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“Sir Ambrose Carouliti, thou hast trespassed against the Rule of the New Mercy and sinned against Our Weeping Lady.”

The voice of the Living Triptych crackles with the sound of the Violet Light. Holy static jolts through you, sweat beading on your forehead as the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

“Thou art a knight of high standing and virtue, but none are exempt from the law of The New Goddess. For one such as thee to sin so, degradeth all mankind and maketh a mockery of Her Mercy and Her Suffering.”

The Living Triptych points at you accusingly. From the galleries, the priests and inquisitors look on with concern and disapproval.

“But Her Mercy is great and unfathomable. By Her Love I bid thee speak, lay thy sin before Her representatives. Bare thy heart and forgiveness shall be granted.”

There is no escaping the manifold gaze of the Living Triptych. Lies and secrets cannot withstand that gaze.

You try to wet your lips before you speak, but the charge in the air has left even your tongue dry.

Your sin was…

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>Bonus image: 'defiling a sacred place'
interesting. btw what would be the story of how/why we defiled it ?
>Retire to the household
>Talk to Giordano
>What are the greatest concerns of this village? Any local custom or taboo I should know of?
By the looks of it, Ambrose would have throw a wine bottle at it.
Drinking might have been involved in all of the sins.

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First, a history lesson. Don't worry. We won't be here long.
Ah - no questions. Not yet. I'll tell you when you can ask, just be patient.

So. Twenty years ago. Two thousand, year of someone's lord. World is, more or less, as you know it. Mundane. Kept that way - powerful NGO with lots of ties, and lots of fingers in lots of pies, kills and imprisons magical beings for the good of man. Questionable if it did them any good. Probably got a lot of magical beings angry, mostly kept them scared, hidden, or dead. These monsters that killed monsters, they were the Blackguard. I'm sure some of you listening - hell, maybe most - might agree with them. History does not.

Fifteen years ago. Two thousand five. Blackguard are rooted out. Made public. Sides are drawn. Some countries are taken over, some brutally. "For the good of man-", they said, often. "A needed sacrifice." Other countries, give in without a fight. Still others side with the magical creatures. This is the Blackguard War. Heroes rise from all over, join together. Alisa Zolner. Rostislav. Isaac the Ward. The war - fueled by magic on both sides alongside military tech - is long, bloody, and damaging. To the world, and to its people. The Blackguard falter.

Ten years ago. Two thousand ten. The war ended three years ago. The world is now standing in a battlefield with theaters all over that has introduced them to a new minority: Thaumics. Magical beings of all sorts, builds, abilities, hungers, lifespans. These years are marked by turbulence that still, in some flavor, lasts today. No one can agree on anything, it seems. Division is rife in all walks of life, fear and hate present in seemingly any conversation. Thaumics pull away from heavily populated cities, some of them taking significant money and workforces with them. Unmasked celebs slip away from public life. Humanity finds itself oddly alone again, as the wonderous creatures they saved and harbored slink away in fear again.

Five years ago. Two thousand fifteen.
Almost in silence, almost without another word, cities sprout from the American Midwest, in the Russian wilderness, in all sorts of barely-populated places. The power of magic and the educated Thaumics comes together to rise cities, modern cities full of the half-implemented conveniences present in others. Various governments work together to give land over, making various deals with the Thaumics to hand them their own proto-nation that is spread across the planet. City One, in America, and the other four, scattered around the world, represent the Thaumic Nation. A loose, newborn experiment. These cities are, technically, part of the government of their "parent nations", but are working towards a peaceful independence over time.

We've talked about the past.

Now. Let's talk about you...
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Joseph doesn't like the prospect of the deep stacks, where stronger tomes are kept, and especially doesn't like the prospect of entering the animus. The animus is a special section of the deep stacks, where books of such active magic are chained and contained with literal, actual chains. These are dangerous books not just because of their knowledge but because they are actively hostile, shaking and shivering in their shelves. Occasionally, a few escape, flitting about the stacks with the rustle of paper. It's one of the jobs of the Archivists to capture and corral them again.

For this task, Joseph gears up before riding the elevator down. The small room for this is a series of cupboards and shelves. A long double-breasted black leather coat over some black waders that strap over his shoulders. Thick gloves that nonetheless still have a fair bit of grip and dexterity. A hood of thick leather. Black goggles that are lightly enchanted to enhance light sources. And the only weapon afforded an Archivist. It's folded, like a stapler, sort of - the kind you'd find at any office desk. But when you grip the bottom half and flick out the top, a long rod unfolds with a hard clicking sound, humming softly. This is a thaumic baton, and it introduces a charge of random mana into what it strikes. On people, this usually is just especially painful, but on animus, it often shorts the circuits of mana that keep them animated and stuns them into submission. The mana charge in the rod also allows it to bat away some spells and disrupt certain enchantments. You can't take them out of the stacks, but they're very useful.

Thus armed, Joseph walks - feeling fairly heavy - into the elevator further down.

A deep breath as he steps off, feeling like he's walking through water that he can breathe. The magic swarms about him, pins-and-needles all over even through the protective gear. Without it, he knows he'd feel deep nausea and see hallucinations almost immediately. As it is, at middle range his vision swims and further out it's like smoke that shifts and twitches like a living thing. Distantly, the sound of rustling paper and clattering covers just barely prevents total silence.

