One moment you're in the Barrens, cheerfully scraping mutant bug goo off your crotch plate with a sharpened hubcap.

The next, your body is being crushed from all sides into a single dimensionless point.

No pain. A distant, vaguely malevolent sound like God cracking His knuckles, a flash of rainbow colors, and then--

Green.

You have never seen this much green. Your HUD tries to pinpoint your exact location via GPS and gives up after a few tries. The external sensors lick the air and do something they have never done before in their entire operational life: find nothing wrong with it.

ATMOSPHERIC ANALYSIS COMPLETE.
Toxins: NONE.
Radiation: NONE.
Particulate: CLEAN.
ERROR -- results outside range of last 5341 DAYS. Recommend immediate sensor recalibration.

You are standing in a circle of stones on a hilltop. Below, in every direction: trees. Whole trees, with leaves on them and birds in the branches and this like smug self-assurance that's actually kind of annoying to be honest but also strangely attractive. A river catches sunlight in the valley and--holy hell, is that actual, honest-to-god fresh water?

Something whimpers at your feet.

There is a young man in a robe that has seen better centuries. He's clutching a wooden staff in one hand and the grass in the other, like he's worried the earth might buck him off if he lets go. His eyes are the approximate size and color of hard-boiled eggs.

He did this. You don't know how you know this, but the thought suddenly appears in your head and then you know it with absolute certainty, the way you know your own name.

He says something.

His voice cracks on the words like someone just stepped on his balls. He stares up at you -- all seven feet and six hundred pounds of powered ceramic plate and alloy -- and gulps hard enough that you can hear it through the helmet.

He checks a scrap of parchment with shaking hands. Says something else.

Whatever language he's speaking, it isn't any you've ever heard before (better not be a commie dialect). But the computer's good at translation. The computer's good at everything except keeping you comfortable. Any minute now the subtitles will kick in.

Any minute now.

TRANSLATION FAILED.

Shit.

>Attempt to communicate via a complex system of gestures and pantomime.
>"WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED." External speakers. Full volume.
>There is a living tree ten feet away and priority number one is to touch it. Right now.
>Write-in

Your name is <span class="mu-s">Terian Choke</span> and you are an <span class="mu-s">Urgi</span>. You were stationed as a petty technical officer on the planet of <span class="mu-s">Newroost</span> by the Accord government, which is <span class="mu-i">completely</span> fine by you. You have very little interest in being a military engineer working on the front line against the machine collective or dealing with renegade Redwing regiments out in some cold space colony; instead having the job to secure territory and maintain bases in the blue zone of your species new homeworld. This is also, completely fine. What is <span class="mu-i">not</span> fine is that the bird you bet on to win on is <span class="mu-i">losing all of his events.</span>

<span class="mu-g">”Swim damn you! Swim you sorry excuse for a bird!”</span>

In the Consortium, every type of competitive event is open to sports betting. You may be halfway across the galaxy; but your credits are just as good here or there. Zaloon racing is supposed to be the best type of sport to bet; since the racers are too stupid to take bribes or get disqualified for cheating. They just take whatever performance enhancing drug cocktail their handlers make for them; which is all public information. Perhaps you should have studied biochemistry more if you wanted even more of an edge.

<span class="mu-g">”GO ORANGE!”</span>

He overtakes Blue, then Orange and Red come up close behind. They close their armor plates together and squeeze the water out of the interim space; the diving section of the race is next. You know your racer is going to reach the base of the river first with his own body's divebell technique. Unless...

<span class="mu-g">”No! NO!”</span>

He stops to take in breath, giving critical seconds for the other racers to make it to the dive site. He overshoots his oxygen he'll need, as two other racers rapidly dive to the finish at the base of the river.

Jail Quest: a text adventure occasionally illustrated.

A night of drinking and a failed attempt to cheat on cards had landed you the strangest job slash community service sentence you've ever had: ensuring Gongalla Gaol survives the reality storm called Singularity.

Now you travel around with your employer and a handpicked crew to survey the four Reality Anchors. Hey, beats being tarred and feathered, right?

Previous thread:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2026/6322745/

Gongallaverse:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Gongalla%20Gaol

You are currently Craig Snorlison, goblin kid prodigy! You were traveling with your aun- err, older cousin Rosa Montagni, on her job to save Gongalla!

But then you have to wait for her in this hotel in Viridis with her boss, Nemo. One of your spirits, Scholar, has bonded to you and requires you to read at least a chapter every day, but it gets boring reading the same grimoire over and over again.

So you snuck out, met your mom's best friend who took you to an abandoned tower, and rescued a bounty hunter from the clutches of an evil sniper working for pirates!

