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/qst/ - Mitsuba Archive

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You are Uzumaki Naori, and about two weeks ago you played a role in saving the world.

While it was Uchiha Sasuke and Uzumaki Naruto who eventually sealed the greatest threat the world has ever known, the infamous Kaguya-hime once spoken of in hushed tones as some kind of god or demon, you were the one who held her off by yourself long enough to give them the opportunity. A single wrong move and she could have killed you almost instantly, but with your extensive training and a little help you managed to stay one step ahead of her through your whole fight. Each technique you leveraged against her could have killed an average jōnin, even the ones you simply used as distractions.

But now Kaguya-hime is gone, defeated and sealed into a second moon in orbit overhead. Thankfully it seems to have taken up a position in the sky where it hasn’t caused catastrophic changes in the world’s tidal surges, but there are now two ‘high tides’ in the cycle with one being ‘higher’ than the other. In any event, Kaguya’s defeat left you to come up with something to do with yourself in the immediate future to feel productive.

“So yeah, this is what I was thinking,” you begin, having brought Fū and Ryūzetsu together in the garden of the pre-fabricated ‘hideout’ you set up outside Amegakure for privacy. “Konan-sensei suggested we start by finding Obito’s hideout in the Mountain’s Graveyard, but my idea is a little different. I want to start with the four great Sage regions that I know of.”

“Because of the Taiyōmon, right?” Fū asks.

Ryūzetsu glances at her in confusion for a moment, so Fū clarifies. “I mean, the thing definitely looks old, and it tells a story about the Sage of Six Paths, right? So I figure that’s gotta have something to do with it.”

You nod in agreement. “That, and my understanding is that the Ōgama Sennin, Gamamaru, is the one who taught senjutsu to Hagoromo-tono. So what’s left of his brain might prove to be an excellent resource to pick.”

“You intend to start with the Shrikes?” Ryūzetsu asks.

“That’s right. I have a hideout there already where humans who can’t use senjutsu chakra can survive,” you explain. “So I’d like you to wait there while I gather information – we can collate it in the hideout afterwards.”

“So what about the other three regions?” she presses.

“Naruto’s got a contract with the toads,” Fū replies. “You could just ask, maybe?”

“That’s what I was thinking,” you nod, “same with Sakura-kun. The only real hitch is the Ryūchi Cave.”

“Does Sasuke not know where it is?” Ryūzetsu asks curiously. “I’d have figured he would.”

You shake your head. “No, I don’t think so. And Yakushi Kabuto is dead, so that leaves…”
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“I do have one question before I go,” you admit, a hint of curiosity to your tone. “There can’t have simply been no evidence of the Ōtsutsuki existing before Kaguya-hime appeared. Did you ever run across anything during your own research that may have suggested their presence, looking back?”

“Such as?”

“Genetic oddities, ancient ruins, textual references, anything at all.”

Orochimaru actually seems to consider the question for a moment, before coming to a realization. “Actually, I may have – are you familiar with the Kaguya clan?”

You shake your head. “Yeah no, only oblique references. Why?”

“That clan was the one whose members occasionally had the shikotsumyaki kekkei genkai,” he clarifies. “You faced it before.”

Ah, that’s the one. “Kimimaro, was it?”

“That’s right. His illness remained ‘terminal’ not because of any unusual severity, but because his physiology was so unusual it meant he was untreatable.”

“The shikotsumyaku does seem like a clear derivative of the tomogoroshi no haikotsu,” you muse thoughtfully. “So you believe these differences were due to being descended from a non-human?”

“That’s what I believe now that I think about it,” Orochimaru confirms. “The Kaguya clan was probably descended from this Ōtsutsuki Kaguya person who you, Naruto-kun, and Sasuke-kun fought against.”

“And if we wanted to track these Kaguya down?” Ryūzetsu demands. “How would we do that?”

“Kirigakure would have records,” Orochimaru tells you. “They were the ones who wiped the Kaguya...”


“Excuse me, Mei-tono,” you knock at the Mizukage’s door. “Could I trouble you?”

“Depends on how much trouble,” she muses, glancing up from her desk. “What is it?”

“Yeah no, I need some files,” you clarify. “On the Kaguya clan. Can you get those for me?”

“Give it an hour,” she replies, reaching out for you to hand a hiraishin kunai to her. “I’ll give this to the archivist, you can teleport to the marking and pick it up then.”

“Thank you.”

“No trouble, as it turns out.”

“I have some documents being prepared,” you inform the group. “We can review them at our own pace.”

“The hiraishin is quite the technique for getting things taken care of,” Orochimaru muses. “Almost makes one wonder if that was its original intent.”

You take your leave of Orochimaru, and leave a message for Tsuna-han with Kakashi before striking out for the place that Orochimaru told you about. After one hour exactly from the time you met Mei-tono you drop a kunai into the dirt and teleport to the hiraishin kunai Mei-tono took to the archives, grab the documents and the kunai off a desk, then teleport back to your friends, grab them, and teleport to the hideout in the shrikes’ forest.

“I’m going to take these to Kijani-han,” you explain. “That way I can review them at any time, from anywhere.”

“How’s that suppose’ta work?” Fū asks you.

“So yeah, with the jōgan, I can see through a shrike’s eye,” you clarify. “So I should be able to read through Kijani-han’s.”

“Wait, it can do that?” Ryūzetsu wonders aloud. “That seems...”

“Unfair?” Fū offers.

“Just a little,” Ryūzetsu agrees.


“Do you really think that will work, Naori-dono?” Kijani asks after you explain your plan to him.

You nod. “So last time, I could see through Nyoka-han’s eye at considerable range. It shouldn’t be too difficult to arrange.”

“If you insist, we can try it at your convenience.”


After teleporting back to where you started, you continue the relatively short distance to where you’ve been told Ryūchi Cave can be found. Its entrance is carved into a low, stony hill, with holes in the ceiling to allow light into its wide passages. After working your way deeper underground, you’re confronted with an overblown, colorful facade like some sort of gaudy gambling den or gimmicky restaurant.

“Welcome, visitors!” a comely-looking woman in a fancy kimono greets you with a gracious bow. “I am Tagorihime, and I am to lead you into Ryūchi Cave. Please, you must be hungry after your journey.”
Inside the facade is a long table set with dozens of dishes – vegetables and meats and rice, steamed buns, fried and steamed dumplings, fish, almost anything you can think of.

“Help yourself, the White Snake Sage will be with you shortly.”

