Anonymous ## Mod
Welcome to /quest/ - Quests 04/25/25(Fri)17:34:09 No.6229596

Welcome to /quest/ - Quests Anonymous ## Mod 04/25/25(Fri)17:34:09 No.6229596   [Reply]

This board is for author-driven collaborative storytelling (i.e., "Quests"). In a quest there is a single author who controls the plot of the story and who drives the creative process. They can choose to take suggestions from other posters, or not, at their sole discretion. Quests can be text-based, image-based, or a combination of the two. Drawfaggotry is strongly encouraged!

To facilitate the author-driven nature of quests, /qst/ differs significantly from other boards in that the OP of a thread is considered the quest's author, and has some basic text formatting abilities: [b]bold[/b], [i]italic[/i], and color tags [red]red[/red], [green]green[/green], and [blue]blue[/blue]. Therefore, only those people willing to put in the effort to be a quest author should post threads. If you do not intend to run a collaborative story, do not post a thread here! This includes meta-threads.

Dice rolling follows /tg/'s format (e.g., "dice+2d6" without the quotes in the options field rolls 2d6).

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Miles of highway condense together in your head as you watch the yellow lines pass under you. You hated long drives, especially with passengers that don’t appreciate your music taste. You reached into the console and pulled out your pack of cigarettes with the lighter inside. You put the last cigarette in your mouth and tried to light it but with no success.
“Almost got it,” you whispered to no one in particular. You kept steering with one hand as you grabbed the lighter and lit it, letting the smoke escape out the slightly cracked window. You were almost coordinated enough to use your telekinesis to smoke.
To your right sleeping in the passenger seat was your resident telepath, Denise. Sprawled out in both seats behind you was the precog, Cassandra. That’s how you knew it would be an uninteresting trip, based on how relaxed she looks. It was just going to be a routine mission, a snatch and grab. You didn’t care for the details of who you were kidnapping, you only knew he was a natural psychic. He must have been caught in the act of using it, intentionally or not.
About one percent of the population are born with a certain organ attached to their brain stem known as the Sigmata. Most who have it won’t even realize they are mutants with its effect being so weak. The powerlifter who unknowingly channels telekinesis into his muscles to help with his lift or the charismatic celebrity who everyone loves for no particular reason, both examples of natural born psychics that are harmless. They can still far outperform any non-mutant but have modest achievements and don’t break the veil of secrecy. On the other hand there are some psychics who have to be controlled, the pyromaniac who realizes if he focuses enough he can start a flame with his mind or the dictator who could compel people to commit genocide with his voice alone. To make these people disappear is the job of the secret government organization known as the Department of Psychic Studies.

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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.


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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.

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The radiant summer sun shone down upon the verdant sylvan landscape; these fair meadows and groves had an ethereal quality that was, of course, a vestige of the faewild of old. The sight of its remnant had been among the most enchanting things you had ever seen.

And yet, you couldn't help escape the burden that was so heavily laden upon your head; the crown may be kept safely in the vaults under the Albrechtsburg, but its weight never quite left your head. It was among the elder days of the 13th century, the year 1275 to be exact. And the kingdom of Greifswald was at peace. Still, as far as realms were concerned, yours was still young, for it had been but thirteen years since the formal proclamation of the kingdom, though in truth, it has existed as a polity since 1241, though only as a dukedom. 34 years of an Adlershorst upon the throne, though the lineage stretched back further; by the standards of the continent, the royal bloodline was virtually new money.

Now, in the waning years of the 13th century, the king and court are engaged upon a tour of the northern fiefs, solidifying alliances and ensuring the loyalty of vassals. Yet things are not as they should be; monks travel and do not greet their king, and nobles leave their estates and disappear, only for them to resurface in strange and secretive gatherings. It wasn't rebellion, or at least, it hadn't been able to coalesce into one, but your suspicions were brewing.

War you knew; compared to the soldierly simplicity of that life, dealing with the two-faced members of the aristocracy was something you had grown into, but you still perceived the practice with distaste.

It is not that you don't enjoy the pleasure of conversation with some wine and roasted pork, but you would prefer it without the threat of walking yourself into a verbal trap, where you would need to extricate yourself with utmost courtesy.

All in all, the tour has had mixed results; the count of Hoenstein had provided you with some useful information regarding one Oskar von Schmallhausen and a Hedwig von Merckhayn, though what they were up to is a bit of a puzzle. On the other hand, your visit with the burgrave of Dornheim was nothing short of an unmitigated disaster. You said a few things were maybe a tad bit high-handed, he retorted in kind, and you left as soon as you had come, before he would tear up his contract of vassalage to you or do something worse.

