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It's 12pm, midnight. You're hungry, cold and tired after your insufferable cunt of a manager asked you to do some over-time (who knows? You might get promoted for your diligence! Bullshit. That's what they all say.) to clean up the store. You work at the local 8-10 during the night shift, although you should have ended work two hours ago.The dark streets have long emptied of any life, and as you stalk your way home through the night, you yet again regret choosing this job of all options.
I've been doing some forum lurking over at the Warhammer 40,000 Regicide forums trying to find that damn "Inner Circle" Honour and I have not had any luck for the last week, If anyone can help me out, even with a hint, it'd be greatly appreciated.
It is the year 4552 A.U, the galaxy has had over 4000 years of unification and advancement, and despite various periods of war and disaster the galaxy still stands. But this isn't about the galaxy. This isn't about the War of Gods, the Atom Plague, or even the conquest of the Diphon race. This is about you, and your status as a bounty hunter and mercenary. Your adventure starts here, with your ship and crew ready for you. But before you sign contracts, before you engage in duels, before you become infamous, we have to learn about you.
This is a thread created for the discussion of Quest threads, as well as sharing of advice and guidance for aspiring or current QM's.
Please shitpost, and please do not report any shitposters attempting to derail discussion or cause strife. In addition, try to keep tripfag drama to a maximum.
Useful links: http://pastebin.com/pV7sdNnv (HTTP) This link contains numerous writing guides, as well as the addresses to quest related IRC channels.
You pant desperately, the workout pushing your tiny body to its limits. You know you're supposed to be stronger and faster than this, damn it, and the only way to get back to your prime is through exercise and... well, being a week and a couple days old you don't have much control over your diet, but still! Your legs burn, your chest aches, and your muscles scream at you but you force yourself through another set of squats as your mother sets about her work, occasionally looking over at you with the concern one usually reserves for the mentally infirm. Your brother had questioned it, but when he realized the only answer he was likely to receive was "Getting big," he left well enough alone and vanished into the warrens. He was growing taller by the day, while you still remained short. It was starting to gnaw at the back of your mind, but you were determined not to think about it. There were more important things at hand, like getting ready to go outside! That meant you had to be strong, and fast, and then stronger and faster. You knew all the right ways to make this happen, but as your wobbly legs gave out from under you, pitching you onto the woven rug with a yelp, you realized that having your body conspiring against you was going to make this so much harder.
Your mother set aside her knitting and moved to your side, stooping to scoop you up into her arms. "My little pup, why do you do this? It has been days. You are starting to scare me..." She whimpered and nuzzled your ear as you panted, desperately trying to relieve the ache and heat in your muscles, too tired even to squirm away from your mother's ministrations. How could you even begin to explain to her? You had tried, of course, but she had only tutted at you and told you not to worry about it, that your brother and cousins would always be there to take care of you, and then when you went above Sylea would be with you to keep you safe.
You have sixty seconds to justify the Romulans using an artificial black hole as an energy source when everyone else just uses matter/antimatter reactions.
So, /tg/, I've decided that I'm going to write an adventure. A Pathfinder module. Its my personal project, and I'm going to write it as though the goal was to publish it, because that's how I roll. Edited, playtested, the whole shebang,
Anyways, the Adventure's going to be about Proteans, paizo's version of Slaadi, (honestly, an improved version), because I want to prove that they're not boring lolrandumb trash monsters. Everyone loves demons (sexy, bestial, and tentacle varieties) and lovecraftian eldritch abominations WAY more than the Protean, which only seems to be there to take up space. pure chaotic neutral in outsider form just turns out to be "crazy" and random; Proteans have no plans, their cults are lame, and there's only 4 in existence.
But, what's the best example of Chaotic Neutral that we know of?
The Internet. Particularly 4chan. Classic /b/, with the raids and such.
You only have a last glass of cider left. You had hoped the mill would have been overlooked.
But you had your dream again. And the moment you woke up from that same nightmare, you knew your luck had run out.
Around the meadow that the mill stood in the center of, their torches ring. You're guessing twenty men, at minimum. Maybe double that number, if the reinforcements from Graus followed Ortwin. None of the local lords would help Ortwin. But they wouldn't get in his way either. Twenty men. Dawn will break soon, and there was nearly no tree cover- besides that, Ortwin would have dogs with him. You both wouldn't be able to get away.
The mill was strong and tall. Old stone. Plenty of gaps for mice to crawl through, but none big enough for one of Ortwin's men. No. The only way in was through the door. How long could you hold that against twenty men? Maybe, maybe if you broke out now- you could take out one of the the torch bearers at the edge quiet, break through the line.
They weren't after you, after all.
Your charge is sleeping in the only bed in the mill. Next room over. Doesn't know what's coming.
You hear the horse hooves on the ragged few stones leading in to the mill. Still distant, but closing at a steady clip. Ortwin. He'd be after the girl- but he hated you. He'd come for you eventually, but the girl was what he was after in the end. He was a sadist, but one that was professional as well. He'd take the girl first. Then come after you.
Give you a little more time to run and hide.
You hear a noise like a whisper in the other room. She talked in her sleep. When you brought that up the first time, at the river crossing where you thought you lost Ortwin first time. She apologized for that. Funny.
Last cup of cider. You pitch it back, feel the warmth. Might be your last drink. You should have savored that. Too late now.