Fū pokes at the food skeptically, and Ryūzetsu glances at you over her shoulder.

“... there’s no way, right?”

You don’t even really need to confirm that there’s something going on here that could be considered ‘a trap’. The likely suspect is a genjutsu cast on the food.

>Throw some of the food at your host and gauge her response.
>Just try to dispel the genjutsu. It can’t possibly be that hard.
>Ask her who she is, what she wants, and who she thinks YOU are.
>Just try to dispel the genjutsu. It can’t possibly be that hard.
>>Just try to dispel the genjutsu. It can’t possibly be that hard.

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"Everyone hold on, I want to find my scouter. It's important to me." Well, it was more important as a memento at this point. You didn't need it to determine an enemies strength, but... it was really becoming something of a hobby of yours to record Power Levels in the database of the Scouter. It didn't really mean anything, you just felt it was useful to have a numeric value. If anything, it gave you a better target for when you wanted to overcome something. Simply knowing that an opponent was stronger than you didn't really give you that same degree of certainty when it came to wanting to surpass them, and while you knew from your own experiences that Power Levels weren't accurate ways to gauge an opponent's strength thanks to the multitude of ways in which somebody could hide their full power. Of course, so long as you didn't rely on it, there wasn't a problem. It would also be useful for informing any allies that you might make with the inability to sense energy about the level of strength of whoever you might be fighting. Allies like Crono and his friends, for example.

"Alright, just don't take too long, OK? We need to get back to Melchior with the Dreamstone so that the Grandleon can be repaired!" Marle asked politely, and you nodded. You had no idea what a Dreamstone or a Grandleon was, but it probably had something to do with their quest to save the world or something. With how strong Nizbel was, a part of you feels almost... unprepared for dealing with the world destroying monster itself... this 'Lavos'. You wondered just how powerful the monster was, but with your Power Ball confirmed to be functional, even if it was overwhelmingly powerful, you should be able to become the Mighty Oozaru to defeat it... or at least that's what you hoped. Would the strength of even an Oozaru be sufficient? You simply didn't know right now.

"Thanks, I won't be long." With that said, you hopped down to the bottom of the pit and started to look for your scouter. Hoping beyond reasonable expectation that it managed to survive the battle against Nizbel and your subsequent transformation into an Oozaru.

You spent a few minutes shifting through the rocks of the collapsed cave, and just as you were about to give up, something caught your eye sitting in a crevice. A sparkling green reflection. You reached into the crevice without hesitation and grabbed the device with a smile on your face.
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>We can't waste time, reunite with our team.
>Go see this Spekkio about magic.
>Go see this Spekkio about magic.
We were already given the option to learn some basic Magic earlier, getting an even Better version here is 100% worth it
>Go see this Spekkio about magic.
>Go see this Spekkio about magic.

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After the Nine Great Clans united the long-divided lands of Kiyoshu 30 years ago, the empire has entered a golden age of peace and prosperity. However, the will of the samurai lives on! Swordsmen and warriors all around the country still strive for strength and mastery, to compete and reach the very peak of martial skill!

You are Hiroshi Nobuyasu of the Hiroshi Clan, a vassal clan of the Toumi, one of the Nine Great Clans. From a young age, you have been exposed to the way of the sword, trained in the arts of the Toumi School of Swordsmanship. But as fate would have it… You aren’t particularly good at the discipline. In fact, despite your hard work and determination, it would be apt to say that you are rather inept. At best, you are average, no better than some nameless foot soldier. Yet, you are far from discouraged. As one who shows deep passion and appreciation for the blade, your perseverance holds you firm. Never faltering in the face of adversity. Never abandoning the sworn tenets of the samurai.

>My Twitter:

>KismetQM Discord:

>Post Schedule:
I’ll try to post as often as I can, but expect posts to mainly come on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Weekends. If the quest ropes in enough people, I may consider hosting sessions.

There will be light use of dice in this quest. For most rolls, we will use a 3d15, and I’ll take the best out of the first three rolls to determine the outcome/effectiveness of your action. Dice will be rolled AFTER a vote has been locked in.

>Previous Threads:

Have fun and enjoy playing!
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>Throw everything you got at Yuyo. If he can’t believe in his own skills, then make him believe in yours. “If you can’t trust yourself, then at least trust me! Come at me like you’re going to kill me, because I refuse to insult you by doing anything less!”
>Throw everything you got at Yuyo. If he can’t believe in his own skills, then make him believe in yours. “If you can’t trust yourself, then at least trust me! Come at me like you’re going to kill me, because I refuse to insult you by doing anything less!”
time to crit fail and kill yuyo for real

>Throw everything you got at Yuyo. If he can’t believe in his own skills, then make him believe in yours. “If you can’t trust yourself, then at least trust me! Come at me like you’re going to kill me, because I refuse to insult you by doing anything less!”
this is the way
>Throw everything at Yuyo

I REFUSE this fate!
>Throw everything you got at Yuyo. If he can’t believe in his own skills, then make him believe in yours. “If you can’t trust yourself, then at least trust me! Come at me like you’re going to kill me, because I refuse to insult you by doing anything less!”

For however long you've been around, you followed the same routine. Wake up, go to school and go home. You've been fine with that actually, until you weren't. Sitting here all day, nothing learned, nothing done, you wonder how everyone else in class bears it. A look around shows everyone is staring at the teacher or the board just behind them, or face down at their books. Nothing's written on the board, and the teacher isn't saying anything. They're just... There, like they're meant to make the place look occupied, but not actually function as a school.

Home is also just as weird as school is. No one else is at home when you come back, or when you leave for school. It's just you, and nobody else at home. If you had the run of the house surely you would've done something with the freedom, but all you do is sleep when you get back. It all comes down to that routine you followed, never actually deviating from it. You can't remember if you did anything else at some past point of your life. You don't know if you want or have done anything with yourself. No goals, no aspirations, no dreams.

You get up from your seat. Nobody seems to mind, even if they should've both seen and heard it, and think about what to do next.