The matter left a bitter, though perhaps sour, taste in your mouth, and you didn't really feel like continuing this tour, or at least wanted to speed it up for your sake. If anything, the nobles should come to you; if all of them were in Ritterbach, there would be no more of this. But what was started should be seen through...

General links of varying importance.

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In times of old, there stood many a great kingdom or realm, their lines proud, their kings great, and their works were legendary. It was a time of greatness for all, from all classes and races, for it was a time when the yields were abundant, the cattle fat, and the weather favourable.

This changed, however. A creature with a heart pitch-black and eyes of darkness and despair that rise and shrink with hate. All despaired at his coming and the hordes and legions he brought with him. Crowns were broken, castles slighted, and the kings lay broken. Like a vile black hand, his reach seemed boundless; with his fiery red eyes, his gaze kept his subjects obedient, and from a dark tower, this lord of evil watched over his realm as the land fell into darkness and despair, with hope fading like a dying ember.

But embers can flare up, and like the phoenix, a new generation of heroes and their hosts of light broke the chains, shattered his armies to the winds and finally brought an end to his reign of terror. As the morrow broke once more, it was thus proclaimed that nevermore should his name be uttered, nevermore should his remains be seen, and nevermore should there be fear of his tyranny. And so, the people rejoiced in their newfound freedom, rebuilding their shattered world with hope and determination for a brighter future. His artefacts and symbols, buried deep beneath the sands and earth, were so well hidden that not even the most fanatical cultist would find anything.

And yet in that lies the danger; dead though he may be, there are still those who revere him as though he were a god-king upon this earth, and his ilk have a tendency not to stay dead… There are still whispers, mutterings and vague prophecies about his return, though none have come true as of my writing this tome…. His name was struck from the lists of both paper and mind, so one would never again say that name which struck deep grief into the hearts of all peoples…. I shall end this book with a warning: if he does return, do not try to fight him; run. Run to the nearest authorities and alert them; fighting him alone shall surely be your doom, even if he's weakened, but the worst thing you can do is to let him speak; his words shall gnaw in your mind, his arguments shall be so persuasive that you will drop your weapons, and he shall weave a web of deceit that will ensnare even the strongest of wills. Hearken unto him, no matter his guise and form, and before too long you shall find yourself in eternal servility.

Archive link: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=The%20Shadow%20Rises%20Anew
DeviantArt link: https://www.deviantart.com/adlershorst

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And all day and all night and everything you see is just blue, like you. Inside and outside. Blue your house with the blue little window and a blue Corvette, and everything is blue for you and yourself and everybody around cause you ain't got nobody to listen.

You're Blue Daba Dee Daba Dye. You have a blue house with a blue window. Blue is the color you bought that you wear. Blue are the streets and all the trees are too. You have a girlfriend, and she is So Blue. Blue are the people here that walk around. Blue like your Corvette is sitting outside. Blue are the words you say and what you think. Blue are the feelings that live inside you.

Of course, thats not particularly special. You're Blue, everyone is Blue. Everyones last name, is Blue. Family Lineage is gone, replaced by chromatic unity. You're a Harmonic Resonance Technician which manages the Azur Light Wave Emitter

You've been listening to the same song for hours.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JhSVQDaUNg4

Your mind is completely numb and empty. The thumping bass has you pacified into total compliance. But... As you're adjusting the circuitry, there's an error. A split second of a different color. A brilliant spark of yellow. Its... Like nothing you've ever seen before. Beautiful, how its shine radiates off the circuitry. Your mind is hazy... If the Azure Inquisition were to see this you would lose social credits, going from Exemplary to Deviant, being thrown directly into the Cobalt Correctional Facility to be Re-Blued.
----------
1) Repress your feelings for the different color. You are Blue Daba Dee Daba Dye. Your only feelings are blue. Think of your blue house, with the blue little windows, and the blue corvette. How would So Blue react if she knew you weren't true blue?

2) Take a picture of the sparks happening, to remember, and observe it in secret.