Together, you found treasures, as well as hostages the pirates were about to ransom. But you've used up too much magic and got sleepy, and the group triggered a hidden ball trap...

So currently, you are Nemo. Who went to look for Craig. Who also found Gill (Craig's mom's friend) and went together into the abandoned tower. And of course, both of you are now running from the ball trap together with the ex-hostage Hexbourne students, a bounty hunter and tracker, and Craig.

Quite an eventful day.

The Dragonair lunges and the crowd roars. "Thunder Wave!" you shout, and your partner executes the move with singular grace, electricity crackling across the arena floor. The opposing Machamp staggers, muscles seizing, and for one bright moment the match is yours.

A kid next to you turns up the volume on his PokéGear, snapping you out of the memory.

You're on a bench in Goldenrod Station with your bag between your feet and a promotional "Moocha" going cold in your hand -- MooMoo Milk and a single shot of espresso, Whitney's smiling face on the cup. The kid next to you, ten or eleven with a Sentret perched on his backpack, is watching Pokémon League reruns on a PokéGear screen no bigger than a playing card. It's not one of your matches, nor your Dragonair, from two years ago. You look away, slightly relieved.

Goldenrod at rush hour is an intolerable racket of voices, horns, and traffic. Commuters crowd into the Magnet Train platform while a group of young trainers clusters around a map kiosk, backpacks stuffed with Potions and dried Oran Berry trail mix. A recruitment poster for the Goldenrod Gym hangs on the nearest pillar -- Whitney's Miltank grinning beside bold text: THINK YOU'RE TOUGH ENOUGH? You've walked past it three times in three separate locations today.

Your PokéGear buzzes in your pocket. The caller ID reads BLACKTHORN GYM and a name that makes you immediately swipe left to dismiss. You slide the PokéGear back into your pocket. Dragonair's Pokéball brushes your wrist as you do so, faintly warm the way it always is. You couldn't bring yourself to box her or trade her away like you did the others. You've been through too much together.

The departures board above the main concourse clicks through its rotations, white letters on black tiles shuffling into place. You hitch your bag onto your shoulder and walk toward the board.

>You're here for the Magnet Train to Saffron City, then to Lavender Town, to take over the local PokéMart for your sick uncle.
>You're here for the ferry to Olivine City. An old friend is in over their head with the PokéMart they bought recently and has asked (begged) for your help.
>You're here for the bus to Azalea Town, where the grandma who raised you has kept the local PokéMart running since before you were born.

The Caretaker Quest - Part 9

This is part 9 of the "side quest" for "Disappearing Hogwarts".
An unofficial alternate timeline based on HeadQM´s highly praised quest, Disappearing Hogwarts.
Reading the original story is not exactly necessary but heavily encouraged since this quest will contain references to it.
Created mostly as a place to wait while HeadQM was away for a while but slowly evolved into his own thing.

Quick recap so far:
>Recently graduated Ravenclaw student is hired at Hogwarts as the new Caretaker.
>Merlin somehow ended up inside your head.
>Harry Potter´s daughter died, letting Salazar Slythering (previously stuck inside her head) free to continue his quest to control The Beast, an all powerful ancient creature accidentally created by Merlin.
>You obtained a piece of The Beast
>Salazar has now escaped his child body prison.
>The Beast is now trying to escape under any circumstance
>Both you and Salazar are going through Merlin's trials in order to reach the most powerful source of magic available
>You are close on his heels
What will happen now? Let's find out!


Part 8 here >>6317377

links to previous threads
Part 1:
https://archived.moe/qst/thread/6038711/

Part 2:
https://archived.moe/qst/thread/6080818/

Part 3:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6122821/

Part 4:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6159531/

Part 5:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6196175/

Part: 6:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6236973/

Part 7:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6274553/

Part 8:
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6317377/

List of currently archived threads
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Caretaker%20Quest

Thanks to IlvermoryQM for the links!
(if anyone can figure out a way to save the ".moe" threads into "thisisnotatrueending" that would be much appreciated)

NOVAGEN SECURE LINE 3.0
SECURITY CHECK [===============] 100%
OK
SITE LIST
I
II
III <-
IV
V


ENTER ACCESS: ***********
CHECKING [===============] 100%
GRADE 5 ACCESS: OK
GRADE 4 ACCESS: OK
GRADE 3 ACCESS: OK
OURANOS CLEARANCE: OK
GRADE 2 ACCESS: DENIED
GRADE 1 ACCESS: DENIED

SITE CHECK [===============] 100%
ALERT!
FACILITY STATUS: VSR IN PROGRESS
HCT LOCKDOWN IMMINENT
OBW DEPLOYMENT AUTHORIZED

