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A crown jewel of a planet out in the fringes of space. A mysterious habitable planet, known to once belong to the enigmatic and all-powerful yet mysteriously missing Eldan race. It is a legend among intergalactic legends, hidden deep within uncharted space, the dream of archaeologists, treasure hunters and all manner of adventurers.

It was only several years ago that the planet was discovered by famed Exile explorer Dorian Walker. And now, Nexus serves as the ultimate flashpoint in a conflict that has raged for centuries.

To the imperialistic Dominion, Nexus represents their divine birthright, claiming descendence from the Eldan themselves and asserting that the planet is theirs and theirs alone. To the scrappy Exiles, Nexus represents their last stand, their final chance at a home to call their own after being chased across the galaxy by the Dominion. As far as they're both concerned, Nexus isn't big enough for the two of them, and come hell, high water or an unstoppable plague, someone is kicking someone else's ass off the planet.

For the purposes of my sanity, as this is my first go at a quest and due to the overall weight of experience I have as that faction, You intend to make sure it's the Exiles who do the ass-kicking.
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Fucking Robots
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Your only recourse is to stand tall and look (virtual) death square in the eye, even as it clenches its fists and prepares to swing it down on your head in a hammer blow. Rather than allow fear to paralyze you, you release it from you and find an odd sort of inner peace, a sort of pride welling up within you. You straighten your back and look the Annihilator square in the eye.

And then promptly hook one arm over the other in a good old-fashioned "up yours" gesture, right as you wink out of virtual existence before the fist crushes you.

You return to blackness, only the errant lines of a VR scape whizzing past you here and there. Your body is gone; it is only your consciousness once again. Save for the low whine of the system, all is quiet before Dorian Walker winks back into existence in front of you, hyuk-hyuking it up and slapping a knee.

"Ahhhh, I love doin' that one," he admits, pulling his goggles off his eyes and rubbing at them with his wrist. "But for real, though. You did great, slick, better than I expected. You got skills and know-how, and we're gonna need both if we're gonna tame Nexus. We've done all we can from this end, but you're definitely ready for the real thing. Don't worry; we're in the home stretch. Just kick back and take it easy while we bring you back." Dorian winks out of existence again, and you feel your consciousness beginning to pull as if forced back into a seat by G-forces. The lines of the VR scape travel faster as you feel sucked through the system.

But then, there's a graphical glitch. You come to a sudden stop, the system no longer moving. You appear to be stuck, frozen in this point in time, and there's nothing you can do about it. From the darkness at the end of the tunnel, a shimmering blue and white light appears, carrying with it a strange symbol, one you don't recognize. It floats gently in front of you, radiating a warm and reassuring light. It is small, but it holds your attention.

And then it speaks. Its voice is feminine, young and tinged metallic. She sounds almost like a ghost, but she speaks clearly, and she speaks directly to you in a friendly and reassuring tone.

"Hello," the image states matter-of-factly.
"You're different somehow... special.
"I need your help.

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At last, you begin to feel something again, as you feel yourself returned to a body again. Your body. Your REAL body. Your eyes are still closed, and you can't will them to open just yet. It feels cold, not like that VR sim with the Eldan ruins, but still chilly. Your first semi-conscious breath of real air smells icy and cuts through your nose. Your mouth tastes as little dry, your jaw starting to wiggle. You feel cushions against your back and head. You feel your nanites in your system bristling awake, as if to say "good morning" to their master. You feel pulled down slightly against your "bed," as though rising up an elevator. You can't quite move just yet, so you savor the sensations of your cryo-pod.

"Rise an' shine, cupcake," Dorian's voice cuts the silence through the internal speakers in your pod. "Welcome back to the realm of the livin'. You're in yer cryo-pod on your flotilla ship, the Aces High. It ain't the Gambler's Ruin, but it's not too bad, if you can remember. Your pod will deposit you in the Departures Terminal, where you can stretch your legs, check in and claim yer personal effects from before you went into deep freeze. I, uh, also recommend taking a shower first chance you get; you might be a bit, eh, ripe. There's also some info kiosks around you can check out, get you up to speed on things our little VR adventure didn't cover. Once you're ready, you can board the next shuttle bound for Nexus."

You flex your fingers and toes a little bit as your body warms up, the blood flow causing you to stir slightly. Your eyes finally flutter open for the first time, image hazy but steadily coming into focus. You are immediately greeted by the large frosted-over window of your cryo-pod and the surrounding metallic frame, "C. Starwalker" emblazoned across the inner rim, just in case you forgot who you were. It's oddly cozy, how snug it is. You could probably move your forearms and touch the door of your pod, but the rest of you is still waking up. Your eyes stray down and see your body, still clad in that Exile-issued jumpsuit-onesie thing everyone wears for cryo-stasis, kind of a wifebeater and shorts thing. Your toes wiggle back at you in greeting.