Joseph hates the Deep Stacks.
Deeper in, deeper, he walks, feeling the tingling of mana and magic at his wrists and neck and face, and when he breathes, along his nose and sinuses. Mana is not quite like radiation, these feelings will pass as soon as he's out of it. But it's unsettling alongside the low light of the deeper stacks, where brighter lights would threaten fires and preservation issues.

Standing more or less in the middle of the Stacks, Joseph listens and can hear animus all over. There's been a minor breakout - it's probably why this partner of his is down here. There's a large pack of them he can hear in the middle distance, but in the opposite direction, a few loners. Maybe they're picking them off one by one, or perhaps they've decided the more dangerous option of hunting the whole swarm at once. Either way could lead to its own dangers, its own reasons for being right. Joseph drums his fingers on his baton handle nervously. This isn't where he wants to stay. The magic tickles at his ear, then pins play along his inner ear, a wholly intrusive, unwelcome itch he cannot scratch.

>Move towards the bigger swarm, risking an overwhelming encounter.
>Move towards the lesser, spread out animus, leading to a possible ambush.
>Run away. This isn't like you. You shouldn't be here, Mundane. Go home.
>Move towards the bigger swarm, risking an overwhelming encounter.
Should be easier to run away if it's just one thing
>>Move towards the bigger swarm, risking an overwhelming encounter.
>Move towards the lesser, spread out animus, leading to a possible ambush.

It’s a rainy night in Global Quadrant... you never remember the full hash of where you live. Old people call it a city. Whatever—you live in a little section of Rf—er, “Earth”? You only used that word when you were, like, three, but it—

You’re getting distracted again! You’re in your apartment. 3x3x3 meters. Your sitting in front of your computer, a prototype NeuralLink device wormed awkwardly in your ear. The device is a bittersweet reminder that you won the lottery of all jobs—a beta tester. You get to rent all kinds of cool things, especially those of an illicit nature. The notion of such a new device is currently bobbing around in your mind. Before you can open a new tab on your computer, however, a tab is opened for you. The URL is... oh! A new product! You lean in, excited...

[[ 00398991C will arrive momentarily. ]]

... uh?... maybe there was a miscommunication between your NeuralLink and the computer? Normally there’s a description for the product at least—


There’s someone in your room.



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Whoops! Sorry, I should have clarified.

>> Introduce yourself
>> Ask her why she’s in your residential unit
>> Custom

By the way, I highly encourage elaborating on your responses. The more improv the merrier!
Oh, also, a brief bio on who you play as:

Hash jYwz1398zz_0229 is a young penised persxn somewhere between 16 and 21. Your sleep schedule is messy as your room—though, I don’t think sleep schedules can be “filthy.” Your life is a mystery beyond these 3 cubic meters. Your closest thing to companionship has been the pexple you talk to online, but chances are they’re bxts anyway. You have an interest in computer science and engineering, mainly as a means to sexual gratification.

Recently you used a state-loaned prototype of a “hair-trimmer” to dramatically change your look... you really wish you could keep that hair trimmer now.
>young penised persxn
why is our dick young
>> Ask her why she’s in your residential unit
>> Ask her why she’s in your residential unit
guess she wasnt supposed to come out *_*

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Your name is Sean Clayton, aka Gunsmoke, aka Adjutant Tango. Last time, you put Delrio down for good, established the foundations for the Steel Wolves, returned home in triumph, and decided to kick back and relax for a while.

Now, you’re about to reach the first stop on your transcontinental road trip, the United Kingdom.

> Hello everyone, and welcome back to another issue of DC: Henchman Quest! As always, I’m AxisQM. Rules are simple but flexible: 20-30 minutes to vote / roll what I say, rolls count even if you (or I) mess up the modifier, crit successes override, write-ins encouraged. If rolls / votes are slow to come in, I’ll do my best to adjust for it. Our cover art is the brainchild of a generous anon, and still brightens my day whenever I think about it.

Pastebin: https://pastebin.com/RwY7nc3S

Link to Previous Thread: http://thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2022/5369036/

Link to Archive: http://thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Henchman
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star labs crit roll on the JLA, along with the afterparty, all the interactions with Babs, the Batreports. and the iceberg lounge. Jonah arc was fun too, but a step down on the funometer from the above
Babs moments are my favorite, more from the general reactions it triggers in the thread. I’ve also enjoyed the interludes of people reacting to us and the world at large.
Personally, my favourite parts are when studying magic/language goes wrong and then the results get tied back into the story.

I have to say that our research endeavor as Jonah Thema that led to our initial ghost encounter and allowed us to unintentionally mess with Batgirl since it was nice to see Sean the story progress a bit without needing to deal with combat at every step and show Sean as a character able to utilize his other skills as well!

And we’re back! Low Speed Anti-Divine QM here, welcome to thread 3!

