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File: Catalyst Quest.png (2.29 MB, 1600x1190)
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By all the Gods, do you miss home. To see the sun rise above high walls, while walking down winding little stone streets with your dog, throughout humanity's last bulwark. To hear the birds nesting in your gardens, while tending to the city of curative's namesakes. To not be embroiled in political strife. To be free to research the Catalyst, and to look after your family, before the affairs of nearly everyone in the country.

The year is 606, and in your home— the country of Corcaea— the souls of mankind belong to demons. Out of the eight months you've been away from the holy city of Eadric, this has easily been one of the longest months of your life. The holy capital city of Calunoth has been exhausting. Though you are the leading researcher of the phenomenon which turns men into monsters, and your obsession with the Catalyst is without compare, your fixation this morning is an entirely healthy one.

You are Father Richard Anscham, leader of the Church of Mercy, and have never been so homesick in all your life. It's kept you awake well through the night. At sunrise, you're to depart on the long road home. A grand caravan has been assembled, and your banner will fly high. The brave men and women in your charge are some of the finest you've ever known, and most are tasked with the defense of the company. You have many enemies, and know that they will be looking for you, long before you return to the devastation left in the wake of absence.

There is a conundrum. As a man of all the Gods, you typically spend morning, afternoon, and evening in formal prayer. Looking after your body, mind, and soul is no mere matter of personal health. The Gods see fit to bless you, in return for your unending devotion, and unrivaled faith. You are a holy man. One who can invoke your patron deities, and channel Their gifts through your own body. One who is sick, and tired, of the intensity and turmoil that's resulted from not looking to your own hands, and all of the strength you already possess.

You are a farmer's son, a compassionate soul, brutally honest, and cannot deny that you are in love with your Goddess. Mercy has sworn Herself to you— only to you— and it is destabilizing a nation. The weight of your position feels every bit heavier than what the Goddess of Agriculture has put on you in just the last few weeks, what the God of Flesh has blessed you with to survive fighting an archdemon head-on, or even the responsibility of everyone gathering just outside to get ready for the journey ahead. It's entirely possible to spend the morning in prayer. You could have a nice breakfast, maybe make some tea, and even go for a quick run.

Mercy's decision to deny Herself to every other invoker in the world is one you've respected. This may also be your last opportunity for any privacy with Her in weeks.

Weeks in which Her gifts may save lives.

>A] Invoke Mercy, before leaving this morning.

>B] Continue to respect Her wishes.
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>>4404551
Imgur (To anyone who would like to catch up, or are curious about the events that have already transpired, I've made a timeline packed with original art and highlights of major events. It can be found in this imgur (and in our Google Drive), which includes everything up to the last thread): https://imgur.com/a/MXi710P
Google Drive (An in-character journal with maps, a guide to the Gods, details on your expedition into the ruins, fanart, and more character portraits than you can shake a stick at): https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1LkahIC8EcwHBPbrkEODUMH9iwQhxkFvB?usp=sharing
Discord (Art, a huge music playlist, fan projects, update notifications and much more): https://discord.gg/24cmNWp
Archive (Ruins Arc 1-6, Avowed 7-9, Calunoth 10-18): http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Catalyst%20Quest

(Good morning everyone, and welcome back! We're starting a new arc today, with our new thread!

Sessions will be Friday-Sunday, every weekend. Updates at least once a day Monday-Thursday, though more often than not it's much more. Any times listed are always in EST, such as for voting windows.

Please note to anyone who's just joining in, we do have quite a bit of history with our characters and locations. If anyone has any questions, feedback, concerns, etc, please let me know at any time! Discussion is always strongly encouraged. Write-in options will be back after a post or two. They universally make a difference with mechanics, strategy, and I try to take every serious post into consideration. Vocal opposition to votes also always matters, so if you don't like something, don't be shy about it!

We'll stick to thirty (30) minute voting windows whenever things are moving quickly, otherwise we'll see what happens. Super excited to get started with you all! Let's get this show on the road!)
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>>4404551
>>A] Invoke Mercy, before leaving this morning.

Time to have a heart to heart
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>>4404551
>A] Invoke Mercy, before leaving this morning.
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>>4404551
B
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>>4404557
>>4404560
>>4404580
(Alrrrriiiight guys! Did some dishes, bit longer than 30 minutes but we'll stick to that window moving ahead for a good bit here. Vote is locked with the A majority, will make it nice and respectful though. Writing now!)
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>>4404553
>C] Be late to vote
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>>4404585
(Good to have you here with us man.)
>>4404583

Dawn has yet to rise over The Honey Bee. Good-byes are beginning to feel like a fate worse than death, so you did not see its owner out the door yesterday morning. The home is nearly empty, as is the room you occupy.

It's small, with wood paneling from stone floor to short ceiling. An absurd volume of items are neatly organized on the nearby end-table, as you took account for all of your possessions over the course of the evening. They are not your concern. The affairs of the material world are pressing, as you shift upright in bed, but you need to focus.

It's been twelve days since your body composition last dramatically changed, and you still aren't used to the bulk, or muscle, in the slightest. Thanks to your substantial height, notable musculature, and a little pudge that's neatly hidden beneath your holy vestments, the twin bed feels altogether too small. No one would judge that you didn't bother changing out of your traveling clothes before lying down. The black, tasteful, long-sleeved garments beneath your gilded robes are fine. Dressing every part for your station— before embarking on an expedition across the country in plain sight— is only appropriate.

The fact that your feet and ankles hang off the bed is not the only reason why you shift to sit upright on the bedside.

Knitting your hands together, and bowing your head, is not a formality. There's no need for words at all, between you and your lover. You'd like some proper conversation, and to have your lover at your side, with the little privacy still afforded to you.

Reminded of the first day you arrived in Calunoth, and relieved beyond measure to not be beaten bloody or broken, you speak with all the love you possess. Softly, resonantly, and with the light of the Gods, you whisper to a Goddess, "may we speak, before I go?"

https://youtu.be/TnoyRnGmnlI

Instantly, with the heat of the sun, and the light of a new day, there's something more than an embrace from within. Its intensity is a force of nature, that has you knocked flat on your back, the breath taken from your lungs, and flecks of gold dancing before your eyes. There's a light pressure on you, though it's difficult to tell what. The spots just won't go away, yet there's something significantly more radiant.

(1/2)
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>>4404622
There is someone more radiant, who looks substantially more mortal than you've ever seen Her. Leaning just slightly over you is a Goddess. Mercy doesn't move, initially, to part from your frame. With daffodil-colored curls, hearts in Her honey-coated eyes, a light in Her smile, and the softness of a thousand strands of spun gold all throughout Her skin, the attempt at humanity is almost more jarring than looking upon divinity. Mercy clearly has tried to assume a substantially more mundane appearance. Her full bosom and hips are anything but, despite being shrouded by a simple, linen dress. It's tapered in, with the dip of Her waist, slender arms, and long legs, and it's impossible to not pull Her closer, and breathlessly wrap your arms against a Goddess.

She's softer than a flower petal, and leans right up against you, as warmly as the coming sunrise. Mercy doesn't mind that you're still breathless, though whatever She's done has you feeling positively exhausted. She might as well have pulled Her current form from the depths of your own soul.

A pair of impossibly soft hands gently take your hold from Her waist, while you're gently helped to sit upright. While She scoots close enough to lean against you, Mercy intertwines your fingers, so that the two of you can hold hands completely. She's quite tall for a woman, but obviously has chosen exactly the right height to comfortably lean Her head against your shoulder. With significantly less divinity in Her tone than you're used to, in a whisper as soft as the one you used to invoke Her, Mercy smiles, "good morning."

It's not necessarily exhaustion. You're physically fine, and your mind is sharper than ever. It's a weariness of the soul, as you raggedly manage, "Good morning, Mercy."

"It will be a beautiful day." Her smile is not metallic. It's gentle, and normal, and lovely, as Mercy plants a small kiss on your shoulder. She notes, "you wished to speak with me?"

>A] Try to make some pleasant conversation, before getting into anything extremely serious.
>1] About your congregation. Most of them are coming home.
>2] About you. You're doing so much better than usual.
>3] About Her. Keep it light.

>B] What did She just do to you? With you? To Herself?

>C] Cut right to the chase, and keep it tactful. You're doing pretty well, but anxiety is no joke, and the matter of your exclusivity has been plaguing you for weeks.

>D] Write-in.
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>>4404625
>>D] Write-in.

About the future, and Irefist. How many share his sentiments? How many people can I reach? How many will outright refuse Our help? What could We do?
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>>4404625
>A] Try to make some pleasant conversation, before getting into anything extremely serious.
>1] About your congregation. Most of them are coming home.
>3] About Her. Keep it light.

>D] Write-in.
About the future, and Irefist. How many share his sentiments? How many people can I reach? How many will outright refuse Our help? What could We do?
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>>4404625
>C] Cut right to the chase, and keep it tactful. You're doing pretty well, but anxiety is no joke, and the matter of your exclusivity has been plaguing you for weeks.
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>>4404628
>>4404643
support both of these

>>4404625
>>
>>4404628
>>4404630
>>4404643
>>4404648
(Great. For the sake of pacing and tone, going to go with the majority for the write-in, and C.)
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>>4404654
https://youtu.be/q1406MAJ8B8

There's no use trying to hide your anxiety from Her. You don't want to, or need to. Loosening the mutual hold between your hands, you elicit a small gasp, and a smile from a Goddess. Sweeping Mercy into your arms, leaning slightly against Her for further reassurance, you murmur, "yes. Of our future. Our children. The way that we've affected the world, and— and Mercy, all of the ways you have been absent from it."

Pulling back, to look Her in the eye, you're greeted by a face swimming with grief. Her smile persists, horribly, as every last one of your partner's dainty features is battling to not cry on the spot. She's either speechless, or doesn't know what to say, so you continue.

"Irefist— Carlisle, I mean—"

A slight shake of Mercy's head gently bobs Her curls. "He prefers Irefist."

"Irefist," you insist, "spurned you." She doesn't have to fight to not cry, and buries Her face against you, sniffling quietly. "I know it hurts. I know it's difficult. But how— how many more people must share his sentiments? How many people can we truly reach? If they— if they are to refuse our help outright—"

Exasperated, nerves on end, you keep Mercy gently against you for your mutual comfort. She's so warm, that even the skin between Her thin dress and your own robes is like fire. Keeping Her head held gently to your chest, quietly, you ask, "what— what can I even do...?"

She's beside Herself, and obviously isn't speaking for fear of sobbing hysterically.

After a full minute passes in absolute silence, it's necessary to take Mercy into a proper hug. The moment She's fully in your arms, your partner breaks down completely. Sobs destroy Her composure, and though Her voice is still fair, it's the ugliest you've ever heard it. Against your robes, muffled through tears, the Goddess can barely say, "I have asked far too much of you."

"Never," you firmly reply, with no humor to speak of.

She moves back, to stare you down, with real tears, and enough agony to break your heart. "No one else will understand. You cannot. I bear our children's compassion. I do not merely know of their sorrow, or feel for their pain. I do not have the luxury or force of the land, or sea. We are all that there is, and all that may ever be."

Mercy sniffs, and looks just slightly up to you, with love in Her heartbroken eyes. "You cannot understand. I would never ask you to. But please, do not ask me to leave you. I am here with you, now, because I am with no one else. I know it is selfish, and cruel. But I cannot endure another moment of it, Richard. We can never reach every soul in our nation. I will never be at the hands of every last one of our children in need."

(1/2)
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>>4404694
She shifts, and pulls just a little further away, drawing Her arms around Herself. It's the same motion you've made ten thousand times, to comfort yourself in isolation. "I love you, Richard. I love you, because you will want only the best for our home. For our family." Tremor runs all through Mercy's shoulders, as She bends in on Herself, and hysterically sobs, "because you will not want to stay with me. I understand."

>A] She's avoiding several of your questions, but might just be too upset to address them. Give Mercy a hug, help Her calm down, and try to see if She'll address everything Herself.

>B] You seriously don't understand. Ask Mercy to try and explain what She means in greater detail.
>1] Why She can't physically be with you, if She's being invoked by other people.
>2] Why She doesn't want to be used by the entire country, to heal and protect the nation.
>3] Why She thinks you won't want to stay with Her.

>C] You are kind, and as the Father of Compassion, you more than understand. You genuinely want to stay with Her, regardless of what this means for your countrymen.
>1] You can't tolerate anyone in agony, and especially not the woman you love.
>2] You would never try and force someone to live a life they don't want to lead.
>3] Write-in.

>D] It doesn't feel right to make this choice for Her, at all. You might not agree with it, but you won't beg Mercy to do anything that will bring Her this much pain.
>1] Express that you are seriously uncomfortable with the choice, and need some Time to think. Release the invocation.
>2] You agree that She shouldn't bring Herself any turmoil, even to save the lives of others, but you need some other plan of action.

>E] Write-in.
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>>4404697
>B] You seriously don't understand. Ask Mercy to try and explain what She means in greater detail.
>2] Why She doesn't want to be used by the entire country, to heal and protect the nation.
-- Try not to upset her with the phrasing of the question
>3] Why She thinks you won't want to stay with Her.
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>>4404714
I second this. with the addition of:

>E] Write-in.

Even if you cannot, is it not worth it to try? It doesn't have to be all the time, we *can* find a compromise. Even if it is going to take some time, we can figure something out, can't we?
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>>4404697
>C] You are kind, and as the Father of Compassion, you more than understand. You genuinely want to stay with Her, regardless of what this means for your countrymen.
>>1] You can't tolerate anyone in agony, and especially not the woman you love.
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>>4404732
Needless to say I am strongly opposed to this.
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>>4404714
>>4404730
>>4404732
>>4404790
(Had an unexpected appointment, back and ready for action. Going with B2 (minding the phrasing), B3 and the write-in. Like I noted at the start of the thread, really prefer to respect any vocal opposition, especially when it's very contrary to other actions! We won't be using any of C1. Vote is locked. Writing now!)
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>>4404797
(Nearly done writing and have to go to the store. Thanks for your patience guys, and sorry about the delay. I'll let you know as soon as I'm back.)
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>>4404921
(Back, update will be out in just a few.)
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>>4405013
https://youtu.be/b9WKC5sT9Z4

Gently, though clearly enough to be heard over Her sobs, you state, "Mercy, I want to understand." Seeing Her in any agony is almost unbearable, but it's kept you from truly speaking with Her for far too long. Squashing down every urge to pull Her right into an embrace, to kiss away every last ounce of pain, to give Her no more turmoil and to wordlessly go along with Her wishes, you implore, "please, just talk to me. Tell me what you mean. Why—" the phrasing of this is incredibly important, so you pause a moment, and choose, "why is it that having anyone else invoke you— even to protect, or heal our children— is not feasible?"

"It hurts me," Mercy sobs, clutching onto Herself all the tighter. "It hurts to know that they have suffered. That they always have. That they always will. It is your nature. It is human. You struggle, and overcome, from the moment you are born, until your parting breaths. Suffering is left in your wake, from the day you die, til the cycle begins anew. I am no Goddess of life, or death. I have no control over any mechanism save for my own being. The love we all feel. The compassion that we all share."

Practically bent over, curled in on Herself, Mercy picks Her knees up, for something to hold onto in devastation. "I love you all. I love you so, Richard. I have strove to learn, and to love myself, as well." It looks like She's in physical pain, for how tightly Mercy's eyes are shut, and how firmly She's clutching onto the hem of Her dress. "There is more to love— than to sharing myself with others."

"I love you, too," you assert, "and not for what you have given. For who you are, Mercy. I would never— I couldn't—" you barely can articulate, struggling to not misspeak, "you're right, about one thing. I— I don't understand. How could you ever think that I— that I would ever want to leave you—"

Her sobs redouble. Miserably pulling Herself out from the awkward position She's been in, your partner accepts your motion to come back into your arms.

Nuzzling Herself against your chest, Mercy sniffs, "I am not the Goddess of Wisdom."

"Did I invoke Spirit," you quietly ask.

"No," Mercy tries not to smile, with tears streaked across Her face.

With the side of your scarred, calloused, and entirely human thumb, you brush aside a few of Her tears, and murmur, "I am seeking more than your love, or your compassion. I want to be with you. Just you. Can you please try to explain this to me, in a way that— that I can better understand?"

More calmly, She takes in a deep breath.

(1/2)
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>>4405104
It would appear Mercy isn't very familiar with what you really smell like. She buries Her face beside you, and breathes a few more times. You try to not smile, and give the Goddess a moment, while She enjoys something entirely mundane. Granted, you have been taking full advantage of the pain-dulling effects of myrrh in recent days, and the plant is no doubt disguising the usual clove and thyme, that you prefer, but it seems your partner enjoys the close proximity all the same.

After several more minutes, having wound down considerably, Mercy informs you, "I simply cannot pick and choose when our children live, or die."

"This does not need to be an all-or-nothing decision," you quietly reply. "You know how sorely I want to protect them."

"I do," the Goddess of Defense murmurs, holding onto you as tightly as She can.

"I would never wish to disrespect your wishes, either. I am— I am certain there is some way we can come to a more— more moderate course of action." Scarcely able to breathe, and loving every second of the pressure, you wheeze, "even if it will— even if it is going to take some Time—" The hold loosens just slightly, and you can perceptibly feel a small smile against you. With far more ease, you murmur, "we can figure something out, can't we?"

In a tone so gentle, you almost can't hear it, Mercy mumbles, "I have an idea."

"Go on."

"It is terribly stupid." It's not just modesty. She may have no confidence in Her intelligence.

Frowning, you pat Mercy a little on the back of Her curls. "I can't imagine it being anything— anything less than a reflection of your best intentions."

She takes heart. "What of a holiday? A public decree?"

"Pardon me?"

She's still sniffling, but with far more verve, explains, "what if we were to set aside the days we spend with one another? There would be no question of my absence. Would it not reduce any conflict of interest?"

"A holiday," you repeat. "A full day?"

"I would prefer every waking second, of every day and night," Mercy fervently demands. She pauses, and far more quietly, notes, "there is no question that you have a far more responsible grasp of Time, Richard. I am not certain what would be most appropriate. I am certain you will come under no small amount of scrutiny, no matter what we may choose."

Holding Her all the tighter, you insist, "we will figure out something."

(Options in next post.)
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>>4405110
>A] Word is unbelievably slow to travel in the year 606, and you have over thirty people in your company that are ready and willing to risk their lives to travel. Keeping them waiting while you sort this out would be a questionable choice, at best. Conversely, the counsel you keep is sound, extremely wise, and will have a better idea of how to proceed than your best guesses might. Praise Mercy a little more, and let Her know you'll seriously look into how to implement something like this.
>1] Spend a little more quiet Time together this morning. Let Her know how your congregation has been, and ask Her how She's doing.
>2] You honestly should get going. The sun will be up soon, and though you'd love to spend the entire morning together, you have places to be. She'll understand.
>3] Write-in.

>B] Send for a secure messenger, to get to King Magnus. In the interim, you'll pick a date to arrange to see Mercy next. It's going to be a national holiday, and you'll leave it to the crown to arrange the details. (Unanimous vote must be chosen for this option, and any vocal opposition will render it null. This will require an additional prompt, if chosen.)

>C] While your partner is a treasure, this is probably not the best possible solution. You have a better idea. (Write-in.)
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>>4405121
>A] Word is unbelievably slow to travel in the year 606, and you have over thirty people in your company that are ready and willing to risk their lives to travel. Keeping them waiting while you sort this out would be a questionable choice, at best. Conversely, the counsel you keep is sound, extremely wise, and will have a better idea of how to proceed than your best guesses might. Praise Mercy a little more, and let Her know you'll seriously look into how to implement something like this.
>2] You honestly should get going. The sun will be up soon, and though you'd love to spend the entire morning together, you have places to be. She'll understand.
-- Places to be, heathens to convert
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>>4405167
+1
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>>4405167
>>4405207
(Great guys, going to keep on trucking with the unanimous vote here. Writing now!)
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>>4405121
>>4405167
Support
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>>4405341
(Appreciate you man!)

>>4405265
https://youtu.be/IC6cvQ4tXGo

"Look at me," you pull back, keeping Mercy firmly within your arms.

It's silly, there's barely any space between the two of you, and She has to look up to really scrutinize you. She squints. It's possibly the cutest thing you've ever seen, as Mercy says, "I did not mean to rob you of the joy of healing. The work you did on the break was miraculous."

"That is not what I'm asking you to look for," you quietly assert, unable to help but smile at someone actually liking your nose, "but thank you. Do you see this, Mercy?"

"See what?"

With the best grimace you can muster, you insist, "I think this is a phenomenal idea. You needed to see how seriously I was taking the suggestion."

Your beam of sunlight shines at you. "I am so glad."

"You are far more intelligent than you let on," you continue to scowl, "sweeter than any marigold, and far— and far more potent in your intent."

"Ah," the schemer coyly smiles, "my honey bee is buzzing."

With a grin, you get right beside Mercy's ear, and make a series of extremely obnoxious buzzing sounds. "Buzz bzzz."

Her laughter is certifiably sweeter than any honey, which you collect for several precious seconds, before complying with several desperate requests to "stop, stop. Please."

The two of you smile to one another, quietly, for many perfect moments.

"I love you," you have to finally repeat, "and will discuss this with my council, the first moment I have the chance. They will know how to— how to proceed. With far more wisdom, and— and discretion, than I could ever hope to possess."

Mercy leans up, to plant a kiss on your cheek. It's so soft, you have to put a hand to the spot, just to confirm that the touch was real. "Thank you," She murmurs. "It may not seem as if I was listening, Richard, but I always am. Do not fret for the lives of your friends, or for their welfare." In a whisper, She promises, "if you are in need of me, I will answer."

Planting several kisses gently along Her neck, between every other word you swear, "not if— I can— help it. This— this will be a welcome respite, for— for us all."

"You need to get going," you are quietly reminded, through a smile, and over the sound of birds beginning to chirp outside.

Grinning into several more kisses, "yes," you peck, "places to be." Smooch. "Heathens to convert."

"Richard." She's giggling. You've won.

"I love you." You'd sing praises, if there was enough Time.

"I love you, too," Mercy quietly remarks, and earnestly kissing right beside your ear, "and I will be beside you, each and every day."

-----

(1/2)
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>>4405359
Upon releasing the invocation, you appear to have slumped to the bed, and blacked out. The room is hotter, though you're above the sheets, still fully dressed.

Straightening upright, looking wildly around, you're alerted by a RAP RAP RAP upon the door. "Richard!" Sister Harriet Cardew's stern, young voice is just upon the other side of the locked door. "RICHARD! Open up! Harvey is threatening to break the door down—"

The Red Lion, your right-hand man, and the tell-tale clamoring of his masterwork armor delivers on the priestess' word almost immediately, behind what is certainly flimsy wood. "It's n-not a th-threat, Sist-ter. It's a prom-mise."

Blinking the spots of light and gold from your eyes repeatedly, you mutter, "just— just a minute—"

Several groans emit from the opposite side of the door. You have a reputation for taking altogether too long when left to your own devices, but everyone will have to wait. The quantity of priceless possessions you need to gather before leaving requires your due diligence.

Letters. It is not hoarding, to want to protect some of the most important correspondence of your life:
Father Wilhelm's backlog of four months of correspondence. It's reasonable to hang onto what you have received.
Father Friedrich's death threats.
Father Barthalomew's friendly request to beat up Father Friedrich.
What you can only assume is a normal response from Mother Aimar.
Your confession to 28 murders, addressed to Father Pevrel, that should be secured on Ray's person, but is incredibly soothing to read.
Father Edmund's suicide note.
Beltoro's apology.

Maps of Corcaea, and the eastern district of Calunoth. Both are incomplete.

Calendars, for the year 605 and 606. Neither have holidays or more than a handful of birthdays circled. You prefer to keep it that way.

Irreplaceable memories:
A hand-sewn, 30lb capacity backpack, caked in filth.
Three pens, that barely write.
Your old journal. What isn't caked in blood is primarily outdated. Pressed inside new observations in prayer— and tenets— are your additional holy symbols.
The flower produced from your first perfect invocation to Agriculture.

New treasures:
Your new, pristine journal, with only two pages used.
A small, light-green pouch, containing hibiscus seeds from Clarence "Chesty" Connelly.
A gold-threaded nightcap, covered in various embroidered animals, also courtesy of Father Wilhelm.
A bottle of Vernon's Whiskey, from your last night out in Calunoth with the poisons master of extreme renown, Ofelia Banks.
Significant reading material, hand-selected by King Magnus.

(Weirdness with character limit, barely over 2/3)
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>>4405363
Thanks to an enchanted satchel's properties, this all weighs next to nothing, once safely secured. On your person, the promise ring upon your left hand remains a symbol of your pact with Mercy. The divine locket about your neck is, of course, more than a holy Relic. Within a breast pocket is an enchanted flask from Archdemon Yech. The mace and unbreakable shield he gifted to you are safely secured. Your long sword, Piety, is cleaned and sheathed.

You are the caravaneer for thirty-three other souls, are probably running a little late, and should probably try to make a good first impression.

>A] You didn't sleep all night, and can't be bothered to do anything more. Stick to the yellow-gold robes of your station. They're the same that any priest of Mercy would wear, and you don't think of yourself more highly than anyone else. It doesn't matter so much how you look, as how you conduct yourself, and you want to do Mercy proud.

>B] The high-collared, gold-trimmed, otherwise all-black garb you had on during your last night on the town was devastatingly tasteful. Ditch the holy vestments. You're not invoking while traveling, and will look as much like the common man as someone of your class can muster.

>C] You are the leader of the Church of Mercy, and for once, you want to look the part. With your banner, the company of clergy, and a message to be made to your enemies, the front of the caravan will suit you just fine, and so will the ceremonial garb of your position.

>D] The robes you wear can be changed in shape, size, color, cut, and can even clean or dry itself on command. As a well-off man of all the Gods, you have something else in mind. (Write-in.)
>>
>>4405369
>>C] You are the leader of the Church of Mercy, and for once, you want to look the part. With your banner, the company of clergy, and a message to be made to your enemies, the front of the caravan will suit you just fine, and so will the ceremonial garb of your position.
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>>4405363
(Also just in case it isn't clear from the beginning of the Google Drive, the vast majority of these items are actually written, and viewable! Tons of info, though a lot of it is appropriately out-dated.

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1r-yFdCSj0VJi63LsD3Vl9T0DWw4us6wn?usp=sharing )
>>
>>4405369
>>C] You are the leader of the Church of Mercy, and for once, you want to look the part. With your banner, the company of clergy, and a message to be made to your enemies, the front of the caravan will suit you just fine, and so will the ceremonial garb of your position.
>>
>>4405388
>>4405612
(Hell yeah guys. Locking the vote here, going to knock out an update before bed. Writing now!)
>>
>>4405369
>C] You are the leader of the Church of Mercy, and for once, you want to look the part. With your banner, the company of clergy, and a message to be made to your enemies, the front of the caravan will suit you just fine, and so will the ceremonial garb of your position.
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>>4405768
(Thanks man.)
>>4405670
https://youtu.be/BjfdQYo-G_I

Reclaiming your title has come through blood, sweat, tears, and some of the hardest-fought battles of your life. Though you are not a prideful man, every single part of you rushes to the nearest window, and greets the new day with the sun in your eyes. It is a beautiful morning. The sun is rising above the holy city of Calunoth, and your banner is flying high. It is tacky, bright yellow, bears a pair of open hands— the symbol of your church— is bordered in black, and you love it. It's being held by one of your priestesses, who has not noticed you yet, and you promptly close the curtains.

The majority of your caravan is already outside of the city limits, due to the sheer scope of the venture. It will be at least a couple of weeks, and could take as long as a month to reach Eadric. With your brother-in-arms beating on the door, demanding, "d-don't m-make m-me come in here, Rich-chard," there isn't a moment to spare.

Placing a single hand to the enchanted robes upon your frame, you murmur to the traditional-looking garment, "as the returning leader of the holy city of Eadric, and as the rightful Father of the Church of Mercy, I would like my enemies to see my arrival. Grant me the ceremonial garb of my station. Something that— that will inspire my sinners, and clergy alike."

The traditional, humble, yellow robes swim for a moment, in varying hues of gold. It continues to swim. The fabric shifts with the light, absorbing, reflecting, refracting, and creating a nearly dizzying display.

"Keep it tasteful," you murmur.

The nearly blinding garment retains its glitz, though the enchantment persists on the trim alone. The rest of the robes become a floor-length, monstrously tasteful, ridiculously comfortable, utterly flattering, and completely befitting set of holy vestments. No mere set of robes adorn you. The black, well-fitted, high-collared shirt and trousers you have still peek out, as you turn, and look over further, ornate regalia that drapes with more fabric than just a traveling cloak. Further sleeves, hoods, and outerwear exaggerates and accentuates every motion. It drapes with finer fabric than anything of this world, it's nothing practical, and it feels right.

Having only worn the excessive, impractical attire once before (on the day you first became Father of your church), it takes a moment to move aside the fabric upon the sleeves, just to open the door.

(1/3)
>>
>>4405814
You are promptly confronted by Harvey Jay Algrith. The Ringleader of your blasphemous congregation is literally tapping his foot, though the second he lays eyes on you, the red-head is all smiles. It's barely visible through his oddly braided beard, and the might of the fully plated suit of armor adorning every last inch of him, but he's grinning nevertheless. "M-morning, Fath-ther Anscham." Over his shoulder, before you can so much as reply, he fires off, "hey, Echo. G-get a l-load of th-this."

Conveniently, you have a load of items to hand off, and promptly begin dumping everything you just suited up with onto Harvey's capable hands. "Good morning, Harvey. Would you— these will look far better on a saddle."

There's no complaints, and you're both all smiles. "Good morning," Sister Cardew sternly notes. The petite priestess struggles to do so much as look around the lion's broad frame, so she settles for nasally interjecting, "the road will not get any shorter if we dither."

The lion politely side-steps once your things are off-loaded, to permit Sister Cardew, and the other member of your research team a proper look. Walter "Professor Echo" Middleton's features are narrow, save for his chiseled jaw, which promptly drops. The long-legged genius of a nobleman is outfitted in a dandelion traveling cloak, that is garish, at best. "This is spectacular," he plainly states, gesturing to you.

Walter insisted on identifying himself with the Church of Mercy from the day he came into your employ, is one of your dearest friends, and you sincerely murmur, "thank you," in reply.

Sniffing, Sister Cardew admits, "this is far more appropriate, though the trim may be too much. It will likely dull while we ride."

"You look lovely, as well," you nod to the clergywoman of thread, who is wearing the same excessive number of white shawls and skirts as always. While she keeps a straight face, adjusting her glasses, you stride down the hallway with a concerned frown. "White is a very poor choice for the road ahead."

A series of complaints and objections trail behind you.

Looking through The Honey Bee one last Time is unbearable. It's not the same, without Ofelia's ridiculous accent carrying down its halls, or any less than a dozen people inside. You keep your eyes to the ground, to the gilded trim on your clothes, as it reflects the sunlight creeping across the floor.

There's no use dwelling on your friend's departure. You have your own trip home to think about, upon the broad streets of Calunoth.

Dutifully pacing around your company's gear is the most stalwart defender in the country. Ray has kept a close eye upon what appears to be a fair number of horses. Most are stunning, and all are outfitted for travel.

(2/3)
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>>4405818
A curvy, fairly tall, put-together, and entirely excited priestess of Mercy has been attending to all of the livestock for your company. Sister Clemence "Electrum" Tirel is none other than the one who was waiting with your banner.

How she produced it, and this quantity of horses within just a few days is something you know better than to question. "Good morning, Sister Tirel," you mildly call out. There's almost no one on the street, and the neighbors know better than to ask questions by now.

"Father Anscham." Electrum nearby drops the banner. Her mellow voice squeaks. "You look phenomenal."

"Spectacular," Walter grins, striding over to elbow her. "I told you the gelding would be better."

"They will clash horribly," Sister Cardew dead-pans. The priestess of Spirit manages to work a grin into her voice, without so much as quirking up her lips, and asks you, "what do you think?"

Harriet gestures towards two horses with significantly less gear. One is unquestionably a war horse, in the deepest shade of night you've ever seen. The stallion has an attitude, even from a distance. Its counter-part is a mild, and gorgeous gelding, with a metallic sheen. It's clearly not native to Corcaea, for its pearly coat, size, and obvious capacity for speed.

You gesture to them, and to yourself, hoping against hope.

Electrum grins, "I wanted to surprise you. Walter insisted on taking whichever you don't choose. The stallion— Impetus— is from Mauseburg. The gelding is one of the King's own. Bastion. They're both without compare, Father."

>A] As a well-groomed man of the cloth, you would be delighted to take a more mild-mannered beast of burden, such as Bastion. One with a swiftness to rival your own, and a name befitting of your home. You can't think of a more befitting companion.

>B] Every one of your oldest callings is embodied by the darker stallion. Impetus will be a welcome challenge, to a man known by many as a beast tamer.

>C] You would be utterly delighted by either choice. As the Father of Generosity, you'll leave it up to Walter to decide who he'll ride.
>>
>>4405821

>>B] Every one of your oldest callings is embodied by the darker stallion. Impetus will be a welcome challenge, to a man known by many as a beast tamer.

If we ever need to get into combat I would rather have a warhorse, giving Walter a rowdy beast doesn't sit well with me either.
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>>4405821
>B] Every one of your oldest callings is embodied by the darker stallion. Impetus will be a welcome challenge, to a man known by many as a beast tamer.
>>
>>4405821
>B] Every one of your oldest callings is embodied by the darker stallion. Impetus will be a welcome challenge, to a man known by many as a beast tamer.

Dark Horse is cool, I cannot lie.
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>>4405835
>>4405904
>>4406092
(Good afternoon! I seriously overslept, but am back, and good to have a session if you all are! Unanimous vote is locked. Noting those comments. Writing now.)
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>>4406261
https://youtu.be/09YjC1tnsCA

Every last one of your oldest callings is being played upon. You can't take your eyes off a symbol of Vengeance, a native of Mauseburg, a bold leader, a temperamental loner, and a fellow dark horse. To Walter, you mention, "I think— I think that Bastion's temperament would make for a fantastic fit, for you."

His delight, and excessive flattery is only audible. "I wouldn't doubt your judgement with these affairs for a single moment, Father Anscham. An excellent decision, if there ever was one."

Striding across the stone street with a grin, you pay no heed to the little houses, your friends agreeable snickering, everyone saddling up, or anything more than how exceptionally behaved your newest friend is in the presence of so many other animals. The stallion must weigh well over 1000lbs, and has evidence of mistreatment about his eyes and mouth.

You stride right back to Electrum, get a number of carrots (stronger than any whip), some proper handling equipment, keep all of your weapons with Harvey, and spend the next full hour with your new best friend. Impetus does not have a terrible attitude. He's young, curious, extremely energetic, vocal (the whinnying is not aggressive, and downright adorable), and simply needs proper direction.

Nearly constant direction is absolutely necessary. Impetus doesn't have aggressive behavior per say, but the two of you make for an intimidating procession. The sheer musculature you both command could block out the sunrise. His strength is unparalleled, and the weight of every footfall upon stone or soil alike can be heard from a great distance away. Your firm, constant commands (and reassurance) are nearly the only indication of anything less than a man and beast who could crush their enemies underfoot.

It's going to be a long road to Eadric. There's no question that riding at the head of the pack upon your stallion will command far more attention, direction, and energy from the other horses in your caravan. It will certainly shorten your travel time. To say nothing of dramatically boosting your safety in a fight— but there's simply no way you're going to be able to hold a conversation, let alone supervise anyone while on your horse.

You've instructed everyone to keep fair distance, while you become acquainted with your magnificent champion. His black is a gorgeous contrast to your excessive attire (one garment is similar to a cape, and is outright billowing with faster motion), and makes you stand out all the more.

Regardless of your direction, Electrum rides up alongside you, banner in tow. The trouble-making priestess can't help but grin to you, "the main road may be too crowded, even at this Time of day. If you'd like to take the back roads, I can get the rest of our company to the caravan, Father." With a toothier smile still, she notes, "I am meant to ensure we keep up the morning run."

(Options in next post.)
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>>4406325
>A] Make a slower, bolder procession out of Calunoth, with your friends in tow. There will be no question that you have all taken to the road, and are returning to the Church of Mercy. This may also pull some potential fire away from Serpent, Chesty, Ofelia, Cyril, and Sullivan.

>B] Make a more discreet (which isn't saying much) getaway, by riding along the back roads and slums upon Impetus. It may help his temperament on the road with your first day together, but will be a challenge. (An additional prompt will be made, if the majority vote selects this decision.)

>C] Write-in. (A roll may be required.)
>>
>>4406328
>>A] Make a slower, bolder procession out of Calunoth, with your friends in tow. There will be no question that you have all taken to the road, and are returning to the Church of Mercy. This may also pull some potential fire away from Serpent, Chesty, Ofelia, Cyril, and Sullivan.

Cover for our friends, we can take take the heat. Pretty sure that Richard combined with Impetus and Ray could obliterate most threats before anyone else gets a chance to react.
>>
>>4406328
>A] Make a slower, bolder procession out of Calunoth, with your friends in tow. There will be no question that you have all taken to the road, and are returning to the Church of Mercy. This may also pull some potential fire away from Serpent, Chesty, Ofelia, Cyril, and Sullivan.
>>
>>4406328
>A
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>>4406339
>>4406346
>>4406366
(Sweet guys, locking the unanimous vote! Going to keep to 30 minute windows if things stay speedy. Writing now.)
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>>4406391
https://youtu.be/4XH5_hJqU-g

An amber sky, a light breeze, and the promise of leaving Calunoth behind has just as much sun in your voice as what's peeling over the buildings beyond. "I believe we can take the additional heat, Sister Tirel."

Your procession winds through the district of Flesh, with you at its head. Keeping Impetus steady is a constant task, but his gait is confident, and burgeoning trust is established with each passing distraction. Your departure is caught onto by the city who rightfully owes you their very lives. Fair voices call out to your company, with thanks, and well wishes on the journey home. You reassure your horse through a few flowers being tossed from high windows. The flowers rightfully begin to rain, after a number of moments, and a great many citizens seem to catch on.

They're all light green, and lemon-yellow. The break on your nose was unquestionably fixed from every recent invocation to Mercy, and you can finally catch the scent of Grace on the air. Along with the pollen, and bright floral notes, there's hearths being stoked. Warm smoke, freshly cut greens, and the start of the day is more than enough to wake you right up.

Almost immediately upon exiting a nearby checkpoint, before any of your friends can follow, a jolt runs through your spine.

A daring cut-purse tries charging straight at you. He's filthy, probably been paid off by one of your enemies, and there's no telling of any immediate association.

Impetus promptly kicks him. Your assailant is knocked backwards several feet, as your stallion calls with such ferocity, seven guards from within the tower come running.

Shouts clamor over your immediate commands to get Impetus to calm down. Despite a heavily bleeding injury upon his chest, the rogue tries crawling back. It's abundantly clear that the beast would trample the assailant to death, given the chance.

The rogue is accosted, and after more Time than you'd like to refuse an escort out of the city, you hide a grin.

"Very good," is an understatement, as your war horse is entirely aware of the quality of his performance.

There's more commotion in the streets, in the districts beyond. Calunoth's colorfully painted homes, densely packed roads, populated markets, brightly decorated stalls, and all the fanfare has become a common sight. Proceeding down mercantile wards is subjectively uneventful. Between Ray, Impetus, and your own capacity to simply intimidate anyone into submission, it's a short matter to deter all but the most idiotic of assailants. Harvey and Walter obviously have a running bet, from the rear, as to if anyone can even get close to you all.

(1/2)
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>>4406485
You're positive that drawing public fire is well worth it. There's a small procession behind your company, as you exit the merchant's wards. More follows all through the gardens, out through more residential districts, and ultimately to the slums. All the while, calls for your safe return, debasement towards everyone associating with you, and ample slander is carried into a cacophony. You try to not pay the worst of it any mind, nor the two additional attempts on your life.

Ray sees to the first, as you get deeper into the slums. Not even the ramshackle houses, narrow roads, tattered rafters, absence of stone, and piled buildings of dilapidated wood can disguise anything from your boy. He's dutifully kept to the rear of your company, but the moment a figure slips from the shadows ahead, the trained killer charges.

200lbs of mastiff leaps through the air, right past you and Impetus. A shout is cut short, over the sound of vicious snarling. There's a meaty gnashing, and screams. A dagger clatters to the floor. Your boy has disarmed an assassin.

He's literally disarmed an assassin. You bring Impetus to a full stop, right at the shade ahead. Backed up against a nearby building is a rugged, middle-aged man. With a shroud over his face, a tattered cloak upon his narrow shoulders, and no weapons to speak of, he has had his right arm cleanly ripped off of his body. It's about three feet away in the road.

Your boy looks to you with love in his eyes, blood dripping from his teeth, as he proudly walks away from the potential killer. He's going to bleed out in a matter of seconds, and is in too much pain and shock to do more than silently gasp, and try to crawl towards his arm.

"Holy f-fuck," Harvey calls out, from the rear of your group, and rides straight up towards both of you, and tosses your shield. An arrow FWIPS just ahead, and plinks quite harmlessly off of Harvey's armor, as you catch your own defense. "Amb-bush!"

Not a second later, an extraordinarily loud explosion shakes the ground you're standing on. Against every instinct you have, you work to stay mounted, to not drop your shield, and to keep control over Impetus with only one hand and several firm commands. There's another burst of flame from a nearby house, which is probably going to rupture in a matter of seconds. You hear two familiar voices laughing hysterically. There's screams, in the midst of Sister Beatrice "Spangle" Corbon's delight, and James "Klepto" Sowers mutual enthusiasm.

The pyromaniac and clown may have had a good time following you through the slums, and providing a distraction from your enemies, but you're on an unfamiliar stallion. Though Impetus is staying extremely calm given the circumstances, you can tell anxiety is soaking into him. Keeping everyone in your company safe has your nerves just as fried, as the two scholars behind you have almost no combative skill to speak of.

(Options in next post.)
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>>4406488
>As with all rolls in Catalyst Quest, modifiers may be applied for all of these options. They will vary based on the situation and choice selected. Write-ins may grant additional modifiers.
>Due to a pact you have made with the Goddess of Mercy, you have a permanent +10 bonus to all actions taken that are befitting of your tenets, and self-preservation. Reckless actions, and acting in a way that would jeopardize your own safety can and will have extremely serious consequences (up to and including the loss of this bonus).
>Majority vote will decide.

>A] Grab Piety, and mow down anyone in your path. You're strong enough to wield the long sword with only one hand, and the very sight of you may be enough to strike fear into the hearts of your enemies. (AN EXTREMELY HIGH ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

>B] Keep your shield up, and work with Harvey to defend your more vulnerable friends. The defense you have is enchanted, and you are blessed by the Goddess of protection, but you'll need everything you have to look after so many others. (A VERY HIGH ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

>C] Get out of here as fast as possible, and ask Electrum to help you keep the animals in your care under control. Trust in your friends to handle the situation. (A HIGH ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

>D] Write-in. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
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>>4406491
>B
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>>4406491
>B
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>>4406505
>>4406536
(Great dudes, locking the vote here!)

>SHIELDS UP

>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.
>+10 FAITH OF A GODDESS/To protect is to serve.
>+15 LEADER OF THE CHURCH OF DEFENSE/You're in your element.
>+5 BEAST TAMER
>-5 CHAOS AND ART/The territory could be better.
>-10 ONLY HUMAN/One shield can only do so much.
>>
Rolled 33 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>4406555
>trips
>>
Rolled 32 (1d100)

>>4406555
>>
Rolled 85 (1d100)

>>4406555
>>
>>4406564
>>4406593
>>4406601
(Wew. bo3 kicks that up to 85+15, which is a perfect 100/100. Alright! Writing now!)
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>>4406608
(Guys thank you so much for your patience. Between an impromptu run to the store, and an obscene amount of research, I am still working on the update. Should be out relatively soon.)
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>>4406608
>>4406812
https://youtu.be/bGZQl6hQ2xs?t=12

You are the Father of Defense, leader of the church of protection, are completely in your element, and have never wanted to move so quickly in all your life. Shifting your legs back, wordlessly urging Impetus into a full canter, you charge ahead, shield aloft, and call to your friends, "FOLLOW MY LEAD!"

Every last one of your mounts breaks into a run, following Impetus expertly, as the building ahead bursts into flames.

You fear no man, flame, nor killer. Neither does your dog, who is the most battle-hardened warrior you know. Ray sprints to the back of your company, with a single gesture, and you're certain he'll be the best rear guard you can ask for. The colossal mastiff can nearly keep pace with a horse, and you're certain that you are the enemy's target.

"HARVEY! ELECTRUM! Flank Harriet and Walter—!"

You're cut off. Turning hard, swinging your shield, you barely manage to hold on to your simple reins and saddle. Keeping just one hand to your stallion, moving with every bob and weave, you have to duck down, to save Impetus from an arrow mid-flight. A poison-tipped arrowhead should rightfully stick into the black, matte metal in hand, but the two objects collide with a flash of black light. Three more hit, in rapid, blinding succession. You have to practically hang side-saddle to meet them all. They are not fired with the strength of a demon, but the impact rolls up your shield arm, all through your shoulders and neck, as the arrows snaps clean off against your defense.

Pulling yourself back up, with a choir of praises to your stallion, you redouble your speed.

"Keep your heads down!"

The narrow, winding roads of the slums won't take long to traverse, and if your attackers were on foot, they can't possibly keep up. The assault is relentless, but Harvey and Electrum have followed your order, and flanked Walter and Sister Cardew. The scholars are keeping their heads down, while your armored friends form a veritable wall against them. The two, more cerebral members of your company are keeping all of their focus on staying mounted, at your break-neck pace.

You dig in, and take Impetus into a full gallop. More arrows and daggers should be singing overhead, as the last of the slums fly past you all. It's a miracle that the road is so clear, and that the priestess in your company possesses inhuman reflexes. While she typically wears gloves, and long sleeves to conceal the artificial limb, her bare, solid-gold hand gleams against the light.

What you suspect to be one of many daggers spins through the air. This one is heading straight for Sister Cardew's head.

Letting out a shout is unnecessary. The weapon is snatched by Sister Tirel, spun twice for style, and gets launched right back at your attackers with the force of a Goddess.

There's a scream, somewhere in the distance, as her hits land home.

(1/2)
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>>4406895
The amount of focus she's exerting, to compensate for no other defense to speak of, has her speechless. She does the same for at least half a dozen other projectiles, and after the third, is sweating, and laughing like a mad thing.

Opposite, Harvey doesn't have so much as a scratch on him. The fighter somehow acquired a set of chain mail, to cover every nook and cranny beneath his sinewstone armor. He's physically blocking Sister Cardew, though seems less experienced riding, and favors staying mounted over providing any additional protection.

You call to him, "stay not your hand!"

Taking heart, and grinning maliciously, the ringleader unsheathes a short-sword from his side. Another building bursts into flames, several hundred feet behind you all. You're certain that Klepto and Spangle can handle themselves, while Harvey slices two final arrows out of the air, saving himself and Sister Cardew from taking any injury.

Many moments pass by, without further attack.

Despite the extreme danger, you calmly ride. Under your breath, you murmur a prayer, and thank all of the Gods for their blessing.

There are no further ambushes, as you all breathlessly slow to a trot, outside of city limits. Without any injury to speak of, you bring yourself a little closer to your company. The substantial lead on the group wasn't so severe that they couldn't hear you, and your reluctance to keep Impetus near any other horses is not even a concern. Every animal in your company looks remarkably more comfortable around one another, and you bring them all to a trot. They're effortlessly following Impetus, who is following you, and seems just as mellow as you feel. Ray valiantly kept pace, and you make a note to get him water and rest as soon as possible. He catches up in a matter of moments. Calling out to him as much reassurance as you can, you're eventually met with a few disbelieving smiles.

"Is everyone alright," you ask, breathing hard, realizing that the absence of anxiety is positively from having left the capital behind.

Given the sparks and flame at your back, and screams in the distance, you're positive that the two most unpredictable members of your congregation will clean up anyone attempting to tail you all.

Though your friends are sweating, there's no blood to speak of. "Thank you," Sister Cardew barely gasps, clutching onto her horse for dear life.

You've seen her look paler, but not nearly as breathless, and you reduce the pace a little more. "The Gods are Merciful," you manage.

Shaking his head, Walter breathes, "let's get the fuck out of here."

It takes less than half an hour to ride out from south-western Calunoth. Away from the castle's peak, too far off to see the heights of the cathedral ward. You ride away from the seedy bars, the brothels, the sinners, the slums, and definitely the longest month of your life.

(Options in next post.)
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>>4406897
>A] Give the capital one last look, before you go to your caravan. For all of the bad memories you made, there was a lot of good, and you want to reminisce for just a moment.

>B] Good-byes, mourning, demons, and slander will be waiting in Eadric as well. You're hitting the road, looking ahead, and getting the fuck out of here.

>C] You have some parting words, or something specific to say to your friends. (Write-in.)
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>>4406898
>B] Good-byes, mourning, demons, and slander will be waiting in Eadric as well. You're hitting the road, looking ahead, and getting the fuck out of here.
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>>4406897
>>B] Good-byes, mourning, demons, and slander will be waiting in Eadric as well. You're hitting the road, looking ahead, and getting the fuck out of here.
-- Hit the road jack
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>>4406954
>>4406986
(Hitting the road! Unanimous vote is locked. Writing now.)
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>>4407075
https://youtu.be/mtvETuH3q4M

"It is a beautiful morning," you muse, to no one in particular, as you all wind deeply into the woods. The golden sunrise is making way for a stunning, brisk, clear day. Impetus is gallant, and already extremely well-behaved while in your company. Ray got some rest, and water, and every one of your friends has been quietly chattering for most of the ride.

