It's been a while, hasn't it? Let's start from the top.

You are Kyle Mercer. 23 years deep into a life of suffering. Though, you gotta admit it is far better to give than to receive.

It's reductive to say you "hear" voices. Truth is, you don't hear shit. You <span class="mu-i">feel</span> it, and it feels good, don't it?

THE DARING CONTINUATION OF JERKCITY VOLUME ON EPISODE IV: A NEW DONG (DIRECTOR'S CUT REDUX REVISED

YOU are SPIGOT, useless dope head extraordinaire, on a mission to uh..

Shit was was it?

To most, the idea of being reincarnated into another world was a mere fantasy.

But to you...

It was reality.

Your name is John Doe, and a few months ago you got hit by a truck. After your death you met Herta, the beautiful (and perverted) Goddess of Artifice. She told you that you needed to pick a cheat skill before she could send you to one of the many generic isekai worlds available.

"Because that's heavenly policy!" She'd said.

But instead of picking between those boring options, you took the Goddess Herself and brought her with you to a world of her own creation.

This universe of hers was slapped together with 'tags' and generic fantasy themes. Some might scoff at the abundance of stale tropes and cliched genres, but things were just the way you liked them.

Well, you were still getting used to the unfamiliar logic and morality of this brave new world. Beyond being mere ideas that were held by people, these conceits extended deep into cultural thought, sculpting history and even shaping the laws of physics.

But that wasn't all this universe had in store: Soldiers, airships, mechs, clockwork robots, walking artillery units, all of these and more marched from their homeland's borders to fight in a neverending skirmish against their enemies.

Yet these modern conflicts were petty when compared to the Demon Lord's invasion. So great was that war, that the scars from that era lingered like a thorn on the side. Corruption magic threatened to destroy everything if not purged whenever it was found, despite it being many millennia since the demons were vanquished. This evil magic will grow and fester if no precautions were taken. Thankfully there were many organizations in the world that dealt with these sorts of things.

Today, gold poured from the coffers of nations as everyone clamored to get a slice of the goods and weapons available. In spite of the constant wars and battles, commerce flowed through the planet, giving and taking away fortunes in an instant.

These realities gave testament to some of this universe's priorities - war, trade, and steampunk tech.

And that didn't even mention what is blatantly the most important of this universe's conceits: Slavery. It was a fact of life. Everyone you'd met in this world approved of it and spoke about it like it was the most common thing in the world. Which, in this world's context, made perfect sense.

As Freeborn Men are people, thus women and the lower classes are considered property. Although one could argue that slavery in this world was not the same type of chattel slavery that might pop into your mind whenever someone in your old world mentioned the word 'slave'. Providing evidence to support that theory, the Bondage Accords, which are a sort of international agreement most nations adhered to, granted certain protections to the enslaved despite their legal status as objects.

The president put on the ceremonial gowns, now knowing the terrible conventions of society.
A forbidden fruit, offered to her by subordinates and friends, that which they all deemed an essential part of youth; the what to say, the what not to say; the great secrets of seduction; the three gazes of the man-eating leopard; “The height of skirt that melts the inexperienced virgin”. And she endured it all, like a woman. She endured to have them play with her, as if a rag or some mauled doll; only by the time they began to imply that the size of a bag was perspectively proportional to the osseous width of her body, she had already ran out of patience. And with the skirt, and the blouse, the inconspicuous accessory and the invincible bow of black hair, victory was served with imminence, and tremendous prematurity.

As the lead of the Paranormal Investigation Club, she was in labour of solving mysteries in the company of her most trusted. Who hasn’t heard yet about the rapist of human souls, the phantom on the staircase, or the not single instance when the devil went and took the farmer's cows for a dance? After that, and many other adventures together; seemingly united, in their hearts she earned a deep place with her pure merit. And this time it was their turn to prepare her with the ubiquitous knowledge, to face the unknown, and perhaps even… to scare her fears. Trembled the world when the day came,

Surely, long had spilled been the tea; and yet, in shame, a single drop lied and dared not to be spit. She, and she alone knew; thoughtless, truly thoughtless the compromise had been conceived. Upon their first and only conversation she was met with a sudden and unknown boiling emotion. She couldn't admit; the temptation was too much to bear. From the pure desire to partake in that which impossible is, agreed they to meet the next Sunday, despite knowing her she lived in the neighboring city. And even then, prepared and committed, without respect for distance, without fear, she departed on the afternoon, towards a station lost in time, lost from reason, all so she could ever meet with him... the next morning.

-
<span class="mu-r"><span class="mu-s">The Hairy Hand</span> is a quest ruled by contradiction of wills and whims The President has towards all gruesome realities awaiting. Survival is doubtful, and physical integrity is never assured; bad decisions are ultimate.

Players can cumulatively pick a maximum of 3 choices, once 3 different courses of action are picked, no alternatives can be proposed nor votes. Actions are taken upon popular vote, effected at irregular, arbitrary and unforgiving times. Small and menial actions may be taken by individuals at times; affecting or not the outcome of an encounter. The whims of a few may just suffice to change The President's fate. </span>

<span class="mu-s">Monday</span>
<span class="mu-s">Grid Sector 11873, Defensive Position "Razorback"</span>

The Bradley 1A5 kept firing with it's auto-cannon at the incoming target. One of it's tracks, the left one, was damaged. The rack of guided missiles had been emptied days ago and there hadn't been the chance to refill them.

Quartermaster "Godmother" was inside the basement of a ruined house, missing it's second floor and portions of the first. The structure of plywood would provide minimal protection or cover, which was why he was underground.

