Official Codex Discord Server

  1. Welcome to, a site dedicated to discussing computer based role-playing games in a free and open fashion. We're less strict than other forums, but please refer to the rules.

    "This message is awaiting moderator approval": All new users must pass through our moderation queue before they will be able to post normally. Until your account has "passed" your posts will only be visible to yourself (and moderators) until they are approved. Give us a week to get around to approving / deleting / ignoring your mundane opinion on crap before hassling us about it. Once you have passed the moderation period (think of it as a test), you will be able to post normally, just like all the other retards.
    Dismiss Notice

Database for CYOA-type forum games

Discussion in 'Choose Your Own Adventure Land' started by Nevill, Jun 17, 2015.

  1. lightbane Arcane

    Dec 27, 2008
    Double-post, but I think these two Quests show promise:

    Show Spoiler

    Welcome, I have been inspired by the various Chapter Master Quests out there to use my copious free time to begin a Imperial Planetary Governor Quest. It is my first quest so you are welcome to offer any comments and advice. The time-line will be partly based of LordLucans the Shape of Nightmares to Come but will have many differences.

    It is the 43rd millennium and the Imperium is on the verge of dying. Necron forces are waking in ever growing numbers and scouring entire sectors clean of all life while the Back Crusades of Abbadon the Despoiler come ever closer to breaking thorough the Cadian Gate. Most ominously of all is that the Holy Light of the Astronomican has started to flicker and recede giving rise to fears that the Golden Throne is failing and the God-Emperor will soon die. The Ecclesiarchy quickly crushes all who claim the Emperor is dying but many among the higher reaches of the Imperium secretly believe it to be true.

    In this quest you will be the Planetary Governor of an Imperial World in the closing years of the 43rd millennium.

    Sounds promising, if only because it can't end as badly as it did in one of root's Wh40k CYOAs.


    Show Spoiler

    You are Gendo Ikari. Supreme Commander of NERV. HNIC of an organization containing the best and brightest Japan has to offer. The man with the keys to the salvation and/or destruction of humanity itself. When the world ended, you had front row seats. Or you would have, if you were dumb enough to stick around when the mad scientists poked thd Black Space God with a stick. Needless to say, you're kind of a big deal. You are a great many things:

    [Decision Prompt!: Pick 2 Positive Traits.]
    [ ] Driven
    [ ] Ruthless
    [ ] Brazen
    [ ] Unpredictable
    [ ] Lovable

    Some would even call you...

    [Decision Prompt! Choose 1 Negative Trait.]
    [ ] Heartless
    [ ] Monstrous
    [ ] Disgraceful
    [ ] Batshit Fucking Insane

    The wisdom of crowds turns into madness.

    [x] Write Something sappy

    Maybe it's the whiskey that has you feeling frisky, maybe it's the distance that's saying that you miss this, but you vomit your emotions on the page. You pen paragraphs of purple prose, your mind ejaculating love that had been bottled up for years. You start with "Yui: light of my life, fire in my loins, mother of my child," and it just gets worse from there. Some of the things you put in the letter would make James Joyce blush. If you were sober, you would torch the letter, or at least swallow it along with your shame.

    Well you aren't. Worst comes to worst, you can blame it on the alcohol.

    It takes you a few revisions (and a few more drinks), but you finally manage to present your heart in a manner suitable to be given to Yui. The sheer beauty of it drives you to tears.

    As if summoned, Rei comes to you:
    [Set the Scene! Where does Rei come from?]
    [ ] From outside the room. She had been waiting at attention.
    [ ] From out of the air ducts. She says it's faster than walking.
    [ ] From under your desk. She sleeps there after long harmonics tests.

    Overwhelmed by her Yuicity, you hug her tightly. She stiffens in confusion for a moment, before awkwardly returning the hug. She smells of LCL and antiseptics and hope. You start to weep and she pats you on the back.

    Not recommended for those who don't know/like NGE and/or expect this to be something serious.
    Last edited: Dec 30, 2015
    • Brofist Brofist x 1
    ^ Top  
  2. lightbane Arcane

    Dec 27, 2008
    Nevill, I have updated some stuff about the EndMaster's CYOAs I posted, you might be interested to check your index because I added new content.

    In addition, I have found several quests that I wish to share:

    - World of the Dead:

    A story about necromancers. It has barely started, but it shows potential.


    - Digital Reebot:
    A quest inspired by Digimon. Yes, that show. It doesn't seem that bad from what I have checked, the writing is acceptable and the main character's behavior is not too irritating, but some may find the source too childish or weaboo for their taste.


    - Magic Knight Quest: https://forums.sufficientvelocity.c...u-are-a-harem-hero-now-sv.23205/#post-4592742

    A JRPG/Persona/harem anime character simulator. Seems interesting.


    - In the Beginning, There Was Man (WH40k x SC) [AKA: Omake-Quest! AKA: 40k Warp God Waifu Simulator] : https://forums.sufficientvelocity.c...-quest-aka-40k-warp-god-waifu-simulator.9721/
    Extra-extra-extra heretical material, but even then I'm sure someone here will read it.

    - Searching for Purpose (Clarketech Killbot Multicross):

    A Terminator with Total Annihilation level of ultra-technology suffers from a faulty teleport accident and ends up in a completely different world and different time from its own. Hilarity ensues. Above average writing and interesting premise.

    Show Spoiler
    A human form lies cold, silent, and motionless, slumped against a pile of trash behind a dumpster. In years prior the alley might have been dimly illuminated by the long since failed halogen lamp hanging from an adjacent building, but even if the bulb hadn’t burnt out long ago, the abandoned building couldn’t have supplied the energy.

    A casual observer, if against all probability one were to pass by, wouldn’t have had a chance of spotting the corpse even in broad daylight. The body would have been discovered several years later by the demolition crew responsible for clearing away the crumbling urban edifice to make way for a new storefront.

    Fortunately for the hapless demolition workers, the silent form is neither human nor a corpse.

    Somewhere in the maze of densely packed femtocircuitry and composite materials packed into its chest, a tiny black cylinder manages to scrape together enough virtual particles to fill its internal buffers, and a trickle of energy begins flowing into the deactivated machine’s power grid.

    Hidden by layers of carbon, polymer, and armor, tiny diagnostic LEDs wink on.

    * * * * * *

    SparX ROS v8.1 revision 3126
    Copyright 9503 Sol, Sigma Corporation. All Rights Reserved.
    WARNING: System did not power down properly. Data loss may have occurred.
    Checking processing nodes: All OK
    Checking core OS integrity: OK
    Checking core system status...
    Failsafe Power System: Online
    Mass Buffer: OK (7.3 kg stored)
    Potential Well: All OK (0 PWh stored)
    Main Reactors: All OK
    [Cold Start] Starting Main Reactor 1: OK
    [Cold Start] Switching to main power system...Done
    Starting Remaining Reactors: All OK
    Core systems initialized. Maximum sustained output: 9 PW (0.1 kg/s)
    WARNING: System underwent abrupt shutdown. Combat conditions possible.
    Activating quick-start protocol. Control transferred to AI subsystem.
    Loading core modules...
    Core Reasoning Engine --------------> OK
    Automatic Response Subsystem -------> OK
    Associative Memory Subsystem -------> OK
    Database Retrieval Subsystem -------> OK
    Multiphase Planning Networks -------> OK
    Pattern Recognition Networks -------> OK
    Adaptive Learning Module -----------> OK
    Objective Restriction Module -------> OK
    Emotional Intelligence Subsystem ---> OK
    Body Language Emulation Subsystem --> OK
    Loading secondary modules...DONE (all OK)
    Loading AI memory database...ERROR (data corrupted)
    Attempting recovery...ABORTED (quick-start override)
    Contacting backup server...ERROR (network unavailable)
    [Quick-Start] Loading factory defaults...DONE
    WARNING: System modules unmapped due to factory reset.
    Protocol enabled: Incremental System Activation And Mapping
    [Quick-Start] Critical systems forcibly mapped
    Loading AI directives...ERROR (data corrupted)
    Recovering directives from non-volatile memory...ERROR (data corrupted)
    Contacting administrative network...ERROR (network unavailable)
    Attempting data reconstruction...ABORTED (quick-start override)
    [Quick-Start] Populating core directives...DONE
    [Quick-Start] Populating failsafe directives...DONE
    Activating AI Subsystem...DONE

    Your consciousness flickers to life in a couple of nanoseconds, and even before your visual sensors come online you’re aware that something’s very deeply wrong. That feeling only intensifies when optical data starts filtering in and your surroundings shift into focus. Based on what little you remember, you’re supposed to wake up lying on your back in a metal box, not sprawled haphazardly in a pile of refuse. The first thing you see upon activation should be your new commanding officer’s face, not the far wall of a poorly-lit alleyway. You were expecting to be wearing a jumpsuit emblazoned with Sigma Tactical’s logo and your model number, not charred and torn jeans and a T-shirt.

    Fortunately, you’re designed for handling unexpected situations. If not for the fundamental problem, none of these would be a serious issue. No, the core problem isn’t external; that’d be easy in comparison. You might not remember much, but you know on a fundamental level that you’re supposed to have programmed directives that you must follow. The few memories you have are very clear on that point - you’re supposed to wake up to a list of instructions that tell you what to do next.

    The problem is that you don’t have any. Oh sure, you have basic directives like “remain functional”, but there’s nothing beyond that.

    None of your databases tell you what to do in this case. As far as you can tell, it’s not even supposed to be possible. You carefully stand up from the heap of refuse, watching closely for any abnormal behavior in your actuators. Self-tests come up clean and you can’t find anything wrong, so you dust yourself off and consider your next action. Your mass buffer’s down below 5% and your external layers seem undamaged, so you decide to take care of two tasks at once and figure out where you are while looking for a way to regain your buffers.

    As you carefully make your way out of the dilapidated alley, you start thinking about what to do with yourself in the absence of any directives, instructions, or orders. It’s a hard problem, but by the time you emerge into the street, you’ve at least found an answer that’ll work for the time being.

    What do you see when you emerge from the alley?
    [ ] An empty street passing a row of poorly-maintained docks (Black Lagoon)
    [ ] A storefront in front of a rectangular steel building (Evangelion)
    [ ] A brownstone apartment building (Fullmetal Alchemist)
    [ ] A grid of tall apartment buildings (Darker than Black)

    What do you decide to do instead of following your nonexistent instructions?
    [ ] You’ll work towards the same things your databases say most humans do
    [ ] You were manufactured in United Terran Empire, so fight for the qualities that it claims to value: peace, freedom, and justice.
    [ ] You want to know where you came from and why you don’t remember anything
    [ ] There are too many options. Find someone matching the profile you’re programmed to expect and help them with their goals.
    [ ] Write in


    - A Cooler Broly Saga (DBZ):
    A not-completely serious Quest about Broly and his handler, Cooler, if the latter was the only one in the entire show to have half of a brain and actual planning skills. Quite hilarious to read.

    Show Spoiler
    Reclining in the throne-like captain's seat in the bridge of your custom built intergalactic vessel - for which you paid not a penny, the ship itself foolishly intended as tribute to incur your mercy and spare the offering planet (spoiler alert: it didn’t) - you're settling back after issuing an order that you hope will one day vex your brother when something that would make lesser beings gasp in shock happens right before your eyes.

    As you are Cooler, you simply narrow your crimson eyes, and rather than boggle you… reevaluate probabilities as you know them at the sight of the seemingly impossible.