Quick recap of thread 2: Anon and his Avenger of Red fought off Kuro no Lancer’s clones (and later discerned his True Name to be Sun Wukong), palled around with Truvietianne, Rushorou, Matsuda, and their Servants for a while, blew a couple of shipborne Servants to smithereens, had a somewhat inconclusive but edifying spar with Matsuda, got a map of the city from Caster of Black, and started investigating part of the southwest section with Truvietianne and her Servant. Lastly, an unknown Servant announced their presence in spite of Anon’s earlier show of force.

First thread (was nuked by a rogue janny): https://archived.moe/qst/thread/5331278/
Second thread: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2022/5373312/
Reference for Servant (and other related) stat-blocks: https://pastebin.com/5mPbUP4G
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Rolled 28 (1d100)

Hoo boy.
Rolled 15 (1d100)

It's jobbing season
I hadn't planned for the DC to be very high, but there's a good chance it's a little higher than 5.
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Rolled 50 (1d100)

Luck: G

Percy not jobbing for once

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It is night. You have set up camp in the hollow of the roots of a great tree, resting your weary feet from your wanderings in this immense and labyrinthian forest. You are Khazad the Dwarf, and you are lost. As you pick absently at the small, merry campfire, you hear something rustle in the trees. Your heart leaps to your throat, hammering painfully like dwarven wedding drums. You snatch your sword and hold it before you, gripping it tight with both hands.

"Who's there?" you say. "Show yourself!" Then you repeat the command in all the languages you know. The last one, used by the human merchants that sometimes come to trade with the mountainhall, is answered by a weak voice, something between a rasp and a moan.

A man stumbles out of some bushes, his face briefly illuminated by the light of the campfire. Dark circles hang beneath his half-lidded eyes. His lips are chapped in the extreme. As he steps forward, he gasps for breath like a man who has just surfaced from a long dive. "Please..." he says. Then his eyes roll back and he collapses to the ground.

All is still. You cautiously poke the man with your sword, but, though he breathes, he does not stir. He seems to have only lost consciousness, likely from exhaustion, for you can see no injuries, no blood or wound—except for a strange bruise on the back of his neck, in the shape of curled fingers. You turn him over. He has a pair of daggers on his belt, and is dressed like a common traveler. He also has a satchel, as tattered and patchwork as your own knapsack, and a piece of yarn around his neck on which have been threaded a set of shiny lockpicks.

>Choose all that apply:
[ ] Rifle through his satchel
[ ] Take any valuables
[ ] Slit his throat
[ ] Monitor him through the night
[ ] Share some of your provisions with him
[ ] Inquire about his bruise

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>[ ] Protect Elfric
>[ ] Use fire
>[ ] Protect Elfric
>[ ] Use fire
>[ ] Attack it
Got chewed out by my boss today and feeling too depressed to post right now. Sorry friends. Will try to continue over the weekend.
Bosses suck, don't worry about it, I understand.

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>What is a quest?
An interactive story in which the QM (Quest Master, Quester Molester, Queer Masochist) writes and provides the readers with options on how to proceed. Dice may or may not be included due to on-site functionality.

Questionably Useful links:

A collection of guides which may or may not still be active, but can be good for general writing advice to avoid common beginner's traps. Badly in need of renovation.

>Archive of quest reviews: http://pastebin.com/u/QuestReviewsArchive
Worth reading through, because the best way to figure out how a quest might go right or wrong is to see how it's been done before.

>Archiving guide:
Go to http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/requestqstinterface.html
Fill out the request form to archive a thread.
Threads are also automatically archived by other websites, such as archived.moe.

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And on the red/blue lighting in that Biden speech, I explored that in my Golgotha game hehe. I was inspired by Nicholas Winding Refn and his use of red/blue colour imagery in films like the Neon Demon (I think the director is colour blind?) The lighting and colour of the art is actually a part of the quest itself, as I was trying to hint at some of the puzzles with the red/blue choice symbolism (also, an unsubtle allegory to thr Bioware style Mass Effect Paragon Blue Good, Renegade Red Bad etc)

So for instance, the artwork here
etc etc. A lot of choices guided by the colour of those images.
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I still kinda wanna lowkey run a Homestuck Quest.
Far ness
What is stopping you?
It's a pretty cool setting for sure, but yea, you might have more freedom if you whip up a similar concept in your own setting. Maybe a monster slayer quest?

Go for it! Do what your heart desires!

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Previous chapters:https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Heretic%20Cultivator%20Quest
Lost chapter (thread 7): https://archived.moe/qst/thread/5334502/
You are the magnanimous, peerlessly talented and wise Demonic beast Huānliúxuè (欢流血, Happy Bloodshed/ Happy to Shed Blood), currently in the guise of your plain and meek student in the art of medicines and apprentice doctor, Yuyi, whose face and body you have taken in your quest to learn human wisdom and experience humanity personally and truly. Having been invited from the humble Buddhist monastery you had been staying at in the hopes the genial and accepting Monks there could teach you insights and knowledge of faith and religion that you simply couldn't find anywhere else, to the palace of the failing imperial dynasty that had brought about the current age of unrest, turmoil and political upheaval that has so upset the mortal realm. However, cunning as you are, you sensed that the envoy Mao Wēixiào (猫 微笑 , Cat Smile) sent to collect the miraculous doctor Yuyi, would be but the first viper you'd meet in the employ of the disgraced emperor.

