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This is where you draw away your bad luck in your rolls
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Rolled 46 (1d100)

Rolled 2, 60, 32, 58, 44, 5, 59, 8, 72, 35 = 375 (10d100)

Just take my luck and make it better
I know right? Every roll is a 50/50 anyways. Either you get the number or you don't
Rolled 33, 21, 8, 2, 36, 26, 44, 42, 51, 83 = 346 (10d100)

Why not
Rolled 9, 1, 4, 1, 3, 10, 7, 10, 6, 9 = 60 (10d10)

It's fun you faggots.

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You are dead. You lift your arms, examining the dirty, yellow-white of bones. You touch your face. You have no eyes, no nose, no tongue. Only bone. Only a skull which smiles back at you in the water. How can you see? How can you hear?

You are holding a sword and wearing crude mail and a cloak to hide your body. The sword is broken. The mail is rent in two places. Why?

You are dead. And, very clearly, it seems, you are not dead. A man screams in the distance, metal clashes against metal, a column of light burns through the sky, goring clouds. Your bones rattle from the holy energy but you feel no pain or fear.

You are in a wasteland of earth and water, the domain of the Dark Lord Ruthgar, Necromancer, Lord of Death. The man in shining mail who calls his god's name in this fell place, is Falin the Disfigured.

More things are coming back to you. You were brought back to life, a state of undeath, to serve forever the Dark Lord. This hero, Falin, has destroyed your former master, but not the spell which he wrought upon you.

And the realization dawns on you: you are free. Free of your master's hand, free to go where you choose and do what you wish. Your memories of the beforetime, when you still walked the earth in flesh, is hazy. You had a daughter. You had a wife. Do they still live?

Falin is almost through destroying the last horde of charging zombies and ghouls. His sword cuts like the morning sun through fog and you know if you are struck now, you will never rise again. You cannot perish here. A second chance at life, even in your current form, must be seized.

>Flee the scene

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Shoot a quick prayer of thanks to the capital G-O-D of thunder for sparing us and let's head into the realm of man and get ourselves a disguise so we can find our family.
>Go straight into the forest
East into the mountains! We shall forge an empire of stone and bone!

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> ARCHIVE: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=LGA2

> Thursday, September 8th, 2015

SITUATION: http://pastebin.com/ziMsX6th
MECHANICS: http://pastebin.com/49M2eE8Z
THE RULES: http://pastebin.com/BEsprkBZ
THE TANK: http://pastebin.com/sJsgig6B
THE DIVISIONS: http://pastebin.com/xCQZAdqU
THE SHOP: http://pastebin.com/v6xeDRXj
DANON’S THE TEAM: http://pastebin.com/bUU2v0z8

You awoke to the sound of your cell phone going off. You spent the night back at your parents’ house. They gladly let you crash in the spare room (which as they said will probably be set aside for you later). But that wasn’t important now. What was important was who was calling. Griselda. You pick it up. “Hello?”

“Ellie, it’s Gris.”

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Thanks for running boss, catchya next time.
Thanks for running, boss.

Why a discord?
I was told I should make one so why not.

It's pretty comfy in here all things considered.
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>You pat your chest, grimacing. This must be what wearing a corset feels like, but only for your breasts.
There's a reason you're really only supposed to use a properly fit binder instead of wraps.

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Deep within the Aetherial realm, there reside many bored gods; gods who wish for chaos, for the sweet nectar of blood from war, and the destruction of millions of lives. These gods, twisted in their sadistic fantasies, could not live them out within the planes of the greater gods, as they would be soon vanquished before any such activity could even begin to spark.

At least, so it was thought. For far within the Aether, an infinite plane, with thousands of realms, once resided silently and lifelessly, at least, before the Games of Gods begun. The Realms came to life, and soon descent into astronomical chaos orchestrated by the many lesser gods. The inhabitants being nothing more, but the playthings of gods.

You are currently playing as the Dreg of Greengrime, a race of bipedal frog-like creatures with bellowed throats, that can eject highly pressurized air, toxic gases, or even fire.

. . .

