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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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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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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?

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Your name is (write in), and at only 25 years old you are the best and highest-paid football player in the world. There’s still a long road ahead before you’re widely considered the GOAT, but deep down that’s already your reality — just another fact. With your recent achievement of a fifth ring and another MVP, even the most stubborn critics accept that, at your current pace, your coronation is inevitable. Your idol Tom Brady can only watch as you reach his numbers at lightning speed. He respects you, admires you, and says that in five years there won’t be any serious debate left — you’ll be crowned while still in your prime. Your impact on football is something incredibly rare in the world of sports. Hopefully nothing bad happens to you before that.

…

Taiwman, late February.

You’ve been celebrating the championship for days in a nonstop party. You landed your private jet here, loaded with rich friends and wild girls, so you can all enjoy the new futuristic district filled with robots, super-drugs, and flying cars.

Your best friend is:

>Raptor, a punk pornstar with a split tongue and a very intense palate. She loves vampires and knows everything about dinosaurs.
>Fugaku, a professional ping-pong player who also carves swords into bamboo for fun.
>Alexey, a blind Russian singer who jokes about how easy life would be if he had telekinetic powers.
>Julian, a Mexican running back who loves insects.


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you, yes YOU will determine the fate of Our Hero! your prompts shape his destiny and his actions (almost) all suggestions will be considered! don't be afraid to get creative!

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Well, here we are.

You were woken up from a midday nap by the grinding of the brakes as the train arrived at X-X Station (pronounced "Double Cross," according to a clerk), and thus missed the first opportunity to queue for a quick exit from the car, as you were still quite drowsy and groping around to ensure that your possessions had (also) arrived unperturbed. Now you have queued behind a pair of rotund priests (Reformists, you think), as they gingerly step onto the platform and lose themselves in the sea of people. There are more people here than you've ever seen in once place, at least since you were a child. It's hot: hotter than it would ever get in Iscthymia. At least it's a dry heat there. Here you can feel every layer of clothing beginning to drip. But you can't take off your jacket just yet. It's dangerous, you think.

If there is one thing you hate it's traveling over-encumbered, so, in the spirit of new beginnings, you packed only the bare essentials. There's a nagging feeling of regret as you begin to intuit that perhaps you wouldn't know what would really count as essential in this new chapter of your life, in Chaotzakka, with its fourteen million people. These are things you would've pondered on the train ride had you not dozed off immediately. You're carrying a hardshell briefcase, a backpack that's coming apart at the seams, and a little bum bag crossed over your shoulder. You lift your patrol cap to see more clearly; you don't want to remove it as your hair is almost certainly a mess, but the material is itchy. The cap and bag are from your year of mandatory civil service. The backpack is from your school days. The briefcase used to be your dad's.

You're trying to get used to the smells and sounds. It seems like everything ticks, rings, or thuds in this city. You are buffeted by a blast of hot steam and struggle to breathe for a moment. Unlike a country bumpkin such as yourself, city-dwellers know to back away from the train as soon as they get off. That's why they call the station the "sauna." Just a little sample of that big-city wit for you.

You thought you'd checked that you had everything before getting off the train, but a sudden irrational panic grips you and you fear having left your most important possession behind. But of course this isn't the case; you can feel its weight on your right hip. Still, just for assurance, you reach down with your free hand and grip your

>Blade
>Pistol
>Staff

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"Gill and Kane, stay here and keep watch. Alert us if anybody sails near the wreckage. The rest of you, with me."

“Yessir, boss!”

Two men split off from the group and stand guard by the gaping hole that had allowed you all an entrance. It was a miracle the remains of the ship were afloat at all, nearly half of it shorn off by Sea Devil knows what. You count yourself lucky you weren't a part of the battle and count yourself even luckier that you and the rest of the bandits got here first.

Somehow, you doubt even your imagination can conceive the type of loot a ship from the fleet of an Emperor of the Sea might contain.

You proceed down the hallway, avoiding the gouges in the flooring and the dagger-sharp planks sticking out of the walls. The primary instinct that strikes you is to hover at the back of the pack, but there seems to be constant jockeying for position over there - no good bandit welcomes a backstabbing - so you stay where you are and keep your eyes and ears open. This wasn't your first job with these guys, but that was no invitation to let your guard down.

The boss kicks down a door and steps inside a room up ahead. With furtive looks at each other, the rest of you follow suit and funnel in. Scattered gasps and murmurs fill the silence of the chamber.

The chamber was chock-full of glittering, glorious treasure chests.

"Boys... we hit the JACKPOT!" The boss of the bandits nearly stumbles; such is his excitement in approaching the nearest chest. The rings on his hand clink together as he reaches for the clasp that separates riches from the ragged. One more step...

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Threads 1, 2, 3, 4, 5: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Halo:%20Spartan%202%20War%20Reports
Active Spartan Roster: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/12PTTzwcNVbQbIC101lrcrQQZKWhK3myTLWEQ0A1ybj8/edit?gid=0#gid=0
_
Sven-033's Qualities: [Special] Giant, [Special] Spartan-II, Maverick, Officer [Lieutenant], Wunderkind, Inspiring.
Sven-033's Advancement Paths: Brawler: Open Hand: 5/10 Bulwark: Unbreakable: 5/10 Grenadier: Plasma Wiz: 5/10 Shotgunner: 1| Diplomat 1/6 Infiltrator 2/6 Scrounger 2/6 Tactician 2 /6| Jotun 1/4
Sub objective Progress: Artificial Artisan 3/?| Blade Breaker 1/?
_
UNSC Skidbladnir (Razor Class Prowler)
UNSC Skidbladnir Crew Qualities: Eclectic
UNSC Skidbladnir Officers: Sensor Operator: Ensign Sonar Kobal, COM Officer: Ensign Kon Kiyomi. Navigator: Lieutenant Junior Grade Marisa Deluna, Weapons Controller: Lieutenant Junior Grade Valerie Faure. Pilots: Warrant Officer Bari Cook & Cadet Bernetta Coste
Spartans Aboard: Sven-033, James-005, Jorges-052. Nesta-097, Shika-108, Daisy-023. Naomi-010, Solomon-069, Malcom-059, Anton-044, Illya-077, Cal-141, and Soren-066 (Inactive/ Washout)
_
Current Mission: Mission 5: Operation: HVITSERK....Pending Completion/Result Calculation
Primary Objective 1: Destroy the Einherjar Fleet and prevent any ships/ systems from falling into Covenant Hands...Success
Primary Objective 2: Confirm the termination of or Capture and Secure the Einherjar General Codenamed "Whiteshirt"....Success

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Welcome to /qtg/, a place to talk about quests.

Previous thread
>>6308657

>What is a quest?
An interactive story in which a Quest Master (QM) writes and provides the readers with options on how to proceed — similar to a choose-your-own-adventure book or an old text adventure.

Questionably Useful links:
>QTG discord: https://discord.gg/dZavHuK
>Skirmish discord: https://discord.com/invite/DZCVvVU
>Evo Game discord: https://discord.gg/xGZAX9tAvx
>Old pastebin containing advice for QMs:
https://pastebin.com/Z78p8gXf
Badly in need of renovation.

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