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Long ago, the Zahvenat archipelago, more commonly known as the "Butterfly Isles" was a peaceful place, governed by the Myskshen Empire that lords over the continent.
200 years ago, an incident in the great city of Kuthgirt caused the Isles to hurl not just themselves, but the whole Empire into a seemingly endless civil war.

Now that peace has returned to the Empire, only the Isles remain fractured, and are seeing the rise of great men capable of reuniting them. At the same time, an Imperial Reclamation Force has been dispatched to bring the Isles and their inhabitants back into the fold.
Will they succeed in doing so? will the Isles retain their newfound independence? or will it cause the Empire to fall for good?

The stage is set for the bloodiest chapter of the Butterfly Wars

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they said I would have to Pastebin the lewd stuff but /ss/ is based and let the die be cast motherfuckers. Or we can skip it. If the majority of you want this safe for work that's cool. But will kind of miss the point of the harem stuff. This is like Ultra Sun and Moon in that it takes place in an alternate telling of the games...where in the timeline? Find out yourself!
>You are a 13 year old wannabe Pokemon Trainer. You've basically been ripping off shit you've seen online and on tv and you've been training Pokemon you've chanced by throughout your life till this point. Very close to your Pokemon bros. Not so much with your peers. But nonetheless. You haven't been able to go on a Pokemon journey as home and school obligations sadly prevented it thus far. Which is more common then you think. Pick your trainer type. This will determine, along with your region, what your starting team is. You can pick Pokemon common to your region but no psuedo, rare, legendary or starter Pokemon that doesn't fall into the 3 type specific Pokemon. If your Pokemon will gain the typing later in evolution you may choose it as a pick. For example you can pick Torchic as a Pokemon for Martial Autist's Fighting type slot. You can also pick two pokemon of the same type if they match the separate type slot. Aron for Steel and Geodude for Rock for Martial Autist. You can also pick from any region and can choose pseudos or rares if necessary for your type slot. No two same Pokemon. THIS INCLUDES EEVEE. ONE EEVEE LIMIT! NO LEGENDARIES AT ALL! Common mons are shit like Buneary, Growlithe, Zubat,
Bidoof and the like that are found in common areas and not super rare. Rare Pokemon are shit like Feebas, Togepi, and Dhelmise as well as Starters. And Psuedos are basically dragon types...At this point they are anyway...This uses anime logic so all Pokemon are kino picks anyway. You can pick
up to a first stage in evolutions. For example Ivysaur or Golbat or shit like Scizor or Gyarados...but what region ARE you from?

>First reponse will pick but in the future the post with the closest end digit to mine per post will pick when I get back. For now it's a hesitation is defeat situation since I don't know if this will even GET anon attention.

>And no you can't be an Alolan native moved out from there.

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After getting splatted onto the ground from a random teleport, you, aka fred, somehow got the doxx to the guy who made a comment about you being less then human, this indivual is negrofred!!! Now you must go get em and kill em!!
What will you, the totally rightous and not ego hurt retard will you do to get revenge! And or get to his house without dying from aids

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Hi, can anyone help me solve a Russian riddle, here it is:

"What is in the hands of time, but has no beginning and no end?
Mighty and weak, but timeless in its wisdom.
The answer is hidden in infinity,
O fervent heart, bolder, find its holy place."

The answer could be encrypted and written in any of the languages, or it could be some kind of cipher in which the answer is numbers on the order of 1-2-3-4, etc.
But this is all just speculation, I need your help forchans.

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You are damaskes, a pianist, and a niche internet musician! However you NEED to expand your musicial arsenal from edited DAW piano and vocals to edited DAW piano and vocals with a transistor home organ!!!!!

What vill your first course of action be(might not reply/draw for a hour) f

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[MARS 21st, 1490, SUNDAY, MORNING//ELMYCION CASTLE CITY//THE EVE OF THE TOURNAMENT]

Elmycion, an already bustling province in the northeast of the Wymund regime. Set upon the path of pilgrims early on a long journey to holy lands in the east, near enough to the borderlands for its major city to serve as the hub of trade, and rich with history for the myriad lords of Wymund or other kingdoms that have besieged, ruled over, and died for the region.

Here, in and around the city that acts as the castle’s outer shell, a grand tournament is to be held. Organized by the kingdom of Wymund to celebrate the separatist knights who overcame the old empire and founded the illustrious kingdom, overseen by House Hayner, the current heritors of Elmycion’s beauty, it is a tournament of a different breed.

The spectacle is not to settle feuds between lords, or merely provide entertainment for commonfolk. It is said to be more of a reenactment. Mock battles, fought by royal and noble orders of Wymund and those invited from lands beyond. In the grand battle that took place here, knights of warring factions came to respect their equalized strength and resolve, and joined forces against corrupt kings and their levied armies. Historians speak wistfully of how a new social class was born, then and there. While commonfolk beam at the hyperbolic rumors of a dragon slain during the battle long ago…

Those knights realized they had a connection that could not be realized by language or race. Steel was their language. Honor was their blood. Could such an unspoken bond truly exist within the hearts of warriors…?

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The Galaxy is in flames.