"Welp," Dorian continues, "as fun as this all was, this is where we must sadly part ways. FOR NOW, for now. Somethin's itchin' and tellin' me we'll definitely meet each other again, in person to boot. If I ain't out and abroad, you'll probably find me in Thayd. Ah, don't worry about that for now; all things in due time. Besides, I've got a real good feelin' about you, kid. Somethin' big is on the horizon, an' if I were a bettin' man, I'd put my money on you."
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"Keep the wind to yer back and the sun outta yer eyes. I'll be seein' you on Nexus, hotshot. Make me proud."

With that final farewell from Dorian Walker, the speakers cut out as the platform your pod is on comes to a sudden stop with a heavy WHUMP beneath you. You hear hissing as the pod depressurizes, and a couple seconds later, the door swings open rather suddenly. The warm air of the Aces High's recycled atmosphere hits you, and you take a deep breath. You sit there in your pod for a few seconds, your body fully awake as you drink it all in.

Beyond the doorway of your pod is the Departures Terminal of your colony ship, just as Dorian said. It's not the rustiest of rustbuckets, but it's still got that "rugged" feel, with pipes crisscrossing on the ceiling, lamps hanging from the pipes, stray boxes and even a bit of errant trash that missed the wastebasket. Arrows from your pod point you towards the main desk at the center of this atrium. Dotted around the room are a few spare info kiosks hooked up to projection tables. On the far walls are doors leading to other areas, one clearly flagged as the showers and bathrooms. Atop each door are holo-projectors - "televisions," some still call them - showing off a few images of Nexus. No Protostar ads, for once, thank the stars. Milling about the atrium are a couple other individuals in various states of reinvigoration. There's an aurin girl doing cartwheels in one of the open spaces, a human fellow off to a corner reviewing his gear, and a granok having a loud fight with a coffee vending machine and losing.

Finally, after a bit of doinyou reach for the edges of the pod and pull yourself standing upright. You mildly overestimated yourself, though, as you stagger just a little bid down the exit ramp of your pod onto the cool metal floor of the ship. VR is one thing, but moving your limbs for real still takes a bit of doing. It only takes a few seconds for you to get oriented and upright. It's probably best not to do anything too fancy right now.

You also wipe a bit of spittle from the side of your mouth and one the straps of your jumpsuit. Apparently, you were still drooling a little bit. Ugh.

Next to your pod is a small pedastal with a dome cover on top and a "Welcome back!" card taped to the side. Pulling off the card and hitting the button on the side slides the dome top off the pedastal, revealing a fresh set of new clothes and shoes, neatly folded and in your size. How generous. Grabbing the bundle, you tuck it under an arm as you consider your options.

>Head straight for the check-in desk.
>Head for the showers and get cleaned up and changed. You don't want to risk smelling yourself.

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>Head for the showers and get cleaned up and changed. You don't want to risk smelling yourself.
First impressions count. And we don't want one of the maintanaince droids mistaking us for refuse.

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The life of a wizard is seldom boring and even more seldom idle, and Grampa Brad was nothing if not a model of his trade. From medical exams for the neighborhood oni and examining the composition of the freshly arrived constructs to constructing a new heated bath and helping along with the fabrication of the local school, the elderly man would have given one two decades his junior a run for their money with his constant activity over the past week.

Cici naturally had her own list of things to attend to in that time, learning, dancing, and tending to her small army of pets. But even then, she was keenly aware of the fact that Grampa left before she did each morning and arrived back much later, the old man resting heavy in his chair whenever he returned with an almost palpable aura of exhaustion about him.

It had an unfortunate way of slowing magic lessons to a standstill, at least of a sort taught in conventional academies, but the old man would still somehow smile and summon up the extra energy to respond and tell tales as Cici enthusiastically pressed him for stories of his travels and far-away places, of the people he’d known and the challenges he’d overcome.

It was a pleasant time and maybe productive in its own way, explaining the world beyond this tiny town to a girl who had never known anything more. Her eyes sparkled as she took it all in, hungrily soaking up every detail until come the late night, it would often fall to Mama to pick her up and carry her away with visions of those stories still swimming in her head and Din-Din clasped gently in her arms.

The voices, however, didn’t want for sleep in the same way as their tiny host. Nor, apparently, did Grampa Brad, who would often crack open a book and pass a few more hours reading in front of the fire before sleep eventually took him, pausing on occasion to answer questions that the voices might have had.

> Ask questions. Write-in.
> Also, give me 1d100.
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Eh Cici should be the one doing it. We can't always do everything for her. She is the mage we are just the helping... fairy.