And so, to keep Yuyi safe from harm or the predation of the villains that surrounded and staffed the court of the reprobate ruler forsaken by the mandate of heaven, and yourself from any exorcists or cultivators that may be lurking nearby, you returned briefly to your subterranean temple to collect your real body and covertly smuggle it with you as you journeyed to the new seat of imperial power. And, your shrewd and loyal students and loving mother, realizing as you had that your body would be defenseless while it "Slept" empty and soulless, demanded to be allowed the honored privilege of guarding it while it was unoccupied.

And so, Fu, one of your earliest and most fiercly loyal disciples, and Qiang, another of that number and the only other practitioner of your Ruler of the Great Wheel's Law (统治者的这重大轮回法律, Tǒngzhìzhědīzhèzhòngdàlúnhuífǎlǜ), both of whom were stopped like Feiqing and Ping at a bottleneck in their own cultivation, volunteered to accompany you in the shadows. And, besides them and the entourage of soldiers and servants who accompanied Moa Weixiao to collect you for the emperor, one of the monks from the temple,Yongzheng, refusing to allow Yuyi to enter the palace of the Emperor unguarded also joined you with the excuse that he was the great jade doctor's personal assistant, apprentice and attendant.

However, a few days into your journey to the new imperial capital, the convoy was attacked by bandits while you were enjoying the pampering and grooming of the servant girls assigned to your care and service.
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>Suggesting this as an add-on to whatever action is voted for if we want to play around with Mao. Playful, coy prompt is below as well.
>Ask Mao Weixiao what his deal is.
>”When I stepped down from the carriage, I saw for a moment a look I recognize from many a man. A festering grudge that leads men to either despair or great action.”
>”I take an interest in what leads men to the rash actions that place them in my care. I have seen them sated, and those who would pass with the blackest of stains that will no doubt hold them in this life. But I have never seen such an intense look in a man who is not already embracing death and requires my intervention to save them.”
>”I would like to hear the story of your grudges one day, Mao Weixiao. I don’t believe you’ll tell me the truth. But that said, even a lie worthy enough to explain such hatred would be interesting to hear.”
>Remind Mao Weixiao that you are no puppet nor anyone to be trifled with by remarking a doctor can end lives as easily as they save them
>Check on the soldiers, and follow them as a ghost every night, so you actually know what they choose to do.
>>Check on the soldiers, and follow them as a ghost every night, so you actually know what they choose to do.
>Check on the soldiers every night
>Enjoy our pampering

These grudges are. . . delectable. I simply must know more.

Support. Why is their potency so powerful?
We understand grudges but this is a good opportunity to comprehend human malice from Maos perspective. +1

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You are Sergey Ivanovich Kozlov, former resident of a small town now located in another dimension, and somewhat unwilling retainer to the same renowned scientist noble responsible for teleporting your hometown.

After raiding an underground city ruin left untouched for at least 50 years, you've come across an old artifact that forcibly made you and an almost-century old construct designed for warfare named Tau Enkidu enter a pact - a ritual that forever merges two souls, and was understood to be impossible without the consent of both parties.
To make things more complicated, Enkidu claims to come from a superpower with colonies around the world called Pandemonia, a civilization unknown to everyone and absent from any history books.
While you now have the abilities of a Dragoon, capable of riding your pactmate and using devastating abilities to overwhelm the enemy, you have accidentally made yourself an enemy of Arcadia, your homeland. After all, pacts without the council's permission are highly illegal. Your superior, Dr. Nevada, has agreed to use her position in her house to pardon your undocumented pact, but until then, you will have to keep it a secret.

Yesterday, you arrived at the campus of House Daedal, your new home, within the Arcadian metropolis of Limur. Your new status as Dr. Nevada's retainer comes as a surprise to everyone you encounter, but your "rustic" appearance is seen as an eyesore to the nobility. To get you settled in, your superior orders you to buy some new clothes, with the help of Briana, a moss woman who turns out to have a knack for both fashion and slacking off. With three hours remaining before you have to report back to Dr. Nevada, you decide to get something to eat, at Briana's recommendation.

ARCHIVE: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=MPQ
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"Thank you. Normally, a case like this could go either way, but the representatives of House Titania will definitely make the case that this incident was premeditated by House Daedal, which it was, Lady Doctor Nevada."
"You done chastisin' me? They got no proof."
"Y-yes, but I don't think it will be necessary. The accusation will definitely swing the outcome in their favor, and the jury wouldn't want a result that could send a message like that."
"What message?"
"That being abusing legal gray areas to circumvent blockades, especially against an opposing house. The last thing the council needs are firebrand nobles that ignore the law whenever it suits them."
"Isn't that what the whole favor system is about?"
"I know, right?"
"The act of exchanging favors is between consenting parties and has the undocumented approval of the high council. What Lady- what the two of us did, was to act outside of the law with the intention of keeping it a secret to the council. It's very different."

"So it's impossible?"
"At the very least, it's extremely unlikely. Unless we can convince the jury that House Daedal deserves the artifact over House Titania despite the dubious nature of the retrieval, they will side with them."