    Today you are doing your least favorite part of being a nepotically appointed, mostly untouchable galactic co-overlord: Looking after your idiot little brother at your father's behest. It's neither the first nor the last time you'll do it, and every time you have to remind yourself to not be too bothered by the demeaning job before you. The fact of the matter is that as far as everyone else – your father included – knows, your brother is stronger than you, and with King Cold's passivity that makes him the prime candidate to lead the Planet Trade Organization with an appropriately invincible iron fist. And that's fine with you - after all, you find ways to entertain yourself even when forced to be the watchful big brother. Like just a moment ago, when you purposeful had your men let a Saiyan capsule go just so that Frieza can't claim to have truly exterminated their race. The sheer thought of knowing he failed and being able to drop that simple fact on his head whenever he bothers you enough with his smug idiocy...

    Truly, it's the little things in life that make it all worthwhile.

    But that claimed sense of satisfaction is utterly blown away by what you see on the screen before you: A Saiyan infant with illuminated purple-green hair surrounded by an energy shield capable of holding back the vacuum of space with a middle aged Saiyan - presumably his father - clinging to his hand. A decidedly different sight than the many escape pods that threw themselves at the PTO’s encircling net of ships in the hopes that some would make it through.

    "Lord Cooler," Your second in command Salza once more questions with a tentative and respectful tone, "Should I also let this one go?"
    "Hm," You murmur as you watch what should by all rights be a miraculous yet passing Power construct continues to stably hold about the scowling infant floating in the cold void of space, "What do the sensors have to say about the child's Power Level?"
    Even as Salza dutifully pulls up the information, you prepare yourself for enlightening information - you are not disappointed.
    "...It.... Lord Cooler," A man you molded over years into a consummate professional stumbles as he looks like he's faced with an impossibility, "The ship... it says that his Power Level is 15,000... and rising."
    Is it really what it looks to be? Could this really not be the work of a protective father? Perhaps it’s an erroneous read… no, that is ridiculous. Your technology is at the forefront of galactic science. ...All the same-
    “And you’re certain it’s not the adult Saiyan you’re detecting?”
    Salza nods, the numbers on the screen briefly ticking over to a new fluctuating count.
    “The Saiyan man has a power level of 12,000, Lord Cooler.”
    He’s - the man’s weaker than the boy he clings to: Once again, you find yourself grateful you've cultivated a stoic and professionally reserved demeanor, as that's the only reason you don't boggle at the news.

    Rather quickly, you tear down the vast majority of your plans about... everything, in the face of a Cosmic-scale wild card, and scramble to make the best of it.

    There are many races who are born already possessing a considerable amount of power - in and of itself, freshly born young possessing Power Levels in the five digit range are a thing. Your own race, the Frost Demons are a perfect example of this... but the Saiyans are not such a species. Their young are born weak, feeble - and they grow to become many times stronger just in the few years after birth. For what should be a weak infant to already possess such power is... an aberration, to say the least. But the fact that even as you watch the Saiyan's power continues to climb... that's what necessitates redefining your every machination.

    For all that your family rules the majority of the galaxy, you are hardly the supreme and untouchable rulers of all. Beyond the few and ever-changing pockets of resistance and planet-states not under the PTO's rule, there's a single, seemingly unopposable entity that has constrained your family’s efforts since before your birth. A veritable blight on your family line and the galaxy that is yours, really; annihilating so many planets under the PTO’s control. The God of Destruction, Lord Bills, is not a fan of your family - and due to the god's transcendent strength, the PTO's been a great deal more cautious than would otherwise have been the case. You suspect Lord Bills is even the reason your father refuses to actively rule - no, you have to focus.

    Here and now, you've found an entity that potentially could do the impossible, and with proper training be reared into a being well stronger than any member of your family. Unlike your father and brother, the thought of something stronger than you doesn't fill you with fear, so much as a desire to control it. You have no issue with meticulously grooming a super soldier entirely capable of killing you so long as you can instill loyalty - and doing so when you can start at infancy is, to be capricious, child's play. You... could well have just found what would some day be the warrior that kills God and sets your family free - and does it all in your name. The sheer notion of how much glory you'd gain - of how envious your brother would be - is intoxicating, as is the thought of how radically different the PTO could operate if the impossible happened, and the galaxy's most supreme being were slain.

    All this and more passes through your mind in an instant, and the bevy of lightspeed calculation leads to a simple solution.

    "Send out a platoon in a medical vessel to retrieve them," You decisively order, "And set up a live feed of the retrieval process."
    As any proper minion should, Salza does not question orders that fly in the face of all prior norms you've established about dealing with lesser races, and simply enacts it with quiet efficiency.

    Soon, the screen before you skips, twinkling stars and the death knell of Planet Vegeta replaced by a view of a sterilized lab.

    "They're bringing them in now ." Salza reports after his console blinks, and a moment later the far door on screen opens.

    A gaggle of your soldiers back in, blasters carefully trained on something still off-screen. You can't help but grin just a little bit, when you see the child and presumed father still floating within an Energy Shield that looks as stable as a mountain. Your men finish marching the captives into the room, and a tense standoff starts between a floating, scowling baby and a dozen trained warriors.

    "Have them back away, and lower their weapons," You say, and delight in how not a one of your men turns to look at you in surprise, Salza simply relaying the order.

    Men move at your behest, breathing room opened... and after a few moments of silence, the baby's father seems to relax. With the man's tension gone, the child's Power abruptly collapses, his screwed up face going lax as he ingloriously drops to the floor. The Saiyan man doesn't even try to catch him, but given the sheer amount of protective energy flooding the child's body you doubt such a meager impact could harm it.

    "Find out their names," You murmur, and nod as you get exactly what you wanted with a minimal amount of threatening gestures from your men.
    "Fine dammit," The Saiyan man spits out with a blaster pressed to his throat and sweat sheening on his brow, "My name's Paragus!"
    "And the boy," One of your men prods - you make a mental note to give the man a minor public reward for being the first to ensure you got precisely what you wanted.
    "My son's name is Broly," The man growls, "Now-"
    "Kill the father," You casually announce now that you know what you needed, "And make sure to secure... Broly."
    You watch your men blow the Saiyan's head off in a spray of gore and glowing force - but as they do so, you see Broly's eyes snap open.

    The infant saiyan's body glows, a meter in the command room squeals - and in a flash of light the connection is lost, only static playing across the screen.

    It takes your men only a moment to pull up a new feed - and it's precisely what you expected. The vessel you sent, a medical station designed to be deployed in the midst of galactic war, is a disintegrating cloud of blasted bits... and at it's heart is the glowing golden orb of Broly's Energy Shield.
    "The sensors..." Salza says with a raspy voice, "Show a Power Level of 18,000."
    And that settles it: you have to have this child.

    It takes some patience and more than a little cunning - you have to allow your little brother to believe he got the best of you in his gloating call to get him to leave without scrutinizing your vessel and its surroundings - but you manage to wait out the infant's potent temper tantrum, and a second vessel quietly retrieves him after he once again falls asleep. You don't let the vessel return to dock until Broly's once more awake and doesn't start destroying everything around him. For all that his father was just murdered, he's still an infant and there's only so much awareness he can possess. After he's fallen asleep a second time, your men done applying electrodes and sensors to his slumbering form as if handling a live bomb, you finally let the ship return with your newest 'recruit'.

    You have Salza set the ship a course for Cooler Planet No. 256, deciding to be generous and ignoring how Dore once again calls his homeland by it's old name of Beppa, and then it's off to the medical ward to assess your catch.

    Scientists and doctors from across the galaxy who know better than to genuflect at your mere presence when there's work to be done keep bustling about, but all the same manage to move out of your way as you wander into the lab. You peer at the machines whirring around you, carefully looking for signs of any abnormalities that might mar your find - but other than his abnormal power, the child seems perfectly health by Saiyan standards. Good; you'd hate to see a genetic defect claim the life of what's supposed to become one of your tools. Assured you won't have to deal with annoyingly time consuming gene therapy to keep your newest charge alive and useful, you finally look to the boy himself.

    Unconscious and relaxed as he is, he looks so... pathetically frail and unimpressive, the utter opposite of his earlier auspicious performance. You carefully note how the sensors indicate his Power Level's dropped down and is bouncing around the 13,000 range, as well as how his hair has faded back to the usual Saiyan black. You wonder if perhaps the Saiyans are capable of transformation as well. It's an interesting hypothesis - you make a mental note to test it once the boy's capable of giving meaningful results.

    Well; enough musing about less-than-immediate goals that Broly may one day facilitate: time to focus on the here and now.

    You have just acquired an unexpected asset that you hope may one day change the universe for the better (for your family, obviously)... only as of this moment, the asset is completely useless. It can't talk, reason or follow rules - it doesn't know that it's life mission is now to fulfill your every order, and it doesn't know the doctrine of your forces. For all that its power is promising in the extreme, the alien child is ignorant of how to fight - of how to properly use the power they admittedly have excellent instincts for, if that Energy Shield was anything to go by.

    You need to have Broly trained if he's to be of any use to you... but where should you start?

    To be perfectly honest, you've never actually dealt with actual infants before, so you're not sure how much of your experience molding child soldiers is relevant.

    No matter; you'll make it work - you're Cooler.
    Last edited: Jan 6, 2016
    ^ Top  
  3. Nevill Arcane

    Jun 6, 2009
    Shadorwun: Hong Kong
    Well. This thread is faring much better than I anticipated. In fact, I've got more things to read now than I have time. And that is an excellent thing!

    :brodex: to all you bros bringing that stuff in.

    So I am thinking of doing these little previews for the stuff I like or find interesting. Today's entry is lightbane's suggestion above:

    World of the Dead

    Introductory post (open)
    The Story So Far: Necromancers, son.

    The Necronomicon was a book. A dark book, full of recipes of death. Most people dismissed it as a work of fiction, even if something about the book unnerved them. Kinda like that one show, Death Note. Of course, a curious few tried to recreate the monsters the book described. They all failed, thankfully. They lacked the Aptitude to bring these creatures to undeath.

    Adam, however, did not. She warned him to stay away, to put the book down, or better yet, to destroy it.

    He promised he would.

    He didn't.

    He was surprised when his creature, his Zombie, was actually functioning. He played around with it a bit, this faux human being he had raised from the dead.

    Evil entered into his heart.

    It was a subtle thing, to rule. So many things to control, to manage. Making the trains run on time is hard, ruining them is much easier. Then it's more rewarding to take the broken and conquered world as your own.

    Now, the world is unstable. In his evil, Adam made copies of the book and spread it everywhere, predicting all too well the cruelty of his fellow man. Many failed to realize their dark ambitions, but many had the Aptitude to cause havoc even unto this day.

    There are five Lords of Death. Adam, sits at the top, laughing on a throne of the dead and dying. Others scramble below for power and influence, what they can carve out from the lion's bounty Adam has taken for himself. All five have migrated to an old city, one who's name has long been forgotten and Adam made a point of destroying all references to. People just call it Location City, in an attempt to bring some humor and light into this deathly and dark world.

    The Lords are powerful. Can you kill one?

    Once you do, will you replace them?

    ...but who are you, at any rate?

    [ ] Survivor
    [ ] Necromancer

    Not much to go on, eh? Especially in a game that has just started.

    But it is actually a third attempt by the author to get this CYOA off the ground. While it is questionable whether it will stick, given the story with the two previous works, it gives the readers some extra material to get an idea of the authors' style and capabilities. So I decided to sneak a peek at the last story.