Not even once do you bother to look back.

James and Sister Corbon caught up, alright. Covered head-to-toe in soot, they did not have horses with them, and came running. They're already ragged, but have assured you one hundred times that no one is going to follow your caravan. In all likelihood, they killed every single person pursuing you, and it's fine. The birds are chirping! A gentle breeze is on the air, and the scent of fresh flowers intermingles with damp soil, from all of the recent rain. It's going to be far easier on all of your riders, and their horses, and you could not be happier to finally see them all.

Through a break in the trees, no more than another hour's ride out, is your caravan. Seventeen vehicles, between all of the wagons and carriages. Your banner is waving off of each and every one of them. A smile spreads across your face. Within each of them are ample provisions, all reviewed by Electrum. Trade goods, luxury items, repair equipment, cooking supplies, and a priceless piece of equipment for the master blacksmith in your company.

Eckard "Claymore" Sollers is ready to relocated to Eadric. Granted, the burns covering half of the middle-aged veteran's face aren't quite as fair in the morning sun, but he's a dear ally, and far and away the most skilled tradesman in your company.

The only other trader in your midst bold enough to make the venture is Laurence Taylor. He's a tailor. Even if your memory wasn't impeccable, it would be hard to forget him, or his extreme fondness for the quantity of rare goods that are being transported from the capital. There's also the wainwright, two cooks, and six drivers, who's names you have yet to learn. They're all guarded by an accompaniment of ten priests of Flesh. Five are currently sleeping, as your congregation is tasked with the afternoon watch, and the morning crew is up and about as to be expected.

Given the nature of the Church of Flesh, you aren't entirely certain if you're comfortable with the arrangement. After all, there are thirteen allies you've retained in your immediate company, and almost all are capable of fighting.

(1/3)
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>>4407193
The two only two complete noncombatant members of your research team are dead on their feet. Sister Cardew happily is taken off of her saddle by the only other gentleman in the caravan (yourself not included). She's already dusty, and the bottoms of her skirts are filthy, but she is unfailingly composed, as always. Walter is nowhere near as ragged. You hardly know a thing about him, which is shocking, regarding how much Walter likes to speak, but you'll make Time for discussion.

There's also plenty of other able hands at your disposal. Harvey is loyal to a fault, and will certainly want to assist in any way he can. You owe him far more than your life. Despite having spoken for hours at a Time about nearly everything other than each other, he gives you another broad smile, and doesn't mind if you're getting a little lost in thought.

James is right behind the red lion, slowly attempting to drop a marble into a seam of his armor. The clown seems content at the moment. There's no telling how long he'll wish to remain in your company for, but you'd sincerely like to get to know more about him, and all of the incredible work he's done on your behalf.

Spangle had immediately ridden alongside Electrum. The two priestesses are excitedly, quietly talking. There's more questions you have for them than possibly anyone else you're with, and they might just be looking forward to the return trip home with equal enthusiasm.

The fact that Irefist agreed to come along your excursion without further argument is cause for concern. The unruly ex-sailor is one of the few men alive who isn't afraid to say something to your face. Beyond his rejection of Mercy's gifts, and his association with the Church of Storm, you know next to nothing about him, or why he's even here.

At the very least, there's the five clergy you hand-selected to bring into your service. Not a single one of them hesitated to pack up from Calunoth, and to make this journey by your side.

Brother Peter Fergant seems like a nice enough man. His qualifications come from a lifetime of service to the Church of Mercy, and a prestigious family line that you've heard of throughout your own service. In addition to insisting on taking up a guard position, he's promised that he can help the cooks here, if necessary.

Second to his seniority is one of the triplets. Sister Agnes Willoughby was capable of invoking Mercy, and seems to have made peace with her current inability to do so. The woman's temperament may be more lukewarm than even Sister Cardew's, though it's hard to tell if it's a coping mechanism, or if she's merely seen so much combat, she can't handle more mundane affairs.

What you're told is the middle sister of the Willoughby's is Sister Susan. It's extremely uncomfortable to not use their surname, but you're assured it helps to avoid confusion. Multiple members of your congregation have joked that she's more pious than you are.

Time will tell.

(2/3)
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>>4407194
The last of the Willoughby sisters is Tilda. She's got enough energy to rival the clergy of Flesh, not a lick of restraint to speak of, and unsurprisingly has never been capable of invoking Mercy. She's still got a lovely Spirit, and is kept well enough in line by her sisters.

The last of your clergy is substantially younger than you realized. In the heat of your first dual invocation to Agriculture and Mercy, Brother Thomas Durville appeared substantially more grizzled. His speed, demeanor, and competency in the field was second to none. He's a phenomenal healer, used to be capable of invoking Mercy... and can't be much older than Brother Wilhelm.

In the days ahead, you'd like to get to know them all better. Every last one of your friends has been tasked with helping to look after your health. You're hoping to try and improve their image in the public eye, while keeping everyone as safe as you can. It's a lot to balance, but fortunately, the logistics are not your primary concern.

>Who would you like to accompany, on your first day on the road?
>This trip will take a minimum of two weeks, so don't worry if you can't do everything in one day.
>Please select one (1) prompt, for the sake of pacing, and to allow yourself some Time to spend on an activity, for once!
>Majority vote will decide.
>Feel free to write-in anything you'd like to address right off the bat.

>A] Harvey.
>1] At the front of the caravan. Make a statement.
>2] Wherever he thinks your leadership is most needed.

>B] Irefist and Claymore, with the rest of the guard.

>C] Klepto, with whatever he's getting up to.

>D] Sister Cardew and Professor Echo. They're going to be inseparable for probably the rest of the trip.
>1] For business.
>2] For fun.

>E] Spangle and Electrum. They're going to be inseparable for probably the rest of their lives.

>F] Brother Fergant. He's with the guard, but tends to keep to himself.

>G] The Willoughby Sisters.
>1] Keep quiet, to yourself, and see about meeting them all together.
>2] Agnes.
>3] Susan.
>4] Tilda.

>H] Brother Durville. Make sure he's alright.
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>>4407195
>C] Klepto, with whatever he's getting up to.
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>>4407195
>>A] Harvey.
>>1] At the front of the caravan. Make a statement.

We need to set the tone for the rest of the trip, everyone knowing that Harvey is our right hand man is gonna make chain of command a lot easier to manage.
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>>4407195
>A] Harvey.
>2] Wherever he thinks your leadership is most needed.
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>>4407217
Supporting this, I like the reasoning.
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>>4407198
(Appreciate ya man, but as previously stated, going to go with the majority here.)
>>4407217
>>4407311
>>4407425
(Awesome stuff. Alright! Got a clear afternoon, if anyone is up for the last session of the weekend. Vote is locked, writing now!)
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>>4407432
https://youtu.be/UnW6625hw_w

It is paramount that you set the tone for the rest of your journey. Though it is tempting to give James some well-deserved company, there will be weeks at your disposal, and it is a beautiful day. The horses are watered and seen to, the guard is bright-eyed, and your right-hand man is honored to join you at the head of the company.

At your call, the caravan packs up. Harvey even takes up a banner from Electrum, effortlessly keeping it flying high, while you both ride towards the dawn.

The sun is high, and there is no one to be seen on the road ahead. It is long, winding, not paved in the slightest, and will pass by countless ruins. The woodlands of Corcaea are dense. Traversing them unaccompanied means certain death for most. Guards are rarely kept posted permanently, though you're certain to find outposts along the way.

It will be several hours before reaching the bend that runs alongside the Morinburn river, and you couldn't be more delighted. Ray is keeping stride at your left, as you and Impetus set a fair pace for the entire company. Your stallion and mastiff are natural-born leaders, and pay one another no mind.

The champion to your right is even more magnificent. Ornamentation of a forgotten age adorns Harvey's armor. The exotic material constituting the suit is more akin to stone, than to any metal.

Your ringleader is nowhere near as bright as your own appearance, but that suits you just fine. The lengthiest outerwear is downright gallant, and has picked up in the wind, along with the banner of your company. The contrast against your stallion has you as a beacon. Every priest and priestess among you was instructed to plainly dress for their station, as well. Crimson and gold is at your back, and passing through a break in the dense canopy, most of your robes billow in the gale.

A completely clear sky is ahead, for the first Time in months. Birds are gathering around a ruined tower. The make of the forgotten structure is far more substantial than most built in Corcaea. The stone is as familiar to you as the scars upon your hands, the flowers littering the leaf-speckled floor, or the growth all around.

You're certain you could identify every last moss within each stone upon the ruins, by now. It's with a legitimate grimace, that you look to your fellow leader. Harvey raises his visor, and squints, equally aware of the risk. "Last T-time I passed th-through here, we had noth-thing but amb-bushes and b-bullshit. Wound up rid-ding hard en-nough to kill th-the horses. We can't j-just inspect ev-very ruin, th-though."

"The clergy of Flesh—" you start, and cut yourself off. There's undeniably going to be wrinkles from how hard you're frowning. "They are only human, and won't— they won't be of much use if they are ran into the ground."

(1/2)
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>>4407480
"Can't afford t-to l-lose any one of us," Harvey replies, trying to give you a smile, as you both slow the pace. He winces further, though it's likely only from speaking at any length. "W-we all knew w-what w-we w-were signing up for." Glancing over his shoulder, he murmurs, "you w-want m-my adv-vice?"

Looking in the same direction— to 31 lives in your hands— your own expression becomes significantly more severe. Your friends and the guard are essentially pulling double-duty, as additional drivers and tenders for the animals in your care. All of the non-combative members of the caravan are walking, to help those who may need to fight to conserve energy.

The day has barely begun, but virtually everyone is taking the danger you're all in with severity. As is typical of your countrymen, the majority are reserved. The mild sound of conversation is carried on the wind, but for the most part, everyone knows better than to make a ruckus.

It can't be helped how noisy the wagons or sheer number of horses are, and neither pots hanging off of caravans, nor barrels shifting from within the vehicles can be completely silenced. For a split second, you're reminded of a sorceress that could mute your surrounding area at will.

Blinking the thought away, you look ahead. The road is above-ground. There are no elves in this part of the world. You are not yet in mortal danger, and there are currently no demons to speak of.

"Yes," you softly reply. "Always."

"Scouts." Harvey is fully aware that no one in your company minds his speech, as he firmly asserts, "as m-many as w-we can sp-pare."

(Options in next post.)
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>>4407482
>Roll a 1d100.
>Every roll will count.

>In addition to the roll, please cast a vote. Rolls made without selecting a prompt will not be counted.
>These are not mutually exclusive.
>Bear in mind that any one person who is scouting may have their ability to defend the caravan itself reduced, or compromised.

>A] You're ensuring that the red lion gets something phenomenal to drink tonight. Of course you should have scouts.
>1] The bare minimum of the priests of Flesh from the guard. You still want a lot of defense close by. (This option is mutually exclusive from A2.)
>2] As many priests of Flesh as you can spare. They'll rotate shifts, and you'll still keep some guard with the caravan. (This option is mutually exclusive from A1.)
>3] Klepto is notorious for having insanely good observational skills. Even if no one wants his company, he'll be your primary spotter.
>4] Irefist should probably go along with them. His combative ability is second to none.
>5] Claymore's talents have you reluctant to place him in danger, but if there is trouble, he's the first man you'd want on the scene.
>6] Ask Harvey if he would be comfortable assisting in one of the scouting rotations, if at all.
>7] Brother Fergant. He's wise enough to likely predict the enemy's behavior.
>8] Sister Agnes. Her defensive combat experience will be an asset to whoever she's with.
>9] Brother Durville. He's FAST, and would be able to get word to your caravan rapidly.

>B] This is a good idea, but you have some even better ones. (Write-in.)
>>
Rolled 27 (1d100)

>>4407483
>A) 3
>>
Rolled 72 (1d100)

>>4407483
>A] You're ensuring that the red lion gets something phenomenal to drink tonight. Of course you should have scouts.
>3] Klepto is notorious for having insanely good observational skills. Even if no one wants his company, he'll be your primary spotter.
>4] Irefist should probably go along with them. His combative ability is second to none.
>9] Brother Durville. He's FAST, and would be able to get word to your caravan rapidly.
>>
Rolled 88 (1d100)

>>4407483
>>A] You're ensuring that the red lion gets something phenomenal to drink tonight. Of course you should have scouts.
>>3] Klepto is notorious for having insanely good observational skills. Even if no one wants his company, he'll be your primary spotter.
>>4] Irefist should probably go along with them. His combative ability is second to none.
>>9] Brother Durville. He's FAST, and would be able to get word to your caravan rapidly.

I would also like to know more about these guys, I am sure they have a bigger resume.
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>>4407488
>>4407490
>>4407493
Ah yes. Hidden tables.

(Alright! A3, A4, and A9 with some more info, coming right up! Vote is locked. Writing now.)
>>
Rolled 39 (1d100)

>>4407483
>>4407493
Support
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>>4407621
(Thanks man, appreciate ya)
>>4407515
https://youtu.be/va2cs3VDOA8

"Harvey." You're a masochist, and pat him firmly on a spiked shoulder. It's great. He's great. "You are a gift. We're getting you something phenomenal to drink tonight."

He's fully aware you can produce nearly any drink in existence, thanks to a flask from an archdemon of generosity. "F-fuck yes."

"Will you bring Klepto, Irefist, and Brother Durville here, please?"

It takes a matter of moments for them to all be gathered. You bring the caravan to a crawl, and fully stop a fair ways from the tower.

Klepto flicks a marble at the ruins. He likely has over a thousand of the brightly colored beads on his person. You make a note to check your clothing when he's out of your sight, while noticing that the clown hasn't changed from his soot-covered garments from early this morning. His maroon leggings, padded gambeson, and ridiculously laced sleeves beneath are dusted off, as he continues to sniff, "I'm checking it out first."

With a slight smile, you insist to every man present, "I wouldn't have it any other way. Your eyes are keener than anyone else's here, are they not?"

Irefist bristles, and Brother Durville finds a nearby tree particularly interesting to frown at. "No," they simply say, in perfect unison.

All three of them fire off something between a glare, and outright amusement to one another.

The sailor in your midst was given one of the few pieces of armor King Magnus could spare. It's a set of worn, fragmented chain mail, that covers the man's left side of his body. It's fastened beneath a haphazard pauldron. With a shield in his opposite arm, Irefist would be fairly well protected. The entire set clinks, as he bristles towards James, "you think you can hold a candle to a barrel-man?"

Harvey gives a glassy-eyed look to everyone present. "Wh-what?"

"A spotter, on a ship" you mildly reply. "Though this far inland, we would never need a basket— or barrel— upon a mast." With serious respect to Carlisle, you wonder, "I imagine a clear sky, and— and solid ground makes for a far fairer view."

"Nah," he spits. "Harder to catch a demon in the shadows than any old beast at sea."

Everyone pauses a moment. There's probably two hundred stories to be told here.

"What, precisely," you tactfully ask, "are you capable of, then?"

As if he's used to reporting to a church leader, a sailor, or a demon-hunter, Carlisle scratches at a little stubble upon his chin, and rattles off, "spottin', fishin', spear-throwin'. Good with a sword, but MUCH better with my fists. I'm faster at runnin' a ship, than running anywhere on land— and if we need to cross Morinburn, I got us covered."

(1/3)
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>>4407653
Your smile is growing by the second, as he continues, "fording's not an issue. Neither is tyin' anything, gettin' our gear safe, or snapping the neck of anythin' that might give us some trouble." He frowns. "I'm still pretty damn fast, and won't have any trouble keepin' us on track, if we need it. Skies are clear, but Storm's a cunt if there ever was one. Don't pardon the language, Father." You don't. "Bet by tomorrow we'll need to keep to the 'bank, if you want to stay the course."

Your ringleader is particularly pleased, and is happy to reassure you, "he's b-being modest."

There's rumor that Irefist is the most capable combatant in your entire congregation, which is really saying something. Klepto, and the priest beside you could not look grumpier. None of them are mounted. To the younger of the two (which is saying something), you look down from your lofty position, to softly state, "your company could— could not be more appreciated, Brother Durville. Of every clergyman I've requested the company of, your skill was what set you apart. I— I believe I still do not know even the half of it." With a glance to your compatriots, and a nervous glare to the tower in the distance, you ask, "would you please educate us?"

The ruins loom a little on the horizon, but continue to remain unmoving, and still appear to be unoccupied. The boy in your midst is definitely no older than his teens. With an equal stare to the ruins, and a slightly squeaky voice, he replies, "I will speak quickly, Father Anscham." He's obviously irritated by Irefist borderline bragging, and rapid-fire lists, "my family was murdered during the last outbreak. All of them. My sisters were taken by the slums, and both of my parents fell to the battle of the cathedral ward. I have worked in Calunoth my entire life. There has been word for most of youth, of the good you've done throughout the country. My skills have been squandered, Father."

There's legitimate hatred in his voice, as the priest tenses, and sneers, "I am certain I would be an asset to you, against even a demon of Storm. I've primarily been used as a guardian, for our priests of Flesh. My prior ability to invoke Mercy was strongest in protection. Our services are needed everywhere. I prefer to fight with a shield, and have been training diligently, to equip myself with stronger materials. I wish to best use my hands for defense. My halberd is with the caravan. I can ride, but my capability on a mount is nowhere near as proficient as yours. I would prefer to stay on foot."

The boy hasn't taken his eyes off of the tower for an instant. It seemed as though he was merely lost in though, but Brother Durville sneers, "there are no demons ahead— but I will see if they are coming." Something bleak is in his eyes, as he finally looks up to you, and mutters, "prevention is the best cure, Father Anscham."

(2/3)
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>>4407659
"Will you go ahead," you murmur in return, looking down from the horizon, to a young man who has undoubtedly seen as much death as any of you, "and keep an eye on our other scouts? I would like for you to be the first to return with any word of danger."

"Yes, Father," is the boy's immediate reply.

"To defend is to serve," you firmly assert.

Your clergyman doesn't smile, but offers some relief from his grimace, at least, and takes off to go retrieve his armaments. For his age and size, a polearm seems like a fine choice.

Meanwhile, Klepto and Irefist have been shooting daggers to one another. To the clown, you patiently ask, "is there anything further you would like to inform me of, James?"

"Sure," he grins. "Traveled a lot, you know. Met some foreign types. Scoured a few ruins, before Ostedholm. I've tried my hand at every single weapon I've heard of. Not bad with any of 'em. You name it, I can make something of it. Lots that don't have any names for, too— like what Spangle's been cooking up." His smile gets significantly more manic. "Toys are a lot better than swords, for the most part. I've been tinkering with a few traps, and other things, that might prevent anyone from giving us any trouble on the road." Giggling, he can't help but add, "much nastier things if they try to catch up, too!"

The man likes surprises, and you really don't have the Time for a full report on the insanity he's been brewing for months. "I need your eyes, James, if we are to do anything with our pursuers. You have something of a reputation."

"Oh." His smile is vicious. "I'll see them. And anything they've got. Carly here might think he's hot shit, but you don't see any scars on my hands, do you?"

The minstrel waves his fingers at Carlisle's face.

The sailor moves, immediately, to punch him. Harvey steps in, conveniently riding his mount just between the two of them, and loudly proclaims, "d-don't kill each oth-ther b-before you ev-ven see a th-threat. G-go. I t-trust y-you can handle scout-ting."

There's grumbling. Irefist rubs his nose, obviously making fun of James, as he nasally whines, "suppose I see something before you? Maybe bragging about it wouldn't tip you off fast enough?"

The clown is already walking away, without any weapons to speak of, straight down the road towards the tower ahead. Over his shoulder, he makes a particularly obscene gesture to the sailor.

They both laugh. You shake your head, and resolve to not lose your patience. Setting a good precedent on the first day of your journey is extremely important to you, and you know that there will be far less micro-management moving ahead.

More importantly, you're confident that the three men you've picked for the job are easily the best souls in the country for the task.

(Options in next post.)
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>>4407663
>A] Keep the caravan moving, while your scouts do their job. Trust they they'll alert you to any danger before it reaches you. You don't want to dither for a moment, and are willing to risk a little more danger in the name of a faster journey.

>B] Just this once, wait while they look out. You're all sitting ducks, but there's an active guard posted, and you trust them all with your lives.

>C] Give your scouts a wide berth, and have them regularly report back. This would typically greatly extend your travel time, but with you and Impetus leading the caravan, you'll ultimately make for an average length trip home.

>D] Write-in. (If there's any additional instructions you'd like to give to your men, or specific actions you'd like to take during the journey, feel free to write them in at any time. There will be a lot less micro-managing moving ahead, but as we establish some behavior, it never hurts to point out specifics you might prefer.)
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>>4407671
>A] Keep the caravan moving, while your scouts do their job. Trust they they'll alert you to any danger before it reaches you. You don't want to dither for a moment, and are willing to risk a little more danger in the name of a faster journey.

Seems wise to give up enemies less time to plan around us on our travels.
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>>4407671
>A] Keep the caravan moving, while your scouts do their job. Trust they they'll alert you to any danger before it reaches you. You don't want to dither for a moment, and are willing to risk a little more danger in the name of a faster journey.

Even if they are followed back to the caravan I am sure Klepto is going to drop something in his wake to cause some damage. We should focus on other issues and have some *faith*.
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>>4407671
>>A] Keep the caravan moving, while your scouts do their job. Trust they they'll alert you to any danger before it reaches you. You don't want to dither for a moment, and are willing to risk a little more danger in the name of a faster journey.
>>
>>4407671
>C] Give your scouts a wide berth, and have them regularly report back. This would typically greatly extend your travel time, but with you and Impetus leading the caravan, you'll ultimately make for an average length trip home.
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>>4407674
>>4407687
>>4407704
>>4407736
(A and C are directly at odds with one another, so going with the majority vote, and write-ins with great justification. Noting everything! Vote is locked. Writing now.)
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>>4407758
As a man of faith, the entirety of your caravan is urged to move ahead.

You're certain that the additional speed will keep off pursuers. With less Time for your enemies to plan a pursuit, you set about spurring Impetus forward.

No more than an hour passes by. The tower is left in the distance, and your scouts are nowhere to be seen.

https://youtu.be/dKFIGS305As

Exactly one of the men you sent out can be heard running, full-sprint. Brother Durville is furious, and screams from a distance, long before he's even visible, "NOT THE TOWER! THE—"

Manic laughter can be heard off in the distance, from the woods. A tree is felled, and crashes with enough sound to rival one of Spangle's worst attacks.

There's a light slash across Brother Durville's left arm, bleeding freely as he waves. His weapon is less of a halberd, and more of death on a stick. You balk at the black and foul liquid dripping from it as he waves, and hollers, "they're far in, Father Anscham! Imps! I counted eight, in broad daylight—!"

You ignore the urge to dismount. That's demon's blood, no mistake.

"Under the canopy, but still—!"

The priests of Flesh at your back are hailed, with an agreed-upon signal. Those who haven't already come running literally drop what they're doing, while you grimace, "Mercy."

They're likely demons of Vengeance, or Mercy, and it's definitely not going to be just imps.

>A] You swore up and down to take it easier on this expedition. Hang back, and stay with your company. Trust in your friend's ability, have Harvey deal with the enemy, and spur your company on. There's no telling who might take advantage, if you leave the caravan unguarded. Your leadership will keep the animals in the caravan calmer, if nothing else.

>B] Like hell you aren't going yourself, and getting some action alongside your lion.
>1] Ride with Harvey.
>2] Leave your mount here with Electrum. You won't risk anything happening to Impetus. Carefully proceed on foot, with Ray in tow.
>3] Leave Ray with the company for everyone's security, and go ahead with your human allies.

>C] Write-in.
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>>4407799

I am confused, can you elaborate on the landscape more and where everyone is positioned?
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>>4407799
>A] You swore up and down to take it easier on this expedition. Hang back, and stay with your company. Trust in your friend's ability, have Harvey deal with the enemy, and spur your company on. There's no telling who might take advantage, if you leave the caravan unguarded. Your leadership will keep the animals in the caravan calmer, if nothing else.

Hang back and learn of our congregations combat capabilities, if there are indeed larger demons inbound we must trust in our men to report it before we leave the noncombatants alone
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>>4407811
(Yes absolutely. You guys are currently on a road, in a forest. The forest is dense, though the road is well-traveled enough to not be an obstruction for your carts and horses. It is fairly flat, though there are occasional rocks, flowers, mushrooms, etc. I can go into much more depth about the flora and fauna of Corcaea if you guys want, but didn't think it was necessary just yet.

Two of your scouts (Klepto and Irefist) are very deep into the woods, and are fighting what has been reported to be eight imps. Brother Durville may have been overwhelmed, and definitely came running as fast as he could. He is with you now, and stressed that the demons are staying beneath the forest's canopy.

It is highly unusual for demons to have activity above-ground, during the day, so their present at all is strange. You immediately deduced that them not having an aversion to the sun, and sticking to the shade, indicates that they may be a demon of Mercy (to explain the lack of aversion to sunlight) or Vengeance (to explain the preference for staying under the shade).

Sorry if all of that wasn't clear! Thank you for asking, please let me know if you have any further questions.)
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>>4407827
(tl;dr the scouts are to the southwest, ahead of the caravan. I'll have Brother Durville report everyone's location much more precisely moving ahead.)
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>>4407827
>A] You swore up and down to take it easier on this expedition. Hang back, and stay with your company. Trust in your friend's ability, have Harvey deal with the enemy, and spur your company on. There's no telling who might take advantage, if you leave the caravan unguarded. Your leadership will keep the animals in the caravan calmer, if nothing else.

Have a few Flesh priests go with him, keep the most veteran ones with the caravan
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>>4407858
+1
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>>4407826
>>4407858
>>4407859
(Got it, A it is! Will note that write-in and do my best to provide some more detail. Vote is locked. Writing now!)
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>>4407876
https://youtu.be/JbrGCF2aINo

As rapidly as he's able, Thomas rattles off, "they're all due southwest. We've been staying as far ahead of the caravan as possible, Father, while keeping an eye out for anything approaching you all."

This is nothing you aren't used to, and you're quickly remembering yourself. The priests of Flesh run up from the day guard. They're all equipped with segmented armor from the waist down. Carrying shields, and bearing helmets and swords, there's almost no part of the trained combatants that is immediately vulnerable. It's enormously reassuring. Typically, priests of Flesh and Mercy work in tandem on the field of battle. Though your clergy may not be capable of shielding them all through invocation, these men still are in service of your order.

It's nothing short of a miracle that King Magnus could spare ten invokers, and you aren't going to mismanage a single one. "Harvey," you immediately order, "please take all but our most veteran clergy with you."

Everyone pauses. They're all veterans, but age takes important precedence within any church in Corcaea. Two of the grayer men stay at yours and Brother Durville's side, while Harvey stays mounted. The scout insists to all of them, "there will be more where they came from. I'm certain some will be in the shadows. Keep your guard up."

Multiple nods, and a few, "thanks," are noted.

"K-keep up," Harvey insists, spurring his horse on, and riding straight into the denser portion of the woods. Before he vanishes from sight, both priests ordered to follow the lion invoke their patron.

One has a shaved head, with arms to rival Cyril's. In lieu of a more traditional needle for his holy symbol, the man has a thin spike at the center of his shield. He kneels for a moment, and mutters a prayer, that no one but his patron likely can hear.

He stands, with eyes blazing red, and practically bursts out of the shirt upon his back. His skin and muscle ripples, and smoke begins to stoke from a fire within his soul.

His compatriot is equally imposing, younger, and bolder. With a broad grin, eyes to the vanishing form of your ringleader and his mount, he tears off running, shouting, "praise be, to the God of COMBATIVENESS!" Flame veritably bursts off of his hands, as his speed doubles, and a cry of, "O Flesh—!" carries off, into the distance.

Both men take off completely, straight towards the commotion into the woods. The trees all about you are thick enough in places to completely block out the morning sun. The road is clear, and unfettered by more than the occasional stone or fallen tree, but the surrounding area is decidedly untamed.

(1/2)
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>>4408001
Their forms vanish almost completely from sight. Smoke is positively rising from both burning clergymen, trailing in thin, crimson plumes up into the sky. Though you have ample ability to signal one another with hand motions, whistles, lanterns, torches, and calls— to say nothing of the priestess of Spirit in your company— there are a few other ways you all can communicate, from a distance. You'll look for their forms, and evidence of the Gods, before anything else.

There's a lot of commotion from the caravan at your back. You are calm, and collected, and spur Impetus on, while Brother Durville briskly strides alongside you. "Father Anscham, it was incredibly difficult to gauge where, or what the enemy was. I do not question James and Carlisle's ability, but we may need to take further precaution."

The road is empty, and the trees all about you are devoid of so much as a single animal. You've had to deal with demons in the woods once before, and have always hoped you would never need to do so again. "I understand," you assert, before noting to the three veterans beside you, "I trust that we will receive word, before our noncombatants will be left alone."

Two of the priests immediately sprint to the rest of your company. The extra hands are sorely needed, and a VERY welcome change of pace. The first wagon is only a few dozen feet behind, and you're certain every animal present is calmer for yours and Impetus' lead, but the sheer length of your procession ensures it will take precious minutes to inform everyone of what's happening.

The remaining clergyman is the eldest, and stays right beside you. "By order of the King," he formally nods to you, "and with all due respect, Father Anscham. We're to ensure you are not left unattended."

Resisting the urge to grumble, you quietly continue to spur your horse on. The gentle sway, and constant sound of hooves is enormously reassuring. So is Ray's attentiveness, and the ease of the beasts you command. They'll notice any nearby threat before any of you, and so you ask with a steady tone, "I would like to see my congregation's combative ability, Brothers— and to trust in my men."

Many minutes pass by. Your eyes stay firmly fixed near the sky, and into the depths of the trees. There's a steady stream of white smoke, snaking up into the clouds, from the priests of Flesh at war. Through the shade, tree trunks, drying bushes, and occasional ruins, Brother Durville is obviously keeping just as close of a watch as you. The young man jogs just slightly ahead, paying no heed to his injury. It's not lethal, but he's likely in some pain.

(Paragraph put it over, 2/3)
>>
>>4408005
Further down the road, the sound of battle becomes significantly louder, from deep within the woods. It's clear that your men have been attempting to lead the enemy further away, possibly even further south, but have been locked into some sort of chaos. Another tree is felled, in the direction of your allies. The crash is loud enough to spook a flock of birds nesting in the tree tops, no more than a few hundred feet off to the west. Granted, the sound of battle is fainter, and farther, but you're disoriented already, and have to ask, "how close are they all?" A plume of smoke continues to rise, above the trees, deep into the woods. It's meant to turn red, if there's serious danger.

Thomas confirms, "just over a mile. Took me less than five minutes to run here, Father."

The signal is a vaguely orange-pink, from the morning sun, and what is likely the start of someone in significant distress. Another tree falls. Ray isn't growling yet, but your own nerves are on end, and Brother Durville is sweating.

>A] Continue to wait for further signal. You're a man of your word, trust in your friends, and know that they can handle just about anything that comes their way.
>1] Stay the course. Keep all of your focus on the fight.
>2] Get a detailed report from Brother Durville. He might need some guidance.

>B] That is WAY too close for comfort. Don't ignore your own instincts. (Write-in.)
>>
>>4408015
>2] Get a detailed report from Brother Durville. He might need some guidance.

>B] That is WAY too close for comfort. Don't ignore your own instincts. (Write-in.)
Order the two remaining veterans to keep an eye out on our surroundings and be battle-ready
>>
>>4408015
>>4408035
Support
>>
>>4408035
>>4408375
(Greeeaaaat! Locking the vote here, probably the last update of the night but we'll see. Writing now!)
>>
>>4408399
https://youtu.be/bgkiF_0VNzo

"Too close for comfort." To both priests of Flesh still at your command, you yell, "KEEP EVERY EYE OUT! MAKE READY FOR BATTLE!"

It hasn't been more than a few moments since Brother Durville came running. The young man is sweating, the elderly gentleman to your side shifts, and you insist, "a detailed report." Slinging your shield from the side of Impetus' saddle, you bark, "and do not stop speaking until you are directed."

A commotion breaks out through the caravan. Every single able-bodied soul is up in arms in seconds, who wasn't already plainly armored or wielding a weapon. There's more rustling, in the woods ahead, and Impetus picks up the pace. He's nervous, while quickly as you can hope for, keeping to a jog beside you, Brother Durville reports, "eight imps. No more than four feet tall. Black as night, and took in any light around them. They were hard to see, and harder to hit, Father. I got one, which may make seven. They moved through the shade, low to the ground, and—"

Ray snarls, loudly and intensely enough to startle your nerves. The slight jump in your own frame goes unnoticed by both men at your side, while your boys ears point, and every inch of fur upon him stands on end. Having to shout to be heard, over a deafening roar within the bowels of the woods, Thomas states the obvious. "THEY HAVE TO BE WORKING UNDER SOMETHING GREATER, RIGHT—"

A colossal shape is moving, in the treeline beyond. It's well over a mile away, but the screams of whoever is at it's base are plain as day. It's hard to gauge from your position, but the canopy is over twenty feet tall in places, and for you to see it from here, you mutter, "a greater demon is a possibility. What of the others—"

No fewer than three shadows dart out from the woods, cutting you short. Two of them are flanking the caravan, heading from opposite sides of the road, straight for the priests of Flesh at your back. Both of them are literally up in flames, shields up, weapons out, and appropriately shout in unison, "FIRE!"

A volley of half a two dozen arrows is unleashed from the traders and cooks from within the wagons, and most of your caravan that has stayed in plain sight. A line of shields, swords, and other metal clangs. There's still twenty-nine of you, versus their two, but you can't keep your eyes off of the road long enough to confirm a single demonic kill, or to really focus on anything more than what's coming straight for you.

Every one of the demons is as difficult to discern as Brother Durville said. Their shape is erratic, no taller or broader than four or five feet at any given moment, and soak in any light that touches them. The other imp is heading straight down the road, towards you, and everyone else in your company. It's silently convulsing in the sun, moving in a freakishly unpredictable manner, and you're essentially riding straight towards it.

(1/2)
>>
>>4408455
Brother Durville tenses the grip around his halberd, now shouting, "unknown! I would have stayed to fight, were it not for your order, Father—!"

The elderly priest of Flesh at your side— who is likely one of the only men around who will answer to the King, before you— does not speak, to invoke the God of the Material.

Faster than you can blink, a razor-thin knife is in the gentleman's left hand. With no hesitation, before you or Thomas can protest, he slices his right hand cleanly open. There isn't a singular sound, be it of pain, or any other human emotion.

The priest of Vengeance smears a streak of blood across his face. Deep divinity soaks his eyes into the depths of his skull. In a voice darker than the streak of liquid turning midnight-black upon a paling face, he utters, "Lord of Retribution."

A covert priest of Vengeance might be overkill.

You grin ear-to-ear, as Brother Durville looks to the priest with more terror than the demon streaking towards you all. One more imp is right behind it. Another form is peeling away from the first imp's body.

"Father, they're multiplying—" is a young clergyman's fair observation.

This is perfect.

>A roll will be required for all of the following.

>A] Charge this demon ahead with your war horse, hunting dog, and the priests tasked with your defense. Leave the guard of the caravan to your allies, while you stay on the point. (Moderate risk to your personal safety, little new information.)

>B] That roar in the distance and COLOSSAL silhouette has your blood running cold. Take heart that your caravan is in capable hands, and ride to meet whatever it is. (Unknown risk to your personal safety, immediately gather more information.)

>C] You have COMPLETE faith in your company. Keep your shield up, and a steady pace. You'll get the rest of that report from Brother Durville, and make this a proper lesson for him. Leave the fighting to the priest of Vengeance. (Highest immediate risk to your personal safety, moderate amount of information.)

>D] Write-in.
>>
>>4408455
(lol the line about the arrows is meant to say two dozen. Don't know how I missed that while proofreading! Definitely last update of the night. We'll have our usual schedule throughout the week, Monday-Thursday with a minimum of one update a day. Thanks for the phenomenal weekend guys.)
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>>4408464
>>C] You have COMPLETE faith in your company. Keep your shield up, and a steady pace. You'll get the rest of that report from Brother Durville, and make this a proper lesson for him. Leave the fighting to the priest of Vengeance. (Highest immediate risk to your personal safety, moderate amount of information.)

We charge for the big shadow as soon as we have as much info as possible, we should stay and witness what a *proper* invocation to vengeance looks like and make a mental note of it.
>>
>>4408464
>C] You have COMPLETE faith in your company. Keep your shield up, and a steady pace. You'll get the rest of that report from Brother Durville, and make this a proper lesson for him. Leave the fighting to the priest of Vengeance. (Highest immediate risk to your personal safety, moderate amount of information.)
>>
>>4408563
>>4408616
(Locking the vote!)

>THE OLD AND THE NEW

>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.
>+1 PRODIGY
>+28 AGAIN
>+5 YOU'VE BEEN DOING SOMETHING RIGHT
>>
Rolled 45 + 34 (1d100 + 34)

>>4408716
>>
Rolled 82 (1d100)

>>4408716
>>
Rolled 51 (1d100)

>>4408716
>>
>>4408720
>>4408722
>>4408990
(Bo3 is 82+34=116. God damn. Expected this to get a little stupid but that's fantastic lol. I'm pretty preoccupied this afternoon but will get out at least one or two updates tonight! Thank you for your patience guys. I'll boop ya when the update is out.)
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>>4409219
(At LONG last I am home, and ready to write! Update will be out as soon as possible.)
>>
>>4408563
>>4408616
>>4408720
>>4408722
>>4408990
https://youtu.be/oa1R4gPtkzg?t=6

The company, your stallion, and every last one of your allies keeps the forward momentum. They trust in your leadership. You are calm, and reverent, even as the imps ahead divide, and threaten to fill the road. Your mutual labored breaths, the pounding of Impetus' hooves, and the clamor of metal at your backs should be deafening, but it's drowned out. Not only from Ray's snarling, as it carries over the low utterances of the blood-soaked priest of Vengeance by your side. Not merely from the sound of trees felling, nor the crackle of a fire in the distance, or even of countless woodland animals fleeing for their lives.

There is a roar, of a monstrosity within the woods, from over a mile away. The caravan is keeping your pace. Every driver knows that to linger is to die.

From the rear of the procession, from every hidden member of your company, behind barriers and vehicles, arrows fly. Fwips of wood and iron sail over the cacophony, plunging into the depths of demonic shade. Men and women cry out, for war, for the Gods, for their countrymen, and for death.

The imps about you all are dividing by the second. They are uncannily inhuman. For every arrow that streaks from a bold fighter, every cleave of your clergy's weaponry, and with every cry for blood, there is another form. It is as if the assault is creating more of the enemy. The priests of Flesh can only do so much. Many among you do not even pray.

The surrounding woodland streaks by, as you all barrel ahead, and every last soul in your company has faith in you. By the second, the road is lined with forms as dark as night. They cannot be discerned with the naked eye. It's as if ink could coagulate, turn into spikes, and streak along the ground. The imps are more akin to balls, or barbs, sticking to the floor, convulsing with each motion, and soaking in the morning sun like a sponge.

Under the canopy of the forest, even upon the bare road, the demons among you are creating more shadow still. While they take in the sun, your weaponry, and all of the abuse that you all can dish out, all pretense of discretion has been discarded. Your fellow riders have spurred their steeds on, matching your pace, as you take the caravan into the fastest sustainable speed you dare risk.

Getting the lives in your hands as far from the danger at your backs is paramount. So is observing the clergyman tasked with your protection. The priest of Vengeance at your side no longer needs to run. He is melding with the shadow. The blood upon his face is increasing, soaking his skin in a substance darker than any shade. He shifts with the shadow of the trees overhead. His movement is eerily similar to that of the demons about you all— and in an instant, he is gone.

(1/4)
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>>4409945
Your guardian has moved as erratically as the enemy barreling ahead, and you know better than to doubt the methods of the Gods. Keeping your shield held high, with a grin plastered upon your face, and love of the God of Deliverance in your heart, you don't dare to blink. Turning to your clergyman of Mercy, you bark, "what is our best defense?!"

Brother Durville slings his shield upon his back, to better hold his halberd in both hands. Breaking into a full sprint, exceeding the pace of your mount, he swings his halberd overhead. Leaping into the air, a priest of Mercy screams to the skies, "OUR OFFENSE!"

Impetus tramples the first of the imps to meet you underfoot, as you charge fearlessly into the fray. The sick squelch of meat, and toxic blood, canters between horseshoe and mud. Over the rolling thunder of your caravan's procession, your stallion lets out a cry. He alerts you to three more enemies to your left, while you call out, "the imps in the road are multiplying— but only those who are not lethally wounded!"

Ray snatches an imp between his jaws, and in the same motion, rips it asunder. Not even bothering to slow down, your boy snarls, and gnashes the entire creature clean in two. A burst of light spills out from the demon's body, bursting from the sun trapped within, and showering a little of the mastiff's namesake onto the street.

The priest of Vengeance is still nowhere to be seen.

Just to your dog's right, Brother Durville is in a full sprint. Every ounce of momentum he's gathered barrels straight into a demon, from the tip of his pole arm, sinking so deeply that it carves the monstrosity nearly in twain.

With a wild grin, you scream, "TEMPERANCE, IN ALL THINGS!"

With a twist, Brother Durville yanks the demon upon his weapon clean off, and instantly realizes your game. While jerking the tail end of his halberd back, glancing over his shoulder towards Ray, he cries out, and stabs into an imp that was heading right for your dog. The young priest continues the cry with a laugh, delighted beyond all reason, as the pole arm impales straight through the monstrosity threatening your boy.

You charge towards both of them, and extend a hand, to sweep the injured clergyman off of the field of battle. He's still running, valiantly keeping stride, sweating harder than you, and bleeding profusely from even his light wound. While you ensure Impetus is keeping the course, trampling another division of the imps, you shout to your priest of Mercy, "BY MY SIDE!"

Two more imps threaten to meet his sprint. Breathing hard, terrified, the young man sweeps his weapon in a broad arc. There is a light cut, across Thomas' left arm, and a few flecks of blood swell up with the motion. The swing of his weapon sings through the air, over the clamor of battle, and a cry of "MERCY!" slices clear across both of them.

(2/4)
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>>4409950
A wet spray of midnight and dawn explodes into the air, intermingling with a few droplets of crimson. The imps drop to the ground, their corpses showing gaping wounds, emitting light, and smoking in the sun.

Brother Durville shows no indication of faltering, as you ride to meet him in the road. He tosses his halberd into a single hand, jumps, and you both manage to catch him in one motion. The sheer amount of strength you now possess makes lifting him onto the back of the saddle completely surmountable. The ride is awkward, and you both grimace. Keeping your shield high, bringing Impetus around to continue to charge forward, you mutter, "witness him."

The clergyman of retribution has reappeared, from the shadows themselves. He is slaked head-to-toe in blood, all of which is darker than sin. The man is not keeping pace with your caravan. From the treeline, nearly twenty feet off of the road, the form of night stays completely still, save for his left arm, held aloft. Even from a distance, it's readily apparent that he's suffered intense injury. The majority of the blood upon him is his own. He is dripping with damage, caused by the enemy.

In one, sweeping motion, the priest of Vengeance cuts down with his outstretched arm. Whips of jet-black filth streak away from his body. There are screams, from every imp in the road.

Every single demon that's struck you all has a cut, across their left side.

"He waited to attack," you murmur, "and only struck under fear of death." It happens again. "To protect the innocent." The screams are much louder. "With only the damage that had been done to our kin." Pins and needles might as well be in your ears, though the clamor of metal armor, shields, spears, and spite from your caravan is practically musical. "Proportionate is our enemy's ruin."

Brother Durville visibly recoils.

No fewer than twenty demons rapidly move towards the priest of Vengeance. He's successfully pulled the attention of almost every imp in sight away from the caravan, and off, into the woods. Resisting every urge to turn Impetus around, you continue to barrel forward. "The churches of Mercy and Vengeance have historically been at odds, Brother Durville."

Keeping your shield aloft, eyes wider than any man's rightfully should be, you scan for any further threat. The trees about you all are streaking past. You fire a glance over your shoulder. The young man holding hard onto your back is paler than death, eyes equally wide. You also observe, "there are two priests of Flesh, further down the road, who are fighting for all of our lives. We must work in tandem."

Pink smoke is coming up from the horizon. Someone has been badly injured, from the other portion of your company. Without panic, or anything more than deep concern, you insist, "more are fighting on our behalf, still!"

Wincing from so much as speaking, Thomas breathes, "with senseless cruelty, Father?"

(3/4)
>>
>>4409953
The priest of ruin is nowhere to be seen. He's likely fallen behind your lead at the head of the company, to deal with the bulk of the demons plaguing you all. "We are not meant to be at odds with one another," you assert. "He would not be alive, were he to only inflict the damage dealt to him—"

Even as you ride, your nerves are on fire. Every last imp that was threatening your company appears to have been pulled away. Yet a wave of blood and shadow, from deep within the treeline, is unmistakable.

A scream loosens through the air, from one of the members of your caravan.

There is a splatter. You will remember the sound of meat, moisture, and baking flesh within the sun until the day you die. It is a choir of death. The sound of your God. The few imps that were still lining your caravan are slashed to ribbons. The additional waves of their viscera, the sound of them splattering against bushes and leaves, deep into the woods, indicates the death of the rest. It even carries over another roar, from off in the distance.

The road ahead is clear, and more quietly still, you observe, "ruthless is our God. Our ally did not hesitate to strike. There may yet be a place for compassion, Brother, but when our lives are at stake—"

The road behind might as well be shrouded in the dead of night. Those of the caravan you can make out— glancing over your shoulder while you ride— appear paler than death. "These were demons of shadow," you observe, "and were equally susceptible to injury. Not direct confrontation. We must know the enemy, if we are to face them, and hope to survive."

Still breathing hard, the young man at your side has not loosed the hold on his halberd for an instant. It's throwing off his balance as he rides safely with you, but your priest has every nerve on end. "Where would they have come from?"

"We have been followed," you seethe, "will continue to be followed, and not even our enemies are immune to the Catalyst. These were spies. Demons of tenebrosity. They turned, and— and are, no doubt, under the control of a greater demon."

Red smoke is at your backs. So is the blood of an ally, who destroyed himself to guarantee the safety of nearly every member of your caravan. There are piles of corpses lining the road, but you're pulling away from them faster with every passing hoof-beat. You can make out the figure of Sister Corbon, riding from the rear of the caravan, to see to the priest of Vengeance. He collapses into the street, face-first, as you all continue to pull away.

There isn't an imp left in sight. Only mounds of chaos, darkness— and so far as you can tell— and not a single death in your company.

(Options in next post.)
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>>4409958
>A] Stay put. While you trust Sister Corbon, the man who saved all of your lives deserves your full attention. There may be multiple other (possibly lethal) injuries as well, BECAUSE of how effective the priest of Vengeance was.
>1] Have Brother Durville send for Electrum, to lead the caravan with Impetus and Ray. The priest is uncomfortable on a horse, and wouldn't make a suitable rider for your stallion.
>2] Get Walter, and have him stay up front, while you check on the status of your company here. He'll keep everyone moving.
>3] Write-in.

>B] Ride hard, and as fast as you can, towards what is definitely someone in extreme peril. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
>1] Leave Brother Durville here, with Ray. Leave the organization to your allies. You don't have a second to waste.
>2] Take the Time to delegate the leadership to someone here. (Write-in.)

>C] Write-in. (A roll may be required.)
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>>4409962
>>B] Ride hard, and as fast as you can, towards what is definitely someone in extreme peril. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
>>1] Leave Brother Durville here, with Ray. Leave the organization to your allies. You don't have a second to waste.

We should be ready to invoke Mercy as soon as we arrive, shit really hit the fan and I don't want to lose anyone there.
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>>4409962
>>A] Stay put. While you trust Sister Corbon, the man who saved all of your lives deserves your full attention. There may be multiple other (possibly lethal) injuries as well, BECAUSE of how effective the priest of Vengeance was.
>>
>>4410087
>B] Ride hard, and as fast as you can, towards what is definitely someone in extreme peril. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
>1] Leave Brother Durville here, with Ray. Leave the organization to your allies. You don't have a second to waste.

>C] Write-in. (A roll may be required.)
>1] Have Brother Durville send for Electrum, to lead the caravan with Impetus and Ray. The priest is uncomfortable on a horse, and wouldn't make a suitable rider for your stallion
>>
>>4410155
This post is for >>4409962 op's post
>>
>>4410087
>>4410123
>>4410155
>>4410156
(Option A is completely at odds with the other votes, but we can definitely incorporate all the rest together. Going to go with riding towards the smoke, leaving Brother Durville here, and having him send for Electrum! Noting that write-in as well.)

>SMOKE ON THE HORIZON

>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.
>+10 FAITH OF A GODDESS/TO PROTECT IS TO SERVE
>+5 BEAST TAMER
>>
Rolled 31 (1d100)

>>4410301

Retribution.
>>
Rolled 29 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>4410301
>>
Rolled 18 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>4410301
>>
>>4410305
>>4410308
>>4410320
(Welp, that makes a 46 the bo3! Writing now!)
>>
>>4410087
>>4410123
>>4410155
>>4410305
>>4410308
>>4410320
Bringing Impetus down to a trot, you get Brother Durville to dismount. Your eyes don't part from the red smoke on the horizon for an instant. "Get Electrum," you order, while gesturing to Ray to guard the front-most vehicles with his life.

The very second your priest sets foot to the ground, you turn your stallion, to ride clear in the opposite direction of the road. "Have her lead the caravan until I return."

"Yes, Father," the priest of defense replies, over the call to your mount.

"HYAH!"