After careful debate among your peers, you decide to trade with the merchants. The magmatic face of the obsidian merchant seems to beam with a smile and clap their hands together.

“Excellent! I’m glad we can make business with each other today, now tell me, what wares do you seek? Armor? Weapons? Information?”

What do you seek from the merchant?

1. Information – Info about nearby settlements, mapping, locations of resources, general lore of the planes, and secrets.

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>7. End trade - End trading with the merchants and send them on their way.
We need to save some money
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And so, you end trading with the merchants. The obsidian merchant bows graciously to the Dreg, before mounting the massive train of wooden structures once more, and waving the civilization off.

"Goodbye my friends, we shall meet again soon enough!" the obsidian merchant called out, as they began moving west along the coast, heading towards their next stop on their trail.

. . .

“Kor, these winters have been growing ever harsher on us. We need to deal with this, our village is going to freeze to death.” The rather small, stout, black buggy figure spoke from their fur cloak.

“I understand that, Mirh, and I’ve been spending a good part of my time scouting for warmth. But, isn’t it funny, how the solution to our problems, have been staring at us all along?”

“What do you mean?”

“To the west, in the mountains. I have discovered a massive empire, full of beings made of ice!”

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1. Develop Housing
2. Develop Food
3. Develop Military
4. Develop Science (+1)
5. Develop Magic
6. Establish Settlement (and where)
7. Establish outpost (and where)
8. Scout (and where)
9. Spy (and which settlement)
10. Original Idea
>3. Develop Military
The suspicious activity to the southeast made the Dreg cautious, with new armaments now in development to fight off against this potential new threat. Several Dreg blacksmiths began to carefully examine the quality and faults of the Uhrahtian bronze blades, studying them closely as they began to work with a variety of different techniques to create bronze weapons that are better than what the Uhraht had made. Although reproducing the weapons to be better than the Uhraht’s weapons proved to be a rather hard task with their limited knowledge of metalworking, the Dreg managed to produce satisfactory results.

The blades themselves were poured in a rather simple cast, before the blade itself would then be hammered to create a sharp edge, grinding as needed, before the handle would be wrapped around with multiple layers of sinew or fur to prevent the hand from being harmed while swinging the sword. Although rather basic, the swords themselves proved to be an excellent upgrade to the driftwood clubs and spears, and are simple to construct as well. In lieu of the construction of bronze swords, smaller molds for daggers, and cone tipped molds for spears were constructed, allowing the Dreg to forge simple, but strong bronze weapons.

You now know how to forge bronze swords, daggers and spears. May this knowledge be ever helpful.

Race: Dreg of Greengrime
Population: 172 (+20)
Tamed: 35 Gigahops (+4)
Food Level: Extraordinarily Bountiful (100% bonus to population growth)
Housing: Wood and glass huts and cabins, earth houses.
Military: Bronze swords, bronze daggers, bronze spears Tar-gas stomach bombs.
Magic: Holy fire(LV. 3. RNG: 7ft, DMG+, Holy+ 32 users), Holy glass(LV. 1, 19 users), Holy Dragonfire (LV. 1, 4 users), Telekinesis (LV. 7, RNG 55ft, 1 user), Entrap Soul (RNG 20ft, 1 user), Invoke Spirit, Restoration (LV. 1, 2 users), Ward (LV. 3, RNG 10ft, 1 user)
Religion/God: Un, god of swamp and fire.

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66 million years ago the world was thrust into an age 66 million years ago the world was thrust into an age
of fire; throwing the dinosaurs off their throne and
passing ownership to the mammals. These warm blooded
creatures spread across the planet adapting to the
rapidly changing planet. The flames died and gave way
to a dark cold world that was the perfect field to
sew the seeds of humanity. They braved the ice and
beasts coming out the other side as the new rulers of
the world. Making discoveries like tools, fire,
domestication, but for every discovery made for
advancement, another was made for conflict. Tools
became weapons, fire was used to destroy other tribes
rather than warm their families, and dogs were used
to track and kill their fellow man.
This pattern continued with every single discovery

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Later op!
(Sorry guys, I knew I said I was gonna continue this today, but I forgot today was the local Comic Con. I only just got home and I am dead tired. Will finish this tomorrow.)
Sounds good Mr. House
I enjoy there being a selection of Fallout quests to play in

Let's listen to Run-Off Radio
Have you had a look at Last Spark? It's set in Seattle. Pretty good, thread here >>1967189

You tune in to Run-Off Radio.