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Previous chapters: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Heretic%20Cultivator%20Quest
MC info Pastebin: https://pastebin.com/x5rCdZpq
Sect/ disciple info Doc: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1A0Yghkqs4WxALnnlVJ2uPpphQk9NQ4ME32DzC1qWp7Q/edit?usp=sharing
Folklore: https://pastebin.com/AnbsrDcd
_

The much applauded winner of the Magical Beast Tactician's Contest, Mi Wanpisheng has lost all of his bluster and cheekiness now that's he's been brought before you to recieve his reward. The ice tailed macaque is holding his tail in front of himself, his almost human face spread into a shy grin as you lounge before him, preening the back of your paw as he is guided forward by one of his Sect's elders. As his master and adoptive father had business with the Weiyupo of the innocent witch courts, but a little birdy er, well Yujijiao told you they were just exchanging care tips for young magical beasts.,

"Wanpisheng" You savor the victors name, drawning it out in a way that you realize might sound slightly threatening as the kid who your own, bunny eared kids had become so fond of so quickly winced and barred his teeth, trying to replicate a human's smile rather than baring his fangs at you like an impudent monkey

"Yes, your highness" He addresses you with a courtly bow, very much resembling a sniveling eunuch despite what you'd seen to be his ordinary, bombastic personality

"Your sect and mine are neighbors, we share many of the same borders and also a fondness for beasts" You explain, imperiously and booming as you rise from your pile of cushions, the elder stiffening and smacking the Macaque on his backside to make him remember his posture "But your temple doesn't host any wild royalty, now does it?"

"I understand, seat of the palace, that you consider few other magical beasts to be primordial nobility" The elder, whom you do not know by name, face or deed states and you smirk, amused by his cheek to interrupt you while the great Huanliuxue was speaking

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Violence. Repugnant, alluring, superfluous, indispensable….

You remember primary school: running past metal doors and out into the recess playground, the teachers would always say "don't play rough." But inevitably someone would cross the line, and pushes and kicks and punches would be thrown over a crude joke or a prank, or for any one of a million stupid reasons.

You were never one of the offenders. But you do remember a close friends being a frequent troublemaker and an almost semi-permanent fixture inside the principal's office; on returning he would parody the principal's lecture in a faux serious voice—”propriety this, behavior that,” and other such things that kids liked to make fun of.

But at the end of whatever day he'd decided to make trouble, you would always spot him sitting on a chair inside a bereft classroom, looking downcast. Then you'd see his mother and the homeroom teacher deep in conversation, walking down the hallway and entering the room, closing the door behind them.

The following day he'd always return muted and solemn, and no roughhousing would occur for several days. You'd learn many years later that at dinner, when his father would ask "How was everyone's day," his mother would report on her son's mischief. Sometimes his father would wait until after dinner to bring out his belt. Other times, right there and then, he would administer his displeasure.

It befuddled you. Education at the point of the sword—a paradox if ever you saw one. But it wasn't something you ever personally experienced growing up, getting "disciplined" in that manner.

Your father…

>wasn’t around much

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You are a Wizard and it is high time that you build a tower.

What do you mean you look like a witch? Silver hair? Black clothes? Skull motifs? The spooky gothic ruby choker that your old party's paladin never snapped with his ever-victorious pure-white Holy Sword because he was a thick-headed himbo who didn't know how to read the fucking mood and accept your many invitations into your atelier? No that's just your preferred aesthetic. Your tender taught you that human men - especially handsome paladins - wanted big tiddy goth mommies, and as an elf you can do two of those three things.

Your tits? Biggest in your decantation batch. Your aesthetic? Humans consider it goth, especially since your specialized school of study is necromancy. Your ability to bear children and become a "mommy"? Well, you don't have a womb, but nothing's stopping you from growing a child in your atelier with some blood from you and your husband.

If you had one.

You don't. This is a problem. No one wants to marry an elf after her two hundred and fiftieth birthday. Twelve adventuring parties came and went throughout your career as a wizard, and every fucking time the Paladin or Warrior's childhood friend - usually a priestess who stood in the back row, squealed in terror, and cast heal cure spells - won before you could even shoot your shot. So now you're three hundred years old (and have been so for over two centuries), exhausted, single, a virgin who has never even seen a man's sword outside of paintings.

Not for lack of trying. Sun above and moon below you tried. You even went as far as to strip naked and walk into a camp of savage orcs rumored to take human women for their vile pleasures... only for their warchief to throw his cloak over you, take you aside, and explain quite clearly that orcs don't work like that. All male orcs may be, just as elves are always female, their reproduction is tied to battle and so most aren't keen on using their clubs like that.

The "breeding pits" you read about in the Central Library were the perfidious lies of the Holy Church.

How dare they give you hope.

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*Universal Century 0079*
What began as a bid for autonomy in Side 3 erupted into the most devastating war humanity has ever witnessed. Half of all human lives have already been lost in the first month alone. Entire colonies became tombs. Fleets lost to the vast silence of space. Countless cities on Earth reduced to rubble.