ON SITE ARMS
SUBJECT LISTING <-
PERSONNEL ROSTER
FACILITY MAP

WARNING!: SUBJECT LIST INCOMPLETE, DATA CORRUPTED

SUBJECT #154 [BREACH CONFIMRED]
[REDACTED]

>SUBJECT #114
-SEX: MALE
-GENERAL COMBAT SAVANT
-MASTERY OF CLOSE-QUARTERS AND MID-RANGE ENGAGEMENT
-ADAPTIVE TACTICAL PROCESSING IN REAL TIME
-PROFICIENT WITH IMPROVISED AND STANDARD-ISSUE WEAPONRY

>SUBJECT #086
-SEX: FEMALE
-ENHANCED REACTION SPEED AND THREAT ANTICIPATION
-SPECIALIZES IN COUNTER-OFFENSIVE COMBAT
-PRECISION STRIKE CAPABILITY HIGH-VALUE TARGET ELIMINATION
-ADVANCED SITUATIONAL AWARENESS IN MULTI-TARGET ENVIRONMENTS

>SUBJECT #054
-SEX: MALE
-EXTREME ENDURANCE AND SUSTAINED COMBAT CAPABILITY
-HIGH-INTENSITY ENGAGEMENT SPECIALIST
-RESISTANT TO FATIGUE DURING EXTENDED OPERATIONS
-ABLE TO MAINTAIN MAXIMUM OUTPUT UNDER HEAVY FIRE

>SUBJECT #012
-SEX: FEMALE
-LONG-RANGE ENGAGEMENT SPECIALIST
-SUPERIOR TARGETING ACCURACY AND TRAJECTORY CALCULATION
-CAPABLE OF SIMULTANEOUS MULTI-TARGET SUPPRESSION
-EXCEPTIONAL CONTROL OVER PROJECTILE-BASED WEAPON SYSTEMS

<span class="mu-i"> ''He was many a thing to many a person. The wise mentor, who helped the hero on his way; the able wizard, always able to conjure up new tricks and spells; the trustworthy advisor, there to guide the king or queen on their way to greatness; the beloved courtier, whose suggestions always won favour at court; the loyal friend, who stood by through thick and thin; the compassionate healer, who tended to the sick and wounded with care and skill. All of these were masks in one way or the other, and though many spoke of him, none knew him.

He was a king, a priest, a merchant and a sorcerer, and yet he was also the dirty man toiling in the fields and the cutthroat lurking in the alleyway. A thousand roles, and yet he always came back with another: the elven prince, the dwarven master craftsman, the orc warchief, the hooded stranger. He was the priest of the sun god in the sweltering jungles of the south and the incarnation of the winter king in the taiga of the frigid north.

But what lay beneath? But a malevolence unrivalled, a desire to impose order upon all life, to make this world rigid and unyielding to his whims. And he played his parts well; sometimes he arose, deceived a people into worshipping him, and made their land, their people, and their culture but a part of his vision.

Coalition-building might have been his true strength, both in his favour and against him. His efforts led him far, building an empire that stretched from the jungles over the deserts and steppes to the ice caps. From east to west, from north to south, nowhere was truly safe from his reach.

And at the centre of it all lay a place most desolate, a blighted landscape, where nought stood but a dark tower. Here he planned, coordinated, plotted and sat upon his throne, in between leading his dark hosts or going out to conduct his eldritch plans and rituals elsewhere.'' </span>

https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=The%20Shadow%20Rises%20Anew

The deed was done; a rebellion had been squashed once again, their cavern home rendered uninhabitable by your own toxic fumes. Part of you had wished to crawl through, rip the little leader from his hiding hole, and eat him wholesale.

But you elected not to; no, instead you made certain that if there were those who had survived, they would never see the sky again, nor would they hew their way out, for you melted the stone shut. When you finally got out of the caverns, the mountain partially caved in, sealing off any chance of escape for the rebels.

But it was inevitable, was it not? Such is the fate of all those who oppose you; nobody would remember this place, the peasant might for the rest of their short, miserable lives, but they will die, and a century from now, there will be naught in remembrance but your past conquests, nothing in the present but your edicts and decrees, and the future to be filled with future glory.

In the closing decades of the thirteenth century, a new power had arisen and proved to be able to assert itself in northeastern Argalis. Greifswald would presumably end the century very differently than it began. From a semi-backwater to a kingdom more than able to stand up to and defeat both greater and lesser powers. This rise was enabled in large part due to the family, which had been able to grow their fortunes from the beginning of the century.

Were one to ask an informed nobleman at the start of the thirteenth century about the house of Adlershorst, he would, if he weren't a Tauten, look at you with confusion, and, even if he were a Tauten, there was no guarantee that he would be aware of this obscure family, whose fate it would be to dwell in their swamp fief as the years dragged by.