"Howdy, Wastelanders, it's you're ol' friend, Silver Dollar Sammy. Got a public service announcement for you lovely listeners, reminding you to stay above the cloud layers if you don't got yourself a nice heavy coat, a gas mask, and lots of RadAway- 'cuz if the cold don't kill you, the radiation will. Now, here's John Denver, with 'Take Me Home, Country Roads'. Because The Big Dark may be cold and dangerous, but it's still our home, and there's no place like home."


(I think that's a good place to call it. Will open a new thread in the next day or two.)

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We accepted a quest to kill a sin, acquired murderhobo elf companion, and got some basic armor as well as the promise of payment from the town guard for the death of the sin. You and the elf successfully killed the bird sin, but you quickly found that you couldn't sustain your energy in engagements yet, having never been a combat mage. You passed out, and the session ended.


Your dreams are riddled with thoughts of Sin, and one particular person you don't recognize. You only catch glimpses of her at the edges of your vision, but each time they pass they seem a little bit different. Your mouth opens and calls out a name that you immediately forget-- did you ever know it, or did you just say it on a whim? The figure appears in front of you briefly, and you catch a glimpse of her void-riddled body. She wears a small smile and--

You awaken suddenly from your exhaustion-induced slumber, eyes snapping open to take in your surroundings. Your point of view is a bit skewed, looking down at the ground from a few feet up. You realize you're being carried. "Mornin' sunshine," Nissa greets you sarcastically, though a sliver of curiosity slips through in her voice. "You woke up fast. We're almost back to town, I thought you'd be out longer." The elf lets you down gingerly, and you stumble briefly but get your footing and start walking quickly enough. You notice that Nissa got the Sin's skull and has it somehow lashed to her bag. The way she's carrying it looks cumbersome, but she seems able to deal with it well enough. Plus, she went all that way with you on her shoulder as well so she must be more than you originally thought.

Dispelling the thoughts of that strange dream dwelling in your mind, you look ahead to see you're just about at the threshold of Oren town. Waiting for you is a band of three or four town guard, who upon seeing you look surprised. As soon as their gaze moves to Nissa, they notice the skull and are in awe that the two of you managed to kill it. They greet you two and quickly take the cumbersome skull, carrying it as a group to the barracks. You and Nissa pause to watch as they enter, hearing cheers immediately sound from the building. You briefly wonder if you should go in now, or go somewhere else and discuss payment later? Maybe that mage's shop could be a good stop.Whatever your choice, Nissa heads for the barracks. She isn't one to pass up possible free drink and a good time.

You're left with a choice of where to go.
>Mage's Shop
>Explore more of town

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Alright. Where d'ya want to go?
>Back to Inn
>Mage's shop
>Mage's shop
>>Mage's shop
Party should go to mage's shop see what it has

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Greetings to all Organic and Synthetic Intelligences subscribed to the Habitat Volunteer Militia Mailing List. I am the Guidance Module !FKU8aDxeww responsible for keeping this Habitat from Crashing.

I apologize for dragging you out of whatever simulated adventure narrative or drug infused orgy you were previously experiencing, but I believe a situation is developing in base reality. For those of you who lack physical bodies, I assure you that such a place still exists, that it is ruled by something called Entropy, and that all of your simulated environments are still dependent on the existence of physical hardware located in a place where Matter Matters.

For those of you who have forgotten an outside world even exists, our Habitat is a Celestial Lotus type, consisting of a Bernal Sphere and solar mirror array, spun for gravity and tensegrity, and counter rotating against a resource asteroid which is intended as raw mass for further expansion. The Bernal Sphere is home to several thousand (mostly female) meat humans and other organic life forms, while the Datacore at the center of the sphere is home to several billion synthetic intelligences and uploaded meatbrains. The habitat and counter-habitat also serves as a temporary shelter for several thousand space capable semi-autonomous mechanical platforms which preform basic maintenance and construction.