And now, in the aftermath of Operation British and Zeon's planetary invasion, one truth has become undeniable:

Mobile suits rule the battlefield.

The Principality of Zeon’s Zaku had reshaped warfare overnight. Now the Federation is scrambling, desperate, bleeding, trying to catch up before they lose the war entirely. Somewhere beneath the humid jungles of South America, the Federation begins a secret race against time.

You are ***Ian Voss***.

*Rank:* Lieutenant 1st Class
*Assignment:* Join the Federation’s experimental “1st MS Team,” a prototype mobile-suit evaluation unit tasked with field-testing captured Zeon technology and accelerating the Federation’s crash-program to catch up in MS warfare.
*Location:* Testing Annex 17, a dummy installation linked to Jaburo by a network of underground rail tunnels.


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You awake on a deserted island.

You don't know where you are. You don't know how you got there.

You'd probably be royally fucked if it weren't for the fact that you happen to be carrying three things with you.

What three things are you carrying? (one item at a time)

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Guide your Schizo to Greatness or imprisonment within a mental health facility or both! You are an anonymous young man in his 20s who has recently come down with schizophrenia and your job is to guide this youth towards a number of different paths all up to you the voters!

Have him go down the old boring route as a homeless vagrant or have him become a Orthodox Christian monk living in a monastery or turn him into a radical Satanic right wing insurgent or make bank as a lolcow...the possibilities are endless and all up to YOU!

(How this works is that I will present a list of options which you choose and vote for as a collective or you can submit your own option/action/event and vote for that and the ones with the most votes wins! I will check this every day or 24 hours and thus voting closes once I put up a new post!)

You've been going about your daily routine, taking care of chores, schooling and/or work, going about your life as a daily cog in the machine of society when SUDDENLY....you begin hearing voices...strange voices.....voices which frighten you.

Choose the nature of your auditory hallucinations:

A.) Divine: The voices beckon you towards the light, towards divinity, soothing and comforting but with a dash of righteousness to go along with grace and mercy

B.) Demonic: The voices are gnashing of teeth and screeches of rage, they whisper such deviant things into your ear, things which frighten (and at some base level, intrigue) you.

C.) Narcissistic: The voices declare you a god, the only god, a superhuman, and many other pompous titles and recognition of your inner greatness. Do you take the mantle?

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War War Never Changes.
They finally fucking did it. The bombs fell not long ago. The world is over. No more people. Just shambling radioactive corpses. No more nations, just glowing craters, dust, and shadows of people that once were. No more seasons, just nuclear winter. Shopping? No such thing. Have fun struggling to find a drop of water or a crumb of food that won't kill you. The RADS oh god the fucking RADS, inescapable and everpresent. Truly the end of the world. Rapture maybe happened and whatever is left...well, most people are quickly giving up on God. Kinda hard to keep believing when the world ended, and you were left behind. Except for the zealots, anyway, but those guys are crazy as the cannibalistic raiders.

That isn't even getting into all the weird shit that keeps happening and becoming. Makes you wish it was 'just' a nuclear winter. Walking corpses. Mutants. Inexplicable anomalies. Unnatural terrain. Strange whispers that you aren't the only one hearing. Honestly, it just keeps getting worse...especially with everything you have to do just to 'survive'. Living...living is just a luxury that only the pre war world got to enjoy. You meanwhile, are just another poor sucker caught up in this clusterfuck, trying to survive.

(This quest will be ripping heavily from games like Fallout, Metro, Stalker, and Bioshock basically anything that fits within the setting theme to keep things interesting)

>Character Creation
You may choose any trait from any game OR include a custom option that may be vetoed by me IF it's too unbalanced. Custom traits MUST include both positive and negative effects otherwise, it's an automatic veto.

The first character will be a young male because this is about a dynasty over the generations. So long as you have a living family member the game will not end however, your characters can and WILL die over time.

Anyway the last character DIED without offspring, resulting in game over, so now it's a restart with some adjustments. So here we go again. I wasn't joking about the difficulty...

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You're Tupolev, the Merchant. All your peers warned you to stay away from the Misty Mountains for strange things happen there.

But you saw a profit opportunity during war time by going through the mountains to avoid the worst of the fight.

However, by the time you left the mist, the land was unrecognizable.

None of your old maps made any sense anymore.

You sent some scouts out and they confirmed - you're in uncharted territory somehow.

The question that remains is: what did you bring to these strange lands?