She might be a child but she knows what she wants, right?
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While Cici should definitely reach her own understanding on the materials, I've outlined the information and system so that any player who feels like crafting her a new spell can do so and encourage her to learn it (which ideally would include an explanation of how it is supposed to work, which is in itself instructive). Think of it as a brain-puzzle for those who enjoy the challenge and a way to aid Cici's development.

Anyway, unfortunately, I won't be able to make good on my promise to run today. I have some vital professional development activities that have unexpectedly come up and that I will have to attend to until fairly late.

I may be able to squeeze in one or two updates after 9:00 EST, but otherwise, we'll have to reconvene on Friday. My apologies.
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“Ah… I suppose you’re right,” the old man sighs, seeming to break from his stream of consciousness as he looks to Cici. He offers a reassuring smile and takes a moment to pat her head before starting again. “Perhaps it would be best to start with small examples, wouldn’t it? And from there, we can slowly move forward.”

She nods sheepishly.

“I’m far too accustomed to teaching men four times your age, you know,” he chuckles to himself. “Impatient, the lot of them, and imperious. They hardly give me the luxury of time.”

With a wave of his hand, the chalk circles then disappear followed by a groan as the old wizard rises to his feet and heads toward the nearest wall. Another wave of his hand and that surface flattens, revealing smooth, flat stone instead of clean brick work.

“A chalkboard is what they call this,” Grampa elaborates, running a hand over the surface. “You’ll become much more familiar with these once the school is open, no doubt, and perhaps even come to resent them.” He laughs as he begins scribbling. “Some also have a very unfavorable reaction to the sound it makes.”

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And so, with a careful hand, the wizard draws a very basic set of lines and empty bubbles, creating a skeleton of a spell.

“So, tell me dear, were you to want to make a spell that produced light, how would you do so?”

“Umm, the voices say I should say stuff to the magic to make the light come out an’ then try to hold it,” Cici explains.

“Ah, I see. Again, they’re touching on a different sort of magic than what I was aiming to teach you. Mind you, there isn’t anything wrong with that method: rather, there are many ways to learn magic. Some write, some sing or dance, and still others have been known to strike elaborate poses. Then, of course, you have incantations, saying specific words to summon magic. In the end, each and every one is simply what you would call a mnemonic device, at least as concerns internalized magic.”

“Nenonic device?” Cici asks.

“’Mnemonic’, dear,” the wizard stresses. “It is a way of remembering things by associating them with something else. For instance, not everyone can remember that a rainbow goes red, orange, yellow, blue, green, indigo, and violet, but most can recall Roy G. Biv.”

“Roy G. Biv?”

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“Okay!” Cici agrees without hesitation, once again clearing her mind and trying to coax the magic into her hand.

She feels it build, bit-by-bit until she believes she has enough. Then, with a gentle motion of her hand, she tries to press it into the circle. However, to her disbelief, the mass of mana refuses to go in, just clinging to her palm.


“A circuit of simple chalk cannot shape magic on its own, Cici. Rather, it is a means of visualizing the flow of your own magic. So now, let’s try again. You have the magic in your hand. So now I want you to imagine it like water slowly flowing down the pathways of your circle. When it touches on creation, imagine it pooling and taking shape, and then that ball of raw magic touches light and with your imagination, you give it its final form.”

With a deep breath, Cici does what she is told, trying to clear her mind and focus on the runes and lines in front of her like a channel. Then, with her handful of magic, she tries to gather it into a ball, pressing it down the pathway before trying to fill her mind with images of the sun and fires that had kept her warm at nights before feeling it all release.

The result: she and Grampa Wizard both go blind as a violent flash of light fills the room.

“Impressive volume,” the old man eventually concedes through the darkness of Cici’s world. “But you’re letting it all go at once. You aren’t letting the magic flow naturally so much as you are violently shoving it through.”

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It is an age of mercenaries in a fantasy land. Join a small band of Landsknechts as they seek fame and coin... through a boardgame.
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Mission 1 Completed.

Each player shall receive 20 Lira.
For each wound given to an enemy, add 5.
For each kill, add 10.

A store will soon be opened with weapons and classes for purchase.
>Get 20 lira
>Get 5 lira
>Ask whether I earned anything more
This is now a general thread, you can post/discuss whatever until the next thread.
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full map

Disclaimer: not actually run on Rogue Trader. Probably only loosely based on WH40k.

All hail the brave and daring Captain, head of the motley crew of rogue traders which plies their trade from star to star. You are...

>Kay Smith. Generalist, pragmatist, opportunist. Dirty fighter. Loyal. Grew up in a hive world slum. Can cook with _anything_, as long as you don't ask what the meat is.
>Louis Peter Jameson-Fitzpatrick. Goes by "Fitz". A nobleman's son on the run from Terra due to what he calls "just a misunderstanding". Pretty sheltered and naive, but very well educated. Posh. Only member of the crew who could recognise a cake fork.
>Emily Torvald: Teenage girl. Engine specialist, mechanic, engineer. No-one's quite sure how long she's been in the rogue trading industry already. Always has a sharp pencil and a handful of cogs.