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"No! Of course not! Our Earl Daedal would never allow it! It might happen to servants and, in rare cases, nobility with low status, but you are an integral part of this house! Everyone here treasures you dearly, and... I- I had hoped you felt the same loyalty in return."
"Jesus, don't be so dramatic. I'm integral because I make 'em money n' clout. Fine by me, but don't act like there's more behind that."
"Is it so hard to believe that people would actually like you!?"
"How bout you qu- Okay, fuck this. You're not turnin' this into a therapy session."

She stands up and steps away from the desk, running her hands through her hair; taming the loose strands that have been falling out of place - and mostly in front of her face. It takes a moment for her paces to settle to their usual languid rhythm.

"This shit's clearly gettin' us nowhere. Still want a conclusion by the end of this, but for now, we're talkin' bout somethin' else."
"I... Agreed, Lady Doctor Nevada."
"Understood, Dr. Nevada."

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"Before you say anythin', it works with unsummonin' pactmates because there's a strong orgone source - a conscious mind, to be exact - to keep em alive. It goes into orgone origin theory n' super-consciousness as to why that works, but basically... they are still around, cause you remember them bein' around. There's obviously more to it than that, but if I'm gonna explain every detail, we'll be here till tomorrow afternoon."
"Okay, so what does that mean?"
"You can't make a pact with a monster that already made one, obviously. But a solo monster couldn't have been in an orgone state for that long, even if you had that kind of energy. At the moment, my money's on teleportation."
"Teleportation? How so, Lady Doctor Nevada?"

"It's basically sleight of hand. The construct never was in that box - it was someplace else, bein' drip-fed orgone while in stasis. When Ivan triggered the artifact, it acted as a beacon, and brought em in. Then, a separate section forced the pact somehow."
"But that construct said its last record was 26 AM! That's 7 years before the invention of magitechnological fairy rings! And even if that's not the actual year of the activation of the device, teleportation is still fairy tech! You'd recognize it immediately, right?"
"Yeah, but that's not fairy tech. Doesn't look like anything Arcadia did back then. But this is lost tech we're dealin' with, so it could be that someone figured it out before us."
"That's imp-"
"It's unlikely, specially cause long-distance matter displacement requires a gate at both ends. But it doesn't have to be long-distance. If the construct was close by - say, a radius of 50 meters - you could easily build a one-way teleporter with a beacon as guidance - with today's technology, that is."

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"At this scale, I highly doubt that. But Ivan didn't recognize the architecture either, so maybe the whole block got transported here, as crazy as that is."
"Isn't that what you did with Springfield?"
"Like I said, that's not a different plane, it's subspace. That's still the same dimension. ...Honestly, at this point I'd believe the Hivemind did it."
"What is the Hivemind?"
"Ah, I can understand you not having heard of them. The Cybernetic Hivemind is a recluse faction a lot like us, actually. They live in fortified mega-colonies they call arcologies, and have strict defensive policies regarding engagement. They are highly technologically advanced, so sometimes we actually import goods from them, especially if there is low demand for it in Arcadia. The car and gun you used? Both were designed and built in a Hivemind arcology."
"Wait, how old is this faction?"

"I... think the name first officially appeared in a constitution 8 years after Doomsday, but they have had small settlements since the beginning."
"Wouldn't that clearly explain who built it? If they are so advanced and have been around since forever, t-"
"No, it's not. Gaia shamans might as well've put that thing together."

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>> Something else about the device. (Write-In)
Let's ask if the pressure that we felt in our chest when we entered the room with the box was typical for magic devices. I checked back and we did mention that we felt it, but that was in the middle of us trying to bullshit her and maybe the pattern of intensifying only with touch and not being dampened with heavy metal isn't normal.

You are king Viserys Targaryen.
Your wife Aemma died in childbirth a few months ago.
Your small council wants you to marry again.
>marry the 12 year old black girl
>marry your daughter's 15 year old best friend
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>bring daemon here at once
fucking daemon
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"Bring daemon here at once!!"
Your guards bring a drunk daemon to the throne room.
The dumb moron lays on the floor smiling smugly like he made a galaxy brain move.
"Rhaenyra is spoiled! No lord her will wed her now! Wed her to me! I want Rhaenyra I'll take her as she is!"
What now viseryschads?
>uncle-niece marriage is disgusting kill yourself degenerate groomer scum
>don't worry about it I'm marrying her myself its cool water under the bridge
>>uncle-niece marriage is disgusting kill yourself degenerate groomer scum
A true targ marries their own daughter or sister.
>>don't worry about it I'm marrying her myself its cool water under the bridge
>don't worry about it I'm marrying her myself its cool water under the bridge

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"Listen to how the world turned"

The plain wooden door. It's not special in any way compared to the others and yet... this is exactly why it stands out. You feel as if the longing and despair that the blue gate radiates is calling out to you and almost choose that one, but your curiosity compels you to see what's behind the simplest door in your dream. Having made up your mind you confidently walk up to it, turn the handle and step through. There is nothing exceptional on the other side. Just more of the same endless, black void. You hear someone snoring behind you. You turn and see that all five doors have disappeared, replaced by an old man dressed in strange clothes, dozing on his walking stick while standing on a small patch of cobblestones under a lamp post. It looks strange just floating in the void, but strangeness is to be expected in a dream, is it not? With nothing else to do, you approach and nudge him. He jerks awake. His eyes remain obscured by the shadows underneath his hat as he speaks.