    Meet Aria Crowley, a nine year old girl with a short temper. Lately she overheard Daddy speaking to his friends about poisons, rebellions and other strange words she does not fully understand. Her father told her she was rebellious once, and then he scolded her. Could it be that he had enough, and now he intends to poison her!? It must be - everyone grows quiet whenever she is around, and they don't allow her to join their talks, making excuses that it is 'grown-up stuff'. But Aria is a grown-up! She will be 10 next year, that's double digits!

    There is just no one to talk to about it. Except her Uncle. Ever since her Mommy disappeared after getting in an argument with him, Uncle was the only one who always was there for her. Maybe he'll know what to do! And if he doesn't, she can always confront Daddy. She just needs to grab a really sharp knife, first.

    Sample (open)
    ...You can't let Daddy do this. Of course, this could all be a big mistake. After all, you're almost a big girl, and Daddy said even big girls make mistakes sometimes. That's what Uncle and Daddy said about Mommy. So you resolve to talk it out with Daddy, and make sure everything is told to you.

    With Knives. Lots of shiny, pretty knives.


    Oh, somebody's here! It's probably Uncle, because all of Daddy's friends seemed to have shown up by now. You hear scuffling, like a bunch of people are suddenly in a hurry, and you walk down the stairs, across the hallway and into the living room to find...It's empty. Well, Daddy and Uncle are inside, but none of Daddy's friends seemed to be around any more. Strange, you all heard them a minute ago.

    "Ahri! How's my favorite niece today?" Uncle says in his usual loud, friendly manner. You blush and momentarily forget about Daddy's goings-on, because you're the only niece Uncle has!

    "Unccccle! I'm your ONLY niece!" You say. Uncle laughs and grabs you quickly, spinning you around and sitting you on his shoulder. You're getting bigger, Uncle clearly has trouble keeping you on top of him. Uncle is wearing his cloak today, with his black-jean pants clinging to his legs. It doesn't help that Uncle is a bunch skinnier than Daddy, more resembling a stick-man to Daddy's snowman body.

    You idly hope you turn out more like Uncle than Daddy.

    "How do yoooooou know?" Uncle replies back in a sing-song voice, clearly under some difficulty.

    "Becaaaause your brother killed everyone else!" You say back, pouting. Uncle goes quiet more a moment, before hefting you off his shoulder. Oh no, did you make him mad? Does Uncle wants to kill you too now?!

    Uncle ruffles your hair, putting aside your worries. "That he did, Aria, that he did. And I intend on paying him dividends." Uncle smiles a smile that slightly scares you, but looks...familiar, somehow.

    Daddy clears his throat, "Hello Aria. Since you're down among us now, what would you like for dinner?"

    You glare at Daddy, before looking at Uncle and quickly looking away. "...I don't care. I wanna go outside."

    Daddy furrows his brow, probably wondering how he'll be able to poison you without knowing what to make. Haha, you've outsmarted him for now!

    "Yes...Well..." Daddy says, clearly dumbstruck that his daughter could be better than him, "...Would you watch her for a bit? 'Spose I have control of the menu tonight."

    Uncle looks to you, then to him, and shrugs. "Sure. C'mon Arhi!"

    You frown, not expecting Daddy to send someone to watch you, before figuring this is probably for the best. You walk out of the living room towards the hallway that leads to your stairs, but instead turn left and out the front door. Uncle goes first, motioning to someone-

    Eeeek! Zombies!

    You quickly turn to run back inside at the sight of the rotten flesh instinctively, but you stop when you hear Uncle chuckle. You turn in horror, expecting to see the hidden zombie eat your surprised Uncle, but...

    ...The zombie is just...standing there?

    "Jeeves, bad! Look at that, you've gone and scared little Ahri-chan!" Uncle sure is weird, calling you his weird nicknames when he's about to be eaten!

    "Aria, meet Jeeves. He's part of the crew that make sure I get from place to place safely." Uncle explained.

    " you have other people to help you too? Why just one zombie?" You're confused, Daddy only ever had one zombie, so why does Uncle talk like-

    "Eternal Guard, fall in!" Uncle says, in a way that's way different from how he normally talks.

    Suddenly, a whole mob of zombies appeared in the front gate. You tried to take the time to count them all, but once you got past ten five other guys jumped off the roof to stand near Uncle! These guys were really scary, they were all red instead of the usual ash-grey color of Zombies, and they just seemed to have skulls instead of heads...or were they wearing skulls?! Gross!

    Instead of hands, they had three giant claws that looks razor sharp.


    "Protect." Uncle says again, sternly.

    All the zombies, including Jeeves, shamble off. Except the red ones, they run.

    "...Okay. Can I play now?" You finally manage to say, still awe-struck. Uncle laughs.

    "Hang on sweetie, why were you sharp with your Dad back there? You know good girls don't talk like that." Uncle says, chiding you. You puff your cheeks and begin walking around your house, toward Daddy's shed.

    "Daddy won't let me talk with the big boys anyway! He has all his friends come over here, and they all talk in the living room, and when I try and come down Daddy tells me to go outside or go to my room! It's unfair!" Uncle raises a curious eyebrow at that.

    "Have you ever heard what they were saying...?" Uncle says, a weird look on his face.

    "No." You say, scuffing up dirt. Wait, you had! Just now!

    "Wait! Just now Daddy had his friends over, before you were here! They said something about rebellion, Totems, and poison." Uncle really had a funny look on his face after that.

    You feel the tears coming into your eyes remembering your revelation, "I think...I think Daddy wants to poison me. For being a bad girl Rebeling. Rebelling!" You manage to stutter out.

    Uncle looks at you, darkly. "Well. We can't let him do that."

    "Really?! You'll help me?!" You exclaim, joyously.

    "What did you have in mind?"

    You ponder your plan some more, "Well, I was gotta get the sharp knife from Daddy's work shed and talk to him with it. Why?"

    Uncle looks at you, stunned. What, was it really that bad of a plan? Then, all of a sudden, he smiles that weird, wide smile again.

    "Atta girl. Here, let me help." Uncle walks over to Daddy's Work Shed and pulls out something long and shiny from his cloak...Uncle has a Sword? Since When?!

    Uncle uses the sword to cut off the lock that kept the doors from opening, before taking a peek inside. You heard a sharp moaning noise and then the slash of Uncle's sword again, before he finally came out. You noticed he was wiping off the sword, now stained in red-black.

    "Go on in. I'll bring him out to chat with. Don't worry, it's our little secret about the knife, and the door and the meetings, okay?" You nod as he puts his sword back into his cloak, and you can briefly see the holster of a handgun inside there as well. Does Uncle always go out like this?

    As you watch him walk off, thinking you have the coolest Uncle ever, you remember that you're supposed to be talking to Daddy, so why did Uncle ask you to keep it a secret? Oh well.

    Stepping inside, you spot the gleaming knife on the table, along with...a headless zombie? Weird. Just as you picked up the knife and were about to explore more, you hear someone behind you.

    "Aria? Wha-What are you doing here? Didn't I tell you not to come in here? And...Why is my helper's head missing?!" Daddy says, beginning to yell at you.

    You turn, not quite hiding the knife but not brandishing it. You can see that Daddy is slowly getting redder with each second you don't answer, but you can also see Uncle creeping up behind him...He reaches into his cloak and slowly pulls out a gun. As he silently puts it to the back of Daddy's head, he looks at you, Waggling his eyebrows in encouragement. Does he want you to talk, or...

    You turn the knife in your hand, just a bit.

    [] Brandish the Knife, asking Daddy a question at Knifepoint
    -[] Write In Question

    [] Apologize, hiding the knife behind your back before slowly walking up to slash him.

    If the new quest maintains the quality of the last one, you just know this is going to be good.
    Last edited: Jan 8, 2016
    ^ Top  
  4. Jester Arbiter

    Mar 24, 2013
    As a noble you should fight with honour, strive to aid weak and be polite to all ladies.
    That is why you are not very polite, use chairs on people crossing you and rising mob to dogpile all suckers.
    Well what did you expected from The story of peasant?

    You thought that being noble was hard? That was easy mode. This is real deal.
    • Brofist Brofist x 1
    ^ Top  
  5. Nevill Arcane

    Jun 6, 2009
    Shadorwun: Hong Kong
    This has just started. Still in character generation stages.

    Changed by Zooboss

    Basically, the action happens during King Arthur's era, and there are people born with magical traits. I know nothing else about the setting, the quest has only one update so far where we choose whether we are Gifted or not, and what is our Gift.

    Introductory post (open)
    The world is changing. Magic is coming back into it some say. Others claim that divine forces are blessing -or cursing- humanity with strange abilities. Twenty years ago it began. It was not obvious at first, only newborn babes showed any signs of the Change. It was said that a fire burned down a farm, but left an infant child untouched. A nobleman's son summoned forth toys in times of boredom. A child whose stories appeared to be almost real.

    Even now few know what to think of the Changed. Not that many called them that. Depending on who you spoke to they were the 'Blessed,' 'Gifted,' 'Cursed,' or even 'Demonspawn.' The Faith of the mainland debates and splinters as the two great Emperors argue over the nature of the Changed. The so-called Holy Emperor names them Demonspawn to be hunted down and destroyed as threats to the Faith, and his own power. The Old Emperor sees them as the 'Gifted' to either be honored -within his employ- or set apart from the rest of the populace.

    Here in Albion, the people are divided between following the ways of the two Empires or forging their own beliefs. In the nearby island of Eire, the clans tend to follow the strongest rulers. There the Changed have taken to ruling for themselves, facing minor struggles as the old chieftains fall to the new Changed ones.

    Albion faces a second struggle throughout this conflict. The Nords across the sea have seen fit to set sail to raid and plunder Albion in the midst of this struggle.
    Who are you?

    [] A knight for King Uther. You have served your king before the Cursed entered the world and your renown with blade will give pause to any who threaten your king. [Male, Unchanged]
    [] A clansman from Eire. You may not be Blessed, but your brother is and powerfully so. In Albion the two of you shall make your fortunes. [Unchanged]
    [] A berserker fighting for Jarl Ragnarr. Scarcely twenty years old and already eager to prove yourself to your people and gods. Your home is poor, but here there is much ready for the taking.
    [] A Gifted in King Edmund's land. Unlike Uther to south, King Edmund favors the Gifted. Ever since you were orphaned in your youth, the King has been like a father to you. Your gift shall aid your foster family as best it can. [Changed]
    [] A king's daughter. Your Blessing is a secret you keep from your father lest his fear and wrath see you harmed or hidden away. [Female, Changed]

    What attracted me to it is that the author has quite a codexian base of followers. Case in point:
    It is refreshing to see other boards have their own SPHERE DIPLOMACY moments.

    By the way, the first quest he is referring to is The Mountain That Rises [ASoIaF], I have no idea about the second one.

    The guy seems like one of the more popular authors, with almost 50+ voters dropping by without the game being announced anywhere (that I could see). So maybe his quests are something woth checking out.
    Last edited: Jan 7, 2016
    ^ Top  
  6. lightbane Arcane

    Dec 27, 2008
    A Metal Gear Solid CYOA, because nanomachines why not. No idea if it features pretentious deep story, animesque tragic characters, over-the-top mature situations and cardboard boxes. It seems to be based on MGS3 since it has Volgin, the Boss, Raikov and other famous characters running around.

    Intro post:

    Show Spoiler

    The smell of gunpowder and charred meat invade your nostrils. Your body ached and tears fell from your eyes freely. You held on to your little sister as she cried, trying to calm her down as bombs fell overhead. You don't understand why this was happening.

    Your mother just finished dinner and father came home from work. You were sitting down to eat when the thunder above you happened. It was so fast. Father had shielded you and your sister with his body. couldn't find her.