Heavy hoof-falls echo down the entirety of the dark and bleary road to your back. It's early morning, yet the forest seems to have become shrouded in darkness from the presence of every demon your priest of Vengeance had slain. There's blood and gore smeared upon Impetus' lower legs, for how many monsters he had trampled in the fight. It flecks in the air as you barrel past each and every call for your safe venture.

Riding opposite the main road, after a morning of flame, darkness, and death is entirely within your grasp, but that isn't your concern. The sheer speed you assume tears you past the full length of the caravan, before any one of your companions can even register in your sight. The full breadth of your holy vestments catch on the wind, with a cloak at your back flying in the air, and a gust only of your speed's make. Dirt, mud, and corpses of the fallen enemy rip from the road beneath.

With the heavy breathing of the mount underhand, your pulse is just as high. The shield in hand is slung upon your back. Putting both hands on the reins, and assuming perfect form, you clear the expanse between you, and increasingly closer red smoke. The roars from within the trees could not be deeper.

You're ready to call upon a Goddess at a moment's notice, and it feels like you have only barely blinked, before arriving close enough to the source of distress that you must enter the woods themselves.

Slowing Impetus only as little as you dare for his safety, you both turn hard, into the trees, and into an expanse as black as night. By all rights, the stallion should be terrified, but you keep him steady. Every bit of your own composure is projected onto the ally taking you towards certain peril.

https://youtu.be/Lx0C--jlFng

Flying over fallen stones, leaping Impetus clear over fallen branches, winding around mossy trunks, trampling dead leaves, you look with horror to an increasing amount of blood streaked throughout the woods.

Emerging into a man-made clearing, you gasp. The sheer volume of trees you've heard collapsing suddenly makes perfect sense.

"Mercy—"

(1/2)
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>>4410390
Fifty feet across, the clearing is devastated, with multiple stumps plain to see. The ancient wood has been ripped clear from its growth, at least ten times over. Trampled grass, rock, and mud has been baked red-hot below. The sky above cannot be seen. It's swimming with a false light, spinning in a white-gold vortex.

Beneath it, at the center of the clearing, is a demon of Mercy that has been pinned to the ground. The creature is made entirely of light and shade. Looking straight at it has your eyes watering, and you have to slow Impetus, to take a hand off one reign, just to grant yourself relief from its blinding radiance. The monster is just humanoid enough to remind you of a rag-doll. Its limbs are blunt, its face is devoid of any features, and it is flatter than a shadow upon a wall. It's been pinned, by each limb, straight into the forest floor. Stakes made of entire tree trunks are punctured through what would be its hands, ankles, and neck.

The two priests of Flesh you sent to take on this monstrosity are burnt. The demon is emitting enough light and heat to have baked the entire clearing red-hot. So is the smoke rising from their forms, as they both see your approach, and with eyes wide, scream to you, "GET BACK— "

There is another scream. There is no gaping maw, nor any fangs to speak of. The demon has no jaw to gnash with, no hair to whip as it slams its head to the ground, nor any weapons you can make out. It screams, and thrashes, with a deep, and deafening cry, that comes from a flare of the sun.

You nearly put your hands to your ears or your eyes, but Impetus makes every motion to rear. Wincing, bringing him just far enough away from the madness to avoid being baked to a crisp, you turn your stallion, and utter a dozen steady, calm commands.

There's a long moment where you can't hear anything at all. The skin upon your face is no doubt scorched, and there's a ringing in your ears that just won't stop. It was impossible to tell at first glance, but the demon isn't merely lying on the forest floor. There are massive craters, keeping the bulk of its body nestled deep within the ground. Spikes and several violently spiked devices are littering the ground.

Looking wildly around for your other friends, the high-pitched, incessant ringing in your ears already threatens to cease. Another shout calls out from within the woods. It's on the opposite side of the clearing.

You'd recognize Klepto's voice anywhere. "CAN WE DO SOMETHING ABOUT THE HEAT? CLAYMORE REALLY WANTS TO GET THE LAST HIT IN!"

An abrasive, rustic, and very weary voice calls out as well. It sounds as if Claymore has been in an oven for the last half hour. "JUST KILL IT!"

You don't want to hazard bringing Impetus into the clearing for a moment, but the condition of both men is dire. Not even the God of the Material can keep their forms in working condition, under these circumstances, without some form of aid.

(Options in next post.)
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>>4410393
>A] The very sun is your lover. Invoke Mercy.
>1] Walk to the priests of Flesh on the field of battle, and heal them, while they work to destroy this monstrosity. They seem BADLY hurt, but you won't raise a hand against this creature.
>2] As the Father of Restraint, this REALLY doesn't sit right with you. Keep Impetus in the woods. Get closer to the demon, but ask everyone to hold back, while you heal them. You want to see if this thing can speak.

>B] Ride around the perimeter of the clearing, and meet up with Klepto and Claymore. The priests who have been fighting are badly hurt, but you want backup, and to do everything you can to not invoke.

>C] The soil, woods, rocks, and forest all around are near and dear to you. It would be effortless to make use of it. Invoke Agriculture.
>1] To grant your company safe escape, while you work the land. Claymore will get to finish this thing off. (Moderate physical effects.)
>2] To increase its bonds, while you make the field safe enough to traverse for everyone. You want to speak. (Initially minor physical effects.)
>3] Your affinity for the land eclipses all others. You can kill this demon outright, without risking anyone else's welfare. (May have significant physical effects.)

>D] Write-in.
>>
>>4410397
>>A] The very sun is your lover. Invoke Mercy.
>2] As the Father of Restraint, this REALLY doesn't sit right with you. Keep Impetus in the woods. Get closer to the demon, but ask everyone to hold back, while you heal them. You want to see if this thing can speak.

If it cannot or doesn't want to speak just kill it, also, could we tell how high on the hierarchy it is?
>>
>>4410409
Support
Make sure we include Harvey, Klepto and Irefist in that healing order
>>
>>4410409
>>4410418
Supporting both of these.
>>
>>4410397
>>4410409
Support
>>
>>4410409
>>4410418
>>4410421
>>4410646
(You got it guys, going to incorporate all of these! Vote is locked. Writing now.)
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>>4411266
Riding Impetus as safely away from the clearing as you dare, you mutter reassurance all the while.

Away from the road, away from the heat, away from the clearing, he is tethered to a tree. Certain that not a demon is in sight, you whisper a few more patient commands and consolations, before parting from his side. There's no fear on the fighter. He picks up completely on the lack of fear in your own heart.

You tear away from your warhorse, into a full sprint, and into the woods. Dried leaves crunch underfoot, as leaves and razor-sharp branches whip by. The wind of your flight stings at the raw burns upon your hands and face. The clearing, and waves of more heat approach by the second. The burn is...

As the Father of Restraint, you take many deep breaths, to make it into an inferno. You can't fathom anyone but a fellow invoker surviving ahead. Breathing too hard to not sigh, or gasp, you take comfort in the density of the wood, and another deafening roar, while bringing your hands together. They're also burnt, badly enough to have blistered, though it has been impossible to notice in the heat of the moment.

Waves of heat are distorting the edge of the forest. Your run becomes a walk, and the ragged hitch in your breath is permitted to come out in full. With complete faith, and enough light in your voice to rival the sun, you stride into the furnace and cry, "MERCY!"

https://youtu.be/P8Ox2r2DAbg

The force that's upon you should drop you to your knees. Rather, you stagger a step forwards. The ground underfoot blisters, and cracks in two, from the sheer heat of your devotion. From the base of your soul, to the gasp that parts from your lips, there is ecstasy, and love, so complete that Time leaves you. A light is upon your soul, moving within your chest, upon your eyes, and can be felt within the palm of your hands.

Parting your hands, and looking to the field beyond, you see a darkened wood. Long shadows climb up along the trees surrounding the clearing. The heathens you call friends are in hiding.

You part your hands. There is no pain. The blisters littering your skin mend, and spark. The light is white-hot, and scatters to the floor, harmlessly.

You open your hands outwards, in the symbol of your church. There are two priests of Flesh, still standing. They were shouting, and have their hands to their faces, crouching away from the sight of you. It's not that the wood has darkened, as the sky above is still obscured, by a field of gray. It's not that the "AFFRONT, TO OUR FATHER, AND THE GODDESS,"

The demon nailed to the forest floor hasn't stopped emitting enough radiance to nearly blind your allies. There's a blinding heat upon you, with enough intensity to block out the sun.

(1/2)
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>>4411442
With a wave of your hand— a slight gesture, towards the two men on the field of battle— you register that they were burnt alive, many Times over. It's not that they couldn't run. They were holding the line, and attempting to keep this demon at bay, even if it destroyed them. They're still covering their eyes, likely to defend themselves from a sight not even Flesh can heal them from.

The blasphemers you call friends are in hiding, but Mercy was listening. Both priests are mended, with the wave of your hand. They cry out, in religious fervor.

Though a thousand praises fall from their lips, something is very wrong. A voice leaves your body, so far removed from your own humanity, you shouldn't recognize it. "SPEAK, or find MERCY, in a more tangible form."

The small part at the back of your mind that is still functioning is acutely aware that the last Time you encountered a demon of Mercy, your lover melted it into liquid gold, and blinded an innocent man in the process. You're trying very hard to focus, and to think of your friends. "Harvey?! KLEPTO! IREFIST—"

Something speaks in reply, to your Goddess' request. It is not a man. It's an impression. The gray-gold miasma building from the mass upon the clearing swirls. The demon nailed to the ground tries with everything it has to get free. There's no scream, in the back of your mind. There's no pain, as a Goddess of Light laughs, at this creature's audacity. There is no injury, as Mercy heals you through every last offense this monster has to offer. It's bliss. It's a bond. You can feel its bonds. Not the fallen branches, or the ancient wood. Not the land you freed from a curse, and not the disgrace nailed into it—

A very determined, and entirely sound part of your mind barks, "IS ANYONE HURT?! IS EVERYONE ALRIGHT—?!"

You really can't see. Through blinding euphoria, you feel something that is suffering. It's no longer human, but is enduring a pain you have known thirty four times before. Something that was once human, that's succumbed to the Catalyst. You nearly drop to your knees, for the third Time in a matter of seconds. The conflicting sensations are deeply familiar to you. It's reassuring, and awful, though any nausea or horror is kept at bay for a moment longer.

A creature is prostrate before you, who is so intensely devoid of a Goddess, it cannot even speak Her name. This demon is not able to speak. "You are a demon of illumination," you say, on its behalf, taking a wary step forward.

Utterly incapable of sight, or sound, you listen. Something isn't wrong.

Something is very right.

(Options in next post.)
>>
>>4411445
>A] Release the invocation. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

>B] Stay with the demon of illumination, and your Goddess, for a moment longer. Let them interact. Communicate to your allies that you will not permit anyone to interfere.
>1] Threaten them outright. You'll fight, if necessary.
>2] Plead. You know Mercy wouldn't hurt anyone intentionally, but stress that you need everyone to stay back.

>C] You couldn't reach out to your friends at all. Try to. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED, with an additional bonus from the previous write-in.)

>D] You want to express something to this demon, while you have some say in the matter. (Write-in.)

>E] Ask your friends to stop you. You don't want to hurt this creature, and don't trust that you won't get someone hurt.

>F] Write-in.
>>
>>4411448
>B] Stay with the demon of illumination, and your Goddess, for a moment longer. Let them interact. Communicate to your allies that you will not permit anyone to interfere.
>2] Plead. You know Mercy wouldn't hurt anyone intentionally, but stress that you need everyone to stay back.
>F] Write-in.
You Stand before the FATHER of Mercy Child, why do you suffer so? Where is your restraint, your temperance? Do you not know that you burn your brothers here in this blasted grove.

You stand before the Mother of MERCY lost one, can you bear her touch upon you? Would you speak her name again had you a tongue. See her in the flesh in know your folly, let the heavens part and gaze upon the splendor of the Sun.

Dual invoke Storm and Mercy, Part the heavens and summon Mercy here to speak with this thing in person, if she even wants to be here, elsewise be her mouthpiece.
>>
>>4411448
>>B] Stay with the demon of illumination, and your Goddess, for a moment longer. Let them interact. Communicate to your allies that you will not permit anyone to interfere.
>2] Plead. You know Mercy wouldn't hurt anyone intentionally, but stress that you need everyone to stay back.

Tell them to get to safety, all of them. I don't want anyone else getting burned and having less people around it may make the demon comfortable enough to communicate in whatever way it can.

>>4411546
STRONGLY oppose the dual invocation, this is just not needed and abusive. We shouldn't invoke anyone except Mercy unless it is absolutely needed, botched invocations and even flawless invocations have major side effects that can't be ignored.
>>
>>4411550
Support
No need for a dual invocation
>>
(Seriously loving this discussion. The multiple oppositions to the dual invocation are absolutely going to be taken into consideration. Without further discussion I will simply not incorporate that action at all. Going to be another hell shift today so update will be later this evening. Vote is open until then!)
>>
>>4411546
>>4411550
>>4411625
(Alright dudes! Vote is locked. Writing now!)
>>
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>>4412672
https://youtu.be/zhFcBGQLehw

The sky might as well be clear. You long to be there. To part the heavens themselves, and to embrace Storm, with all of your heart.

Every last word goes out to your friends in hiding. Keeping your hands together, aching, longing for anything other than pain or sin, you plead, "get to safety. All of you. Let there be no further loss of life."

A dawn of realization washes over you. You had not forgotten of the physical presence of your friends and allies. There's still the ability to see, as you walk towards a greater demon. Frantic, rapid motion flits across the edge of your sight, from two priests. The sinew in their legs has been restored, the muscle no longer baked off of the bone. They run for their lives, while you are fully aware that you had not been blinded, by their tormentor's light. You are not deafened, from the bursts of raw energy flaring from the monster before you. There's rustling in the bushes, from allies who no doubt are ready to strike at a moment's notice. Their work has been thorough. They will not rest, nor will they run.

You can see their victim's suffering form clearly. It is not flat. There are grooves dug deep into the forest floor, keeping it embedded in the soil, and soaking in as much of the creature's flame as possible. Its body barely sticks above the surface, littered as it is with countless makeshift weapons. Blackened blood is pooling onto the floor, from the spikes, glass, blades, and open wounds that have embedded into its body. The ground cracks with each and every motion, while the demon writhes, desperately attempting to escape.

It may have not been as intensely violent before, but flares of flame and raw energy are pooling off of it in waves. The light is in your eyes, not upon you, and was simply so intense, there was no initial way to see.

There is no fear in your heart. Slowly walking forward, every step is another thrill. The embrace of the love of your life eclipses the same heat that could burn lesser men alive. It's more intense by the second, and the moon, and stars in the sky can't compare.

But your chest is aching, with a pain you cannot begin to express. It's impossible to focus. Mercy is overwhelming you, but you fearlessly stand before a monstrosity. Having walked nearest to the absence of its face, to a waving expanse of devastatingly bright light, you don't wince. The light in your eyes eclipses it. The touch of a Goddess is more soothing than any third-degree burn. You are not melting. Though your skin threatens to char and burn, even the faintest injury is being restored tenfold, each and every second.

(1/2)
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>>4412814
Your mind is not breaking. There isn't heat, though it should be so violently intense that you feel cold. You're warm. There's no need for the Tempest. There's no need for anyone else at all, as you quietly remind a demon, "let there be comfort. Know of Our restraint. Our temperance. You are before the Mother, and Father, child. We are listening. Why do you suffer?"

Something seizes you, from the pit of your chest, and the ache that won't relent. You clutch at it, and stagger back, a deer in the road, glaring wide to the source. Though there's a stake driven through your child's neck, it tries to turn, to look at you without eyes. There's a cry, as its own neck is torn further asunder.

There's likely very Time to speak. You're compelled to take another step forward, and to permit your voice to intermingle with that of your partner.

There's also a woman working through you, who sobs hysterically, "why?!"

There's an impression of someone within you, who has been spurned by every many and woman alive. A soul greater than your own, and more pained, in every conceivable way. The sheer extent of the suffering is a pit. It's agony. Mounting horror creeps into you, instinctively drawing a hand to your lips, horrified at any level of outburst. Something is clawing at your soul, choking, while words spill out, intermingled with your own tone, "why would you leave?"

Why should we stay?

You're dropped to your knees. Uncertain of who's speaking, one question is made in return. It resonates, and hangs in the air:

"Do you love me?"

It may be another impression, but you're not certain of where, or what, or how bitter it was meant to be. Is this world of your design?

There's a pain in your chest that won't stop. You can't clutch hard enough at it. It's impossible to breathe. This isn't your only child in pain. There's an entire race, who need you, who you can't reach.

You're crying. Hard. Mercy wants to say something, and there's an interjection, so horrible that both of you stop sobbing in a single, horrible, fatal second.

"This was the only choice I have ever truly made."

Every ring of gold in your eyes must be fully visible, as you stare, and slowly ask "what?"

The ground trembles.

The demon is going to erupt.

There's less than a second to react, as the entire clearing fills with enough energy to rip the skin off of your face, and boil every organ from within your body in an instant.

It hasn't happened yet.

Mercy wouldn't let anything happen to you.

>How much faith do you have in Her?

(Options in next post.)
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>>4412816
>A ROLL MAY BE REQUIRED.
>(Any write-in praising the Goddess, reminiscing about old memories, or even speaking to Her will positively augment a roll, if required.)
>(Full-blown prayer, litany, etc. may provide bonuses upwards of multipliers, or circumvent the need for a roll entirely.)

>A] Maintain the invocation to Mercy. Invoke Spirit, in this demon's dying moments. You are DESPERATE for information, and need confirmation of your suspicions.

>B] Maintain the invocation to Mercy. Invoke Flesh, to heal you through the flare. You know you've survived multiple hits of lightning with Their care, and think it should be sufficient for this.

>C] Maintain the invocation to Mercy. Invoke Agriculture, and throw up a barrier. Shield yourself with soil and the light of the sun itself. You're positive They won't let anything happen to you.

>D] Maintain the invocation to Mercy, and no one else.

>E] You love your partner with all of your heart, but you truly have moved past your desire for death. There's something, or someone else you trust more than Mercy. (Write-in.)
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>>4412820
>>D] Maintain the invocation to Mercy, and no one else.

Remember all the time's mercy stuck with us, through the ruins and during our pleasurable nights
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>>4412820
>D] Maintain the invocation to Mercy, and no one else.

Place your hand upon the Demon, no, the human and tell them that we always loved you, as we love all of our children.

Hold their hand in these final moments, no one should have to die alone, forgotten. Tell them we can ease their suffering, their torment, but they have to let us in.
>>
>>4412820
>>D] Maintain the invocation to Mercy, and no one else.

Remember the true sun, the one we saw when we first stepped half dead out of the ruins, remember the love poem we wrote to Mercy and recite it, it's more personal than any litany.

>>4413058

To add to this, apologize. For not being there when it mattered.
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>>4412850
>>4413058
>>4413064
( I was just trying to think of how to convey that each one of those rolls could have been augmented by as high as a x2 multiplier alone, but with mods it's impossible as this point to have a failure state. No roll required. Fucking phenomenal stuff dude. Vote is locked! Writing now.)
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>>4413593
https://youtu.be/widDAQKdlUA

Though enough heat is emitting from a source of sin to melt off your skin, you reach out, without fear. Without need for words between you, and the Mother, Mercy moves solely to protect your motions. A trail of light and gold sparks, and spins, from the edges of your fingertips, along your arm, and bursts into a flare all its own. It is a shield made of the sun, and devotion, and is almost too bright to look directly upon.

You murmur a child before you, in its final moments, "I'm sorry. I was never there when it mattered."

The skin and muscle upon you should be boiling alive. The clearing is bursting into flame. The barrier upon you won't permit skin-to-demon contact, but you aren't worried for yourself. "The tears we have shed are for a person." Another swell meets you, of raw emotion, from someone who's felt scorned all their life. Mercy may be unwanted by much of the nation, but you are imbued with the knowledge, and feeling, that the child before you has never known the love of another.

"I have always loved you. As we have loved all of Our children."

This creature is damaged beyond repair. Emotionally, it may be taking enormous solace. Physically, it's taken on some catastrophic change, that's setting it plainly ablaze. The demon is colossal, and burning so hot into the soil below, it may be melding with the Aerth itself.

You're desperate, and rise to your feet. Moving into a run, you immediately tilt sideways, as the ground trembles.

"No one should have to die alone."

Staggering across molten rock, you stop mere inches away from what should be a hand. It's not that there's a flat expanse, where fingers rightfully should be. Your friends, and allies, had to have waged war for their very lives. The demon's rightmost appendage is an arm, baking yellow-hot in the sun. There are no fingers upon its right hand, as they've been torn away from its body. Gaping holes are left in its wake. Each opening is a foot tall, at least, and you can see clearly into an unnatural body. It's swimming with light, eerily similar to the same radiance that's keeping you alive.

You fearlessly grasp onto a demon's hand between both of your own. "We can ease your suffering, and your torment." If tears could survive in the heat around you, they would. Each droplet that spills over your cracked and dry face is evaporating the instant it appears. Desperately, you try to explain, but you have to let Us in—"

Another sob leaves your lips, as you have to stagger backwards, as Mercy tries with everything She has to pull you away. Some reaction has been taking place, within the demon's body, that's inescapable. You know you can't heal it, through your Goddess. By your own hand, most demon's anatomy escapes you entirely, as well.

(1/3)
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>>4413710
This is a creature out of your reach, but not a soul so far as to not reach your heart. You can't stand it, and are caught, between the urge to flee, to hide, to save your own humanity. It's an entirely foreign idea, and that your partner wants to instill in you with every fiber of Her being, despite your need to stay.

You stagger forward, and take the light itself between both of your sparking hands. Words that comforted you and your friends— in even your darkest hours— are said with all the faith you possess.

"We will see the sun again."

The demon erupts. It is beyond deafening. There's likely no one that can hear you. You're certain no one will ever hear you again. Without any pain, or concern for anything more than your partner, you gently wrap an arm around yourself. There's nothing else to hold onto, as the forest around you is likely being obliterated. There's still an ability to move, though the sparks and light that's been keeping the heat at bay is solidifying, to some extent. Liquid gold is positively pooling over your skin, shielding you from the worst of the assault.

You can't see, though there is no concern for your own safety. A few moments pass, while you wait for death to take you, and more than anything, are more concerned about your lover.

She was so quick to accuse this demon of being an affront to nature. Is it a coping mechanism? Is She so afraid of rejection? Was it not Her that I felt, who thought every last man and woman alive had caused Her pain? Does She really think that this child would have stopped loving Her, if they embodied Her with every last remaining ounce of their being?

There's never been the need for you to endure, with Her as your guide. You whisper to your lover, "We have been through so much together."

She knows, full well, of every last bit of concern for your family upon you. It's not enough.

There has always been a need to speak to the Gods. She is no exception.

Confidently, with love, and all the compassion you possess, you recite,

"Merciful Goddess, Your love is my light.
Our passion, Our flame! It rivals the sun.
What more could I wish for, to fill my sight?
My vessel is whole, each time We are one."


It's goofy, and silly, and you really don't care. You're still standing, somehow. There's only flame, and liquid gold positively plating every inch of you. You may have nearly been blinded, but there's nothing your lover can't heal. Under threat of certain death, in the embrace of Mercy, you think to nights spent with a Goddess, and continue,

"Even in the night, darkness before,
Mercy, how dearly I long for Your knife.
Oh, through new wounds You will always restore,
Our passion, Our heat, Your blessing, my life.


(2/3)
>>
>>4413714
Though you've been capable of moving all the while, there was no telling what may have happened, thanks to the liquid gold pooling over your vision. Patiently, you stand fast. There's little your faith won't guide you through.

"Each time that We meet, in darkness and gold,
I pray Our embrace will be without end.
More than perfection in Your hands I hold,
There is nothing from which We can't transcend."


The protective barrier around you relaxes, offering you sight of the destruction all around. There is a human-shaped crater, easily twenty feet long, and ten more deep. It's charred into the ground, licking with fire. The entirety of it is empty, as the demon imploded before you. You're too devastated to do more than to softly finish,

"Tears from You are a perfect emotion.
No break can end eternal devotion."


Though there's no question in your mind that it was only possible to have survived through your unwavering devotion, and focus on Mercy's protection, there are more pressing matters at hand. The woods all around are on fire.

A familiar, though muted voice calls out, from far in the forest, somewhere to the southeast, "RICH-CHARD?! FATH-THER ANSCHAM?!"

Harvey was waiting, that entire Time. Mercy

The sky above is clearing from the miasma. No sun is peeking through, as clouds of angry, dark smoke are now rising. Your own cries out echo, all the way up to the unfurling reaches of ash, and raining soot. "HARVEY?! KLEPTO?! IREFIST! CLAYMORE! ANYONE??"

There's no immediate reply, despite how far you can project your voice. Most of them have likely ran, or had to do so to save their lives.

A terrible thought occurs to you.

Impetus was tied down.

>A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED FOR ALL OF THE FOLLOWING.

>A] Invoke Spirit, while staying with Mercy, to immediately discern the locations of the heathens in your congregation. It will do nothing to help you locate Impetus. (It will take a minute, at least. You know how much this usually taxes you, even if useful information isn't immediately given.)

>B] Invoke Agriculture, while staying with Mercy, to help squash the forest fire or clear the woods as necessary. (It will be nearly instantaneous, to start the invocation. Specify any priority you have off-the-bat for who to go after. You are aware that this could build on you, if not controlled, though there will initially be no effect.)

>C] Run towards where you heard Harvey's voice. Get him to locate your friends if necessary, and make a meeting spot somewhere safer. You're sprinting to find Impetus.

>D] Scream to Harvey that he try to start finding everyone, while you go to get Impetus. The lack of restraint is warranted, given the situation.

>E] Write-in.
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>>4413718
>>C] Run towards where you heard Harvey's voice. Get him to locate your friends if necessary, and make a meeting spot somewhere safer. You're sprinting to find Impetus.

Stay with Mercy, there may be a lot of injured.
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>>4413718
>>C] Run towards where you heard Harvey's voice. Get him to locate your friends if necessary, and make a meeting spot somewhere safer. You're sprinting to find Impetus.
>>
>>4413718
>C] Run towards where you heard Harvey's voice. Get him to locate your friends if necessary, and make a meeting spot somewhere safer. You're sprinting to find Impetus.
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>>4413724
>>4413764
>>4413793
(Locking the unanimous vote here!)

>THROUGH THE FIRE AND THE FLAMES

>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.
>+30 FAITH OF A GODDESS/TO PROTECT IS TO SERVE (Temporary x3 to your base multiplier, from the extreme display of Mercy you've exhibited, and opting to stay only with her.)
>+10 FATHER OF MERCY/TO HEAL IS TO SERVE (This is your element, and your concern for the wounded is purely a boon at a time like this.)
>+20 SPEED DEMON (You train for times like this.)
>-15 FUNERAL PYRE (Forest fires are no laughing matter, and you've opted to do nothing to stop it outright. This modifier will continue to increase until you get to safety, or something is done about the blaze.)
>-5 CLOUDS OF ASH (The air quality is going to keep getting worse. It may not be a concern for you, but for your friends...)
>>
Rolled 26 + 40 (1d100 + 40)

>>4413829
>>
Rolled 40 (1d100)

>>4413829
>>
Rolled 38 (1d100)

>>4413829
>>
>>4413837
>>4413840
>>4413842
(Wew thank goodness you guys have been min-maxing up to these mods for 19 threads, huh? Seriously this is saving lives Alright! Vote is locked. Writing now!)
>>
Rolled 83 (1d100)

>>4413829
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>>4413961
Brother where were you when we need that roll
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>>4413849
https://youtu.be/35VE9WykH1c

The enchanted garment about you has shielded a large majority of your body from the flame to begin with. It's won't be enough. You take a precious moment, running hard towards the trees, to unsling two gifts from a dear friend. From your side, you unsheathe a flanged mace. One sharp enough to tear through any fallen wood, and bearing enough offensive capability to smash down any obstruction in your way. In your other palm, you take an enchanted defense. The shield is broad enough to defeat any flame, and slung off of your back not a moment too late.

Charging through the trees, with the scent of smoke and burning leaves hot in the air, you turn instinctively to catch a burst of flame to your right. It singes the edges of your defense, catching hot upon your hands. It doesn't stop you for a second, with a full leap over another fallen tree. All the while, you call, "IS ANYONE ALIVE?!"

The breath in your lungs, the ache of your heart, and the soil you kick underfoot increases by the second. Countless branches fell in the distance, as the roar of flame, and the crackle of destruction intensifies. You break clear into the trees, and nearly crash straight into Harvey.

The Red Lion lives up to his name. The exterior of his sinewstone armor was clearly unphased by even the greatest heat a greater demon could summon, but is glowing faintly red. It's charred around some edges of the suit's eerie, exotic metal. The spiked pauldrons and ornate decorations all along every surface still detail a forgotten age, undamaged by the energy flaring all around. Upon the breastplate still lies two lions devouring a sun, but the weaker metal has been scorched black, and sticks hot and fast into the sturdier material beneath.

It looks awesome, and you try to not knock Harvey clear off his feet, or to collide. Turning hard to the side as you run, skidding to a stop a few feet past him, you look frantically to the woods all around. No one else is in view. Your right-hand man has yet to remove his visor, though he's wincing so intensely with each movement, you can tell the amount of pain he's in even from a distance. The chain-mail at each break in his armor must be burnt right into his skin.

"You're alive," he dryly manages. "We have t-to g-get out of here."

Walking right over to him, you open his visor, and scrutinize his face. His normally pale, freckled, exotic features are horribly burnt. Taking a deep breath, you move to extend a blessing towards your champion, and mutter, "stay still. This won't take lo—"

(1/2)
>>
>>4414043
A tree ahead of you groans, creaks, and collapses. There's simply no Time to stay still. With reflexes faster than a bolt of lightning, Harvey leaps forward, tackles you with every bit of force in his body, and sends you both flying no less than ten feet to the side. Through the air, and a shout, you keep your shield held high. All of your collective strength goes in to odd momentum, and your mutual defense. Crying out, a flare of light explodes from the edge of your shield, extending its properties as the monstrously large bough collides onto your forms.

Every muscle in your body screams, as the full weight bores down, before you even fully land.

The two of you crash to the forest floor, in a deafening collapse. Both of you manage to keep your wits about you, long enough for Harvey to realize the severity of your situation. He braces himself against the underside of your shield, and with a heave, and a cry, you both tossing the flaming trunk to the side.

The sear of your limbs can't begin to fully register, but for the briefest of moments, it is bliss, and more fuel for the fire of your devotion. You turn to Harvey, simply speaking, "to protect is to serve."

It mends his wounds, without laying so much as a finger on him. Every raw and angry patch of exposed muscle upon your ally can be felt, for the agony that runs through you, but it is a gift. Barely able to even speak, feeling as if you could keel over at any second, you breathe, "go. Find them. We will meet with the caravan. If you cannot make it to our company, look for the Morinburn. It will provide refuge from the fire, if nothing else."

The man standing before you is far from speechless, and not even third-degree burns would have kept him from your side. "I'm n-not worried ab-bout th-them. Where d-do you th-think you're g-going, you id-diot—"

He's wearing a suit of full plate, and could never hope to match your pace. Unfettered, without fear of exhaustion or injury, you turn to run. "To save a life!"

"Wait—!"

Over your shoulder, as you tear off into the same direction you came from, you cry, "I WILL look for you all!"

Through the woods at your back, you hear, "d-don't b-bother! Look after yourself, FOR ONCE! WE'LL B-BE FINE, RICH-CHARD!"

Fire is rising in all directions. It's the end of Grace, and the weather has been foul. It's likely that much of the dry underbrush has yet to have burned, and you're at the center of the worst of it. Breaking into a dead-sprint, it feels as if you have blinked before making it to the tree line.

Through the clearing. Beyond the crater, left from a child's last agonizing moments.

Beyond red-hot devastation, into the forest beyond.

Over more fallen wood. Every other step is a leap, as you run for lives in danger.

(2/3 character limit being weird)
>>
>>4414048
Smashing your mace clear into a collapsing tree, and bashing it out of the way.

Dodging a blast of heat. Running clear past it. Ignoring the leaves underfoot that are positively catching aflame. Breathing in cinder, and soot, and seeing little but orange and red.

You make it to the spot you left Impetus. It is bare, though far from a waste of Time. The reins are nowhere to be seen. Your boy was freed by someone else.

Upon the floor is a trail of blood, streaking through the leaves, and off towards the road. Upon the tree where you are certain you left a warhorse, there's a drawing, made in the same shade of crimson. A crude rendition of an over-sized fist stares at you. Below it is a caricature of a young face, with curly hair, and a gigantic nose.

Irefist and Klepto are no priests of Dream, but this will have to do.

>A ROLL MAY BE REQUIRED FOR ALL OF THE FOLLOWING.
>It may not be physically possible to search for everyone. Please specify who you're placing priority on.
>At this point it will be assumed that you're keeping up the invocation to Mercy, until there is an improvement in circumstances. The prompts to invoke assume a dual invocation, and all of the things that usually entails.

>A] This doesn't answer where Claymore is.

>B] The priests of Dream may have gone for help, but this doesn't help with them, either.

>C] Oh, Gods, there's no telling if Harvey is going to make it out okay.

>D] For fuck's sake, you don't really trust if Klepto and Irefist will be alright, either.

>E] Invoke Flesh. You need the speed, though are still limited by what your body is capable of.

>F] Invoke Spirit. You need information, though this may take a minute to gather.

>G] Invoke Agriculture. You need to do something about this blaze, though knowing your limits is an ongoing concern.

>H] Trust that your allies will make it to the river, with or without your aid. It's a long ride, and you'd rather get back to the caravan ASAP. If you meet anyone along the way, so be it.

>I] Write-in.
>>
>>4414051
>>A] This doesn't answer where Claymore is.

Klepto and Irefist are at least mobile and can get to the caravan. Claymore is still a complete mystery.
>>
>>4414051
(Meant priests of Flesh for prompt B, my bad.)
>>
>>4414051

>A] This doesn't answer where Claymore is.

>>4413837
Me btw
>>
>>4414066
>>4414096
(We're going to call for a new roll, since we don't "store" rolls, crits, etc. in Catalyst Quest, but appreciate you man! Locking the unanimous vote here for A, good shit dudes.)

>LEAVE NO STONE UNTURNED

>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.

>+30 FAITH OF A GODDESS/TO PROTECT IS TO SERVE (Temporary x3 to your base multiplier.)
>+10 FATHER OF MERCY/TO HEAL IS TO SERVE
>+20 SPEED DEMON
>-20 FUNERAL PYRE (Forest fires are no laughing matter, and you've opted to do nothing to stop it outright. This modifier will continue to worsen until you get to safety, or something is done about the blaze.)
>-10 CLOUDS OF ASH (The air quality is going to keep getting worse. It may not be a concern for you, but for your friends...)
>>
Rolled 20 (1d100)

>>4414162
>>
Rolled 6 (1d100)

>>4414162
>>
Rolled 5 (1d100)

>>4414162
>>
>>4414165
>>4414641
>>4414643
(Thanks to the magnificent amount of bonuses you all currently have, that is thankfully still a 50/100. Granted, the situation is pretty dire, but, well. Writing now!)
>>
>>4414654
(Naturally, messed up the formatting tags! Please refresh/f5 if the old post is still displaying. Will post the fixed version shortly.)
>>
>>4414654
>>4414755
https://youtu.be/05VuxTaPf8M

At least they're mobile.

Your faith is unwavering, as you tear off into the densest portion of the woods, looking everywhere that might make a lick of sense.

They'll find the caravan.

"CLAYMORE?!"

The blood streaking along the ground, through the treeline, and off towards the road is unmistakably as fresh as the sketch upon the closest bough. There's no sign of more than two heavy sets of footprints, dragging slightly as they moved.

Not daring to run, you set about a plodding pace, as quickly as you can manage, while scouring the woods all around. They're collapsing in all directions.

Why would he have bothered running here at all? Was he just as worried as I was for their welfare? Did he not trust me?

"CLAYMORE! CLAYMORE, CAN YOU HEAR ME?!"

Your footsteps pick up with each falling bough, and each passing beat of your heart. The flames all about you are yellow-hot, licking up the base of the woods, and filling the sky with ash. Flecks of the blackened soot drift all along the air. Despite Mercy being capable of healing you through any damage to your lungs, you take a broad expanse of the enchanted robes about your shoulders, and drape it around your face to further filter the smoke.

He'll be suffocating to death, in these conditions. Even if he stays low to the ground.

"CALL OUT TO ME, IF YOU CAN HEAR ME! SIGNAL ANY WAY THAT YOU CAN! CLAYMORE!"

Even taking a brief second away from your guard nearly leads to a tree collapsing on you. Letting out a cry, throwing your shield to the incoming trunk, you favor jumping clear aside. Its leaves are completely ablaze, and being caught directly in a burning canopy is unthinkable.

The bough crashes to the ground, as you leap through the air. Throwing everything you have onto your shield, you still land on a burning bush, the moment the deafening roar of dried wood exploding shatters at your back. Knitting your eyes shut, you shift your weight hard, keep your head down, and manage to roll clear through the red-hot disaster, with a shout to the Goddess for further protection.

There's bits of thorns sticking into your shield arm. Spots of gold dance in your eyes, and you bite down hard. Fighting with teeth and no breath in your lungs to suppress a gasp, you focus with everything you have on getting back to your feet. There's no burns, no serious injuries. There's a desperate need to not compromise your tenuous grasp on a world on fire. Without holding onto anything more than the mace and shield in hand, you right yourself. The entire world is spinning, and disorienting to an extreme, but you put every bit of frustration into a scream, "ECKARD! ECKARD SOLLERS! IF YOU CAN HEAR ME, SAY SOMETHING! WE ARE LISTENING!"

Screaming is only working something nasty and barbed further into your skin.

Why now?

(1/2)
>>
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>>4414758
Trying to not groan, exasperated, you sigh, "Mercy, there is a Time and a place—"

You focus on plodding ahead, while ripping the items clear from your skin. The heat on you is enough to rival an inferno, and you're just about ready to scream again. The collapsing wood all around is a blessing, for a moment, for the sheer amount of sound every collapsing tree and bursting trunk makes, as fire collapses it from within.

He is likely better equipped than I am to handle this. Surely.

Making it back out from the tree line is just short of futile. The entire world looks red, as flame is positively baking the already scalding clearing. Though a part of you hopes that your ally may have crawled for the open air, or even into the pit that previously occupied his victim, it certainly would have meant any normal man's death to have come back here.

"CLAYMORE?!"

There's no reply.

He couldn't have gotten far before the flames really started.

You break out into another sprint, looking around frantically. "CLAYMORE?!"

Please be alive.

There's nothing.

Please.

There's only flame, and smoke, and a sky that's becoming less clear by the second. You don't dare stop running. "SAY SOMETHING! PLEASE! CAN YOU HEAR ME?! ECKARD?! CLAYMORE!"

Not a single bough, bush, patch of scorched grass, or fallen part of the canopy has answers.

"CLAYMORE?!!"

>A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED FOR ALL OF THE FOLLOWING.

>A] Try not to cry. Keep searching. There has to be some indication of where he went, or something better you can do.

>B] Cry a lot. Head back towards the caravan. Pour over every tree and branch along the way. Stick close to the road, and pray to all of the Gods that everyone made it out alright.

>C] Invoke Spirit. You may have already wasted precious minutes.

>D] Invoke Agriculture. It's going to take a lot out of you, but you're going to do something about this blaze, and make your search count for something.

>E] Write-in.
>>
>>4414762
>C] Invoke Spirit. You may have already wasted precious minutes.
>>
>>4414762
>>C] Invoke Spirit. You may have already wasted precious minutes.

We are not leaving until everyone is safe. Hope Cardew can forgive us for this.
>>
>>4414762
>C] Invoke Spirit. You may have already wasted precious minutes.
>>
>>4414762
>C] Invoke Spirit. You may have already wasted precious minutes.
>>
>>4414782
>>4414834
>>4414837
>>4415002
(Good afternoon! I seriously overslept. Still totally game for a session today if you all are! Unanimous vote is locked here.)

>THE IMMATERIAL MUST BE KNOWN

>+30 FAITH OF A GODDESS/TO PROTECT IS TO SERVE (Temporary x3 to your base multiplier, kept in place by continued concern for your friend's lives above all else.)
>Optional, hidden modifier will be applied, based on the text below.*
>-25 FUNERAL PYRE (Forest fires are no laughing matter, and you've opted to do nothing to stop it outright. This modifier will continue to worsen until you get to safety, or something is done about the blaze.)
>-10 CLOUDS OF ASH (The air quality is going to keep getting worse. It may not be a concern for you, but for your friends...)
>-5 NEVER ENOUGH TIME (Your prior dual invocations to Mercy and Spirit were VERY disorienting. The additional Time it may take to successfully permit both Goddesses to work through you could become a matter of life-or-death.)

*The results of this roll are not to determine the effect of the invocation, but purely the effect that may take place on your body— while unguarded by another mortal— due to the extremely volatile surroundings. Fortunately, you are looked kindly upon by both Spirit and Mercy. Additional prayer or praise made while rolling may positively augment the outcome, though it is safe to assume that you will have to (at minimum) pray to Spirit for the invocation to take place at all. Furthermore, it's likely that Mercy wouldn't permit any harm to befall you. The call is yours, depending on how much faith you have in your Goddess, versus the dice.
>>
>>4415235
>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.
>>
Rolled 51 (1d100)

>>4415235
MERCY IUS VULT
>>
Rolled 79 (1d100)

>>4415235
>>
Rolled 68 (1d100)

>>4415237
>>
Rolled 31 (1d100)

>>4415235

Spirit, you have guided me in the darkest pits, I ask for your help again amidst the flame and glory of the sun. Allow me to show these heathens *Mercy*. Allow me sight of my children, the immaterial must be known.
>>
>>4415238
>>4415239
>>4415240
>>4415246
(Stunning. Counting that write-in for sure, we're using the best of the first three dice per usual. That 79 (before modifiers) will do the trick! Writing now.)
>>
>>4415248
https://youtu.be/pTunCVWzkFA

"I AM NOT LEAVING UNTIL I KNOW YOU'RE SAFE—! CLAYMORE! CLAYMORE, ARE YOU OUT THERE—?!"

Dropping your tone, skidding to a stop, you breathlessly collapse your back against a nearby tree. It's large, and sturdy enough to have not succumbed yet to the flame. The mace in hand is slung back into its holster. Your shield is replaced, that you may have both hands free. You place both palms together, and work the light and gold upon your hands, to intertwine your fingers. They should be burnt beyond all reason, but none of your Flesh is scalded. Protective, liquid gold drips to the canopy floor, from your knitted fingers, from between your palms, and from the edges of your lips and eyes.

Another tree, just to the right, bursts into flame. You mutter, "may Sister Cardew forgive me."

There's no need for the material. You close your eyes, amidst the crackle and road of flame, and softly pray, "Spirit. You have been my guide. No valley of despair, nor pit of anguish could keep Us from your wisdom. You have been my guide, in a way that no other can profess. I ask that you walk with me once more, amidst this flame, and all the glory of the sun."

The unrelenting heat all through you is abating. Behind closed lids, you can see pearlescence flood through your veins. The white-gold streaks from inside the palms of your hands, winds up through your arms, and branches throughout your body.

It is not fear, but reverence, that compels you to say with more fervor, "Our children may yet be heathens. Permit Us to show them Mercy! Spirit, grant me your sight—!"

Any humanity that may still be left in your gaze is gone, with a flood of liquid gold. It does not plate across the whites of your eyes. The transparent build-up is all that can be your vision, and the world beyond, as you breathlessly finish, "the immaterial must be known."

The world shifts, hard. There's no sight. There's no forest. There's no blaze. The world is black, and white, and all color strips away from your grasp. You drop to your knees, amidst the grass, cinder, and soot. Nausea works itself over you, so fast you barely register it coming.

There are blasphemers, like black spots upon your mind. They're mold on bread. They're vacant holes, rotted into the edges of your soul. The absence of light in their form is spoiled milk on the back of your tongue, clawing at your throat, begging to be expelled.

You retch, for a long, long moment. It's miserable. It's no bile. A pile of lilies are pooling, from the deepest recesses of your soul, and spilling out over your lips, onto the ground below. The solid objects feel almost worse going out as they feel coming up. The smell is as familiar to you as a botched invocation, but you fight through it, the hot and sweet scent, and ignore the urge to curl in on yourself.

(1/3)
>>
>>4415307
You stagger upright. In a voice devoid of all humanity, intertwined with two deities, and desperate beyond all belief, you demand, "I ASK FOR YOUR HELP, and NOTHING more—!"

Staggering backwards, you're hit with a wave of information so intensely and rapidly, you can barely make any sense of it at all.

Claymore is on the road, unconscious, and dying. He made it nearly a mile out, before succumbing to the smoke and ash. He's in open air, and away from immediate danger, but without your attention, he will die. Harvey is on his way to you, more fearful for your safety than any other. He trusts in your ability and judgement, but doesn't understand enough about the Gods to place his faith in them alone. Klepto and Irefist are mortally wounded, with savage burns over most of their body. The blood they drew with was from their own raw and exposed skin. They're in agony, but are on their way to your friends. Impetus is carrying them both, and will not leave the road, even under threat of death. Your stallion's lungs are harmed, but he is resilient, and may yet survive given open air and Time to recover. The two priests of Flesh sprinted to get reinforcements from the caravan. They're nearly to the bulk of your company.

This is like music to your soul. It would normally be too much, but you breathe easier, and back up once more. Away from sickness, and sin, against the large bough to your back.

Electrum is at the lead of the caravan, with Brother Durville, and Ray, who have all decided to stay on the road. Despite the danger of the fire, the pace you set has guaranteed that any pursuers are already thrown off course. Further avoiding conflict is prudent, as the priest of Vengeance in your company is suffering intensely, and requires Sister Corbon's full attention. She swore she wouldn't heal while on the road, and is extremely upset, but would never leave a man to die. He may heal, if she is uninterrupted. The Willoughby Sisters and Brother Fergant are all supporting her efforts, and seeing to the rest of the caravan— but your numbers are already stretched brutally thin. Electrum ordered every member of the night watch to get back to sleep, to ensure your safety, against whatever attention you all brought upon yourselves for the night to come.

"Thank you," you breathe, so relieved you could die.

There's no question that not a member of your order is missing. Everyone is alive. It's a matter of getting to them, and picking up the pieces.

There's a moment, that passes, as the forest around you fades from comprehension.

For one, beautiful moment, there's a connection— unlike any you've ever felt before. Not of compassion, or of a Goddess who has felt everything you have ever suffered. It is no Goddess who would leave you wanting for nothing. It is not life, or empathy, that has your breath taken from your lungs, and all sickness depart from your soul.

(2/3)
>>
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>>4415312
Your eyes are lifted to a horizon. Without waking eyes, you gaze upon a form that has always gazed back.

Spirit looks at you. She's hardly there, in wisps of white and snow. She is neither thread, nor air, nor any mere mortal component that would make up a solid form. She knows that you wish to have a form to gaze upon. A gift has been given, that will not damage your body, nor tax your sense of self. The Goddess of Knowledge has blessed you with a vision, that is more than you could ever hope for.

It is only for a moment, that you gaze upon a stoic, and understanding face. Delicate, thin features, a high brow, and a soft gaze looks upon you, without judgement, or fear, She is calm, because of the agony you've been in. There's no need for Her to feel your pain, or to give you anything more. The Goddess of Wisdom knows that you fully possess everything you have ever needed.

She loves you. She wants to support you, and lift you up, to heights you can only achieve together. You have yet to fully understand why, and that's alright.

She'll wait, as She always has.

The Goddess of the Immaterial leaves you, as quickly as She came. Reality slams into you, as the forest all around continues to collapse. The singe on the edges of your robes is extreme, and the air quality could not be poorer. Tufts of blackened soot waft by.

Your stomach is in knots. There's a pile of lilies, streaked with white-gold, on the ground at your feet. It's beautiful, in a horribly disgusting way.

There's no Time to linger on it, or on what torment Spirit may have saved you by ending the invocation so abruptly. There's already extreme exhaustion soaking into you, but a stunning thought occurs to you.

>Choose one of the following, in addition to a prompt from A-E.
>1] She may not be quite so terrible after all.
>2] That was still fucking terrifying.
>3] You seriously have more important things to think about right now. Bring this up with Sister Cardew the very first second you get the chance.
>4] Write-in.

>A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED FOR ALL OF THE FOLLOWING.
>A] Take a moment and utter a prayer to Spirit. Harvey is running to you, and you don't want him to get separated from the group further.
>B] Run as quickly as your legs can carry you, to get to Claymore. The idea of invoking anyone further is a terrible idea, even if lives are at stake.
>C] Invoke Flesh, while maintaining the invocation to Mercy. While you're already brutally fast, you don't want to spare a moment getting to any of your allies.
>D] Release the invocation to Mercy, only to invoke Flesh. Juggling invocations is VERY dangerous, and VERY taxing, but you don't want to risk a dual invocation back-to-back.
>E] Write-in.
>>
>>4415320
>>Choose one of the following, in addition to a prompt from A-E.
>>1] She may not be quite so terrible after all.

I still think we should talk to Cardew about it.

>>A] Take a moment and utter a prayer to Spirit. Harvey is running to you, and you don't want him to get separated from the group further.
>>B] Run as quickly as your legs can carry you, to get to Claymore. The idea of invoking anyone further is a terrible idea, even if lives are at stake.

