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You find yourself laying on a stiff, uncomfortable mattress. It would not be accurate to say you “woke up” here. You simply became aware that you, in fact, are lying on your back on this shitty mattress, like a toppled over beatle struggling to stand upright on its 6 legs. Your joints wail at you in disapproval as you struggle to sit upright.

Parallel to your own, there is a twin sized bed next to you. In the corner you are directly facing, there is a television affixed to the upper wall. There is a sparse desk with a phone, a wooden dresser, and two doors. One door leads to some kind of commodore, while the other door leads to unfamiliar and unnerving territory. A hallway of some kind? Horrifying.
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Quality quip
+1 blimey...
Another one bites the dust.
Thanks for running, QM.

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A long time ago, there were more than just the average types of greenskin. Besides the bestial, brutish berserkers or the lean, lanky, thugs, there were other breeds of Orc. One of these is the Pigfaced Orcs, who were eventually driven from the lands of the west into the far east, where they quickly grew in power. Meanwhile in the west, your homeland, the average Greenskin Frazetta-Looking Orcs have risen to power, with the lanky Mongrel Orcs as somewhat lesser Orcs. Then, there's your people: The Cycloptic Orcs. Your people were never numerous, and quite odd compared to other orcs; skinny like the corpse of a starving man, and with one large eye in your face, you Cycloptic Orcs lived primitive lives in only loincloths and armed with your talons, nearly bestial compared to the scavenged tools or crudely forged weapons of the other Orcs. They have taken most of your land, and driven you to remote caves in a mountain chain surrounded by a swamp, leaving you in moist, dark tunnel systems deep beneath the roots of the mountains. If you want to survive, you must come together as a tribe and adapt to outdo the other Orcish subspecies to gain the favor of the Orcish Gods, as well as survive the civilized races, other savage races, and monsters. First things first: what should we name this tribe?
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Guys, I hate to admit it, but I'm a lazy fuck. Anyone else want to take over from here?
Welp. Another civ bites the dust.
It was dead the moment he started putting off writing and kept asking for more and more starting details.
Thanks for running.
Thanks for running, QM.

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You're in the capital of a "modern" 3rd world country. The wages are barely enough for a single person, and taxes are high, yet the government cares little about convenience of the people. This has resulted in private contractors becoming more popular. Thus beginning a war within the transportation industry. However, few people can afford firearms. Melee weapons will be most people's sidearm. Who will you be in this modern war?

Starting as a private worker
+Better salary
+Liked by the public
-Fewer in numbers

Starting as a public worker
+Liked by the government and police
+Larger in numbers
-Hated by the public
-Less salary

>Taxi driver

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Good point on laying low. I say we
>Practice shooting the slingshot rifle
You check the news. Nothing about that street race two days ago. As for the deaths of those delinquents in the parking lot, the social media response has been lackluster. Most celebrated their deaths. “That’s what happens to gangsters and delinquents when they met their match” is the general consensus.

Most still chalk it up to other gangsters that killed them. Good.

While scrolling through the website, you come across a recently posted news about a public taxi driver allegedly sexually harassing a woman in his taxi.

You click on the article and it shows a vertically filmed video of a taxi driver trying to grope a woman while she tries to push him away.

As soon as the person recording grabs their metal tumbler, and immediately exits his car and smacks it at the car window.

The crack caused him to flinch and look at the camera, giving the woman enough time to shove him away and escape from the car.

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Holy shit. This is huge. The public is going eat this story up, and there’s definitely will be more clashes like this between the taxi drivers.

Which means, civilians are more willing to look the other way when we do have to use violence. Perfect.

Within several hours, social media sites are talking about their negative experiences of public taxi drivers. Being scammed. Being in uncomfortable situations. Being disrespected because they are foreigners, or perceived as foreigners.

The public taxi drivers don’t take too kindly to all of this. Splinter groups and different views begin to emerge from the very same faction.

Some have deepened their hatred towards women, some suggest they travel in bigger groups, some call the girl a slut for wearing clothing that slightly shows her belly, some become disillusioned, and some remain silent on the web.