Your ship is...

>A rundown merchant vessel from last century. Most of the ship is held together by blue-tac and staples. Has an air of motheaten luxury.
>An old Imperial Guard ship. Cramped, spartan and warscarred, but with good shields and weaponry.
>A homemade ship built by Emily in a "shed" on some space station. Welding lines and cables are everywhere.

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Well, we are pretty much boned.
These people obviously have no intention of letting us go. Like ever.
And it seems like it's already too late to turn tail and escape.

At the very least, I can't think of any good excuse to politely refuse continuing in and explain needing to go back to the ship.

Well here's two things we can try. First off, do we and Fitz know some form of morse code? We could try to signal to him by repeated pressures of the radio button "RUN".

If that's not an option, we can ask Kay to pull out (of her pockets) the X.
Where X is the most reasonable item that can fit pockets and could be used as a present when visiting a settlement (one that we might plausibly have at the ready even when not expecting to find a colony).
Before Kay can produce a complete response (in case she doesn't catch on quick enough), we berate her for forgetting and say we'll go get it from the ship real quick and that he can wait here or come along if he wants (might work better if he thinks he can keep an eye on us. Not really hopeful though).

I'm putting the morse code option first because it seems like it has a better chance at working and if Fitz makes it he may be able to get the Imperium on these isolationist heretics and come rescue us. Though I'm not too optimist about that either.
With our heroines in a predicament at the hands of the smiley villain Karpov and his giant leeks, we leave the session here for tonight. Let's not forget, though, that rogue traders don't go out unarmed.

Tune your ship radio in again some unspecified time for the next session.
Another thing you have is the so-called "fuckup button". It transmits a text signal from the radio, which says verbatim "We fucked up, bail us out. Coords: [x] / [y]". It's for just this sort of situation.
Good to know!
Now we just need to find an excuse to hesitate at the edge of town long enough to get picked up.
>Go into the town

We should probably be playing it cool here. Yeah these guys are shady and mentioning the mining company was a bad move, but if we run we blow any chance we have to negotiate or make it seem like we're not here to evict them or can't be bought off. And if we push too hard, same thing.

We should keep the fuckup button close to hand, but I say we try to play it cool and imply (truthfully) that we have no real loyalty to the mining company.

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Last threads:

Quest Sheet:

The taste of death is sweet. Your former second in command gives final shriek of despair before collapsing to the floor dead.
While this victory tastes sweet it also reminds you of the fact that your seat of power WILL be contested. This bothers you not as your new found power shall grant you victory in these coming battles. You look upon your slain foe and ponder on what to do with him...

>reanimate the corpse of finch
>feed him to the other orcs
>eat him yourself
>write in
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That blows dude, don't stress yoself.
I'd rather wait for you to get better than have you keel over and leave the story unfinished.
Hope you get better m8. Just read up on the last thread and I'm kinda disappointed the Red Hand with smaller White hands didn't win.

Oh well. Isengard shall rise again!
>send orcs to capture wargs
Some mounted troops would be especially good right now, double so considering how viscious and awesome wargs are.

Hope you feel better soon, don't push yourself to write if you aren't feeling well.
Alright I'm gunna start writing tomorrow. Prepare for a large mountain of text to make up for the lost time

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Welcome to A Song of Revenge and Gold: House Malroy Quest. In which you take the reins of a House of storied glorious past since Aegon’s Conquering, but whose fortunes have taken a turn for the worse in the doom that Robert’s Rebellion brought. You are Brynden Malroy, second son to Lord Vamos Malroy and Lady Esemella Hayford and the last living heir to Steadhold and House Malroy. The year is 285AC, two years after the Rebellion and a year after your return to Westeros.

House Malroy is a pre-genned House designed around the idea of a story within the Crownlands of a House fiercely loyal to the Targaryens and their attempts to live in this new world after Robert’s Rebellion. Lord Brynden Malroy is as well pre-genned but will take direction from the players in his ways and how he develops himself further. This Quest will be moderately more story driven than others of its kind, but the development of the House and her lands will take just as much importance.

If you’ve played one of the many Quests within the ASoIaF setting the rules of the SIFRP system should be known. I will be using the Game of Thrones edition, as well as a few of the expansions namely OOSP and a few house rules which will be explained as we come to them. If you have questions about how things work or why certain actions are taken I can explain them as we go along. In truth this is a learning experience for me as well.

