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”VOULL NE XATA VOK, MARA LOHK”

The walls are melting. The windows are melting. The others had gone ahead, you didn’t need them watching over your shoulder. But now the iron slag sealant spreads between your fingers even without the help of the iontorch. Even alone the persistent sense of being watched remained. Glancing over your shoulder the hallway held no unwanted observer. Empty. The Zariman was becoming less and less real, smearing and spilling free in the void, your mind felt the same. Leaking from your eyes, ears, nose and mouth. Breathing in the stygian waters without that sweet hint of madness.

Illumination bands flicker overhead as humid stale recycled air fills your lungs. Most of the level was secure. Cirlyn’s crash course in engineering kept the life support systems running, other sections weren’t so lucky. A boy that fled from his habitation block claims to have seen entire segments vent into the void as shielding failed. One by one your class moved from bulkheads to access hatches, securing routes to your classroom. Despite that They keep getting through, insane hunting packs move throughout the ship. Sol knows how many were dead.

You arrive to find the battered classroom dark, in the corners bundles of bedding and cushions are home to the curled bodies of the sleeping. A pair keep watch, armed with long pipes and other makeshift weapons, they nod at your arrival, but voices from further down the hall draw you attention. Those holding it together better than the rest were having a meeting, you found yourself among them. So many were whimpering wrecks afraid to step out of the classroom.

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Welcome, /qst/ers, to the thread where we make /qst/ history... and get our board into the widely-acclaimed 4cc!

>What is it?
The 4cc is a website-spanning series of competitions in which teams representing different boards are entered into computer-driven Soccer (or Football) tournaments using the game Pro Evolution Soccer! You've probably seen it happen on other boards and maybe even saw a few matches! If not, here's a few clips to peruse:
https://isthisliv.com/booru/posts/query=video
>Why do we need a thread for this, you buffoon?
Good question! See, the 4cc is all about representing and celebrating boards--many teams have custom models for their players and some have even contributed designs for arenas and other assets! The process is a bit of a pain in the neck, so in the short term I wanted to make a place where people could suggest /qst/'s players and what position they might play.

Don't know anything about Soccer Positions? Check out an explanation HERE: https://www.orlandocitysc.com/news/soccer-101-positions-within-positions

Secondly, I wanted to gauge actual interest in our board joining the 4cc in the first place. If we managed to brainstorm a full team by September, we might even be able to play in the September Friendlies! Once we're in, well, the sky's the limit! Also it'd be fun to watch, so.
>Neato! How do I help?
There's quite a few ways, actually! If you're into modeling stuff there's a tutorial page on making custom player models here: https://implyingrigged.info/wiki/Blender_tutorials#PES16/17 It's a bit much so I don't blame you if you don't want to take a swing at it.

What you CAN do, though, yes, YOU, is answer the following questions!

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Your car glides over faded asphalt like a leaf carried by gentle water. Every turn, every seemingly random detour keeps you on near empty streets. Your eyes drift over the ugly... Graffiti, cars on blocks, bags of decaying garbage lining walls, the occasional corner boy, or homes made of cardboard and scraps that hide just beyond the mouths of alleys. But you also see the beautiful. Beneath some of those same graffitied walls are chalk sketches of happy families and flowers, you smile at the sun with sunglasses smiling down on yellow dandelions that spring from cracked concrete. The sun leaks through the thick clouds overhead in hazy spears that graze the tops of buildings. Despite all the grime, this place is still beautiful, it's still home.

A couple walks down the street, hand in hand, and it draws your thoughts to your own relationship. To Allison, to your future, your hopes. Your relationship is growing fast, and the danger surrounding you has made you feel pressured to be honest about your feelings, to not waste your chance. Your hands slide along rough leather as you let your body do the driving while your mind focuses on other... nicer things. At least it tries. The longer you think about building a life with Allison, in a city like this, with the both of you working jobs where danger lurks around every other corner. What kind of future could that be?