Damn. Tomorrow’s gonna be interesting. You rest easy for tonight knowing seeing an asshole’s car be wrecked and a fellow private worker helping someone.

The day arrvies. At noon, you, along with Sira, Sorn, and the new girl, Fhang, will be deployed to Riemon coffee shop.

At 10am, you reach the coffee shop. Usually you aren’t this early, but the coffee shop has air conditioning and wifi.

Seems like you’re not the only one. You notice Sorn’s pickup truck in the parking lot. Sorn and Fhang are already inside the cafe. Seems like they’re talking about something.

Sorn still wears his black cap and carries the iron pipe.

Fhang wears our black jacket and pants uniform, but she has a grey cap with sunglasses on it. The sunglasses itself has a string which keeps it attached to the cap. Her face remains shrouded behind a mask, but you can see that her hair is pretty short, almost reaching the shoulders.

You enter the store and greet them. They say they wearing talking about their own shitty experiences with taxi drivers.

Actually sitting next to her reveals that she’s pretty tall. Nearly as tall as the Sira, in fact. You guess she’s around 180 cm tall (5’11)

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>Talk about personal experiences in this job. Sorn could have a few tips.

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Theme: https://youtu.be/Wyu_b0tw8uQ

The year is 3209 of the reign of God-King Sherold The Fat.

By the will and grace of the previous God-King, Enoch the Immortal; Our world, Evergreen has been frozen for hundreds of years.

Gahan is one of the remaining mega-provinces that took up the structures of the old-world, stretching from it's volcanic surface to it's abyss-depths.

More than 300 Million people live in the ruins of the old world, making it new. Enoch's perogatives transformed Gahan into the colonial mining outpost into the powerhouse forges of the Kingdom's planet. An unbroken burrow of furnaces, carvings, caves, veins, breathing life and industry into the dining world of the now isolated planet.

Enoch's perogative allowed for the old-world technologies to be adapted into the good of his realm. The old and new put to the task of sustaining his right to rule and the well-being of his subjects.

Nano-transen, 7-Sisters, TNC, Tri-Net, all corporations were cut-off from their assets and given to those who knew how to use them, at the exchange of power and status in this new world order.

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[SPARQ 4/5]
The shot resounds with it's trademark spark-sound. The bolt casts itself into the young man's chest sending backwards with an intense force. The smell of burnt flesh is immediately intensified as the bolt burns up the impact area.

The young man manages a vibrated yell, but his mouth soon clenches as the Sparq-Shot does it's work, sending volts of electricity through the body, causing the young man to lock up.

"S-S-Shit! F-FUCK, Arthur!" The older man reaches for him, attempting to touch him but ultimately exhausted and weary of the coursing electricity through the young man's body.

The woman let's out a shriek, "ARTHUR! YOU KILLED HIM, YOU KILLED MY BROTHER!" As the pistol lands in between her legs.

>Attempted Assault on Cerberus
1 month added to charge, with 30 lashes as corporal punishment.

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>"Your relative is incapacitated and will survive, with additional charges for attempted assault. I recommend you do not attempt the same."

>Continue with zipping the criminals, still holding attention on the doors. Ensure a pat down is conducted of each after they are immobilized
Supporting >>5264236
Thanks for running.
Thanks for running, QM.

The year is 1374 DR. Sixteen years have passed since the Time of Troubles, when the gods were made humble, and forced to wander the Realms as mortals. With the ascension of the mad god Cyric, Prince of Lies, and the recent return of the tyrant god Bane, Lord of Darkness, the future of Faerûn seems increasingly uncertain. It falls to bold individuals who possess an abundance of cunning, might, and determination to shape the future... should they be up to the challenge.

Stretching across the untamed wilderness of the North, a fledgling confederation of human cities, elven settlements, and dwarven strongholds, known collectively as the Silver Marches, shines brightly throughout the region. Centered around the resplendent metropolis of Silverymoon, this diverse alliance looks forward to a future of prosperity under the affectionate oversight of Lady Alustriel Silverhand. Still, it is often said that the brightest light casts the longest shadows.