Also pick up some lilies and take them with us, as evidence of the dual invocation and the moment we first saw Spirit.
>>
>>4415325

I messed the vote up, I only meant to pick the B
>>
>>4415320
>1] She may not be quite so terrible after all.
>A] Take a moment and utter a prayer to Spirit. Harvey is running to you, and you don't want him to get separated from the group further.
>B] Run as quickly as your legs can carry you, to get to Claymore. The idea of invoking anyone further is a terrible idea, even if lives are at stake.

Claymore is in the direst situation
>>
>>4415320
(Just to be completely clear, the 1-4 prompts don't need to be mutually exclusive.)
>>
>>4415320
>E] Write-in.
If we must leave before Harvey's arrival tell him to hurry the fuck up and follow our voice
>>
>>4415325
+1
>>
>>4415325
>>4415341
>>4415331
>>4415337
(I'm pretty positive we can work all of this in. Okay! Vote is locked.)

>ON THE EDGE OF A KNIFE

>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.
>+30 FAITH OF A GODDESS/TO PROTECT IS TO SERVE (Temporary x3 to your base multiplier.)
>+10 FATHER OF MERCY/TO HEAL IS TO SERVE
>+20 SPEED DEMON
>-30 FUNERAL PYRE (Forest fires are no laughing matter, and you've opted to do nothing to stop it outright. This modifier will continue to worsen until you get to safety, or something is done about the blaze.)
>-15 CLOUDS OF ASH (The air quality is going to keep getting worse. It may not be a concern for you, but for your friends...)
>>
Rolled 51 (1d100)

>>4415382

AGAIN.
>>
Rolled 49 (1d100)

>>4415382
>>
Rolled 75 (1d100)

>>4415382
Here we goo
>>
>>4415391
>>4415393
>>4415396
(Back and ready for action. That 75 is bo3, after mods a whopping 90/100! Writing now.)
>>
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>>4415469
https://youtu.be/beE8wJoZZjc

She may not be quite so terrible, after all.

There's still a spare moment to keep your head bowed, and to murmur a prayer to the Goddess of the Immaterial. You're certain you still should speak with Sister Cardew about this matter, as soon as humanly possible, but even with a roaring inferno on every side, your thoughts persist for a moment with divinity.

Its certainly a residual effect of the dual invocation. Your words are fervent, frenetic, and breathless. "Thank You, for Your liberation from my ignorance. The gift of knowledge is that of a lifetime of study, yet You have given your works to me in a matter of moments. I am beginning to understand, o Goddess of Wisdom, that to best serve You is to devote myself to reason. Staying my hand is still vital. The passage of the sands must still be respected. But to— to truly learn what it means to serve You— is to open myself, fully, to a premise of progress. Coveting Your works— without the desire to truly know— is folly. I must sharpen my mind, just as I would sharpen any blade. I must balance Our emotion, with Your reason, if I am to look upon Your works with a clear heart, and a clearer mind."

Before Harvey can clear the woods, and fully reconvene, you sweep several of the lilies off the forest floor. The liquid white-gold plastered onto them is stunning. Were the method of their production not still at the back of your tongue, you'd be completely smitten with the gentle, full petals, and the softness they still possess. It's more than enough to want to still keep them on your person. Wiping some of the metal away from the leaves is useless, as the immaterial objects seem to be completely comprised of the substance. You settle on fetching your new journal from your satchel, and carefully pressing the three flowers you've obtained between a few torn pages. For the briefest of moments, amidst collapsing trees, and the roar of flame, you bow your head. "I know You are watching. Thank you, Spirit. Mercy, I—"

Harvey still has yet to catch up to you. "I love you so. Thank you. Protect me. Guide me." Taking your mace and shield in hand once more, you tear off into the trees, straight in his direction.

After several agonizing moments, as leaves tear from underfoot, and the crackle of flame soars all around, you scream to the sky, "FOLLOW MY VOICE! THERE ISN'T A MOMENT TO SPARE!"

A distant reply answers, "I'LL M-MEET YOU AT TH-THE ROAD!"

He just wanted to make sure I was alright. He must have been looking for Claymore, all the while, too. Bless him.

Over your shoulder, heading straight towards the road, you call, "CLAYMORE'S SITUATION IS DIRE! HE IS FARTHER DOWN THE ROAD—"

(1/3)
>>
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>>4415552
A little laughter, distress, and obvious pain is in Harvey's voice. He sounds a lot closer already. "J-JUST G-GO!"

Without further hesitation, you barrel through the woods, straight towards your quarry. Without any hindrance, or need to hold back, you move as if gravity, air, and any space in-between is irrelevant. A collapsing bough is ducked under, as you run with all the speed you possess. A fire is in your chest, barely kept at bay by the blessing working all through you.

Mercy plainly materializes a red-hot expanse of liquid gold, from the palm of your hand, all along the weapon you hold. While the canopy threatens to come down around you, you fear nothing. A great stretch of fallen branches and leaves groans, and falls straight onto the flaming expanse of darkened wood ahead. You cry, and leap through the air, coming down with mace and shield in tandem. The bulk of the canopy is shoved aside, and out of harm's way, as your weapon bashes a clear path through the rest.

The soles of your shoes practically flare with the light produced beneath, in mirrored shields, that have kept the soft material from baking straight into your skin. The fly over the forest floor, with one rapid step after the next. Countless boughs are shoved aside, cleaved through, and before long, you emerge onto the road once more.

Out of breath, looking to the open road with love in your heart, you push yourself beyond all mortal limits. The shield and mace are slung back into place, while you dig deep, and press on. Wind streaks through your hair, as flame kindles, and sparks fly through the little open space ahead. Not a branch has yet to collapse in the baked dirt and darkened sky. It streaks past in an instant, while the surrounding trees whip by, and you definitely leave Harvey in the dust.

He'll catch up. He always has.

Speed that must have put Brother Durville's best sprint to shame carries you across the land. Without any pain in your limbs, chest, or throat, you keep completely perfect form. The memory of a thousand runs, from days gone by, carries you swiftly through the air and sky. It can't be more than a few minutes before you've crossed a mile, and the worst of the blaze is at your back. There's blood streaking the road as you run, and to your mounting horror, it only gets worse, the further you go.

The density, and deep-red in the soil comes to a head, as you find a stumbling form in the distance. The blacksmith's frame is smaller than you'd suspect, given his reputation as one of the most competent combatants alive. He certainly lives up to the title. His clothing is charred to bits, stuck to moist and bloody skin. He obviously took the greater demon head-on.

"By all the Gods." It's a miracle you can speak at all, for how hard you're pushing yourself, but you scream, "CLAYMORE!"

(2/3)
>>
>>4415557
The middle-aged man man is still wielding a sword in either hand, as he plods down the road. Where he doesn't have third-degree burns, he's trembling, or is beet-red from the heat that's been coursing all around you. Upon hearing your call, visible relief soaks into Eckard's body. His long hair seems to have mostly survived the assault. The brunette strands whip just slightly around, as he slowly turns, and manages to lift the sword in his right hand. He waves, "Father Anscham," with a weak smile.

The left half of his face was scorched beyond any recognition, even prior to the fight. Some of his teeth are visible, even as he's not smiling, for how badly he's been singed now. It's the only bit of his otherwise plain, charred features that you really get to see, before he starts to collapse face-first onto the ground.

You've been sprinting all the while, and skid from several feet away, into a full stop, to catch Claymore as he falls. It could be prettier. Both blades in his hands are slick with demonic blood. It's clearly from your child. One was responsible for cutting all of the fingers and facial features off of another. There's a pull at your heart, and a pull at your upper body, and you wince, catching his full weight in your arms. One of the blades knicks at the side of your forearm. It's worth fighting through, to save Claymore from possibly impaling himself as he fell.

You try to not sob, taking every precaution to not move him too much, "I am so glad to see you."

A weary, muffled, awful groan meets you in reply. Eckard can't even find the will to lift his face, now that there's some promise of relief from the pain he's in. Clearly struggling to not scream, he grits out, "yeah. Same."

>A and B are mutually exclusive. Write-ins may not be mutually exclusive.
>It's assumed you and Claymore will have a heartfelt conversation the moment that he is capable of normal speech, but if you'd like to say anything specific, feel free.

>A] Tear off your Relic, and give it to Claymore for pain relief. Stay with him in the road. He shouldn't even be alive, and you aren't letting him suffer for another second, even while you give him your full attention and healing capability.

>B] Give your Relic to Claymore, but only for a moment, while you get the smoke out from his lungs, and mend the worst of his injury. The moment Harvey catches up, your red lion is carrying him, while you move to meet the rest of your company. A triage will be in order, from there.

>C] Write-in.
>>
>>4415561
>A] Tear off your Relic, and give it to Claymore for pain relief. Stay with him in the road. He shouldn't even be alive, and you aren't letting him suffer for another second, even while you give him your full attention and healing capability.

Once Harvey catches up make haste to the rest of the caravan so we may attend to Klepto, Irefist and the Vengence priest
>>
>>4415561
>>B] Give your Relic to Claymore, but only for a moment, while you get the smoke out from his lungs, and mend the worst of his injury. The moment Harvey catches up, your red lion is carrying him, while you move to meet the rest of your company. A triage will be in order, from there.

He will understand, get him as stable as possible and run back to stabilize the others. Get everyone out of death's door and take it from there.
>>
>>4415561
Once Harvey catches up give claymore our relic so he can heal up, whilst they try to catch up to the caravan we should involve Agriculture to put out this fire. If by the time Claymore and Harvey has reached the caravan and we haven't caught up get Claymore to pass the relic along so people can heal up in our absence
>>
>>4415600
>>4415561

>C] Write-in.
Heal up Claymore to a sufficient degree before we deal with the forest fire
>>
>>4415628
>>4415600

I would like to oppose doing anything with the forest fire before getting everyone stable and not dying. we can take care of it after everyone is with the caravan.
>>
>>4415561
>>4415647

Go with this write-in first. Heal up Claymore and Harvey (if he needs it) drop him off to the caravan, heal anyone in need of a heal and then come back to invoke agri to stop the forest fire
>>
>>4415574
>>4415578
>>4415600
>>4415628
>>4415647
>>4415660
(Fucking phenomenal guys, thank you for the clarification. I'll work through this as best as I can! May break it up into a post or two for pacing, but we'll keep the course. Vote is locked. Writing now!)
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>>4415664
https://youtu.be/kW9r-SfQLDE

Keeping yourself as still as you can, supporting the full weight of a man with only a single arm, you rip the divine Relic from the chain about your neck. It's untouched by the heat or soot.

Thrusting the yellow-gold locket into one of Claymore's hands, you watch with amazement as he immediately pushes himself away from your hold, the very instant he has relief from his pain. His eyebrows have been fried off. The garish, burnt expression upon his face is of a man who's questioning most of what he knows. "The fuck is this...?"

He looks to your Relic with complete astonishment, as you keep him firmly held by one shoulder. "You are still in extreme danger," you softly state, "and are badly wounded. Stay still. My Relic will cease your pain, but has done nothing for the injury. Permit Us to heal you—" a tree collapses in the road, just behind you both, "—while We still have the chance. There are more lives in danger, and no Time to waste."

With a baffled nod, paying no heed to any damage he may be doing to himself, Claymore doesn't pull any further away. "Irefist and Klepto had it bad, before I got there. You'd better hurry."

You splay an open hand before his chest, while he stands upright of his own volition. The opposite hand comes off of his shoulder, and presses lightly to the man's chest. With both hands, you turn your fingers, and quickly pull up, and out, into the open air. From your friend's chest, lungs, and heart, comes a trail of rot, decay, and smoke. It twirls for a moment, shifting from it's blackened state, into a beam of light. It leaves his lips, leaves the air, leaves your hands, and is dissipated in a shower of sparks.

Claymore's mouth remains slightly open. He looks like he'd clap, if he wasn't holding a priceless artifact in one hand.

You mutter, as you begin to work the worst of the burns upon his body into healthier skin, "why did you leave the caravan?"

The charred, deadened Flesh upon Claymore's body is instantly replaced with a weave of divinity. Every motion with your fingers, in mid-air, leaves another strand of golden light in every injury's wake. The skin itself will not mend in a matter of moments. They're bandages that will not soil, nor dampen, nor need to be replaced. They'll fade in their own Time, will not be disturbed by mortal interference, and you can create them effortlessly. They work over nearly every exposed inch, as you quickly and silently work, and wait for an answer.

He's almost too astonished to reply, but firmly manages, "the caravan had backup. Harvey didn't. Neither did any of the guys following your orders. I knew you'd go for them, eventually, but they wouldn't have stood a rat's chance in— the fuck do you think you're doing—?"

(1/3)
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>>4415730
"This is going to feel excruciating, if you aren't careful." You gently clasp your hands around Eckard's, and help him keep skin-to-skin contact on your Relic, while mending the skin upon the palms of his hands, and between his fingers. There's huge swathes of skin completely gone, having stuck to and burnt off on the hilt of his weapons. The fried tissue is still visible on his weapons, as he sheathes them, likely only due to your presence. Satisfied with his previous answer, you continue, "what made you think you could take a greater demon of Mercy head-on?"

"What ever makes you think you can," he mutters, looking to you with the utmost seriousness.

"The Gods are Merciful," you immediately reply.

"Yeah, well." A mortal man looks to you, as the light of a Goddess is projected from every inch of you. The radiance is flooding into the road, dripping from the gold you're spinning from thin air, and using to heal a man from the brink of death. "So are you, Father. So's Harvey, and all the rest of us. I knew you'd come runnin' to help. You said you weren't leavin' any of us again— and I'll believe in that. We all believe in each other, y'know. I think it's alright if I believe in myself, too."

You can't help yourself, and pull him into a tight hug. "I thought you were dead."

His back is also scorched. You work quickly, while the blacksmith speaks. "So did I. Nasty old fuck got me good. Glad we had you there, at the end."

The sound of Harvey sprinting down the road is audible, even from a great distance. Parting from your hold on Claymore, giving his face a good look-over, you ask, "are you alright with a permanent change?"

"Do what you gotta' do."

"Don't speak, for a moment."

There's no nod, as your ally remains quiet. He winces instinctively, as you take your right hand, and press the tips of your fingers directly onto the edge of the missing chunk of his cheek. From the edge of the charred remains, you quickly, and carefully burn away all but the healthiest tissue. Almost only bone remains.

It's nothing you haven't seen before. With a sweeping motion of your hand, you pull a new visage clear over the exposed ivory. It's not radiant. The heathen is outfitted with a new face. From just above a missing left eye, down to his jawbone, all across the edges of his nose, and to the gap where teeth were once visible, he's gifted with a mobile mask. It's seamlessly fitted along his skin, devoid of any scarring, and in precisely the same hue as the muted gold still plated across his remaining iris.

Harvey skids to a stop beside you both, hands to his knees, breathing hard. He points to Claymore, and to you, and stutters, "holy sh-shit. What th-the fuck. What th-the fuck, th-that is so cool—"

(2/3)
>>
>>4415737
A grin already spreads across Claymore's face. Gently, you motion to your patient that you'll need your Relic back. "There will still be extreme pain in most of your body."

He already hands the item off, not bothering to take a knee. Stiffening upright the second the locket parts from his hands, hissing through his teeth, the blacksmith manages, "yep." He rubs at his jaw, looking to the weave of gold upon his hands. They're shaking. "You weren't kiddin'."

"You will know when I am joking," you murmur, nodding to Harvey, and to Claymore. You couldn't give a complete inspection. "Please assist him. Claymore, are there any other injuries I am unaware of, that need Our immediate attention?"

"Nah," he grunts.

"Do not lie to Us," you caution.

With a grumble, and a half-laugh, Harvey moves to shoulder his ally. You put a hand to your ringleader's back, just for a moment, to attempt to mend the newest burns he's acquired. The chainmail he's wearing is a magnet for heat, and the skin below is scalded to an extreme.

"I'm not, but wait," the blacksmith starts, immediately correcting towards Harvey, "not to you, we'll go on ahead." It's a marvel that Harvey was able to run as much as he has, let alone help Claymore to full stand.

You work just as quickly, mending the lion's injury, while Eckard puts most of his weight on his friend's shoulders. Claymore asks again, "wait. I'll be fine, but I need to know. How'd you kill it?" To the forest fire all around, he asks, "the fuck is all this? I thought I had nearly had it."

>A] Promise Claymore that you'll go over what happened with the greater demon in much more detail later, but you need to go help Irefist, Klepto, and make sure everyone else is alright.

>B] Dodge the question, and take off running. There's lives to save, and you don't feel comfortable discussing this matter at all.

>C] You're grieving, and seriously shaken by what you felt and witnessed. Plainly tell him that the demon killed itself, and leave the man to his questions, for later.

>D] Write-in.
>>
>>4415746
>>A] Promise Claymore that you'll go over what happened with the greater demon in much more detail later, but you need to go help Irefist, Klepto, and make sure everyone else is alright.

We are all going to report to each other, and learn from this when it's over.
>>
>>4415746
>>A] Promise Claymore that you'll go over what happened with the greater demon in much more detail later, but you need to go help Irefist, Klepto, and make sure everyone else is alright.
>>
>>4415746
>A] Promise Claymore that you'll go over what happened with the greater demon in much more detail later, but you need to go help Irefist, Klepto, and make sure everyone else is alright.
>>
>>4415760
>>4415770
>>4415777
(Hell yeah guys. Locking the vote here with the unanimous choice. Noting the write-in for sure. Writing now!)
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>>4415791
"We need to go help Irefist, and Klepto. There is no telling if everyone else is alright," you swear, "but when— when we have resolved this disaster, we will all report to one another. I promise I will go over what happened with the greater demon in much more detail." They start, to move, to complain. Itching to run, moving to leave, you simply ask, "will you trust me?"

There's grumbling. Obviously still in too much pain to run after you, Claymore frowns, "that'll have to do."

Harvey clearly is annoyed, but manages, "d-don't g-get yourself hurt. D-don't forg-get we're all here, eith-ther."

"I'll believe in both of you," you call, over one shoulder, tearing down the road, "the Gods are Merciful!"

"Sure th-they are," is Harvey's call behind you.

Carrying over the crackle of burning wood, and another burst of flame, Claymore calls out, "thanks, Father!"

Taking an enormous sigh of relief, you sprint down the road. Every step is another gift. There's clearly exhaustion that should be drenching you, or sweat coating you, or some kind of agony from the sheer amount of heat and violence you've dealt with. Instead, there might as well be a woman wrapped up, around every motion. The worry that's been plaguing you is abating, and the buildup of your lover's tension is working all through you.

It may as well have been a single blink, before arriving several miles southwest, and fully registering your surroundings once more. Darkness has crept along much of the road, and the sky is filled with smoke. The flames have crept far from the initial point of the explosion, but the air isn't quite right for an unnatural forest fire, particularly of this size. Only a light breeze has picked up periodically, all through the morning, and you're confident that something can be done to contain the catastrophe.

With precious seconds to spare, you see Impetus, trotting along. Your stallion is almost unscathed, and is certainly still capable of carrying both passengers on his saddle. Klepto is closest to the rear, draped over Impetus like a bag of potatoes. He's mobile, alert, and waves to you slightly.

A trail of blood is dripping behind the trio. As you sprint towards their procession, you can make out Irefist's form.

He's baked bloody, and raw. Both men are lunatics, and attempted to get close to the greater demon, as well. They're in nowhere near the condition that Claymore was, with their faces and the majority of their clothing still intact. You confidently stride alongside both of them, and your mount, declaring, "you would not believe how relieved I am to see you both. Thank you, for— for leaving your symbols."

(1/2)
>>
>>4415877
Klepto tips an invisible hat to you, wincing as he does so, and trying to giggle through a rasp, "Father, you're alive! Isn't that fantastic?" In a low, guttural, and vicious tone, James snaps, "you know that I'm always happy to indulge in a little blood play. It's dead, then?"

Irefist groans, moving upright, as he was slumped over Impetus' mane. "Of course it is." To you, still groaning, the bloodied and bruised sailor asks, "the fuck did you come back for us for?"

Placing a hand to Klepto's shoulder, as Impetus continues to trot down the road, you manage to start working over the worst of his burns. The clown is delighted beyond all measure, as you materialize a new network of bandages. He wiggles with every motion, crooning, "you're enjoying this more than I am, aren't you?"

You try to keep your composure, absolutely are, ignore the questions, and levelly breathe, "we can discuss the matter of the demon when the flames are seen to."

"Spangle is going to be so upset," James laments, draping himself even more sadly than before. With no indication of minding the agony he must be in, the bleeding fighter continues, "you get Harvey?"

"Is Claymore alright," Carlisle grunts, as well.

Several precious moments are spent reassuring both men that everyone who encountered the greater demon has been seen to.

"...and the priests of Flesh should be moving to get reinforcements. I need to catch up to them both."

Even broaching the subject of healing Irefist could rapidly become an ordeal. You're not certain if it's one you want to tackle, when there's a raging forest fire, and a caravan full of injured souls who may need your aid. Time is of the essence.

>The following may not be mutually exclusive. Write-ins are strongly encouraged.

>A] Argue with Irefist, and demand that he accept your healing. It might get very ugly. (Write-ins will help enormously, with any further justification.)
>1] Insist that you need Impetus, to ride to the caravan, and for when you can get to putting out the forest fire. Make this about Time. He knows how much you fear Her.
>2] Stress how injured he is, and that his unwillingness to accept Mercy's help is hurting everyone around him. Make this about Mercy, and all of your allies. He knows how much you love them.
>3] Write-in.

>B] You want a straight answer about Irefist's reluctance to accept Mercy's gifts. Actually talk to him about it, before demanding an answer.

>C] Respect Irefist's wishes, and don't use Mercy's ability to heal him. Leave him with James, on Impetus, to get them both safely to the caravan. You'll run there yourself, even if it's going to leave you ragged later. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

>D] Write-in.
>>
>>4415885
>A] Argue with Irefist, and demand that he accept your healing. It might get very ugly. (Write-ins will help enormously, with any further justification.)
>2] Stress how injured he is, and that his unwillingness to accept Mercy's help is hurting everyone around him. Make this about Mercy, and all of your allies. He knows how much you love them.

>3] Write-in.
In A2 keep the mercy bit out of it
Explain to Irefist that whilst this hold out on medical attention is rather impressive, his reluctance to be healed by our hand is stopping us from attending to the wounded vengeance priest and holding up our eventual attempts of stopping this forest fire which could burn innocent bystanders. Promise him that in the future in a private setting where he is HEALED by our power he can explain his grievances on his attempt to shy away from Mercy's powers.
>>
>>4415885
>>4415900

Dont even consider invoking Storm, as we are at a risk to lose our fucking life
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>>4415885
>D] Write-in.
Ask Irefist if he want us to administer to him, but respect his wishes if he declines. Let him know he's at risk of dying if he doesn't accept though.

Invoke Agriculture to extinguish this raging wild fire. It'll only get worse if it's not seen too.
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>>4415899
>>4415901
>>4415902
(Good stuff guys. Noting all of these write-ins. Just to be clear, we had a unanimous vote previously to return to the caravan before invoking Agriculture, to see to everyone who may still be injured. With respect to the previous votes, we're going to lock in that course of action, but postpone it for a few seconds to get to everything that's written here! Writing now!)
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>>4415913
https://youtu.be/GAXHcJQ2ROE

I am leaving Mercy out of this.

With a deep sigh, you look to Irefist. The blood all about him is sticking to Impetus' previously gorgeous mane. The bits of cloth about his shoulders, from plain traveling attire, are fried in places onto his skin. You don't have to imagine how the heat raging around you all is aggravating his burns, as you've felt the same agony many Times before. "You're dying," you say, hurting just as badly, "and I want to offer you my aid."

"I've had worse," he spits.

"You're an asshole," Klepto helpfully chimes in.

It's not often that you let your temper flare, but there's enough fire in you to rival a building Storm. Striding at the same pace as a stallion, bitterly, you bark, "it's impressive. I know full well that holding out on having your injuries seen to— you would rather risk your life, than to accept any aid. Is that right?"

Irefist spits again. You realize it's wads of blood. "I'm not risking shit. There's more important people to get to, and I don't want nothin' to do with it. Go on."

Feeling sick to your stomach, and every bit as compelled to explain what he's fully aware of, you say much more gently, "there is a priest of Vengeance who nearly died, to save all our lives. This delay could be costing him dearly. It is certainly keeping me from seeing to the flame. I would like a future meeting, Irefist. One in which I could hear your grievances in full, and understand why you are shying away—"

From atop your own horse, bristling, obviously ashamed of himself, a grown man tries to insist, "I am not shying away from anything. This isn't about any kind of fear."

"I do not have Time for this," you scowl, moving to go. "I'll run to the caravan if I must. You are delaying my work, Irefist. Delaying what could spare countless other—"

With an inelegant, and atrocious heave, he tries to dismount Impetus. The fighter is in so much physical distress, he can't manage, and nearly slumps to the floor. James compulsively laughs, obviously distressed, and not quite in any state to help.

You're right by your stallion's side, and catch Carlisle's fall. The man weighs a lot more than what he looks, and your knees bend with the catch. The muscle in your arms and legs strains, your core burns, and you grunt, "please be more careful."

Shrugging him to the floor, keeping a hand to a burnt shoulder, you pause. He looks furious, despite the satisfaction he must be taking from managing to stand on his own.

(1/3)
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>>4415989
Impetus comes to a stop. Klepto coughs from the stallion's saddle, wriggling to the floor as he dismounts, doing so in the most fluid fashion you could fathom. It's ridiculous, as he practically skips over, and offers Irefist a shoulder to lean on. The clown obviously used cover, concealment, and his usual insanely competent aversion to actual danger to preserve the integrity of his skin and lungs far more. He's not as devastated, and despite his drama, will be alright.

The burns lacing most of Carlisle's body are just as atrocious as the grimace plastered across his face. The old sailor shrugs off your motion, and takes a broad step away from James, even though it must be agonizing to move. "Keep your hands off of me," he grumbles, "just do whatever you need to do to keep me on my feet." You try to not show any shock. "I'm walking with Klepto. We'll see you when you're done with all this shit, and I'll bitch about every last little thing then. Go on."

He's scowling, and avoiding eye-contact, and pretending like you aren't working the fastest you've ever tried in all your life. James takes a broad step backwards, the moment you make a rapid motion. You tear your Relic from its chain, and shove it into Irefist's hand. "Let go of this at your own peril."

Narrowing his eyes, there's no complaint, and he keeps the item steady, between bloody fingers.

With a rough, and brutally quick sweep of your right hand, you motion before Irefist's burnt chest, and swiftly bring your palm skyward. With it, Carlisle violently coughs. The entirety of the toxin and ash from his lungs is expelled, jerking his neck back. His entire body shifts, to try and stay standing. With your other hand, before he can complain, you sweep down. It scrapes the entirety of the crisp, unsavable skin that may turn in Time off of his frame, to dissipate into thin air.

You take a firm step forward, grasping firmly onto the man's shoulder, before he collapses from the shock. He has no pain to speak of, though he will in a matter of seconds. From your touch, gold snakes along his body, wrapping around each and every exposed area, protecting it from the elements, and doing nothing for his stubbornness. "Klepto," you ask quietly, knowing full well that both men will be alright, "please help Irefist back to the caravan. I would like to call on one of the bets you lost to me, to not steal the potential for recovery away from him."

"Two marks, now," the thief grins, "but yes. Sure. Who's counting, right?"

"You know I always am."

"Thank you for the pick-me-up, Father." Klepto snakes himself around Carlisle's frame, who is adequately distracted. You snatch your Relic clean from the sailor's hand.

Irefist immediately jerks, violently, as pain crashes back into him. The man looks like he could vomit blood, but the auburn-haired fighter manages, "don't let me waste any more of your Time. Go."

(2/3)
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>>4415992
It takes seconds to get onto Impetus' bloodied saddle. "Look after one another," you call, spurring your stallion into a gallop, "and keep to the road! HYAH!"

You ride, as the fire at your back rages on. The prospect of spending one more second not seeing to it is unbearable. Your home is ablaze, and you won't stand for it.

The road clears, nearly another mile down. No sight of imps, greater demons, or assassins greets you. The wagons and carriages are moving along at a brisk pace, and so are you. There is no sight of Sister Corbon, or the priest of Vengeance, initially. It would seem that the wounded have been moved to the interior of every covered vehicle, while the rest of your company is out, riding hard, away from the flame. Your banners are not singed, though blood is still at the base of many horses hooves, and wagon wheels.

Brother Durville's voice rings out from a distance, "HE'S ALIVE!"

There's hard galloping at the front of the procession. Within minutes, meeting you halfway on the road, are the two priests of Flesh who's lives you saved. Walter comes up riding alongside you, gallantly matching your pace upon Bastion. Brother Durville is behind Electrum, riding upon her own steed. Ray must be leading the pack, still under command to guard the front-most wagon.

The entire group begins speaking all at once, and you can't make out a word. All you can do is sweep your gaze over them all, with a Goddess still working through you, to determine that none of them are in critical condition. The priests of Flesh are certainly still wounded, but Sister Corbon likely saw to the worst of their injuries. Brother Durville has had his arm bandaged. Electrum and Walter are completely unscathed, apart from how exhausted they look.

It's all you can do to not go riding off immediately. Over the commotion, you desperately ask, "is everyone alright?"

Almost everyone stops talking, and looks to Electrum. She looks to the scholar in your midst. Walter turns his nose up, pleased beyond all belief. His satisfaction intermingles with stress, disdain for the situation at hand, likely a thousand questions, and he tactfully says, "yes. Sister Corbon is seeing to the wounded, and we are all accounted for... barring Claymore, Irefist, Klepto, and Harvey. I take it they're alright, if you have returned."

"Yes." You want to vomit. Every second riding away from the flames is agony.

In a level, steady tone, your research partner and friend quietly asks, "what do you need?"

You're certain that anyone you call to action will answer, and that you will not have to go this alone. The Goddess of Bounty is calling. You need Her, now— and for once, you have more support than you could hope for.

(Options in next post.)
>>
>>4415993
>A] You'll aim to create a substance to suffocate the flame, in a quantity large enough to stop its spread. (This is guaranteed to seriously tax your body. It won't kill you, but regardless of how successful you are, there will be lasting ramifications.)
>1] Ask Walter to come with you, for his astute observations. He can surely gauge how to best control the action.
>2] You want Sister Cardew's guidance. She's helped you through this before, and kept you from completely ruining your body. You trust that she'll help you monitor your limits.
>3] The priests of Flesh would be phenomenal, to control any potential damage, and keep everyone safe. (Write-in if you have a preference for how many to take, e.g. only the bare minimum, all of them, etc.)
>4] Write-in anyone else from your company you may want to take.

>B] Your goal is to create a fire that will intercept the current spread, and burn out the wildfire in a controlled fashion. (Many factors will be considered. This is complicated, and could make things worse. The physical effects on your own vessel could be much less severe than option A's full potential. If things worsen, this obviously may get out of hand, and ultimately have greater consequences.)
>1] All of the priests of Flesh will be needed, for every available hand.
>2] Sister Cardew, Walter, and Brother Fergant's wisdom would be appreciated.
>3] Take a priceless moment to ask everyone in the caravan if they have experience with flame, or the Church of Agriculture.
>4] Write-in anyone else from your company you may want to take.

>C] Fighting fires is extremely complicated, and the year is 606. As a priest of Agriculture, you possess the ability to manipulate the life, death, and stages in-between of natural growth. There is potential here for significant action. Bear in mind that the volume of matter you control directly affects your vessel, the technology available to you is very limited, and you have a pact with Mercy to not bring yourself undue harm. (Write-ins subject to QM approval. Please feel free to ask questions!)
>>
>>4415996
>A2, all of A3
>>
>>4416005
+1
>>
>>4415996
>B] Your goal is to create a fire that will intercept the current spread, and burn out the wildfire in a controlled fashion. (Many factors will be considered. This is complicated, and could make things worse. The physical effects on your own vessel could be much less severe than option A's full potential. If things worsen, this obviously may get out of hand, and ultimately have greater consequences.)
>2] Sister Cardew, Walter, and Brother Fergant's wisdom would be appreciated.

>C] Fighting fires is extremely complicated, and the year is 606. As a priest of Agriculture, you possess the ability to manipulate the life, death, and stages in-between of natural growth. There is potential here for significant action. Bear in mind that the volume of matter you control directly affects your vessel, the technology available to you is very limited, and you have a pact with Mercy to not bring yourself undue harm. (Write-ins subject to QM approval. Please feel free to ask questions!)
> Is it possible to remove any foliage that has not come in contact with the fire and remove it? so like the fire is one big glob, and surrounding that big glob is trees that aren't alight. You then remove the trees so now surrounding the big glob of fire is dead land, at such a distance where the fire can jump to the trees across from the dead land
>>
>>4416005
>>4416014
>>4416034
(Hey guys, just a head's up, the next update will be in a bit. We can actually incorporate all of these, but just bear in mind that the more elements at work here, the higher the risk. So there will be an increased chance of success, but also an increased chance of serious effects on you. If anyone has any vocal oppositions, or wants to work together to come up with any further plans, feel free! This vote will be open likely for at least another hour or two. I'll keep you all posted! Thanks for your patience.)
>>
>>4415996
>>4416005
Support
>>
>>4416034

I would also like to do something like this, remove vegetation or raise the soil enough to isloate the fire and let it burn out on its own.
>>
>>4416005
>>4416014
>>4416034
>>4416069
>>4416131
(Alright guys. There was a big window here for discussion. Since no one opposed any votes outright, I'm going to do my best to incorporate the majority of this plan of action. The update will outline it, and you'll have the opportunity to reduce or remove some elements. Hope that makes sense! Vote is locked. Writing now.)
>>
>>4416132
A team is assembled.

https://youtu.be/5-1Vm75O3Yw

A full mile down the road, the flame can be seen, in all of its monstrous beauty. Amber and crimson licks from the base of countless trees, billowing up to the top of the canopy. It's spreading rapidly. Thick clouds of soot and ash drift by, in the absence of wind. The air is hot, heaviness is on your mind, and you are one of only two souls to have dared to dismount.

"Sister Cardew." You glance down to her adjusting her glasses. The petite priestess has never hesitated to be right by your side. She's stoic, as always, and permits you to nervously continue, "you have guided me through invocations like this before. I would— your guidance would be seriously appreciated."

"Of course." She has a veil fastened around her face, so that only her glasses are visible, in the bundles of graying-white fabric adorning every other inch of her. Criticizing her choice of attire feels downright silly, given how practical it is at a Time like this. She makes no further comment, having already accepted the invitation to accompany you without a second thought.

Firing a stare to Walter, and Brother Fergant, you ask, "will you please."

It's terribly hard to focus, and Time is slipping through your hands. The two men who faced down a greater demon have returned to top form. It took a matter of moments to heal them, with your capable hands, and an invocation that is becoming unreasonably intense. It's fair enough to see through the waving forest fire, and all the light in your eyes, to the crimson of the clergy's robes standing before you. All nine priests of Flesh are awake, up, and are at your disposal. They bristle at your gaze, ready to invoke, or to move at a moment's notice.

With a cloak billowing from the flame all around, the narrow features upon his strong silhouette— and as he is mounted upon a golden horse— Professor Echo looks every part a lord. Because of the commanding tone of his voice, you have more questions for every answer he gives. The noble sneers down the line of priests, boring his eyes into every one of them. "Your duty, Brothers and Sisters—" There is exactly one female priestess of Flesh in the company. She is part of the night watch, and still has her hair down. "—is to assist in clearing as much of the wood as possible. We will create a perimeter. Your veteran," Walter sniffs, to one of the eldest clergymen, "will create an outline for you all to follow. You are not to deviate from this path, even in a matter of life or death. Do I make myself clear!"

A choir of "yessir" replies.

(1/2)
>>
>>4416193
Brother Fergant looks to you, for permission to speak. You give him a nod. From atop his own steed, the elderly gentleman mellowly calls out, "there is no telling what has been loosed in the forest. Keep your wits about you. Father Anscham will suppress the flames nearest to you, if the situation absolutely requires it, but your skill is to be put to the test. Prove your mettle. Keep the faith."

More agreeable mutters reply, though the majority of the clergy remains silent, and significantly more pensive. More fervently than before, Walter hollers, "once we have marked, divided, and cleared a sufficient area of the woods, we will ignite a controlled blaze!"

Spangle was required. She's fussing with a bandolier of liquid fire, matching the intensity of your own fidgeting. "The conditions are poor, and our supplies are limited. Your work will be crucial to ensure the success of our missions. Sister, and Brothers, of the Lord of Flame!" The priestess is practically vibrating, for how much energy is running through her. The woman's eyes are wider than the breadth of the wildfire before you all. "Do not disappoint us. To light is to serve."

This is fine.

To everyone present, you assert, "I will invoke Agriculture, and utilize Her works as necessary. Our goal is to reduce the effects of the invocation as much as humanly possible. That— that being said— do not hesitate to call for assistance, if it is truly required. I will continue my invocation to Mercy, for— for as long as we are in need of Her aid."

"You hear that?" Walter loves the sound of his own voice, and Time is short, but you permit him to demand, "don't be a hero. Any of you. If this needs to burn, we'll let it burn." Spangle is possibly getting too excited, unable to hide a grin. The nobleman ignores her, barking, "we are all coming back in one piece. Are there ANY questions?"

Brother Fergant clearly has his ears open, as does Walter. Sister Cardew leans over to you, to whisper, "we are setting a few comfortable limits, Richard. Boundaries. Like we discussed. I know it's difficult. You're doing remarkably well, given how long you have persisted with Mercy for."

In a low voice, Peter says, "you must be reeling by now. I can't imagine it. It would be sensible to release the invocation to Mercy, Father Anscham, if you require further focus on the invocation to Agriculture. Given the scale of this endeavor, in particular."

"We'll handle the logistics." Walter sniffs. "I've got you covered. Don't go fucking yourself up. I'll tackle you if I need to. Don't give me that look. You know I mean it."

"Boundaries," you repeat.

The thin line of Sister Cardew's lips gets thinner. "I would like to ask what you are comfortable with," she stresses your title, "Father Anscham. To be frank, it may be best to leave the matter to my discretion. I will take no offense if you think otherwise. On the contrary."

(Options in next post.)
>>
>>4416196
(These prompts are not mutually exclusive. All votes will be considered.
If you have any opposition to the plan, or any of the votes cast for this prompt, please clearly state your disagreement.
All opposition and discussion will be taken into consideration.)


>A] You'll commit to working in tandem with the first plan of attack, to help clear the forest of as much material as possible. You're hoping that prevention will be the best cure for this disaster.

>B] The second course of action will be to burn a controlled line around the perimeter of the forest fire. It will be the most dangerous stage of the operation. There is a lot you can do here, and would like to make yourself plainly available to anyone in need of your aid.

>C] While the fire is being separated, contained, and partially extinguished, you possess the ability to suppress it further. It will greatly aid anyone who will be near the flames, and could dramatically speed up the operation. (Specify any preferences for when. Otherwise, this prompt will assume you'll spot-treat problems as they arise.)

>D] In addition to your work with Agriculture, you can heal via the dual invocation, with far greater speed and distance than you otherwise could. Stress that you'll be there, to aid those in need.

>E] Stress that you want to invoke as little as humanly possible. You're extremely nervous, and rightfully concerned.

>F] Write-in. (Any additional changes or additions to the plan are welcome, at this time. After this vote, everyone will stick to the plan of action to the letter.)

(As a purely optional set of prompts, select one of the following, IN ADDITION to a prompt from A-E.)

>Sister Cardew is obviously worried, and only wants the best for you.
>Your last dual invocation is still weighing on you. You're currently at around 200lbs, as a tall man (the upper end of 6'2''), with a great deal of muscle on your frame.
>This is seriously not normal for someone who's spent most of their life being stick-thin, with a passion for running.
>Given the importance of your vessel, and the usual effects of invoking Agriculture for necessary measures, you have every right to set limits.
>1] After (write-in a limit you don't want to go past, under any circumstances, such as weight, appearance, physical ability, etc.) you won't do a thing for the fire, even if lives are at stake.
>2] Trust Sister Cardew's judgement in this matter completely.
>3] Tell the priestess plainly that you're willing to do whatever is necessary to put out this disaster.

(I did not outline the entire plan of attack verbatim, and as it's nearing 3am, this prompt may not be as coherent as possible! Please ask for any clarification if anyone needs it.)
>>
>>4416198
>C] While the fire is being separated, contained, and partially extinguished, you possess the ability to suppress it further. It will greatly aid anyone who will be near the flames, and could dramatically speed up the operation. (Specify any preferences for when. Otherwise, this prompt will assume you'll spot-treat problems as they arise.)

if flames threaten to breach the fireline, call on storm to push it back into itself
>>
>>4416198
>A] You'll commit to working in tandem with the first plan of attack, to help clear the forest of as much material as possible. You're hoping that prevention will be the best cure for this disaster.
>C] While the fire is being separated, contained, and partially extinguished, you possess the ability to suppress it further. It will greatly aid anyone who will be near the flames, and could dramatically speed up the operation. (Specify any preferences for when. Otherwise, this prompt will assume you'll spot-treat problems as they arise.)

>3] Tell the priestess plainly that you're willing to do whatever is necessary to put out this disaster.
>>
>>4416198

>A] You'll commit to working in tandem with the first plan of attack, to help clear the forest of as much material as possible. You're hoping that prevention will be the best cure for this disaster.

>C] While the fire is being separated, contained, and partially extinguished, you possess the ability to suppress it further. It will greatly aid anyone who will be near the flames, and could dramatically speed up the operation. (Specify any preferences for when. Otherwise, this prompt will assume you'll spot-treat problems as they arise.)

Double down wherever people are making the most progress.

>2] Trust Sister Cardew's judgement in this matter completely.

>>4416282
Fully oppose the invocation to Storm, in our state we couldn't withstand it. So far we dual invoked mercy and spirit and now we are about to dual invoke mercy and agri, we aren't killing ourselves for a forest.
>>
>>4416372
>>4416282
>>4416353
(Opposition to the Storm invocation noted, we won't be doing that. However! The unanimous vote for C, majority vote for A, and a combination of 2 and 3 will absolutely be used. Noting the write-in, and locking the vote!

I have a dentist appointment shortly, and will hopefully be able to write today. Giving myself some time to brainstorm. If there's any serious delays with the update I'll let you all know.)
>>
>>4416548
(Everything went better than expected! Writing now.)
>>
>>4416690
Persisting with a Goddess for most of the morning, a dual invocation to Spirit, and such a dire situation has every last nerve of your body on fire. The need for more is almost irresistible. Twitching, you squash down the urge to bring the God of Rain to this cursed scene. You look to your friends, for further comfort.

There's gilt streaking from your eyes. Light is sparking off of the tips of your fingers, and from every ragged breath into the air. Flecks of gold drifting off, along with it, purely parting from the healed burns upon your skin. Rings of metal swirl, throughout a gaze of divinity, that's almost impossible to focus on any mortal concerns. You manage to stand still, and to rest your gaze on the counselor at your side.

Sister Cardew doesn't draw back. With her face and speech muffled behind bundles of cloth, she quietly reminds you, "we are all right here, Richard. It's alright."

Having spent so much Time lingering on the matter spurs you into an awkward, tilting response. "I am willing to do anything that is required of me, to extinguish this disaster." You're fidgeting more earnestly, with the Relic fastened around your neck. "Anything. But I— I trust your judgement in this matter completely, Sister Cardew." Far more quietly than even her softest speech, you murmur, "I do not believe I can handle more than this, in my current state— but I will not kill myself over this forest."

The priestess looks proud enough to cry. It's only a twitch, and a slight wince of her eyes, as Harriet beams up to you, "I won't let any harm come to you. Is there anything else?"

Clearly, to every man and woman present, you assert, "I will work in tandem with the first plan of attack. We will— we will clear the forest of as much material as possible, in our perimeter." The words of a young priest have resonated with you. "Prevention may yet be the best cure for this disaster."

Many weary, scorched, and soot-covered faces gaze at you. Most look terribly confident. There's no question that your ability to invoke multiple deities has inspired every clergy member to perform.

The liquid metal pooling from the tips of your hands is hot, and slick, as you continue to fuss with the chain at your neck. "Throughout our operation, I— I will do everything I can to assist, where we have made the most headway. My focus will remain on suppressing the flame, and assisting you all, as— as the Goddesses permit."

A choir of "yes, Father Anscham," and "thank you, Father," echoes around the clergy at your command.

"The Gods are Merciful." You fire a glance around, nodding to your team to get moving.

Walter calls from atop Bastion, firmly, "we will not linger. Do not waste another moment of Father Anscham's Time! Let's move!"

All business, Brother Fergant calls, "ON THE POINT! You heard him!"

(1/2)
>>
>>4416789
Taking a very deep breath, stilling the tremor all through you, you try to focus. The forms of every clergy of Flesh sprints off into the wood. They're all equipped with axes, shovels, rope, and every other necessary tool you could bring together for the effort. Cries to the God of the Material ring out. The clergy's forms shift, from their already impressive displays of devotion, into a force of destruction. Their patron works through them, stoking a fire of devotion, that will be sorely needed to combat a blaze upon your homeland.

Over a mile away from the roaring flame, they set about creating a massive perimeter, of felled wood, and fuel for a controlled fire. The process will be grueling, even via an invocation. No less than twenty acres must have been scorched by now. The flames are billowing, high above the canopy. Dark smoke swirls through the morning's previously fair sky. The world feels darker, despite the heat and light emitting from the blaze, and your own form.

You're trembling. Every motion is ecstasy, and staying still is a far easier method of maintaining your composure. Calling upon Spirit and Mercy simultaneously has you drained beyond all reason, and you're certain that only your partner's support is keeping you on your feet.

Walter spurs Bastion on, to supervise the bulk of the operation. Sister Corbon rides in the opposite direction, to guide the head of the clergymen. While Brother Fergant stays by your side, right alongside Sister Cardew, you know Walter will return in a matter of moments, to help aid in the process. You're still on foot, for concern of how the invocation may effect you, but Impetus is safely with the caravan.

Under Electrum's watch, the entirety of your company is still riding hard, and as far from the blaze as possible. Placing your hands together, bowing your head, and looking to the soil, you pray, "Goddess of life, death, and everything in-between."

>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.

>+30 FAITH OF A GODDESS/TO PROTECT IS TO SERVE (Lingering with Mercy, and your continued actions to be the embodiment of Her tenets, has kept the x3 multiplier to the base bonus.)
>+30 REAP WHAT YOU'VE SOWED (You have an affinity for Agriculture, have spent a lifetime of service to Her, made an unprecedented sacrifice in Her name, and carry the Goddess' favor.)
>-25 ACRES OF LAND ON FIRE (This bad boy is raging out of control, and you have a LOT of ground to cover. Depending on your degree of success, this modifier may increase or decrease.)
>-5 TRANSCENDENCE (The intensity of the invocations you're performing will continue to become more extreme as time goes on.)
>>
Rolled 72 (1d100)

>>4416798
rolled 100
>>
Rolled 65 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>4416798
Some good rollz
>>
Rolled 49 (1d100)

>>4416798
>>
>>4416809
>>4416812
>>4416829
(Well hot damn, that 72+30=102/100. Based. Vote is locked! Writing now.)
>>
>>4416835
https://youtu.be/m81oUTPbPQo

She's in you, in an instant. Beneath your skin. Pressing. Filling. You gasp, "Ah— Agriculture," and clutch at your chest.

The beat of your heart might as well be held in Her grasp. Everything is hot. She's there, to take in the heat, and to reassure you that there is nothing to fear, even when the world is literally on fire.

Your land is on fire. You will not tolerate the sight for a moment longer. Emerald and sage lights up all the gold in your eyes, as you extend a single, radiant hand. Vines snake from the interior of your veins, from the flood of life working all through you. At your feet, the scorched road begins to blossom. Sunflowers— symbols of faith, loyalty, and both of your Goddesses— rise from the might of your bond.

From the vines upon your outstretched hand, there extends a handle of wood. It is unmistakably from the forests of your home. A scythe is produced, from within the crevasses of your soul, in another instant.

There's no want for anything, but She gives. You grasp the stunning weapon, all five feet of it, with both hands. A straight blade made of stone adorns its head, repurposed from the ruins themselves. Ornate scripture is all along its surface, as are blossoming flowers. With a wild grin, you sweep the blade through the air, and declare, "We shall reap the very sorrow of the land— and with it, all turmoil that has been sowed—!"

As the weapon sings, the forest ahead shifts. There's a rupture. At the base of the forest, in one fell slice, one hundred feet of trees in a line are cut down. They crashes to the floor with such a devastating avalanche, Sister Cardew steps sideways, with her hands to her ears.

The young woman doesn't dare say a word, as you laugh, and make the motion again. With no tension, and pure momentum, you carve the scythe in a perfect curve. "No flame may consume the fields of our adoration!" Another deafening roar breaks out, as you aid the westernmost priests in felling a huge swathe of wood. "Our faith is unyielding, against all tides of destruction!" The lumber, branches, leaves, and tinder collapses to the forest floor completely, settling in dust, and huge clouds of dirt. "Neither the wind, nor a torrent of cinder, may bend our backs. We stand with the Goddess, and will rise from the ash!"

The smile upon your face broadens, taking a single hand from your scythe, and reaching out to the powdered soil. It's hundreds of feet away, but you are with the Goddesses of Light, and Life. "Permit me to feel Your touch. Your passion. Your bounty. May we suppress the Storm, and witness all that you have to give."

(1/3)
>>
>>4416958
The cloud of soil continues to hang in mid-air. It should have fell, but you have utmost control over its element. You raise your outstretched hand, and bring the entirety of the substance higher. The scythe in hand gets shoved by the handle, into the ground, to free yourself to fully manipulate the Aerth itself. Both palms are open, while you reach out, tense, and pull. You feel all that this matter can be.