The Emperor's glorious vision for humanity is in ruins. His favoured son, Horus, has turned from his father's light and embraced Chaos.

Brother turns against brother, sons against their father. Full half of The Emperor's mighty legions have betrayed him, dealing a mortal blow to 3 of his loyal legions on Istvaan V. War has begun, a conflict that will engulf mankind in fire. Treachery and betrayal have usurped honour and nobility. Assassins lurk in every shadow. Armies are gathering. All must choose a side or die.

Elsewhere, the daggers are being drawn. Sanguinius and his Blood Angels fight for their life against monstrous Things from nightmare, while Roboute Guilliman sits confident in his realm of Ultramar, awaiting the arrival of his brother Lorgar yet unaware of the dagger pointed at his back.

On Prospero things are different. The hand of Leman Russ has been stayed, temporarily, while Constantin Valdor and you, Alpharius, a captain of the Alpha Legion disguised as the Raven Guard, deal with Magnus. You have entered his inner sanctum in secret, and spoken with the Red King, in an attempt to save him and his legion.

Even as Prospero waits with bated breath, the ruinous powers exert their influence, and the galaxy trembles. To meddle with Fate is to court ruin. But Hope has not yet died, and there may still be a chance, or is it just an illusion?

The screams of the innocent, the pleas of the righteous resound to the cruel laughter of Dark Gods. Suffering and damnation await should the Emperor fail and the war be lost.

The age of knowledge and enlightenment has ended.

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Previous Threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=The%202nd%20Primarch%20Quest
_

You are the second primarch, Lieren of Nothing, Grand Architect of Long-jia and head of its ministry of development, great hunter of the wild and keeper of a forgotten method of bow stringing as well as a fragment of a greater plan yet, austere and much respected philosopher and creator of The Journey whose lessons and teachings have become widespread, Slayer of spirits and tyrants foul, Brother of great men by blood and oath, and soon to be groom of the ancient soul Kanzeon.

And presently, four brothers you had not been aware existed, belonging to a brotherhood known as the legio custodes, are scrutinizing you and putting you in their eyes, measuring your worth. For various reasons, each of the four has deep suspicions about you and have approached you rather rudely on this the day of your wedding and with just the first words exchanged between them and you, they have given you a test. A challenge of character and personality, knowing you abhor chaos, they mentioned the quality of your eyes one of those discordant powers granted you as well as the cursed brand atop your brow that even now thins the boundaries between this world and the wild realm of spirits and dreams. An attempt to rouse and fan the flames of your anger by injuring the pride of a humble man, though the venom in their voice is not an act and you would not need to golden sheen of your eyes to be aware of that.

"Fickle?" You ask, allowing a twinge of amusement to color your tone though not so much as to make your words sound impolite or offended, maintaining a veneer of property and courtesy despite the hostility electrifying the air between you and your gold clad elder brothers "No, efficient. Maybe a touch mischievous at times, but never fickle. I always have a goal in mind to pursue"

"And what is the current goal driving your forward, secondborn?" A different custodes, who accent differs but sounds familiar to your ears, he must have originated from an area close to Sheowl on Terra.

"And efficiency can be blinding, shortcuts and clearer paths can lead easily to disaster" another, with the intonation and airs of a highborn scion "Or doom"

"That depends, are we speaking long or short term. Of course I am prepared to rejoin our father's stellar reunification campaign, but there is much I must to do and am currently capable of doing here upon mist hidden Shangrala and just outside of its atmosphere, though I don't believe interplanar colonization projects count as short term" You continue warmly, openly sharing your plans before a traitorous smirk tugs at the corner of your lips despite your effort to maintain a relaxed and disarming expression "Though, then, long term could be considered finding a way to reduce the discordant powers and oust them entirely from the worlds of mankind, but that is...a distant thing, and one formed entirely of hope, I will admit"
Cont

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The world as you know it is gone, who knows why, but at least you had enough foresight to build this nifty bunker in your backyard.

For being such a genius survivalist you didn’t bring much, maybe you’re looking at things the wrong way.

What things (and or people) did you manage to bring down here with you?

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Death.

It is regarded as the ultimate arbitrator of the end. The finality in which what perishes, must begone and move from the bones of the Earth. All energy is lulled into cessation. All lively pangs meet their final beat. All throes of darkness take ahold.

You, however.. for reasons of either sorrow, regret, arrogance, spite or pure happenstance.. find yourself bereft of a deathly finality. From death itself, you will be "rebirthed" into a new existence beyond anything you could have possibly imagined in your living hours.
—————————————

In the early half of the 20th century, the entire world has been engulfed in the web-tangles of European spheres of influence or outright control. Under the screen of feigned cordiality for the sake of appearances, every major power in Europe is in fear of any pronounced movement from their rivals. Alliances form, and from them emerge two blocs poised for war: one being the Allied Powers composed of the British Empire, France, and Imperial Russia; the other deemed as the Central Powers, comprised of the German Empire, Austria-Hungarian Empire, and the ever-ailing Ottoman Empire.