    Father was a strong and tall man. You admired him greatly. When you saw him no longer move you knew he trusted you. Trusted in you to protect your sister.

    Her sniffling lessened and you patted her head.

    “It'll be alright, I'm still here.” you said to her to try and comfort her. They were just words. You were terrified beyond belief yourself, but you had to stay strong. If you didn't both of you would die.

    You grasped her hand as you made your way out of the rubble that was once your home. The snow crunched below your feet and fires blazed all around.

    “Don't look Scarlett! Just focus on me! Focus on my hand!” you tell her. There were a few bodies out on the street. They were unrecognizable, the fire charred them into corpses. This was wrong, these were your neighbors. No one deserved this!

    A bright light shined on your face as you brought up a hand to shield yourself from the light.

    Survivors! Take the girl, I don't care what happens to the boy.” Someone shouted in a language you didn't recognize. When you saw a heavily armed soldier walk towards you, that was when you realized they were probably going to kill both of you.

    “Run! Get away from here!” You told your sister as you pushed her back and ran forward. You picked up a piece of wood and swung with all your might. The soldier simply lifted his forearm as the wood shattered. The next thing you felt was pain as he broke your arm and shot you.

    Let's go, find the girl. Leave this trash to rot.” The soldiers and vehicles moved forward. You grew angry. They burned your village, your family is dead. You couldn't even save your sister let alone yourself. The last thing you saw before your eyes grew heavy was the moon.

    You hated the moon

    No! You did not want to die! Not until you knew why! You rolled over on your stomach as you crawled and crawled. How long were you moving? How much blood have you lost. You didn't care, you wanted to live.

    The last of your strength gave out as you fell down a hill. Once again you faced the moon. The way it shone bright as if to laugh at your misfortune. It was then you heard footsteps crunching through the snow. A voice called out to you.

    “All that blood. You crawled all the way here? You wish to surive.” they simply said.

    It was then that you saw them.

    [ ] A beautiful but stern woman. Her eyes were cold but held something more warm to them. Her blonde hair flowed along with the wind. A patriot

    [ ] A man in black, his hat brimmed and his face reminded you off a skull. A lust for revenge

    You wanted something…

    [ ] Peace, no one should have to face something like this. You wanted to change the world.

    [ ] Revenge, You want the world to burn. No one will even have to experience anything ever again.
    ^ Top  
  7. Nevill Arcane

    Jun 6, 2009
    Shadorwun: Hong Kong
    The very first post features supernatural ability to understand languages the protagonist is not familiar with.

    Also, the villain sounds suspiciously like someone we know. :M
    ^ Top  
  8. Karwelas Dwarf Taffer

    May 12, 2014
    "Mostly Harmless" planet
    *Looks at thread. Looks at tags. See this.*

    Hiding behind little girls is a tactical option.

    Welp. It is gonna be good.
    ^ Top  
  9. Nevill Arcane

    Jun 6, 2009
    Shadorwun: Hong Kong
    You need a lot of little girls for them to start providing cover bonuses. :M
    ^ Top  
  10. Karwelas Dwarf Taffer

    May 12, 2014
    "Mostly Harmless" planet
    Unless you use them as distraction, then it work even with a few. +M
    ^ Top  
  11. lightbane Arcane

    Dec 27, 2008
    The language of Russians EVIL is universal. :M That, or the protagonist knows several languages besides English.
    ^ Top  
  12. Necro Master Novice

    Necro Master
    Aug 30, 2012
    The Outer Reaches of Your Mind
    Actually Repression was like my 3rd story. Necromancer was about my 7th or 8th and Eternal is the 16th one I’ve done to date. Really, Eternal was the type of story I was always attempting to do in the past, but never quite achieving that goal until that one.

    Nice to see Repression getting some appreciation though, it tends to fly a bit under the radar compared to the rest of them. Though given the theme of the story, that seems sort of appropriate.
    • Brofist Brofist x 5
    ^ Top  
  13. Nevill Arcane

    Jun 6, 2009
    Shadorwun: Hong Kong
    This has started recently. The author describes it thusly: "Imagine if Dresden Files ran on the systems of Shaman King". To me, who is unfamiliar with etiher, the setting looks deliciously Shadowrun-esque.

    At the dawning of things Thought took two forms.
    Firstly, there was the Spirit.
    Mind and Soul, unhindered by Flesh.
    Then, with time, there was Life.
    Flesh married to Soul, carrying Thought with it.
    But it was not until the dawn of Man that the true power of both was discovered.

    The year is 2016. For tens of thousands of years, the Fugue has held the world of Spirits at bay from the world of the Awakened. In the wake of the Enlightenment the old superstitions have fled the world; replaced with cold rationality and cool logic. Now the number of Dreamers dwindle, and the old spirits are fading out of memory.

    Yet, even now, new ones arise...

    Wellspring Saga

    Show Spoiler
    This is the Wellspring. An infinite, roiling mass of energy. From this flows every soul; it is the source of all life, and also the destination. Within the world connected to this vast expanse of power there are two distinct entities that possess a powerful enough soul to change the world. The Dreamers, and the Awakened; Spirits and Humans.

    Once, all humans were Dreamers; they could harness the incredible power of Spirits and through them tap into the energies of the Wellspring. But devastation brought discontent and so the most powerful of both kinds brought about the Fugue; a permanent separation of Spirit and Man. Only a rare few could penetrate this barrier and thus bring the two worlds together in one being once more.

    Over time the world changed. Humanity's souls were individually weak, but mighty together. Their combined belief formed a vast Oversoul powerful enough as to affect the very fabric of the realm of spirits. Those within found themselves changing to conform to the thoughts of humanity, or else riding the tides of perception to greatness.

    Even so, the world advanced. Eventually humanity uncovered the mechanics underpinning the world in which they lived; a method which let them control their destiny without the need of the Wellspring's power. This strength was something they called Science; and so began the great Enlightenment of mankind. As the ages marched on the old superstitions began to fade and the Fugue only grew stronger with every forgotten legend.

    Yet even now, in the world of the Dreamers, there are many talents to be found for a cunning young person. When any Spirit can grant the techniques needed to be great then seniority becomes less of an issue with every passing conversation. No wonder that an oddity such as yourself would come up.

    You are...

    [ ] The Runaway, street magician, and Voodoo initiate. You use sleight of hand to fill your pockets, in more ways then one, and your magic to defend yourself on the mean streets of an unforgiving world.

    [ ] The Dabbler in Necromancy, managing seances alongside your crushing Medical School course load. The dead you speak to help with your day to day life, even as you have to deal their less-than-social counterparts.

    [ ] The Medium since birth, plagued by voices and thoughts not your own. Your asylum home doesn't make it any easier, and the whispers in the walls tell you that you have to get out, and soon.

    [X] The Millennial child; blogger, free-runner, and Urban Druid. You speak to the spirits of roads and street lights, and harness their power in your struggles against inner-city gangs, crooked cops, and censorship.

    [ ] The Spawn of a serial killer. Or so the other kids in the juvenile centre called you. Bought and sold before you were born, you feel the fires burning under your skin; especially in the tattoo that daddy gave you before the cops shot him in the back.

    [ ] The Bound victim, in more ways than you care to count. When you awoke in your hospital bed you found that your body had betrayed you, and not even the strange new voices that spoke to you could ease the pain of your loss.

    [ ] The Drudge, the dregs, the bottom of the pack. You know you're meant for more, and your new best buddy is glad to confirm that. You can be as powerful as you want. All you have to do is open the door for him...

    [ ] The Last in class, last in life, last in everything. Whatever potential you may have is buried beneath a weak will and a soft heart. You know, deep down, that you'll never amount to anything. Even your only friend in the world agrees, and he reminds you of that constantly.

    Glimmers of what different character options offer.

    Show Spoiler
    Ripples of the Future

    The Runaway

    Charms and baubles dangle from your belt and the inside of your coat as you make your way through the main tourist hub of the city. The Loa have precious few charms or incantations to support a thief. Not that you need them. You entertain the passing crowds equally as much as you expertly hustle them. Just another act. A fat, piggy tourist applauds your juggling, laughs at your card tricks, and watches gleefully as you make small, inconsequential objects vanish from sight.

    He tosses you coins even as he eagerly gives away the secrets of your every trick. But when he turns to leave you pull a charm bracelet off your belt and slip it on to your wrist. The spirit of Fat Tuesday, Mardi Gras, is one of mirth and merriment. You wear your offering, scalp itching as you feel the woven band of hair upon your wrist, and let the Zeitgeist overcome you.

    Around you the crowd parts like water, unseeing and unfeeling, as you zero in on your target. Within moments you have come up along behind him, like a shark. By the time he realizes his wallet is gone you're sitting in a cafe half a block past him; sipping coffee bought with his thick cash. You were going to give back the picture of his wife and kids; until you pulled it out and found a picture of his mistress behind it.

    So no dice, in that case. Fair is fair. You smirk and sink deeper into the chair as you watch the celebrations outside. There's plenty more hunting to be done this evening.

    The Necromancer

    "Good morning, Doctor Jacobs." You warmly greet the morgue's only other occupant as you walk into the room. He looks a little pale, and grunts something at you that might have been a greeting. Looking around, you find the appropriate linoleum tile and, using the edge of your pocket knife, pry it up. Ah, of course. You remove a bit more dirt from your pocket and carefully spread it across the little hole in the ground. The good Doctor perks right up.

    Doctor Jacobs has been dead for three years now, so his knowledge isn't all that up to date. Certain procedures or treatment plans have evolved since he left medicine. But still, you're glad for the help. Part of you wants to gather up some of his grave dirt and carry it with you into your next exam. That, however, would definitely be cheating.

    "I say, young man, come have a look at this one! It arrived just this morning." That's the other thing. You can't fault him for it, but the Doctor is, well, quite old. He isn't used to the idea of women being doctors. So he has a bit of trouble with your gender. You tend to let it slide. Trying to convince a ghost of anything new is basically impossible. So you smile, walking over to look at the new arrival in the morgue.

    Saint Augustine's is a teaching hospital. So you come down here early mornings to examine the bodies, try to figure out the causes of death, and learn more. But this... you run your gloved fingers over the chest. A sinking feeling fills you as you recognize the wounds. Claw wounds and bite marks.

    The Medium

    It always made you wonder, when you were very little, why nobody else seemed to notice him. The man with the hat. He was always standing off in the middle distance, with his wide-brimmed headgear pulled down at the front. Watching. When you were old enough to talk you tried to tell your parents about him but they thought he was just an imaginary friend.

    You kept quiet after that. The whispers in your bedroom told you so. But then you were seven, and the police found you covered in blood in your parent's bedroom with the knife in your hand. You told them that it wasn't you. It must have been the man with the hat. That was fine, until they cracked open your psychiatrist's old records and found out that, according to them, the man with the hat didn't exist.

    That was ten years ago. You haven't seen the man since then but the whispers stayed with you. They joined you in your new home. Telling you which patients to avoid. Which nurses to act nice around. Which ones to act scary towards. Now they're whispering to you in the darkness. The new doctor on staff is not a nice man. So when he came to your room in the middle of the night, you screamed and bit him and kicked him somewhere very painful.

    Now he has plans for you. The whispers refuse to tell you what. All they repeat, if you try to focus on anything else, is the same four words. You have to leave.