"Ah, a guest! I did not expect to see a traveler so soon this time. Where are you from?"

"Hello. I'm from the Kingdom of Zeal, my name is Gaius. Who are you?"

"Gaius from the Kingdom of Zeal... now that is a surprise. You are a mage then?" Did he just ignore your question?

"I am. My element is water, like my mother's, though I can also use Shadow spells like my father did. What is this place?"

"A healer then. And a warrior, perhaps. How did you find your way to this bleak place?"

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>Blind the other serpent and go forward on the walkway.
Let’s move on and let the sneks vent on the robots.
Rolled 10, 6 = 16 (2d100)

>Finish the serpents off with Water I.

>Blind the other serpent and go forward on the walkway.

>Grab the slowed-down snake and hit the blinded snake. Hit a snake with another snake.

Let's see how well that goes. 2d100, bo3. 1st DC: 50, 2nd DC: 60
Rolled 13, 67 = 80 (2d100)

Schala no!
Rolled 80, 72 = 152 (2d100)

Rolled 90, 48 = 138 (2d100)



Hail, Samuel "Chainsaw" Evil, our glorious leader! You are the rightful sovereign of this glorious nation of Paneira, through your firm but benevolent leadership you have advanced the people of this country. Although some foreign nations decry you as a dictator, you are loved and respected by your populace. Your military stand strong to defend this country, and your bureaucrats fair and just. Truly, it is by your immortal, Lich hands that this nation is great.

Or so it would seem.

In truth, it's not easy to manage a country. While you've successfully cooperated with Zayyine in return for a dozen Aqrab light tanks, there's still the question of who's been stealing Zayyine weaponry. Then, you've used magic to speak to the giant alien woman whose name is Astra - but also accidentally created a mad scientist. Then there's Soleil killing yet another citizen - which turns out to be an Eisen Doctrine remnant. Good thing you've cut a deal with the new underworld boss. Afterwards, you accidentally personally surveyed an ancient ruin which contains an extinct empire's library and another lich, among other things. After befriending the lich, you turned the ruin into a secret laboratory that studies the supernatural - when the Zayyine leader calls to say he'd sent all 12 Aqrabs. But wait, you've only received 6!

It's not easy being a dictator!
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Sorry lads n lasses, I'm definitely under the weather, feeling sick in the esophagus. I've only got like 10% of the drawing done, but I knew what I'm gonna write, so hopefully I'll update this by Monday.
Sorry about this! Seems like it's my turn to get QM cursed.
Relax and get well. Sending positive vibes your way, QM.
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Oof. Feel better soon, IG!
Thanks fellas, fully intending to beat this thing before it grew into a full-blown illness.

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>ARCHIVE: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=wingbride
>DISCORD: https://discord.gg/D2QGKxBd87
>Buy Me A Coffee? No thanks.

>>Inform her that you don’t mind showing a little appreciation for the overworked.
>"Bowling alley, Dinner, or bar?"

You take Andromeda up on it. It wasn’t as if you were so strapped for cash that you couldn’t buy a round for the support crew. As someone who operated behind—literally, in many cases—pilots of considerable skill in the world of sell-swords, shows of appreciation and gestures of goodwill were worth more in the value than chests filled with wads of payday dirt more times than not. Showing that while the others didn’t really show a mug and a cheer up for them while you would went a long way in an industry where survival was a vendor-compliant opportunity cost.

One could never know when some generosity through means of spare coins could mean the difference between life and death.

Pausing for a moment, you decide to tack a little more on.

Life and death were definitely less negotiable bedfellows than people could ever be.

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>Strategize the offensive with Sensei and Ransom; who takes what, who’s on defense and counter, etc. etc.

AWACS “Andromeda”
<< AO in sight. Time to targets: sixty seconds. >>

Garm 03 Flight Intelligence “Tessa”
<< Scan of the immediate area is complete. I detect no aerial resistance. It appears our drop-in is wholly unexpected.

Garm 03 WSO, “Sensei”
<< Could be just because we’re out of immediate intercept range. AWACS? You have anything?

AWACS “Andromeda”
<< They’re either too far out or too low to detect, but the skies are clear on my end. No enemy activity >>

Garm 03 WSO, “Sensei”

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>>Have Garm 03 run defense up top while you decimate the forces below
>>Have both you and Garm 03 take out the targets on the ground as quickly as you can and with as much damage you can manage; the skies seem clear so it seems like the best course of action.

Risky, but we could end this in a single stroke.
>Have both you and Garm 03 take out the targets on the ground as quickly as you can and with as much damage you can manage; the skies seem clear so it seems like the best course of action.
>>Be cautious; have Garm 03 take out the ground targets while you run defense at a higher altitude so any patrols that are already up in the air but hidden below the range of your instruments’ nets to be caught by manual engagement

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Oh no- oh no! I'm going down!