Like moths to a flame, malign forces surround the Silver Marches, eager to see this growing regional power undone. Orc warlords with dreams of conquest sharpen their blades and muster their armies in the mountains, eager to win glory and plunder through bloodshed. The dark elves plot and scheme in their holdings deep within the earth, patiently awaiting the instructions of their evil goddess. Even the roads are not safe - gnolls and werebeasts stalk the savage wilds, preying on unwitting travelers who lack the means to protect themselves.
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>>[Will] I know the real value of my skills. I'm worth at least twice that.
Supporting >>5277254

I'm honestly a little leery that this bandit group is to be dealt discreetly. They're bandits, why the secrecy?
...then again, it might just be the Master of Guilds wanting to save face as much as possible, I don't see any reason for Brandt to be subtle about cleaning up criminals like this.
>Yes, I'll take the job
>Talk about the werebeast problem, its origins, and how they've ben dealing with it
We could even tell him about our being accosted
Update in a few hours.

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Read the rules: https://pastebin.com/hQMZiGUM.
How to play: https://pastebin.com/ehJnx9SL (or the how-to-play gif below)

The dice you put in the "options" box is:

>What is /conqst/?
/conqst/ is a 4Chan story-telling, strategy game that is just like Risk but allows you to have more freedom in defining your civilization. Build your nation on the path that you choose, be it war, economical, benevolence or just plain chaotic. You tell the story of how your nation thrives in this ever-changing world. Just remember one thing: Your ultimate goal is to conquer the world.

>Can I join?
If there's any territory shaded in white, yes. If there isn't any, some players may be nice enough to give you land or allocate a puppet state. If not, then you could wait until the next game (or when I kick out inactive players).

>How hard is it to learn how to play this game?
It's better for you to learn as you go, but its not difficult to play. You start with 5 territories as one nation, expand until you can't expand, and choose to attack, fortify, and/or defend. Plain and simple. You also get +1 attack and +1 defense for every certain amount of territories you own, and gain National Strength (NS) and gold every roll.
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Rolled 7 (1d10)

expand everywhere
Rolled 8 (1d10)

Expand into the last few territories and attack. We shall have victory over these backwards natives!
Rolled 10 (1d10)

Very very nice, we have an established area to fight from.

Onward! For Liberation! Attack! Use Critical Hit! Crush them!
YES! We have called upon the powers of God and the Satan! Victory is ours!
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No notes.

LMK if I made any mistakes.
Next map 12 hours from the time of this post.
Killionaires:Kilimanjaro,South Africa | +1 Attack | 23 att/def
The Defense Treaty:Algeria,Kamajors,The British Empire | +1 Attack | 21 att/def
National Strength Maxed | Territory count (+Attack/Defense) | Gold

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You are Charlotte Fawkins, god-blooded heroine/detective/adventuress/heiress. Three years ago, you drowned yourself in a quest to find a long-lost family heirloom... though nowadays, you're just generally c̶a̶u̶s̶i̶n̶g solving problems with the help of trusty retainer/swarm of beetles Gil and un-trusty mind-snake Richard. Bizarrely, few people seem to like you, though you've never done anything wrong in your life.

Right now, you have busted into a private conversation between Monty and Eloise, and have noted that the black goop oozing from Monty's arm stump is suspiciously arm-shaped.

"Oh!" you say. "Oh, that's a real- is that an arm?"

Monty reddens. Eloise's quirked lips slip into a small frown, and she clasps her hands. Being in a position of dominance, and all that, you see no reason to heed these omens. "I mean- not that it's a bad thing to have a, a, arm. Even a weird arm. Can I see it?"

It's still pincered behind his back. His face is (to put it politely) not quite a 'yes.' But Eloise glances at him, and he glances back, tightens his lips, and twitches the arm onto his desk.

For it is an arm, certainly. It is a long slender twined thing that ends in a hand: a hand with four pointy, inky fingers, sure, but a hand. And admittedly it does seem to be made of goop, but the nasty liquid stuff you saw yesterday has gelled into neat tendrils. It's not puddling on the desk or anything. You want badly to touch it.