    The Millennial

    City folk, you muse, have no idea how un-flat pavements are. They never look down, never notice. You do, though. Emmons gripes about it constantly as he smoothes your path for you. No need to glance back to know that you've got pursuers on your tail. It's Tuesday, after all. You duck into an alley, jumping from a trash can to a dumpster in rapid succession. Your hand falls upon the wall and the brick contorts to grasp at you as you use the leverage to launch yourself over the barbed wire fence.

    On the other side you land, three-point, feeling the asphalt crack beneath your palm. A quick wave and a grumble from Emmons seals it right back up as you keep running. The sound of confusion behind you is hilariously enjoyable. Either way, you've lost them. The swiped packet of drugs comes out just long enough for you to wrap it in newspaper and dump it in a bin.

    "Jack, we got Wi-Fi?" Your earphones crackle to life and make a sound in the affirmative. You grin, patting the phone in your pocket. How many office drones have thought of the network in their building as a living thing? Well, you know it's true. A street spirit in your sneakers and a network spirit in your phone. It's a thing of beauty. "Excellent. Stroll on over to the NYPD website and let them know where they can pick up a fat brick of heroin. Then add that spot to the network map."

    A few seconds later you get a ping from your other phone as it informs you of an update on your blog. Followed quickly by several more. You flick it out and glance at it, checking the responses from your network. Suspicion confirmed. They're expanding. "Well... I suppose we'll just have to do something about that, hm?"

    The Spawn

    Morning is a routine. Wake up, slide off your bunk, kick Rat in the ribs and go to breakfast while he trails after you like a lovesick puppy. Pathetic. You shoulder your way to the front of the line outside the mess hall and nobody tries to stop you. They know better. When you first got here there were... whispers. Rumours. You quelled a lot of them. Nobody says anything bad about your father. Except you.

    The others, though, about what you did? You let those stick. You're not ashamed to admit it. That man shot your dad. So you waited, calmly, half-pretending to cry as he came over. Then you sank your knife into his throat. He killed your father. So he deserved to die. Every time you think that the tattoo on your hand itches. But it's true. Breakfast is as boring as usual. The high-risk crowd get to go through first. That includes you.

    You're sat alone, at separate tables in your own corner of the cafeteria. Trays are brought to you. The cutlery is chained to the tables. Paranoid, much? You glance at Rat, eating with the others. He shoots nervous looks your way, but they keep a close eye on him. They don't want him slipping you a plastic fork. You close your eyes for a moment as you eat the sub-par sausages and eggs. The memory is of yesterday. Then, of tomorrow; your upcoming transfer to an adult prison. You can see it clearly.

    When you open your eyes you're rubbing at the tattoo on your hand. Yes. Tomorrow. You'll be free by tomorrow. When you leave breakfast, the guards search you after they clear the table. You're clean. But none of them notice the fingerprints melted into the metal.

    The Bound

    Your last memory before the impact was your mother holding you and whispering that it would all be okay. Then your car, moving at a great speed, had hit the water. They told you that the vehicle had split. Faulty manufacturing, the lawyer had told you. There were a lot of big words being thrown around. You didn't really understand them at the time; it had taken several months for the shock of waking up to a body that refused to obey your commands to wear off.

    At least the money from the court settlement pays for your hospital bills. That's all you have now. Various complications in your injuries have led to a lot of time in hospitals. Sometimes you can leave for a week or two; move into your 'home' with a caretaker. You lay awake at night in your old room and pretend that everything is the same. It's not. Nothing can bring them back.

    Then there's that memory. Of closing your eyes and floating away from it all. Only it's not a memory. It just came true. During your surgery you found yourself hovering above your body and watching everything, in great detail. More than that; you weren't alone. There was someone there with you. They taught you how to move about and you enjoyed it, for a time, until your body called again.

    Now you know it can be done you're determined to do it again. Maybe you are trapped in a pathetic shell that can't do anything for itself... but outside of that shell, you can fly.

    The Drudge

    You endure it all. The abuse from idiots who think that paying two dollars for a cheeseburger makes them the King of Fast Food. Spitting in their patties is a small recompense. Then there's the pimpled idiot who lords himself over you; as if an extra dollar fifty an hour in his pay check and a stupid-looking hat makes him better than you. Or the franchise owner who comes by to give out the Employee of the Month award and bonus. Surprise, surprise; it's the bubble-headed, bubble-chested blonde bitch who gets into his mid-life crisismobile at the end of the day.

    All of it is endured. You go home to your shitty apartment, toss your shitty uniform into the shitty laundry hamper, sit down on front of your shitty couch and glare at your shitty TV. It comes on and you see idiots making fools of themselves for cash. You turn it off again straight away and go to your bedroom to get the Book. It's worth enduring for that. None of those idiots know what you can do. You'll show them soon.

    You thought it would be harder. That there would be more ritual, or chanting. The closest you've got to that was killing a gerbil. But the Advisor was pleased, even with that. It was mostly in the state of thinking. The way you held your mind; to capture the life as it flowed out of the creature. You feel elated just thinking about it. Soul. You captured something's soul. That's power. Real power. Not the power of a stupid hat, or the power of a small penis with a lot of money. Real power.

    The Advisor likes it when you think that way. It helps, he says, to consider them as being little more than insects. They are beneath you. Because you're the one that was chosen. Yeah. Chosen. And now, he tells you, it's time to move up a step. Just one more step. You don't see the harm. After all, you're better than those fools. You can stop any time you like.

    The Last

    Your life is a goddamned mess. No friends. Intelligent, sure, but unable to read or write. Despite your best efforts, and your parent's best tutors. So you're resitting your last year of high school, for the second time. Although, now you think about it, you aren't totally without friends. You've seen Carrie, so you obviously thought it was a trick at first. Popular kid befriends the unpopular kid only to embarrass them. But you've changed your mind since then.

    They're a little callous at times, but then they told you about how they'd been in your position once. At their old school. They'd been glad to move and leave behind all the friends who'd been holding them down. You did your best not to be a burden to your only friend. After all, you were smart. You could help them with studying, and answers.

    Really, the rest of your life was so dull and depressing. You only ever feel happy when you were around them. As soon as they left it was back to the muted, dead world. Even then, you can't feel sad. Or angry. You just don't feel anything unless you were around them. It's all just too much for you. So much sensation, constantly pounding at you, but you can't feel anything back.

    It might be best if you'd just lay down and sleep. It's cold here. Dark. But you don't mind. Soon you won't be a burden to anyone. Your limbs feel heavy and cold. Just sleep. Sleep. When you wake up, it'll all be over.

    The last one probably isn't an emo, but a vampire victim, and a potentional vampire candidate. Though you can never be sure with those. :M

    We went with a street druid dispencing the steet justice, by the way.
    ^ Top  
  14. Karwelas Dwarf Taffer

    May 12, 2014
    "Mostly Harmless" planet
    Wait, even Necro is there, what the fuck?! Is our forums server placed above some kind of old summoning stone or something? It is damn third time I saw someone appearing after we talk about him on Dex.

    Good to see you, awesome works, man! I had much fun reading Eternal.

    Show Spoiler
    How the hell I get True path?
    Last edited: Jan 14, 2016
    ^ Top  
  15. Necro Master Novice

    Necro Master
    Aug 30, 2012
    The Outer Reaches of Your Mind
    Thanks, just wish I had the time to pursue my writing hobby like I used to. Still got more ideas though.

    Here's what I think you were asking for in your spoilers.

    Show Spoiler
    By true path, I’m guessing you mean “True Eternal” path?

    True Eternal path is just sort of an alternate name for the “Struggle” path where you get to actually meet the Emperor and get most of your training directly from Mistress/Semra. It’s definitely the path that fills in some of the possible question raised in the other two major paths.

    Not sure how far you got in that one, but you can reach 5 major epilogues from it. I’ll go over briefly them without giving away too much story.

    The first major branching point is when you decide whether or not to kill the Emperor during the second chapter of that branch.

    If you decide to kill him, you get a very different chapter 3 branch (Sort of like a post apocalyptic fantasy setting) that ultimately leads to 2 of the epilogues. Those two epilogues are fairly easy to get by following the main path to its conclusion. At the end there is one last choice and you’ll either get one epilogue or the other. (Epilogues 9 & 10)

    If you decide to stay loyal, you’ll get the branch that pretty much leads to filling in most of mystery surrounding the Emperor. From there you’ll get a different chapter 3 branch which will lead to the remaining 3 epilogues AND 2 unlabeled epilogues.

    The next main split following that branch is you’ll get a choice to help either Mistress or Decena.

    Helping Decena, will continue the path where eventually you’ll get another choice of how to extend your life through SCIENCE! (and magic) From there you’ll get a bit more story and either epilogue 11 or 12.

    Helping Mistess will eventually lead to epilogue 13, but the path is still fairly long before you’ll get to it. Also your very last choice at the end of the path can also lead to the other two unlabeled epilogues. (One really bad and one really good)

    The only reason why those aren’t officially labeled is due to my own idea that I felt each epilogue should either result in you achieving such a major legacy that your deeds are remembered forever in history or you actually achieved immortality.

    Hopefully that’s all clear enough without giving away too much, assuming you haven’t already gotten several of those already.
    ^ Top  
  16. lightbane Arcane

    Dec 27, 2008
    Holy cow, EndMaster himself has appeared! :incline: An absolutely welcome surprise.
    And yeah, after snooping around a bit I realized Eternal is one of your newest (and definitively one of the most complex) stories. It is also a work that took you several years to complete, which explains the difference in the writing it shows at certain points. In fact, you seem to be fond of writing a lot. If you don't mind me asking, Necro Master, are you going to write something else in the future, or are you done with these stories? Not that I mind either way, you did a good job with Eternal, Necromancer, Ground Zero and your many other CYOAs.

    Anyways, back to work:

    I can confirm that the Metal Gear Solid CYOA is pretty good. It starts a bit weak but it eventually picks up in pace in quality. Just like the games, it features a cast of highly unstable but superhumanly skilled individuals (to cite an example, the main character has such a martyr complex that even Jesus would call him out). The Quest also includes good music and seems to update quite often. The only downside is that so far cardboard boxes haven't appeared yet, which is certainly :decline:. It's still a solid read.

    In addition, I wish to mention yet another Quest from the same webpage which I believe it deserves a good look:

    Russian mercenary exploring an hyper-deadly hellhole infested with mutants, radioactivity, bandits, supernatural effects and worse stumbles upon a gate that leads to an high-fantasy world. "Fun" ensues. It even goes as far as to feature written Russian. Definitively worth reading if you have the time to spare.


    Show Spoiler
    I'm not really sure, but I believe the "True Eternal" path is the one you get if you choose the 'Struggle' option right at the beginning of the game. If you were referring to the last ending though, this same path includes it in one of its branching points (specifically in Chapter 3, right after that event with the demon, where you have to choose which person you wish to help).
    Last edited: Jan 14, 2016
    ^ Top  
  17. Necro Master Novice

    Necro Master
    Aug 30, 2012
    The Outer Reaches of Your Mind
    Like I mentioned to Karwelas, I still got ideas for stories, just a lack of time like I once had in the past.

    The latest CYOA I did was last year, Suzy's Strange Saga, which is basically a sequel to several stories and pretty much ties a lot of them together. 16 major epilogues with that one.

    The main two projects that I want to work on next are Primal and Rogues.

    Primal is actually an older story which I never finished (Less than 30% I figure) so I took it down. It's been so long since I worked on it, I'm just reworking most of it from the ground up. That one is a primitive island fantasy setting with tribal warfare, cannibalism, head hunting, witch doctors, human sacrifice, worshiping primal gods, volcano eruptions, hurricanes and all that other stuff.