>Maybe today is just a weird day, I'll just freshen up at the bathroom.
>A look around the school to see if the rest of the place is a soulless as my classroom is.
>Just go home, I get the feeling nobody will stop me if I do just that.
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Back to your door, you try an obvious solution and try knocking the door. No response, so Home Alone is what the situation is looking like. First you tried slipping a card between the latch and the frame, but it doesn't budge. Even if you knew how to lockpick you had nothing to do it with, but without the skill for it the tools wouldn't have made much of a difference. You step back a little bit and after a little focusing you give the door a good kick near the knob. Might as well have kicked the wall, because this door did not want to budge one bit at all. Your leg still stings with numbness from your kick, you almost took a look into the window before realizing that might be easier than the door. Taking out one of the heavier books in your bag, you swung it at the window a few times only for it to withstand your attempts at B&E. Not even a crack or anything, this place is reinforced like a prison cell. Force not being an option, you take a moment to remember just how the place was, before peering into the window to confirm a thought. Inside, you can see the sliding door to the balcony. Stepping down and rounding the building, you go over to where your apartment should be, and climb up from below and onto your balcony. The door slides aside, and you step right in.

Home. Guess that's what you should call it. The lights were off but you quickly found the switch and had a lit view of what's inside.
The place is spotless, not a speck of dust to be found. Everything works like it's brand new, but further investigation of the place proves nobody really lived here. Shelves and cabinets are devoid of household goods, the fridge is empty, and nothing has been disturbed. You toss your bag onto the couch and take off your shoes, with that being proper etiquette and all. That out of the way, time to give this place a good tour. Already having a look of the living room and kitchen, you went into the first door you see and find it to be the bathroom. It's well stocked actually, with the necessities present, and this was somewhere you want to be crystal clean anyways. One door over, you open up the one to your room. All that's in it is your bed, a desk and chair, and your closet. The bed has always been made, seeing as you remember not even going under the sheets to sleep. All the attires in your closet is the school uniform, though you hardly remember if you changed at all. On the desk however was a phone and a couple of keys. There was nothing on the phone that provides insight on a previous owner or on whole situation, while a key is likely for the front door but you're at a loss on the what the other is for. Barring that, there was nothing else in the room. The last door led to another bedroom, but with the closet empty and the desk missing. If anyone was supposed to be here, there's no trace of them.

>Lets just wait inside, see what happens when the school day is up.
>Get back out there and find where this key goes to, somehow.
>Get back out there and find where this key goes to, somehow.
>Also ponder why your classroom became suddenly active and lively when you showed it to that weird girl but became dead silent when she was gone. Why only now did it change?
> Look for a book
Yeah, I like >>4943407. Supporting. I want to see if the set designer got real books, or if they're all blank. Do they even have covers?
Before heading out, you've decided to inventory the place once more. There isn't anything you've missed the first time around though, but you find more things missing. There's a TV in the living room sure, but there's no remote to go with it. Same with your phone, with the charger missing you'd have to be mindful of it's use until that's resolved. Anywhere you'd think to put something, has nothing in it. Taking a seat on the couch, you take stock of your bag once more. Going over what you have, you have a few subject books, a notebook and a folder, along with writing utensils. Flipping through the pages of today's lesson, everything is as you recalled, but studying isn't what you wanted to do. Skipping over to a random page you find that you can't read it. Obviously, you're literate, but where text should be, is instead Black blocks you have no chance of reading. Is it being censored, or is this text simply irrelevant? The other books you have are all the same, except for the notebook, which hasn't has anything written in it anyways. Taking a pen, you jot down something in the first page.

>The quick Brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.
You can still read it, even after waiting a little bit to see if it gets censored. Anything you write should be fine, but you can't read those books you have, as unhelpful they might be anyways. Looking over to the folder, you find it empty, save for a business card lodged in one of the pockets. You can't read it due to the same blockyness affecting the books, but you can still recognize the logo, for a place called N/V. You never recalled ever passing by a place like that, since it's not somewhere on the way to and from school. It's something however, so you pack everything up and right after checking the keys for the one to your place, you go off to find the establishment.


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(First time quest, feedback welcome. Let's have some fun.)

So, let's get started. You look a bit older than most people who call looking to go on a journey for the first time, but that's no problem.

Anyway, are you a boy or a girl?
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Rolled 26 (1d100)

Here we go-o
Rolled 75 (1d100)

Don't mind me.

“Litleo, Headbutt!” Tom orders, looking excited.

Evidently, he thinks he can turn this around.

“Bite, Volta.” You order.

Litleo comes in and charges Volta, head down like a ram.

Volta is knocked back, but darts in and chomps down on Litleo’s back. She’s clearly been hurt by the Headbutt, but if anything, that’s made her fight harder, judging by how Litleo sags as she whips her head back and forth.

Litleo’s still up, but only just and Volta’s looking worse for wear as well.

>Switch (specify who to)
>Other (Do something clever.)
>Switch, Kay O-o
Do we have to deal with badge limits on our pokemon?
We're being outsped. We have to switch.

>Switch to Fluffy
Syurm would be suicide if litleo know any fire move, Kay O-o would be bullying.

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Following the Emperor's death at Endor, the once unstoppable Galactic Empire has cracked and began to crumble. While the members of the Rebel Alliance come together to form the NEW REPUBLIC, the remnants of the Empire begin to tear themselves apart at the hands of IMPERIAL WARLORDS who each seek to install them-self as the next emperor. With nearly half the galaxy in the hands of the New Republic, the IMPERIAL REMNANT seems powerless to stop the rebel advance.

Among the soldiers and sailors of the WARLORDS, terror and hope fills men and women in varying forms, as those who serve seek their calls of duty and responsibility, surviving just to live another day in a galaxy without order....
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>Acclamator bought, and force to Mijos

Upon using what favors and budget you had, the largest vessel Vessel in your fleet, the Old Acclamator-II, Prosecutor now sits as an unusual addition. Relatively lightly armed, but fielding 2 Huge Proton torpedo launchers, capable of chasing down lighter vessels like corvettes and light frigates, and gutting them thoroughly with its Heavy Torpedos. It also still had an impressive, if cut down transport bay, capable of moving some 3000 odd troops or passengers in a pinch. Aboard as well, can fit 4 Fighter Squadrons, bringing total Capacity to 14.

The Current plan now set to launch a Full advance into Mijos set, you order all units to stations and give the order for a fleet jump.

>Roll me 1d100, only 1 needed

>0-10: Full Rebel Light Fleet assembled
>11-40:Moderate Rebel raiding force
>41-80:Light enemy force gathered
>81-100:Rebel supply and transport fleet caught by surprise.
Rolled 99 (1d100)

Squadron art please? I wanna see the Acclamator with the rest of our flotilla.

Like taking candy from a baby!

