Your dreams of getting a harem in another world have now become a reality.

Getting hit by a truck, meeting a goddess, and having a bunch of women that wanted to get in your pants? It was all part of the classic isekai experience. To have all of this happen to you made you feel like your luck finally turned around.

The crown jewel of your harem was said cute goddess that you met. She always stood by your side, devoting her entire being to you out of her own masochistic volition. She, along with your six other consensual 'slave-wives', were soon to mother your children.

As for you? You blessed with Lunacy Savantae: The power to build impossible things.

You were given a few names and titles — Mr. Doe, Savant Lord, the Master, Lord of Heaven's Landing — but your actual name, John Doe, was what most knew you by. It was, like nearly everything else in this world, a stock cliche.

And that was just the way you liked it.

You had spent more than a week in Centria — buying property, filling out paperwork, going to meetings, setting up a bounty for a murderer, among other things, you've finally returned home.

After a five hour flight on <span class="mu-i">The Vixen's Luck</span>, and the night covered all of Heaven's Landing, which was what you recently renamed your estate to, you returned home. You'd managed to avoid pirate ships and bad weather, safely bringing all of your materials, wives, and ghost.

Despite it all, nobody was demoralized.

"It's good to be at our love nest again, Master!" Herta said, giving you a small smirk.

"Funny how you're the one that's calling it that now." You reply as you step down from the airship.

Herta, the goddess that created this world, was as much of a smug and arrogant masochist as she always was. Once a known as a virgin goddess, she would soon become the proud mother of your twins: A fact that placated one of her deeper fetishes.

"That's pretty much what it is." Cattleya said with a meow. The near-amazonian catgirl took a good look at the place that she now called home, frowning as she set her eyes on the cheese cave by the cresting hill— the very place where she was nearly condemned to become a goblin brood mother. She turned back to you. "It's your land now, guv. An' no one else'll stake a claim to it."

"Well said, Cat." The smoky contralto following Ruby Rose's words spoke to you as she elegantly set foot onto the ground. "My gallant Master has already prepared in advance a million plans for any eventuality. Our successes in Centria are a testament to his schemes, fufufu~"

"Nevertheless we must always remain vigilant." Gerty said in a confident voice, the very image of a Holy Knight. "There are vultures gathering around us—Rostchilde and Forthwythe doubtlessly know of this place now."

You close your eyes and lean back in your chair, taking a deep controlled breath. The pitter-patter of rain against a window overseeing the lake had always calmed you. It was an indication of how far you had come, how far you had led your people, to go from but a scant few in prebuilt fabs, huddling together against the raging storm, to now have tamed the waters of your surroundings and not only built shelter from the merciless winds, but to have grown and prospered.

And now ? Now that your people are safe, now that their bellies are full and their heads empty of constant worry about the danger of the morrow ? They go and try to kill your son ! To add to the farce, as the bastard tried to blow Magnus’ head off, he had the gall to proclaim his respect for you ! Your wife, Celyn, understandably wants blood, rivers of it for every drop that Magnus had lost. You really cannot blame her for it, if it were you a few decades younger you too would have made sure that there was hell to pay in a more…brutal manner.

Seeing as how you will be sixty in a few years’ time, a lot of the fire and brimstone that had made up your gut had long since cooled. You have to admit, despite wanting to dig out Coen’s guts and use them as decorations, a curious feeling of serenity holds onto you.

It is rare for you to be so sure of mind and purpose without even a moment’s hesitation. The rule of law will be upheld. You will ensure that there are no calls of claims of tyranny, no abuses of power…well, bar maybe one, as Magnus will need a proper command of his own, and it just so happens that the recon corps is lacking a leader. But besides that, perhaps out of romanticized ideals of nobility, or just nostalgia for when you were much younger and naïve, the whole point behind nobles is that they are supposed be bound by ideals of honour, duty, a certain noblesse oblige. An ideal you hope to embody and set down the precedent for the generations that shall follow your own.

Opening your eyes, you look at Celyn. She seems so tired, so worn, her light brown hair already has streaks of grey running across them, wrinkles are apparent where in your memory there were none. She has gotten old, and so had you.