Beside him was Jack Price, the Engineer from MARS Incorporated, now a Lieutenant in what remained of the Armed Forces.

Finally, if he was still alive, was Capt. Harry Grand from the Air Force.
-
-
In the basement was a Javelin guided missile, loaded, but with no available reloads. There was also MARS MPAR, a laser guided upgrade of the FGM-172A SRAW project. That system and a single reload were bundled together. Both would require firing from outside or the precarious top floor.

The other explosive options were the drum fed, six shot 40mm Milkor MGL.... OR three disposable AT-4ERs.

There was closed crates that may or may not have additional supplies, but the three of them didn't know how to operate that many weapons outside the rocket launchers and a basic M16A4.

There was the blowtorch and Quik Patch case, if Jack wanted to try repairing the Bradley.

It has been 100 years since ancient beings, known as the Old Ones, walked the Earth with their two strong feet. Now they are gone and we animals now rule the remains that they left behind. With our new knowledge of sword and sorcery, we were able to survive in peace for a while, but then came the three factions.
The Apes: Strong giants, claiming to be as just as the old ones and believe they should be the ones to rule over the new world.
The Pigs: An intellectual but slothful group who wish to rule the world with an iron hoof and remain kings while the others remained as dumb animals.
Then there the Lizards: A fast and large group that want to set the world a blaze. Trying to forget the harsh past that the old ones left.
All three sides wishing to go war and destroy one another to bring in what they believe to be true peace.
But, unbeknownst to everyone, there was another group. One that was trying their best to find a way to heal everyone. To bring back order.
You found it.... and now you are taking care of it.

A D&D Homebrew Adventure.

Previous Quests:https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Rise%20of%20the%20Awakened

>It is January 23rd of the Year 71 of the Cosmic Era

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Frieden Moon, Greencoat Pilot of the Zodiac Alliance of Freedom Treaty (ZAFT) militia enters into potentially the most impactful revolution of the Bloody Valentines War... And so it would be that the War, having entered a standstill. <span class="mu-i"><span class="mu-s">Begins the tentative turn of the page over its outcome</span></span>

Planet Dump25... Widely known as one of the worst planets in the galaxy, but not as bad as Dump26. The sickly glow of a diseased star irradiates this misbegotten place daily, providing a feeble facsimile of sunlight to the two and a half species of MISERABLE FUCK that live there.
the ELLY is a photosynthetic creature that uses its big veiny EARS to gather SUNLIGHT
the PHANT is a CARNIVORE, it EATS the ELLY
the BUTTLEECH is a FREELOADER, it SUCKS poop from the PHANT's butt
Perhaps in time, these genetic rejects will give rise to a thriving ecosystem... But probably not

Rules:
1. Find a creature suffering from environmental pressures
2. Copy it into MS Paint (or any other anti-aliased drawing program, if you're fancy like that)
3. Add a feature to the creature that will make it better at not dying
4. Reply to the post that had the old creature with your new, improved creature (and describe how it's different)
It's that easy! And they told me you needed a degree to be an evolutionary biologist...

Rain filters in through the ceiling, sliding along the support beams in just such a way it misses the numerous pots, pans, and cups scattered around the delipidated apartment and is readily sucked into the mouldy carpet. Which is then again immediately transferred to a new object: your sock. Your very next steps now all dotted with a wet squelch.

"Argh!" You cry, as you balance on one foot to pull the sock of the other, only for said wet sock to cozy up to the business end of the cigarette you had tucked between two fingers, providing a new, enticing after-taste to the familiar menthol as you unknowingly take a drag. "Huurhg!"

It might've been a week or so since you had washed that sock.

How had it come to this?

Well, the demon king lost against The Seven Braves. A poor title for a bunch of delinquents that jumped a guy seven to one. They murdered their way deep into the demon capital, defeated all the bureaucrats present, and killed the ministers while shouting inane things like "Die Heavenly Generals!"

They hadn't been generals and they certainly hadn't been heavenly.

They were butchered all the same and all branches of government were eradicated over the span of a few days. After performing what amounts to genocide, the "Saintes" had the gall to clasp her still-bloody hands together, bat her eyelashes, and say things like "No, we can't kill them all, that would make us just like them!"

And so the remaining demons, conveniently all of middle-rank and lower, were accepted as refugees into human society. What's that? You want to stay here in the demon lands? I see. Hmm? That demon from earlier? Oh, they fell into the river. Yes, lost all their limbs along the way. Wild, isn't it? Anyway, safety and a bright future awaits you in the human nation of Lightsong!

A few decades have passed since then, demons were by and large limited to awful jobs that made little to no money. The timing of the demons' arrival had been amazingly convenient, just as human society was entering an industrial golden age that required a massive labour force. Truly, the stars aligned for humanity.

The era of sword, shield, and spell has long since passed into history. Few still practice the ancient, magical arts, but demand has somewhat diminished now that you can barely chant out the first seven incantations of a spell before a newly arrived bullet in the brain informs you that you shouldn't bother with final three.

One day, you suddenly find yourself groggily waking up in a WAYFISH world of WIZERDS that live under the eyes of the WUNDERWURM. Seems like a cozy room... Maybe a bit too cozy.
You're not here by complete accident. You've done your research on the WIZERDS. You've done your homework for the WUNDERWURM. And you're definitely starting to feel WAYFISH... In some way or the other. However, all of that is behind you.

You're currently in ???.
You think have to meet with a WIZERD.
You believe the WUNDERWURM smiles upon you.
You're feeling... WAYFISH.