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The 21st Century was a time of utter turmoil, domestic strife, and international upheaval. The War on Terror reduced the prestige of the victor of the Cold War of the 20th Century, the United States, to only one among several global powers. The surveillance state it created soon had become so large it could but only be unleashed domestically, and its rivals were all too eager to mirror what they saw as a useful tool of societal cohesion in the face of chaos. The new spies sat largely at computers, and rarely spied on anyone but their nation's own citizens. This was noticed, many were alarmed, but no one had the power to stop the ascendancy of the intelligence agencies to a place of power that dwarfed even traditional powerhouses like the national militaries or increasingly wealthy corporations.

All of this was just the beginning, as the Resource Wars of the 2040's ripped asunder the longstanding era of relative peace among peer powers. Beginning with the Chinese invasion of Taiwan and ending with much of the Middle East reduced to a radioactive waste known as Samson's Ashes, the wars worsened the already escalating climate emergencies across the globe. Weather storms that were once the thing of tall tales became annual, and sea levels rose. The global community turned to finding some way to solve the issue, or limit the damage. They were far too late.

In the coming decade the old powers fell apart. China fell to warlordism, India descended on its perpetual foe Pakistan and joined it in the pyre of nuclear flame. What remains of either barely manages an 18th century standard of living. Russia did what is has always done: shed it's skin for a new one. No one can verify the new Tsardom's claim of descendance from a Romanov branch family. No one really cares. And the United States stands as a testament to the failure of the international system it created in the wake of the Second World War. Coastal states faced devastation, and became entirely reliant on Federal Aid, destroying an already crippled economy in the wake of the Resource Wars and decades of chasing the specter of Terrorism across the globe. The response of many interior states was simple: secession. The leadership of many of them stopped supporting the waning Federal Government in the wake of years of failure. The military, its reputation ruined and manpower utterly depleted in the failed defense of Taiwan and subsequent war of attrition across Vietnam, Japan, and the rest of the Pacific, failed to put up meaningful resistance to the spreading effort. A house divided against itself cannot stand, and so it fell. What followed was an age of terror, the veneer of civility withdrawn by the terrible decades preceding it, homegrown extremism became the self fulfilling prophecy the security state had both warned of and created.
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>Surveil the truck till it arrives, then set up stakeouts
>> Surveil the truck till it arrives, then set up stakeouts
Ahyes! we will see where it goes... inb4 it goes right into texas, that will sure be a nice story to tell....

You return to something approaching calm. "We, uh fuck-" You wince as a wave of pain from your wound strikes your arm. "-we have the drones tell us where the truck ends up, and we set up targeted surveillance. I don't think any of them got word out so we should have time to see who comes and goes and get stock of wherever they're taking the cargo." Sofia smiles at you. "That's good, Jack, exactly what we should do, I agree. Come on, let's get that arm fixed up before you start to go pale." You think you already are, if you're being honest. The slash isn't hugely deep but your arm is drenched from the wound down, and your blood drips onto the factory floor. You end up in the forward operations post for the SWAT element, a paramedic on call there stitching you up after managing to stop the bleeding. Lightheaded and a little out of it after the application of painkillers. Sofia sits with you as the medics work. "We'll need to head back to the Den to monitor the surveillance posts the forward teams will set up wherever that truck ends up. After that you can go back out in the field or we can stay remote and leave any action to BPD."

"I think I can make that call later, right now I think I wouldn't be able to do more in the field but maybe some time will change that." You don't want to push yourself too much right away and end up a burden to the operation.

"Alright Jack, that's fair. We'll have one of the LTs take us back to The Tower once the medics are done with you."

Around an hour later you find yourself back in The Den, and are updated on the status of the Truck. It's been followed to an old service station outside the city proper with an attached garage. The area consists mostly of a long abandoned Industrial Park that's been empty for around a century. You'll want to monitor the various surveillance stations and drone flights as they come online, so it's once again to test your developing skills at data analysis. As to whether you'll be taking to the field again, your arm hurts like hell but movement remains unrestricted. Riordan tasks some of the other analysts to aid your operation, at Sophia's insistence. You get the feeling that woman dislikes you implicitly but she cannot say no to a full Agent's request when she has the manpower free. As you tuck into your work, you can't help but note your attention is harder to maintain, could be the drugs, could be your traumatic day.

> Analyst Check, 3d100s, DC 60

> Choose:

> You are not 100 percent, but if the time comes you want to see this through on the ground.

> Discretion is the better part of valor, there is no rule that says you have to be on the ground for whatever action BPD is ordered to take on the ground.

> Write in
>BPD sounds like bipolar personality disorder, hehe.
Or Borderline Personality Disorder. Which honestly describes IRL Baltimore police pretty well.
Rolled 32 (1d100)

> You are not 100 percent, but if the time comes you want to see this through on the ground.

Might as well finish what we started. Going above the call of duty may look favorably on us after this mission.

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You’re STANLEY PARBLE: a girl with a weird name and an even weirder tale: after a centuries-old lich woke up during your graveyard shift at the GOOD BOY DOGGIE BONE factory, your simple life of janitorial work became a bit more… Complicated.

Sure, you became pals with your now-sentient skeleton (you named him LY) AND gained some nifty super powers from eating MAGICAL BONE MARROW, but that doesn’t change the fact that your hometown of Clearwater, California is overrun by HOMICIDAL SKELETONS Even worse, the guy in charge is dead-set on taking over the rest of the world while he’s at it. Not cool!

It’s not all doom and gloom, though--on top of beating your fellow janitor and arch-nemesis BORIS in an ARMORED VAN RACE, you were also finally rewarded with a VIP BUNKER in the massive doomsday shelter run by your quasi-evil employers! Getting some much-needed rest with your partners in crime, you also managed to delve deeper into your past bouts with memory loss thanks to a video tape provided by GOOD BOY’S Chief of Security: BLUMENKRANTZ.

Not to be outdone by your character development, your kidnapping victim-turned friend ART finally revealed how he managed to juke Death’s grasp in a lengthy and questionable flashback sequence. Say what you will about his storytelling skills, it’s good to have the Rent-A-Cop back!

After all, you’ll need all the help you can get! Though you’re HALF-WAY through the lich’s lieutenants, three still remain--one of which has his corsair cronies raiding CLEARWATER UNIVERSITY: a coastal college that just so happens to be where ART and three other wannabe filmmaker allies of yours, EDDIE, TUCKER, and KIKI, currently attend! Gearing up for a college tour of your own, you and your best pal SYBIL, Goth Mage and occult podcaster, took a moment to grab a few gifts for your teammates.