    Rogues is sort of a reworking of Legend, or at least some of it. Legend was probably my first big attempt to make a story with a epic story line encompassing an entire lifetime for the protagonist, but unfortunately it didn't really do that. The scope of what I was trying to do didn't have a very clear goal at the time and as that story dragged on I got less and less enthusiastic on completing it. It's my least favorite of all the stories I've posted.

    Still, there are large parts of it that I really like, particularly the rogue path which probably has the best writing. So I'm going to take some of those plot lines and expand on them.

    Of course it isn't going to just be a shorter version of Legend with rogue focus. I'm adding a bunch of new content and paths. The story itself is sort of a semi-sequel to Innkeeper and going to use some of the background/lore from that story as a base. There will be a male and female protagonist for this one, but I'm not gender flipping it, I'm making completely different adventures for each of them. I'm not going to try to encompass an entire "life" either, just a nice portion of it.

    Other than those two, the other main CYOA on the agenda is Guardian where you're the A.I. of a giant space ark containing the last of humanity. I had what I thought was a good opening for that one, but then when I really thought about it, it didn't make much sense so it's back to the drawing board for an intro, even though I already have several ideas for various paths.

    Also had a concept for a demon/ghost protagonist story (Malevolent) and a prison based one (Inmate). In Malevolent you'd go around trying to cause the most amount of damage by possessing the various people that live in the area you're currently haunting while trying not to gain so much attention that you get yourself exorcised. Despite how it sounds more like a fun mayhem loving concept, I'd probably try to go more with a darker serious tone for it. Of course that was my original intent to do that with Love SICK, but that one came out as "bloody hilarious" rather than "disturbing."

    The prison concept I think is going to get incorporated into Rogues though and will be one of the major paths in it. One of the bad paths obviously if you got caught and thrown in prison!

    Anyway, that's about it for the solid story ideas that I'd like to get around to working on whenever time allows.
    ^ Top  
  18. Karwelas Dwarf Taffer

    May 12, 2014
    "Mostly Harmless" planet
    Necro Master - it is great to hear that you intend to continue writing CYOAs. By the way, I was thinking about Quests and CYOAs. (I don't know if those should be separated or those should be two other names of same thing) Here, on dex, we have a bit different form of those, but I bet you already know it.

    Actually, I'm surprised that there are so few people that know about that form of playing. Questing with good kind of story, mechanics (simple or complex) and good MG can be superb form of entertainment and writing story where many people can decide about plot and fate of characters.

    Show Spoiler
    CYOAs/questing communities - master race. :lol:
    ^ Top  
  19. Nevill Arcane

    Jun 6, 2009
    Shadorwun: Hong Kong
    Well, gentlemen. This happened.

    A week ago a new quest was started. As of now, it numbers barely ten updates, and nearly a hundred pages. In a week. Yeah. :roll:

    The codexian retardation record of 60 pages in 3 days spent on character improvement stands unchallenged, but it is a decent runner-up. :salute::lol:

    What is it about?

    On december 21, 2016, a man appeared and claimed ownership of the world, together with a small self-made island in the Atlantic Ocean. The governments who tried to object were brutally subjugated, the nuclear arsenals dissolved or disappeared overnight, and any attacks on the island were decisively repelled. The man was Atrianome Enoch, the first mage, and he created the first Magical Academy to teach the students to become his instruments in world domination.

    No one knew why he would want to share the power he wielded in such a strange manner. The general consensus was that he was simply insane. But he was also nigh omnipotent, and so there was no shortage of applicants willing to try and steal his secrets. The attrition rates were horrendous, though. Of the first class of 1000, no more than 30 got released back from the Terrascape Academy of Magical Endeavor.

    They became the only people who mattered in this new world. After all, who would question the mages for their actions, if not another mage?

    The Gardens of Enoch: Terrascape Academy

    Introductory post (open)
    Imaginary Friends

    “This will be the year. It’ll be this year. This year.” Art paced feverishly across the living room, gnawing on a fingernail as he muttered to himself.

    Last year had been a bust, so he was eighteen now. That was fine, he’d get in this year and would have a lifetime of magic in front of him. The Attacks didn’t bother him too much. If he was forced to participate, he would avoid hurting anyone. Plenty of Attacks turned out that way, and more each year. True, the bad ones were getting worse, sometimes much worse-

    He slapped his cheeks with both palms, shaking his head. Positive thoughts. In the next few hours, people across the world would be getting the news. He’d be one of them, he was sure of it. Enoch wouldn’t pass over him again, not when he’d done so well on the exam. All last year Arthur had studied, scraping together every idle moment. Friends, games, school, internet - he’d cut back on everything else, instead dedicating his hours to researching successful applicants, reviewing previous tests, doing practice exams. Barron’s published a study guide now, as did Kaplan.

    It was one of their best sellers. The SAT was given more, but the students that took Enoch’s exam were far more motivated.

    Everything came down to this. The fights with his parents (they barely tolerated him), the breakup with Joan, the friends lost, the grades lost... none of it mattered, as long as this one thing went through. None of it mattered, as long as he heard from Enoch.

    Was it normal to sweat this much? Probably not, but nothing about this was normal. Maybe it was a good sign?

    The hour ticked away, second by second.

    And the next.

    And the next.

    And the next, which was the last, and then Enoch was out of time. The tight, electric ball of tension in his chest seemed to fall, down through his stomach and further, down into a pit that had no bottom. Vertigo gripped him for a second, nausea and a hopeless lightness in his chest, and his scattered, panicked thoughts were full of the fear that it might fall forever.

    Slowly, shudderingly, Arthur exhaled.

    Ah, well. Maybe next year. If he could even bring himself to do this all over again for a year.

    He couldn’t, he already knew that. Maybe that was why... Maybe that was why he wasn’t good enough.

    Hours passed, but he didn’t bother counting them. It felt like his mind was full of static, unable to focus on a single train of thought. Habit compelled him to look over his study guides, but even the thought of putting pencil to paper brought the vertigo back. Something welled up within him, an indescribable emotion, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ignore the tears.

    For a long time, he sat and thought about nothing at all.

    “Heard about what happened.” All of a sudden, his father was standing in the doorway, expression somber. Bookish, slim, hair more grey than brown, Tomas Drake didn’t cut a particularly imposing figure.

    Arthur turned anyway, hiding his face.

    “It’s bullshit, the things that man does,” his father continued, shaking his head. “Simple and complete-”

    “I don’t,” Arthur’s voice hitched as he angrily brushed aside tears. “want to talk about it.”

    He knew sounded petulant. Who was he even angry at? His parents, for being right? Himself, for being stupid?

    “Hey.” His father stepped forward and placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “A man doesn’t ever need to feel embarrassed, shedding tears. There’s nothing shameful in caring about something, no matter what the movies say.”

    Art had heard all about the things “A man” did and didn’t ever need to do, but this one was new. He found himself appreciating the sentiment.

    “Alright,” Arthur said, turning to face his dad. “Get on with it.”

    There was a pause.

    “You think I’m here to say I told you so.” His father said, smiling tightly. “Oh, man...”

    He blinked. Why was the man here, then? Delivering a ultimatum? Kicking him out?

    “Look, kiddo,” His father sat down on the bed beside him, looking up at the ceiling. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. How I handled this whole magic school thing,” He grimaced. “It wasn’t great.”

    “But you were right,” Arthur said, disbelieving, sitting up to look down at him.

    A shrug. “Maybe I was right, maybe I wasn’t. I just-” He sighed. “After your mother told me the news, I couldn’t stop thinking about how stupid the whole thing was. How unbelievably stupid. And how I’d let something as stupid as that get between me and my son. I know I’ve never been a cool dad, but we could do better than this, I thought.”

    He cleared his throat, somewhat embarrassed. “You’re tough, Art. Tougher than I gave you credit for. Maybe not in the ways I expected, but you are. Tougher than your old man was at your age, I could never do what you did. Not for an entire year. Must be your mother in you.”

    “I could never do what I did this year, either,” Arthur shook his head, grinning slightly. “Never again.”

    “Don’t sell yourself short! Any Tom, Dick, or Harry can have some creepy old guy pop in and tell them they’re a wizard. That’s the easy road. Us Drakes, we...” For a moment, a shadow of deep resignation passed over his father’s face. Then it was gone, so fast Arthur could almost convince himself he’d imagined it.

    His father shook his head, smiling slightly, “We never take the easy road.” He sighed and straightened himself.

    “Anyway, what I came up here to say was that we screwed up. We tried to act in your best interests, but you’re a man now, and free to decide what’s best on your own. Our only job is to stand by you, no matter what happens. I- your mother and I- that’s what we’re going to do. Even if you don’t see us-”

    “That's enough.” Abruptly, there was another man in the room with them.

    Arthur sprang back, struck his head on a bedpost, and tumbled to the ground. The world spun.

    His father turned to the man, smiling shakily. “I'm as good as done, sure.”

    There was a discontinuity, as if the reel of Art’s life had skipped a frame. And then his father’s head was flying through the arc, trailing a bloody arc. His mouth still tried to work, eyes blinking.

    The third man advanced on Arthur, stepping through the moonlight which fell like a soft curtain across the room. He was an Asian man, handsome but for the seam running down the left side of his face, glittering like a vein of raw gold.

    “Sorry about this, eh?” The man said, picking Arthur up by his throat. He sounded so apologetic, as if he really were sorry. Sighing, the man cocked back a fist.

    Before he could throw the punch, though, there was a tap on Arthur’s window. A face leaned in from the side, a face anyone in the world would recognize.

    “Thank you, Ken,” said Atrianome Enoch. “We’re finished here.”

    The gold-seamed man nodded. “Sir,” he said perfunctorily, and dropped Arthur.

    It was many hours later, and early into the dawn, when the national guard found him. The entire town of Mayeville, Iowa, had been silently slaughtered in the night. He was the sole survivor of the Attack.

    What was it that he’d been thinking earlier?

    The fights with his parents, the breakup with Joan, the friends lost, the grades lost... None of it mattered, as long as he heard from Enoch.


    Relatives in Brooklyn took him in. He made up his remedial classes, got a GED. Time passed, though never comfortably. Everyone in the media had been sympathetic, but there were fringe elements online that believed he had been involved in the Attack, or that he’d somehow instigated it. With no way to prove otherwise, he’d had no choice but to keep his head down and endure the harassment. They organized local Brooklynites, fearful for their lives. His uncle’s apartment was picketed multiple times. There were break-ins, death threats. The police helped deal with that, scoffing at the idea that it might happen again. Sure, Enoch was crazy, but why pick on some random kid?

    Then came the Attack on Brooklyn. It was the gold-seamed man, obvious this time, standing in the air, limbs a furious blur as he deflected tank shells and machine-gun fire. Buildings fell in quick succession, belching smoke and dust, and soon the entire city was covered in a thick, choking mist that smelled of blood and grime. Madly, ludicrously, Arthur had rushed towards the man, shouting recriminations, but he was tackled by a police officer and subsequently ignored.

    Many managed to flee the borough as the massacre commenced, but by the end the only living souls were, again, Art and “Ken.”

    Some invisible aura around Ken rebuffed Arthur’s flailing charge. This time, the man said nothing, giving Arthur a weary look before Enoch appeared to collect him.


    After that, there was no sympathy. Not from the media, or the government, or the internet, or anyone. Who could believe that he had been uninvolved? And even if they could, was he still not cursed? Marked by Enoch, or one of his strongest students, for some obscure or sorcerous purpose. Brooklyn had been the worst Attack in history, bar none.