«Are you insane.»

No! You just— it looks squishy, okay, and you already knew Richard wouldn't understand, because he's just a little tube of bones and hatred. But Monty's jaw is tense, so you pivot to something safer. "Can you... feel with it? Or is it just—"

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>I like making ties and barring that voting for choices no one else does.
Top kek. Shine on you crazy diamond, I guess.

>I find those types of characters interesting, as you when you have to deal with them they are alien enough to be uncanny, however, still retain their humanity or something akin to it.
Ah, see, I was trying to ask for your definition of what a "ghost in the shell"-type character entails! I'll do my best, though. There's no real cyborgs in the setting, but if you mean a human(esque) consciousness trapped in a restrictive alien body, you've got Snake!Richard right there (at least according to how Human!Richard describes it). Pat and Lester have human consciousnesses but have Ship of Thesus'd everything but their skeletons with goo. Gil's manse body might barely count?

Hey, good news-- you're going to get some concentrated Eloise on the Hell expedition, ETA Thread 27-28.

>Completed goals
Not in the intro list, because that'd take up a whole extra post. I can totally do a Pastebin, though, and just did: https://pastebin.com/3Q3nPDis


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>How do you feel about the overall difficulty of the quest?
It's hard to achieve anything, but it's also hard to really, substantially fuck up. It's like a sticky mire of ineffectual floundering.

>Who's your favorite character?
Althea is the only likeable person there.
>What draws you to vote if you don't care for the characters?
I approach this quest like a puzzle

>Should I keep posting doodles?

>If YOU had a shitty crumbling Headspace manse installed in your skull, what central motif would it have?
Nope, only quality manses for me.
>Hell expedition
we need to bring monty too so he can see real hell

pastebin? more like basedbin, thanks
File deleted.
Rolled 1 (1d2)

>It's like a sticky mire of ineffectual floundering.
Got my next Redux slogan, thank you :^) But honestly this sounds about right.

>Althea is the only likeable person there.
Won't dispute this, either-- I try to shoot for "interesting" over "likeable" in most cases. Anthea will be showing up again fairly soon fwiw.

>I approach this quest like a puzzle
Fascinating. Plenty left to figure out. How's the puzzling going for you?

>we need to bring monty too
At gunpoint? :^)

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Difficulty is good. I agree that they all feel like the sale character. I read the dialogues and ponder about the QM's psychologal issues. I'm heavy into psychology, if that matters. I love the doodles.

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Long ago, four nations fought for control over the Dancefloor Battlefield. The precisely ordered armies of the Pirouette Kingdom clashed with the fiery Republic of Castanet, the pious Disco Theocracy and the agents of the United Swing States. That is, until the duet invasion of the Krumpgoblin Horde and the Nae-Naecromancer forces the four armies to work together and repel the interlopers!

A SkrimJam Skirmish game >>5255912
Prompts: Dance Commander
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Good! Good! Good work to all!
I really thought that I had some more blood in me for that final bomber rush. My condolences to Friday Knight; my heroism was larger than my head!
A few closing questions:
1. What happens to the USS Intel I was lugging about?
2. When ought we to expect the next mission (roughly)?
Thank you for running!
Will there be another mission soon upon the Battlefield Dancefloor?
The USS intel was safely retrieved, along with the two knocked-out operatives. High command of the USS thanks you for its discreet retrieval, and the Republic of Castanets thanks you for the diplomatic leverage. What's inside? Rumor has trickled down, there were supposedly scandalous beach pictures inside... but who really knows?

As this was done on a whim as a skrimjam entry, and wasn't really planned out besides the first mission... well, I'll run it again in the future when my schedule aligns. To be honest, running a skirmish while getting a commission is quite taxing. And next up in my questing queue is running Gaol Quest's last thread, then starting up Fall of the Regime. But yeah, keep an eye out, I might be struck by temporary madness and run this again :B
Thanks for running.
Thanks for running, QM.