You are the master of the Church of Gold. The depths of your eyes shift, into a shade of verdant green previously unseen by any mortal. Gasping from a surge of ecstasy, you motion to the land. The rock, silt, and every bit of life in between beckons. Its life is your passion. You've experimented with it before. under countless hours studying the properties of herbs, and metals. Every single substance that quenches flame, drowns out heat, and will not explode when in contact with one another is within your grasp.

There is a pile of silt, toxic, and potent beyond belief in your grasp. It's brimming from the depths of your soul, in a pleasant shade of sage. You motion to the wind, to carry it over the raging fire ahead. With a twist of your hands, the moment they're empty, you drop the entire cloud of fire suppressant at the weakest edge of the inferno. It is not merely the substance you held in the palm of your hand. Acres of soot have been transformed, and in one fell motion, collapse onto the weakest portion of the blaze.

The massive cloud of silt and artificial material drenches onto the forest canopy in full, upon every leaf, rock, and trunk. The blaze is practically stopped in its tracks. White plumes of smoke billow, intermingling with the cloud you have transformed. The priests and priestess nearby take several steps back, instinctively covering their faces and eyes. You can barely make out the closest of their forms, through the boughs and blaze, but you can feel their injury.

Flesh will heal their lungs. We must heal the land.

Sister Corbon's scream can be heard across the entire field, "TO THE EAST! WORK WITH HIM, FOR FUCK'S SAKE! CUT IT OFF! MOVE!"

You haven't moved from the spot you've been standing in. Still on his steed only a few yards behind you, Brother Fergant remains completely silent. Sister Cardew is standing twenty feet away, unflappable, not taking her eyes off of you for an instant. "It's slow going, Richard." She's obviously talking about your weight. "You'll be alright. Feel free to continue."

The tremor in your body is completely gone. Seizing the scythe in hand, you mutter, "to grow is to serve."

Closing your eyes, there's immediately a flood of sensation. Attunement to every living soul about you is inescapable. Sister Cardew is not injured, though she is pregnant.

(2/3)
>>
>>4416962
You open your eyes, and stare at her. She obviously has no idea that you have made any deduction whatsoever. From behind the over-sized lenses over her face, she bores a steely, concerned gaze onto you. "Focus."

Now is not the Time. You close your eyes. Sister Cardew is uninjured. Brother Fergant was bit on his leg, and stepped on a mushroom on his way over to your current position. The air is filled with ash. You can identify every flower, tree, bush, and bit of moss for miles around, and are so overwhelmed, you have to put a hand to your lips. The simple motion and skin-on-skin contact is unreal.

Extreme fullness is sinking into you, while you breathe, and lean into the invocation even further than before. Pressing your hands further to your face, it's at least possible to keep breathing, and to remember that you're here. It helps that the sensitivity makes every motion more satisfying than the last.

You can feel the land itself. It's in you, and all around you. The world is not ablaze. This is a necessary step, to let the land grow once more. The woods are untamed, and this may yet be a blessing in disguise. There is nothing to fear.

Your allies trust you with their lives. They know that you are a priest of Agriculture— and can do even better than this.

>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.
>AS AN ADDED BONUS
>CLEARLY SPECIFY if you would like to turn the TRANSCENDENCE modifier from a -10 to a +10.
>Majority vote will be required. Those who are not rolling are free to vote. 5 total votes for this will also lock it in.

>This will reflect completely embracing the elements of both deities, during the dual invocation.
>There will lasting psychological effects, but as with the effects of all invocations, may be subject to change at a later date.

>+30 FAITH OF A GODDESS/TO PROTECT IS TO SERVE (x3 multiplier to the base bonus.)
>+35 REAP WHAT YOU'VE SOWED (Your faith in Her invocation has been rewarded.)
>-20 ACRES OF LAND ON FIRE (Depending on your degree of success, this modifier may increase or decrease.)
>-10 or +10 TRANSCENDENCE (The intensity of the invocations you're performing will continue to become more extreme as time goes on. Yes, that means the modifier will continue to increase, if you choose to make it positive.)
>>
Rolled 99 (1d100)

>>4416965
CYRIIIL
>>
Rolled 50 (1d100)

>>4416965

WE MUST TRANSCEND.
>>
Rolled 80 (1d100)

>>4416965
TRANSCENDENCE
>>
>>4417000
>>4416991
>>4416986

This is beyond fucking blessed.
>>
>>4416986
>>4416991
>>4417004
(IT IS TIME, GENTLEMEN

99+30+35-20+10= 154 out of 100

This is far and away the highest roll we've ever had in the quest. I'll try to make it special. Vote is locked. Writing now!)
>>
>>4417060
https://youtu.be/AiuC_CaObbI

Taking a knee, your outstretched fingertips dig into the warm, and drying soil. The scent of dirt, and the sunflowers all about you are impossible. They're giving off a scent never before experienced by mankind. It's crushed rose petals, a bundle of barley, every herb you've ever loved, and in a medley that completely overwhelms your senses.

The sight and smell is fairer than the sight of destruction, and danger. Their light vanishes from view, as you close your eyes, and shut out an inferno. Faith is your guide. You do not need to, but you speak, nevertheless. "Mercy. Agriculture. I know you are with me. Guide me. Come unto me. Love me. Let us transcend."

From the innermost reaches of your being, there is a core of sunlight, and sin. It is loved. Along every old wound, and scar in-between, you are held, and embraced, from within, and without. There is no air in your lungs, nor sight upon your gilded eyes. The world is gone, from sight, sound, touch, or taste. Upon each stretch of skin, up along your spine, and down into the grasp you have upon the Aerth, there are pinpricks of relief without pain. Into the center most reaches of your mind, there is no Time, or space.

In a rush of euphoria— unlike anything you have ever felt in your life— there is the world. Its scale is beyond comprehension. At its core is an inferno. A source of power, so immense that you could weep from the sheer scope of it.

It is the sun. That which sustains all life. The sun is beyond the sky, the moon, or the stars. From the furthest reaches of your mind, you feel its light, and heat.

The land below had been spoiled. It is thanks to you that the fields may grow, and life may be seen once more.

Life, compassion, grace, and everything you hold dear encompasses more than your lover. Your home means more to you than anything you can say. These are not merely forces you control. They are elements you embody. They want to work through you, and the light in your soul, no matter what tarnish it may carry.

Agriculture has already shown Herself to you, each and every day that you look upon the land.

It was no curse that you lifted, when you prayed to the Goddess, those many years ago.

It is a curse you have carried.

Leaning into the soil, into Mercy's embrace, you continue to let Them take you. From the pressure building, there is no cruelty, or malice, in how they work through you. There's no shame to be had from a touch that eclipses that of any mortal woman.

They love you, and are keeping your vessel together. Their gifts are to relieve your pain. Their presence comes with a touch that carries no agony.

The land is not in agony. The forest fire has raged high, and a controlled blaze is surrounding it, in full. Yet, this is a necessary step. One that has brought you more blessings than you could have asked for.

(1/2)
>>
>>4417248
In the embrace of your lover, and brimming with the gift of harvest, you simply look to the horizon. The forest fire has consumed acres of land. Flame dances in your eyes, though it comes from the core of the planet.

Beneath the surface, through the passion within your very soul, the forest's turmoil rises. Your bond with divinity stokes the blaze. In a blinding light, the flames suddenly and reach heights unobtainable through natural weather. Your bond, and Agriculture's works, are perfect fuel for the fire. The fallen tinder, dried woods, and kindling upon the forest floor is of Her design. They are yours, to bring through the cycle of life, death, and everything in-between.

Breathing gently, basking in the heat of disaster, you stand. Soil is caked upon your hands. It sticks fast, burning hot, and pressing into your very skin, as you reach out. A curse has been with you, for nearly four years. The agony it has brought you would bring lesser men to their knees, yet you have persisted.

Two Goddesses are working through you, as you keep a trembling hand outstretched. Looking to a blaze upon the land, Mercy and Agriculture want nothing more than for you to flourish.

The curse is a pause in Agriculture's bounty. It has halted your ability to eat or drink without agony, for years. It has plagued you, and robbed you of more joy than you could stand.

You will release yourself from this turmoil, and blossom. There is no doubt that it can be undone. You have felt the world, its land, its light, and know that this cycle cannot be halted.

You stand, as dark blossoms spread. The sunflowers around you become pitch-black.

>Write-in anything you want to say, before releasing Agriculture's curse.
>This is to destroy the forest fire, and free yourself from the curse's effects.

>A] Let nature run its course.

>B] Suffocate the flames.

>C] Decay everything touched by the fire.

>D] Write-in. (This is for a combination of unleashing a curse, while under the effects of an invocation to Mercy and Agriculture. Most things are on the table, but may be subject to QM discretion.)
>>
>>4417269
>>B] Suffocate the flames.
>>
>>4417269
>>B] Suffocate the flames.
Thank Mercy and agri for their efforts
>>
>>4417276
>>4417280
(Locking the unanimous vote here! Noting that write-in. Writing now.)
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>>4417329
(Thanks so much for your patience dudes, got sidelined by a few things. GF, movie trailers, dental stuff, body type charts. We're good. Seriously writing now.)
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>>4417498
https://youtu.be/Frnnhv1TVzU?t=30

Very little needs to be said between you, Mercy, and Agriculture, but They deserve to hear your heartfelt gratitude. "Thank you. Both of you."

In an instant, from the soil beneath your feet, a lash of growth snaps out. Black blossoms begin to immediately sprout up from the base of the forest floor. It's like no mere bolt of lightning. Snaking, and winding from your position, the current of sin reaches from the soil, straight towards the forest fire, up towards the sky, and towards the sun that you reveal. Through the sheer intensity of your devotion, you bring down your own beam of light. The connection to the world, the land, the heat and all of the life of the planet has your breath in your throat.

It's not ecstasy.

An increasingly painful, beautiful awareness is upon you.

Sister Cardew is screaming at Brother Fergant to not interfere, as both of them keep a broad distance from you. The patch of sunflowers around you is becoming a field. The winding, intense streak of decay that's ran in a current from your body fully parts from your frame, the moment it reaches the forest fire.

Physical relief drenches you so completely, you slump to the floor. Making every effort to catch yourself, you don't land hard. Every last prayer to Agriculture has been another flower in your garden. The comfort of Mercy takes you in Her hold, while you drag yourself upright, and struggle to see straight. There's a sensation upon you— truly upon you— for the first Time in years.

You can feel thirst. You can feel hunger. You cry, through your laughter, unable to articulate your relief in any other way.

The decay, rot, sin, and ruin is frying. Merely lifting your hand, while reaching out to the forest fire beyond, a thousand new flowers begin to sprout. You have not created them. Their potential was there, amidst the scorched land, and fallen boughs. They're drying out, and flaring up by the second. The texture of sand is practically upon your tongue, along with ash, soot, and a chronic habit of forgetting to drink for years.

It's impossible to stand. Exhaustion is crashing into you, even through the invocation of two deities, and you can't care. You cry, overjoyed, and let the garden of restraint bloom. Another thousand leaves will come to fruition. The flames are dying, utterly overwhelmed, while you open the palms of your hands.

(1/3)
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>>4417572
One hundred thousand spores are released into the air. Within the forest, out of your mortal sight, you continue to cry. It's some of the worst pain you've felt in your life. The strain on your soul is so intense, your vision feels as if it cracks in two. The pollen is not water. It is not a natural bounty. The curse that's kept your connection to the land from thriving has the process suspended. The sheer volume of it should be enough to snuff out the fire, but you are insatiable. Rather than return the petals, the powder, or any of the suppressant to the ground, you create more.

A gnawing hunger is on you, so harshly, and so intensely, you draw your legs in, wincing from the agony of it. It's been years since you've eaten normally. There's no use caring if you can't draw your knees completely to your chest, or even to your waist. Your Goddesses have been left wanting, too.

They adore you, so dearly they could die.

You reach out, and work together.

The sun.
The world.
The lover.

You're laughing, hysterically, and might be slipping. Persisting with both Goddesses for so long is a terrible idea.

Sister Cardew has been screaming, for some Time, but you will not rest until this work is done.

There's a clawing hunger, deep within you, and you know it will only be sated when this nightmare has been crushed by your own two hands. The clergy of Flesh sprint away from the controlled blaze, as you bring an outstretched hand high. With it, every last tree, branch, bush, and bough grows together. They warp, and wrap in on one another. The flame disappears from view, in a labyrinth of growth. The heat fades, as you embrace the flame, and take it into the land.

A curse is contained.
Burned.
Snuffed out.

"Suffocate."

It wasn't more than half a decade ago, when you called upon the Goddess of Harvest, and felt as if the invocation would be your last. When you were on hands and knees, suffocating on the very land that you love. Sister Cardew dares to rush towards you, still screaming, "Richard! RICHARD FOR FUCK'S SAKE CAN YOU HEAR ME?! Richa—"

Inhuman, painfully intense, verdant green and radiant gold settles right on her. She's never pulled away from your gaze, and doesn't recoil now. Covered head-to-toe in pollen, the white of her robes are stained green and brown. The massive amount of fabric is a fire hazard, but it's a good look.

You aren't thinking normally. Brother Fergant cautiously approaches from beside her, and is trying to not pass out from shock. "This is impossible."

"Nothing is impossible," Sister Cardew barks at him. To you, she drops to her knees, and frantically looks you over. "You're fine. By all the Gods. This a miracle. Would you be alright staying with Mercy? We'll bring anyone that needs help to you. I can't imagine how exhausted you must be. We'll get you some rest— WALTER, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN—"

(2/3)
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>>4417574
The scholar rides towards you, covered in ash and soot. The colossal expanse of new wood at his back is so dense, the sun at his back is practically blocked out. Thankfully, beams litter the road ahead. Well enough for the young noble to whistle, while scrutinizing your hair and face. He doesn't say a word.

No one says a word to you, as they realize that the flame has been completely contained. It's completely suffocated within the woods. Your's and Agriculture's curse was subject to the flame of retribution, and petered out, alone, and by your hand.

White smoke is drifting up, in all directions. You're so tired you could die. You're reminded of your second year as a prisoner, during a famine. It's as if you've never had any water in all your life. It feels like you could eat enough to satisfy Mother Bethaea.

The relief and pain all over you has Sister Cardew take you into a hug. She doesn't care at all that you're with the Gods, or that you're feeling anything intensely enough to register physical sensation beyond the invocation itself. Sniffing from all the pollen, the priestess murmurs, "she would be so proud of you, Richard."

>A] You can still picture Mother Bethaea's smile. "She would be."
>1] You can't bear to release the invocation to either deity. Linger with them a moment longer, until you're positive everyone is safe.
>2] Pass out. You'll have to let go at some point, and can't bear to do it yourself.

>B] Release the invocation to Agriculture. Get some of your bearings back.

>C] Release the invocation to Mercy, and to Agriculture. You're definitely on the verge of passing out, but you want to look upon Their works with your own eyes before losing consciousness.

>D] Write-in.
>>
>>4417582
>C] Release the invocation to Mercy, and to Agriculture. You're definitely on the verge of passing out, but you want to look upon Their works with your own eyes before losing consciousness.

Richard saving the day once again
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>>4417582
>Release the invocation to Mercy, and to Agriculture. You're definitely on the verge of passing out, but you want to look upon Their works with your own eyes before losing consciousness.
>>
>>4417597
>>4417684
>>4417582
supporting these
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>>4417597
>>4417684
>>4417709
(Sounds spectacular dudes, locking the unanimous vote. Writing now!)
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>>4417582
>Release the invocation to Mercy, and to Agriculture. You're definitely on the verge of passing out, but you want to look upon Their works with your own eyes before losing consciousness.
>>
>>4417813
(Ah, didn't miss ya! Thanks for voting man.)
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>>4417814
Breathing hard, loving every second of the normal pain on you, it feels like you actually can know your limits. The thirst for knowledge is greater than any feeling plaguing you. Hungering for knowledge, and to look upon the work of your Goddesses with your own eyes, you release both invocations.

https://youtu.be/fO9n2gPx-tc

The entire world shifts. A thousand sensations slam into you simultaneously. Pain hits first, hard and fast. The burn in all your body, from running, carrying the wounded, riding Impetus for hours, and using your vessel to channel three of the Gods back-to-back easily rivals the heat all around.

It's as hot as an oven. Opening your eyes, you fail to care. Enormous tufts of soot float along the cinder-flecked air, scratching at desert that's your throat. Light yellow-green pollen further exacerbates the poor air quality.

A light breeze picks up, providing the slightest relief from the unbearable heat, yet most of the wind can't freely blow down the road. Just a few hundred feet out— up to where the edges of the forest fire had raged— there is a labyrinth blocking free air from flowing. It's so dense, so tall, and so broad, that no light can escape from between its boughs. Gnarled branches intertwine throughout every space between the trees. The peaks of the canopy must stretch one hundred feet high, and all the tops of the canopy you can make out is coated in pitch-black blossoms. The darkness that it houses, and the absence of all motion, looks like something from a fairy tale.

You try to breathe. Even the slightest motion aggravates the sear in your lungs, and the ache of your heart. A lingering hyper-attunement to both Goddesses is overwhelming. Every last leaf carried along the wind might as well be a pile of fresh potpourri. The hunger gnawing at you is so unusual, you hardly know what to think of it.

The soil beneath you is dry, and familiar. Instinctively, you dig an empty hand into the ground. A bed of sunflowers, and the rays of light broaching the clouds overhead are beyond soothing. Darkness threatens to slip over your vision.

Sister Cardew clears her throat. You take your gaze from the sky, the clouds, the forest canopy, the network of intertwining branches, the fantastic evidence of a perfect dual invocation, and back down to Aerth.

The priestess of Spirit is politely extending a pocket mirror to you. The absolute silence from the gathering crowd of your clergy and friends is not reassuring. Almost all of the team you assembled have gathered around, and have yet to ask you a word. They may have already discussed leaving your care to Sister Cardew. Either way, she politely recommends, "after you get a good look, cover your nose and mouth. The air is still terrible."

(1/2)
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>>4417876
Moving your limbs is agony. You have to close your eyes, for a moment. A blinding headache is building by the second, but you manage to take the small item, suppress any and all sound, and keep your composure.

The glass upon the pocket mirror is smudged. There's nothing necessarily new that you can make out. Everything unusual about your appearance is somehow more intense, than ever before. The former mop of your disheveled, brunette hair has been entirely coated in metal. Only the slightest resemblance to any former style remains. Every strand of gold is borderline radiant, as is the metal plating your pupils. The gilt is in a deeper amber than ever before. It practically glitters against an unnatural shade of forest green, dramatically enhancing, and eclipsing the former color all around your irises.

It's as if you're still invoking both Goddesses. By all rights, it's hard to even look at yourself for more than a few moments. The scars are still the same, your nose is still bent, but the impression is blinding.

Poking at one cheek, and the pockmarked scars from old shrapnel, there's blessedly almost no additional weight in your face to speak of. You make a note to tone down your robes, cover your face with a swath of your cloak, and breathe a sigh of relief.

Granted, the motion to even exhale is extremely uncomfortable. You close your eyes again, and calmly hand Sister Cardew's mirror back to her. "Thank you," you rasp.

"You're welcome." Sister Cardew is a patient woman. She pays no mind to your fidgeting.

With your vision obscured, it's easy enough to feel that your belt is complaining. The majority of the pain in your torso must be from your abdomen, which has no doubt been larger. Opening your eyes, you wince.

There's no doubt that all of your muscle is still there. The bulk is unmistakable, but so is the newfound weight on just about every inch of you. The enchanted outerwear that protected you from any lasting burns has tastefully adjusted to accommodate your size. It neatly disguises the few inches your stomach is sticking out, even while seated. It's fine.

By your most conservative estimates, you can't be more than 30lbs heavier. "Richard?" Harriet doesn't falter, as you muse how conservative you are. She quietly asks, "can you stand?"

You're certain that moving your legs right now would be a fate worse than death.

>A] Politely ask Harriet to ensure you don't sleep the entire trip away, and pass out. You can't be bothered to care.

>B] Get on your feet just for long enough to get onto a horse, and to pass out. You are not making anyone carry you, if you can help it. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

>C] Try to stay conscious for a moment longer. Focus. You may be reeling, but there's something you seriously want to say or do. (Write-in. A roll may be required.)
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>>4417882
>A]Politely ask Harriet to ensure you don't sleep the entire trip away, and pass out. You can't be bothered to care.
>C] Try to stay conscious for a moment longer. Focus. You may be reeling, but there's something you seriously want to say or do. (Write-in. A roll may be required.)
"Congratulations on the baby, by the way"
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>>4417882
(Please excuse the spam, figured it would be best to have the archive with the times as well. Behold, a new and improved meat mech/body horror chart! Not 100% accurate ofc, but the best I could do with Google images.)

>>4417887
(Based. This is going to be the last update of the night, but good stuff. Will be leaving this open until the later morning or early afternoon EST!)
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>>4417882
>C] Try to stay conscious for a moment longer. Focus. You may be reeling, but there's something you seriously want to say or do. (Write-in. A roll may be required.)

Observe, the planet is round and so am I.
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>>4417882
>A]Politely ask Harriet to ensure you don't sleep the entire trip away, and pass out. You can't be bothered to care.
>C] Try to stay conscious for a moment longer. Focus. You may be reeling, but there's something you seriously want to say or do. (Write-in. A roll may be required.)
"Congratulations on the baby, by the way"
>>
>>4417882
>>C] Try to stay conscious for a moment longer. Focus. You may be reeling, but there's something you seriously want to say or do. (Write-in. A roll may be required.)

Is anyone at risk of death presently?
>>
>>4417887
>>4418042
>>4418045
>>4418053
(It's pretty late and I'm not at 100%, but going to try and write regardless. Vote is locked! Writing now.)
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>>4418060
Trying to look around as your visions swims and doubles, you note with some amusement that Harriet literally has four eyes. "Is anyone dying," you quietly ask.

The sun is peeking through the clouds overhead. It lights up a weary, rare smile upon the priestess' face. "No. You did a remarkable job."

The ground beneath the palm of your hands feels fantastic. The sunflowers all around are stunning. The world is beautiful. "Observe." Moving is out of the question. Doing anything more than blearily smiling, "will you please ensure I do not sleep the entire trip away," seems like a terrible idea.

Light laughter is on the periphery of your vision. Harriet's smile leaves, as quickly as it came. "You're being ridiculous."

"Yes." You immediately correct, "no. Promise me."

"I promisss— ahh," her nose wrinkles, as a sneeze builds. "Ahhh—!"

There's a handkerchief, somewhere, in your satchel. You'd get it, but are entirely distracted by poking at your mid-section. Feather pillows are firmer, though there's enough of you to make for a convex silhouette. It's not from ingesting anything, and no sickness is on you. On the contrary. Conflicting sensations of having your very soul sated, and crippling hunger is nagging through all your exhaustion. It's so bizarre, you simply mutter, "the planet is round, Sister Cardew."

Harriet sneezes, having fetched a handkerchief just in Time. With a sniff, she quickly frowns, "Richard."

"So am I."

All congestion, and apology, she continues to sniff, "yes, well." The woman prefers transparency. "That would be the case. Are you in any pain?"

"Yes." The world is slipping away from you. Someone moves to your side, casting a shadow upon the sunflowers.

"From the invocation?"

"No." You can't bring yourself to care about a thousand variations of agony, when you're trying to not fall face-first to the dirt.

"We will see to it. Brother, if you could, please—"

Scarcely able to see, you make due with a smile, and slump against whoever is standing beside you. "Congratulations on the baby, by the way."

In an uproar of hollering, a mortified priestess gets rapidly to her feet. The last of your energy is spent on maintaining a grin, while the sound of Walter stammering, and your priestess laughing carries over the wind.

"...put your shoe back on! Don't you dare..."

"...should kill you, before I kiss you again...!"

The world goes dark.

-----

https://youtu.be/I5EGVggSExM

It's still dark. No one is beside you. The ground is not quaking. There are people shouting, but it's interspersed with simple instruments, and the roaring crackle of a campfire. The scent of smoke has your stomach in knots—

No.

You bolt upright.

The wagon you're in has a few simple strips of cloth covering the top, which your forehead awkwardly hits, before you lay back down. There's no roaring inferno. It's just a campfire, and is likely late at night.

(1/3)
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>>4418124
You actually have a minute to yourself. The bed of the wagon is all blankets and pillows. It seems way more luxurious than it has any right to be, for being on the road. Inspecting your person, it would seem you've been put in a pair of substantially looser fitting trousers, a new belt, and a practical tunic. They're all in black. It's hard not to love it, though your robes are nowhere to be seen. Your Relic is still around your neck, and Mercy's ring is in place— which, conveniently, has adjusted to fit your hands. Your pockets are all empty, even of pollen. The mace, shield, sword, and satchel you're so used to carrying is nowhere to be found.

Exhaustion is still soaking into you, but so is outright starvation, the thirst of a man who likely hasn't had water in days, and an intense desire to know. The music also isn't half bad, so you extract yourself from the vehicle, and try to discreetly straighten out your tunic. There's no shoes upon your feet, and you take only a second to enjoy the cool night air, the soil underfoot, an open sky, and a moment of respite.

The wagon you were riding in is the one that was being driven at the front of the caravan. Ray immediately charges over, from near a roaring campfire.

You accept your fate, kneeling down to greet him. He tackles you, with all the speed and might he possesses, yet you hold your ground.

The two of you exchange equally surprised, and bewildered looks for a moment. Your boy is confounded.

He slobbers all over your face. "You win," you laugh, wrestling the mastiff into a choke-hold, and ruffling his fur mercilessly. He gnaws slightly at your hands and wrists, while you get a better look around.

The caravan must be pulled over for the night. A stunning sunset is hanging over the Morinburn River, just to the west. Forest is in every direction. The majority of the wagons must still be on the road, as only a handful of your congregation members are gathered about.

Irefist is at the fire, having skewered several dozen fish deep onto sticks near to the blaze. The numerous bandages you left on him with are still in place, concealed for the most part under clean clothes, and the darkness spreading from the edges of the wilderness. The sailor is watching the catch only from the corner of his eye. His attention is preoccupied with a simple, hand-carved flute, that's the second-most dominant instrument about the gathering.

He's tapping his foot, and seems pretty consumed with the melody. Spangle is the one actually tending to the blaze, and the cooking. Her dark-brown locks have been cut, though her bangs are long enough to be brushed out of her eyes, after a few seconds. The majority of it has been cropped very high above her shoulders, more of in a man's style than anything you're used to, but it suits her elegant features nicely.

Her hair must have been singed in the blaze.

(2/3)
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>>4418125
With no instrument, completely enamored with the flame, she's practically inert. Her attire is still the simple robes of your church, modest as they are, so it's hard to tell at a glance if she's got any further burns or injury.

Sitting directly across from her, facing you, is your ringleader. It's concerning that Harvey is still in full plate. The man has even kept his helm on, though he seems at ease. Whistling along, he's tapping on one thigh, in makeshift percussion.

The tune is a little repetitive, but no one seems to mind. Klepto is likely the one responsible for owning any instruments at all, let alone taking them along on your excursion. They're more than a commodity. The luxury is often disparaged, for spreading falsehoods, and word against the church. They're dangerous. Weapons of heathens.

The minstrel has some stringed item in hand, that's carrying far more complex notes than anything you can carry. It's livelier than a hymn, and more upbeat than all but the most fervent prayer. The young man is on his feet, skipping about, and hollering to everyone who isn't dancing or participating to join in. His sandy-blonde hair is positively bouncing, for how much enthusiasm he's flitting around your friends with.

Walter and Sister Cardew are dancing. The former is shockingly light on his feet. The gentleman practically carries Harriet's clumsier movements along. Both of them are laughing, each Time he swoops her up off the ground.

Their smiles only get broader, as Harvey promptly gets to his feet. It registers to you that he was sitting at the campfire to face the wagon you were resting in, and likely hadn't taken his eyes off your rest or recovery for an instant. The red lion strides the few yards over to where you've been observing. "Ab-bout T-Time! Sleep well?"

A cold sweat is immediately on you. "What day is it?"

"N-nice t-to see you, t-too," he grins.

"Sorry," you murmur. "I think— I think I slept well enough. It's good to see you, Harvey."

The smile doesn't falter. He knows you well. "It's th-the th-thirt-tieth."

A sigh of relief doesn't quite cut it. "Less than two days."

"Hope we d-didn't wake you. Was hop-ping th-the m-music would! C'm-mon."

>A] You seriously can't resist picking on Walter and Sister Cardew. Go tease them for a moment.

>B] Sit down at the fire with Spangle and Harvey. Ask them how everyone's been.

>C] Don't interrupt Irefist, but as a show of good-will, ask him what he's doing.

>D] You need some fresh air, to stretch your legs, and to go pray. Take a few minutes for yourself, and promise to come back quickly.

>E] Write-in.
>>
>>4418126
>B] Sit down at the fire with Spangle and Harvey. Ask them how everyone's been.

Be rude to ignore the invite, let's see if we can get some water too.
>>
>>4418126
>B] Sit down at the fire with Spangle and Harvey. Ask them how everyone's been.
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>>4418126
>B
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>>4418131
>>4418205
>>4418372
(Good morning all! Locking the unanimous vote here, got one more session in me this weekend. Writing now!)
>>
>>4418539
You're far too well-mannered to not accept the invitation. The aroma of freshly caught fish, and the fast-flowing Morinburn wafts along with the smoke, disarming any further anxiety.

Within moments of emerging from the shade, you're greeted with a call from virtually everyone in view. The festivity relents slightly, as Walter and Harriet make a gentle bow, and curtsy to one another respectively. Irefist ceases his flute-playing, and Spangle at least glances up from the flame.

It only takes a moment for Klepto to seize the opportunity, and to join you alongside Harvey, and all the rest of your friends, around the flame.

https://youtu.be/t1kUFsPlnHU

The clown and his instrument assume a mellow, quiet tune. He's sitting just adjacent to Irefist. Now that the minstrel isn't running about like a hummingbird in flight, it's fair enough to see that he's also still littered with some evidence of your work. The golden bandages along most of his body are fading, so only a little light is reflected off of the patches as he plays beside the fire.

Sister Cardew insisted on sitting just to your left, while Harvey's at your right. The overturned log beside the blaze is adequate to also house Walter. Ray's basking in the heat of the flame by your feet— already drifting off to sleep— and has no doubt had an extremely long day.

At your request, you're to be outfitted with actual food and drink. No one seems to believe that you'd ask of your own volition, but it's honored all the same. "How has everyone been," you inquire.

A choir of "fine," echoes around the campfire, save for from Professor Echo.

"She's tried to kill me ten times," Walter immediately fires at you. He huffs to Harriet, "though I will not apologize." The priestess gives him a disparaging frown, which is clearly masking her happiness. With more amusement, the nobleman says, "it would have been remarkable if the message was given to us in any other way, Father Anscham."

The use of "us" is too sweet for you to not reply, "I will not apologize, either."

Harriet elbows you. It doesn't feel normal, for how much softer you are, but she's as stern and unflappable as ever. "We spoke with Spangle and Electrum." The light in her eyes is coming from a lot more than the fire before you all. She's obviously hiding an extreme amount of joy. "They couldn't explain it. Please do."

"They wouldn't have known," you murmur. "It's— it is extremely difficult to explain."

"Please try," Sister Cardew says.

(1/3)
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>>4418796
"Mercy, and Agriculture— I was— the connection I felt was with Them. It was with more than any other life around me. There was potential, beyond the growth that could be seen through my own eyes." It feels phenomenal to be awake, and to look around with your own eyes. They're still a little bleary from having slept for so long, but you smile softly to the soon-to-be-mother beside you. She's outfitted herself with more practical attire. Long sleeves, long skirts, and significantly less shawls, are still all in white. "I am so glad to see that you are okay." Looking around to the rest of your unusually quiet friends, you're greeted with many smiles in return. "That you all appear to be okay."

To the fire, Spangle mutters, "you will be relieved to hear that neither the woods, nor any of our company came to further harm. The flame was extinguished, without any further loss of life. I am certain that our efforts reduced the potential for further strain— but what you did was a miracle, Father Anscham." Grumbling, she can't help but add, "I'll make a formal complaint about being back to work so quickly when there's a better Time. I'm glad you're alright, too."

Harvey elbows you, though on your upper arm, rather than at your waist. Everyone is likely just as perplexed by the reality of your latest change in appearance as you are. You avoid the urge to rub at the spot he's bumped. The pleasantly spiked barbs upon his elbows leave a lingering sting, while he grins, "we've b-been at-ttacked th-three t-times since you p-passed out."

A hot poker might as well have been put to your spine. "What?"

With a scowl, Harriet scolds, "don't tease him like that. Honestly."

"It's t-true," Harvey frowns back, and to you, more fervently says, "you sh-should know. We g-got 'em, d-down t-to th-the last.

"Mercenaries," James maliciously grins. Still strumming, he sings along to the melody, "they won't talk, even if you beat them half to death!"

Irefist keeps his flute in hand, while loudly popping his knuckles. "Not for lack of trying."

"Your friends are in all the lowest places," Spangle mutters.

Firing the priestess a disparaging glare, Sister Cardew says far more honestly, "they know we're coming, Richard. The demon you faced may as well have created a signal for the entire capital. There is no telling how many more will have seen our departure. Word will have been sent. Their methods will be faster than our travel, no matter the pace. The first group came immediately after we reconvened. They attempted to overwhelm us. Immediately after the blaze died down, and as soon as it was safe. The other two assaults were erratic. Disorganized, to say the least."

(2/3)
>>
>>4418797
"Imbeciles," Walter declares, nose to the sky. "They will wear their numbers thin at this rate, and long before we see so much as any sight of Eadric. No matter how well-to-do your enemies may be, Father Anscham, they cannot keep this up forever. We are swifter, stronger, and far more cunning."

"We all ag-greed that a b-break was n-needed," Harvey mentions. "B-been rid-ding alm-most with-thout p-pause."

"How are the horses," you can't help but ask, scratching behind Ray's ears.

"Electrum has been seeing to them all, with the other tenders," Spangle replies. "She's been keeping the pace well enough, with Harvey and Impetus, in your stead. We rode through the entire first night."

Nervously glancing over the red lion's full plate, he's at least devoid of blood for the moment. "You— you must be exhausted."

The red-head has yet to take off his helm. You try to not worry too much about how much this is mentally taxing him. "Th-this isn't anyth-thing. Th-they're n-not org-ganized enough t-to really th-threaten th-the carav-van. N-not yet." Orange light reflects slightly, off of the blackened heraldry upon your knight's chest. He looks to the flame, and says, "b-besides. Th-there are worse th-things in th-the woods th-than m-men."

A squeak rises from Sister Cardew. "I nearly forgot." She quickly gets to her feet, adjusting three skirts, and walks over towards the wagon you were sleeping in. It takes only a moment for her to retrieve your satchel, along with a flask of water. She thrusts some fish at you, for good measure, before sitting down beside you once more.

It smells heavenly. "Thank you."

Taking the items quickly, you uncap the leather container first, and drink. It's a religious experience. There's no pain. No sensation of needles, nails, or glass. The liquid is warm, likely has been sitting all day, and still could not be more precious. Fresh rivers, crisp mountain air, and the touch of a Goddess easily rivals it. Liquor seems like an insult, to unfiltered bounty from the land itself. Your eyes were closed, but you manage to open them, and dig into the roasted fish.

Beyond the absence of agony, there's no question that there's something different. There's texture, from open-air, fireside cooking. Spangle obviously knows exactly how to crisp skin, and leave tender Flesh beneath. The grayling is light, fluffy, and flaky. You haven't had them in months, and haven't appreciated its distinctive flavor since you were a boy. It's meatier than trout, stronger than halibut, and definitely tastes better than it rightfully should. You tear through the entire thing within a few moments, with an entirely human appetite, and confirm that there is no pain.

(Somehow totally underestimated, 3/4)
>>
>>4418801
There's no question that the invocation left some lasting effect on you. The degree of gratification rises by the moment, and you're not entirely certain you'd have been capable of stopping yourself from having more, but it is almost normal, and that is a tremendous improvement.

Everyone is very quiet. Harvey is the first to mention, "Harriet t-told us all ab-bout what you d-did for Ag-griculture. Th-the senpai-mine."

At some point, Walter must have fetched some beer. Mugs and flasks are being passed around the campfire to anyone who wants it, along with the fish. Klepto manages to play a simple tune with only one hand, while drinking with the other. His muffled, "you're a right lunatic, but thanks," is spoken through the side of his mug.

The bottom of the container he's drinking from has "made you look" carved in to the base. You try not to smile, as everyone present echoes, "thanks."

(Options in next post.)
>>
>>4418804
>Select at least one prompt from the following.

>You knew there would be a lasting connection to Mercy and Agriculture, after what you experienced.
>1] Vocalize some concern to just Sister Cardew. She's extremely slim, and you trust that she can help you watch what you eat.
>2] You really aren't sure what normal is, after four years of the affliction that was on you. Mention the effect to your friends, and see if they think it's a problem.
>3] Plainly voice what you think has happened. You'd like to respect the Goddesses, and all the sacrifices they've made. Having your friend's approval would be nice, to not change your behavior too much, and to try and relax about something for once.
>4] Plainly tell Walter and Harriet what you think has happened. You couldn't be more relieved. Ask both of them if they'd help you learn a little more about the effect, either now, or when it's appropriate. There could be some other, more beneficial effects, that aren't as obvious.
>5] Write-in any other changes in behavior, concerns you want to voice, or something you'd like to try immediately.

>In addition to a prompt from 1-5, feel free to select any of the following from A-D.

>A] Seriously stress to everyone your concern about the caravan's safety. Maybe it's from being with Mercy for so long in days past, but you can't get all of those injuries off of your mind.
>1] Ask Sister Corbon for a full rundown on everyone she had to heal.
>2] Just ask everyone present if they're okay. Try to not let this become a new fixation.
>3] You want as much information on these mercenaries as humanly possible. It's understandable that your friends don't want to worry you about every little thing, but you're anxious.

>B] You'd really like to find out what happened with the greater demon. Harvey, Klepto, and Irefist should have the full picture.

>C] In all of the craziness of your life, a baby on the way is welcome news.
>1] Extend a more formal congratulations to Walter and Harriet. Offer your more practical support to them. As the leader of the Church of Mercy, you have an obscene amount of resources at your disposal.
>2] Tactfully ask if they're both alright. All of your lives are EXTREMELY chaotic, and you want to help in any way you can. Some emotional support is always nice.

>D] Write-in.
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>>4418804
(I have no idea why the word filter is on this board, but the line with Harvey about Agriculture is obviously referring to the famine.)
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>>4418807
>>You knew there would be a lasting connection to Mercy and Agriculture, after what you experienced.
>4] Plainly tell Walter and Harriet what you think has happened. You couldn't be more relieved. Ask both of them if they'd help you learn a little more about the effect, either now, or when it's appropriate. There could be some other, more beneficial effects, that aren't as obvious.

>>4418807
>>A] Seriously stress to everyone your concern about the caravan's safety. Maybe it's from being with Mercy for so long in days past, but you can't get all of those injuries off of your mind.
>3] You want as much information on these mercenaries as humanly possible. It's understandable that your friends don't want to worry you about every little thing, but you're anxious.

>B] You'd really like to find out what happened with the greater demon. Harvey, Klepto, and Irefist should have the full picture.

>C] In all of the craziness of your life, a baby on the way is welcome news.
>1] Extend a more formal congratulations to Walter and Harriet. Offer your more practical support to them. As the leader of the Church of Mercy, you have an obscene amount of resources at your disposal.
>>
>>4418807
>You knew there would be a lasting connection to Mercy and Agriculture, after what you experienced.
>2] You really aren't sure what normal is, after four years of the affliction that was on you. Mention the effect to your friends, and see if they think it's a problem.

>A] Seriously stress to everyone your concern about the caravan's safety. Maybe it's from being with Mercy for so long in days past, but you can't get all of those injuries off of your mind.
>1] Ask Sister Corbon for a full rundown on everyone she had to heal.
>3] You want as much information on these mercenaries as humanly possible. It's understandable that your friends don't want to worry you about every little thing, but you're anxious.

>C] In all of the craziness of your life, a baby on the way is welcome news.
>2] Tactfully ask if they're both alright. All of your lives are EXTREMELY chaotic, and you want to help in any way you can. Some emotional support is always nice.

>D] Write-in.
Inquire about the vengeance priests health. See to him if he needs further aid
>>
>>4418826
>>4418833
>2, 4, A1, A3, B, C1, and C2
>7 prompts and a write-in

(Good. We'll do it all. Hahahhaha. Might take me a minute! Vote is locked! Writing now.)
>>
>>4418807
>>4418833
Support
>>
>>4418882
(Appreciate you man! Vote is locked, but I will definitely make sure we address the prompts and write-in there.)
>>
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>>4418885
>>4418849
https://youtu.be/qeUcGD4rRRc

"The Gods are Merciful," you reply. "I am—" Accepting a mug, and more fish is more than fine. It smells heavenly, and looks even better. "—it has been so long since I have had anything in the way of normalcy." A swig of the beer is like having a liquid blessing. Every note of barley, its age, the method of production, the cask it was made in, and the urge to finish the entire mug in one go is overwhelming. You quaff it in its entirety, with no indication of any fullness. There's simply extreme satiety, comfort, and a little heat in your face. You look around to your friends. A little concern is upon Sister Cardew's face, though everyone else seems oblivious. With a wave of the skewered fish in hand, you ask, "is— is this much better than anything you're used to?"

Not from desire for excess, but from the sheer amount of relief and comfort in hand, you work through the rest of the fish while your friends speak. The flavor is more intense than the first, without compromising the rest of your palate. On the contrary. It is obscenely good.

Klepto shrugs. "Beer's okay. You drink like a demon, you know that?"

Something more to drink seems phenomenal. "The beer was phenomenal."

A scowl towards James discolors Spangle's satisfaction. "Asshole." She gives you a much softer stare. "Thanks. I know I did a fine job with the graylings, Father Anscham."

"Same," Irefist says.

The priestess continues, "Electrum acquired enough provisions for the entirety of the trip."

The provisions are local. The barley was likely grown to the north, in the most fertile stretch of land alongside the Eventide river. The degree of alcohol in your system is minute. You could definitely handle more. The slightly acidic, savory, and bitter notes of the brew you had persist. It's delightful. You're trying hard not to smile.

Spangle stresses, "it's so good to see you looking after yourself. I can't tell you how glad we are to see you up."

There's literally a song being performed as you all speak. The smile is irrepressible, as Klepto grins, "she wouldn't stop fussing. The girly couldn't believe you were uninjured."

"Your work continues to astound me," she admits, "but I couldn't have imagined anyone even surviving the display of skill you exhibited. The invocation was— two Goddesses is simply..."

The priestess of restraint trails off.

There's hardly anything left on the skewer before you. For good measure, and as a small experiment, you make every attempt to keep it aside. There's no tremor in your hands. The desert of your throat is completely satisfied. The very location of the river Morinburn from the catch in hand is on your tongue. It's of a fresh stream, and a school of blue-gray life. A reminder of what once was, or what could ever be.

(1/3)
>>
>>4418998
You're waxing philosophical over unseasoned fish. It's impossible to not tear into the last of the grayling, without any further hesitation. It's delicious. The heat in your face, your throat, your stomach, the roaring flame, the scent of smoke, and the persisting flavor is infinitely more intense than it should be. Manners won't permit you to speak without swallowing, so it's only several minutes later that you observe, "this is not normal."

A few confused glances are given. Irefist looks you over. So does Klepto. You try to not feel self-conscious. The tunic isn't very flattering, though the coarse linen against your skin feels fantastic. The garment is of a natural weave. It may not be the most gentle, but there's more of you. Everything is sensitive.

You are trying to keep your composure. "I connected with the sun." The thought needs to be dismissed. "The world." The feeling can't be. "Life, as we know it. I did not lose anything." You fidget, while discarding the stick in hand to the flame. "The curse that had plagued our Goddess could never persist. Not as We felt it. I have been given greater clarity, and—" Phrasing is important, here, while you try to ignore the heat on you. "—and a deeper appreciation for Her. A deeper bond."

Sincere appreciation, love, and devotion is all through your tone. "Relief does not begin to describe it. I know there must be more to it, still. She is generosity, itself. The Goddess of Harvest has given me more than I could have ever asked for. Mercy will not see fit for me to suffer. Never in the way that She has— and—" all of the sage in your eyes must be visible, as you murmur, "—and neither in the way that Agriculture has, either."

The sheer amount of questions brewing from your friends is only kept bay out of respect, and good grooming. To the researchers in your company, you first mention, "I would sincerely appreciate it if— when we find a more opportune Time— if we could look into this further. To see the extent of it, and— and if there are more beneficial properties to Our connection, still."

The narrowed glare of Walter's eyes becoming even thinner. "Yes." He's terribly excited. "Absolutely. We have much more to address this evening, but fortunately, this is something that can be easily monitored."

Concern is behind the glare of Sister Cardew's glasses, and the thin line of her lips. You know she's wanted to look further into your ability to invoke for months, but she's got your best interests at heart. "I will take the matter into full consideration," she insists, "but I believe we should abstain from any research this evening. Do you still have the journal I gifted you?"

The slight smile on your face broadens. It's one of the nicest books you've ever seen, and have almost been afraid to use it. "Of course."

"Document your findings. Anything at all. No omissions, Richard."

(2/3)
>>
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>>4419002
"I— I would never settle for less," you reply.

"We will monitor any natural developments." Her glasses are adjusted. "I will construct a formal plan, for when we have a more stable environment."

The rest of your friends have been exceedingly quiet. Klepto is practically caressing the instrument in hand, as he fills the silence.

There's still stares boring into you, while you interject, "it has been years of agony, each and every Time I have attempted to show Her any sort of devotion. I need your honesty. Do any of you— do any of you think that this may be a problem?"

Spangle immediately lifts her eyes from the flame, to you. "The country knows you as a symbol of restraint— and your eagerness to fast is renown. Such an extreme change may bring you under even more fire."

Harvey laughs. "Th-they're all g-going to m-make life sh-shit for him reg-gardless." He gives you a smile. "J-just d-don't let it slow you d-down. Right?"

With a harsh laugh, Irefist asks, "what the fuck are you going on about?" He gives you a once-over, from head to toe. "Agriculture."

"Yes." There's a few hearts in your eyes.

"You sleep like the fuckin' dead, for days at a time. I think I've seen you eat twice since I've met you, and both of 'em wasn't right. Fuck the politics. You'll get more respect from your people for your actions."

You blink. "Thank you."

"'sides—" The killer scowls. "—you run like a demon, too. Fat can come off. Just lose it, if it's a problem. Can't imagine anyone making a stink over something so fuckin' petty."

The very professor of pettiness snaps, "you have no idea what you're talking about."

"I've dealt plenty with the church of Agriculture," Irefist snaps to Walter, "and if what you all are saying is true, he's got a better claim to some fuckin' respect than any of you. That shit speaks for itself."

A slight screech on James' instrument stops the music, if only for a second. "You beautiful idiot. I knew you got it."

"'course I do," the brute nods.

"You d-don't give him en-nough cred-dit," Harvey mutters to Walter. "And we d-don't n-need to g-get into any of th-that, while we're still on th-the road."

Mildly, Harriet mentions, "Cyril would be beside himself. We spent months getting you into better shape. I know you don't want to look back on it, Richard. But this is an extreme improvement over tremor, or crippling headaches. Your health is the most important thing." There's a lot of pain in her voice. She's been with you through the worst of it. "You know I will speak up, if I see you actually harming yourself."

(One paragraph over aa 3/4)
>>
>>4419006
"I know." The urge to hug her is rising. Gently asking Ray to move aside, you get your satchel from beside him, and get out your newest journal. Chronicling your first observations on this recent dual invocation is absolutely necessary, while you all speak. Given that you haven't eaten anything properly in over two days, there's no indication of actually being full, nor of any recurring pain.

There's a lot to discuss, and you can't stop smiling.

>The following with be interspersed with the subjects for discussion selected. All previously selected prompts will still be covered.

>A] Chronicle your observations thus far, but intentionally restrict your diet until you can speak with Mercy about all of this. Even though your base needs for nutrition still aren't being met, you have developed some personal issues regarding your size. Just have water for the rest of the night.

>B] Experiment with more beer. It's very weak, and you know it would be almost impossible to really get drunk off of it. (A roll will be required.)

>C] Try to just eat until you're full. The fish is lean, and nowhere near rich enough to threaten your weight further. (A roll will be required.)

>D] Request from your friends to make sure you don't over-do it, but do your best to observe what your limits are with food and drink. You'll be talking for a bit, are in safe company, and think you can handle it.

>E] Write-in. (A roll may be required.)
>>
>>4419010
>>D] Request from your friends to make sure you don't over-do it, but do your best to observe what your limits are with food and drink. You'll be talking for a bit, are in safe company, and think you can handle it.
>>
>>4419010
>>D] Request from your friends to make sure you don't over-do it, but do your best to observe what your limits are with food and drink. You'll be talking for a bit, are in safe company, and think you can handle it.
>>
>>4419033
>>4419045
(Going to lock the unanimous vote! Hopefully can get a few more updates out tonight. Got some major tooth pain but I'll keep you guys posted. Writing now.)
>>
>>4419010
>>D] Request from your friends to make sure you don't over-do it, but do your best to observe what your limits are with food and drink. You'll be talking for a bit, are in safe company, and think you can handle it.
>>
>>4419290
(You're the best man, thank you. I'm still writing, but am nearly done!)
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>>4419291
It's agreed upon by everyone present to help you not over-do it, but that you'd like to test your limits for the evening. It's encouragement for more beer to flow freely, and your old mantra is happily said, as you raise a toast with everyone present. "Everything in moderation— including moderation!"