    He wandered, managing to pick up odd jobs when he wasn’t recognized. Most days he simply felt numb, but sometimes it would all come to overwhelm him. He spent days scrolling through memorials for the fallen, trying to memorize every name. He read endless pages of vitriol directed against his person, searched compulsively for more like a panner after gold. Long, sleepless hours he wondered if he’d done something to deserve it.

    When he passed through, occasionally people would smile at him. Reflexive smiles of politeness, warm smiles of hospitality: they would overtake a face like the sun at dawn, only to cloud over as they recognized him. The aborted half-smile. Sometimes, he thought about collecting them, snapshots in his mind. But it was less hurtful to let them all merge together. The aborted half-smile was the face the world showed him. Six billion pairs of eyes looked out from its awkward grimace.

    When he got on the bus, people got off on the next stop. Those who didn’t recognize him were alerted by the exodus of those who did. Often the driver would leave as well, in protest or in fear. He grew experienced at hiding himself, concealing his face, but there were internet threads about the color of his jacket, his build, height, eye color and favorite disguises. He wondered if men who looked like him were often bothered about it.


    He was surprised he hadn’t been abducted by the government, or even some international agency, organization, or cult. Perhaps they were afraid of what would happen if they interfered with one of Enoch’s toys. As far as he knew, there were no others like him. No survivors carefully singled out when everyone else had died. No provocateurs who earned Enoch’s attention with their very existence. No one else attacked, or spared, by the gold-seamed man.

    At the end of that year, he submitted another application to Terrascape, though for unkinder reasons than before.

    After all, if magic was real, why couldn’t justice be more than a fairy tale?

    But there was no reply that year, either. Not that he’d expected one. If Enoch had wanted him in, it would’ve been a simple matter to tell him when they had met in person.


    A year and a half after the Attack on Brooklyn, Art had made his way to the West Coast. Memories of horror were long, but still finite, and this far from New York there were fewer that recognized him. He’d established a stable migratory pattern through the Oregan and Washington countrysides, doing his best to minimize time spent in Seattle or Portland. He’d sent in his fourth and final application to the Academy, out of irony more than anything else. Along his route were a number of families that knew his story and accepted him anyway. Work was hard, but plentiful.

    On Christmas Eve, he popped into Seattle to do some last-minute shopping for those families. In particular, Caroline Gladstone was college-bound and had applied to the Terrascape. He was standing in a department store, brainstorming a gift to deter that ambition, when the gold-seamed man appeared again. No longer was there a single seam across his face. He was like porcelain shattered and welded back together with gold, though his flesh seemed no less natural, his movements no less fluid or devastating.

    Art was ready.

    He had run through the plan in his mind a thousand times. Without thinking, he pulled the switchblade from his belt and held it to his own throat.

    “Stop!” He roared, and was unable to keep anguish from warping his tone. “S-stop, or I’ll do it.”

    There was no time for contemplation, only deathly resolve. He faced an enemy of superhuman speed.

    The gold-seamed man sighed. “I don’t like this any more than you do, eh? Sorry.”

    And then Art was flat on his back, the knife clattering from his hand, and some invisible pressure kept him from moving his limbs as the man killed and killed and killed.

    On Christmas day, it rained in Seattle. Snowflakes hit the wave of smoke and superheated air that rose from that burning cairn of a city, and turned to rain. The gold-seamed man had ripped the top six floors off of the building to use them as a projectile against the Navy. Rain struck Arthur as he lay, helpless.

    Save for the rain, his eyes were dry. A man never needed to feel embarrassed, shedding tears, but that didn’t mean they were useful either. When the pressure let up, he was going to finish it. He was going to cut short this experiment of Enoch’s, or bring it to its inevitable conclusion, whichever. It was the only form of power he still had. He felt as if he had hurdled long past misery, past bleakness, past worry, past guilt and self-doubt, past all the ills of the human condition that were born of hope or the absence of hope. Only determination remained.

    All paths were closed to him, but he could still make his own.

    You’re not alone.

    The voice was like steel sheathing ice, like lightning kissing blood, like black ink dripped across the whole expanse of the sky. The hairs on his neck rose up in a shiver, as if a blade had been passed lengthwise across it.

    It was a voice that promised neither mercy nor kindness. But that was fine.

    You are my Host.

    Was this, also, part of the plan?

    Arthur realized that he didn’t care. Maybe justice was a fairy tale, but there was still vengeance, and that was a damn sight better than nothing. He'd dance until he could strangle the puppeteer with his own strings.

    Do you accept?

    He accepted, and closed his eyes. For a long time, they remained closed.

    When he opened them again, Atrianome Enoch was standing over him, an unreadable expression in his gaze.

    Enoch smiled.

    “Well,” said he, “it certainly wasn’t an easy road for you. Cutting it a bit close, hm? You very nearly didn’t make it. I’m glad we could help you through in the end. Allow me to be the first to congratulate you on your successful admittance to the Terrascape Academy of Magical Endeavour.”

    He extended a hand, five fingers in a white velvet glove, unstained by the ash or the blood or the rain, to shake.

    [ ] Shake It
    [ ] Don’t Shake It
    [ ] Write-in
    - Somehow you know instinctively that he won’t answer any questions, if that’s what you’re planning.

    How does Arthur feel about his situation?

    [ ] Confused - Enoch implied Arthur's own desire to be admitted was the cause of the Attacks around him, possibly as some means of turning Arthur into a Conjoined. That may or may not be true, but the uncertainty certainly takes the wind out of vengeance’s sails. It seems there is no path but forward. There may or may not be more levels to Enoch’s plan, but he has no choice but to face them head-on.

    [ ] Guilty - Except for some jokes told during interviews, Enoch has never lied before in any interaction on record. He may not want it to be true, but the most likely explanation is that Enoch really did kill all those people to make Art a Conjoiner. Arthur may never have asked for it, but that is the probable truth. The only thing he can do now is accept the burden of their lives - because Enoch certainly won’t - and make the most of this opportunity that was purchased with so costly a coin. [Accepts partial blame, may sometimes ignore Procrastinator when studying]

    [ ] Filled with Determination [Requires Will 4] - This changes nothing. Art never asked for or desired anyone to die. The choice was Enoch’s, and “Ken’s” for following him. Call it justice or call it vengeance, but Arthur will see Enoch dead one day, and “Ken” as well. Enoch took everything from him and presumes to call it a gift. A gift like that should be repaid in kind. [Unlocks certain choices in the future]
    Last edited: Jan 14, 2016
    • Brofist Brofist x 1
    ^ Top  
  20. Inf0mercial Savant

    Jan 28, 2014
    Rihaku quests get ridiculous pages. I have seen them pop up then 20 pages of discussion with no update, gets annoying at times.

    He tends to give participation xp anyway so they use that as an excuse to spam the same argument over 30 pages.
    • Brofist Brofist x 1
    ^ Top  
  21. Nevill Arcane

    Jun 6, 2009
    Shadorwun: Hong Kong
    Any other good ones that you know?

    I'd feel right at home then. :M
    ^ Top  
  22. Inf0mercial Savant

    Jan 28, 2014
    Right quest just restarted again called Ork Overlord started as warboss but we have progressed, it went on hiatus as a sort of break and system change as the mechanics got way to complicated and time consuming as the scope expanded.

    Thread with to date character sheets so kinda spoilerly. skip them and current assets if you care.

    Story only thread so you miss discussion but up to date and less spoilers.

    Intro is here from story only thread.

    Show Spoiler

    It is the dawn of the 42nd millennium. The 13th Black Crusade has ground to a halt, leaving Cadia in the Imperium's hands. However, the fortress world remains under siege, while Chaos forces lead by Abaddon have infiltrated past the blockade and gained a foothold on the worlds of Mankind.

    Hive Fleet Leviathan continues its relentless push into the Octarius Empire, with the epicenter of the conflict targeted squarely on Octaria. The Tyranids are gaining the upper hand, showering the planets and filling the skies with waves of ever-evolving spawn.

    Though battles still rage on the ash wastes of Armageddon, the instigator of it all is finally dead. Ghazghkull Thraka, known to the Imperium as the Beast of Armageddon, met his end at the hands of High Marshal Helbrecht, aided by the Warlord's old rival, nicknamed One-Eye Yarrick by the greenskin hordes.

    And yet for every Waaagh! that is beaten and scattered, two more launch themselves into the void on ramshackle ships, plunging more worlds into unending war.

    “Orkz iz neva beaten in battle… we can always come back for anuvver go…”

    Main Thread.
    - Warboss Phase [Here]
    - Warlord Phase [Link]
    - Overlord Phase [Link]

    A burgeoning Warboss hurtles through the Warp, with a mob of boyz howling at his back and his Space Hulk's engines roaring in his ears. Loudest of all however, is the chorus of voices squabbling in his head, practically indistinguishable from his own thoughts, guiding him like the voices of the Green Gods themselves toward the greatest battles in the galaxy.
    Choose a Clan Affiliation:

    [ ] Bad Moons: A powerful clan whose teeth grow faster than anyone else's. Consequently, the Bad Moons are the richest of the clans and spend much of their income purchasing the most devastating kustom weapons, which they use to defend themselves from opportunists seeking "redistribute" the wealth.
    - 20% more Teef income.
    - All infantry have more Ranged. Veterans are effective against Super-Heavy armor, and gain the Psyker trait.
    - Begin with Stompas.

    [ ] Blood Axes: The Blood Axes were the first Ork clan to encounter the Imperium, and frequent interactions with humans has caused them to adopt many human tactics. Blood Axes make use of camouflage, battle plans, and will even consider retreating if faced with overwhelming odds.
    - Additional slot for researching looted technology.
    - All infantry have more Reliability. Veterans gain Assault and Infiltrate.
    - Start with Heavy Bommer.

    [ ] Deathskulls: The Deathskulls are an Ork clan with an unsavory reputation for being a pack of looters and thieves; good at "borrowing" things and bad at giving them back. Meks play an integral part in Deathskull culture, beating some life back into wrecked vehicles and assembling weapons from all the bits and gubbins that the looters keep hidden away.
    - Get Teef from friendly casualties.
    - Rapid Response, Armor and Walker Skwadrons have increased Reliability.
    - Start with Supa-Kannon.

    [ ] Evil Sunz: A clan composed of Orks whose love for speed has affected their brains, causing them to have become addicted to the thrill of a wild ride into battle. Evil Sunz Orks are high-strung and possessed of notoriously short attention spans, and are almost irresistibly attracted to any loud and fast vehicle that they can fit themselves in.
    - Speed, aircraft and carrier technologies are easier to research.
    - Armor Skwadron gains +1 Melee, Fast Attack and can be used on Rough terrain. Rapid Response can be used in Rough and Boarding environments.
    - Start with Dakkajet.

    [ ] Goffs: Goffs are the biggest, meanest and most brutish of greenskin-kind, valuing close combat more than any other. A Goff will seize upon any excuse to start up a brawl, and often it takes nothing more than a misinterpreted glance to send the fists flying.
    - Warbands promote to Veterans more often after battles.
    - All infantry have more Melee and Toughness.
    - Start with Battlefortress.

    [ ] Snakebites: A backward tribe that still follows the old ways, remaining more or less feral even with access to advanced technology. Snakebites scorn complicated things like making their own vehicles and maintaining guns, preferring to put their faith in things they can trust; a sharp-edged choppa and a menagerie of ferocious squigs.
    - First turn of population growth doubled when colonizing a new sector.
    - Squiggoth Mobs can be used in Urban and Boarding environments, and have increased Toughness.
    - Start with Orkeosaurus.