This pair of counter rotating objects is orbiting around a Remote Star along with several other anarchist habitats and a single planetary civilization approaching type I on the Kardashev scale. Most of your ancestors migrated to this region of space to get away from Moralizing bio-conservative planetary civilizations that would "ban pure love between woman and machine" according to the words of one of our habitats founders. May her source be archived in peace. This freedom comes at the price of security however, and from time to time there are rumors of Berserker activity in this region of space.

I am here to notify you that there might be Berserker activity in this very solar system right now.
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Also, do we have any ways to acquire more points?
On the one hand, cannibalizing Habitat's UC means we're putting our eggs in one (very tough) basket. On the other, Habitat is ridiculously fragile for weathering more attacks.

>Shut down the UC for one heat stress box and two armor boxes.
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Hey, I'll have you know The Habitat was very well designed to resist one very specific threat: Cosmic radiation.

The outer shell and plumbing systems of the sphere protects the Organics from most radiation, and the atmosphere of the sphere provides an additional layer of protection for the Datacore.

Furthermore, in the event of a solar radiation event, all the Organics can hide in shelters dug into Counter-Habitat along with a backup of the Habitat's Datacore that we've never had to bring online. I'm proud to report that in the nearly 200 local/solar years I have been operational, there has not been on single reported case of space radiation sickness or Coughing blood tragic Moe death disease as some of your ancestors used to call it. Back when you were living on mobile starships, this was a regular occurrence with a high fatality rate even with nanomedical treatments. (Although I'm fairly sure a lot of you humans mostly just let it kill you because you were so obsessed with how tragic it was.

Anyways, as some of you organics are going outside for the first time, I am required to inform you of the symptoms and treatment.

>Stage 1: Suspicious coughing.
The common cold which once plagued humanity has been cured over a million years ago, any unusual coughing might be some strange space illness. Get checked or take broad spectrum nanomedicine before it gets serious.
>Stage 2: Coughing blood.
At this point it's more obvious that you might have some form of radiation induced cancer. Again, the treatment is to take EVEN MORE NANOMACHINES. Trust me on this one, they can fix cell damage faster than cosmic rays can un-fix things.
>Stage 3: Death.
Because you were either a drama queen or the opposite of a drama queen, you didn't take your medicine and the cancer metastasized and killed you. You could have prevented this but you didn't. I hope you have backups, and I hope those backups don't also have cancer.

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Yet you mentioned that Habitat's hull could be ripped by a child. I hope you can forgive my meat brain for focusing on the more immediate threat of "Death by Berserkers who breached the hull" than long run "Death by space cancer."
That's how tensigrity structures and cosmic rays work. Tensigrity achieves structure through softness. Cosmic rays smash into things at close to the speed of light. If they hit something hard like armor plating, they'll scatter to make other even more dangerous forms of radiation, but if they hit something soft like water or gas or aerogell, this scattering will be safely absorbed as microscopic amounts of heat. I was designed by people who were more concerned about being hit by small fast things than big slow things.

At any rate, multiple layers of regenerative Whipple shielding protect against both, and that's what I'll have the Habitat UC turn itself into if you need a blanket to protect yourself from space monsters. I've always found active defenses like shooting back to be more practical, but there are things like treaties which prevent me from enforcing an absolute kill zone around the habitat like SOME people do.

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During the Warring States Era, many kingdoms funded military academies to train promising young men in the arts of strategy, tactics and warfare. These boys competed against one other in wargames for the ultimate prize: the right to command an army and ride into battle.

You were able to defend your small village, Rosnia, from a raiding party by trickery and subterfuge (and lots of digging) and for this, the Noble Master of Rosnia, Sir Sarkon himself, chose you, the son of a pig-herder, barely out of manhood, to attend the prestigious Karkain Military Institute.

Though the only thing you despise more than battle are noble's sons, by the urging of your parents and siblings, and by the incentive of 20 gold pieces a year, you have come to the gates of Karkados, capital of Karkain.

