The TV glows and lightly illuminates the dark room. You sit hunched over yourself, anticipating the program that comes on right after the commercial break ends. Every second of waiting is worth it to you when the loud, hard rock music starts blaring from the TV speakers.

"RND ... RAPID NON-STOP DESTRUCTION!" A burly voice screams from within the screen. Many fast clips of various legendary and newly rostered wrestlers play as they perform finishers, scream, deliver signature taunts, and point at whoever is watching the program through the lens of the camera.

This is what you've been waiting for all week, the intro music blaring and the videos playing along with it gets you hyped, causing you to jump up from the spot you were sitting from and jump around your bedroom. Though this day exactly doesn't fall on any special event or finished storylines within the program, you've always loved just being a witness to the tension and fights that break out from each live event.

Just as you manage to compose yourself and sit back down, your mom calls out to you from the kitchen.

"Honey, dinner is ready! Come down here," she yells from outside your room.

You sigh, groan, and put up a little bit of a fight with yourself before complying. Standing up and opening the curtain to your room the afternoon sun lights up the previously darkened room once more, a last ditch attempt before it slowly begins setting away for the dark sky to take it's place.

When you go down to the kitchen and take a seat at the table dinner progresses by as it normally does. Your parents both ask how school was today, you simply just reply with a grunt or give a simple & diplomatic answer.

It's not until you finish your plate that your little legs race back to your room and once again you're seated in your previous state before the television. Too late to witness the beginning of today's program, an ad is blaring from your TV.

"Hey kid! Love our program? Write a letter to us and enter a chance for us to come to your city for a show!" The voice yells. Shortly after a sped up version is accompanied with a long list of fine print words like 'minimal demographic range', or 'subject to location', though you don't really understand what any of that means.

Immediately you run to the small desk in your room and pull out a piece of paper, a pencil, and get to writing.

>Your name
>Your hometown

There once was a king, a king from a small but prosperous island.

The people were happy, the fields grew with abundance. The ports were bustling as the palace gleam with riches accumulated over generations. But the king was not satisfied.

He wish for more, with ambition and envy he eyed the islands around hem.

One day he found a crown, from whom or were been lost, but the crown allowed hem to control any monster he wish. To instantly tame any monster he lay he’s eyes on.

One after another, islands fell, entire cities massacred due to the resistance they put up, those who surrendered seeing an entire generation turn spades into spears. A entire generation of mothers, fathers, sons and daughters marched to war to satisfy the ambitions of a single man.

One kingdom fell after another, until the entire Shining Archipelago was under the kings thumb. But such was not enough for the king, he crave the world. A fleet of ships was constructed to move he’s entire army to the nearby contents. Fortresses was built to increase the numbers of he’s monsters. Mages, Wizards, and Alchemists were hired, kidnapped, and blackmailed to make the beasts more deadly, more numerous.

Eventually group of heroes rose up to challenge the Mad King. They go from island to island, disrupting the planned invasion, slaying monsters, and setting fire to the fortress hatcheries. At the final battle one by one they fell until on he’s last blow, the last hero slay the King.

The King was dead, but not all was won. The monsters the King once controlled were no longer subservient. Without warning, without direction, the King’s army was slaughtered by their own war beasts. The remaining fortress hatcheries spilled monsters onto the lands as the sea monsters for the invasion sunk most of the fleet.

One by one the islands fell once more. Creatures prowled and hunted those who fled, on land and by air those who stayed were devoured. Entire families starved, trapped in their own homes as day and night became too dangerous to tired. (1/2)

About half a year ago, the world changed forever.

Individuals worldwide began manifesting the qualities of various figures- gods, spirits, heroes, beasts, and monsters- from Greek mythos. The system that caused and continues to facilitate this phenomenon is shrouded in mystery, both in how it functions and why it began its activities when it did.

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. She, formerly a miserable but ultimately normal office worker, has since accepted her role as the embodiment of her . She, along with her partner in crime, the incarnation of Pheme, titan of rumors and gossip, have been working to expand their influence and stack the deck in their favor against not only mortals, but also rival incarnations. In her own eyes, she is no longer human. Her ultimate goal– the elimination of all rival incarnations and, eventually, ascension to true godhood.

After learning that the final conflict against the outerversal entity known to the world as the Uncrowned King, Atë has been of two minds, both scrambling to prepare for armageddon in their own ways. While one part of her soul revels in her cunning and guile after fooling and consuming the greatest weapon known to man, the other is stricken with an uncharacteristic sentimentality. Regardless of whether or not she's ready, what might be the end of everything inexorably approaches.