“Dear.” You say, your voice even, the list of names still slowly moving before your eyes. “I cannot become a tyrant. I will not become a monster that slaughters its own people out of paranoia.”

“It is not paranoia to take necessary precautions to ensure the safety of our children !” She says, her choler rising.

Welcome back.

Rules are simple: Votes are tallied every hour, with whatever course of action being the most popular being the course of action taken. Write ins are encouraged and non-mutually exclusive votes will be combined if possible.

When a roll is called for, roll however many D100 are specified. 5- is a 'crit fail' and generally means something bad is about to happen. 95+ is a 'crit success' and generally means something good just happened. a 'crit success' trumps a crit fail. User input on both will be taken into consideration.

Once per thread, if three or more people invoke it, a single roll may be re-rolled.

Inventory, pokemon stats and other links: https://docs.google.com/document/d/15i2N08IpWqitoTJujsUMishe4PLbao1lqT-bCAmvPcE/edit

Discord: https://discord.gg/pR7q5Evf

For a short summary for the new and to recap:

You are Alex. A newly minted trainer and camping enthusiast just starting out on your journey at the age of seventeen after your father lost his job in order to help pay the bills. On the road, you met Fie, the Fire Gym Leader, Gareth a novice Aura Guardian on pilgrimage and Holly, a runaway heiress using a pseudonym. You've also made enemies of Team Green a group of violent, radical activists looking to abolish pokemon training.

Recently, Fie returned to her gym for the time being.

Last thread, an inopportune Nat 1 prompted you to return to your hometown in order to find Latias after some rich bastard tried to steal her, wrecked your house and injured Kay O-o in the process. After punching him into next week, you spent the night with Jacky's family and secured a seventh 'Companion' slot on your team so you could keep Latias with you at all times. You also agreed to do some survey work for Professor Conifer and were just discussing your reward...

Previous Thread: >>6259213

The road into Perdition is a river of mud and horseshit, baked hard at the edges where the sun can reach, but still wet enough in the middle to suck at your mare's hooves with every step. You've been riding since before dawn, and the dust has worked its way into every crease of your black coat—the same coat you wore when you stood behind a pulpit, back when you still believed the words coming out of your mouth.

Marshal Josiah Thorne. That's what the badge in your saddlebag says, though you haven't pinned it on yet. No sense advertising before you know the lay of the land.

Ahead, where the road narrows between two ramshackle buildings that mark the town's edge, three men stand waiting. They've arranged themselves like they've done this many times before—one in the middle of the road, two flanking. The one in the middle, a thick-necked brute with a beard like steel wool, raises his hand.

"That's far enough, stranger."

You rein in your mare, keeping your hands visible but relaxed. The other two—younger, hungrier-looking—have their hands resting on their six-shooters. Brothers, from the look of them. Same weak chin, same mean little eyes.

"Road toll," the bearded one says, spitting tobacco juice into the mud. "Five dollars to enter Perdition. Town ordinance."

You've seen this play before. Different towns, same sin. These would be the Clayton brothers—the telegram mentioned them. Local muscle, too stupid to be the real problem, too dangerous to ignore.

"Render unto Caesar," you mutter, more to yourself than them. Old habits.

"What's that?" The one on the left shifts, suspicious.

"Nothing. Just considering my options." You shift in your saddle, deliberately slow, non-threatening. Your Colt .45 sits heavy on your hip, and the Winchester in your saddle scabbard is loaded. But there's also five dollars in your vest pocket, and you're not officially on duty for another hour.

The bearded one grins, showing yellow teeth. "Ain't but one option, preacher man. Pay up or turn around. 'Less you think you're fast enough to take all three of us."

The youngest one laughs. "He don't look that stupid, Jed."

What is your response?

A) Pay their ridiculous tax. You're not officially on the clock yet, and there's no profit in starting your tenure with bloodshed.

B) Try to talk them down. Appeal to whatever passes for reason in men like these.

C) Make an example of them. Your hand finds your pistol's grip.

D) Write-in

Last time, you took the cows to the farm, also you got a bag. Not very eventful, but the tides changed once you found a mysterious letter that pledged it would grant you any wish. To test these supernatural abilities, you asked for the keys to the School’s swimming pool, which were granted. At the pool, you ask for your second wish…

You want your lovely teacher Nina to return physically to her teenage years for week!