There's a chorus of, "hear hear!" and "cheers!"

You all clink your cups and mugs to one another, spilling a little foam. Some chatter breaks out, while Klepto assumes a livelier tune, and you set about writing.

https://youtu.be/eGrUJvWYR90

Sister Cardew found green ink. It's hard on the eyes, so you wind up only emphasizing a few words with it. Without any pretense of restraint, you set about drinking. The beer is objectively weak, but the amount of gratification it brings rivals the best work of a demon. It's filling, and hearty, made from your homeland and doesn't bring any pain.

The smile upon your face completely persists, as your pen scratches the page. "Thirtieth of the Tending Moon, 606. Observations on the lasting effects of Dual Invocation: as recorded by Father Richard Anscham, leader of the Church of Mercy. Flawless invocation of Mercy and Agriculture was accomplished on the twenty-eighth of the Tending Moon, 606. Persistent connection to both Goddesses is unmistakable. Physical appearance has mirrored that of my sight while invoking both Goddesses, in addition to presence of gold, and weight, that did not subside even after the invocation ended."

The compulsion to address everyone's health has you ask for a second Time, "Sister Corbon. How has everyone fared? Did anyone else require our skill, that has yet to be brought to my attention?"

"Fixation on healing and emotional support has yet to be a hindrance to my work," you scratch onto the page, defensively drinking.

"Nearly everyone in the caravan was affected by the initial attack," the priestess scowls. "The Willoughby sisters have been invaluable. Between the imps, Brother Holloway—"

Quickly swallowing another mouthful of ale, you stammer, "our— our priest of Vengeance?"

"Yes," she grimaces.

"Is he alright?" You don't hide for a second how worried you've been. "Is there anything further he may require?"

"You should give him a look, come morning, but try not to worry. I've done a great deal for his injury, and he's been resting. He's not been bothered, or come under any further strife— but the extent of his invocation lacerated nearly every inch of his body, Father. I have no idea how he survived."

Sweeping another skewered fish from beside the fire, you assert, "the Gods are Merciful."

Sister Cardew is on beer duty (you trust her to actually stop at some point), and doesn't hesitate to refill your mug, while she notes, "you had already seen to the worst of the injured, Richard."

"I see." It's not satisfactory. "No one else is in any peril."

"No," Sister Corbon patiently replies.

(1/4 get comfy)
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>>4419341
"No one is in any immediate pain," you frown, chewing on the fish at hand as if it had any answers. It's more comforting than the reply you're given.

"Aren't we all," Walter sighs. "Perpetually. Is it not agony, to linger with our collective curse, as we all—" Sister Cardew elbows him so hard, he actually laughs, "ow!"

"What of the greater demon, then," you have to ask, primarily to Harvey, Irefist, and Klepto.

They all immediately look exhausted, just from the thought of it. Carlisle picks at one of the gilded bandages on his hands. "We were the first ones there." He jerks his head towards Klepto. "Well, Brother Durville, too. Kid's got a good head on his shoulders. Went running for ya', the second he could."

"Ah, yes," James strums, "and not a moment too soon."

There's a dramatic pause. Walter starts, "oh, no. Don't you dare."

"Oooooooh," the minstrel begins,
"A dick? Not quite!
Shrouded from sight,
Our incoming fight,
Was made of the night—!
"

"Will you shut the fuck up," Irefist grins, replacing his cup of beer with his flute.

Spangle whispers to you, "this is the most tasteful rendition I've yet to hear. There's usually more metaphor about phalluses—"

Leaning back, you settling into working through your own beer at hand.

"You're not even trying." Despite his criticism, the sailor obviously loves what he's hearing. "Show you how it's fuckin' done." Irefist takes up his flute, and plays along.

https://youtu.be/XQCp3beqZps

Your minstrel sings,
"from the shadows it soared!
A nightmare of light!"


Harvey is rolling his eyes. "Here we g-go."

Getting up from the log he's seated on, James leaps to his feet, and gallantly places a leg atop the fallen bough.
"Lion's armor ahead,
The demon did DREAD.
Its imps had all fled,
Pretense of fear shed—!

The red lion ROARED:
'YOUR KIND ARE ALL DEAD!'"


"I d-did n-not," Harvey grins. To you, he winks, "I m-might've shouted. Th-that's all."

"I'm not finished," James pouts, still in his ridiculous pose.

The lion leans back, smiling into his mug. You mimic the motion, and continue working at the meal, while Harvey reminds the musicians, "I'm n-not stopping you."

With even more drama, Klepto huffs, "good."
"It's weapon: the sun,
'fore six men! Not one!
Boldly, we all sung,
This fight could be won!

A MAN OF THE SWORD!
From fate he could run!

Alas, when he cried,
"SWALLOW YOUR PRIDE!"
(The lion beside),
Our skin and bones fried!

"Hubris' reward!"


Strumming far more softly, striding from his position on the log, Klepto strides up to you to softly finish,
"We all should have died."

With a huge, sweeping bow, James accepts a round of polite applause. "Thank you!" A kiss, to Sister Cardew, and to Spangle. "Thank you!"

(2/4)
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>>4419344
Irefist simply frowns, puts aside his flute, and picks his beer up once more. "So, yeah. We took it head-on. The thing just looked like a shadow at first, but kept growing. Think it was taking in the light. By the Time Claymore got there, the thing was twenty feet tall, easy."

Harvey informs you, "th-the p-priests you had n-nailed it d-down, while m-me and Claymore t-took th-the heat." He frowns. "Lit-terally."

"Thanks to our clergy's efforts—" Sister Cardew looks to everyone around the camp, stressing, "and everyone's quick action— we have kept any injuries to a minimum." She gives you a stern look, and refills your beer. "The majority of us would like to reduce asking for your support as much as possible. We can heal on our own."

"Time is just as Merciful," you admit.

Though the sunset has nearly faded, the air is cool, and a fair breeze waves at the camp, there's heat all over you. It's primarily in your face, while tearing into the food and drink, and writing a good deal further.

"Extremely difficult to focus on any other task at hand, while in the presence of any quantity of food and drink. Proximity worsens the degree of distraction. Sensitivity to all stimuli is heightened, to a disproportionate degree."

It's incredibly warm. The quiet chatter from all of your friends is primarily about Klepto's performance, alongside Irefist. It barely registers. Compulsively, you go for more food, while giving a questioning glance to your company. There's no protest, so you try to relax, recline, and think.

The scent of pollen carrying on the wind is just as easy to pick up on as the campfire's smoke right before you. The graylings shouldn't have been so easy to recognize, even given your experience as a fisherman. Given how cooked they were when you woke, and when you first saw them, it normally wouldn't have even picked up on your radar. At the moment, their roasted aroma, the soil underfoot, the bend of the Morinburn just off beyond the forest, the patch of rare moss behind you, the nearby grass, the variety of tree that you're using as a log, and all other life in the surrounding area is overwhelming.

Several mugs of beer, and the volume of fish you've ingested, should be downright painful as well. Rather, the progressive fullness, and stretch on your stomach is another intensely pleasant addition to the amount of sensory overload that's on you. There's no tremor in your hands, as you write, "direct correlation between volume of food or drink ingested, pleasure derived from the process, and ease in identification of virtually any ingested substance. Presently, I have observed this phenomenon via: -Water from a south-western brook, on the outskirts of Calunoth's district of Mercy. Minor pollution from Brother Murdac's assault still present."

(3/4)
>>
(Formatting error, please refresh/F5 if the italicized post is still displaying)

>>4419348
To your friends, you mention, "do not drink any of the water we have brought from the capital. Please dispose of it away from any streams or rivers. It is still tainted from the demon of Agriculture."

There's no immediate panic, but several concerned glances fire your way. Sister Cardew immediately moves to draft a letter to the capital, as you continue to write as well, "-Beer, brewed for nobility. Made with half as much grain as necessary for quality and potency of standard batches. Inefficient brewing technique resulted in its poor strength, though the quality of barley and ale yeast is what should be expected from Her works."

You casually sip at the beer, and make a footnote, "bread yeast would render an apple-like taste, and would enhance the strength of the blend, without requiring further grain. Sense of taste, and affinity for any edible substance has obviously been heightened as well."

Sister Cardew stops her discussion with Walter, and leans over to read over your arm. She has a coughing fit, realizing you've worked through three pages already. You pay her no mind, and continue writing, "-Graylings, freshly caught from the Morinburn River. Materials used to extinguish the flame— from the demon of illumination— will have a lasting impact on the quality of water, soil, and surrounding lands for some Time. Quality is otherwise superb."

Pausing again, you are certain that it's fair to record any and all suspicions you have. Trying to keep the entry as reasonable as possible, you note, "may no longer be susceptible to poison. Additional research will be required."

To the priestess at your side, who's eyes could not be wider, you quietly ask, "how much have I had to eat and drink, exactly, this evening?"

The disbelief on her face completely drops, as she rattles off, "four fish, and that is your fifth mug of beer. At your height and weight, activity level, and thanks to the previous fast, you could likely have twice that amount before seeing virtually any effect."

You smirk. "You did not spend five months in the Church of Flesh for nothing."

"To know is to serve." Harriet looks you over, and immediately observes, "you aren't even tipsy."

The world is straight, your speech is intentionally soft-spoken, and though there's definitely some issue with your perception, you confirm, "no— you are absolutely right. I am not."

(Options in next post.)
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>>4419358
>A] Forget the fish. Stick to the beer, while you congratulate Harriet and Walter on their spectacular news.

>B] Detecting minute traces of poison could literally save lives. Keep at the fish, along with all the rest.

>C] At the risk of getting even more distracted, this is a lot to take in (in every sense of the phrase). Though you know you'll review your findings with your research team when there's a more appropriate Time, there's something else that you'd like to bring up now. (Write-in.)
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>>4419360
>>B] Detecting minute traces of poison could literally save lives. Keep at the fish, along with all the rest.
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>>4419360
>B] Detecting minute traces of poison could literally save lives. Keep at the fish, along with all the rest.

>Immune to poison
The gods are Merciful, their blessings for our devotion are humbling and all encompassing.
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>>4419365
>>4419377
(Alright lads, locking the unanimous vote, and going to knock out one last update for the weekend! Thanks so much to all of you, covered a ton of ground despite all the stuff I had going on. Looking forward to updating through the week as well. Writing now!)
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>>4419413
https://youtu.be/ktQgQ4u1M9A

The words immune to poison stick to the forefront of your mind. Shifting again, adoring the pull on your tunic, paying no heed to any looks you might get from your friends, you bow your head, and close your eyes. The pressure from within is a gift. Placing your hands together, you pray, "the Gods are Merciful. Your blessings for our devotion are humbling, and all encompassing. Thank you."

A few amused glances are sent your way. You resolve to imbibing twice the volume of food and drink you've already had, lift your gaze, and raise a mug to Harriet and Walter. "I meant to properly congratulate both of you, on your blessing."

Pride is all over Walter, as he grins, "he'll be a proper heathen, if I have anything to say about it."

"Thank you Richard," Sister Cardew hisses, firing a disparaging smile at the father.

Professor Echo lives up to his name, though with so much sass in his tone, you can't help but laugh. "Thank you, Father Anschaaaam."

Looking over the top of your mug, you raise both eyebrows. Third Time's the charm. "Are you both doing alright?"

They both groan in unison, "yes." Just about everyone else laughs at them.

"Are you sure." Your eyebrows go higher, while the rest of your face nearly vanishes behind the mug. "Don't lie to me." It's difficult to not laugh as well, all through the drink.

"This is the best evening I've had in ages," Walter insists. "You know I would rather have Klepto make my ears bleed, than any old demon or clergy."

An entire fish is chucked across the fireplace, from James, towards Walter's head. "Fuck off!"

Ray wakes up just for a moment, to snatch it out of thin-air. "Good boy," you grin.

He's as pleased as you are, and settles back to sleep at your feet in an instant. You'd reach down to pet him, but the bulk on you is already a concern. You decide it's seriously in your best interest to abstain.

"I have a few concerns," Sister Cardew confesses, after her moment of hesitation. "I am certain that we will have our affairs in order before the next month is out, of course. But given the instability of— well— everything."

As modestly as you can manage, you offer, "I couldn't imagine a safer home than Eadric. If you ever have need of anything, please let me know. I don't know if either of you intended on residing in the church itself, or about the city, but— but whatever your decision, I— I would like to make it a welcome one."

Harriet wilts, just a little. "Thank you so much."

Just as earnestly, Walter frowns, "you know I'll speak up. Thank you."

A slender, pale hand politely places itself over your empty mug, the moment you set it down. Sister Cardew is all tact, gently taking your mug away. "Let's try pacing it. The journal helps, doesn't it?"

(1/4 capping off the weekend with one more longboi)
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>>4419544
Taking no issue, pen in hand, while still eating with the other, you start to write, "Quantity of liquor may," and stop. Scratching out the entry, your gaze follows the priestess. She's put the mug behind her back, along with any other sight of any beverage, and is giving you a straight face. "Just for a moment."

The night air is almost hotter than before. Klepto is back at the music, while Irefist, Harvey, and Spangle are all talking together in low voices. It occurs to you that you've had as much beer as your worst night binging on the town, with ample food in addition, and have no discomfort to speak of. Rather than the marked distress you experienced from giving away your restraint, there is solace in the pause. It's entirely derived from the weight on you.

Looking to Harriet with disbelief, you note, "this is unusual."

"Yes."

"I can actually stop, at— at any Time."

The priestess nods to the page you have in hand, the half-eaten fish, and sniffs, "write."

"Difficulty restraining the intake of Agriculture has completely ceased. No doubt as a consequence of Mercy's work through the invocation. The degree of comfort associated with Agriculture is equally significant."

Even a sigh of relief feels odd. Your body might as well not be your own. You wind up taking several minutes in the relative quiet. Ray's gentle snoring carries over the crackle of the campfire, and the dwindling supply of Irefist's catch. The conversation around you continues to pick up.

Before long, Harriet is content enough with your behavior to resume supplying the beer. At least half an hour goes by, as you methodically work away at the study. Double the fish and beer is met. You should be drunk beyond all reason, and in significant pain. Over a gallon of alcohol is no laughing matter, no matter how weak, but there is no inebriation to speak of.

The food doesn't explain it, either. Finishing a dozen graylings should have pushed you past any mortal limits. Though the fish is extremely lean, and you're not worried for your weight any further, your stomach should be complaining. It's bloated enough to be a nuisance while trying to write, as both your lap, and the space you're used to closely holding paper is occupied.

Frowning, you settle on holding the tome a little awkwardly, continuing, "Without question, I no longer posses the ability to become intoxicated. Recognizing the presence of toxin seems possible immediately upon consumption. There is likely a threshold for identification— though be it the volume of the substance, or its potency, I am uncertain." You don't necessarily need to, but still tear into more of the fish. "As with prior dual invocations with Mercy, I have acquired disproportionate relief from any pain correlating with the adjacent deity. Any discomfort or pain associated with Agriculture is entirely absent."

(2/4)
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>>4419547
Shifting a little, you can still feel that your belt is screaming in complaint. Your tunic is altogether too tight, but it's another restraint. The pressure and tightness upon your abdomen, and the continued swell is comforting. The weight itself can heal your chronic health issues, and may very well be protection from the strife that has fallen upon your land before.

But you are a researcher, a man of all the Gods, and don't hesitate to write, "relief granted from my pain may be self-destructive." There is a lot of heat in your face, and all through the rest of you. "As with my first dual invocation to Flesh, and Spirit, no sensation has been dulled. Its intensity is extreme, inappropriate for my station, and the combative benefit of this particular effect is not known at this time." You have to put it to paper. "Its utility is undeniable. An immunity to poison is a gift, and every other effect may yet prove to be as useful. The Gods are Merciful."

It dawns on you that Walter has been unashamedly staring at you for several minutes. You simply look to him, and ask, "what?"

"You really don't have a limit." He's baffled. "Can I see that?"

"Of course," you reply, handing off the journal.

The mere motion against your waist is intense enough to send sparks of light in your eyes. Holding your breath, biting your tongue, and stilling the sound you nearly produce maintains a facade of composure. As gently as possible, you ease back into a normal sitting position, and try to stop reeling. It's almost no use, as disturbing the extreme quantity of beer is only making matters worse. Politely, Sister Cardew observes, "he has a limit."

"The mercenaries," you barely breathe, needing a distraction. Breathing should be a mistake, but nothing is a mistake. Merely sitting has become a religious experience. Eyes closed, needing a voice or something else to focus on, you repeat, "you all said there were mercenaries. Three— three attacks? In less than two days?"

The chatter dies down. "Yeah," Harvey says. "N-nine at f-first. Th-they hit us all right aft-ter th-the f-fire was out."

Walter is obviously still furious. "Cowards. Imagine not offering your aid, at a Time like that. It's an insult to our collective survival-"

"They tried to kill us," Irefist dead-pans, "not make friends. Went straight for Di-" there's a collective snickering around the camp, "Rich- fuck me, Father Anscham, too."

"Just 'Richard' is fine," you mutter, risking moving a hand to the log beneath you for stability. It's safe enough, so you move both hands to your sides, and try to ignore how much your stomach is protruding. The writing was definitely helping.

A demon of Flesh might have been capable of forcing you to feel so full.
Wanting to keep going is another.
Being entirely incapable of focusing on the matter at hand is another.

(3/4)
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>>4419555
Thinking about a succubus, even now, is another. Let alone Remigius—

Astute as ever, Sister Cardew is happy to provide further distraction. "They were not immediately identifiable. No one in the caravan recognized any of the individuals. They were all male, and had a remarkably similar appearance. Their ancestry was not recognizable, either. They were careful enough to not bear any ink, heraldry, markers, or even bear identifying scars in any way."

The ferocity of Spangle's grin can be heard through her teeth. "They did when I was through."

Klepto clears his throat. "We took plenty of Time attempting to work further information out of them, Father."

Another pop of Irefist's knuckles resonates over the crackle of the campfire, and the sound of crickets off in the distance. "Our sweet, sweet Time."

"Will you all c-cut it out," Harvey grins, despite himself.

(Options in next post.)

>A] Torture is rarely sufficient to produce accurate answers. You probably don't need to ask, but this is seriously a sore spot for you.
>1] See what your congregation thinks is appropriate treatment of a prisoner. Ask anyways.
>2] The church of restraint is known for taking prisoners, and you all will attempt to do so as long as you possess the means. Don't ask. Tell everyone present that this sort of behavior is unacceptable.
>3] There must have been a better alternative than the torture and death of other humans. Simply express your dismay (or write-in anything else you might want to convey.)

>B] Your friends are being VERY polite. Resolve to perform any further experimentation with Agriculture in private. Period.
>1] Harriet and Walter need to understand that you're a modest man, and are still seriously uncomfortable with this sort of thing.
>2] It's fine if your research group is aware of what's going on, and help you out with further experiments, but that's the limit.

>C] Resolve to try and invoke Agriculture in private, as soon as possible.
>1] Somewhere a little nicer than in the middle of the woods. You'll make a mental note, and see about pursuing this while in Eadric.
>2] The woods literally could not be more appropriate. Excuse yourself.

>D] You'd really like to not make a scene in front of your mates. Take it easy, let the sheer amount of food and drink you've had sit, and let your friends do the talking for awhile.
>1] Simply share your findings with Walter and Harriet. See what their thoughts are.
>2] Carefully go back to the wagon, lay down, and sleep all of this off. It's dark, and you have a very long day of riding tomorrow.
>3] You're seriously done with anything involving research, work, or invocations for the evening, but would like some company. Let the more blasphemous members of your caravan enjoy themselves, and keep to yourself.

>E] Write-in.
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>>4419559
>C] Resolve to try and invoke Agriculture in private, as soon as possible.
>1] Somewhere a little nicer than in the middle of the woods. You'll make a mental note, and see about pursuing this while in Eadric.

>D] You'd really like to not make a scene in front of your mates. Take it easy, let the sheer amount of food and drink you've had sit, and let your friends do the talking for awhile.
>3] You're seriously done with anything involving research, work, or invocations for the evening, but would like some company. Let the more blasphemous members of your caravan enjoy themselves, and keep to yourself.
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>>4419559

>>D] You'd really like to not make a scene in front of your mates. Take it easy, let the sheer amount of food and drink you've had sit, and let your friends do the talking for awhile.
>>1] Simply share your findings with Walter and Harriet. See what their thoughts are.

>C] Resolve to try and invoke Agriculture in private, as soon as possible.
>1] Somewhere a little nicer than in the middle of the woods. You'll make a mental note, and see about pursuing this while in Eadric.
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>>4419559
>C] Resolve to try and invoke Agriculture in private, as soon as possible.
>1] Somewhere a little nicer than in the middle of the woods. You'll make a mental note, and see about pursuing this while in Eadric.

>D] You'd really like to not make a scene in front of your mates. Take it easy, let the sheer amount of food and drink you've had sit, and let your friends do the talking for awhile.
>3] You're seriously done with anything involving research, work, or invocations for the evening, but would like some company. Let the more blasphemous members of your caravan enjoy themselves, and keep to yourself.
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>>4419569
>>4419589
>>4419618
(Good morning guys! Pretty sure we can integrate all of these. Going to do my best to update before work. Vote is locked, writing now.)
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>>4419755
More than anything, one thought is upon you:

I need to invoke Agriculture privately. Somewhere nicer than the woods. As soon as possible. Eadric would be a fairer view.

Walter has had your journal for a few good minutes now. "This is unbelievable," he mutters.

Quietly, you ask, "Sister Cardew. Will you take a look as well? I— I understand that we should reserve any further research for a more structured—"

The sound of the priestess snatching the tome from Walter's hands is incredibly hard to not smile at. Your friends are certainly worth looking at. Both scholars are flabbergasted. Professor Echo is leaning over Harriet's shoulder while she reads, and re-reads. "The implications of this," the priestess of Spirit whispers, "are unbelievable. This should only be possible via invocation." The rest of your friends are still chattering, and not even Spangle picks up on how quiet Sister Cardew's words are. "Such an ability is unprecedented. I know there are those silly rumors about Father Friedrich, but this—"

"You think there's more to it," Walter says.

"Yes," you say in unison, along with Sister Cardew.

Everyone takes a minute to think. Or at least, you try to. Even breathing feels amazing. Before getting too overwhelmed, you manage, "though I— I would prefer to simply listen to further discussion, for the rest of the evening. No other business, or work, or— or anything to do with the invocation." They can be privy to it, but you're going to enjoy yourself. "I would still like your company, if you would keep mine." Speaking at length is really a wonderful idea. But you're not going to make a scene! You are calm, and collected, and can't remember the last Time you felt so satisfied. "Just, if— if I could keep to myself, for awhile—"

The gentleman in your midst interjects, "absolutely." He gets to his feet, and pretends to tip a hat to you. "A pleasure, as always, Father Anscham." You offer a flustered, and completely sincere grin in return. The invisible hat is tipped to Sister Cardew. "Milady. If I may be so bold—"

The priestess is whisked off her feet, in a sudden, and dramatic swoop. Her face remains as stoic as ever, but both slender arms wrap around Walter's shoulders, the moment he lifts her off the ground. With a practiced, emotionless tone, Harriet replies, "you may."

"Klepto!" Walter loves giving orders. He's wearing the most pompous expression conceivable.

The clown's ears perk up. "The fuck ya want?"

"Something lively! Impress me."

"Ha." James couldn't be more pleased with himself. He actually sits back down, assumes a fairly upright position, and begins picking at the strings underhand as if they had a spiritual connection.

https://youtu.be/pRFzpt0rp_E?t=22

Walter sets Harriet down to the ground once again, and simply stares at the clown.

The chatter stops, for several minutes.

(1/2)
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>>4419813
A pale blue breeze sweeps over the forest floor. In the wind, while the campfire waves, a marriage of the nearby river and the heat upon you makes for a perfect unison. Without any further disturbances, it's possible to relax, and to properly enjoy the grass and soil underfoot. Every cricket's cry from within the woods may as well have stopped, until the melody comes to a sudden, abrupt end.

Taking off his helm for the first Time all night, Harvey wants a proper stare at James. "Where th-the fuck was th-that in th-the cit-ty?"

"You never listened to any of my better shit," Klepto immediately snaps. A smile is plastered to his face, regardless. "You liked it?"

The red lion grins in return. "Yeah. G-go on. We'll stay quiet."

The next hour or so whiles away. It's pretty difficult to focus on any of the details. Every minor motion in your upper body is literally divine. To add to the sheer degree of enjoyment, James legitimately outdoes himself. His work is remarkable, and unphased by the discussion. Irefist and get into a heated argument over the practical applications of water torture, versus burns, while Harvey mediates.

The light breeze, and night air helps a lot with the heat. They all eventually agree with him that intimidation is a better tactic, and the entire thing is tuned out by Walter and Sister Cardew.

Engaged in light discussion, the two scholars make constant attempts to one-up the other's pretentiousness. There's a little light talk about the various housing accommodations in Eadric, which seems remarkably well-researched. You're certain that they'll keep one another sharp. It's delightful to see them capable of challenging one another.

It's equally fantastic to feel like you've pushed your physical limits just to the right degree. By what you're certain is past an hour of quiet conversation and music, there's just a little reduction in the pressure, heat, and pleasure. Enough at least to actually listen.

It's revealed that Walter's family had a castle, and that the watchtower in Cathwulf is absurdly well-fortified. Everyone segues into an argument over who is the least spoiled. Having absolutely no place to talk, and coming back further down to Aerth, you simply remain quiet, as the group squabbles. Sister Cardew asserts that the sheer insanity within the Church of Spirit is cause for no one to give her any trouble. Irefist grew up near the coast, and claims that living in Rimilde makes the ruins looks like child's play. Klepto is quick to remind everyone that he's actually been outside of the country, and survived multiple excursions into the ruins. Spangle clearly has some sort of trauma extreme enough to stay quiet throughout the entire conversation, and Harvey ultimately has to speak up.

"Th-that's fucked, b-but at least you all can rememb-ber it."

(One paragraph over! 2/3)
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>>4419816
He doesn't seem particularly bothered, but then again, nothing seems to ever completely phase him. The congregation about you is dead silent. You have ample experience with selective memories, but the complete absence of years of Harvey's life from his recollection is particularly alarming. Even when you had over a full day to speak to one another, he only scarcely mentioned it in passing.

>A] Politely ask the red lion what his earliest memory was.

>B] Maybe this has something to do with his skills? Maybe you all can deduce a plausible place he came from, at least.

>C] See if Sister Cardew and Walter have any theories. They are the experts with this sort of thing.

>D] Write-in.
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>>4419819
>A] Politely ask the red lion what his earliest memory was.
>B] Maybe this has something to do with his skills? Maybe you all can deduce a plausible place he came from, at least.

>D] Write-in.
The dude got some mad agility and endurance. point out that his fitness must stem from some lifestyle
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>>4419819
>>A] Politely ask the red lion what his earliest memory was.
>B] Maybe this has something to do with his skills? Maybe you all can deduce a plausible place he came from, at least.

Haven't seen that many redheads either, maybe that could be a clue?
>>
(Thanks so much for your patience all. Likely going to be bombarded all week at work. Update will be this evening, no earlier than 9pm est. Vote will be open until then!)
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>>4419816
>>4419836
>>4419857
Support
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>>4419836
>>4419857
>>4420445
(Time to rock and roll. A, B, and those write-ins should all work just fine! Still not feeling my best so this might take a few, but I'll do what I can. Vote is locked. Writing now.)
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>>4420696
https://youtu.be/o5OzCn-zb-U?t=25

A comically upbeat tune seems simple enough to speak over. It's been over an hour since you've said anything at all. There's definitely less heat on you, and it seems safe enough to ask, "Harvey?"

When you speak up, everyone practically jumps. The man's greasy, unwashed, sweat-slick hair is practically matted to his head. It doesn't do so much as budge, nor does his beard, when he quickly turns to look at you. It's great to see that he has no lasting burns upon his face. Nothing more than a perplexed stare pries away from the conversation across the campfire. Harvey's shoulders shake, silently laughing. "You're st-still with us. G-good. Yeah? What's g-going on?"

"I meant to make something of the first day on the road. Not so much as to set a precedent, but— it feels as if I've barely had the opportunity to speak with you."

He's terribly polite. Sitting with elbows on his knees, the heathen raises his tankard to you. "I'm all ears."

Appreciation, and mutual respect is all over both of you. There's every opportunity for the red lion to make some disparaging remark about you being insatiable. Hearing him speak for an entire day— even on your first meeting— still left you with a thousand questions. "You spoke briefly of a few older memories. I— I was wondering what more you might remember. Of your childhood, or— or anything earlier. The earliest memory you could think of, even."

"Huh." A dried flower petal is picked out of the fraying braid at the bottom of his beard, while he thinks. Your suspicion is confirmed that the man has yet to part from his armor in two solid days. His discomfort must be extreme, to say nothing of any exhaustion, yet the red lion is all smiles. "I g-guess th-there's a few th-things."

"Such as...?"

A few pieces of firewood crackle and pop. The beer is probably helping everyone present to relax. It should kill your back to do so, but you manage to recline further, without any pain to speak of. No one comments on the swell from over a gallon of beer, or all the food. The campfire has been cleared for some Time, save for more kindling.

Smoke continues to waft around the campsite, in the rustle of leaves, and a steadier wind. Looking to the midnight-blue sky, puffy clouds, and a disguised moon, your ringleader reminisces. "I'd g-go out late at n-night, to g-get away. Th-the sky wasn't th-the same. Th-there were d-different stars."

There's a sailor in your midst. Very quietly, Irefist asks, "how different?"

"N-not too m-much. N-nothing crazy. I remm- remem— recall that th-the weath-ther was better. I didn't care if I g-got rained on, or howev-ver hot it was. Th-the night was quieter. M-more peaceful."

(1/3)
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>>4420916
The matte-gold of his eyes clings to a distant horizon. Several minutes pass, for a man who's obviously lost nearly every bit of his history, and doesn't care in the least for Time.

There was something louder, and more violent, that he was getting away from. It's not out of anxiety, but thanks to the lack of it that multiple inhibitions are lowered. It should be a little awkward to mention, but you seriously can't care. "Your agility and endurance is—" You fire a glance around the camp. "—no one take issue with this—" a few confused smirks come your way. "—but quite frankly, is insane, Harvey."

Collective snickering and chuckling echoes around the camp. A wrangler of lunatics drums his fingers a little, on the armor atop his thighs. "Th-thanks. You're n-not b-bad yourself, you kn-now."

You squash down the urge to argue. It's a compliment, you're in a fantastic mood, and will not dwell on any change to your physical ability. "Well. Thank you. My point— my point being, there must have been some lifestyle that led to such proficiency. Please correct me, if I am mistaken."

No one dares to interrupt. Harvey keeps his eyes to the moon, and ten thousand stars. The faint metal coating his irises likely used to mask an equally odd shade as the rest of his features. You've seen a few souls with red hair before. Though it was only during the absolute worst of the famine, on other starving children, and the poorest of your hometown— you'd really rather not think about it.

The world is still dark, and full of demons— but it's a little brighter, thanks to the people in it. You look to a knight of the sun, and the regal armor upon his broad frame.

Thanks to gauntlets, gloves, and the quantity of his stark-red hair, his pale skin is barely visible. "You're st-staring," Harvey grins. "And all of you are b-being way t-too quiet."

All of your friends simultaneously fire off their speculation, practically talking over your soft speech. You murmur, "I— I was just thinking. For all of the people I've met in Corcaea, I— I can count on one hand the number of them who were born with red hair—"

"Maybe you could have been a working man." Irefist spits. "Somethin' big. Maybe part of the watch, or something for Rimilde? You're built for damn near anything—"

Spangle laughs. "His skills are more refined, and he's smarter than you give him credit, 'fist. His skill would have been wasted. Unless it was a position near the top—"

"Oh, st-stop," Harvey grins. He leans back, crosses his arms, and tries to not spill any beer on himself while the parade of compliments continues.

(2/3)
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>>4420930
A master of flattery insists, "you deserve to hear it." Walter is actually pulling his punches. "Their assessment is correct— and, as always, is horrifically incomplete."

The scholar's reflexes must be improving from being in Harriet's company for so long. He dodges a marble flicked at his head from Klepto, a red-hot stone from Spangle, and a mundane pebble from Irefist, all while spitting, "it is no mere manipulation of muscle— or intellect— that took us safely to the surface! You possess qualities befitting of a leader! More than any fighter! You insult him, comparing our champion to a carpenter!"

Sister Cardew speaks over the barrage. "The hue of your hair is remarkable. I haven't been able to place your family history at all, Harvey. Initially, I mistook you for a priest of Flesh. It would be a fair observation, but as Walter says, these first impressions are misguided. Given the duration of your stay within the ruins, and the absence of any search conducted, I suspect you are not of any clergy."

"I've p-prayed," the heathen jokes.

It's impossible not to comment, knowing full well how much it will bully your clergy. "I— I know you have, Harvey. Sincerity makes a far greater difference than any repetition. Do not let anyone ever tell you otherwise."

Spangle gives you a lethal stare from over her drink. "You're joking."

Harriet closes her eyes, maintaining her patience expertly. "We know, Richard."

At least one person here knows not to always take you seriously. Still strumming a comically upbeat tune, James is enough of a lunatic to speculate, "he could be from outside the border."

The collective gaze around the campfire snaps to the red lion. You breathe, "Mercy."

Harvey puts up both hands, spilling a little beer, as he tries to defend himself. "D-don't look at m-me."

You look at him. Really look at him. It's as if he's hardly seen the sun a day in his life. "You've always covered your skin. The land to the west is said to be remarkably hotter— particularly the northwest—"

Your stare is returned, with an uncharitable smirk. "Come on."

"Really," you insist. "James may be on to something. It could have been a habit. A means of protection, even—"

"Cloaks are p-practical. So is working out, and keeping you all from killing each oth-ther." The relief of a sentence without near constant stutter has the man's smile back in full. He continues drinking, and notes, "even if I was, th-that's years b-behind m-me. G-gotta keep perspect-tive. Th-there's still plenty of road ahead."

(Options in next post.)
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>>4420939
>A] You want to agree with his sentiment wholeheartedly.
>1] Don't press the issue, and take what Harvey has said to heart. You spend a LOT of Time dwelling on the past, and could do with focusing more on the present.
>2] Push the issue, but keep it as light as possible. There's lots of good to be had from reflecting on the past, and there's a way to do so without losing perspective.

>B] While Harvey is a treasure, and one of your best friends, you have to disagree.
>1] Learning from years gone by is what's made you the man you are today. You would never want to forget ANY part of your journey.
>2] You're DYING to know more about him. Keep it light, but really press the matter. See if you can't worm out some other recollection.

>C] Try to respectfully convey your own perspective, or bring up another subject entirely. (Write-in.)

>D] There's seriously a LOT of road ahead. Wrap up the night. Tomorrow is another day. (Wrap up the night, and move on to morning.)
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>>4420943
>A] You want to agree with his sentiment wholeheartedly.
>1] Don't press the issue, and take what Harvey has said to heart. You spend a LOT of Time dwelling on the past, and could do with focusing more on the present.
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>>4420943
>B] While Harvey is a treasure, and one of your best friends, you have to disagree.
>1] Learning from years gone by is what's made you the man you are today. You would never want to forget ANY part of your journey.
If we visibly see him get uncomfortable then leave it at that and apologise
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>>4421075
>>4421370
(Ah, a tie. Good. Vote is locked! Due to the large voting window, while I usually would incorporate votes if I can after the fact, won't be able to with this. I'll make it work. Writing now.)
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>>4421591
https://youtu.be/H4GPHPVJ4uA

"I want to agree with you." There's not a whole lot of use pressing the issue, but you're honest to a fault. Almost afraid to continue, you quietly admit, "you make a valid point, Harvey, but our memories— they— they are what has made me the man who I am today."

A patient, and completely understanding smile shines back at you. "N-not all of us g-get th-the same luxuries."

For the first Time all evening, you might be the most uncomfortable man around the campfire. The majority of your friends are well aware that you spend altogether too much of your energy dwelling on the past, but a few frowns are sent your way. It's fair to drop the subject entirely.

I am going to do better. There is plenty of merit to be had in focusing on the present.

The next hour or so is spent further winding down. Brother Wilhelm left a lasting impression on your group. The majority of your friends resolve to get some rest sooner, rather than later. The camp is put up. You dedicate a good hour to getting an actual bath, and getting all of your things. Adjusting your robes and clothes to something much more subdued is a short order. A change in the cut, hue, and eliminating the gaudy trim does wonders for making a better silhouette.

Another hour is dedicated to formal prayer. You're certain that three Goddesses are listening very carefully.

The last bit of the night is taken to rejoin the caravan, which is adequate Time to eliminate the last of the heat on you. The camp was made quite far from the majority of your company— likely to keep the fire from giving away their immediate position. Only the night watch is up. Four priests, and the priestess of Flesh— already looking ragged— hail you even from a distance. They're all armed, and obviously on EXTREMELY high alert.

Your banner is still flying high, untouched by flame or blood. The rest of your order is getting some much-needed rest. There's a lot to think on, but you are not going to dwell on a single thing. The entirety of your company is here to help. The evening was fair. Your friends could not be more supportive.

You're certain that there's still two to three weeks of riding ahead of you. It's phenomenal exercise, will replace your usual morning run (for the Time being), and Impetus still will absolutely occupy most of your attention. He's right at the head of the caravan, alongside Electrum, who is eager to get back on the road. She definitely hasn't slept in two days.

There's no doubt in your mind that you all will be very lucky to avoid any further assault. Not that you aren't equipped for it— but there's only so much endurance a mortal can possess.

(Options in next post.)
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>>4421616
>The following prompts are mutually exclusive. Majority vote will decide.
>The pacing of your trip will pick up dramatically from this point on.
>This vote will determine the focus of the rest of the journey to Eadric.
>Please voice any opposition you have, if you have a disagreement. Vocal opposition to votes, and all discussion, will be taken into full consideration (as always!)

>A] Touch primarily on any combat that you encounter while on the rest of the road. While you love your friends, you'd rather get to know them through their actions than their words alone. (A roll will be required. The pacing may be slower, to give action you have due diligence.)

>B] Violence encompasses so much of your life. Any respite is welcome, and especially when it's made in good company. (For the turmoil you're certain awaits in Eadric, you'd like to focus more on self-improvement, and socializing. An additional prompt will be provided. We'll have pretty normal pacing.)

>C] You want to remember it all! There isn't any one part of your life that you favor over the other. It's just as important to you to experience conflict as compassion. (An additional prompt, AND a roll will be required. This will provide plenty of detail and experience of your trip, over the rest of the thread, with pretty speedy pacing.)

>D] The level of homesickness you're experiencing eclipses all description. While these weeks are priceless Time to get to know your friends, build bonds, and learn of their strengths, you just want to get back to the Church of Mercy. In this case, the destination IS more important than the journey. (Gloss over all but the most important details of the expedition. An additional prompt and roll will be required, but it will be SUBSTANTIALLY faster-paced than C, with decreasing frequency of prompts and rolls as Time goes by.)
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>>4421621
>>B] Violence encompasses so much of your life. Any respite is welcome, and especially when it's made in good company. (For the turmoil you're certain awaits in Eadric, you'd like to focus more on self-improvement, and socializing. An additional prompt will be provided. We'll have pretty normal pacing.)
>B] Violence encompasses so much of your life. Any respite is welcome, and especially when it's made in good company. (For the turmoil you're certain awaits in Eadric, you'd like to focus more on self-improvement, and socializing. An additional prompt will be provided. We'll have pretty normal pacing.)
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>>4421621
>B] Violence encompasses so much of your life. Any respite is welcome, and especially when it's made in good company. (For the turmoil you're certain awaits in Eadric, you'd like to focus more on self-improvement, and socializing. An additional prompt will be provided. We'll have pretty normal pacing.)

We had a pretty action oriented encounter, though I don't mind picking A or C, I think I'd really like to get into a discussion on the Gods with the Vengeance and Flesh Priests.
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>>4421633
>>4421655
(Phenomenal! No matter what, we'll have a focus on the more social elements for a bit, and will get to the priests of Flesh and Venegance. In addition, here is the additional prompt. It's purely optional, but will be open for at least the next two hours.)

>Feel free to select ANY NUMBER of the following.
>This is to highlight any particular things you want to spend more time on while traveling.
>I'm attempting to figure out if we can cover all the ground you all want to, over the rest of this thread. The number of prompts selected will determine the pace.
>It's safe to assume that the more prompts selected, the briefer the coverage. The fewer prompts selected, the more time we can give to individual activities, or things not listed here.

>A] Claymore lost half his face. Make sure he's okay, and get a less musical account of the fight with the demon of illumination.

>B] Electrum has been leading in your stead. Setting the pace for your caravan is important. Look after the care of her, and all the animals in your company.

>C] The water you brought from the capital was spoiled. It's not unreasonable to want to look over the rest of the provisions.

>D] All of your clergy of Mercy deserve some serious praise.
>1] Have a meeting, along with your counselors, regarding instating a holiday when you capitalize on Mercy's attention.
>2] You just want to know them better.

>E] Irefist has some issues. Address them.

>F] Spirit Herself appeared to you. Get Sister Cardew alone, and inform her of what's happened.

>G] By all the Gods, you are MAKING some Time for James.

>H] The interactions between you, Mercy, and the demon of illumination were VERY weird. Discuss it with... (Write-in any combination of people you would like. Bear in mind that sympathizing with a demon is VERY taboo.)

>I] You're so relieved to be able to be rid of a curse, you could die. Keep up with the food journal Sister Cardew recommended. It's as good an excuse as any to shadow your congregation, and mingle more with...
>1] The wainwright.
>2] The tailor.
>3] The cooks.
>4] The drivers.
>5] Walter.
>6] Harvey.
>7] Write-in.

>J] Write-in.
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>>4422083
>A] Claymore lost half his face. Make sure he's okay, and get a less musical account of the fight with the demon of illumination.
>B] Electrum has been leading in your stead. Setting the pace for your caravan is important. Look after the care of her, and all the animals in your company.
>C] The water you brought from the capital was spoiled. It's not unreasonable to want to look over the rest of the provisions.

>D] All of your clergy of Mercy deserve some serious praise.
>2] You just want to know them better.

>F] Spirit Herself appeared to you. Get Sister Cardew alone, and inform her of what's happened.
>G] By all the Gods, you are MAKING some Time for James.

>I] You're so relieved to be able to be rid of a curse, you could die. Keep up with the food journal Sister Cardew recommended. It's as good an excuse as any to shadow your congregation, and mingle more with...
>7] Write-in.
The Vengence priest and Brothers Fergant and Durville
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>>4422083
>>C] The water you brought from the capital was spoiled. It's not unreasonable to want to look over the rest of the provisions.
>F] Spirit Herself appeared to you. Get Sister Cardew alone, and inform her of what's happened.
>G] By all the Gods, you are MAKING some Time for James.
>I] You're so relieved to be able to be rid of a curse, you could die. Keep up with the food journal Sister Cardew recommended. It's as good an excuse as any to shadow your congregation, and mingle more with...
>7] Write-in.
The Vengence priest and Brothers Fergant and Durville
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>>4422096
>>4422326
(Good stuff guys. Rest assured I'm keeping detailed notes, and will do virtually everything in my power to get to all of this before 404! Vote is locked. Writing now.)
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>>4422433
You relieve Electrum of her post at the head of the caravan. You spend most of the night seeing to Impetus, and Ray. They both have had days of fresh air. Their coats are cleaned, you're confident they've been getting enough water and food, but they're being run into the ground. There's solace in knowing you can take it easier on the animals under your care, but the cost to the people who work beside you may be inescapable.

Sending her to get some sleep for the first Time in two days was not to send a message. Neither is riding all through the night. There are ten clergy appointed to your care, by order of the King, and you are taking full advantage of their guard. Every snap of a tree branch, the rustle of an owl in flight, or a fish surfacing along the Morinburn has you all jump— but there's solace in your camaraderie.

The presence you carry is a comfort to everyone in your company. These weeks are to to lead by example. The men and women under your charge can fight, but to establish a better understanding between every soul in your care— and to learn as much as you can from them, too— is the greatest strength you can ask for. The instinct to heal and protect them is inescapable.

Nearly everyone is asleep, once they're aware that you're up, and riding. They know they're in capable hands. As soon as your more festive congregation members are confident you're well-rested enough to take the lead of the pack, they finally head off for the night, too. The night watch has seen battle three Times this week already, and you're certain that the enemy forces— whatever they may be— are merely gathering strength before striking once more. There is no disturbance through your first night on the road. It gives you plenty of Time to think.

Not to the past, though you care deeply for your friends own experiences. You want to support them all, in every way you can, and know there are better ways to help them be understood. The safety of your friends is paramount, but so is your own health. Documenting additional findings from the dual invocation will come through the coming days, but you don't think to the future, nor to the turmoil it may bring.

There will be Time to dwell on what waits back at home. By your best estimates, the current pace along the Morinburn will take two and a half more weeks to reach Eadric. The provisions for the camp are almost an excess, which is good— as you caution every waking member of the company to not touch a thing, until you can screen it.

Your devotion and love settles on the present. You're now halfway into the year 606, and almost laugh.

(1/3)
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>>4422584
https://youtu.be/FtN9brced3U

Today is the first day of the Last Sowing. You look to the dawn, and resolve to keep yourself healthy, and sane— in the same way that you hope all the rest of your family will. Your lover is the sunshine, not the rain. Streaks of sunlight cast across the winding road ahead. Countless trees are on the horizon, and not a settlement to speak of. You're deep into the countryside, and the threat of any demonic presence is greater than ever.

Your heart is light. The shift change takes place between the exhausted evening crew, and a significantly more well-rested day shift. Among them are the five priests of Flesh who you fought alongside, and survived a forest fire in the company of. Quick words of assurance are given to everyone present, that you'll see to the provisions just as soon as you look to Brother Holloway.

Everyone completely understands. The very second the sun has fully risen over the road ahead, you dismount Impetus. He's kept at the head of the pack, by one of the most skilled drivers. Bleary-eyed faces peek out from boarded openings, upon every horse-drawn vehicle. The most vulnerable exteriors have shields strapped in place. People are sleeping in helmets and gambesons, buried behind supplies for further shelter.

The guard is more than happy to let you know Brother Durville is sleeping at the front of the procession, just behind Brother Holloway. He's been keeping a close eye on the priest of vengeance, and they've been keeping a close eye on the young man since the fight. The young man has earned a good deal of respect for being the first to report the imp attack, and especially for holding his own alongside you and Brother Holloway.

You casually, briskly walk alongside the caravan. Bringing the entire procession to a slower pace not only gives the horses a fairer break. You want a steady hand, and a steadier eye, for any work ahead. The feeling that your body isn't your own has persisted. It's not unpleasant, necessarily, just terribly strange.

Brother Durville is bright-eyed, and on high alert the second he sticks his head out from the back of the wagon he's on. The young priest slept in his daisy-yellow robes. His hair is sticking up sideways, and he looks around frantically.

Grimacing is at least familiar enough that you can politely say, "good morning, Brother Durville."

"Good morning, Father Anscham. What's wrong—"

You make a motion, as if you're brushing your hair aside. The priest immediately picks up on it, and musses at his curly mop. He simultaneously exit the wagon while you insist, "a matter of extreme importance. I would appreciate your company."

It takes seconds for the boy to get to the ground, land with enough agility to make you question how long he's been awake for, and to stride right alongside you.

(2/3)
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>>4422585
He's as well-groomed as you could expect of a lad who was born into the clergy, so you speak over his silence. "As a guardian of the Church of Flesh, your experience is particularly valuable. We are going to see to the affairs of several Gods— under Mercy's watch— this morning."

Striding to the wagon just ahead, you realize Sister Corbon is riding at the front. She's alongside Electrum. They're sleeping while sitting up, on one another's shoulders.

The horses in your caravan have taken to following Impetus so effortlessly, there's hardly any need for the drivers, while on an uneventful road. Brother Durville puts a finger to his lips, and motions for you to hop onto the back of the wagon with him.

The draft horses pulling the vehicle are trained, can easily handle five times your weight. You don't hesitate to join your clergyman.

Brushing aside a network of sheets, draped over the top of the wagon, you look to piles of pillows, an absurd amount of herbs and remedies, and a man bandaged head-to-toe. Brother Holloway is asleep, and even while resting, must be in extreme pain. He's twitching slightly, and every last one of the white strips of cloth visible on him have a degree of dried or new blood upon them.

There's no doubt that Sister Corbon is still incapable of invoking Mercy. She would never let a man suffer in such a way voluntarily— which raises MANY questions. It's clear that her healing skill rivals you on your best days, at least. The bandages all around the priest of Vengeance are expertly dressed. Every last leaf and twig in the wagon is picked from what must be a personal collection. Many of the herbs are not local, and others are downright exotic.

"He's been out since the fight, Father," Thomas whispers. "Sister Corbon did everything she could. We've—" He's obviously referring to the rest of your clergy of Mercy. "—been doing everything we could to assist her. Brother Holloway had the worst of it, of course. Even he should be alright, given Time."

>A] You possess the Relic of Mercy. Get Brother Holloway up, and give the man some relief from his pain.
>1] Offer for him to take your Relic for pain relief, if only while you all speak. It's the least you can do while he recovers.
>2] Offer for him to hold onto your Relic until he's healed, and no longer needs it. This man nearly died for you all, and you trust that he won't do anything foolish.

>B] You're a priest of Vengeance. It may be an insult to Brother Holloway's invocation to do anything to interfere, though. Given that you really have nowhere to even begin with the God of Retribution, simply wake up the priest, and start asking questions.
>1] Starting with if he'd like any assistance.
>2] (Write-in.)