As fate would have it, however, your shopping trip was interrupted by the appearance of THE ORDER OF THE WANDERING EYE--a group of local occult fanatics with a penchant for wearing goofy robes and maintaining the magical barrier around GOOD BOY’S aforementioned doomsday shelter. It also doesn’t help that their leader, CURT BLACQUIERE, hangs out with BORIS.

Surrounded by LARPERs in a shady fallout bunker tunnel, THIS is where your story continues…
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We can use our bone armor to protect us? Right? RIGHT?!
Probably could laser him from his distance but would be way too obvious. Better to wait until we have an opportunity.
We can have Ly try and possess the guy while we are walking towards him. Anything else would be way too obvious and just get the hostage killed.
It's Pirate LAW! I think. I saw it a movie! It had Jonie Deez in it!

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You are Noel Tiberius di Hazaran, and this is a dangerous crossroads for you and your faction.

No longer able to get away with gathering strength and information, all while avoiding conflict, you’ve elected to begin conducting missions well outside your home range of Hazaran. These have taken you to the northern coast of Sakia, where the Organization’s backers from the continent have created a beachhead and are now building advanced weapons on local soil. With the help of Carlotta and Gina as trained spies, you’ve managed to stall their progress somewhat through a brief but effective campaign of sabotage, but that’s only a temporary solution.

Simultaneously, you’ve been making overtures towards other potential allies. First you brought your mother Sabela, one of the three ‘true’ Abyssal Ones, into the fold with the development of a specific dietary supplement that eases or erases the cravings of awakened beings for human intestines. Then you convinced Solaris, another higher-ranking awakened being, to throw her lot in with your band of warriors. Now, it’s Salem – the second of the three Abyssal Ones, and a much harder sell.

“Ella likes to style herself as a queen,” Salem muses as you follow the roads south, back towards the mountains. “She even has a castle… in ruins, of course.”

“What castle would that be?” you wonder aloud. “Certainly none I know of.”

“It stands on the border between Shukzan, Karluk, and Sakia,” Sabela tells you with a frown. “So outside your typical range. It’s stood abandoned ever since the civilian government of Shukzan collapsed about twenty years ago.”

“So it has no real strategic value,” you translate.

“She doesn’t care,” Salem shrugs. “It’s all about her ego anyway. By the way, how exactly did the Organization ever work up the nerve to send someone after her?

Serana glances over at you and signs her answer. [She left her fortress. It was supposed to be an ambush.]

“It was supposed to be an ambush,” you translate. “She was evidently traveling for some reason – could the Organization even tell you why?”

Serana shakes her head. [Even if they could, they wouldn’t.]

“Yeah, that was never their style,” you sigh. “What else can you tell us about what we’re walking into?”

“Any queen needs subjects,” Ella frowns. “She’ll have trained yōma, and at least a handful of awakened beings at her command. My understanding is that they prey on travelers and locals.”

>If that’s the case, how are there even any locals left for them to prey on?
>What can you tell us about the other awakened beings that might be there?
>All we need to do is work out a plan ahead of time, put all our abilities to best use.
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>You never know until you try.
I expect this to fail spectacularly, but I am curious,
>She’s your sister. We’ll go with your judgment.
>She’s too dangerous. Killing her is in our interests as well.

Awaked or Abysmal politics with an army of Yoma is NOT something I want to deal with on top of regular shit.
>She’s your sister. We’ll go with your judgment.
This is probably a terrible idea but I want to try
>>She’s your sister. We’ll go with your judgment.
“She’s your sister, not ours,” you sigh, “so if you believe she’s a lost cause, it may be better to go with your judgment on this one.”

Serana frowns. [I’m a little surprised, but I don’t think you’re wrong.]

“I don’t think we can afford to try,” you admit. [We can’t trust Ella, and I don’t trust Salem yet either.]

[Good,] Serana agrees. [We shouldn’t.]


After three days’ travel, you find yourselves looking down into a little valley nestled in among the foothills. Each hill consists of hard white bones of rock jutting out through lower wooded slopes, and atop each something has been built. Many of these are tightly-packed villages which together you suppose amount to a decent-sized town, while the largest hill with the most commanding view hosts the ruined castle.

“Here we are,” Salem muses.

This seems a little odd. If something that dangerous is living in the castle, wouldn’t the locals know about it and flee the area? And where is this trained army of Ella’s?

>You need fresh information. Find a pub in one of these hilltop villages.
>Time to observe and plan your next move.
>Follow Salem’s lead.

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You are Charlotte Fawkins, noted heiress, detective, adventuress, and heroine, cruelly trapped underwater (in the sticks!) after the completion of your quest to find your long-lost family heirloom. Tragically, nobody here l̶i̶k̶e̶s̶ ̶y̶o̶u appreciates your talents, even Richard— the snake who lives in your head. Right now, you've just been wished good luck in the tournament you've voluntarily(?) entered yourself into.

"Won't need it," you say reflexively. Your attention is trained on the piece of paper the receptionist handed you. "...Um, did the order just get shuffled? I thought the other bracket was a mirror of— Nettie? Did you—"

But you look and Nettie isn't there, and Ellery isn't either, and you look back and there's no paper in your hand. You glance up at the receptionist and are pleased to discover it still in place, though its desk is crumpling up, and its surroundings are— are there surroundings? Were there ever? It's just pure splitting white—cold white—snow (of course snow)—the whole arena, despite being enclosed, is lined with it. Your sword and armor gleam in the reflected light, which you hope is harming your opponent's vision: you need every advantage you can get, as this terrain is disastrous for you. Not only does it slow your (already sluggish) movement, but it's perfectly suited for your opponent, the recep— one of those white-furred creatures. You've already forgotten whatever name the announce called out. Something barbaric, you're sure. Regardless, its fur blends in with the snow, and for all its bulk it scampers easily across it. The rat bastard.

It's armed with something primitive—an axe, maybe, or a club. Possibly it had a net. It's out of sight at the moment: you and it are on opposite sides of the arena, and a heap of snow double your height divides you. You adjust one strap of your knapsack and grip the hilt of The Sword tightly.

"[FIGHT]!" the announcer screams.

>As a reminder, as I'm on a relatively tight schedule this thread, fights without narrative importance are being condensed to a roll or two!

>[1] Do you have any particular plan or strategy? (Write-in. Optional. This will provide modifiers to the roll. You are capable of weird stuff, though it may or may not require an additional roll to accomplish.)
>Please roll me 3 1d100s vs. DC ???. DC and modifiers will be revealed when vote is called.
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>Shopping episode

Planning to buy something? It's not as though she has other customers— it's rather poor form to hurry you along. Perhaps she's just desperate to speak to an actual person. In any case, you have no money, and this store doesn't really have products: the shelves are stocked with impressionistic blurs. "Yes," you say. "Would you come over?"