For no apparent reason, your newly acquired bag is freaking out! Is this some kind of signal towards your wish being granted?!

…

A couple of bags of Snackos fall next to your feet. They have a note on top. The penmanship is identical to the one on the original letter. You skim over it. The all-powerful Mysterious Wish-Granting Force is asking for a few minutes, and it’s giving you something to eat in the meantime. How thoughtful! You’re at lunchtime after all!

…

You don’t need two of these, so you insert one of the Snackos inside the bag. Tantrum is done, Bagna is pleased.

…

You take your shoes off and flap your feet in the Swimming pool to pass the time. Eventually, someone knocks on the door…

“Uhm, ehm, M-Mister Ando, it’s me… Miss Uccelli! C-C-Can I come in?” An easy-on-the-ears girly voice asks from the other side. It certainly matches your teacher’s cadence.

But something is off…

Maybe it’s the Rejuvenating Beam’s effect!

<span class="mu-s">What do you do?</span>

>“You’re not going to get mad at me for being at the pool, right?” Make sure you’re not in trouble.
>“Before I open, do you feel younger? Specifically in your late teenage years?” You need to make sure this Wishing Star is legit.
>Open the door and let Ms. Uccelli in! It’s been a while since you referred to her like this!
>“We’re on a first-name basis. Why are you calling me Mr. Ando?” Be a tiny bit skeptical.
>Write In.

Every night you go to bed and you dream.

Of the sky, the wind running along your skin, whistling in your ear till you can't hear yourself think. Sometimes it's a storm with you at its center, watching it crush everything in its path, thunder rolling, lightning splitting the world. Or space, where there's no noise, nothing weighing you down. Just infinity punctuated by stars.

Your alarm drags you awake.

The same drab ceiling with paint chipping at the corner stares back at you like always. The room's humid again from sleeping with the windows shut. Your routine never changes: get up, eat whatever's in the fridge, shower, work construction for twelve hours, come home dead, repeat.

Your name is Arthur Carr. You live in a run-down apartment, work dead-end construction jobs. And tomorrow, your niece who you haven't seen in years is coming.

Your mother had four children; you being the youngest. None of you grew up well-adjusted. Your eldest sister Rosie married a cop who uses her for a punching bag. She convinces herself that getting abused is part and parcel of the "good life," whatever the hell that means.

Irene, second oldest, grew up hating everything about herself and her family—-an ambitious overachiever, always with a barb loaded behind her tongue. The first chance she got, she fled with some rich boyfriend. Last you knew, she’d gone to school and divorced her boyfriend turned husband, she defends pharmaceutical companies for enough money that she can afford to forget where she came from

April was only a few years older than you, but when you were a kid, you sometimes imagined she was your mother. She was kind and reliable in all the ways your real mother wasn't. She stayed the longest, because of you. You don't let yourself think about her anymore.

It's April's daughter who's coming to live with you. The social workers made it clear you weren't their first choice, so you can only imagine how bad things must be with Rosie and Irene. Though Irene probably refused outright—that's her style.

You're halfway through a cup of coffee when a knock at the door comes.

You open and the social worker stands in your doorway. Her raven hair reaching to her shoulders, she's wearing that same unreadable expression as in all your previous meetings.

Your niece stands at her side. You got the date wrong. <span class="mu-i">How dammit?</span>
"Hello, Uncle Arthur."

The girl's voice barely makes it across the threshold. You've met her three times— once when she was born and two supervised visits where the social worker did most of the talking while you sat there just listening.

It takes you half a second too long to respond. Uncertainty worms into her eyes.

The worker shoots you a look that breaks you out of your stupor. You get down to her level, smile wide and do your best to give a good impression.

“Hello Sophie, come in. Are you hungry?"

Welcome to <span class="mu-i">Knights of Nothing</span>. For those of you who were part of “The Testament of Tatamu” quest a few years ago, this takes place in the same post-apocalyptic universe, albeit closer to the beginning of the timeline. The setting errs closer towards hard(er) science fiction.