You don't know what happened! You thought you were a pretty experienced space pilot. On a routine patrol of this sector of space- you decided to take a little detour nearby an uncharted world, PNF-404, as named by the Kopites, before you suddenly lost control of your ship! Your ship's computer isn't able to stop the mechanical and electrical components from freaking out and gradually pulling your ship into the planet's gravity. You brace for impact...

With a great crash, your ship, the SS Topaz falls to the ground. Thankfully, you are safe and sound- but after taking stock of the damage, it appears you may be trapped on this planet...

Leaving the cockpit and going outside, you quickly take stock of your surroundings. This planet is an uncharted world of which very few explorers have visited- it is even said that the Hocotate Freight company intentionally hides this planet from star maps to avoid people digging into their business ventures. There is no sign of civilization here- and now you can tell why.

The entire planet's atmosphere- there is SO much oxygen! It's pure poison! No living thing from your homeworld could possibly survive this place for even a moment without a space suit! And that means this planet is totally perilous to you- and you have to leave as soon as possible. But your ship... There's no way you can leave orbit in this condition. It's damaged and is missing some parts- they've likely been scattered all over the planet's surface when you nearly broke up in the atmosphere.

To make things worse, your ship's filtration system can only filter out the toxic oxygen for so long. You only have a little over three weeks, or twenty two days, until your time is up and you will need to leave this planet- or else you will die.

Alright. Don't panic. You know there is an absolutely zero percent chance you will be able to even carry back the parts yourself if you find them all, and you don't know what kind of dangerous wildlife could be present on this planet that you are defenseless with... let's try to focus on something productive. Your ship isn't stocked with food right now- so you might want to find something to eat.
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You have decided to enter... The Hole.

This is a dungeon. Your entire day will be spent here; as the time spent to explore and come back out of the dungeon requires you be back by nightfall. However, as your computer suggests, dungeons may house the most dangerous types of wildlife on this planet... but also rewards. Rare anomalies, archeological treasures, or even something related to the Pikmin!

As far as you can tell, the Hole is a deep tunnel system depressed in sand. You are unsure of the dangers inside; but your computer reports no excess moisture, heat, or electrical energy. As such, it is likely whatever you encounter down here will be mostly physical in nature.

In order to determine how well you; roll a 1d100 for one Pikmin type. The best roll for each pikmin type will determine how useful they are and what percentage you preserve while in the dungeon.

For this dungeon; you are taking down-
Rolled 56 (1d100)

Do we roll before or after the vote?
Rolled 4 (1d100)

Rolled 63 (1d100)

A little confused. Can we only take one color with us? I'd really rather a mix of purple and orange, to cover both low and high theats.
Rolled 27 (1d100)


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You are Charlotte Fawkins, dashing heroine, detective, adventuress, heiress, sorceress, etcetera. Three years ago, you drowned yourself in a quest to find a long-lost family heirloom; nowadays, you're just nobly c̶a̶u̶s̶i̶n̶g solving problems with the help of un-trusty advisor(?) Richard and trusty retainer Gil. Inexplicably, many people "dislike" you, though you've never done anything wrong in your life.

Right now, you are plotting out the party make-up for the expedition to rescue your kidnapped frenemy Madrigal.


It all comes rather easily to mind, once you flop back down on your cot and stare up at the ceiling. Of course this day will go better than the last, because today is the day you're going to bust in and rescue Madrigal. Single-handedly.

«You have to be joking.»

Oh? Oh, damn. Richard's draped over the edge of your cot, back to his usual dead-eyed self. Is he hungover?

«Why would I be hungover.»

Because he— because he was piss-drunk last night? So piss-drunk, in fact, that he didn't bother waking you up while you were being physically dragged out to the Fen and back home? Unless he didn't bother because you slammed the door on him, but— but, look, it was freaky how drunk he was. He was acting freaky. Does he even remember any of it?

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>I would have thought she would be in too mich shock to be outright rude, more like backbiting sarcastically polite.
I think "backbiting and sarcastic" is a reasonable description of where Madrigal would be at the moment (along with "extremely confused"). My quibble was more with the word 'icy,' which I think implies some deliberateness and remove she wouldn't have while backed into a corner.

>Did Richard influence our dad persona to make us stab him as revenge?
I can't tell you this, but I appreciate the theorizing.

>Not the first time we stabbed him, if I recall didn't we stab him in the memory of our house?
After a brief skim of Thread 8, you don't kill Martin (i.e. your father)-- you do fight him, but he "dies" because the memory-construct gets destabilized. You consider stabbing your mother/the goo snake, but don't go through with it. You may be thinking of the last time Richard let himself go full Martin back in Thread 12 (https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2020/4417979/#p4444995), or alternately as a real deep cut your Man In White dream in Thread 4 (https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2020/3985031/#p3994527).
>Gimme the rundown

"—get you cured. The sooner the better, honestly, I know this isn't very dignified..."

For having kidnapped you, your kidnapper is not very menacing. She's of average height and build and is wearing thick Ellerylike goggles. (Don't bring Ellery into everything.) Thick goggles. Thick yellow gloves. You could overpower her easily if you took her by surprise— she doesn't look like she's seen a fistfight in her life. Maybe could spell it, though. Damn, kidnapped by a poindexter... how fucking embarrassing. How lame. Too bad you've barely got arms to swing with, much less the Fitz, so your dreams of ambush are just about shot.