Previous chapters: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Heretic%20Cultivator%20Quest
MC info Pastebin: https://pastebin.com/x5rCdZpq
Sect/ disciple info Doc: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1A0Yghkqs4WxALnnlVJ2uPpphQk9NQ4ME32DzC1qWp7Q/edit?usp=sharing
Folklore: https://pastebin.com/AnbsrDcd
_
Today is truly a monumentous occasion, not only because it is one of the blessed days the palace of natural laws sect's tournament is being hosted, or because you've trained a bunch of toddler moon rabbits to be ready to cultivate years before any human kid could, or even because five colors came to visit and knock some sense into the five fallen dieties before they did something foolish like try to kill your, or even that you learned humans could be turned into cats if they were lucky enough to have the right spiritual root and physiques. No, today was especially important because the Thousand Lotus Hall sect had joined the Tomb, The Mountain, and The sea alliance, turning it into The Tomb, the mountain, the sea and the garden! And besides that, more exciting, was that it looked like the last few rounds of the foundation establishment realm martial arts contest would all be your disciples.

A sect wide achievement that would surely improve your temple's reputation as one of the most fierce. It isn't too surprising, either, since your students have cut their teeth and honed their claws fighting fierce ghosts and the other sects present in real, lethal combat before. And of course, their techniques, martial styles and talents are nearly unheard of in this era. Once more, like the master, the element of surprise and the unknown abilities they posses and train and hone is one of their greatest advantages

And, sure, you might drift off and nap for a few of them, knowing almost instinctively which disciple will beat who in any match up since you've trained them all and know pretty much all the tricks they keep up their sleeves and the levels they've trained and refined their technique and sorcery, but you do try to pay attention to the spars you haven't seen yet closely and to commentate excitedly for the duels that aren't as one sided as say, Huli verses the incredibly unfortunate wooden style rogue he got set up against after his first round win against Hong.

Qinxin and Ping, for example is most exciting, as the two are well informed of the others styles and have fought side by side often but never against eachother. That match comes down to Ping's ghost qi infused arm granting him a slight advantage over the former Ling subordinate, as well as the white haired monk's secret of an unbeating heart, which he uses to trick Qinxin into believing he struck him dead from a wild desperation attack of one of the Guardians of celestial sunlight's sword techniques, which Ping uses to catch him unaware and nearly blow his sword arm off with a cleverly used dying grudge shield barrier spell.
Cont

Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Disappearing%20Hogwarts

Character Sheets: https://pastebin.com/VNSkfRge

Twitter: https://twitter.com/head_qm

--

In the last thread, you:

> Got laid

> Saw Atlantis and its reflections return from the Darkness Beyond Time

> Discovered only children can pass through its borders and led a child army into it

> Discovered the truth about the Mirror of Erised

> Watched as the Unseelie were released upon the world

> Learned of what Salazar and the Beast were really looking for in Atlantis, the Cradle of Magic beneath the city, which can turn someone into something akin to a god

> Learned Potter is planning to create a True Time-turner, and leave this timeline for good

> Had your girlfriend tell you she’s prophesied to sacrifice herself to save the world

> Asked her to marry you

> Received the Mirror of Erised, the Deathly Hallows and every other weapon Hermione Granger could give you

> And while the world outside was devoured by horrors of old, you strode off to fight Harry Potter

And now…

The vibrant plaza bustled with crowds. From old couples basking in the sun on a bench to newlywed families out for a stroll with their new baby, the streets were packed with people and activities. Bullheads and blimps soared through the sky without fear. Street performers danced and juggled while musicians played a peppy tune with an old acoustic guitar.

How long has it been since you’ve been in a walled kingdom?

Months? Years?

You shook your head. The time did not matter, not anymore. This was a new chapter of your life.

You are…

The gods were not born—they were.

Timeless and terrible, they shaped the void with thought and gave it order through song. Where their voices harmonized, land rose from the deep. Where their wills diverged, seas churned and the stars cracked. And when they had made a world fit for beauty and pain alike, they wove beings from golden light and named them the High Men.

These radiant children were not like the lesser beasts. They were given form eternal, bodies immune to time, and minds sharp as the storm’s edge. For thousands of years, the High Men built cities of living marble and floating stone, where music never ceased and sorrow was but a word in ancient texts. They learned to speak to fire and command the tides, and they dwelt close to the gods, basking in divine favor.

But nothing perfect lasts.

No one remembers precisely what shattered the age of glory. Some say the gods quarreled and turned their faces from the world. Others claim a great wrong was done by one of the High Men—a theft, or a murder, or a forbidden love. Whatever the truth, the Cataclysm came. Mountains split. Rivers turned to acid. The sky wept ash for a hundred years. And immortality cracked like fragile glass.