For those who don’t know me, I’m Kaz, and I’ve been a QM since the last few years back when quests were still on /tg/ before we made the jump. My last active quest was “Star Wars – Interregnum”. For those familiar with me, it’s been a long time. Sorry for disappearing without any warning. Long and short of it was a mixture of burnout, writer’s block, and IRL/day job getting in the way of things.

In any event, I’m back in a limited capacity. I’m back in trade school and doing irregular contract work, which leaves a creative-sized hole in my chest. So I’m writing once more, with the goal of trying to do 1-2 updates per day. For those waiting for <span class="mu-i">Interregnum</span>, it’s coming soon(TM). My block was really starting to show towards the end of the last thread, and I need to square the circular peg on either fixing it or wiping part of the slate clean.

The mechanics of this quest draw heavily from the Fantasy Flight Games <span class="mu-i">Genesys</span> narrative dice system, albeit modified and changed for questing format, which is the same system that <span class="mu-i">Interregnum</span> uses.

Now, without further ado…

==============

<span class="mu-i">The world stopped, then began anew.</span>

>>Location: Unknown
>>Date: Unknown

The burden of consciousness is abruptly forced upon you – sudden and without any warning.

Your first breath is a wet, choking sputter that catches in your throat. Something thick and viscous coats the inside of your esophagus, nearly strangling you from the inside. Each attempt at inhaling or expelling only makes it worse, every aborted retch an aborted reminder that your body has seemingly turned against you.

Panic surges before rational thought can catch up. Adrenaline sears away the last remnants of a dreamless sleep, burning away a mental fog clouding your mind until only the rawest survival instinct remains, and a painful hyper-awareness of your immediate surroundings.

And then you feel them – cold, conforming walls pressing against your body, smooth and pliant, firm and unyielding as they conform to your panicked thrashing. Your hands slap against a curved surface only mere inches away from your face. The realization shoots through you like ice in your veins.

You are enclosed.

Entombed.

Trapped.

(cont.)

Soon, the world is going to end.

All around the world, various individuals have been empowered by a mysterious influence known as the Incarnation system, granting supernatural abilities and strength designed to emulate the divine might of the classical pantheons. Even as humanity gained strength, another influence hellbent on devouring the universe, the <span class="mu-s">Uncrowned King</span> prepares to transgress into the confines of Earth’s reality using its foolish worshippers as a door.

The protagonist of this tale is the incarnation of Atë, a minor goddess in the grand scheme of Greek mythology, who causes and presides over folly and ruin, though her title and its implications are now mostly in name only as she sheds the training wheels of the system to finally, truly enter the realm of godhood. Now, in the final days of Earth as she has known it, Atë makes the finishing touches to her new source of strength while enjoying what may be the rest of her life as a human.

Here it is– the <span class="mu-r"><span class="mu-s">end of the line</span></span>.

>Past Threads
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=Olympus+Incarnation+Quest
>Rentry masterlink, includes character sheets, shop information, inventory, and general information
https://rentry.org/olympus-quest-links
>Inquiries: [email protected]

~

>Calculation Speed
>Fuck it, all three?

You and Pheme float down the ice-cold waters of the lazy river, warm sun wrapping your skin in a comfortable heat as you splay out on a double-floatie lackadaisically training your eyes on a couple (seemingly) bickering in the frozen margarita line.

“Drinking problem?” You take a shot in the dark, “The chick has a glass but the guy doesn’t. Might be a refill?”

“Swimsuit’s pretty skimpy, and she’s flaunting it too,” Pheme shakes her head, miming the tiny strings barely covering her sunkissed skin with her fingers, “Maybe jealousy.”

“Maybe it’s the guy, actually,” you continue her train of thought, “Promised he wouldn’t be jealous, changed his mind when he saw hotter guys drooling over his girl?”

“Maaybe,” she lets her arm flop down onto your face, forcing you to dip your own hand in the river and splash her in retaliation. She recoils like a cat hit with a spray bottle, nearly tumbling out of her seat and into the water. You see her begin to retaliate, but she changes course, instantly whipping around and covering you with her body as she cranes her neck to meet the person behind her. “She’s not interested,” she hisses at presumably a guy who was presumably staring at you.