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For eternity- between the many wars and earth-shaking rise and fall of would-be Zephyr kings, in and amongst the innumerable ages and time periods- there has always been the fundamental Breath. Created along with the rest of known existence, in the time before the death of the Nine Divines and the beginning of known time, the Breath has always been a great source of power for thinking peoples. It is a cornerstone of the universe- practitioners of the Breath have served every role in the storied history of Avara: conquerors, scholars, and philosophers alike.

Utilized properly, the Breath can enable one to exhale fire, channel lightning into their bones, wield an earthen fist, twist the land underneath one's feet, or even fly though the very air- and yet, it is not the only path to power. Those untalented with the animating respiration have found their own paths to strength: indeed, in the modern era, the power of Breath is challenged by arcane magic, Necrotheurges, and even the ever-advancing march of technology.

You are young, still, but reaching adulthood in the small, mountainous human nation of Keronna, a traditionalist monarchy ruled by a powerful Zephyr king- Keronn the Seventh. He is (as you have been brought up to believe) an infallible god-king; chosen by the Breath and talented beyond belief in its ways. The three separate ongoing wars plaguing the Zephyrdom of Keronna have laid its populace rather low, but you are something special and worth noting as you come of age:

d20 system, Bo3 rolls. Character statistics are simply explained here, human average being a 4, human un-augmented peak being an 8. Breath is always a zero unless one is trained or discovers the specific paths to its manipulation, with a 1 representing basic first-time gnosis.

-Endurance-: Measure of hardiness. Characters may have separate stats for [PHYS/MENT] if their toughness is substantially different.
-Power-: Measure of force. Characters may have separate stats for [PHYS/BRTH/ARC] if they have multiple Power-based skills.
-Cunning-: Measure of guile and agility- separated into [PHYS/SOC].
-Smarts-: Measure of intellect. Not separated under normal circumstances.
-Breath-: Measure of Breath manipulation and knowledge rather than pure strength (see Power). May have subskill ratings.

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>Have a look around the area surrounding the camp
Having a look around takes it. Writing now.
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This is a expansive area, and you won't have much time for personal expeditions after you report in. This plateau is a strong defensive point at the base of a gargantuan mountain; off in the distance a green pine forest emits the scents of these early spring months. You bump Orland with an elbow. "What do you say to a leader's reconnaissance, Lord Orland?"

He gives a wide grin in return as your adjutants look on. "That sounds like an excellent idea, Lord Jovann."

The pair of attendants start to head into the camp, Howynd glancing over his shoulder and mentioning something about "setting up accommodations befitting your station", which conveniently leaves the pair of you free to head out. Walking on foot is a fair bit different than traveling by carriage, but years of training and rigorous exercise have left you both in more than sufficient shape for the short trek around the nearby area, even with it being as rocky and inclined as it is. Moving casually at a comfortable pace, you and Orland pass around the outside of the camp itself a few times. The fortifications are mostly textbook Legion work- tall, sharpened palisades emplaced near a set of long trenches with thick, Breath-grown brambles along the edges. It's not an easy thing to assault, even if it were undermanned: with the main gate of the camp enclosed, it would take proper siege equipment to destroy.

Beyond the camp, though, are a number of unknowns. Your enthusiastic companion points off in the distance, near the horizon and towards the forest. "Isn't that smoke there, in the forest? Looks like it's not too far away, no?"
You look to the forest and spot the slight and wispy smoke that Orland's pointing at. Looks like it's originating from inside of the forest somewhere.. hm.

Nodding, you set a hand on your companion's shoulder. "Well, no better time than the present, right? Best to check that out. Maybe we can get some sort of knowledge as to what's going on here without having to get it from the camp commander."

"Makes sense to me," he says, and he straps his axe-belt on a bit tighter as the two of you march off into the greenery.