Besides, be logical. If you did knock your kidnapper out cold, what then? Where the hell would you go? She'd hunt you down and stick your sorry gelatinous ass straight back in the snake, and then you'd be fucked. Up said ass, if you will. So no: you are going to sit here, and you are going to be nicey-nice to the poindexter until she gives you the scoop and whatever ulterior motive she's got behind that mask. Because the kind of people who kidnap other people don't let them go for free.

"No?" you say. "Just a little bit. Well, good thing you're going to cure me of it, huh?"

"Of it? I mean..." She thinks. "Sort of? You're still going to be goo— I sincerely have no idea where your actual body is. Sorry. It's just going to be altering the consistency so you can support your own weight. You notice how you're fairly liquid?"

No shit. "Boy, have I."

"Right. This'll make it thicker and springier, so it behaves a little more like real flesh. That's all. Can you locomote?"

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"What? No, I just think— have you ever seen a squashed slug in the hot sun? It looks and smells like that. It's a, 'scuze me, fucked up way to go, especially given I just extracted you— curing helps with water retention too, by the way. You still need some full immersion so you have the water, but it beats being carted around in a tank— speaking of."

"Water retention." "Full immersion." Where did this woman pick up the 'Maddie' from? Because you have a terrible, terrible feeling about that, but you don't intend to go into it now. You have enough to grapple with as is.

She leaves. You wait ignominiously on the floor for a minute or two until she returns, scrapes you up, and dumps you into the tank.

It's blurry after that. In retrospect you think the goo reacted with the water in the tank, maybe diffusing in it— to you it feels like deep relaxation then shallow sleep. If you'd known about it, you would've put in some kind of effort: asleep with your kidnapper? Who's wheeling you god-knows-where to do god-knows-what? You didn't know, so you doze even as fine-ground chit (among other mystery powders) is swirled into you, as the unincorporated water is drained off the top, and even as you're lifted and poured into the open metal mold. This, also in retrospect, was wholly for the best: if you knew your kidnapper were locking you into a close, dark, dense, hot prison, you would've done or said something stupid. But you didn't and you couldn't and your kidnapper watches closely as the steam billows out and unfathomable changes happen in you, and when the mold swings open you become aware again.

You don't scream. (Good on you.) You are confused and don't want to show confusion— would've liked to not show weakness in general, but that hope died with the first round of screaming. So instead you step out of the mold, cracking your knuckles, cracking your wrist, looking nonchalant so you can feel the same. You're doing great. You're doing normal. You have a stable body now somehow, which you're not going to ask questions about— not going to ask why it's cloudy blue, why it's someone else's (the fingers are too long, the wrists too dainty), why you're nude— not even regular nude, which you could chalk up to your kidnapper being a perv. Weird, inhuman, doll-like nude. And your smooth blue tits are too small.

You are not going to fucking ask about these things, because they're not relevant. Freaky, yes, distracting, yes, but you are a grown-ass woman and you're capable of sticking to your priorities. Meaning: scraping for as much info as she'll stupidly give you.

"Feel better?" your kidnapper says. "It's just the stock female mold, sorry. If I had your blood you wouldn't have to go through all this crap, but I still think— it should still adapt to your koss. May take a few days, though. Skin color should come in first, if I remember—"

'Koss?' Whatever. You don't give a shit. You haven't turned on the charm offensive yet— it's kind of hard when you're semi-solid, okay— but this kind of yammering on is a phenomenal sign. Means she's pent-up for someone to talk to: surprisingly common in shady types, and always advantageous for you. Especially if they start thinking you're friends. "That's fascinating," you say. "You know, I— I don't think I got your name."

She pauses. "I'm sure you did earlier, but... well, I don't know how much you remember. It's Pat."

"Pat." Easy to remember. Actually, now that you— shit. "From that— that fucked-up factory place?"

Her expression is hard to discern behind the mask and goggles, but her voice betrays some annoyance. (You should slow your roll.) "Namway? Yes. Though I don't know how much is intact of it."

What? Did— you remember, distantly, a white room and an evil ghost in Charlotte's body. "Wow, that sucks. Sorry about that. That's a— that's a legitimate profession, though. Wow. Being a goo... studier. Feels like most kidnappers these days are bums, but shit, I mean— what do you need me for? The ol' goo biz not making enough dosh for you?"

"I didn't have much of a choice." She laces her fingers. "I needed a snake by a deadline. You were a snake. And... unconscious, I guess, or in shock, and I didn't seriously believe a person could or would be in there, and I took you. And then my experiments kept fucking up, excuse me, because a person was in there. And now you're here. That's about the long and short of it."

This is a new one. "You— you accidentally goddamn kidnapped me. You thought I was a normal snake, and you accidentally—"

She pinches the bridge of her nose. "Yeah. So— look. This isn't an ideal situation for either of us, alright? You don't want to be kidnapped, I don't want to have kidnapped you. So—"

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>”You know, if she blindfolds you and drops you off near a location that you give her, you won’t be able to lead your crew of murderous buddies back here.”

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