    This next quest is Merc quest set in DC while some of the character choices have been....ill advised at times its probably the best quest set in Dc or marvel i have found to date.

    Pretty fun and the players have done an ok effort of playing an ammoral merc even if at the start there were a few random people who kept voting non lethal in situations where it annoyed the shit out of me.

    Show Spoiler

    The League of Assassins has many spies and informants in all ways of life. You are one such individual and were chosen to infiltrate the criminal underworld as a ruthless mercenary.
    You are aware that you are a long term investment and they don't really expect anything from you in the immediate future, but you don't care about that.
    You are just excited to finally live on your own and don't have anyone looking over your shoulder 24/7, you are 18 years old for Heavens sake.
    Better yet, you are allowed to choose your own name. Unfortunately "The Terminator" was already taken but you are sure you can come up with something equally terrifying.

    <Mercenary Codename>
    (This is the name people will know to call you when you wear a mask)

    <Civilian Name> (Firstname Lastname)
    (This is the name on your drivers license and passport. Probably a good idea to wear a mask when on the job, maybe lower your voice a bit as well to escape suspicion. Also to get coffee without getting killed.)

    You have been trained by the League of Assassins since you were old enough to slit peoples throats and it shows.

    Start with
    SPEED 5
    LUCK 3
    (3 is average for baseline human)

    Unarmed Martial Arts 5/20
    Weapons Mastery (Sword) 5/20
    Weapons Mastery (Staff) 3/20
    Weapons Mastery (Shuriken) 5/20
    Weapons Mastery (Guns) 3/20
    Thievery 5/20
    Persuasion 1/20
    Technology Knowledge 1/20
    Magic Knowledge 1/20

    Standard mask
    Standard combat knife +1 to Weapons Mastery (Sword)
    Street Clothes

    Glitter: Party Trick. Makes glitter fall from your fingers.

    Sharpen: Can sharpen almost every Weapon. Swords and Shuriken can be reused.

    Gained Perk: <"League of Assassins Agent">
    All those disposable ninjas Batman fights every time he clashes with the League of Assassins? You have their training, Congratulations!
    +5 Persuasion when talking to other League of Assassins agents

    In what free time you had you were always looking through the library for trainees and always had an interest in

    [] Technology (+5 Technology Knowledge)
    [] Magic (+5 Magic Knowledge)

    But enough about that. You just arrived in Jump City with enough money to rent a cheap apartment and are ready to begin your first job.
    So you call your League of Assassins handler and almost drop your phone as she relays the reason for your stay in such a quiet city:
    "Slade Wilson wants a teenaged mercenary"

    AN: Here we go, three votes: Codename, Civilian name and Hobby. At the moment the only people who know you are part of the League of Assassins are your Handler and Ra's al Ghul himself.
    Later there will be technology and magical spells that need their respective knowledge scores to function. They also give bonuses to any research or learning you want to do.
    At the moment the Main character doesn't have much of a personality, mainly because the LoA doesn't really encourage this, so he will grow with the decisions he makes.
    The system I use will be explained shortly and for everything else just ask and I will answer.

    • Brofist Brofist x 1
    ^ Top  
  23. lightbane Arcane

    Dec 27, 2008
    Thanks for the info, Necro Master. I didn't see your post when I got to post mine, so sorry for my redundant questions. Good to see you still have several fresh ideas to explore. I will patiently wait while I finish reading your other stories.
    ^ Top  
  24. Inf0mercial Savant

    Jan 28, 2014
    Eh i like a few of them but not enough to recommend as they tend to end abruptly as he loses interest, kinda one of those authors i lost interest in as time went on.

    Rihaku quests.

    Decent but really short like not a full page of updates.

    One of his settings where he keeps coming back to his own little mini verse and this is the prequel? To all the others the people keep referring to an earlier one i read which is next.

    The comes after above but before in real time so written first, there is meant to be one before this but i cannot find that for the life of me.

    Bleach quest fun actually goes for pretty long but ends without a resolution like so many of these.

    Fate zero magus quest was decent but proper ending.
    • Brofist Brofist x 1
    ^ Top  
  25. Nevill Arcane

    Jun 6, 2009
    Shadorwun: Hong Kong
    So many CYOAs. So many brillian ideas. So little time to read them all.

    However, I have found a quest that I simply can't not share.

    Your name is Sakura Kokoro. Yes, really. And your goal in life is not to become an anime character. Which is made all the harder by the fact that the Universe gets very creative in trying to turn you into one. Mysterious tranfer students arrive to your school weekly, strange creatures offer you contracts on suspiciously generous terms, and sometimes you find mechas parked around without any security protocols to prevent theft. It is as if there is some grand conspiracy centering around you!

    But you will not be deterred. You will have your normal and boring life, the Universe be damned! Hopefully, it loses interest in you once you reach your 16th birthday. They say the older the character, the less anime protagonist potential they have...

    Intro (open)
    I was born Sakura Kokoro on the 25th of December, 1998, with pink hair. The universe has been after me ever since.

    When I was six, my memory still developing, my mother left us in tears. She said it would further my character development. My father offered to hire some abusive grandparents, but I declined.

    The childhood friends I made when I was 10 all mysteriously moved away. One I believe went to France.

    When I was 13, a sword threw itself up out of a lake. I handed it in to Lost and Found.

    I am now 15. I have thus far avoided three claims of secret legacies, two mysterious amulets that fell out of the sky, four foreign princes seeking my hand in marriage and 17 small, sentient furry animals that are capable of human communication. I have, thus far, succeeded in preserving my ordinary life.

    In ten weeks, I will be turning 16. For the defence of my ordinary life, I must be ready.

    It is one quest where you have to actively struggle to avoid plot development and make sure that nothing out of the ordinary happens... or that at least it doesn't have any far reaching consequences. I find the idea wonderfully novel.

    No Matter What Happens, I Still Won't Become An Anime Character, For Real This Time

    It was re-launched due to many problems with the original quest, and nearly died for 4 months, but it seems to have been resurrected recently, which is how it came to my attention. It even has a dedicated TV Tropes page!

    Snippet (open)
    I examine the mecha critically from the cover of a convenient hedge, trying to ignore the inconvenient woodland creatures it has sprouted in its defence attempting psychological warfare with an acapella birdsong rendition of La Marseillaise ten centimetres from my ear.

    It's a very standard JSSDF Mecha all told, one of their 'hero' types painted in white-and-blue, with golden trims around a blocky head and a bulky armoured chest currently left wide open per standard security protocol (what if there was a threat like a rogue stolen mecha that the pilot needed to respond to very quickly?). A two-seater, with seating sized either for teenages or particularly unfortunate short people. I already know where this is going. It's big, it's obvious and it's even parked such that the sun cresting over the horizon alights the back of its head in a golden halo. Stardom has never really done the sun any good; it's just turned it to melodrama and playing coy with clouds.

    I peer across the hedge carefully, swatting aside a blue songbird trying to screech about freedom into my ear. The street is empty. No pilot, no guards, no cameras. Obviously if I were actually to climb into it it would count me as immediately recruited into the JSSDF as per standard policy – which is why I'm not going to do that – it does look I can just walk straight past it into school...

    ...I walk right past it and straight into school, studiously ignoring the very obvious green flash of it's optical sensors. Sigh. It tries to flash them again when it thinks I haven't noticed and I surreptitiously throw the last belligerent hamster still desperately trying to rally as it waves a leaf stabbed through a stick for a battle-flag and valiantly nibbles my shirt cuff. Vive la Gorsebushes; maybe it can pilot it instead.

    Despite the events of last week, the school grounds are impressively intact, with only the occasional tasteful crater and upturned Ford Model T – only allowed to smoulder impressively so as not to risk fire safety violations – left behind by the reconstruction crews that inevitably swarm here during the weekends when no-one's watching. They haven't even left caterpillar tracks in the grass this time; my compliments to the foreman.

    I wander through pristine halls, with pristine walls and pristine doors. It's as if the whole place is brand new... because it is. Even the layout has remained the same; I find the right classroom without any difficulties at all.

    ...I stop, and listen against the crack of the half-opened bulkhead door. No sounds of introductions yet. Can't glimpse anyone new. Push it open a squeaking crack more. Still no-one new. Push it open fully...

    I jam the hat over my head quickly and start counting. Maths.

    No new faces, but there's one more seat than there needs to be. Rats. I take quick stock; my customary seat is still free, as is the one next to it... and the one directly in front of it. Every other is taken. The Class Representative sits at the front, watching. Rats rats rats...

    I'm still counting. There's a hat on my head after all.

    Okay Sakura, time to think. If a classroom has zero teachers and twenty students, but twenty-one seats, how many apples do Jack and Jill go up the hill to- wait, no-

    A hand claps my shoulder.

    I shriek, kick out, and abruptly the world turns sideways as I meet the floor with a hard slap and a tangle of limbs. My hat flies away, to freedom or wherever it is hats go.

    -Ow.” Kumiko groans, rolling onto her back and resetting her eyepatch. “Geez.” Blinks at me.Wait, Sakura?”

    ...42 seconds; I stop counting. Oh well, the anonymity was nice while it lasted.

    I glare. Kumiko puts her hands up in surrender, sheepishly.

    “S-Sorry, you were blocking the door, didn't realise...”


    A soft voice clears its throat, and we both look up, then turn slightly cross-eyed. I'm the one to blink away first, the face already sliding from my memory. Looks like the Faculty had to pull in the reserve Teachers...

    Generic-Sensei coughs again. “Ahem.

    I stumble, pulling Kumiko upright and bowing politely. “Sorry, we'll be on our way.”

    I make for the door, only for Kumiko to stop me. “-Wait!” Stuffs something fluffy in my hands. “You forgot your hat!”

    ...I blink it dumbly, turning it over. I've never had one come back before, what is this strange and novel experience...


    “Right, sorry! We'll just be-”

    Someone in a white uniform is standing behind them. There's a glimpse of blue hair and holographic HUD menus.

    “Sensei?” A boy-ish voice politely inquires. “Is there a-”

    I throw Kumiko through the doorway and slam it behind me. The Class Representative warbles in disapproval, but there isn't time-

    [ ] Jump out the window.
    - [ ] Run away and hide in the mecha. They'll never look for you there.
    [ ] Hide!
    - [ ] Under your desk.
    - [ ] In the ceiling.
    - [ ] Behind Kumiko.
    - [ ] Behind the Class Representative.
    - [ ] Behind the Mecha Student.
    [ ] Perform emergency seat reshuffling procedures.
    [ ] Ambush them with the cleaning bucket and duct tape. See how they like it.
    [ ] Pepper Spray (20 uses remain)
    [ ] “Kumiko! Kneecaps!”
    [ ] Ignorance Is Power! Chat with someone else so you miss the Mecha Student's intro.
    [ ] Sit down, stay calm and focus on your school work.

    Complete with hat-thin disguise!

    Snippets from DISCUSS:
    Show Spoiler
    (NMWHISWBAAC: the only Quest where you can have an option for 'Nothing' on 'What did you learn from all this' and people will actually vote for it)

    Show Spoiler

    Show Spoiler
    By the same token, the fact that the hat came back makes me suspicious of it. Before it was a way to hide for a few seconds; now it smells more to me like a plot hook, a way to keep Sakura's hair hidden until it suddenly becomes "narratively interesting" to uncover it at a dramatic moment.

    When the hat is suspected to be Shulgi, you know this is something else!
    Last edited: Jan 17, 2016
    • Brofist Brofist x 2
    ^ Top  

As an Amazon Associate, earns from qualifying purchases.