You feel your foot easing off the gas as you pull up to a curb. Still lost in your own thoughts, you get rattled by the deep melodious chime of church bells. The world comes back into sharp focus as you gaze at the massive rose windows of the Gotham Cathedral. This is the first time you've stopped since you got behind the wheel, you trust it's for a reason. Shifting into park you lean back;

"Let's see if you have anything to tell me..." You mumble to nobody in particular.

The scene is still and tranquil until you see on the side of the church, toiling in the chill, a man digs a new grave in the cemetery. Not exactly the omen you were hoping for... Then your attention is drawn once more, not by movement however, by sound. Children laughing on the opposite side of the building, swinging on the public equipment, a pair of parents watching over them smiling from a bench. Your eyes shift between the two scenes, unsure of which message exactly you're supposed to be getting here until you stop between them on the white slatted message board posted in front of the church doors. The bold black lettering clear.

'MATTHEW 6:34'

You rifle through your memories of long Sundays and arrive at the verse.

"Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." You repeat the words to yourself and close your eyes with a grin. "Fair enough."

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Spyware Service Provider is a game where you start as an ordinary computer user and become the most famous hacker in the world

It's time for you to brush your teeth. Maybe there's time to check your computer for messages first.

E-mail
No new messages

Instant messaging
Not a single notification

Teamspeak
No one else on the server

What do they all do?
News

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Hundreds of carriages line the soon-to-be battlefield, with men-at-arms pouring forth from them as the kingdom's first line of offense.

"Brace yourselves, everyone! The dead approach!" the older officer calls out.

It doesn't take long for all hell to break loose. Before even the first hundred men storm the once-bountiful field, they are met by twice their number.

"Christ's blood... they're underneath us," the man in front of you mutters to himself.

The look on the man's face is devoid of expression, save for one of rising terror.

In contrast to the innermost banqueting fields of your realm, these lands are poisoned by filth and pestilence, brought about by the rise of the undead. Of all the kingdoms on this continent, none have found a permanent solution. Though they may be cut down, for every hundred you kill, countless more seem to rise in their place.

It would seem the man is right, however strange it may be. They're somehow learning new tactics as well, their martial prowess increasing considerably.

High above, countless crows soar as they circle the battlefield, while vultures waste no time descending upon the promise of a fresh meal.

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In this thread, we will vote for the king/queen of /QST/. The path to the throne is paved with trials of strength, charm, intellect, and psychology. Choose wisely, Judges. The fate of our champion rests in your hands.

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First came the plague. It spread before any measures could be taken to stop it from infecting every part of the globe, killing nearly everyone it touched. Within weeks, tens of millions were dead. The streets: empty, forlorn. Those few who survived were in shock that, in the blink of an eye, advanced technological civilization could be destroyed so quickly, so completely. Then the dead started to come back to life.

The first reports were dismissed as the results of severe trauma. It was simply too horrible, too fantastical to be believed. But the dead could not be ignored. Reanimated corpses, filled with lust to devour the flesh of the living, roamed the streets and killed and their mangled victims rose to join the horde. Depleted by the plague and overwhelmed by the number of the ghastly dead, government collapsed. Civilization still exists, but only in a few fortified outposts fighting to keep humanity alive.

One of these outposts, beacon shining across the wild gardens and dark fens of the former US of A, is Atlantic City. Miraculously, you are a survivor, isolated and alone and, if you want to stand a chance of staying alive, you need to make it to that beacon. But to reach Atlantic City, you must first SURVIVE the rotten metropolitan corpse in which you huddle. To make it out, you must survive CAMDEN.

[bold]*DUH DUH DUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH*[/bold]

Welcome to SURVIVING CAMDEN

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WAR!

The Brotherhood of Steel has launched a dastardly surprise attack on the NVD, nearly killing you and Veronica Santangelo in a failed assassination attempt with a horrific new weapon of mass destruction.

The Directorate is in the midst of internal shakeup as Boone and his team of special forces have been eliminated and the presence of the Followers of the Apocalypse are in flux. But these domestic issues pale in comparison to the attempts by Lost Hills in exerting their power over the nascent nation.