Halfway through the century, such sentiment would still be common, though the closer one got to the then-incomplete Greifswald, the more one would hear of them. A count turned warlord turned duke, with the aid of his great-uncle, a crusader who became a bishop. They changed the course of history, for with them the north of Greifswald was torn away from the monastic orderstate, and turned into a monarchy.

It would take another twenty years or so before the rest of Greifswald came under Good King Dietrich's sceptre, and he was crowned as king.

Another twenty years later, and the young kingdom doesn't seem so young any more. After Dietrich came Albrecht, known to the Greifswalder history books as the crusader king. (even if he wasn't actually a king at the time.)

Good King Albrecht likewise had overseen an even greater expansion. Wresting control over three great islands, thereby tilting the balance of power in favour of a kingdom which hadn't existed at the beginning of the century.

It is King Albrecht, perhaps more so than King Dietrich, who built the foundations for what was to come. All across the continent, the crowned heads turned their gaze towards the future, which seemed bright and full of promise.

Dissenting opinion, coming from those who attempted to piece together that which may yet come to pass, warned of ill omens lurking just beyond the horizon. These were easily dismissed, for none could give an accurate timetable for when these supposed calamities would occur.

All in all, the world turned; men worked their trade, and life carried on as it always had. But such times must end eventually.

General links of varying importance.
Pastebin: https://pastebin.com/u/Adlershorst
DeviantArt: https://www.deviantart.com/adlershorst
Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Settler%20Lord%20Quest

Totemists.

One of the first lines of defense against the malicious and monstrous, famed slayers of Behemoths which are perhaps the most dangerous examples of such, and bridge to the domains of spirits and magic unseen. The role is not an easy one of course, but it must be done and has been since time before almost all written history.

You are Capran, young man of the Four Peaks mountains, pupil of Oranya Skystrike.

There has been a lot of unrest on the mountain slopes lately, the issue growing further in scope with each day it seems, but your teacher is not here to guide you and it is time to prove you are capable enough to handle missions outside of the mountains. There will always be a way forward, to deal with the troubles, but it's up to you right now to find it.

<span class="mu-s">How are we doing this?</span>

Votes are tallied every hour on the dot.

You have three basic Approaches that function as a base for your character's strengths and weaknesses when facing problems, represented after the three Noxian principles.

<span class="mu-s">MIGHT</span> — Strength, vigor, health, constitution, resistance, resilience, brutality, violence, combat.
<span class="mu-s">GUILE</span> — Dexterity, agility, precision, charisma, stealth, persuasion, illusion, deception.
<span class="mu-s">VISION</span> — Will, perception, magic, occult, intellect, knowledge, wisdom, strategy.

To perform a <span class="mu-s">roll</span> you just have to <span class="mu-s">roll 2d6</span>, plus whatever points you have in the most appropriate <span class="mu-s">Approach</span> for what you're trying to do.

<span class="mu-s">2-5 - Failure </span> — Suffer all of the appropriate consequences.
<span class="mu-s">6-9 - Complication</span> — The action is partially successful. Something goes wrong in the process.
<span class="mu-s">10+ Success! </span> — The action succeeds without problem. The higher the better!

<span class="mu-s">This post will be a one-shot quest; we'll run the full story and then be done with it for now!</span>

They'd warned you that the weather in the Freljord was the coldest in all of Valoran but you hadn't expected it to be this bad. Snow falls all around you as you try fruitlessly to peer into the horizon from the deck of the warship that's bringing you and a hundred other bastards plus a handful of commanding officers into the frozen hell that is the Freljord. You can't see anything, though; all you get is a white screen of fog and snow in every direction, were it not for the lapping of the waves against the black hull of the ship and the gentle rocking they bring you would think you're not even moving at all!

It's... scary, truth be told. You know this is your one chance, the only opportunity you've got and you don't want to screw it up, and still the fear that grips your heart doesn't let go. You look away from the sea of white to notice General Darron is there, walking from conscript to conscript, all in similar situations to you. Forced into this mission without even knowing what you're doing. All young. All lacking equipment beyond the bare minimum Trifarian armor and blades. Darron, a tall man with dark skin and an even darker suit of heavy armor, is approaching you and you quickly straighten your back, hand to your chest in the proper salute though he's already waving his hands dismissively as he gets closer.

"Name and origin?" He inquires, pulling a small wooden board with papers on it, it's clear he's doing a census of sorts for all the conscripts.

<span class="mu-s">Who are you?</span>
> Name
> Gender
> Nation of Origin

Also choose a Background, check the pic to see the options.