Dice rolls are all best of three correctly-rolled dice >At ten minutes past your previous roll, and there are not yet enough rolls, you may roll an additional roll >Crits are 100 on a d100 >99s or paired rolls may net you extra bonuses >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 also find me on twitter @GrandDragonQM, which I keep as up to date with any scheduling changes.
There is a ringing behind your ears. Your senses are dulled, and are wrestling with an internal static preventing you from regaining your grip on reality. For a moment you are stunned into forgetting the where and the why of the drama: that is what happens when you get caught in an explosion. Before numbness invaded your system a mysterious force smashed into the walls of your school. A villain appeared. You could never have predicted a villain showing up in your town of Hauteville.
You and your class had little time to react. The entity collided with the building at lightning speed; demolishing one side of the school a flashy figure appeared. <span class="mu-s">A rogue magical girl.</span>
The floor offers stability for your hands and knees to rely on, currently the most reliable object for support. The fuzz in your head vanishes at a snail's pace as teenagers scream in the chaos.
"This is revenge! I'm sick of being looked down upon! You only have yourselves to blame!" the magical girl reasons. She looks familiar. There must be some sort of supernatural barrier from being recognized; but her looks and tone invoke a visceral response to your psyche. "Where is she!?"
Clarity of mind returns little by little while the magical girl sows destruction. You also feel a mysterious energy inside you as well. Is it the sensation of your life in peril? Or something more?
One of the first shards of clarity returns: your name is Gana. In this world, there are good magical girls and bad magical girls with monsters in between.
Your reputation in school is known for:
>A girl from a pretty rich family. Richer than the normal standard in Hauteville. Materialistic, arrogant, antagonistic against classmates who have less. You have bullied others for having cheap clothes or bad makeup. >A girl leading a clique in your part of school. You have been political with your classmates; others that stand against you often find life hell afterwards. Intriguing, manipulative, antagonistic to rebellion. >A girl frequently envious of others. You are a popular talk for boys; you exude a need for attention and hate it when someone prettier comes along. Contenders frequently run into bad rumors about themselves, in class and over the net. Vain, shallow, antagonistic to modesty. >write-in ______
<span class="mu-s">Magical girl Encountered: Montesinos, the Indignant Magical Girl</span>
“HAHAHA, FOOLISH HEROES, KNEEL BEFORE MY GRAND MAGIC!”
Your skeletal body, adorned in robes that have lived longer than any human has breathed, lords over the fallen party of heroes. Your ultimate <span class="mu-s">Origin Magic</span>, though incomplete, has proven more than sufficient to take on the pathetic mortals sent to their knees before its might. Miasma-smoke fills the room, spewed by the necromantic fire left in the wake of your destructive magnum opus. However, to your incredible satisfaction, the Holy Sword itself, the only weapon capable of striking you down, lies corroded beneath the hero’s tattered frame, little more than a sparkly pile of smoldering slag.
Yes, your ultimate victory has been achie–
Pain unlike any you’d ever imagined stabs through your very being, a thin, needle-like blade jutting out from the cluster of mana animating your undead body, destabilizing it, causing your very being to quiver and weaken. Something is wrong— something is very, very wrong. . You collapse to the floor, your head snapping 180 degrees back to see just who had landed the killing blow. If your eyes could widen, they would: the Hero Michael, who you had thought collapsed in front of you, stands proudly behind you with an unknown blade in your back.
“H-how?”
“Lich King Atrebor,” the hero declares, his obnoxious condescension shamelessly leaking into his words as he drives the blade even further through your ribs, “you may have been wary of me, the possessor of the Holy Sword, but you paid far too little attention to my real strength: my friends.”
You turn your eyes back to the party: an illusion, a paltry trick, dissolves from the worthless entourage of the chosen one, revealing a golem in place of his second in command and that same eternal loser, Reinlock, in his place.
“Impossible!” you roar, “I was certain! He– he had the holy sword! He acted just as you would!”
“I’ve been chasing that bastard’s back my whole life, you undead bastard.” Reinlock snickers, blood trickling from his broken lips, “I know him better than the back of my own hand.”
This is infuriating but… it matters not. Your phylactery, the real vessel of your existence, is safe, in an unknown locale far from here. Or at least, <span class="mu-r">that’s how it should be</span>. Golden cracks start to form on you— first on your body’s mana core, then on your bones, then, horror of horrors, on your <span class="mu-i">mana itself</span>. “What trickery is this!” You scream, your rage powerful enough to shake the foundations of your castle.