Will the New Vegas Directorate weather this storm and come out stronger for it, or will this grand wasteland experiment fail and be lost to the sands of time? And what will the NCR do now that the Brotherhood and Directorate in a fight to the death? Will the mighty Caesar intervene on his heirs-apparent behalf? Only time will tell.

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Menthol and ash charge through the wittled sensory systems of your body and brain. The date is 2121, April 19th. Planet of habitation is MundiTri. Residence is the glass megabloc, 1287. Apartment of warrant is A-C, 433.

Your name is undefined- lost to the lizard brain. If it remains alive- if intangible- it is drowning in the depths of your employers' ever burgeoning digital database. Your credit must have tapped out two or so days ago, and you have but your one job to rein everything in. You are EDS Sentry Officiator , as far as the world is to be concerned.

What actions will you take, Officiator?

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Deep under the mountains there are some who say only the darkest of evil lurks below ground. Some say only goblins, beastmen and orcs hide waiting for naive travellers eager to quickly move across the abandoned underground tunnels for quick access to the path that leads from the most advanced industrious prosperous gnome republics to the cities of marble and elven royalty where pure sliver minted Yati coins are plenty.

Yet only those who were told tales passed down by their dwarven elders and their slowly dwindling down grandfathers and mothers numbers of knew of their ancient buried city of Kazmeri. The city described as being leagues ahead of the most technological civilizations and industrial might that makes most tools sourced from the ancient city to be worth a man's life twice over.

You, your brothers and sisters ([bold]Note this is the posters who respond. A group in a rough size of 500 dwarves.[/bold]) sick of burning to death steadily from the heatwaves rising in temperature every 10 or 20 years finally decide to rediscover your homeland, your culture, ancient texts and the secret of what brought down the greatest empire of all time.

All you have to guide you is a single map drawn by a crazy old man clearly waning memory carved deep into a stone tablet... (the map being poorly made is also that bad in the story.)

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Two months ago a new disease was discovered out of sub Saharan Africa and began to spread like wildfire rapidly infecting nearly 15% of the world's population worldwide. This would have been incredibly alarming if the disease had not been very mild, only giving those infected a mild cough and was only dangerous to those who were very old or sickly. The disease would have probably even been fully ignored if it weren't for how widespread it was. A month after its discovery something changed; those infected with the disease worldwide became enraged and violent. The world is crumbling and you must do your best to survive it.


You are Corporal Andrew Foch of the 75th ranger regiment machine gunner, expert on infected and guest of the coast guard aboard the Cutter Richard Snyder. In the last week or so you were separated from the mixed group of special force operators you worked with by a helicopter crash, joined up with a remaining coast guard ship, secured a source of fuel for it and finally formed a team and scavenged several new firearms for yourself and the ship. Now your traveling north along the US eastern seaboard toward Newport Rhode island to join up with a flotilla in the area.

Past Threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Dead%20America%20Quest

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Your name is Vincent Cruz. You work in a shady government-backed facility in the middle of the New Mexico desert. In a turn of events, you are now a footnote to the Powers That Be. To them, you've actually proven yourself to be useful, thanks to a very lucky break involving one of your anomalies.

After all, you're a researcher for the Abnormality Regulation Coalition (also known as ARC), tasked with containing and studying paranormal entities on their behalf. You've always had a knack with the anomalous, even before you ended up here, ever since that chance encounter with a certain HEART.

You're great at making the worst out of a bad situation, at least. You've got friends, you've got cash, and you've got the attention of ARC. As long as you keep this pace up, you should be just fine!

As for what happened over the last day or so?

You got yourself entangled in a series of mysterious contracts from a masked soldier. You've already completed the first one with little challenge, so hopefully the remaining two will go over smoothly.

You managed to stabilize NOWHERE'S SOMMELIER's condition, without outright 'resolving' her (which might've killed her if it was like IN LIMBO). She's going by Kiera now, and she should be sticking around for a good long while as a new coworker.