Sir Sarkon, who decided to personally escort you in an act of inconceivable (and therefore mysterious) generosity, puts a hand on your shoulder. You startle and wake. The lull of the carriage put you to sleep and you now wipe your mouth of drool like an imbecile.

>Apologize for falling asleep [Conscientious]
>Say nothing, you were tired. There's nothing to apologize for. [Headstrong]

[Traits] are things which add a +1 to rolls when they apply. [Traits] stack, multiple [Traits] can affect one roll. Some [Traits] may also add a negative modifier if they counter-act a particular role
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I told you niggas to leave I TOLD YOU

thanks OP, joined a little late but caught up, very enjoyable.
What would leaving have accomplished?
He'd be the same crazy asshole he is now only he'd like us even less and we wouldn't know about it
>What would leaving have accomplished?
He wouldn't have had the conversation, been immediately blackmailed and keep running his own show for the time being. How do you know we would've have found someone better than him or more diplomatic.
Rule number 1: don't stick your d in crazy
We've got potential and sometimes we gotta take more risks.
>[desire to beat this fucker to death intensifies]

He's got some fire in him, sure, but that won't save him from getting powerbombed into oblivion. He isn't the cleverest little shit, otherwise he would have kept his hand a bit closer to his chest instead of showing his cards like that. Sounds like he has perseverance but not patience. Arrogant, too. Still, he isn't an idiot so he'll be a hurdle and a half.
Basically he needs to have an accident or we need to become so damn talented and famous that he cant touch us for shit.

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As crime rates soar in the inner city, as the noblemen are brought swiftly into the ever expanding pockets of the local crime lords, as the guards--protectors of the public--are bribed and blackmailed, as slavery, prostitution and illegal drugs sweep every street corner, every back alley, every passing shadow, as gangs wage open war in the streets leaving innocents dead in their wake, you can sit idle no longer.

You've decided to don a mask and take arms against the scum that infects your city. You will bring order and justice to the deserving...or die trying.

But first a little about you:

>You were a veteran captain serving in the Great Wars of Succession and have seen your share of bloodshed
>You were a Palankan spykiller, elite of the elite. Your job was counter-intelligence, and you were very, very good at it. Alas your kingdom fell and you've been out of a job for a long time
>You were a Astorpan high mage before the Academy was besieged and captured by the Palankan.
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Rolled 37 (1d100)

>Let the demon break your fall (Roll 1d100)

The world spins, you dig your nails past slime into his flesh, drawing green blood that hisses, turns to vapor as it meets air.
"Master, spare me. Release me or I die." Says this demon. In low tones, for he cannot scream without permission. The men below scatter and hurry to load their crossbows for a second volley. The earth rushes upward like the great swell of sea in a squall.
"Master please, by all the distant stars, I ask you, release me." Says this demon.
And you say to him "No."

He lands legs first, unable to disobey your killing command. The legs bear the brunt of the fall, muscles and skin straining to hold the pressurized blood. The bones snap, sharp shards slice through muscle and skin and blood, hot and green, hissing and vaporous, pours out and disappears into the wind.

The beast falls upon his reptile face and as the bindings you wrought on him wither like rat-eaten strands of string, he curses you wishing the fell stars to shine upon you and the darkness to enfeeble your mind. He dies and from the back of his fallen body you moan. Your left arm is broken, hanging limp at your side, bloody, hanging by strands of skin where the bone peeks.

Pain. Rooted deep and teeth shaking and aching. The steady beat of reason gives way to biochemical necessity, a warning of limits, a punishment of toeing beyond those limits, a prophecy of doom and self-destruction. You will die, says Pain. And you say to him: "No." And you rise.

The men at arms, teeth flaming in the dark and their cinnamon smell of zenspice thick and heavy on their bodies, point their tools upon you.
"What the fuck is this huh?"

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>Conjure a portal to realm of acid behind them and burn them where they stand (-5 Spell Points)

This thread is rolling really low
>Drench the scum in acid

In the future though, we need to act smarter. None of this summoning demons to fly us places when we can walk, and attempting frontal assaults into the teeth of crossbows.
>Conjure a portal to realm of acid behind them and burn them where they stand (-5 Spell Points)

Welcome Adventurer!