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The woodland is thick and filled with life, rabbits and deer bounding about the thickets and timbers. No clear trails through this place are marked in any way, and you end up having to push through several thick bushes and thorny glades on your way towards the smoke, each and every step paid for in grumble-inducing scratches and pricked fingers. After an hour of rough going, though, you do arrive to the site of the rising smoke- a small campfire, already burnt out and ashy. Orland approaches as you stay back, him leaning down to take a closer look at the remaining embers while you inspect the ground for signs of life. Moments pass quietly with the both of you engrossed in observation, but it isn't long before a rustle in the nearby bushes draws you from your inspection.

Crouching deeper in the bushes from whence the noise came are a pair of children- one young boy, perhaps twelve summers at most, and a younger girl- who are utterly filthy. The boy holds a slingshot drawn back fully and pointed at Orland's head, but upon noticing your attentions he gently releases the tension in the sling and slowly moves a finger up to his mouth in a universal shushing noise before slinking off into the bush with his companion in tow.

"Damn, nothing of note here. Looks like all pine ash, no special ignition method or anything that I can tell. Jovann, anything on the ground over there?"

The child is moving slowly enough that you could still pursue him easily and with as short as his legs are, you'd probably catch him, at that.

>"Nothing here either. Back to the camp it is, then." [Head to report]

>Rush after the kid and interrogate him [Any specific questions?]

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>"Nothing here either. Back to the camp it is, then." [Head to report]

You are a young christian girl from _____
> Bulgaria
> Greece
> Romania
> Hungary
> Russia

You were ________
> kidnapped by slavers
> taken as spoil of war
> sold by poor parents

and given to the _____
> wise old sultan
> young haughty prince

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>still chimping out
post nut clarity hits hard
Goodbye, QM.
Thanks for playing, cucks.

I wish you to recover soon, QM.

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This is the story of a man named Stanley.

Stanley lived on college where he was student number 427.

Student number 427's life was simple. He sat at his desk in dorm 427, and he pushed buttons at a keyboard. Orders came from his professors and orders came from his peers. Most people would've thought Stanley's life was miserable, but Stanley was satisfied; surely there were others who would've envied his secure position where he could press the buttons to play videogames and do his homework- and never had to worry about such chaotic things as predator missiles, fentanyl, or women. There was nothing Stanley could do about it anyway. He had to press the buttons, because that's what Stanley was good at.

Then one day something very peculiar happened: Stanley had been staring at the orders to press buttons for almost an hour, yet he had no compulsion to follow them. He wondered where it had gone? Stanley realized this was very dangerous, he realized that if he didn't have to press the buttons, he might've have to make a decision. And not even the easy kind of decision where he picks between a few carefully curated options that are all equally correct... no. Stanley realized nothing was stopping him from selling cocaine on the black market, or driving his bicycle off the edge of a scenic cliff- or worse, Stanley realized with a shudder, there was nothing stopping Stanley from embarrassing himself in front of women.

For the first time in Stanley's life, Stanley could make the wrong choice.

>What will Stanley do?
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We must become the narrator of our own story.
>Check the bathroom
Thanks for running.
Thanks for running, QM.

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Re-posting the Skirmjam general thread.

The prompts for this jam are:

and 100% real fruit.

Sign ups are closed and the first round of contestants are running their submissions:


>Indonesian Gentleman
>Still waiting to launch.
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It's alive !
I'll be dropping the thread here in a couple of hours.
Good luck Fae !

Sorry to hear that, your cave exploration skirmish was half the reason I'm doing this.
It is here and it is (hopefully) ready !
Let's go down to hell and get some fruit !
Good luck have fun with your skirmish, !!PiuGOHihOOt
I'll call you HiHoot for short

And we'll catch ya next time S.it.S
HiHoot. I haven't been called that before.
I do hope people enjoy our skirmishes.

I'll also make the announcement here that Turn 0 or the Setup Turn will begin presently, and last at least until this time tomorrow, or 12pm EST if I'm doing this correctly.
Maybe just Hoot? Sounds daring and mysterious lol

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Primarch of the 2nd Legion TalOS DAV1S has finally made contact with the Emperor of Mankind. The Emperor of Mankind, recognizing his spawn’s allegiance, severed whatever Imperial ties the Primarch could have developed. Now Arch Dominus TalOS of Lucius must work with his fellow Forge Worlds to fight the war against the Mitu Collective and the Orks of the Grail System.