Google Documents Mastersheet:


Last Updated:
House Malroy
>9/18 - Lord Brynden Malroy
>2/25 - Military Units
>1/25 - House Malroy History, Holdings, & Household

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He's married to a lady who has a son. So she doesn't want any more kids. With is nice for our gay uncle
I guess that's the best that could have been.
Are we continuing tonight?
Father lies all the time I'm afraid
It's out of love though

He lies out of love

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Yet such belief is, in reality, a rule beset upon the Sansuis to keep them at bay- that a Fake
cannot exceed in the top capabilities of a human being, in any field whatsoever. This, of course,
is an absolutely massive fucking waste, given how Fakes can archive millimetric precision
by just turning a screw in their heads, or keep track of heavy numbers that would take whole
teams of humans to manage- and you best be paying well. The Second's higher ups are, of
course, aware of their capabilities. Letting the Sansuis make-a-Fake a few times over would,
of course, lead to insurrection. The Judges know this, the Sansuis know this; you know
this. So what happens, then, with all those cool tricks a Fake could pull? Well, they had to set
a middle ground. Some Fakes are a bit smarter, some a bit stronger, others are a bit
warmer than your average human. "As long as they don't dEKE," someone says on the
streets, "they can keep on doing my dishes".

Where you lack the brute strength of an Arma you've got the precision of a Fake, which is the
single most shared attribute in your kind since most people don't consider it to be dangerous.
Which may mean, as well, that Preah more than makes up for her lack of a GOG Gas.

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Oh God! Fuck! Shit! At least we may know shame now.
Going down the stairs is a hassle. While you don't lack the millimetric precision of a Fake,
you may be just a tad bit too strong compared to your average happy toaster. As for how you
managed to hurt her with her dEKE on, the answer is simple: "dynamic Elastic Kinetic
Field". "Elastic"; Lumina's dEKE was set to efficiency. It seems your average dEKE doesn't
last much longer than five or six minutes without hitting spares- long story short, Lumina is
grabbing onto your neck for dear life as you carefully descend into the pressurized chamber,
the filter between their tasty oxygen and the endless void all around.

Once through, you carefully place one step into the floor and then the other, making a point to
gain some distance from the ladder before turning around (since you don't feel the girl on
your back that much) until Legs comes retard-running from the corner, slips, and smashes his
head against the wall. You just look at the thing, even slightly amused. He even forgot to trigger
the dEKE.

And it's not long before team blonde caught up; Trash and Vaal calmly walk up to the semi

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"So the guy just saw the hornmother and went bat-shit crazy," Trash shrugs as she stares at
Hat and Legs, both yet again stuck in that white bed. "Cute-phobia must be a thing. Finding the
What now is a matter of life and death for some."

"The What isn't cute," Vaal blurts out, like a spoiled child. This must be the first time ever
you see Trash pouting; you'll frame this moment even if it's not important, just because it might
not happen again. Yet, the templar says not a word. You look over her shoulder; Roomba is
carefully cleaning Lumina's hand as the girl sits in a wooden chair. You make a point to ask
where the fuck does all that wood come from, later, some day when you remember. It doesn't
make any sense, though; you've got medicinal skills, Fake repairing skills, mechanical skills-
all skill that require the delicate touch of a surgeon. You wonder if your hand is as big as a
Sansui's skull. Lumina winks as you look at her, right when Toast is busy talking and cleaning
the wound.

"I recognize myself... astounded." It's the hat, from over Legs's head. "Wallace had never

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Got some kind of double posting glitch going on.
"Blankey only said it was disrespectful, she never said you where wrong. Anyways if you can tell me where... Butter, that was it! If you can tell me where Butter is then sure I'll go grab her, but I should probably put together an x-ray machine sooner rather than later to get a decent image of Lumina's hand. With any luck it's just a nasty cut and some hairline fractures. And getting her some pain-killers"

As far as I know Garterbelt-... I mean White Walker isn't around so that's me.

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Previous threads:

Last time, Krystal set out to reclaim the city of Diluvium, but first had to take care of Patches. Again.
Things went well enough, what with the spiders and spider miniboss and tribe of hostile daemonettes you'll have to face in gladiatorial combat to leave in peace.
>>1296534 #
Tsuyoi smiles.
"It's nice to meet you, too. Here, eat."
She places a bowl of stew in front of you and starts filling up her own.
You tentatively take a bite of a chunk of meat floating around. Pretty lean.
"I managed to kill a spider today, so I got to keep the extra."
Huh. She didn't really look like she could kill one of those things. Regardless, you have food. Even if it tastes weird. Well, the bright red plant stalks taste pretty good.
You place your hand on your wounds and channel a healing spell. You're topped off on energy, might as well.
Tsuyoi eats her stew and fidgets slightly, glancing at you every few seconds.

>[]Never seen a Sylph before?
>[]She's probably always like that. Ignore her and finish eating.
>[]When's the battle? I'd rather not be late.
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Lore bump.