"Of course!"

As Madrigal approaches, the blurs solidify into bags and boxes with garish packaging. You lift a sack of flour. "Who's this on the front? If you know."

She squints. "Can't say I'm rightly sure— that's not our packaging. Comes to us like that. The flour itself is top quality, I can assure you, it's made of— see here?" She taps the sack. "Real imitation flour. None of the fake stuff. And you can't beat our—"

"I'm sure it's of excellent quality," you say smoothly. "I'm just wondering about the man on here. Him missing an arm... it's unappetizing, frankly. Why not have a regular man sell your flour?"

"Oh, well—" She looks a little uncomfortable. "Like I said, it's not our packaging, miss, and— and you make a very good point. Maybe he won a contest, of some kind, and that's why his likeness is on our flour. Or maybe he's just kinda... white bread? A little milquetoast? Heh heh." You don't smile. She clears her throat. "Even so, that's no— I'll be sure to pass your complaint up the chain."

"Thank you," you say, and set the flour back on the shelf. Monty smiles from the label.

And he isn't alone: much of the packaging sports familiar faces. Ellery pops up conspicuously often, hawking oats and fish meal and dried kelp, but you spot Branwen and Eloise and Jacques and a host of people you dimly recognize or don't at all. Based on the scars and eyepatches and sinister features, you'd peg many of them as smugglers, though you're sure a few just loiter around camp.

You amble down the aisle, stopping when you reach an open canister. "Excuse me, are these spears?"

Madrigal doesn't blink. "That they are! Very popular with the children."

To be more precise, they're all her spear: you know it well, on account of her burying it in your shoulder. You run your hand along the wooden haft of one of them. "This has 'Fitzpatrick' carved into it."

"Yes, miss! We call that 'branding.'"

"...Fair enough." You leave the spears be and cross into the next aisle. "By the by, where'd you get that scar of yours? I seem to remember it... larger."

It used to cut all the way across her face: now it barely scrapes her nose. "Ahh," she says. "This? Got it in a knife fight."

"You don't say?"

"Nah, I'm pulling your leg." She winks again. "You'd never guess, but I was moving inventory— big crate fell on my head. I got away with this and not my skull caved in, so I call it a victory. Can't say it's ever been larger... maybe you stopped by while it was still fresh? Though that would've been... gosh... a decade ago, probably. Maybe more. I was just a kid back then."

"How old are you now?"

"Young enough!"

Dodging the question. This aisle is much the same as the last, so you duck out of it and into the one closest to the door. (You don't try the door. It'd lead you right back into the shop.) Here something catches your attention: a small alcove in the wall, lined with black fabric and scattered, dying wildflowers. A picture frame is propped against the back of the alcove, while two pieces of paper— one a typed sheet, one a newspaper clipping— are pasted to the inside.

You can guess what this is, but you investigate regardless. The picture frame contains a picture of a very young Madrigal— at a guess, 7 or 8 years old— beaming for the camera. The typed sheet contains a short message:


172 A.F. - 198 A.F.


Madrigal is standing behind you. "Don't look at that," she says.

"Oh." You step sideways. "Does it make you uncomfortable if I look at this, Madrigal Fitzpatrick? Does it embarrass you? Talk to me about it. Does it make you remember things you don't want to remember?"

"No," she says uncertainly. And then: "Shut up. Don't—"

"Did you put this in here?" you say. "Did you invent it? You've locked yourself in this little bubble where everything's great and perfect and happy for you— is your parents' love a part of that? Are you making it up?" You study her shocked face. "But being dead would put something of a damper on that, wouldn't it? That'd spoil the whole thing. Did you put this here by accident?"

"Shut up. Shut the fuck up."

You tear the page out of the alcove and dangle it in front of her. "I think you did. I think you've constructed a pathetic little alternate present for yourself because you can't cope with the real one and I think you've been drawing on reality to do it. Because that is what very, very large snakes do. Did you think it was odd how detailed and vivid that party was, Madrigal? Probably not, you were hammered. But do you remember it? A party from my past, from nine years ago, that I was barely there for— my memory should've been spotty. It was spotty. But it didn't need my memory, because it was drawing on the actual past. Do you get it? This paper is real. It really is hanging in your dumb little store. And you really are dead, at least as far as anyone knows. So admit it."

Her fists are balled. "I'm radioing the police."

"No you aren't!" you say. "No. You are going to stand here, and I am going to read..." You rip the newspaper clipping off the alcove. (It's cellu-taped on, rather than glued— perhaps a disgruntled customer put it up.) "...this. Ahem. 'In an auspicious day for our great Pillar, justice has been meted out to three thugs threatening our order, peace, and safety. Dirk Metier (41), Florence Nicks (22), and Madrigal Fitzpatrick (26) were put to death by drowning this morning on order of the Magistrate. Of the three, readers may find Ms. Fitzpatrick's name familiar: she is indeed of the venerable'—"

"Shut the fuck up."

"—'the venerable Fitzpatrick & Son— as a matter of fact, Fitzpatrick's estranged daughter, charged with grand larceny and racketeering. Fear not, neighbors: Fitzpatrick & Son has been deemed not complicit, and indeed may have been the primary target of'—"

"Shut the fuck up!"

"—'Ms. Fitzpatrick's flagrant crimes. Mr. and Mrs. Fitzpatrick have failed to respond to our requests for comment, but an anonymous source has told us'—"

"Why are you doing this to me?" Her voice is halting.

"—'quote, 'Madrigal Fitzpatrick is the most disagreeable young woman I have ever known'—"

"That's fucking Mr. Manten." She has begun to flicker, slightly.

You pause. "Oh?"

"Anonymous source my ass. That prick hated me before I was born and if I had a grave he'd probably come by on the daily to piss on it—"

"Madrigal?" you say.

She is flickering more violently. You catch glimpses of a blue shirt, in with the pink. "No. No, you— fuck you. Fuck you. You can't make me—"

Concentrating, she manages to solidify, and smiles brightly. It's forced. "Now then. How can I help you—"

"It's too late," you say. "Cat's out of the bag. And it's not so fun to delude yourself when you know you're doing it, wouldn't you agree? Especially when you're expending so much energy to do it." She's shaking. "So come on, Madrigal. You're dead."