“I’m not here to flirt,” a familiarly obnoxious British voice chimes back, “Unless, of course, she’d be into that sort of thing.”

“West wind,” you frown, “What do you want?”

<span class="mu-b">ANTON PEAS</span>: Cult-Crusher! Mob-Masher! Lord… <span class="mu-i">Licker?</span> You’ll, uh… you’ll have to workshop that one. Whoever you are, you’ve come a long way from being a simple grill-jockey–whisked away from your dead-end job and dead-end life to Zoral: a fantasy world shrouded in everlasting darkness, your proverbial ‘dance card’ has been pretty much <span class="mu-i">filled!</span>

Sure, you’ve got a few new friends to back you up: <span class="mu-b">TZAH-TZIE:</span> a mischievous musician who just so happens to be your <span class="mu-b">NEW SPECIAL LADYFRIEND</span>, <span class="mu-b">VOLKA:</span> gentle giant and Grand Marshall of <span class="mu-b">THE LAMPLIGHTERS:</span> a volunteer group working to keep the city safe, <span class="mu-b">MOROOK:</span> a big-eyed bushman you managed to spring free of a cult base and Volka’s adopted brother, and <span class="mu-b">REZALITH:</span> a feisty fiend who, after a falling-out punctuated by her flying away to what you assumed was certain death, has returned unscathed!

Maybe. A botched spell left her unconscious at a crucial moment on her quest, so who knows what really happened? Still, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss the darn devil!

She couldn’t have come back at a better time, either. In your quest to reclaim your fuzzed-out memories, you and your pals have headed North to <span class="mu-b">UMBERAL:</span> a bonafide <span class="mu-i">CITY OF TOMORROW</span> run by a rogue’s gallery of <span class="mu-r">SPICE CARTEL MOBSTERS</span> and <span class="mu-r">ARCHMAGE TRIER</span>--the former having some history with your Bard beau, the latter one of four targets of the devil who currently has ‘dibs’ on your soul: <span class="mu-r">RED</span>.

<span class="mu-r">THE FOUR LORDS</span> have ruled Zoral for years… maybe it’s time for a change? In exchange for their souls, <span class="mu-r">RED</span> promises you aid in the ensuing battles AND some help restoring your missing memories. With demonic powers in hand, you might just have a fighting chance! Hey, it’s not like you’ve got <span class="mu-b">20,000 BELLS</span> to buy you a lead on getting back to Earth, right?

Your hands are full, to say the least, but none of that can distract you from another inconvenient truth: your ex-girlfriend <span class="mu-b">LIZ</span> somehow found her way into Zoral! Why? That’s the Million-Bell Question, isn’t it? You haven’t the foggiest how she’s gonna react when you meet up… if you even run into each other, that is, but as bad as you left things, you really hope she’s okay…

She’s a tough gal, though. If anyone’s gonna need help, it’s <span class="mu-i">you</span>!

Taking your first steps into the gem of the North, THIS is where your tale continues…

https://youtu.be/1lR8VLt1Xlk

For generations, the Kingdom of Lindan has been under siege by an otherworldly threat. One that with naught but a wave of the hand can level entire cities. Demons from Earth plague the land and wreak havoc wherever they go. They hail from a barbarous and most unusual land and possess skills that defy all magic, science, and logic. Known as Cheat Skills, these abilities let the Strangers from Earth gain extraordinary power without any effort. As such, every one of these Strangers can bring on the end of all times should they desire. Yet, despite the insurmountable threat the Strangers possess, the Goddess’ Inquisition has sent these beasts back each time. A thankless job that has seen these heroes who exist above the law become more reviled than praised, but a job that is nonetheless required for the future existence of Lindan.

You are one of these Inquisitors. Well, kind of. You are Lorina de Lindan, third to the throne of Lindan and the Imperial Princess. Though someone would be forgiven for forgetting that fact if they were to look at you now. If it wasn’t for your oh so expensive attire, you might even be mistaken for a common forest bandit! It isn’t as though what you’re doing now, waiting to attack a carriage filled with nobility, in the middle of the night, is much different than their usual habits.

Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=The%20Isekai%20Inquisition