All this came to a head, when in the 28th of June 1914, Archduke Franz Ferdinand, heir-presumptive to the Austro-Hungarian throne, was assassinated by the politically radicalized Serbian Gavrilo Princip. Immediately afterward sprung out the July crisis. By the end of that event, almost all of the major European powers were at war with one another.

The War to End all Wars had begun.

—————————————


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06 – 28 – 1999 | SOUTH SIAM | WEEK 1

Your last patient fidgets on the exam table, sun-weathered hands thumbing through a chain of jaap maala prayer beads with practiced dexterity. Her daughter watches you with eyes that are a measure too sharp for her age. Dark pupils scan across your face for traces of ill-intent – an instinct that has barely mellowed over their past few visits.

“Red. Skip days….and the blue, take daily?”

She runs her finger down the page as she translates for her mother – speaking in a south Asian language you cannot easily identify.

“Yes. Remember to finish the entire pack. Macrolide with a modified bacteriophage booster. Reds and blues.”

She nods.

“…her cough?” she asks.

You consider your answer carefully. “It’s a new strain, but she should still improve with time. If your mother isn’t doing better within a week, come back as soon as you can.”

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It is dark, this other place. It is neither material or immaterial. Not the rigid world of reality full of rules, fact, and truth. Nor the maddening contradictions of the empyrean, of swirling lies and emotion.

He moves through the dark, lacking true purpose, merely observing its lack of form. It is an age before the darkness slowly shifts, before a golden light begins to grow. Imperceptible at first it expands exponentially, growing to banish all but the faintest hints of darkness. A golden triumph… it lasts but a moment.

The dark begins to worm its way through the rays from the fringes, planting black seeds throughout the golden kingdom. With a sudden flash it explodes to the surface, and the world is split in twain, dark lashing at light. The war, for what else could such a confrontation be called, continues for a time, gold slowly withdrawing in face of the dark’s constant onslaught.

There are victories of course both major and minor. But they are temporary in the face of overwhelming darkness, and the light is forced back. The fronts of both begin concentrating, building to a crescendo where rays of light and dark tendrils reach truly cataclysmic size at the point where the light first grew.

Before the final battle can begin he is drawn away, as so often happens, by a meek voice just beyond his senses.

He sees the soft gloom of his chamber, lumens dimmed so that his eyes may rest without strain. The room is spartan in furnishing and construction, a common trait to his kind. He is laying on his bed, wearing a simple set of robes dyed in the color of his Legion.

The cause of his disturbance lies at the opposite end of the room, a metal vox grille over the exit of his abode. Only a slight hiss indicates its active nature, imperceptible to any mortal yet all too clear to an astartes.

Seconds later he hears what would be the second repetition of a serf at the other end of the apparatus.

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Daemon Blackfyre lies dead upon Redgrass field, together with two of his sons. With them, dies the first Blackfyre Rebellion. These are the days when peace once more returns to the seven kingdoms, the days when the brave and true fell in battle, and left behind the embittered and mournful.

King Daeron II 'The Good' Targaryen owes his victory over his half-brother to his two sons and another half-brother, together with two Valeman, one a knight of the kingsguard and the other the Lord of the Eyrie.

The seven kingdoms are as united as they'll ever be; Targaryen rule has been secured once more, and peace reigns throughout the land.

But not all is well; rebellious lords have had their lands stripped and hostages taken in an effort to maintain order and compliance.

Across the narrow sea, Aegor Bittersteel lurks with a growing army of exiles, including the remaining members of House Blackfyre. But for now, an uneasy, bitter peace hangs over the realm.

You are in mourning as well, for your lord father has fallen as well. Whether it was at Redgrass Field or some other battle, the histories would not remember. But it does leave you the lord of a minor house.

But where?

>In the Westerlands

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You realize your life isn't real, and is somehow being affected by the votes of an unseen audience. Now, you need to escape. Your name is Oza and you have vague definitions about yourself. You're a 16-20something year old who has only ever known the life they live. You always felt somehow you had to go with other people's decisions to survive. It's Sunday, MOTHER'S DAY, and you're being reminded to call your mom despite what happened. While scrolling a forum online, you realize that the format of a story telling page exactly follows your method of action- wait until enough pressure pushes you a certain way. Now, you're too close to a truth you can't unsee. You spot a thread for a story game called "The New Unoriginal Quest" you click on it to read that it's exactly describing you and your current situation. What do you do.

>Watch it for a while, see how it affects you.
>Select one of the choices being presented.
>Write your own choice (expert difficulty-reality could fall apart)
>Call mom (end quest)
>Dismiss and start a thread about how it's weird humans are supposed to be superior but still need to brush their teeth when other animals don't.

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Beep. Slide. Bag.

Beep. Slide. Bag.

Beep. Slide. Bag.

“Ma’am. Ma’am.” Your eyes slowly drift up. The just past middle age woman jerks back as the full weight of your ‘two years of college debt and nothing to show for it’ dead stare drives into her. Alas, the just past middle age woman’s eyes do not begin to pour blood, and her face twists.

Beep. Slide. Bag.

You grunt, and the woman accepts that this might be the limit of your vocabulary.

“Ma’am. Miss. Those eggs. Those eggs were on sale, miss.”

Beep. Slide. Bag.

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