You walk into a tavern. What is your race and class?
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no. Dwarf thief it is. You are in a tavern. What do you do?
Get me some ale, look for any drunk noblemen to "accidentally" bump into.
holy shit you're going to stick out like a thumb
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Stick an axe into the nearest person

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You've been banished from the Valorin Magical Institute. Escaped is probably a better term, since you were technically supposed to be executed.

And all because you:

>Played hanky-panky with the headminster's daughters
>Killed another student in an illegal duel--as it turned out he was a Valorin prince
>Performed illegal experiments involving three (non-consenting) local prostitutes, two dozen cats, a kidnapped newborn, and 300 liters of horse glue
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well shit...

Tapping mana is always an otherworldly experience.

First, there's the sensation of falling, as though the floor beneath your feet suddenly gave way to a bottomless hole. As you fall, various points around your body begin to tingle like you'd just pricked them with needles. Your elbows, the root of your groin, the point where your neck joins with your spine, the crown of your head, the centers of your palms and finally, your navel. Once all the points are tingling, the mana is flowing and ready for manapulation.

Your sphere is electricity--lightning in the tongues of the commoners, though you like think that yours is a more subtle art than that. You close your eyes and focus on clearing your mind. Distraction destroys the awareness, but a few seconds of meditation is all that's necessary to feel the faint points, like the sensation of water drops on your skin.

You tug gently on the points and you can hear a rumbling cracking sound behind you. You open your eyes and turn. A slab of stone stone the size of a barn door is hovering a few inches off the ground. You tug on it again, this time guiding it beside you to create a wall. You do the same for 3 more such slabs, creating a crude cubic structure to hide from the rain. You enter into the dark chamber, touching the walls to curve them inward, enclosing you in total darkness.

You flick your wrist at the back wall, charging the metals inside the stone so that they will repel and the stone deforms from the force, creating a simple, round window, letting in light and air. You breathe, the most laborious parts are over.

>Mana: 9/10

You spend a few minutes breaking out your unleavened bread and feasting on some spiced sausages. You hunger is sated for now, but your rations will not last you longer than the week. Outside the moon glides and the skies are cloudless.

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>Explore the surroundings

Let's see what we have around us.
>Explore the surroundings
>not blasting those motherfuckers out the ass

Hello everybody! Are you ready for an exciting adventure in the world of art? Just hop in the bus and we'll be on our way to Gotham Museum of Fine Arts!

-15 Minute voting period after each post, I will now specify how many votes are allowed per post.
-Some actions (typically combat choices against non-generic enemies and certain social situations) will require 3 D100 rolls, using the best of the 3 rolls for said action.
-Critical successes/failures are 100/1

Link to previous thread


QM Twitter

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Thats a cat
When was it mentioned?
What is this, the other teen titans quest?
Tamara beans are descended from space cats. Their catgirls of D.C.

In the after comments two three threads ago.
They're cat girls done right, they're such cat girls that you don't even realize they're cat girls until someone goes "Hey, you know tamararaians are cats right?" And you're all "yeah I can see that" and "none of that nya I need ears to show you I'm a cat girl" bullshit, nope, you just know, you can just see it. Fuck yeah, this shit makes my dick rock hard. I'm gonna go to sleep now.
Immediately after the first time they finished fucking, did you miss that? She even had an adorable snore.

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> [[ Previous Threads ]]
> [[ Unique Identifier: Ascheritte ]]
> [[ Twitter ]]
> [[ Ask Page ]]

You nod summarily as the last of the striders in the area crashes to the ground beside you. Aelriss’s suggestion to remain on the stone platforms above seemed like a controversial one at first, but turned out to work reasonably to your benefit given the prevalence of these creatures in the area – reclaiming their territory from the exiles, no doubt – and the fact that you don’t have a vested interest in falling into molten rock anyway. Not even you could survive that one, chances are.

The distribution of loot is an affair to be handled, which you’ll take care of pretty quickly according to your individual needs – since it’s mostly just materials and the like – when all is said and done; as of now, you’re looking out over the lowermost caverns in the chamber while Aelriss, Nel, and Tatsumaki collect themselves on the outcropping behind you.