>C] You're a priest of Agriculture, and of Mercy. You can do a LOT better than this. Scavenge in the surrounding woodland for an even more superior remedy for Brother Holloway's injuries. (A roll will be required.)

>D] Write-in.
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>>4422587
>C] You're a priest of Agriculture, and of Mercy. You can do a LOT better than this. Scavenge in the surrounding woodland for an even more superior remedy for Brother Holloway's injuries. (A roll will be required.)
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>>4422587
>>C] You're a priest of Agriculture, and of Mercy. You can do a LOT better than this. Scavenge in the surrounding woodland for an even more superior remedy for Brother Holloway's injuries. (A roll will be required.)
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>>4422644
>>4422694
(Great, locking the unanimous vote here!)

>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.

>+10 FAITH OF A GODDESS/TO HEAL IS TO SERVE
>+10 TRANSCENDENCE (Extreme sensitivity to the land and its life has persisted.)
>+15 LEADER OF THE CHURCH OF MERCY (You not only have been trained extensively in healing, but have A LOT of practice under your belt.)
>+30 AFFINITY (You've always had an absurdly green thumb.)
>-10 TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE (The caravan is on the move, and you don't have all day.)
>-5 NEW TERRITORY (This is still a stretch of the woods you've never been in before.)
>>
Rolled 82 (1d100)

>>4422736
>>
Rolled 66 (1d100)

>>4422736
>>
Rolled 88 (1d100)

>>4422736
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>>4422875
>>4422893
>>4423146
(The bo3 is 88, which comes out to a disgustingly high 138/100 after all the mods. That'll do guys. Writing now!)
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>>4423300
"It is a beautiful day, Brother Durville. We can do much better than this. Go wake Brother Fergant, and meet me in the woods."

"I will not take long, Father Anscham. Don't let us hold you up."

The boy is incredibly fast on his feet, and hops out of the wagon before you can say "Mercy— just call out if you need to—!"

He's off running. It puts a lot more life in your own steps, parting from the caravan, and entering the wood. The sunrise is spectacular. Nothing is on fire, save for the sun in your soul.

https://youtu.be/BsvW2xz02Jo

Dried leaves crackle underfoot. The air is warm, and heavy with the scent of morning dew. Every rock, tree, and creature has a story to tell. Ruins speckle the land, in dilapidated buildings, and crumbling stone. They're brimming with growth from another age. The canopy above rests on the shoulders of ancient wood. The shade is more than an invitation to delicate life. It's a blessing, all on it's own.

With a smile, a skip of your heart, and FAR more ease than usual, you pick your way carefully through the foliage. The search is beyond flawless. Examination of any item— be it for rot, or flowering blossoms— renders no less than half a pound of priceless materials. They're all perfect, and possess properties that could rival an invocation.

It is not merely that you are a farmer's son. A prayer to the Goddesses of Love and Bounty is on your lips, as your clergymen holler from off in the distance, "Father Anscham!"

You all weave through the tall boughs, around forgotten and crumbling buildings, to meet with one another. Brother Durville is carrying a straw basket, and acquired Brother Fergant. The more elderly of the two is clearly still waking up. His mustache shifts with a scratch at the man's face, along with the scruffiness of his hair and stubble, as he tries to straighten himself out. "Good morning, Father Anscham. It's good to see you well." The priest tactfully doesn't give you any opportunity to interject, blearily asking, "you had need of my assistance?"

You're an honest man, the leader of the Church of Mercy, and the most proficient healer in the nation. "Your *company* would be appreciated."

The three of you wind through the above-ground ruins. The persisting sensitivity you have to all the life around is overwhelming. It's beyond effortless to locate enough medicinal material to resupply the entire caravan's stores, and to discover something entirely new.

Thirty-six something varieties of seeds, leaves, plants, and flowers, to be precise. An abundant new store for your own garden back home, and a few flowers you've never even seen before are in the cornucopia. Brother Durville and Brother Fergant are speechless, as they assist you with bringing your findings to the caravan. Along the way, you happily instruct them on a few rare misconceptions regarding the preparation and administration of any remedy you're about to use.

(1/2)
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>>4423421
Your vows— during every exhausting years of your life in service to the church— were not dedicated to healing the *nation* for nothing. Upon re-entering the wagon, you quietly request for Brother Durville to take your Relic, and to help the unconscious man between you all to hold onto it. Brother Holloway's fits in his sleep stops instantly. Meanwhile, Peter is more than happy to assist you in the preparation of multiple salves, poultices, and tonics.

In a whisper, Brother Fergant asks, "Father Anscham? If I may…?"

The motion of mortar and pestle underhand is visceral, gratifying beyond all reason, and so familiar that you almost feel at home. The scent of crushed seeds, powdered roots, and spice is on the air. With a smile, you insist, "you may always speak freely."

"It's good to have you back." A look passes over you, from a man twice your age. "I doubt you would recall, but I served along Father Edmund."

Leaning forward slightly, you ask, "when?"

"Many moons ago. Long before your service." He definitely doesn't remember the exact date, but there's a memory pressing on the thousand-yard stare of gray eyes. "I was there. The last fight I had the honor of taking with him. I heard the moment you were appointed by him."

A steely, clear gaze falls on you, the green staining your hands, the holy Relic that Brother Durville is quietly still holding, and to all the bandages you're unwinding from a priest of Vengeance. "They said he was a madman, but I never *once* doubted his judgement."

Emotion chokes at you. "He was Merciful."

The work is soothing, and familiar. You've staunched the blood of a thousand patients. The lacerations before you are dark, deep, and were absolutely in need your care. With expert motion, you set about dressing every last wound correctly. It won't take more than a few minutes, which is all you really need to keep your composure.

>A] Ask Brother Fergant more about Father Edmund. He was your first mentor, but you barely knew him.
>1] Keep it light. Just see what he might want to share.
>2] There's a thousand questions you have about him, and you know where to start. (Write-in.)

>B] You'll discuss Father Edmund another Time. You're focusing on the present! Gently wake up Brother Holloway.
>1] Simply make sure he's okay. Let the man speak.
>2] You're just a *little* obsessive. There are a lot of questions you have right off the bat. (Write-in.)

>C] The disparaging remarks about your right to lead the Church of Mercy are probably going to get a LOT worse in the weeks ahead. You're worried. Ask both of your clergymen about it.

>D] Write-in.
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>>4423427
>C] The disparaging remarks about your right to lead the Church of Mercy are probably going to get a LOT worse in the weeks ahead. You're worried. Ask both of your clergymen about it.
>B] You'll discuss Father Edmund another Time. You're focusing on the present! Gently wake up Brother Holloway.
>1] Simply make sure he's okay. Let the man speak.
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>>4423427
>>C] The disparaging remarks about your right to lead the Church of Mercy are probably going to get a LOT worse in the weeks ahead. You're worried. Ask both of your clergymen about it.
>B] You'll discuss Father Edmund another Time. You're focusing on the present! Gently wake up Brother Holloway.
>1] Simply make sure he's okay. Let the man speak.
>>
>>4423434
>>4423442
(Fantastic, locking the unanimous vote here. Going to do my best to update ASAP. Writing now!)
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>>4423427
>>C] The disparaging remarks about your right to lead the Church of Mercy are probably going to get a LOT worse in the weeks ahead. You're worried. Ask both of your clergymen about it.
>B] You'll discuss Father Edmund another Time. You're focusing on the present! Gently wake up Brother Holloway.
>1] Simply make sure he's okay. Let the man speak.
>>
>>4423642
(Thank you so much man. I got pretty swamped but am in the process of writing! Update shouldn't take much longer.)
>>
>>4423434
>>4423442
>>4423642
"Those— the people who accused Father Edmund of being a madman, for appointing me—" you are rightfully worried, and don't hide a shred of distress as you sigh, "it's only gotten worse, hasn't it?"

There's wisdom, and youth at your side. Brother Durville waits to speak, as his elder replies, "severely, Father Anscham. In many circles, supporting your endeavors carries serious consequences. Particularly as of late."

Every subsequent explanation from Thomas is more irritated than the last. "Traitors. Heathens. They'd rather see us all fall apart than to try to understand a thing. Long before any slander reached the capital, there was word of your actions across the country, Father."

"Anyone who was willing to listen would have heard of the lives you had saved. The extent of it." Peter is getting equally irate. "You were honoring his memory, Father— not *besmirching* any one of our church's names." A look passes over you, and your face. "Anyone with eyes could have seen what was happening. The disgrace is every last one of the clergy who failed to see to your health, and success. What kind of family would hurt one of their own—"

"With all due respect, Father." Brother Durville pauses, and legitimately looks to you and Peter for permission to speak.

"Go ahead," you mutter.

The young priest looks you over as well. "I would like to know how much truth there is, to the rumors."

Brother Fergant scolds, "Now is not the Time—"

"Of course." Thomas' spine is straighter than yours, for a moment. "Don't be ridiculous. But the extent of it is cause for serious concern. Isn't it? We would be better suited to help support your claim, were we all armed with the right information."

You've heard a lot of the rumors and slander yourself. The snippets that have come your way are obscene. It's obviously enough that the well-mannered priest doesn't want to elaborate.

There's no tremor in your hands, no headache blooming, and you genuinely feel more stable than you possibly ever have. "Let's focus on the task at hand," you softly suggest, "and come back to the matter as soon as we can. Thank you both for the counsel. It— your honesty means the world to me."

"Of course," Brother Durville replies. He can't help but mutter to himself, "these snakes in the grass wouldn't tell you a thing, would they?" A warning glare is fired from Brother Fergant. The younger clergyman quiets down, muttering further, "won't keep me quiet."

"Through the truth do we serve," you murmur, while shifting to get alongside Brother Holloway. As gently as possible, without disturbing any of his injury, you manage to wake him up.

The priest of Vengeance has no shadow left within his eyes. They're red, slowly revealed around pale gray irises. He doesn't jerk upright, which is fortunate, as he's built like a house. Just to be safe, you keep a hand light upon his shoulder. "Good morning, Brother Holloway. It's Father Anscham. Can you hear me?"

(1/2)
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>>4423765
"Yes." A groan is made instinctively. "In the name of all that's good and holy." A disbelieving stare becomes a lot more alert, as the man realizes he has no pain to speak of. "Have you healed me? What have you all been doing—?"

"You have been recovering for three days, under the care of my clergy, and the supervision of Sister Corbon. Today is the first dawn of the Last Sowing. I've been illustrating the proper application of Agriculture's bounty, and Mercy's compassion this morning, to two of the clergymen that have been seeing to your health. Can— can you see?"

There's a grunt. He moves to shift upright.

You press just firmly enough on his shoulder to keep him down. "The dressings will need to stay in place. You nearly died, Brother Holloway. The item Brother Durville has kept in your hands is a Relic of Mercy. She— our Goddess wishes to grant us *all* relief from our pain. You are free to support yourself, of course. I— well. Are you alright…?"

Brother Holloway gives a stern glance to Thomas. The young man takes your Relic in hand, giving the locket back to you without hesitation. Your eyes don't leave the priest of Vengeance for a second, as his response is freakish.

There's virtually no indication of feeling on him. You're certain he *can* feel pain— given how fitful his sleep was— but Brother Holloway must have perfect control over his response to the agony he's surely still in.

It's a little awkward, but you can't help but ask, "I didn't even know your name."

He looks to the bandages all over his upper body. "Brother Percival Holloway. Don't call me Percy. Hollow is fine." You keep a straight face, and understand the resentment of nicknames completely. "This is fine work, Father Anscham."

You picked multiple remedies purely for pain and heat relief. "Good. I had hoped it would help. The dressings will need to be replaced, of course, but Brother Fergant and Durville have been instructed on your care."

There's only one thing on everyone's mind. Brother Holloway is no exception. "Is everyone alright?"

"There was no loss of life, on our part."

His eyes narrow. "What of their master?"

"In addition to the imps you faced, their greater demon fell." You manage to not let on how sick you suddenly feel. "We have been attacked on three occasions by mercenaries, who were all slain as well. The caravan is on the move. I suspect we will arrive in Eadric in no more than three weeks.

"How long am I going to be down for," he shifts, trying to get up again.

"Longer than necessary, if you don't rest," you frown in return.

An equally disdainful frown distorts the bandages all over his face. "I have a job to do."

"We all do," Brother Fergant chimes in. "Don't prevent Father Anscham from doing his."

(Options in next post.)
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>>4423769
>Select one option from A, AND one option from B.
>The prompts and any write-ins may not be mutually exclusive.

>A] Brother Durville's curiosity is endearing, but you want to set a good example for the young priest.
>1] Honesty is the best policy. You'll make the Time to speak with him alone about these rumors, and will be as candid as possible. He's young— not naive— and doesn't need to be babied.
>2] He should respect his elders. Make the Time for Thomas and James tonight. They both are sharp, and likely would make for a solid counsel on this matter.
>3] To protect is to serve. Maybe it's shame, or a desire to move on from the past, but you don't want to tell anyone who looks up to you about your sordid history. Dodge discussing the rumors about you with Brother Durville entirely.
>4] Write-in.

>B] The churches of Mercy and Vengeance are historically at odds.
>1] Good thing the Church of Agriculture is historically a mediator. Go review the provisions, bring over breakfast, and give your clergy an excuse to tolerate each other. Brother Holloway will surely want to discuss the fight while you all eat.
>2] You're the very Father of Compassion, and can understand the animosity here perfectly. Show some sympathy for everyone involved. (Write-ins may seriously help.)
>3] As a priest of the Church of Spirit, you have a solution for just about anything. A conflict of interest between two priests is no big deal. (Write-ins may seriously help.)
>4] Write-in.
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>>4423774
>A] Brother Durville's curiosity is endearing, but you want to set a good example for the young priest.
>2] He should respect his elders. Make the Time for Thomas and James tonight. They both are sharp and likely would make for a solid counsel on this matter.

>B] The churches of Mercy and Vengeance are historically at odds.
>1] Good thing the Church of Agriculture is historically a mediator. Go review the provisions, bring over breakfast, and give your clergy an excuse to tolerate each other. Brother Holloway will surely want to discuss the fight while you all eat.
>>
>>4423774
>A] Brother Durville's curiosity is endearing, but you want to set a good example for the young priest.
>2] He should respect his elders. Make the Time for Thomas and James tonight. They both are sharp and likely would make for a solid counsel on this matter.

>B] The churches of Mercy and Vengeance are historically at odds.
>1] Good thing the Church of Agriculture is historically a mediator. Go review the provisions, bring over breakfast, and give your clergy an excuse to tolerate each other. Brother Holloway will surely want to discuss the fight while you all eat.
>>
>>4423787
>>4423823
(Teeth are still bugging me pretty bad but I'm going to do my best to update. Will let you all know if there's anything else that comes up. Locking the unanimous vote here, writing now!)
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>>4423939
(Had a big delay, think I'm good to go. Back to writing, ty for your patience mates.)
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>>4424035
https://youtu.be/yUWw0qpwmqE

"Stay right here. I have another order of business, with our provisions—" Getting out of the vehicle is a short affair, to everyone's complaint. You ignore all of them. "—it won't take more than a minute!"

Running alongside the caravan really only does take a minute. The horses are moving along at a fantastic pace, which you and the clergy of Flesh can meet easily.

After the miracle you accomplished against a raging forest fire, not a soul in the caravan doubts your ability to inspect the food and water stores. The water is absolutely foul. It's all safely disposed of, far away from the Morinburn. You help the priests in the guard lug all of the flasks, kegs, and containers, without a single complaint. Being adjacent to the clear, fast-flowing river ensures you all can resupply with ease.

The amount of exercise you're getting from hours of horseback riding and brisk walking has little concern for the quantity of supplies you ultimately sample, before ensuring that the caravan will be situated at least for the day. The entire process feels phenomenal. Between the ability to moderate the portion size, and to not be in abject agony, you figure making a large breakfast part of the journey's routine is a fantastic idea.

It doesn't hurt that nearly a third of the supply was tainted, and is only fit for your consumption. The sickness that would have resulted is only eclipsed by the risk that was posed of the entire supply of provisions going bad. It raises several questions, such as why there would still be poison in so much of the city's wares, and why the maggots and rot were so prevalent.

An invitation to the clergy of Flesh— to discuss their patron at greater length, after the shift change— is met with serious enthusiasm. They, along with the cooks, thank you profusely for ensuring everyone's safety.

Armed with a basket full of cooked grains, dried meat, and fresh fruit, the care that you re-enter the wagon with is completely unnecessary. All three men are sitting in a triangular formation, glaring at one another, while surrounded by pillows and herbs. Brother Holloway has obviously fought tooth and nail to be permitted to sit upright. Brother Fergant looks so grumpy, he puts your best grimace to shame. Brother Durville has yet to completely fix his hair, and is the first to whip his head around. "Father Anscham. Welcome back."

Both of the other clergymen grunt. You scoot inside, getting right between Peter and Hollow. The basket in your arms is ceremoniously placed between everyone. You clear your throat. "It would be a privilege to lead a prayer for you all."

There's no grumbling. Everyone bows their head, while you make a formal prayer to Agriculture. It's kept short, and sweet.

There's grumbling, as all three priests set about eating. Explaining the situation with the supply comes with more thanks, while you get out your journal.

(1/3)
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>>4424234
You've filled nearly twenty pages. No further complaint is made about how long the venture lasted for, as you explain the item's purpose, and the morning rides along.

Picking at some of the materials you brought in, just for the comfort of it, picks your mood right back up. Scratching in more mundane observations onto clean, unbloodied parchment is beyond soothing. Every entry is further confirmation that there is no sin plaguing you. No further curse. An undeniable connection to a Goddess, stronger than an evil that could destroy your home, that makes the passing moments as welcome as the comfort of home.

Regardless of the glorious meal, there might as well be butterflies in your stomach, by the Time Brother Holloway comments, "you're a regular beam of sunshine, aren't you?"

The light in your eyes shrinks just slightly, for how broadly you grin. "Being able to cultivate so many partnerships is a rare opportunity."

Brother Durville snickers, "that was terrible."

An elbow digs into the side of the boy, as Peter tries to get him to quiet down. "Show some respect. He has a point."

"Hey. I wouldn't mind if any of you let on what you did to me." Holloway grunts, "besides this." He holds out an arm, which has several (healing) lacerations. Your treatment of his wounds has completely stopped the bleeding. The bandages are dry, save for the salves beneath, and the priest can't believe it. "Well I'll be damned."

"Sister Corbon ensured that your blood loss didn't kill you outright," Brother Fergant frowns. "We have merely been monitoring her work, and assisting whenever necessary."

"Looked like you hadn't bathed in an age." Thomas is trying to not snicker. "We kept the wounds clean for you, and were giving you Time to heal. You're taking it away from Her, you know, with the way you're going." A smirk goes towards the eldest priest of Mercy in your midst. "It's not very respectful."

The intensity of Percival's frown is distorted, through a mouthful of dried fruit. "Well. Thanks. I'm sure I'll be alright. What is this—"

You seriously can't help yourself. "An import, courtesy of King Magnus. Its name escapes me, but I'm certain that the tree's fruit is colossal. It should total over fifty pounds, if left unharvested. They are not native— though the healing capabilities of the bark, seeds, and roots are phenomenal for back pain. I would like to conserve any exotic materials that are unspoiled, in the event I am unavailable— but this? This— this fruit's properties may assist with wound healing. I would like to expedite your recovery as much as possible, Brother."

"It's pretty terrible," he continues to mumble.

The texture is exactly like dried meat, though it's sweet, and slightly tart. You have no pride to swallow, but can handle a mouthful of the rarity just fine. "It's an acquired taste."

(2/3)
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>>4424240
Despite simply sharing a meal, behaving normally, and speaking softly, an odd look is given to you by everyone present. The priest of Vengeance is the first to ask, "what happened to you?"

You're acutely aware that the shift in behavior is jarring, but that doesn't make it any less enjoyable. "I could— I could ask you the same. My account of the battle and subsequent events— would surely make more sense if we— if we were to hear yours, first."

Hollow is quick to reply, "you were there."

"We barely saw you," Thomas pipes up. "And what I did see didn't make much sense."

"Look. I don't know what to tell you. Why would you care? We lived. They died."

"You saved all our lives," you gently remind him, "and we all have an interest in your ability. It would be a privilege to get a more detailed account, than— than what my untrained eye may have picked up on."

Brother Holloway sniffs. The congestion in his nose is definitely clotted blood, from all of the coagulants you've given the man for his injuries. Plenty were on his face, but he easily had three dozen deep, angry, and nearly lethal cuts upon all of his body. They were all in locations that should have rendered him unable to move, or that would cause him to bleed out within minutes. "Our retribution must be proportionate. Vengeance permitted me to remain in the shadows— as our enemy did— before they could strike. Turning their own cowardice against them was fair."

You plainly flip open a blank page of your journal, and begin writing without any shame.

"I didn't dare attack any of the enemy until I was certain that your lives were in peril." The priest of retribution sneers. The gravel of his voice grates deeper. "The moment they struck, I placed myself in the line of fire. While you both were occupied with the frontal assault, I assisted the rear and side guard. The numbers pitted against us were extreme. It's a blessing that we kept riding. Most of the demons were outpaced— and I was able to stay back. To bring them off of the company."

Despite knowing what's coming, you don't dare to interrupt.

Fury sinks into Brother Holloway. "My charge is not only your safety, Father Anscham. I am to guard our clergy and countrymen alike, with my life, and limb. I gladly laid aside my own safety, knowing full well that our foes would not hesitate to strike. I took on their hatred, their pain, and all of their violent intent. It was their undoing."

He's seething. There's no indication of the priest making any further move, be it to speak, eat, or acknowledge your literal note-taking. Several minutes go by, until Brother Fergant finally says, "the best revenge you could take on them is to make a quick recovery."

Hatred is on Percival. "Yeah." The entirety of the wagon feels a lot smaller. He lays back down.

(Options in next post.)
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>>4424245
>A] You'll pester Brother Holloway for the rest of the trip about Vengeance. Even if he winds up wanting to kill you for it, you NEED to know more.
>1] See the priests of Flesh this afternoon without him. You'll keep your visits to this new mentor separate from the rest of the holy men and women in the caravan. It might help build a closer relationship.
>2] Try to bridge the gap between your clergy of Mercy, and this representative of the church of violence. If nothing else, it's an excuse to teach more about the healing process to your priests and priestesses.

>B] See the priests of Flesh today, and don't pursue any tutelage with Brother Holloway.
>1] You'll try to get to know him better, and maybe glean some info about his church and home. Keep invocations out of it.
>2] You have been carrying correspondence for Father Pevrel, intend to get to know him better, and would rather affiliate with the head of the church than one of its men. Keep your distance, but remain professional, and respectful.

>C] Make this a group effort. See about bringing together your clergy of Mercy, with the day guard of the priests of Flesh, and Brother Holloway. Get a full account of your invocations. It's going to be a little chaotic, and might not be as concise— but you are something of a glutton, and REALLY want to get as much information as possible.

>D] Write-in.
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>>4424247
>A] You'll pester Brother Holloway for the rest of the trip about Vengeance. Even if he winds up wanting to kill you for it, you NEED to know more
>2] Try to bridge the gap between your clergy of Mercy, and this representative of the church of violence. If nothing else, it's an excuse to teach more about the healing process to your priests and priestesses.

I'm quite interested to hear his own accounts of the tenants to Vengeance.
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>>4424247

>A] You'll pester Brother Holloway for the rest of the trip about Vengeance. Even if he winds up wanting to kill you for it, you NEED to know more.
>1] See the priests of Flesh this afternoon without him. You'll keep your visits to this new mentor separate from the rest of the holy men and women in the caravan. It might help build a closer relationship.
>>
>>4424247
>>A] You'll pester Brother Holloway for the rest of the trip about Vengeance. Even if he winds up wanting to kill you for it, you NEED to know more.
>2] Try to bridge the gap between your clergy of Mercy, and this representative of the church of violence. If nothing else, it's an excuse to teach more about the healing process to your priests and priestesses.

Just like our Relic, we should aim to bring the hearts of our men together.
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>>4424247
>C] Make this a group effort. See about bringing together your clergy of Mercy, with the day guard of the priests of Flesh, and Brother Holloway. Get a full account of your invocations. It's going to be a little chaotic, and might not be as concise— but you are something of a glutton, and REALLY want to get as much information as possible.
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>>4424382
>>4424401
>>4424494
>>4424591
(Alright! Primarily A2, noting the write-in, and will do my best to integrate the rest. Vote is locked, writing now!)
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>>4424621
Getting to know the clergy in your care could not be more important. It's not merely that you have an insatiable need for information. Given an actual appetite, and the excuse to have regular meals— while working through a third of the supplies for 34 people— this is easily the most pressing (and exciting) concern on your mind. After all, gluttony is not a sin for at least one church in Corcaea— and that's enough for you.

A routine is established. The sunrise in the coming days is to be spent in prayer, followed by guaranteeing the integrity of the caravan's provisions. The rest of the morning will be dedicated to the care of (interrogating) Brother Holloway, alongside every priest and priestess of Mercy under your charge. The afternoon will take them— Percival excluded, as he's taken his revenge against the imps quite seriously— to the company of the clergy of Flesh.

A divine Relic has been on your person for months, now. It symbolizes uniting the hearts of humankind. The heat of the sun itself couldn't rival the intensity of your devotion. *Everyone* involved is to try and help bridge the gap that's grown between your countrymen. Your journal is already packed with observations just from your second day awake among the company. The late afternoon is occupied by more prayer, which leaves the evening free for the remainder of the trip. You'll be keeping track of any significant developments throughout the entire expedition, and the primary order of business is extracting the tenets of Vengeance from Brother Holloway— but there's the present to think of.

Neither Spangle nor Electrum apologizes for falling asleep upright. They're reluctant to even move from each other's shoulder. With the promise of getting to stretch their legs, and get away from the horses for a little while, they manage to come join your company. There might be more to their camaraderie— there's no telling how many months they spent in the ruins together— but there are more appropriate Times to pry.

The Willoughby Sisters are already awake, alert, and were heading to monitor Brother Holloway's care. Sister Susan is smitten by the news of your work, and takes ten solid minutes to ensure Brother Holloway is actually alright. The priestess has zero respect for Time, but excuses herself for another half hour to make a formal prayer to Mercy, in thanks for guiding you.

Ultimately, everyone is gathered, and your clergy of Mercy and Flesh meet on the road. It's really more of a pleasant march than a meeting. The four priests of Flesh are all insistent on staying on their feet, so they eat while they walk.

(1/2)
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>>4424693
Three of the priests of Flesh that Cyril appointed to Walter's guard are already familiar to you, and have been along for the journey. Their leader is a hulking monstrosity of a man. Clad in segmented plate, there are spikes upon his massive shoulders. Beneath a helm that resembles a demon is a face that only a mother could love. Brother Roger Garrick's voice is almost as deep as an invoker of Vengeance, while he politely informs you, "work's better here than anything in the capital. Wasn't anything to come along. Fresh air is pretty great, too."

You don't bother hiding a grin. "Your devotion to Flesh is commendable, Brother, and we— I cannot help but wonder if your skills were put to as much use as you are no doubt capable of—"

The two literal brothers that have sworn loyalty to Brother Garrick are both of the Nye family. It's an illustrious household. You don't blink as Eustace and Tancred properly introduce themselves. The former is the more talkative of the two, though they're both excessively polite, kind to a fault, and might have been better off serving the church of Mercy.

"Well said, Father Anscham," Eustace mildly replies. "Given the quality of the trip thus far, and that of the company you keep."

Tilda is definitely interested in what the six-feet tall, at least four-feet wide, house of a man has to say. The slender, (literally skipping), young woman's bright voice chirps over all the birds within the forest. "I wouldn't presume that you all will be returning to Calunoth, given recent events?"

The last priest of Flesh in the day guard is Brother Olaf Osmund. His lineage is allegedly not of Corcaea, which is as absurd as the man's propensity for sounding more like a priest of Time than of Flesh. That is to say, he speaks as quickly as possible, and says as little as necessary. "No." He grunts, to cement the commitment to resenting the capital.

Several of you grunt in agreement.

Brother Durville is keeping stride to your left, while Ray is trotting along to your right. While your dog is unquestionably the most valiant defender of the Church of Mercy, the young man beside you is almost as enthusiastic to be in your company. "We'll be needing the help. Didn't you mention that the clergy at hand in the Church of Mercy was dwindling, Father Anscham…?"

Smiling has been so foreign to you, it outright hurts to keep up the expression. You can't help it, and grin, "it should no longer be a concern."

(Options in next post.)
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>>4424704
>Out of necessity, the pacing will have to keep picking up from here. Please select ONE of the following prompts. Majority vote will decide.
>If anyone has any suggestions as well, please feel free to share, but I'm going to try and keep this vote simple.

>A] Smooth narration, immersion, and a linear chronological order of events is important. Have the next post cover the evening with Klepto and Brother Durville. There will be a brief recap of any pertinent info you get from the priests of Flesh and Vengeance throughout every post for the rest of the trip. This will allow for our usual style of prompts and questing, but some things may get glossed over towards the end of the thread if we run out of time.

>B] Brevity and quantity of information is more important to you. Have the next post be a complete account of the info you get from the priests of Flesh and Vengeance, from the entire trip, all at once. Each subsequent post will be a snippet of the prompts previously selected, so everything is addressed one thing at a time. E.g. the evening with Brother Durville and Klepto may be in a single post or two. There will be a lot less engagement on your part, but this almost guarantees everything will be covered.
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>>4424707
>>B] Brevity and quantity of information is more important to you. Have the next post be a complete account of the info you get from the priests of Flesh and Vengeance, from the entire trip, all at once. Each subsequent post will be a snippet of the prompts previously selected, so everything is addressed one thing at a time. E.g. the evening with Brother Durville and Klepto may be in a single post or two. There will be a lot less engagement on your part, but this almost guarantees everything will be covered.

We are essentially doing prep for when we get to Eadric and I would like to cover everything.
>>
>>4424707

>B] Brevity and quantity of information is more important to you. Have the next post be a complete account of the info you get from the priests of Flesh and Vengeance, from the entire trip, all at once. Each subsequent post will be a snippet of the prompts previously selected, so everything is addressed one thing at a time. E.g. the evening with Brother Durville and Klepto may be in a single post or two. There will be a lot less engagement on your part, but this almost guarantees everything will be covered.

>>4424401
This is me
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>>4424720
>>4424739
(Stellar dudes. Haven't forgotten any previous prompts! Thank you for the reminder though. Locking the unanimous vote here. Writing now.)
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>>4424779
https://youtu.be/lxL_aZdnq_c

The days fly by. Every last moment is in the name of preparing for the return home. A blur of new faces, new names, old friends, and almost as much information as you could ask for streaks through your memory. It moves as quickly as the passing forests, the bend of the river, hours of horseback riding a day, and your religious work.

Every member of your caravan is a treasure, but one in particular demands your full attention. Pestering Brother Holloway is insufficient. You wind up speaking to him alone, in addition to the medical care you're demonstrating to your clergy.

Only when the man is alone, unfettered by any social constraints, does he relent. And by all the Gods, does he relent. The tenets come, through sneers about one hundred imps killed. The man has a fixation on slaughtering them, and aims to incorporate his vendetta with every subsequent lesson.

You listen, and learn. A piece of black parchment— stained with the highest quality ink at Sister Cardew's disposal— is etched into at night. You emboss every malicious word, with love, and the will to serve.

"Know thine enemy." Your invocation to Malimos failed, and likely because you could not fathom the scope of what a correct invocation would entail.

Furthermore, your murder of twenty-eight innocents was botched. It was absolutely due to your inability to truly know why they were brought before you to die. Only against monsters and shadows that aimed to destroy you, or the ones you love, have you been able to call upon Vengeance.

Brother Holloway is still unaware of your experiences, but he gladly shares that most priests of his church dedicate their lives to the study of demons— to fully comprehend what they ask of their God.

"Reward sin." You think it's a little clever. Brother Holloway angrily elaborates days later on what he qualifies as sin. You're patient, and let him work out his anger.

"Righteous is our cause." Priests of Vengeance do not lament their actions. Your grief and compassion for the demons you face are directly at odds with the God of Retribution. As the leader of the Church of Mercy, you embody the *opposite* qualities of Percival's creed.

"Ruthless is our God." Vengeance does not hold back. Calling upon Him can never be a half-measure.

You get to the sin. It has you shifting, swallowing hard, minding the blood that's been on your hands, the disproportionate pleasure you've taken from the weight on your form, and all of the overindulgence in days past.

"No man will take the life of another without vindication." The memory of Brother Murdac dying in the street like a dog is like a bolt of lightning through your brain.

The invocation should have been perfect. You have so many questions.

(1/3)
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>>4424872
"Usury, theft, and extortion must be paid back in full." As the leader of the Church of Gold, you can agree with the sentiment wholeheartedly. Brother Holloway informs you that payback for these crimes constitutes social services to some, and torture or execution from others. Brother Holloway prefers the former. Father Pevrel prefers the latter.

"Narcissists, lechers, gluttons, and all wicked souls may be *saved through punishment*."

The priest of Vengeance in your company places so much emphasis on the phrase, you don't speak again for two more days.

He eventually informs you that given your position, he's in no place to criticize your proclivities— but that under other circumstances would be predisposed towards forcing the fullness of your figure, and other *tendencies* out of you. The sun itself can't rival the scathing heat of his criticism, the bleakness of his gaze upon you, and the awareness you both have that only the loftiness of your position is keeping the priest from exacting his tenets that very instant.

You pay it no mind. There's more to learn, and you are not the leader of the church of Vengeance, nor of Flesh. You show compassion to yourself, keep up the regular routine, and muse *often* at night about the suggestion.

A visit to Mauseburg may not be wise, after all.

"Divine is our wrath. Proportionate is our enemy's ruin." A level temperament is mandatory, for the deliverance of justice towards another man. A narcissist may have their face scarred, or a lecher kept in chastity, but a demon's violence is met in turn. Invoking Vengeance is to be done with the intent to deliver an enemy's actions against itself— and nothing more.

Malimos comes to mind again. The demon was terrifying, but he exerted no violence against you. Asking Vengeance to slay him was not proportionate. The swift death you gave to Brother Murdac WAS Merciful. It may have been more appropriate to deliver the suffering of the hundreds of lives he had ruined, or the land he had claimed.

"Stay not your hand. Strike without hesitation." The demon of illumination comes to mind, along with the immediate urge to protect it. To speak. To learn. Showing the enemy compassion is contrary to everything the church of Vengeance represents. You wouldn't dare speak to Brother Holloway about your alliance with Yech, your unity with Beltoro, or any other one of your positive experiences with demons. He purely describes them as "the enemy."

It's a harsh reminder of the world you live in, and why the Church of Mercy often looks down upon priests of Vengeance wholesale.

"Retribution is our repentance." It's not that priests of Vengeance are monsters. Percival does speak with all of your clergy, near the end of the trip. His grief is extreme. The man has suffered to serve, and knows full well of the stigma around his God. Brother Holloway's devotion is to his fellow man, not to violence. It is *through* Vengeance that he protects, fights, and survives.

(2/3)
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>>4424880
"Remember these tenets of Vengeance."

The priest has made almost a full recovery, nearing the end of the ride. He's back on his feet, walking, and building his strength. You all took phenomenal care of him.

There is an enormous volume of information at your disposal, thanks to Brother Holloway's guidance, and all of your friends. You lovingly tuck away the tenets in your new journal, and fight to not give the man a hug. Under your care, the recovery from near-lethal wounds was a breeze. He'll be ready to help serve in any capacity you need, for as long as you require it, in the last few days on the road.

It's stressed that every invoker in your company is to return the drivers and cooks, the wainwright and the horses all to the capital. Resupplying provisions from Eadric will be a shorter order, given how many of you are staying in the city of shields.

You really are insatiable, and are sorely tempted to take on more allies into your company.

>A] Fight tooth and nail to keep Brother Holloway in your service. (Write-in how. Bear in mind that this will keep Brother Holloway from defending Calunoth, that he is in service to King Magnus, and that he has a few issues with you after you got to know one another.)

>B] You'll keep in touch with your mentor. Thank him profusely for all of his guidance, and ask him about how to properly pray to Vengeance before he goes.

>C] You fucking hate good-byes. Let the priest of Vengeance out of your life as quickly as he came into it. You got plenty of information, and will once day pay a proper visit to Mauseburg. This is enough for now.

>D] (Write-in some other way you want to tackle holding onto yet another person leaving your life, who has a life of their own to live.)

(The next post will cover the interactions with the priests of Flesh as well.)
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>>4424885
>>B] You'll keep in touch with your mentor. Thank him profusely for all of his guidance, and ask him about how to properly pray to Vengeance before he goes.
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>>4424885
>B] You'll keep in touch with your mentor. Thank him profusely for all of his guidance, and ask him about how to properly pray to Vengeance before he goes.
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>>4424888
>>4424916
(Nice trips. Locking the unanimous vote, writing now!)
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>>4424885
>B] You'll keep in touch with your mentor. Thank him profusely for all of his guidance, and ask him about how to properly pray to Vengeance before he goes.
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>>4425288
(I appreciate you man, thanks for voting! I'm still writing, but should be done in just a few.)
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>>4424888
>>4424916
>>4425288
https://youtu.be/UbOUWKC1dkA

There is no tearful good-bye. As a priest of Vengeance, you give Brother Holloway the respect he deserves. The two of you set up the means of regular correspondence, for further mentoring, and simply for the desire to hear from one another in the years ahead.

Late one night, near the end of your travels, you meet with him in the woods. A dagger has been carried on your person for months. Sister Cardew demonstrated a prayer to Vengeance with it, to you, only once before. It's with light in your eyes, beneath a full moon, and in the thick of the forest that you take the basinglass to Brother Holloway. Its midnight-black sheathe nearly vanishes into the night.

The only indication of its presence is when you reveal the blade, and the stars glint off of its polished surface. It's of the Bleeding Basin. A gigantic caldera, on the edge of Corcaea. To trespass it is to die. You're informed that the quantity of such a rare material, straight from its edge, is only possible from a prior Father of Vengeance, or the work of a master smith. It's customary for all priests of Vengeance to make an expedition to the caldera. They test their faith, by obtaining some of the molten substance, and fashion it after their own image.

You make note to ask Sister Cardew about the long knife when you see her next. From beneath the simple linen shirt upon his healed chest, on a band strapped around his upper arm, Percival removes a piece of the same glass. It was in a pouch, to keep him from being cut. The item is only two inches long, but razor sharp. Between you is no chalice. The blood ritual is not to preserve your sacrifice. Only the most ancient texts— from the malicious King Vaughn's reign— claim that such a wasteful practice is necessary.

"Our retribution is proportionate." Your voice and hands are shaking, for the first Time in weeks.

"Like we practiced, Father Anscham." Brother Holloway is entirely aware that self-injury is a delicate matter for you. The hand upon your dagger's hilt is taken between his calloused fingers. "Your faith is your guide. Our vessels are no mere extension of His will. Our sacrifice stays with Vengeance. In His memory. Before His wrath."

Your eyes are dry, your heart is light, and you could not feel better. There's no fear. No twisted anticipation. This is no matter of Flesh, or Mercy. "We— we bleed for the ones we love."

"And more. Let us pray."

(1/?)
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>>4425365
The two of you take the edge of a knife, and make a singular point, into the palm of each other's hands. Your weapon is weightier than any other active holy symbol of Vengeance in the country, and it's all too appropriate. The blade just barely presses into the palm of Brother Holloway's hand, with his guidance. At the same Time, he makes the same motion, and creates a pinprick on your palm as well. It's more than manageable.

It's not that the pain doesn't register. With fire in your heart, and all your focus on the man's speech, you let your soul be your guide. There's more important things to focus on. You breathe, and listen.

"Lord of Retaliation." Brother Holloway's voice takes on more verve. "We are humbled before your righteousness. Just is our cause, at the edge of night. Reward our sin."

You and Brother Holloway set aside your holy symbols, and clasp hands. The closed motion is at completely odds with the Church of Mercy. The blood between you flows freely. The crimson in the palm of your hand is hot, sticky, and as your guide speaks, you can feel the droplets intertwine. "Glorious is your blood-lust. We welcome your judgement. We pray for your reprisal. Take what you will."

Staring you down, the priest of Vengeance demands, "repent."

Fear drenches you, more than the blood between your hands. You're a cripplingly honest man, and almost open your lips to speak.

"Not with your voice. With your wrath. Swear to him, with all the devotion you possess. You will pay back His ferocity. You will take on His fury, and deliver it unto our enemies. Do so, as the God of Judgement has seen fit to bless you. Show your loyalty. Grant Him your faith. Grant Him your will, your ability, and all of your might."

The grasp between you and Brother Holloway tightens tenfold. "I will strike without hesitation. Stay not my hand." Your heart is in your throat. "May I be saved— through Your retaliation. Divine is your wrath. Righteous is our cause. To punish is to serve."

-----

(2/?)
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>>4425367
In stark contrast to your Time spent with Brother Holloway, the business with the clergy of Flesh and Mercy was simple, and familiar. You'd spent four months in the Church of Flesh, and correct worship of the God of the Material could not be more straight-forward.

It's tempting to try and forget all about it. It was a few miserable weeks, adjusting to the change in body composition. Never mind the aches and pains of riding on horseback for hours a day, the reduction in speed, or any disparaging remarks that the night watch thought you didn't hear. Everyone was very polite to your face. It was very helpful, to hear near constant recommendations for a change in routine, once it was established that you wouldn't kill anyone for saying anything to you directly.

Brother Durville was the first to openly make a statement. The young man runs like a demon. Even with the pace your caravan set, he'd go on a jog in the morning, just for the joy of it. Initially, you were eager, and accepted the invitation for additional exercise with no small measure of passion.

Two days into the venture, you decided killing yourself over this forest wasn't quite worth it. Unlike your practice under Father Friedrich's tutelage, the boy knew nothing of pacing, let alone your limits. He promised to help push you when you arrived in Eadric, and that he'd love to discuss form, and methods of sprinting any Time. You were alright with going through the motions with just about everyone else, and keeping his brisk pace while you all jogged or walked together, every afternoon and evening.

Sister Tirel swore up and down that the horseback riding would be sufficient. Everyone concurring that it would help your core did not help matters. Yes, you all were horrifically sore. Yes, they likely felt that the activity was most taxing on their legs and abs. But no, you did not need tips on how to adjust your movement. You all have been riding for the majority of the day, every day. Impetus has been a Godsend, and the caravan is moving along fine, but almost all of your Time during the trip has been spent riding. Electrum's ability will be very welcome when you get to the city.

Sister Corbon is a broomstick of a woman. She is a priestess of Mercy primarily, and doesn't care much for Flesh at all. For that matter, she doesn't care for Agriculture, either. She may have been a better fit for the Church of Storm, as she barely eats, burns off everything she does, and literally wants to set flame to the rest. Her willingness to participate in anything that helps her combative ability is refreshing. Her enthusiasm to listen in to your newest clergy's advice was very welcome. The fact that she literally knows how to eat fire is not something you're interested in at the moment, but make note of, and might pursue when you have the chance.

(3/?)
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>>4425368
Brother Fergant is elderly, but extremely spry. His advice to look after yourself in your youth is well-meaning. The recommendations for a hundred varieties of herbs to improve your physical performance encompasses everything from energy, to strength, to better sleep, and everything in-between. It must work for him, but you'll look into the sheer extent of his experience at another Time. The man has seen Father Edmund's work first-hand, and you tack on his knowledge of Flesh to the list of odd revelations about the priest.

Sister Agnes is almost as battle-hardened as Brother Fergant, though she possesses half as much energy as Sister Cardew. Invocation was her strength in battle. Since losing the ability, she's made little attempt to improve her physical condition since. The priestess has come to terms with the absence of Mercy in her work, and is still very skilled, but you can't help but wonder how many other careers your partner's choice has put on hold.

Sister Susan blatantly resents her inability to invoke. She may be hideously jealous of your capability as well. She is a little too curious about the details of your last invocation to Mercy, for you to be comfortable speaking with her at length about anything further. Fortunately, any mention of Agriculture kills her questions.

Mercy's behavior is something you still need to address, but it really will have to wait. Sister Tilda has never been able to invoke. Without anyone else to support her, she's much more dependent on her own bundle of energy. Even keeping up with the priests of Flesh looks effortless, for all her excitability. Her recommendation for your health is purely to "apply yourself!"

You are a patient man, and applied yourself. Brother Garrick is fond of lifting. His assessment was that your ability to pick up anything from a tree trunk, to a boulder, has increased exponentially. He's right, of course. It was satisfying, and fantastic, to assist in moving just about anything the caravan required during your waking hours. Both of you got along swimmingly, and his chipper attitude has been a welcome one.

The Nye Brothers particularly enjoy swimming. They hadn't had much opportunity in the capital, but were happy to inform you that it is phenomenal exercise for your entire body. You like swimming far too much to have complained about their comments, and were delighted to see that your ability hasn't been affected in any way. Matching their pace would have been fantastic, were the opportunity there, but you all wound up only getting the chance four Times, total.

Brother Osmund is a fighter, through and through. His desire to put his fists to use was met. Your caravan was ambushed no fewer than twenty Times, over the course of two and a half weeks.

(4/5 barely over)
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>>4425373
There have been no casualties— on your company's behalf. The entire point of taking so many invokers along for the ride was to give yourself a break. While all of your clergy were eager to offer their support with your health, routine is difficult for you at the best of Times.

There was no doubt that the journey to Eadric would be eventful, but you sincerely needed to focus on recovery, and respite. Every bit of you anticipates that none will be waiting for you at home. It's well-founded. Through all of the chaos and commotion, battle, immediate slaughter of anyone who dared to threaten your lives, countless questions unanswered, and hours upon hours of horseback riding, you made the Time for James and Brother Durville.

>The following post will cover your conversation with James and Brother Durville, regarding the rumors that have circulated around the country about you.

>A] Continue with the breakneck, more concise recap. You really don't want to dwell on what's been said about you.

>B] This is honestly extremely important, and may paint a realistic picture of how your home city will receive you. Slow down just enough to touch on your friend's thoughts, and what they've heard about your reputation.
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>>4425368
https://youtu.be/pwO-BIEA3_A

(Completely forgot the music for this, was meant to drop at the start of this post.)
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>>4425379
>>B] This is honestly extremely important, and may paint a realistic picture of how your home city will receive you. Slow down just enough to touch on your friend's thoughts, and what they've heard about your reputation.
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>>4425379
>>B] This is honestly extremely important, and may paint a realistic picture of how your home city will receive you. Slow down just enough to touch on your friend's thoughts, and what they've heard about your reputation.

The immaterial must be known.
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>>4425379
>>B] This is honestly extremely important, and may paint a realistic picture of how your home city will receive you. Slow down just enough to touch on your friend's thoughts, and what they've heard about your reputation.
>>
>>4425379
>B] This is honestly extremely important, and may paint a realistic picture of how your home city will receive you. Slow down just enough to touch on your friend's thoughts, and what they've heard about your reputation.

Sacred is the shepherd that leads the flock to salvation.
>>
>>4425407
>>4425614
>>4425665
>>4425815
(Hell yeah guys. Locking the unanimous vote here. Normally we'd have a lightning fast session this time on Friday but I was called into work unexpectedly. I'll be mobile but I'm going to do my best to keep up the quality and speed! Vote is locked. Writing now!)
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>>4425847
https://youtu.be/alaK5BvwiNc

"Are you sure you want to hear all this?" James has been juggling three pocket mirrors, while you all gathered around the campfire. It's well away from the caravan, nestled in the woods, and far from prying ears. It's well after everyone should be asleep. You made the Time, and know everyone present is energetic enough to not suffer too severely from the meeting. Particularly Klepto. He's so dexterous that with a flick of his wrist, he opens each small item in mid-air. Landing them on an outstretched arm, the minstrel points every one of the reflective surfaces towards you.

Brother Durville claps politely. It's still jarring to look at yourself. The changes to your appearance are intense, unnatural, yet remain a pleasant reminder of the Gods. Only the faintest traces of the green that once eclipsed all your eyes is visible, as you pause, and wince at Thomas' reply. "Does he ask you for anything often? Father Anscham says what he means, and means what he says." The fire in the young man's eyes meets your gaze. Your priest is sitting right beside you, has to look up to really see your face.

Klepto puts away the makeshift toys, scowling. "Stick it up your ass, kid."

"The immaterial must be known," you murmur, "and both of you mean the world to me. Of course I— I am so tired of *no one* speaking candidly with me. Please. Do not spare any details. This may help with my work enormously. To say nothing of— of gaining a better understanding of my countrymen. Of our brothers, and sisters—"

"They're calling you a liar," Brother Durville interjects, likely sensing the budding preaching and tangents. "That's the oldest bit of it. Might as well mention that everyone says you're mad, as well."

"It's difficult to refute," Klepto sneers. "Don't give me that look! You both know I mean for the *masses*. Not many people have had the opportunity to speak with you, Father. Fewer have heard anything more than your praises— to Gods they don't have any connection to at all. They might see your work, but it's no evidence of what you preach. Not to an untrained eye. Not to a farmer halfway across the country. Not to someone looking for a reason to doubt your right to lord over their lives, and not to a single disbeliever. Your enemies have tried to twist every last one of your *miracles* into something worse."

You couldn't be more irritated. You are a holy man. A pious, righteous, devout, and Gods-fearing man. "Sacred is the shepherd that leads the flock to *salvation*. This is *blasphemy*—"

"They've had some merit," James says apologetically. "The violence you propogated, and the intensity of your zeal— for your "research" into the Catalyst—" he winces, watching you as if you're going to hit him. The rest comes out as nervous laughter, "has most people thinking you'll kill them for so much as disagreeing with your methods—! Or beat, or bully them just for being in your presence!"

