Thousands of years ago the Gods were bound by the Pact of Solomon.
<span class="mu-r">It was decreed that</span>
<span class="mu-r">1. Gods may not show themselves to man</span>
<span class="mu-r">2. Gods may not speak to man</span>
So ended the time of mythology and fantasy.
Through this pact the Gods lost their influence over mankind, and with that their power too.
But mortals have long forgotten why they enforced the pact in the first place. To the contrary, they have grown tired of their dull medieval lives and crave the age of mythology back!
And the Gods have found ways to show themselves with showing, and to speak without speaking...

Welcome! In this Quest you are a Petty God, grow your influence over man and your power.
For the sake of this adventure, every participant is his own character. You can join the Quest even when it has long started!
Start by filling out this form, forging your identity to rise from infinite spirits of primordial soup and become relevant.

>Name
>Domain
>Appearance
>Commandments

https://files.catbox.moe/zlhesx.mp3

You kept your arms straightened and down, trying to blend as an object. Why did the demon stop? He had noticed, something. You withheld your breath and stiffened your stance, wishing not to move an inch, imitating a panoply: a suit of armour on display.

He turned his head, his face and eyes hidden by the faceguard’s swallowing shadow. He stepped towards you, his sabatons echoing against the gleaming marble floor. Stopping again, the weight of his archaic armour shifted with a clank, thrashing back and forth.

The helm gravelled his voice. “What’s this?” he asked, his tone searing your eardrums. “What an odd place for you to be at …”

He leaned closer, placing two of his iron-clad fingers on his chin, nearly grazing you through the slits of your veiling visor.

“What a mismatched mess,” he said and shook his head. “And all those dents, and marks, shoved away in this haphazard spot. This couldn’t have been at my command.” He pondered—aloud—himself. “It figures—a mistake, by one of the keeper.”
“I wonder what was the intent, yet I’d rather not raise an mass inquiry just to find out.”

He stepped back, lowered his hand, and unclenched the rest of his fingers. With an extended palm, he began to etch patterns in the air before your eyes. Amethyst streaks clung to and traced behind fingertips, a finished rune, followed by a second, appeared as if drawn on a parchment. With a forward wave of his hand, he sent the arrayed runes one by one, each striking your cuirass with a ghostly zing, branding it as if with hot iron.

He snapped his fingers, causing one of the lavender runes to ignite with light, the fiery embers sinking into the metal. On their own, by his magic, the dents in your armour began to pound out and straighten, the cracks joined and sealed without heat, impaired rivets tightened with a life of their own, and even the scratches peeled off the steel as though they were stains.

He snapped his fingers again to flare up the second rune’s sharp edges, newly lustrous energy flowing through and melding with the armour. You stifled a gasp as your armour, and you as well, lifted off the ground. The metal pressed against your skin, yet it now felt as light as a nightgown. Flicking his fingers to lift you up and down in the air, he circled with his hand to encompass and drag your suit of armour, pulling your floating form along with his demonic powers.

“That’s better. Now, let’s find a proper place to place you at. I don’t think you’ll fit in anywhere but the barracks … ”

He began walking, heading to where you came before, his heavy cloak trailing and unfurling behind him, the embroidered metallic fringes enveloping his silhouette like a net. You strained to maintain your posture, your body tense and muscles quivering with strain.

You are Kuroda Haruka and <span class="mu-r">King Lot of Lothian, Orkney and Camelot.</span>

The day is not quite over yet. You long to hide in your room and try to decompress but keeping a hold on your vassals requires a King to attend to their duties diligently.

Today in the darkest hours before dawn you were forced to fight off a Wyvern who decided to dine on two of your vassals. You went to their rescue with a cohort of Baphomets and dived straight into a terrible situation. Three deadly enemies trapped in an abandoned manor.

The Wyvern who ate your two vassals. The fear illusion plant who trapped you. A Knight of the Round Table who Dueled you.

The night left a mark on you. For you were killed in a Duel by GARETH, KITCHEN KNIGHT. If it wasn't for the Blessings of Avalon, you would have stayed dead. By the skin of your teeth, you survived and rescued the Baphomets still alive.

And now, a Feast!

Past threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=villainess
Character sheet (temporary) https://pastebin.com/zp3atUUC

you wake up groggy on a dusty granite floor of an enclosed chamber, balmy air assails your nose as you rise up and your thoughts begin to untangle, despite that you've no clear idea as to how exactly you got there. YOU DO KNOW ONE THING: you're really hungry and dehydrated right now.

what will you do?

Previous Threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=The%202nd%20Primarch%20Quest
_
You are Lieren of Nothing, the second son of the emperor of mankind, Husband of the motherly and fierce Kanzeon, close personal friend of the emperor Long-Jia Jinhai and his grand architect and head of the Long-Jian ministry of development, head of the wanderers in the fog sect of psykerists who cultivate their will and self-control under your careful and diligent guidance, master of the second legion of your father from terra's space marine, and friend of mankind and kindly aliens wherever they may be found, and many other things, including the creator of the Nameless, an hidden organization of spirit hunters now under command of the advisor and close confidant of the emperor of mankind, Malcador,

Currently, you are on the bridge of the vessel containing the heart, soul and mind of Liberty, the youngest of Kanzeon's sister, who has come to see you as her elder brother and not simply in law. The two of you are floating above the odd world sharing Shangrala's sun, given the somewhat foreboding epithet of the black abyss by astrologers and researchers plotting your countrymen's first, stumbling steps into the cosmic realm. It is strange, in a galatic sense not only because it is wreathed in constant storms, but because it is seemingly a world formed entirely of water. And stranger still, it is wreathed by a ring formed of the remnants and wreckage left behind from a great stellar battle, celestial battleships and cosmic warmachines that resemble no design or blueprint in Liberty's archives or your own memories. They are not Aeldari and do not even resemble the kind of craft in which dwell your emerald eyed bride or her surviving sisters.