Your name is Harold Eadric, and you’ve just signed up for war.
You don’t quite know what it is about, but at this point, you will take anything to get out of your village. Years you have been longing to become a man of the world, yet your circumstances have never allowed you to venture much farther than your local village with a name you cannot pronounce. At least you have been able to read stories about the world, and they only made you want to get out of this town more.
Sucks then, that your existence up to this point has mostly been concerned with growing wheat. There isn’t much else you can do in this village, really – if you didn’t plough the fields, you’d have a hard time finding anything to eat during winter. So you wasted your childhood away in the drudgery of this eternal routine, just like your father, grandfather and those before him had. All the while, you hoped you’d find a chance to get out. And just as you had recently turned into your eighteenth year, fortune struck.
"The King is looking for brave men to join the Fight against the treacherous Laumey de Galamad! His men have attacked and slaughtered our people! Answer the King's call and join his armies!"
Your family had protested, your mother had cried when you packed your stuff and left the home and fields which had formed the entirety of your existence up until now – it was all in vain. There you were, speaking to the man in his tent; having mentioned your literacy and fitness brought on you by your years in the fields, he now requested… something else? Something else you could do? You already mentioned literacy, didn’t you?
Your name is (name), you are from a small unknown village, in some forest nobody cares about. Your village has a small church where you and your family visit every weekend, your father is a farmer like most people here, wheat's the largest export in this village and what keeps everyone fed when there isn't a drought.
You have 2 siblings, your older brother and your older sister, you never really connected with them, and you think they may actually dislike you, you are quite a bit younger than them.
Your mother is too weak to farm and so she is the village weaver, she learned how to weave from your late grandmother, your mother has also inherited some books from your grandfather, so you and your siblings are one of the few literate people in the village.
When the taxmen come every half-year some merchants also follow them due to the taxmen's guradforce, you like to borrow and read some books from the nice merchants before they leave, you are too poor to afford to buy books, so you are quite grateful that they let you just borrow and read some books, you think it's a novelty to them to encounter a literate villager. Aside from all of that, you are quite a loner, you never really connected with anybody in the village, not even your parents, but you aren't bothered with that, you prefer being alone with your books.
You always dreamt of leaving your backwater village, you always thought higher of yourself than most of your peers, that could be a contributing factor to your isolation, but nontheless you held that belief your whole life. When you were a child you already hoped for something better, 'how could no one here aspire for something more?' you've asked yourself time and time again, there had to more to life than farming and praying.
You never had the opportunity to leave the village, your father would always shout at you that "It's too dangerous to leave! you'll die out there!", of course you never believed him, but rules are rules, you wouldn't want to incur your father's wrath by going out.
So you waited and waited, you farmed the wheat, prayed at church, and read what little there was until that opportunity came one fateful day.
>What is a quest? An interactive story in which a Quest Master (QM) writes and provides the readers with options on how to proceed — similar to a choose-your-own-adventure book or an old text adventure.
>Formatting guide: Only the thread's OP can format. Note that should the OP change ID, they will lose this ability as well. Remove the spaces between the [] brackets and the letters: Bold: <span class="mu-s">text</span> Italics: <span class="mu-i">text</span> Red: [ red ] <span class="mu-r">text</span> [ /red ] Blue: [ blue ] <span class="mu-g">text</span> [ /blue ] Green: [ green] <span class="mu-b">text</span> [ /green ]
>Formatting guide for everyone: Dice (type this in “options”): dice + [no. of dice]d[no. of sides on the dice] (optionally you can add modifiers: dice + [no. of dice]d[no. of sides on the dice]+[modifier]; for a negative modifier type: +-[modifier]
Examples: dice+1d100 = a 1d100 roll, dice+1d100+10 = a 1d100 roll with a +10 modifier.
Spoiler: spoiler or by pressing alt+s in-thread (doesn't work in OP)
>QM Question: How in-depth do you plan? Of course no plan survives first contact with the enemy, but how many plot beats do you try to have? Do you have an ending in mind?
>Player Question: How do you feel when a quests ends? Be it naturally or unnaturally (flaked/cancelled). Have you ever been compelled to continue a dead quest? Did you? If not, why?
>General Question: How many quests have you seen finish properly? Do you wish more QMs showed restraint and did more self-contained stories, or do you prefer quests that just keep going so you don't have to stop reading them?
>Lurker Question: There is no question, vote.
>Miscellaneous Question: Hypothetically, if there was a /qst/ board secret Santa like some of the other boards have, would you participate?