"The city watch created these constructs as an extra measure against criminal activity. They are immune to bribes or threats, and cannot be knocked out, making them useful assets. The secret of their creation is a jealously-guarded secret, but theories include elementals--or worse, mortal souls--bound to suits of armor."

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Welcome to Phase Quest! You live in New Autumn City, a place of hope, of freedom, and a promise of a better future- just not for you. You are a super, imprisoned on this island to keep the “mundanes” of the outside world safe. In fact, the whole city is inhabited by supers.

You are Tyler Fortune, a plucky college student with the power of luck and chaos spheres. Last we left off, you were trying to save your friend Mark from mysteries punk gangsters called the Razors. You teamed up with members of another gang called the Jets, and a mysterious vigilante that you are certain is your friend Kathryn from school.

I'm planning on writing a character/gang list, will post it when I finish.

Twitter: twitter.com/JayOrDanny

Info Doc: http://pastebin.com/s9sYXbzt

Thread Archive: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=Phase+Superhero+Quest

Tyler Chaos Sphere chart: http://pastebin.com/7pHYcMq3

PHASE Quest Soundtrack: https://open.spotify.com/user/jayordanny/playlist/6ddVLSL4y6LnJJQMrtS4ZV

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Long brown hair tied into a ponytail with glasses, if that helps.
Oh shit, totally forgot an important detail. Writing.
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Oh, and remember. Quantum is always watching,” he states severely, before he shoots you his familiar smile again, “so we’re always there to help.”

As you head toward the exit, you make eye contact with a man leaning against a support column. He wears a purple jacket with a fur collar, and has an eyepatch over his left eye. He flips a quarter, watching you as you leave.
Okay, now I'm done. Probably. Thanks for reading!
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I bet she frequents libraries- lets waifu her.

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This world is a world full of magic. Each living creature possess magic and many can harness its power to use in daily life. This has led to the world being full of strife and challenge. The strong rule the weak and the weak serve the strong. You are one with the potential to be strong, but will you be able to reach it and guide your nation to victory while you do so?

Welcome to Magical Civilization Quest. In this quest you shall do your best to lead your nation to victory in a world full of magic and fantastical creatures. Last time things continued to go well. You began to organize things in the village, fought the light mage again, had a son, and meet two new powerful faces. All of that was interrupted by a roaring beast in the settlement. Here is a link to the archive.

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Rolled 5, 71 = 76 (2d100)


“Angelica get Tiberius and the troops”, you shout to her as you grab your gun, “We will need them to help put this beast down.”

She nods and heads off to get the guard. As she does that the creature makes his move. It fires a purple blast of energy at you. You quickly duck out of the way and fire a shot off at the creature. In response to your attack the creature slithers out of the way.

“Don’t worry I got this”, says Thomas charging the creature.

It fires off small blasts of acid at Thomas, but he just dashes out of the way. The flames from his body streak off as he dashes towards the creature. He then grabs two knives from behind his back and continues his charge. Thomas then leaps on to the snake and runs his blades down the creature’s side. The creature screams out and tries to retaliate, but Thomas dodges out of the way in time.

Roll 1d100+10

Attack with gun

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The creature appears to absorb magic such as Angelica acid and poison let's heal it so it'll shoot breath weapon heals
Rolled 17 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

Forgot roll
Well I shall return tomorrow. Questions and feedback? I would also be interested in seeing what people think of the songs or any song suggestions.
Rolled 60 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>I. Curse: pain
Thank you for running.

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Four hundred some odd years ago, Harwyn Hoare granted a dark, cold piece of swampland to Darvin Blackett. Blackett, a raider and warrior of some renown, took this as a personal insult. His revenge was twofold: Firstly, his family aligned with the Mallisters of Seagard, turning into a longstanding opposition to the Ironborn raiders, the Riverlands' very own leashed saltborn murderers. Secondly, his family has set about becoming some of the most skilled and influential governers in history. Oh, they're not well remembered, few outside personal allies and friends recall their names and deeds, but everyone knows about the Blue Canal. Dug by Logar Blackett, the canal lengthened the Blue Fork, creating a deep crossing to allow trade to flow east and west through Westeros, instead of having to take the long route down around Dorne.

Now, your family has had a long and storied history, but that's not something to worry about right now. Right now, you are Lord Vickon Blackett, and you've just seen your guests all on their way. Finally. You are not the game playing sort of lord, no, you're the fighting and warring sort. Thus, the feast you held was... trying. It had a few good points, though. A Freyspawn, Merrett you think his name was, tried to drunkenly challenge you in your own home, insulting your wife-to-be and daughter both. Breaking his teeth and his sword both felt very, very good. What also felt pretty nice was having your wife-to-be, Mariya Darry, hanging off your arm the whole rest of the event. It made you feel... young, again. Like you're making the right choice in moving on. The inspection of the gathered warships for the first patrol along the coast went off without a hitch, and you had friendly words with several young lords and knights about working together in the future.