"I agree, let us investigate the wrecks, I've never seen any vessel, void worthy or not, of their make, and the battle scars they bare demand closed inspection, and their may be clues of their origin within what remains of the combatants that crewed these ships in their finale battle" You answer, smiling warmly and brotherly as you expertly avoid bringing to attention the ghost signals that frighten Liberty so much, for the time. You keep an eye on the faint signal pinging on her advance and arcane sensor array, making a note of it and locking the internal sensor arrays within your raiment of star-metal, that with a thought you adapt and change into a air-sealed space suit with a rounded helmet of see through emerald glass. Just to keep yourself from being exposed to the vacuum of space, you are confident you would survive it and the lack of breathable oxygen, but confidence is not cause for incaution.

With a delight squeal and a cheer, Liberty leaps off of your back and runs off towards the nearest wall, carelessly opening her internals to the airless void and causing a number of stray parchments and baubles to be launched out into space.
Cont

My cousin and I sends each other pictures of cat, and the other one has to find the cat and let him. That's a stinky geek game I know, but it is finny to fini the location. However, this time I'm stucked. I need help to find those cats please. They are not at the same place. All she told me was, max 50km away from my house, at La Roche.

"Wrong, wrong, wrong," you shame the hopeful athlete, "I thought you wanted to be champion?"

Out of the huffing and puffing comes a response, "I do, coach, I swear!"

You stew for a moment longer than is comfortable, on purpose. "Well, then, what the FUCK WAAAS THAAAAT? MY NONNA CAN THROW A BETTER LEFT HOOK." Teeth clenched, you stare at your pupil dead center in the face, then you force your eye to twitch when you have their attention. Pointing at the swinging bag: "ten more reps, let's go. And don't get sloppy, or else I'm takin' off my fuckin' belt again."

The athlete hammers away with precision timing and accuracy - right jab, right jab, left hook, weave! right jab, right jab, left hook, weave! right jab, right jab... The vinyl-on-vinyl rhythm continues on the speedbag as you turn around and fetch yourself the umpteenth beer out of your nonna's garage refrigerator. The cap hits the floor as the tenth rep ends. "Good. Now, thirty more."

It had been… it had been a week. Quite a long one, even considering you had just spent a day and a half passed out in Madame Pomfery’s infirmary. Quite a week given the end. Magical exhaustion and a concussion made it quite annoying… to the point you briefly wondered where you were… no of course. The greatest school of magic to ever exist. Naturally you were at Hogwarts, it was only early summer. Why would you be anywhere else?

When the aging healer finally finished checking you out, examined your eyes, inspected the bandages on your arms and chest… she brought out your robes, ones now cleaned of all the blood and grime they previously were stained with. The inner lining… a familiar and soothing color. A shade you had become quite familiar with during your 5 years of study at the best wizarding school in the world. You had to blink, when she sat them next to you… it took a moment to recall the words for how the inner lining looked…

>They were a deep blue and made you deeply wish to head into the library, find a book that could help make sense of what happened; ignore the great discomfort sitting in your chest.

>A dark emerald greeted you once more like a friend. A very conniving friend… but yours all the same. One that needed their minions- no, friends and sister safe and sound.

>Soft yellow was there and the first thing on your mind was what happened to the others, to the point you almost tried to flee the room to find them.

>Red trimmed, crimson, like the blood you had spilled. A color that made you almost frantically claw at the nightstand to recover your wand.

You find yourself in a dim, dank cave with no memories and nothing but the clothes on your back.

This sucks. You would really like to get out of here.

You see a pool of stagnant water, a large metal box with a heart on it, and a comically large floppy disk. There's a door, but it's too high up to reach.

What do?

You are Lorina de Lindan, princess, weapon-autist, inquisitor-in-training, and recently the victim of a large political conspiracy led by someone you don’t know, for unknown reasons, and with unclear goals. Honestly, you probably should have expected something like this would happen after joining a secretive society, the Inquisition to be exact, whose been tasked with the handling of Strangers, dangerous people from a dimension known as “Earth” before their Cheat Skills wreak untold havoc across your kingdom.

Recently, you’ve returned to the Royal Capital after being attacked by a suicidal(?) thug only to be greeted with a city on lockdown as anti-noble arsonists have attacked many estates, including your families. You were then unceremoniously grounded by your father and forbidden from associating with the Inquisition after a startling revelation leaving you to do the only logical thing you could, run away with a maid. Now, you’ve managed to sneak back into the city with your fellow inquisitor-in-training Marie Sarodieu, formerly known as Midori Suzuki, to investigate on your own terms.


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