The High Men died in droves. Their shining cities fell into the sea or were swallowed by the earth. Some of the survivors pleaded with the gods for mercy. None answered. In desperation, a few turned elsewhere—to older powers, darker names carved into the bones of the world. They drank blood. They swore oaths. They became Vampires, no longer truly alive, but no longer dying. They fed on others’ lifeforce to survive, trading sunlight for eternity.

A cure was eventually discovered. It burned the curse from their veins—but not without cost. Those who took it became known as the Primeval, their skin forever marked with a bluish hue, their hunger undiminished, though no longer for blood. Their bodies healed fast, sometimes too fast. They were changed, and their children were born changed too. Neither god nor man would claim them. So they claimed nothing—and no one.

In the thousand years since, the world has shifted again. The High Men, though fewer and mortal now, have rebuilt some of their ancient halls. The Vampires brood in hidden places, fractured into cults and courts. The Primeval wander or form enclaves where the wild grows thick. And outside these crumbling legacies, the world keeps birthing the strange.

The Barbarians of the far west, unmarked by old glories, have come raiding, wielding iron and prophecy.
The Aberrations, born of warped magic and cataclysmic exposure, slither in the forgotten reaches of the world—each one a living riddle.
And the Witches, those rare few who have found power not from gods or curses, but from within—walk the line between reverence and exile, their fingers stained with the threads of fate.

You are Booba Fett. You don't know anything at all about where the name came from, someone just called you that once and it stuck. You live in a post apocaliptic wasteland. The nukes went off and history finally ended.

You live in a Pueblo called San Björn. There is radioactive desert in all directions. Forty people live there, most of them Redskins.

The people there share what they get and are used to doing long fasts. Maybe that's why they survived this long. They built a wall with scraps and car parts, and the settlement been holding.

The village has a well, but it isn't very deep. It works more as a water storage than a water source. There is an old abandoned well ten miles to the north, deep enough to draw brackish water from. The village has a bunch of solar stills, and people often go to the abandoned well with bikewagons and jerrycans to fetch the saltwater. Could we dig a deep enough well? Maybe. But so far it proved elusive and too labor intensive to attempt. Should we move to the other site with the well? Well, genius, this was proposed many times, but the point is the damn place is built on top of rock. Nothing grows there.

What takes us to our little garden. We plant some stuff, mainly squash. It looks weird, and tastes weirder, but is good enough to feed us.

For meat, we have a pigsty. Our pigs are slightly mutated due to all the radiation, but no one complains.

Most people in the village have some kind of mutation. In your case, you just got a bunch of extra toes, abnormaly large breasts and a fucked up face. You wear a helmet you found to hide the radiation damage in your head.

Radiation also gave you a small boon:

> Fast Reflexes. You can react faster than regular humans. It is almost catlike.
> Regeneration. Your flesh regrows at an astounding rate - provided you eat enough protein. Can even regrow lost limbs, but it won't fix your fucked up face. If you're not well fed, you can't regenerate at all.
> Psychic Burst. You can subvocalize a screech that gives instant headache to everyone who can hear it. They can't actually hear it. May cause internal bleeding in their heads. Occasionally lethal. People consider you a witch.
> Write in

<span class="mu-i">"I took my first breaths long before there was rain."</span>
-Unknown source, possibly an Astropath attached to the <span class="mu-i">Xi-40 Explorator Fleet</span>

This shouldn't be working. It's impossible for it to be working.

---

Read the previous threads at: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=False%20Woman

You possess an amount of Strain equal to your Conditioning score. When attempting actions beyond your current capacity, you gain a point of Strain. Attempting to Strain while at maximum Strain will result in a Strain Check. During a Strain Check, roll 1d10 for every point of the relevant Parameter. Results that are 6 or above count as one success. Results of 10 count as two successes. Three successes must be rolled to avert a critical failure. Fail or pass, after a Strain Check, you cannot Strain again until you restore your Strain by seeking shelter.

<span class="mu-s">This quest allows you to designate a second-choice vote on decisions with three or more options before Write-Ins.</span> When votes are totaled, the option with the least votes for it will be removed, with votes for that option instead being changed to the second-choice of those voters. Second-choice votes are also used to break ties. This helps increase the accuracy of votes, but is not mandatory. Please specifically mark your second-choice as such if you do so.

Vote stay open for a minimum of six hours, but will usually take longer.

A note: My writing style is pretty dry, but don't mistake that for it being serious.

King Protolau had three daughters, who all became adventurers. Upon learning of his death, they came back. The people discovered that one became a necromancer, another a paladin, and the youngest a gunslinger.

The council gets together to deliberate what to do.

Choose one of the daughters to be, name her, and determine what the council decided for you:

> You shall be crowned the new queen of Protoland
> You shall receive an out of the way County to rule and not annoy the new queen
> You shall be stripped of rank and forced to take the vows. However, you rebel, gather some misfits and go start your own thing in the Misty Forest