And now, you move on to business. Your wedding is next month, but this month you still have war games with your neighbor and protege, Ser Willar Silverwood.

But... wait. Are you Lord Vickon Blackwood?
>Vickon (Terrifying Tyrant Trains Troops Terrificaly on The Blue)
>Bethany (Stealthy Salty Sailors Sneak Into The Wrong Neighborhood)

>I'm back, gents. Praise be to waifus who can afford to buy you nice things, like charging cords!
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>Timeskip on?
Sorry, guys! Someshit happened. Tourneystarts tomorrow!

but she's annoying anon....

anyway, can't wait for the marriage and tourney

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This is Boruto Quest, a quest set in the universe of Naruto. It is during the generation of Naruto's son after everyone has graduated from their Genin exam. I haven't kept up with the series beyond the end of the original one, so this one is intended to recapture the feel of that time of Naruto. I will not be incorporating the main show or the Boruto movie's plot into the quest, although some recognizable characters will be present. You play as a 13 year old Chunin named Takeshi. You have been assigned a Jounin squad leader named Hanto, and your two squadmates are Kichiro, a young delinquent, and Ai, a strange social outcast of a girl. You are of average skill in most aspects, although your sharp intelligence, and your jack of all trades skill set have brought you far. You're a Chunin of notable talent for your age. You're on your way to the hospital, after sparring with a friend. In a fever dream, a crucial moment of an enemy is relived.
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I think it'd be the 5th Shinobi World War by now? Shit's crazy.
>ninja war number I-don't-remember
nevr 5get
Tbh it's looking like the real threat is just the general fact that Naruto's plan for peace is never going to fucking work and the world will inevitably descend back into war.
I expect terrorists in abundance and multiple enemy factions.

I thought *we* were Dante.

Though, I notice another similarity: He's as much of an old-school ninja as we are. Or he was at one point, anyway. That's the vibe I got from this flashback. Though maybe we already knew that and I just forgot.
It's highly unlikely your fight with Shozuku won't be 1 v 1, but it's possible to have Ai with you.

I thought this would be #116 but someone pointed out i got the numbers wrong again, so its 115 instead.

As usual, let me know when you are here, guys.

Previous thread


"It got eaten..." -says Portia with a sigh as the probe is destroyed shortly after being swallowed by the gigantic [ERROR]

Lyann holds and gently caresses our adopted little sister's hand, calming her down while looking towards us for help.

"That's alright." -we say calmly- "As it is, it will probably be weeks before we make even a dent on the data we got from it. This is a historical achievement."
"It is, it is." -reinforces Dawn as she pulls over a chair for us

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>>Let's work in armor, light but thick enough to endure the acid in their atmosphere
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>>Let's work in armor, light but thick enough to endure the acid in their atmosphere

Just mentioning, this is the armored vehicle approach to armor, basically.

Anyway, just got back home, will continue the thread tomorrow.


"Hm. So we should experiment with materials until we find the ideal cost-to-protection ratio. Steel, mithril, adamantite, dragon scales and enchanted crystal come to mind. Do you have any suggestions?" - Okaba crosses his arms as he starts pondering about materials.


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>>...how about glassteel. Its light, transparent, and resiliant. Its been in production for a while, so its cost effective.
>Other: I will seek the Empress and General Li's permission to provide the XCOM Project access to some of the Empire's latest alloys
>...my cousin's friend is working on spidersilk as an alloy's base, we should look into that.
Oh, and include
>...how about glassteel. Its light, transparent, and resiliant. Its been in production for a while, so its cost effective.
It's still considered state of the art magitech on the Eastern and Western Continents, since only the Empress, General Li, and certain key personnel know of Palladium.

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>Don't judge me, this is my first quest and I'm not a good artist, so all the pics will come from Google. I'm sorry. Not really.

Mining. It's all you've known. From what you remember from your past lives, all the way up to the present, it's all you've ever known. And, according to the rest of the Colony, it's all that you will ever know. The *Bang**Bang**Bang*'s of a Oxide Pickaxe mining away at precious minerals, all the way up to now, where you're busy drilling through the heavy rock of the supergiant planet that you've lived on all your life. It's quite sad, you realize, as you look back on it.

You were born to a small couple. Poor, desolate, and going against the Federation's orders that unauthorized childbirth was absolutely NOT tolerated. Unfortunately you were given the sigil of The Miners. The Rock Dwellers. Or most commonly referred to as, The Slaves, or The Dust Under The Federation's Boots.

You however, feel misplaced. You're not horrible at mining, not even close. You bring in more ores, gems, and useful materials than most of the other Miners combined. You've even found a few unidentified materials, but those were claimed by Federation Guards, in order for them to get a pay rise at your expense.