++The Rules++
>Vote with Greentext, otherwise they probably won’t be accepted.
>Write-ins can be accepted, and might even be used in the final without majority rule.
>If you are going to change your vote, make it so your post only links to the numbers of the previous vote. It's cleaner that way.

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>Well, we got a partner in crime.
>+1 Support interaction
I think we can trust Malcador, but I like the idea of letting him know we are open to the Emperor's want of a son. We spoke as creation to creator because that is very obviously what he designed us to be, but we couldn't know him directly or what sort of man he is if we don't interact with him.

Also we are going to definitely start calling Malcador our uncle.
Praise the Machine God for our safe arrival! Talos should comment on the beauty and sadness of seeing Terra in such a state. Out of all the Primarchs Talos cares the most for lost glory of the Federation and he can look at the ruins of buildings and recreate in his head what they used to be. Maybe he will ask his uncle to tell him stories of the golden days if he lived through them and how Lucius can help rebuild.

We can bond over archeology and preservation of the past. Malcador did have a large art collection, he even has the Rosetta Stone and Mona Lisa. I wonder if we can ask to become a Sigilite ourselves one day and preserve history.
>Also Support
>He is way WAY too sketchy.
Could we ask him to train us? He's already good at anti psyker stuff.

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The year is 2199, and the world is on the precipice of a catastrophic disaster. Various nuclear powered nations are in a semi permanent Cold War level state, all prepared to nuke each other if even one nation even so much as looks at their nuclear missile cache with evil thoughts. The sane humans all have slowly spread to the various safe haven colonies set up beyond Earth's atmosphere, but you? You’re still here and living on this big marble for some god forsaken reason. Maybe it’s nostalgia. Maybe it's lack of wealth. Maybe it's something far more nefarious. Who knows.

The tapping of rain on canopies nearby briefly jolts you from your introspection. You’ve probably spent the last 5 minutes staring at the holocaster inside a store's display window, marinating in the slowly spiraling dread that the news day causes you. If you look at the glass in the right way, you can just barely catch your reflection in it…

>What is your name?
>What is your gender?
>What do you look like? (Humans with *some* animalistic mods are welcome, but straight up furries or interstellar aliens are not.)
>What is your occupation?
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>Shilling unironic formulaic trash that is, at best, merely that--formulaic--as if it isn't low IQ /g/ trannyposting.
Yeesh. Not to mention >>5258756
>posting unironic fedoralarp with m'lady vocabulary
Kid, don't even. I've consistently read at levels beyond whatever grade I was in during primary school. You're just a 30 year old schlop on a backwater den for racists and spergs, bitching about some overindulgent tripe that simply created multiverse fairly tale fan-fiction. You're a fag. All you ever were is a fag. All you ever WILL be is a fag. Consider electrocution, as the rope isn't what you deserve.
John F. Steward
brunette twink with blue eyes, robotic left arm and right leg
illegal body augmenter
Thanks for running.
Thanks for running from YOUR FAMILY AND FRIENDS


Thanks for running, QM.


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A work thousands, upon thousands of eons in the making. Such is the memory that resides in the stars. An innumerable, incalculable amount, beyond even your own comprehension. They lay the foundation, they are the building blocks of your body. Formless, shapeless, infinite. Can such a thing be even called "body" ? What ever it might be, it is you, and you are it.
Beside you, an infinite yet perceptible distance away, await your kin. You know this inherently.
A three-quarter dozen thereof, identical to you, down to the very atom.
This is a civ-evo-rpg hybrid quest...thing.
your goal is very simple - win
The lot of you will all be controlling the destiny of a single World-Mech, as well as all the civilizations residing within him.
Life's actions will influence the World-Mech
and the World-Mech's actions will influence Life.
I honestly have no fucking idea what I'm doing here, we'll all figure this out along the way.
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Evolution requires competition, they shall push each other to grow
just came by to say I'm not dead
updates will resume on monday, if you're still interested by then
Thanks for running.
Can't wait for it

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