"I'm not dead," she says. "I'm right—"

"You've drowned, then. It's nothing to be ashamed of. It happened to me, too." For a certain sense of 'me.' "So how about you release all that tension—"

She's right on the cusp of it. She's flickering again. "Fuck you," she says, her voice distorted. "I hope you go to fucking hell. Give me that." She snatches the typed page from your hand—

—and when she storms back her hair is cropped and her scar is long and her tank top is unnecessarily revealing. You know this Madrigal. "About time," you say.

"Fuck you," she says. She is breathing raggedly. "Fuck you, Charlotte. What was the point of that? I bet you just want me to suffer. Well, I'm suffering, and I hope you like it, you fucking—"

You clasp your hands. "No, you're just not very useful as a retail worker. Though you are better than I was—"

"I was happy," she spits.

"...That's all well and good, but I need— you're aware you're a snake, yes?"

"What? Is that an insult?"

"No, it's quite literal. You are—" She's not comprehending. "...You are a snake. That's fact."

She scoffs. "Go fuck yourself. Do I look like a fucking snake? You think I'm stupid?"

Well, you decide, at least she's on the same plane of reality as you. That's something. But evidently there's a few more layers of delusion left for you to chip through.

>[1] Attempt logic. Explain calmly what's going on, what's happening to her, and what you need her to do. For all her bluster, you think she's still fundamentally a reasonable person— she'll want to help, surely.
>[2] Try to get her to show you the back room again. If you force her to stare at the big snake for long enough, maybe she'll confront the truth on her own and save a lot of fuss.
>[3] Just needle her so hard about her tragic backstory that she flips out and therefore unlocks her true snake potential.
>[4] Just frogmarch her to the back room and shove her in with the snake. That should do the trick.
>[5] Write-in.
>[2] Try to get her to show you the back room again. If you force her to stare at the big snake for long enough, maybe she'll confront the truth on her own and save a lot of fuss.

Seems like logic won't work here--going to need a more laser-guided approach.

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>(You) are an Administrator working at [THE COMPANY]. You've been employment for quite a while now, and you've managed to grow your [FACILITY] to a decent size! Today is Monday of your second work week, though it feels like its been ages since you first stepped into your office.

Your Facility is in a pretty great state right now. The Wendigo you have in containment is under control, you've just upped morale with a set of new bunks, and you're about to begin your research on the new arrival. The 'Golden Goose'.

Threat levels:

Safe: Easy containment: Basic cell, may self-contain.
Alpha: Hard containment: Specialized cell, some specialized things to use.
Gamma: Extreme containment: Requires costly handling and security procedures.
Omega: Almost Impossible to contain: Teleporters, ignores walls, requires resources equivalent to a room built each month to contain.

Lamb: No threat (Balls that multiply when sung to, sheep with addictive meat)
Wolf: Threat, low (Immortal constantly pissed-off doberman, person that can cloak)
Tiger: Threat high (Our Pissbaby)
Apex: Extreme: (Dragons, Self-replicating cake that doubles every 5 minutes)

Previous threads:

Part 1: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/4544737/#top
Part 2: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/4581138/#top
Part 3: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/4871278/#top


Phew, took a break for a bit over a week, but I'm ready to run once more! Stay tuned, I'll be posting the shopping list and other necessities as the next few posts.
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The idea is to blast it until it is only an angry, rapidly regenerating mass of writhing flesh. Then we'll put it in a copper harness and always have one of our guys present in a rotating shift system, to chop off everything that grows out of the harness holes.
Issue: How are we gonna get the copper harness on such a short notice and with little to no funds. Second, most of the people who would be able to do it are probably too injured or demotivated to do so.

Though at the very least, I do want to burn it for another 30 minutes.
A harness will do nothing, its not a weapon, only weapons have the effect. a harness is a cage


Seems like the winning vote is to close the gate, stop and regroup. Will update in a couple hours.

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A city-state in Southeast Asia founded as a haven for freebooters, smugglers, pirates, and all other assorted scum.

While this tolerance of criminality does encourage illicit business practices, it has forged the city into a crucible of cultures and special interests.

This storied tradition of lawlessness is woven into the fabric of everyday life; as long as you’ve got the money, anything goes.

Madripoor is a city of kings and beggars, but some venture there hoping for a fresh start.

You are:

> Wilhelm Knochen, graduate student on an expedition seeking to discover centuries-old pirate enclaves.

> Michael Saint, former Church of Humanity member cast out after your magical potential revealed itself.

> Aurelio Baluyot, refugee, cook, and latest hire aboard a pirate vessel.
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> Hold onto it. You’ll get it open if it’s the last thing you do.

With the last of your objectives completed or at least on the back burner, it’s time to load up your prisoners and head for home.

Before you leave the the panic room, you make sure to wipe all of the security footage before destroying the equipment.

Duke has a couple of the captive crew temporarily freed to do the heavy lifting and haul the safe to the PT boat.

Once that’s done, they're all are herded into the makeshift brig.

It’s pretty cramped and uncomfortable, but you can’t bring yourself to care overmuch.

Maybe it’ll serve as a nice reminder about how the other half lives.

Before he gets tossed in, Ziegler gets patched up a little, with his condition improving from “10 pounds of shit in a 6 pound bag” to “He’s gonna feel that one in the morning.”

On the trip back, Duke wastes no time in taking inventory of the haul; setting up arrangements for the prisoners to be ransomed and the loot sold.

When you ask him about the lead he managed to shake loose, he plays his cards close to the chest. Says it’s got real promise, but he has to verify it through a couple channels first.

“Even if it pans out, the window of opportunity won’t be open for a while.” Duke claims.

Given your own situation, you can’t exactly criticize the man for keeping secrets.

The law firm that Duke uses to fence goods and handle the hostage exchanges is kind enough to call you personally and guide you through the various services / products you’d be offered as your share of the raid.

You decide to pick…

(Choose 1 big reward and 3 small ones)

(Big. Actually has game impact)

> An old NATO IFF transponder. Might come in handy if you need a quick disguise.

> The location of an old Reaver lab. Could have some interesting salvage.

> Survival training with a “private security consultant” of theirs. Might be the difference between life and death some day.

> A letter of introduction to various criminal elements. It’s all about who you know.

(Small. Luxury items there for flavor)

> Fortifications for your apartment.

> Quality furniture.

> Plasma screen TV.

> High-end exercise equipment.

> Motorcycle. (Include make / model, otherwise it's QM's choice.)