You just feel....Different, is the best way to put it, you decide. I mean, you don't think of yourself as the type of human to live underground, feeding on the scraps of others.

You consider yourself to be....
>Educated, and much smarter than any of the other slag spitting Miners.
>Extremely Fit, with enough strength and muscle to break a massive Iron Ore Boulder into dust.
>Regal, like you have some unknown ties to your ancestors, some of which weren't filthy Slaves, but Federalist Captains.
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>Extremely Fit
>>Extremely Fit, with enough strength and muscle to break a massive Iron Ore Boulder into dust.
>Extremely Fit.

Of course! How could anyone not notice your rippling muscles. You've got more strength than all the other Miners, which explains why you've topped the charts every time. You're the uncontested king when it comes to mining, and your expertise and natural ability precedes you.

You notice a man approach you with the usual basket you receive every month. Of course, the only thing it contains is an extra loaf of bread for you and your family to eat until the next ranking (If you had a family, which you don't.)

You pull out the loaf of bread and notice that, unlike all the other baskets you get, is a note. You see these notes passed around by the Federalists, bright orange, with all sorts of numbers and letters and such. Credits. The "Key to the Kingdom." so to speak. You look at the other Miners, and shove it into your pocket before anyone sees.

"Hey kid." You see a robust guard walk up to you. "We've all noticed. You've done extremely well for the empire. Collecting ores and such. You topped the charts every single time. Congrats. Considering we only see your ID Number, what's your name? What do the other miners call you?"

>Well, What is it?

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Hello, all.

A while ago I hosted a Civilization /qst/ about some Kobolds in the ruins. Unfortunately it never got too far into things, as I had to leave and take some time off for health reasons. But now I'm more or less bed rest and would like to host another game again.

This is how I run things:

-We will be in the shoes of an individual member of whatever society is chosen, running things and facing challenges in a roleplay-type manner. The first selection of BOTH race and location that reaches three votes (or two if /qst/ is as slow as I remember) will be chosen. I will then assign a number to each race and location and roll to determine four major other civilizations, and five other 'tribes' of sorts. They will be encountered at random.

-I post images that I draw of these things. I'm not a perfect artist but there will be images of layouts, maps, and things with detail that are important.

-THERE WILL BE COMBAT ROLLINGS IF THAT ROAD IS TAKEN. Weapons will be addressed as they come, as will buffs and negatives. Combat won't be a big part of this, but it will most likely play some role.

-All players will roll on 4chan, but I will roll on a separate website (rolz.org) that keeps track of the rolls. I will let you know when rolling is required.

This is my second time hosting a civ game, so it will have some bumps, but I'm very excited to begin.

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>B. “Maybe we should just forget this, Vetheren.”
fuck you Thendrin
(I'll try to be a little more brief so things will move a bit faster. I do enjoy giving players lots of options, though, and having many routes to take.)

“The weather is precisely why we need to send out a search team.” You interject. “We can't abandon one of our own in the middle of a blizzard.”

Thendrin looks between the two of you, then lets out a low, growl-like hum. “Very well, if that's what you want. But you need to take at least one more person with you for safety.” He walks over to a small box in the room, and upon opening it the same smell of fruits and meats comes wafting out. “As well as some weapons for your defense. You two do know how to hold a bow steady, don't you?” You've had some experience with a bow and arrows, and even though you're no master like this man was you can certainly hit your target. Vetheren nods.

“Alright.” Thendrin takes out several dried slices of fruit and then sits at the ice-carved table. “My men are usually in the public dome on their days off guard duty. Unless you'd like to bring someone else along.” He waves you away, and you and Vetheren leave with the same uneasiness.

“...I know where they keep the ranged equipment for common defense.” Vetheren says, shattering the awkward silence. “It's just in case of an emergency, so we won't have to bring out any special weapons. As for the third member...” He trails off, thinking to himself. “...I suppose we should try to find one of Elder Thendrin's men. They're well-trained in these situations.”

You agree, and both of you head towards the common area. An opening has been shoveled clean from snow, and inside the dome-d building you can smell the aroma of sweet ale and smoked meats. You enter a little more eagerly, and find that despite the storm a fair amount of people have shown up. There are several of your tribesmen, grouped around a small fire and drinking mugs of fruit wine. You catch sight of a few guards off-duty, telling stories and sharing experiences. You also see a few of your own team from the night before, including Letharos who has a grin plastered on his face and a half-eaten chunk of elk meat in his hand.

You decide to approach one of these two groups first.

A. Approach Thendrin's men.

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>A. Approach Thendrin's men.
A. Approach Thendrin's men.

I have a question which is when are we going to do more civ like stuff. Right now it looks like we're mostly just doing small time stuff. Not that I have a problem with this excellently written personal quest but I expect more stuff like making decisions affecting the whole village.

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