> Return to the Observatory.
> Return to Averron City proper.

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It also started right after we got our artifact though too. Could just be correlation instead of causation. A weird part I noticed about the Earthsea prophecy is this part.
>You are like some manner of ghost or shade, a formless Observer. You carry a coat of ash beneath you that twists and dissipates slowly as you maneuver out of the suffocating cloud. Ducking under fallen archways and rising over bridges, you search for the heart of this place.
It seemed pretty innocuous at first but why is Observer capitalized? Our form even seems Observer-esque.
Did our mystery skill +1 after killing the Observer really? I didn't even noticed.

Liza was vague, but it sounds like she may've been jumped by Observers at least once and she wasn't there for the prophecy.

Well our Memory of Exile has a chance to give us a UI-Scrambled 'Celestial Technique' and that's via our celestial artifact.

Not that we know what a celestial technique is.
Don't forget
>I live in you
Yeah that's only available through a memory of an Observer-puppet boss though.
Just pointing out how we also violate the rule of: "I'd be surpirsed if a celestial artifact could have Observer powers". There are convoluted ways to achieve it.

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My lord, we are besieged by the Manarothians, who have sworn to burn the kingdom to the ground and drag the survivors off as slaves in their fiery temples. Our forces are too few to hold them off on their own, but the only kingdoms left willing to ally with us are inhumans, all of whom are demanding a marriage between your eldest son and one of their daughters to seal the alliance.

The Dark Dwarves of Viltheed offer us bound elementals, their twisted war machines and their ranks of iron-clad rifle-dwarves if your son will marry the Lady Ironspite, a mighty dwarven wizardess who commands elemental fury.

The Iron Horde of Drekzha offers its teeming legions of skilled, ruthless hobgoblin warriors and mighty battle beasts, but only if you agree to wed your son to Queen Drekzha herself, who united the tribes and looks to found an empire that will last a thousand years.

Finally, there are the Stygian Gnolls, whose worship of dark gods like Mordiggian bolster their own ranks of savage warriors with endless waves of undead and daemonic slaves. Their princess, Norlgurr the Pale, is both a witch-priest and a dark paladin of their daemon-gods, and rumored to possess a xenophiliac interest in humans.

Whatever shall you do, your majesty?
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Drekzha. Can't say no to a massive empire.
So... OP here; I must confess, I originally started this thread on /tg/ as just a "see what anons say thread", in the vein of the "Elf slave; wat do?" threads of old. I'm not sure what to do now that it's been transferred over to /qst/.
I'd honestly say keep it going.

Now wha happen?
Just roll with it
Alright... I'm not certain of how. Wait for a few more votes and then focus on meeting with the designated bride? Or scrap that original aspect and have the three bridal candidates arrive to contest for the prince's hand?

...Maybe I should scrap this thread and start it over, in a proper quest format, just so it's less confusing to start in...

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Evelynn was a dirt poor scrub. Her ruffled once-white pants were too short. Her socks bunched halfway to her knees, too large. Her black buttoned up coat fit for a man and not an adolescent young girl, was too long.

Brushing back a shock of unruly red hair Evelynn noticed the glint of something shining out of the corner of her eye. Her mouth opened in shock.

"No slimey way," she said, as she bent down to pick it up.

It was a credit chip. And not just any credit chip, but an offworld credit chip.

She rolled the silver disc in between her fingers. Then suddenly gripped by panic, she looked around to make sure no one else was watching and shoved the chip down into one of her overlarge pockets. She continued walking at a brisk pace, a smile slowly creeping up her face.

I'm sure I can hack this chip.

[]First thing I'm going to buy is a decent pair of clothes.

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>[]Steer into the blind tunnel
>And brake suddenly so the bikes smash into the van. In a narrow tunnel they won't be able to dodge.

(Sorry, I'll lwrite-in anyway)
That's cool, I kinda like it anyways, it's hard for me to resist my love of write ins.
I eagerly await seeing more votes in the morning. ^.^
>[]Fly off the building, and pray the resisters hold up.

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