> Custom face-mask. (include general design)
I'll leave this open until noon-ish tomorrow, I'm calling it a bit early today.
> Survival training with a “private security consultant” of theirs. Might be the difference between life and death some day.

> Fortifications for your apartment.

> Quality furniture.

> Motorcycle. (Include make / model, otherwise it's QM's choice.)
> A letter of introduction to various criminal elements. It’s all about who you know.
everyone else has their network. it's time we get ours
> High-end exercise equipment.
>write-in: high-end cooking equipment
>write-in: master chef cooking course

these guys liked us when we were a decent cook, they'll love us when we go all CHEF GOURMET on their ass!

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All that was left was a charred skeleton, even the smoke was starting to go. The Hawk wind cut through the streets, sweeping up ash and blowing it down the road. What had been a recreation center, a home for the desperate and the unwanted, was now nothing but a husk. Remnant of a hate crime.

There was a guy pissing in the ashes. Big, fat guy wearing a tactical vest, rifle slung over his shoulder, with other big, fat guys watching out for him. The guys who had made raybans a hallmark of a certain kind of asshole. Start a fistfight in a Cracker Barrel with the staff kind of asshole.

Me I sat overlooking it burning with rage. I'd dipped from the Blackstone Hotel, racing my way down south to Queen Rat's hoping I was in time to stop things from going bad. I'd come too late, too late at least to save the building. I don't know where the cops or the firefighters were, but I wouldn't be surprised if some of the assholes down there were hiding badges.

News coming down had it the Governor was in the ICU, his condition critical. Nemesis' tomahawk had split open his chest. If the man died who knew what might happen. Even if he lived, nothing good could come of it.

But that didn't mean nothing to these guys. The Humanity First Militia. They'd started their shit before Nemesis and his Vanguard Army had taken their shot at the Governor. Maybe their pipe bomb through a window is what set Nemesis off. I wasn't making excuses for the extremist, but knowing how I did that Queen Rat was taking care of kids, little kids unwanted by their parents, I couldn't deny my own rage.

I'd made a desperate call to Misfit to clear the place out, I didn't see her around. I didn't see anyone but the militia.

If there was anyone dead in the wreckage it was too dark to see and everything was burned to shit anyway.

They laughed about it. Burning kids out of their only home. The motherfuckers laughed.

>dive down and sort them out
>there are more important things, like finding Misfit and the survivors
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I'm surprised you let your Stan Lee impression slip
Thanks for running!
>ivy then
can literally communicate nonverbally with Eric
>ivy now
looks at Eric like she's afraid of him and never talks to him

ivybros... this time it's really over
I have a feeling we gotta specifically choose to meet her at this point, we drifted apart way too far
We've all been through a lot IvyBro, gotta make it up.

(We did choose to spend time on ourselves and she pretty much choose the same, at the dance we didn't choose to watch her concert)

We DO need to check on her about that situation at the band, don't want her to choose a bad way of coping after all she's been. (Also, I do think she's trying to hook us up with Ayesha, and getting apart from us on purpose)

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You are the Courier, a human force of nature. It has been over six months when you seized the throne of New Vegas from the Bear and the Bull. Since then, you’ve brought peace to the region, created an entire agriculture industry and have the beginnings of a highly-trained military. What's more, you've fought off NCR President Kimball's efforts to puppet you, exacting a great diplomatic victory.

Though all is not well, there is an impossibly large horde of ghouls bearing down on the region and a powerful mystery faction with spies throughout your region. Your nation faces its greatest threat yet, will the Courier be able to guide the ship through the darkness?

Previous threads
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Yeah. Not supporting this.

Going to Denver alone is suicidal.

Meeting with Chomp is a waste of an industrial action. Plus it doesn’t begin the train project.
If you're against going to Denver alone, we could take the Devil'd Brigade, their Vertibird, Ed-E, Boone, and Ulyssyes with us.

Remind me about the train project. Do you think the New Vegas Steel building and the scrap smithing facilities will help in the reconstruction of the train system, and the creation of the localized team system?
Are we sticking to what we all voted for, or are we willing to make some compromises?
I am. Think of my actions as suggestions. Except for the Courier action. I did say I was will to spend the next 10 Courier actions hunting the Damned to the ghoul, and I do mean it.
I'll have it summarized tomorrow. Spent today writing a pretty big post so I didn't want to try to sort through the posts.


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Good Morning America Welcome to Enclave Remnant Quest Thread 2

Here's the Archive: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Enclave+Remnant+Quest

The Character sheets and general information can be found here: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1--Lg-RaDz7yqRx1DwUsE6P3qZzQyJlgBekMXIHUR_WU/edit?usp=sharing
The base calculations for Squad and larger scale combat can be found here: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/19aZKpugV9t3Y8P4zmBPgpuAASRjE1kHmDyEb3iUY5fQ/edit?usp=sharing
Those calculations do not account for situational modifiers like commander competence, tactics, terrain etc.

As well going forwards for flat +x bonuses for anyone not in the primary action half of their applicable bonus will apply, this goes for both hostile and player actions.
Example: Ford has +10 leadership, Grant has +15 leadership in combat scenarios, Ford rolls a leadership check and Grant helps, the bonus to the roll is +17 (7.5 rounded down).

System goes as follows I will ask 3 posters to roll xd100 depending on the number of tests in the post calling for the roll
If there's 1 test 3 posters will roll 1d100 each
if there's 2 tests 3 posters will roll 2d100 each etc.
Each roll that is below the given DV (Example 50) of the test will be counted as a success
The result of the test depends on how many successes out of 3 were gotten on the test.
Critical success is a 1 and critical failure is 100, they override, and if you get both they negate.

If there is a tie at the end of the designated voting period (Typically an hour, however it may be longer) then a designated tie breaker period will be established (Typically 30 minutes) if by the end of the period the tie isn't broken I will roll a d100 and it will be split accordingly to decide.
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>Meet with Gerald, we can head Nelson's largest pool of potential swing voters there by getting them first

I do quite enjoy his platform, shame we weren't in his surviving cell. We can talk we Nelson about spreading our ideological tilt to the rest of the wasteland later.

And we should really do something special for mom, I don't want her feeling isolated with everything not going her way.
>>Meet with Gerald, we can head Nelson's largest pool of potential swing voters there by getting them first
>>Meet with Senator Rockefeller, if there's anyone who can keep our hold on the win it'll be him, just be careful.

trust me, the devil you know is better than the one you don't
>Meet with Gerald, we can head Nelson's largest pool of potential swing voters there by getting them first

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