You got two brand new anomalies, THE OTHER SIDE and STATIC ANGLERFISH. You've already met STATIC ANGLERFISH before, so you already know a decent amount of his tricks. The other anomaly is going to take a while to figure out, given that even ARC doesn't know what risk level to classify it as.

You had a nice, long talk with Rudolf, which illuminated some interesting details about why you were dragged here. You also learned some fun facts about Harvester anatomy and the politics of both ARC and the SPONSORSHIP COMPANIES.

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The tension is palpable as you navigate the chilly limestone corridors of the Hall of the Elders, ascending the now-familiar staircase and crossing over the blue carpet which leads to the massive oaken table in the shape of a half-circle. 'Sindiira Torani, Speaker of the Town,' reads the steel placard set before your designated seat. Assuming your place, you double check the fastening of your gauntlets and await the arrival of the other members of the Council of Elders for this morning's meeting, shifting your armored weight uncomfortably. How the High Captain attends every meeting in full plate without fail is a mystery.

It was established last night that an army of forces most nefarious marches on Everlund, House Delyl's own forces amongst them. While the possibility of petitioning neighboring cities for reinforcements was raised last night, the High Captain remained adamant that Everlund's army is sufficient to defend it from any threats that may arise. 'We can't run crying to to Alustriel every time the city is in danger,' he stated verbatim.

One by one your peers shuffle in. Prompt to arrive is Sten, who has refused to abandon his armor, opting to drape a fur cloak over himself and consider the matter concluded. Likewise, the Priestess of Corellon attends in her ceremonial armor, foregoing protection from the cold entirely. Minutes later, Emitia arrives, favoring a coat of dark fur over a midnight green dress, as befits the season. The Keeper of the Bridgers assumes his place, wearing black padded armor over a wool shirt to retain his warmth.

Predictably, the High Sorcerer arrives late, and has not altered a thing about his attire, arriving in the audacious marigold robes that befit him, his black gloves pulled securely over his hands. Taking his seat, he leans the chair back, resting his feet on the table and folding his arms, rocking to and fro.

"Shall we get started?" He asks.

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The Outriders have recovered from their last hunt for research artifacts and are ready for another assignment. Meanwhile the recently-cured Fogland refugees have been developing their crafting, engineering, and farming skills, while their raptors fed upon the bodies of all The Tribes' many would-be-conquerors.

What comes first for The Three Tribes of Raptor Fields?

>1) Our research is nearly complete.
Send The Outriders out again to track down the last few ancient science books we need to understand all the technology currently available to us.

>2) The refugees are ready for a new home.
A contingent of fogmen have been cured of their madness, and their pet raptors have since consumed the enemies of The Tribes before our gates while our riders were abroad. They are ready to reclaim their home and establish safe trade to the city of Mongrel.

>3) Return to our roots.
The nearby town of hilltop was hastily abandoned during the famine, and some valuable resources may yet be recovered by retracing our steps.

>Write-In)


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HISSSSSS!
CLANK!

The bars to your cell slam shut. Some of the other inmates in your unit are still rowdy as they taunt and jeer at one another or the prison staff.

"NIGHTTIME! SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GO TO SLEEP!" one of the guards yells before stepping back into the control center of your unit.

Yeah, just another typical day has gone by here. It's been a long time now since your sentence first started—at least a little over a year, anyway. You sigh deeply, reminiscing about the way life used to be.

One of your first nights here, you remember crying, never thinking things would end up like this. Looking back on it now, you had things locked down at least somewhat decently. You had a promising career path, you were in a relationship, and you had your own place.

"Shut the fuck up," you say to your inner monologue, trying to stop the thoughts from invading.

Christ, not again... you think to yourself, the tears welling up in your eyes. A single tear trickles down your cheek. How long has it been since you had a reaction like this? What's the fucking point in getting all sentimental again? You know all too well how that went the last time. Nobody cares about your feelings here. You've been forced to keep your survival instincts at their maximum for a long while now.


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