(1/3)
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>>4426012
Thomas looks like he's in serious pain, as well. "I'd heard rumors, too. Hard not to. 'bout the Father of Mercy, swaying hundreds to do his will. About a man who was scarred from head to toe. Who could praise all the Gods in one breath, and kill with the next."

This is painful. You're a changed man. "How long ago was this?"

"It's been years since it started!" Klepto giggles. "It still gets around in the lowest circles. You don't have to look for it. The Church of Spirit outdid themselves. These things spread outside the clergy fast. The bulk of the country is sinners and ordinary folk, after all."

He's obviously extremely distressed, and breaks out laughing. "James," you quietly reply, "it's alright. I'm not going anywhere. You can speak freely. Truly. Please don't—" You run a hand through your hair, exasperated beyond all measure.

Brother Durville mutters, "you possess the power to not only strip any man, woman, or child in the country of their homes and livelihood. At your whim, you can uproot families, turn over entire villages, and sway the heart of the King Himself. To say *nothing* of the word about your temperament, and the rumors regarding instability— you can invoke *all* of the Gods. Most of us must work our entire lives to even pray for the gift of our patron. You wield unrivaled might, Father Anscham." He's looking you dead in the eye. This is a priest of compassion, who understands you're no one to fear. "To most people— you are terrifying."

"And to the rest, you're a pervert. From invoking, to taking a beating," James ignores the stare of death from Brother Durville. "What? He wants me to speak openly. It's the worst of it. He should know."

You try to not fidget. "I know. There have been songs sung about it. I— I have heard a few first-hand."

"It's an easy out," James scowls, as he fights to not laugh. He keeps a hand to his lips, obviously bothered by the compulsion, and continues, "a way to better explain what they don't understand. From the outside looking in, that might be the only thing the average guy can compare it to, right?"

The way that the Gods work through you puts euphoria to shame. Their lasting effects are unreal. It's often so intense, you lose track of the world itself. Lately, it's literally been the world itself. Nearly constantly. The slight pressure from simply sitting, and having any additional sensation along your stomach, hips, or thighs is unarguably more pleasant than most active motion usually is. There's plenty you can compare it to.

There's heat in your face, the fidgeting intensifies, you don't respond, and Brother Durville elaborates further, "the nastiest bit of it came about once your congregation arrived in the capital, Father. It felt as if every day was another accusation. That you— please excuse the disrespect, sir, I'm just trying to help—"

(2/3)
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>>4426028
"Go ahead." Fussing with your robes, the ring on your hand, and looking at anything other than the men beside you is vastly preferable to registering how *they* are seeing you.

"—that you were keeping the company of arsonists. People who would burn down our homes, and everything we have worked for, merely to fuel their own enthusiasm for destruction. That murderers and rapists were your real followers. That you were a savior of the mad, and were worse than any one of them yourself. There was talk for weeks about you losing your mind, and abandoning the Church of Mercy for good. Rumors of you," he shifts, and is obviously absurdly uncomfortable, "of you abusing Dream. That you took pleasure from *anyone's* pain. Even the Gods."

You want to vomit. "That is a disgusting accusation." The lyrics of a particularly foul minstrel are sticking to the front of your mind. "'*Duty as second to gain.*' Is that how it went—"

"That's a popular one. It doesn't matter." James says it, plain and simple. "You left— obviously to die— and these sick fucks wouldn't wait a minute for you to recover. So they made it out like you were gone, just for the joy of it. So yeah. For gluttony, and lust, and all the rest. The country *would* see you as a crazy, absent hedonist— but you haven't been around. Word from the capital is going to spread, of course. But it's only been a few weeks since you even got to our asses, and saved everyone. A lot of people might not know of any of the good you've done."

"We have all heard plenty of the bad, but it's not true, right?" Thomas is literally looking up to you. He's pissed. "I've heard lots about all the lives you've saved. It's been hundreds, in the Church of Mercy alone. Right? And all of your congregation? The outbreak in Beorward was a catastrophe— but you were there too. The refugees came to the capital, where you were. Not to Eadric. And all of the lives you saved at home, for Calunoth. I know the King wouldn't have given you your title back if you were some lunatic."

"There have been disparaging comments about anyone else in your company, too," James quietly says. "Some would risk being labeled as treasonous, to say that Father Friedrich is also a lecher. That he enabled you, as you both were together for months. That your friends are all puppets, tools, or indentured to your service out of fear. That old Magn-ass has finally gone senile, to reappoint you at all, when you left once before. The most extreme of them claim that you corrupt everyone you meet. That the lives of everyone you touch are worse off for knowing you. That to help you is to *be* cursed."

The thought of just how many people keep a BROAD distance from you hurts nearly as much as the truth of the matter.

(Options in next post.)
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>>4426031
>A] "There is some truth to it." You can't admit to everything. You're too modest and uptight around anyone other than the Gods. This is way worse than you expected. You'll actually have to keep improving your behavior if you want to snuff out these lies, and will try to stay tactful, while asking what would help most.

>B] "I've given my enemies all the fuel they need for their fire. It's a good thing I am an *expert* at putting them out." Admit that almost all of the rumors have some validity to them. You want to know the best way to tackle this problem. Your friends are giving you the full picture, so return the favor.

>C] Deflect. This is a nightmare, you really didn't want to know, and you don't want to acknowledge your failings. You HAVE ran from most things in your life, and being confronted with them all is more than you can take. Excuse yourself from the conversation as soon as possible.

>D] Deny it. (Write-in what of the slander you want to defend yourself against to your friends, and/or how you want to go about doing so.)

>E] Write-in.
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>>4426042
>>B] "I've given my enemies all the fuel they need for their fire. It's a good thing I am an *expert* at putting them out." Admit that almost all of the rumors have some validity to them. You want to know the best way to tackle this problem. Your friends are giving you the full picture, so return the favor.

Before this ask them what they think, are the rumors true, after serving with us for the amount that they have?
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>>4426042
>>B] "I've given my enemies all the fuel they need for their fire. It's a good thing I am an *expert* at putting them out." Admit that almost all of the rumors have some validity to them. You want to know the best way to tackle this problem. Your friends are giving you the full picture, so return the favor.
>>
>>4426054
>>4426057
(Awesome guys, locking the unanimous vote. Will definitely get that write in. Writing now!)
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>>4426031
>>B] "I've given my enemies all the fuel they need for their fire. It's a good thing I am an *expert* at putting them out." Admit that almost all of the rumors have some validity to them. You want to know the best way to tackle this problem. Your friends are giving you the full picture, so return the favor.
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>>4426142
(Based, thank you for voting. I'm still writing but am nearly done! Update will be out soon.)
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>>4426042
>C] Deflect. This is a nightmare, you really didn't want to know, and you don't want to acknowledge your failings. You HAVE ran from most things in your life, and being confronted with them all is more than you can take. Excuse yourself from the conversation as soon as possible.
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>>4426054
>>4426057
>>4426142
>>4426224
https://youtu.be/hTcBnxxuAls?t=4

"What do you think," you whisper, "after— after spending as much Time as you have in my company?

"I know that you care," James immediately fires off.

Brother Durville gives you a scowl. "Definitely. Probably way too much. You'd rather die than make someone really hurt, wouldn't you?"

"That's right." You are not going to cry.

"You're a bleeding heart if there ever was one. You're killing yourself every damn day to look after everyone but yourself." Klepto sniffs. "So, so what if you're nuts?"

"We all worry about you, Father." Thomas continues to frown. "I know you're not always there. And that's alright. We care about what goes on in your Spirit, and Flesh. Everyone wants to help."

A clown looks at you with the seriousness of death itself. "You're worth it."

A little more of your soul leaves your body. "You both agree with all of it, don't you."

"Not exactly." James straightens upright. "I've never sold you short. You've got a passion for the Gods that's without compare. So you all get a little personal? Isn't that something for us all to *aspire* to?" Something melancholy is all throughout the waver of his voice. "Is it really so crazy to want to love— no matter the cost? Even if it drives people away— or disgusts them—" There's definitely something personal that he's not willing to talk about. "—you are doing what it takes to uphold your faith. It's admirable. Even to a heathen like me."

"We ARE concerned." Brother Durville is still looking up to you. "You never seem to stop. And jt's not that we're losing you. It's how fast you've changed. Even in the days I've come to better know you, it's as if you're—" Fear drenches him. "—as if you're working on a different kind of Time than the rest of us. As if the Gods are always with you. *That you barely connect to the rest of us.* We all want you to thrive. It's not just because you're a leader, Father." There's no fear. Only respect, and the will to serve. "I know you're a good man, no matter what they say."

You are not going to cry. "Thank you."

Leaning across from his position, seated just across from you, James politely hands you one of the pocket mirrors he's been playing with. They're backed with wood. There's no lens. It's simply a buffed piece of metal on the interior. A humble reflection. "Take it. I know you've heard all this before. But you're listening, right? You're not so crazy to shut us all out. I know you're trying, as hard as you can. You've got potential, like no one I've ever seen. I'd still like to hear those stories, Father. And to share all my own with you. We'll make the Time. Right?"

(1/2)
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>>4426235
"Yes." You are not going to choke up, and take the small item. "I— I have given my enemies all the fuel they need for their fire." Gritting your teeth, you declare, "it's a good thing I am an *expert* at putting them out. Not merely— not merely of my own merit, either. I never could have connected with Mercy, nor Agriculture in the way that I have without all of your help. These rumors have— they *do* have a great deal of truth to them." There's so much emotion running through you, you can barely whisper, "I would like to understand how to stop them. My business should be my own, and my life my own to live. I would like to set a fair example for our countrymen, but I— I am only human."

"I'll help in any way I can," James immediately insists. "We don't have the full picture. Not yet. But it *would* help to set a better public image." His gaze pans over you. "There's seriously no telling what the capital is going to make of this."

You reflexively cross your arms. "Of what." It does nothing to hide their breadth, or the persistent roundness of your stomach. The desire to run from the entire conversation is extreme. "Their disregard for the Goddess? It's already a public issue. I'm remediating it." It's a mild enough deflection. Panicked, yes, but unarguable.

James raises an eyebrow at you. "Come on."

With a huff, Thomas says, "fuck them."

"Brother Durville." You want to laugh. Klepto does.

"I mean it, Father. I'll work as best as I can with the clergy. You have EARNED all of our respect. You'll still have to demonstrate it, of course but— but fuck them. Anyone who judges you based on appearances, or rumor alone IS a blasphemer."

"Thank you." There's strength, and love, and all the devotion your friends deserve, as you insist, "thank you both so much. Can I— may— let me give you a hug. Please."

"Can you imagine anyone thinking this guy is a bully," Klepto mutters.

Thomas doesn't hesitate to get an arm around you. "Heathens. Might as well start saying 'to hug is to serve,' Father."

"I'll consider it."

-----

The damage to your Spirit has been extreme. A visit from the Goddess of the Immaterial was a shock, to say the least. The sheer volume of issues you have to discuss with Sister Cardew almost was too much for a three-week expedition. The expectant mother had yet to change a bit, beyond hers and Walter's increasingly wholesome debates and study. Of course, Harriet has never minded excessive hugging. She's your counselor first and foremost. The help and guidance she's provided got you through the worst mental states you've been in, and she wants to continue to help elevate you to success.

(Options in next post.)
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>>4426246
>A] Speak only about Spirit's visit to you. The rest of the trip was spent on your mental health, and general well-being. It may pay serious dividends.

>B] You'll prioritize speaking about all of the Gods not of your Church. In addition to discussing your visit with Spirit, you went over your work with Brother Holloway, the difficulty you're having with Flesh, and your overwhelming connection to Agriculture. Understanding the Gods is as important to you as understanding yourself.

>C] Mercy really needs to be discussed, on top of everything else. It comes at the expense of any Time really given to your own issues, but organizing the logistics of this possibly grants your clergy the ability to invoke. It's no guarantee, but you're willing to take that risk while still on the road.

>D] There's something you almost forgot. (Write-in.)
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>>4426248
>>C] Mercy really needs to be discussed, on top of everything else. It comes at the expense of any Time really given to your own issues, but organizing the logistics of this possibly grants your clergy the ability to invoke. It's no guarantee, but you're willing to take that risk while still on the road.

This and spirits visit.
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>>4426248
>>4426262
support
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>>4426248
>>C] Mercy really needs to be discussed, on top of everything else. It comes at the expense of any Time really given to your own issues, but organizing the logistics of this possibly grants your clergy the ability to invoke. It's no guarantee, but you're willing to take that risk while still on the road.
>>
(Very appropriately, I need to take care of a few things with my partner. I'll be back in a bit to update more today for sure. Vote will be open until then!)
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(This might sound very silly but one of my cacti of 7+ years died, and I'm really upset. Going to take a break for awhile longer. Will probably still update later tonight, but just need a few to get it together. Thanks for your patience as always guys.)
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(I'm back, and ready for action!)

>>4426262
>>4426299
>>4426341
(Thank you guys for hanging in there. Vote is locked, with C and the visit from Spirit. Writing now!)
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>>4426720
The entirety of the trip took three weeks.

You didn't forget about Claymore, or the battle against the demon of illumination. The blacksmith informed you that the moment Brother Holloway returned with imps in tow, he knew a greater demon had to be lurking. It wasn't that Eckard didn't trust you. The man knew he needed to buy you Time.

He fearlessly charged to the woods. Klepto and Irefist had carefully slipped past every imp that chased Thomas to camp. Your priest of Mercy didn't tell you that he baited every single demon away from the caravan.

You know now, that the clearing was made empty— save for the greater demon. While Klepto and Irefist launched a barrage of projectiles from the shadows, your two champions took the heat. The two priests of Flesh worked to fell half the clearing. It was the Nye brothers, who claim it was nothing. They still have thanked you one hundred Times for saving their lives. It doesn't escape you that they have really taken to avoiding campfires.

Harvey physically shielded Claymore from the bursts of flame from the demon, as it grew towards the sun. The blacksmith launched himself in-between each barrage at his opponent, and severed everything that he could. The close proximity still burnt off half his face. The priests of Flesh endured the worst of it from the sidelines, unprotected. Klepto had fashioned some device to create and drop massive holes into the clearing, to further trap and ensnare your child. They got the demon down, with stakes driven through its body— before it grew to consume all the light of day above.

Ultimately, every last man was too injured to go on. Hearing your prayer from the woods, and your cries to Impetus to ride, every non-invoker in the battle ran for cover. Harvey couldn't be talked down, and stayed behind to guarantee your survival as well. It's certain that if you hadn't found them all in the road, things would have continued to escalate, and they all would have died.

It's a less musical account, that still left you speechless. You couldn't have gotten to everyone soon enough. The blacksmith now has a face halfway covered in gold, after all. He thinks it's fitting, if not too on the nose.

While sense of smell and taste is unaffected, Eckard's sight is compromised. He spent most of the trip sparring with the priests of Flesh in your company, and trying to get used to his own physical changes. He's gotten a little closer to Electrum, given her own arm's been replaced in a similar manner. Apparently there's no pain from the replacement, nor phantom limb— but the absence of all sensation is allegedly disturbing, in a painless sort of way.

(1/4)
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>>4426814
On top of your work with Brother Holloway, your clergy of Mercy, the priests of Flesh, your animals, the provisions for the camp, Time spent with James, devotion to Agriculture, and your prayer to all of the Gods, there was also the matter of your mind. There was barely any Time for it, but on one of your first days on the road, you stayed alongside Sister Cardew. She was learning to drive one of the wagons, to help out in any way she could. You took the reigns beside her, ensuring that the animals under your care were sound, and that no one was listening in.

Along with the gentle sway of the vehicle, and the clatter of wooden wheels upon rock and stone, it was quiet. The ambushes were over twenty in all. Everyone's nerves were fried from the start.

You and the priestess spoke in a whisper.

"This is not part of our agreement, Father Anscham." Sister Cardew could not be more irritated. The woman was definitely not made for the road, and with bags under her eyes, winced at the very notion of not dedicating these precious moments to your personal care. "We are to monitor and work upon your condition. I understand how important Mercy is to you—"

"Spirit visited me."

https://youtu.be/rumvsghcGh4

"The Goddess of the Immaterial," who you revere, and speak of with love, "saw fit to bless me with vision of a more tangible form. She was not the color upon the wind. She was neither the strands of thread we weave, nor the snow upon the mountains we may climb. She was— She is understanding. She is wisdom itself." It's hard to breathe. "She took nothing from me, Sister. I asked only to be granted sight of my allies, when they were in mortal peril— and— and She granted me this, in turn."

From between the pages of your journal, you produce the white-gold lily pressed between two pages. Sister Cardew is speechless. She doesn't dare to even move towards the item.

You are suffocating on the volume of your devotion. Cupping the flower between your hands, it's clear that it hasn't wilted in the slightest. No dryness, decay, nor age is upon it. This is no production of Time, or Agriculture. "It came from Us. Mercy was with me, as well. It was nothing like any other invocation I had experienced between the two of them. There was no break in my mind. I had clarity. Overwhelming clarity. It felt right. It was normal, Sister Cardew— I— I could see, as if my eyes were unfettered."

The lenses upon Harriet's face normally magnify her eyes. They're as wide as can be, as she looks to the flower in your hands, and to you. The priestess unwinds her own holy symbol from around her neck. It's only a few strands of white thread.

Sister Cardew throws her holy symbol into the road.

(2/4)
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>>4426817
You watch the motion with complete shock, and almost move to jump after them. The blasphemer gently puts a hand to your shoulder, and says, "the immaterial must be known. We do not need to be fettered by our personal possessions, or any trappings of this world. To know is to serve. That is our devotion. That is our calling." Her voice is as steady as it always is. The conversation itself is a measure of her worship. "We'll speak about whatever you deem to be important, Richard. But first, tell me one thing."

"Yes." There's no tremor in your hands, as you hold the lily to your heart, and gently close the parchment back around it. "Of course."

"Did She say anything to you? Besides the location of our allies."

"She said— She didn't say it, really. It— it was imparted to me. I reached out for it."

"What was it?"

"That She would wait. As— as She always has."

Several very long minutes pass between you both, before Sister Cardew finally concedes, "I know nothing of this— but I will." She's got more parchment out, almost out of thin air. "No one needs to involve you in the correspondence. In case you were wondering: I have been sending messages along the road during our expedition."

"What—"

"The outposts along the road. I've worked in tandem with the priests of Flesh in our care, to get to secure messengers. The Church of Spirit has channels throughout the entire country, to communicate in Times of great need. Our need is great. Isn't that what you've said—"

"Yes." You both are shaking. There's no waver in the gentle tone of your voice as you repeat, "yes."

"I've written to the capital. King Magnus will be made aware of the condition of His city's water. The lasting effects of Brother Murdac's actions will be made clear. Accountability has been taken for the destruction of the slums. Your actions regarding the forest fire has been explained in as little detail as necessary. In addition, I relayed the appearance and potential identity of every individual who has attacked us. Lastly, I informed Cyril and Ofelia of the mercenary's methods. In the event that they have come under any similar fire, of course."

A pang of longing shoots through your chest, and you hate every second of it. The urge to change the subject is enormous. Neither of you mention that Brother Wilhelm, Starlight, and Stardust haven't intercepted your travels even once. "Mercy." You stress Her name, taking solace in it. Still, your face twists slightly from emotion. "Her proposal was to enact a holiday. Preaching for our citizens to abstain from invoking Her at a set day and Time could drastically reduce the turmoil cause from Her choices, while giving Her and I the opportunity to meet without intervention. Preferably— preferably an entire day set aside. She would like for it to be as often as possible— but I— I do have a more capable grasp of Time than She does."

(3/4)
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>>4426824
A look passes over you, from a woman who is in a committed relationship. "You both didn't speak of this at any length at all, did you?"

"No." Fidgeting always helps. "She has shut down at every mention of Her absence. I made multiple attempts to press it, but She— She truly was unwilling to do more than deflect."

Serious concern is written all across Harriet's face. "Do either of you speak at any length at all?"

It's difficult to even register the question. "Pardon me?"

"Do you talk?" Glasses are adjusted. The priestess of knowledge's lips are as thin as her prior holy symbol. "What do you talk about, for that matter? I'm prying. You understand why."

"Yes, but we are— we are getting away from the point—"

"Not at all. I can't tell you how often to set aside Time for Her." She smiles, and seems to love the expression. "Isn't that funny. We hadn't gone over the effects of your invocation with Mercy and Agriculture yet, either—"

"This is not about Agriculture." You straighten up a little further. "I need your counsel on how to enact a public decree, Sister, for— for the Goddess of Compassion. The Mother of my Church— "

You both legitimately don't get enough Time together. "We can speak more of Them in Eadric, then. How your interactions with the Goddesses have intertwined. This connection of yours. We will get to it." She's dissatisfied. You can tell from the minute twitch on her left eye, and the slight thinning of her lips. "Let's pick a frame of reference, then. You know I will gladly take care of the rest."

"That is far too much for me to ask of—"

"Nonsense."

"You interrupted me."

"My apologies. Go ahead."

You sigh. "...to ask of you."

"Nonsense," she repeats, with the exact same inflection as before. "You have more resources than any other man in the country. Managing them is a short affair. Between Electrum and I, it will be no issue at all."

She's a miracle, but you are completely at a loss. You've delegated almost everything, your entire career. "I honestly don't know where to begin."

The petite woman shifts a little further upright. "I understand that you both will want to see one another often. A regular meeting would be most appropriate, but there is the question of if this will be the only Time you see one another, at all...?"

"We—" You try not to look too exasperated. "—we didn't really discuss it."

"That leave the matter to your discretion. To start. Your needs, wants, and desires are just as important as Hers, Richard. You both have met only every few weeks. Isn't that right?"

"Yes." The sheer strangeness of your relationship doesn't escape you. "I believe that Her presence in the Church of Mercy will change things."

"How will that affect this?" It's not an innocent question. She wants you to know what to ask. "Do you know how the invocation will alter Her presence there? If you will be required?"

"I— I really don't know."

(Options in next post.)
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>>4426827
>This will be the last prompt for the expedition.
>If you have any other business you would like to address, or if I have forgotten something, please let me know.
>For the sake of pacing, we may have one additional post after this for the conversation with Sister Cardew. Otherwise, we will move forward to the current day, at the end of the three-week ride.

>A] The distance between you and Mercy is incredibly strange, given how deeply you both love one another.
>1] You'd like to wait to make this choice until you can call upon Her again.
>2] You'd like to commit to seeing one another as often as Harriet thinks is reasonable. This will take Time to enact, and you don't want to put off the process.
>3] The current rate you see your partner is honestly nice. Use it as a frame of reference, make the call now, and resolve to speak with Mercy more candidly when you next meet.

>B] Like usual, the priestess of Spirit has raised ten questions for everyone one she's answered. (This will be your last opportunity for conversation for the trip.)
>1] Ask Sister Cardew what her thoughts are on your partner's behavior. This all needs to wait, to say the least.
>2] Seriously, why the FUCK did she throw out Spirit's holy symbol?? You're outraged.
>3] You'll oblige Harriet's prying. What's she on about, with your dual invocations?
>4] More importantly, what does she make of the experience you had with Mercy and Agriculture?
>5] Even more importantly, does she have any advice on how to relax about any of Them? You've thought of nothing but the Gods, and your Time spent with them, for almost the entire trip.

>C] Write-in.
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>>4426833
>A] The distance between you and Mercy is incredibly strange, given how deeply you both love one another.
>3] The current rate you see your partner is honestly nice. Use it as a frame of reference, make the call now, and resolve to speak with Mercy more candidly when you next meet.

>B] Like usual, the priestess of Spirit has raised ten questions for everyone one she's answered. (This will be your last opportunity for conversation for the trip.)
>1] Ask Sister Cardew what her thoughts are on your partner's behaviour. This all needs to wait, to say the least.
>3] You'll oblige Harriet's prying. What's she on about, with your dual invocations?

>C] Write-in.
Try to have a conversation with Spangle and Electrum about what they were doing before we found them again and how's the trip been soo far?
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>>4426856
Supporting this.

>>4426833
>>
>>4426856
>>4426872
(You guys are the absolute best, appreciate you. After some serious consideration (because of the nature of this prompt) this vote will be open overnight. I'll be back and ready to roll with a full session in the morning! It shouldn't be more than 8-9 hours from now, so before the afternoon EST. Have a great night guys, see ya soon.)
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>>4426856
+3
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>>4426856

To add to this.
>2] Seriously, why the FUCK did she throw out Spirit's holy symbol?? You're outraged.
>>
>>4426833
>>4426856
Support

>>4426983
I think that is rather obvious, I believe she threw it away realizing that material objects to the goddess of the immaterial that represent her (like her holy symbol) only hampers her in her devotion and that the lily represent her more fully, even being from a dual invocation it's immaterial nature is likely of special interest to her.

TLDR: she'll likely be better server holding this flower than keeping her holy symbol.
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>>4426856
>>4426872
>>4426942
>>4426983
>>4427044
(Good stuff dudes. Good morning, too! Going to lock the vote here, got a way to incorporate everything. Hoping we can get a session or two this weekend, but we'll see! Writing now.)
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>>4427235
The priestess won't mind if you take a minute to get your composure. Closing your eyes, and shutting out the road helps. The irritation from Sister Cardew discarding her holy symbol like some common object just won't go. The reins underhand are digging into your palms, for how tightly you were grasping them. Forcing yourself to relax is a practiced measure, by now. You know that your friend wouldn't disrespect the Goddess for no reason. It's justified, rational, and a product of your making that's changed the woman's approach to her own faith.

You take a lot of comfort, from your own faith, and resolve to not judge. Her actions are a reflection of the intensity of her own devotion, conviction, and love.

Opening your eyes, and looking to the morning beyond, you quietly continue, "honestly. The frequency that I see Mercy is wonderful It feels as if we are— as if we are always together." It's important to make eye contact. Shifting to stare down Sister Cardew, you're met with an utterly surprised (and still almost inscrutable) expression.

"I never thought I would hear you—"

"Don't." You can't help but laugh. "Please." Deflecting is fine. She'll get it, too. You need to run a mental calculation, anyways. "I would like your thoughts on Her behavior."

The reply comes so quickly, Harriet doesn't even blink. "It's worrying. To say the least. Her emotions are obviously clouding Her judgement." You try to not feel too uncomfortable, at the sound of more blasphemy. "She may be capitalizing on your reluctance to question Her. Perhaps She would prefer to have your company, more so than lengthy discourse. Perhaps She doesn't realize that Her behavior is causing you grief, as well. I have never even met Her, Richard, so it is very difficult to say. I can only speculate, based off of the limited information I am given. But I am certain that an absence of any substantial discussion is not healthy. To say nothing of what She asks of you."

"She is entirely aware of the significance," you interject, "of every word that We exchange. Every vow. Every promise. Every moment. She is Merciful, Sister Cardew. I know She's overwhelmed." It makes a lot of sense. "That— that is the entire reason behind Her decisions, isn't it—"

"She's not thinking rationally."

"She's admitted to worrying about Spirit before." You pause. It all makes a lot of sense. "You mentioned my dual invocations."

"They seem to have increased dramatically, as of late."

"Yes." The previous calculation is paused. "I believe it has been more in the last month than— than even in the entirety of my stay within the ruins—"

"Why do you think that might be?"

You really need a minute to think. "Give me just a moment. I won't forget."

"I know." She's patient, and a blessing. "Go right ahead."

(1/4)
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>>4427418
It only takes a minute to mentally run through every invocation you've made to Mercy in the last year. You break out laughing. "I suppose it feels like weeks in-between."

A smirk. "Oh?"

"We have been incredibly busy." You take your hands off the reins completely, handing them off to Sister Cardew, as you're so flustered you have to put both palms up to clarify. "Our company has been busy. With business. And the affairs of the nation."

"Richard." The smirk intensifies. "I know. It's fine."

"What I mean—"

"The frequency of your invocations."

"Yes." Running a hand through your hair is enough to ease how frazzled you are. It's warm to the touch, and metallic, and an immediate reminder of the Time spent with Mercy. It heals every last bit of hesitation. "I have seen Her every 12 days— on average, not to discount the matter of several additional hours— since She first appeared to me in a physical form."

"That is quite often."

"That is including a break of 122 days," you say without blinking, or shame, "during my extended stay under yours and Father Friedrich's care. Since leaving the Church of Flesh, and upon arriving in the capital— speaking to Her for the first Time at length, it—" You smile broadly. "We make the Time for one another every three days, and not a second later."

"That may be too much to ask of our countrymen." Sister Cardew is trying not to laugh. Her curiosity wins out. "What of the rest of the Time?"

"The average increases to once every four days, were we to include all of my prior invocations to Her." There's no use digging into your Time spent in its dungeons. "Once I had left the Church of Mercy, of course. Still, She— She has always been with me, Sister Cardew. As I said, I am very happy with the frequency of our Time together."

"Then let's start with a conservative estimate," the priestess smiles to you. "We have thirteen months this year, do we not?"

"By order of the Church of Time, yes, but— but twelve days was the average."

"Plus a few hours?"

"Rounding down, yes. Twelve. But We are used to seeing one another with far more frequency. Particularly as of late. I would not deny Her anything, Sister Cardew. Three days is fairer."

"Richard."

"...alright. We'll round down."

"I'm so glad you can listen—"

You're fidgeting. "We are truly used to seeing one another every three days."

"Richard."

"Listen. Three days may be my most reasonable estimates, and twelve my most generous. An average would be seven and a half days. Rounded down, would make seven days. Fair?"

She laughs. "Every week?"

"You see Walter far more often." It's a fair enough observation.

"Yes, well. As much as he would like to think so, he is not a God. You know I couldn't get him to relent for a week from my company if I tried."

You smirk. "Have you tried?"

"No." She concedes, "would you like a name for this holiday? It's more of a day of the week, with this regularity."

(2/4)
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>>4427431
You are terrible with names, have thought about this over the course of the entire conversation, and gladly reply, "Sunday."

Sister Cardew adores bad names, and puns, and everything to do with silly wordplay. "No."

"Yes."

"No. Richard."

The talk of so much Time is refreshing. "Yes. Do you think She— that Mercy would take issue with the extra hours taken from Us? These— these things add up, you know—"

"No," the priestess laughs. "I'll see to it. We are getting away from our mutual question. Regarding your dual invocations," Sister Cardew interjects, but is still happy to answer, "but I think Mercy will understand. So why do you think the frequency has increased so, Richard, if you and Mercy are capable of taking on so much between you two, alone?"

https://youtu.be/DycQVrcHzyc

"I—" This seems obvious. "—We are stronger together."

"I think it's more than that."

You search Harriet's face for any emotion at all. She's unreadable. You narrow your eyes. "Elaborate."

"You are a man of all of the Gods."

"Yes." There's no hesitation to speak of.

"You love them all."

"Yes." Hearts are in your eyes.

"You, alone, appear to possess the ability to wield them in this way."

"That remains to be seen."

A single quirk of Harriet's lips moves up, almost into a smile. "Well. Mercy has visited you, in a material form, has She not?"

Devotion and verve couldn't be on you more. You say with joy, "on many occasions, yes."

"Storm, Dream, and now Spirit have shown Themselves to you in other ways. Yes?"

"Yes." There's a sigh in your heart. You couldn't feel more blessed.

"You want to do more. Don't lie to me."

"Harriet." Her title goes away. You don't do this often, but you're not speaking as business associates.

There's no humor in her tone. "Don't Harriet me."

"You are presuming—"

"Am I wrong?"

"What are you getting at?" You're digging deep. "Do not deny me an opportunity to serve Spirit, Sister Cardew. To know it to serve—"

"Oh, you're terrible." She can't hide her smile forever. A little teeth almost come out. "Fine. Richard, I am certain that you would see every last God if you could. In person. For whatever means They may desire. Correct me if I am mistaken. If you were thinking of something else, I will drop the matter entirely. But this seems like a matter that will only become more prevalent." Regaining her composure, the brunette moves aside a shawl, to get a better look at you. "You may be unwilling to speak of Her, but I know you can't stop thinking about Agriculture, either." You don't dignify any of this with a response. "I'm your friend, aren't I?"

"Of course. Don't be ridiculous."

"Well. I'm interested where you're going with Her. With all of Them. It's not merely from professional interest. You aren't just a matter of study, or research." The severity of her expression fades. "I want you to be happy."

(3/4)
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>>4427445
She doesn't mind that you pull her into a hug, at all. "Sister Cardew." Any irritation threatens to melt away. "You know this doesn't change how— how furious I am over you throwing away your holy symbol—"

"I know." She hugs you right back. The smell of parchment, lilies, and several days on the road all intertwines. "I'd like an answer from your own mouth. Don't make me invoke on you."

"I— I have half a mind to make you run to retrieve it."

She smiles, knowing she can't hide the expression even against your robes. "I thought you were supposed to be Merciful."

"I'm trying."

"I know you are."

>You've been given an opportunity to reflect on your potential relationship with other deities.
>If you would like, feel free to discuss any preferences you have about your intentions with other Gods.
>Thus far, you have been visited by Storm, Dream, Spirit, Time, and Mercy. Only Mercy has made Herself manifest in a physical way you can interact with.
>You intend to make this happen with Agriculture, the moment you get the chance upon reaching Eadric.

>If you are uncomfortable with this line of discussion, feel free to voice concerns, or to say nothing at all.
>This vote will remain open for the next hour, minimum.

>(Write-in.)
>>
(Because of how much was discussed in the last post, I set aside the discussion with Spangle and Electrum temporarily. We'll still get to it!)
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>>4427450
Talk to sister Harriet regarding what the meaning of Mercys deflection regarding her usage of her powers
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>>4427450

In my eyes we should attempt to be as close to all of them as possible, to know the gods is to have a better grasp on the world and in turn more information on the Catalyst and how to cure it. Having a direct line to ALL the gods is incredibly important and we should milk it for all it's worth. I will voice, in order, what I think we should do for every god.

Mercy, the golden babe. We need to try to convince her to let others invoke, this is paramount to keeping the country together and if we can convince her to reach a compromise we are also going to be able to slowly dismantle her insecurities. Slow and steady. She is the goddess of protection and it is going to take a while to tear down all of her defenses.

Agriculture, big bounty bitch. A lot has happened and there is a dire need to figure it all out, these boons we have gained might come with some unknowable side effects. Asking the goddess herself what happened is a no brainer, should be first order of business when we get back to Eadric and sit in our garden. So far we have seen the "life and everything in between" but haven't really seen the death aspect of her, maybe something worth looking into.

Spirit, not!mindbreaker. The fact that not only did she not split our skull with information but also visited us means we are doing something right, if we can start invoking spirit flawlessly like we do with Mercy and Agriculture it would be a major boon as it can help Richard figure out where he is truly needed most. I suggest we start "working" on Spirit after we figure out what is going on with Agri. Sister Cardew should be our guide and mentor in this obviously.

Flesh, big daddy. I honestly have no clue if we have gotten to a point where we can flawlessly invoke flesh with certainty. Beside working out I don't think there is anything else we can do on this front, considering the amount of fat we have on us invoking Flesh properly right now would make Richard an actual meat tank. Would be a great way to balance the effects of Agri invocation.
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>>4427562

Vengeance, the goth kid. Our time with Brother Holloway has been very useful, I feel a bit more confident in invoking him but I think we should let nightboi here sit on the bench for a bit. General prayer and rituals but nothing really special, maybe continue to correspond with Hollow and ask Father Pevrel for some pointers.

Dream, who is too good for us. I can't help but feel like Dream has been the victim in this relationship, we abused him quite a bit and haven't really shown any proper worship. Sleep isn't something we can really do right now but if Mercy let's other people invoke it would mean we have a bit more time to rest. In the meanwhile maybe we should focus on the interpretation aspect of Dream, perhaps put up some nice art in Eadric or have Richard start drawing. The multitude of flowers we have is good practice, we could sketch the gardens and make a catalog. In any case Dream needs a bit more love.

Storm, the nuclear option. Storm has always been the clutch option and being able to invoke him at least once in a blue moon without our nerves frying would be amazing. We don't have any Storm priests in out company and they are pretty rare but maybe we could ask Irefist about it. He was a sailor and is the closest thing we have. We should also continue to correspond with Father Bartholomew about the visits we have received from Storm and what the tenets of his church are. All things considered and quite ironically we are in the dark about Storm.

Time, the terror. This spooky bitch has been haunting my nightmares and piquing my curiosity since the start of "Dick's Wild Ride" and 19 threads in we know exactly as much about her as we did in the first thread. We should at least attempt to talk to Mother Astrid about this, as cryptic and exhausting as the lessons may be. Totally not in a rush though, I don't mind leaving this bear unpoked for good long while. Mercy preserve us from whatever Pandora's box we are going to stumble upon.
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>>4427562
>>4427564
1/2+
&
2/2+
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>>4427564
>>4427450

yeah agreed.

oh I know, I think I'd like Richard to take up painting the gods like Michelangelo and the Sistine Chapel, and to make oil paintings of the gods individually. I think it'd be a good hobby and would actually encourage pilgrimage to Eadic just to see Father Anscham dipiction of the gods.
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>>4427564
Support +1
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>>4427509
>>4427562
>>4427564
>>4427586
>>4427638
>>4427674
(We will definitely start with the question. I'll it work together with this big write-in with the note about painting, pilgrimage, and all the rest. You guys are champions, absolutely love it. The vote is locked. Due to the volume of write-ins and notes I will not incorporate any additional comments past this point, even to the second! Thanks for understanding. Writing now!)
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>>4427678
"I can't really answer without— without asking one more question."

"Go right ahead."

"What do you make of Mercy deflecting my questioning so thoroughly? So vehemently? I know it is nothing malicious. I— I know that She loves me, and would never want to worry me— but I can't help it. I only want the best for us. For all of us. She's— there must be people dying, because of it. I know how much strife it has caused my clergy, and— and to say nothing else of those who are in need of Her most." A little nausea rises, as you consider, "I can't even fathom what it would be like. To not have prayers to Her answered—"

"Richard."

"Yes?"

"You both may see this matter very differently."

"I am certain that I do not see anything as a Goddess would be capable of—"

Sister Cardew pauses. It's not a question. "She's mentioned a disparity in your perception, before."

"Yes. She is compassion. She feels what we all feel. She— Mercy, She has mentioned on several occasions that— that She's hurting."

"I think I understand." Harriet hasn't even blinked, she's so deep in thought.

"You do?"

"It may make more sense in context. We'll come back to this." You know she will, and don't complain. "What of my questions, Father Anscham?"

https://youtu.be/8VXjIcrqtVE

"I was getting there. This— it will be easier to keep my thoughts sorted if I can work through this one thing at a Time."

"I'm listening." The priestess doesn't move to take any notes. She's immediately abandoning the pretense of a physical recording. It may be that she knows you'll speak of the Gods at length at any Time, and can just ask for this information again later, but you carefully choose every last word.

"I know I need to speak about this with Mercy candidly, and openly. We are keeping our nation together, and— and her reluctance, and insecurity regarding Her own affairs— She may be the Goddess of Defense, but I need to support Her. Now, more than ever. Not to protect Her. To uplift Her. This is nothing I would ever wish to rush, Sister Cardew. I know it may take some Time, but all of the Gods are worth my Time. Being as close to Them all as possible, to know Them—" Looking out to the horizon, the golden dawn, broken Storm clouds, grass waving in the wind, and miles of forest in every direction, you sigh, "it is to better know the world itself. To learn of our weakness. To cure it."

"I see." There's no question in your research partner's eyes, regarding any last one of your intense claims. It's likely because of them that she's still beside you.

(1/7 get some popcorn, grab a seat, grab your friends, lock and load, let's do this shit)
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>>4427995
The way you've come to think of Agriculture may still be too much for a priestess' more delicate sensibilities. Without any remarks about how you envision the proportions of the Goddess of Bounty, or anything else you'd like to imagine, you quickly insist, "a lot has happened between Agriculture, and I. I have a dire need—" you clear your throat, "to figure this all out. The boons I have gained may— may come with effects I have yet to discern. For everything that I feel I know about Her, I would like to— to learn of all of Her aspects. More of life, and everything in-between. She is the very patron of death. Needless to say, this is worth looking into."

"It's worth saying." A patient, non-judgmental stare bores into you. "You've kept up with the journaling. Have you learned anything further from Her, beyond your initial observations?"

"Beyond establishing that there— that there has been no decrease whatsoever in the effects I've already noted— no. Speaking with Agriculture Herself will be my first order of business, the very moment I return to my gardens in Eadric."

"Richard." There's something between pride and concern written all over Harriet's face. "I wish you had said something sooner. We have no idea what situation may wait for us in the capital. Do you need any assistance? In arranging anything?"

"Your guidance, and mentorship, is always appreciated." You shift a little, finding a spot of wood on the side of the wagon particularly interesting. "With Spirit."

"I see."

The spot is more of a splinter, that branches off in every direction. It's more than old insecurities coming out. You've been badly hurt. "She didn't try to break me. She— She visited me— and— I would like to continue pursuing a healthier relationship with Her. With your help."

The priestess' tone softens considerably. "I would be honored to."

More quietly still, you voice some self-soothing. "I must be doing something right."

"I just told you that your effort is paying dividends, did I not?"

"Flesh may not think so."

"I can't imagine why." Sister Cardew likely hasn't lifted a day in her life. "You work yourself to the bone. It's ridiculous."

"Don't," you murmur, daring a glance over to Harriet. She's livid. You try to suggest, "I know I am doing as much as I can. Given— given the amount of fat on me, He would surely want to help balance Agriculture's invocations—"

"You're referring to the last invocation you made to Him. What even happened? I still don't think—"

"It was the lair of a demon of Time, Sister Cardew. I scarcely understand it myself, but I know that He blessed me." It's hard to not worry about how at odds He is with Agriculture. You want to make this work. "It would surely be in better service to Him."

(2/7)
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>>4427997
Sniffing, Harriet is still insanely displeased. "I've never met a man who works himself harder. Cyril, and Fred included. It's an outrage. He doesn't do nearly enough for you, Richard. All things considered."

A few minutes pass by. You fidget. "I would like to postpone my work with Vengeance." It may not be perfectly bright at the moment, but your demeanor of late is a stark contrast from the God of Righteousness. "I am humbled by His work, Sister Cardew, but— but I have little desire for more than the opportunity to learn, for now."

Completely disbelief is magnified behind slightly smudged lenses. "That is incredibly wise of you. I couldn't support the sentiment more thoroughly."

"They are too good for me." You try to not sniff, or get choked up.

"Richard. Don't."

"Really." Tighter hugs are necessary. You try to not squeeze too much, and she doesn't complain. "I've abused Them, Sister Cardew. I— I have barely been sleeping at all. I pray that I will get more opportunities in the coming months, but Dream— Dream deserves better—"

"Richard. You have been through a great deal. I think He would understand."

"He's had the worst of it. I— I can't stand it. I don't want to shut Him out. He has been the victim, of my— of my mistreatment, for far too long. I need to do better. I want to—" You pull back, with stars in your eyes. "—He loves paintings. Interpretation. I would cover the walls of all of Eadric if I could. Floor to ceiling, and— and inside and out. To the moon, and all the stars in the sky." It's commendable for you to try and tone it down. "Do you think— do you think that a few individual pieces might suffice? Of all the Gods? To start?"

She's trying to be polite. "I think learning, and a few individual pieces, may be an excellent place to begin with showing Him your devotion. In addition to getting more rest."

It puts some more light in your heart, which is wilting at the prospect. "The gardens would do nicely, for reference. We have so many flowers at our disposal." Much more quietly, to only the God of respite, you murmur, "I would like to show Him more of my love."

Several more minutes pass by, while you ruminate, and the woman at your side lets you work it out. Almost in a whisper, you wind up muttering, "I am still in the dark, Sister Cardew."

You're taken right back into the hug. "We're all here for you."

The level of comfort any pressure at all around your waist is is welcome, given the acute fear that's been building. "I want to ask Irefist about his experiences with the Church of Storm. To write to Father Barthalomew, too."

"Please let me know if you have anything in particular you would like to relay to Father Bennett. I would be more than happy to assist."

(3/7)
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>>4427998
"Thank you. I— is it too much to ask, to— to be able to call upon Him without worrying for my life?" You don't want for an answer, and quickly say, "I— I believe I am in no rush to look into the matter much further than that. Neither with Mother Aimar's counsel. As— as exhausting as it is." Your friends don't need to know you literally have nightmares about Time. It's fine.

You're brought further back down to Aerth, by a final, tighter squeeze from Sister Cardew. It feels spectacular, and your response is immediately commented on. Harriet simply says, "you don't think of the Gods in the same way that They think of you."

The heat in your face vanishes in an instant, while you pull out of Harriet's hug. "Excuse me? How do you think you could possibly—"

"Just something to consider, Richard. It's a long trip. I can't tell you how much I appreciate you sharing all of this with me. Walter and I will see to getting the word out, for your Sundays." She knows it immediately makes you feel better. "I'll construct the more regimented schedule we discussed. The observations you may make under a more structured environment will no doubt be phenomenal. I'll create it during whatever Time I can find. I promise. We'll get this all taken care or."

It's a rushed, and clipped response, but you weren't expecting to take the usual amount of Time you can to speak to one another, at any rate. "...alright."

A weary, but incredibly grateful smile beams up at you. It's not without any veils, or secrets. "Thank you for all of your help. And for the good word, about my baby. Walter and I were thinking of finding a place within the Church of Mercy itself."

"Really—"

"It would help accommodate our work, and reduce any Time that would be taken away for childcare. Cyril's case was certainly more of a cautionary tale, than anything."

You both wind up frowning.

"I know we'll get this all sorted out, in due Time." Sister Cardew doesn't often repeat herself, but she needs to ask you, "right? To know is to serve?"

"To know is to serve."

-----

https://youtu.be/jW4DwEN2CuU

You often laid awake at night while on the road, watching fireflies float by. As with all of your afternoons, it was entirely devoted to thinking of the Gods. Of the threats Brother Holloway made, in judgement of all your sin. Of the absence of your lover, and every second you counted before you'd see one another again. Most of all, of pilgrimages that would be made to Eadric. The journeys that would be made to share Their love, and Their light. Of the paintings that would one day adorn the halls of worship, bearing Their image, for anyone who would wish to see Them.

(4/7)
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>>4428000
You spent every morning working out with Spangle and Electrum. They were tasked to keep you up with your running every morning, back in Calunoth. While on the road it was riding on horseback, lifting, swimming, and everything else your other clergy could think of. Your words were infrequent, but you care about them both deeply. It was one morning, on the last day of the expedition, that you finally got to ask them both what was on your mind.

While atop Impetus, who's temperament is as outrageous as ever. The natural-born leader is all whinnies and showboating, as you all assume a gentle pace, knowing that the end of the day would bring about the return home. Ray is at your side, trotting to your right. He looks valiant, for how much exercise he's had in the last month. Your boy is well-fed, and a battle-hardened warrior. He and Impetus alone have killed ten men who threatened the safety of the camp, and protected against countless others.

Electrum and Spangle are riding just behind, guiding the two draft horses pulling the front-most wagon. Both women are tired. It's been a long journey for everyone. They're bruised from lifting, damp from a morning swim, and haven't seen a bed in nearly a month. Spangle's hair is still shorn, and slightly frizzy from all the heat. Electrum's lost some weight, though she's as curvy as ever. Her holy robes have seen better days, thanks to the initial assault on the caravan, and has had a few tears that she refuses to let Sister Cardew mend.

After all, the openings showcase the entire right arm she lost, and has had replaced. The gold glints on the morning sunlight, as it climbs high above the last bends of the Morinburn River. You all pull away from the winding streams, the babbling brooks, and closer into the farmland surrounding your home. Progressively sounder structures greet you. The defense of your home is without compare. While the Morinburn provides a natural barrier, you and your forebearers have spent generations constructing further walls. There are pitfalls, traps, high stakes, pickets, and more obstructions to demonic rampages than anyone could hope for. The farms themselves are humble, but thriving. It's been a good year, and you hope the coming Harvest will a greater sight for sore eyes, still.

Your heart soars. Beyond the acres of Agriculture, beyond the increasing amount of stone on the road, and off on the horizon, are banners. They're far off in the distance, you can't squint to see them. Yet you know they're a tacky shade of bright yellow. They bear the oldest symbol of your church. It's impossible to see from where you are, to the simple emblem of two open hands.

You look over your shoulder with a broad grin, and mention to both clergywomen, "look. To the horizon."

They do. All the light comes to their eyes.

"It has been a very long month," you offer, your face hurting from smiling so hard.

"Yes," they groan, in unison.

(5/7)
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>>4428004
It will still be several hours before you arrive, even by horseback. "I have been meaning to ask you now, for weeks— but before I found you again— what were you both doing, exactly?"

A bark of a laugh comes from Sister Tirel. Her shoulders shake, as she looks to you with complete astonishment. The look goes to Spangle, who shrugs, and then back to you. "Father Anscham. I— we really need to speak more often."

"Yes, we do." You are in too good of a mood to frown. "Please elaborate."

"You first, Spangle." Electrum is also pleased as punch.

"Our little freak show is better at killing, and our fleas were fine hopping around from mattress to mattress." Sister Corbon is all fire, straightening up, grinning just as much as either of you. "We took care of the logistics. I handled the fanfare, Father Anscham. Working out the limited sorcerery already available to us was no small order. It was a gift, when our prayers were going unanswered. I had power in my hands, and could offer our friends all of the cover they needed."

"She burnt down a third of the city," Electrum says plainly. "And blew up another third for the fun of it. I helped build it back up. No one knew it was Spangle, don't worry."

"And I wouldn't dare do the same back home," she insists. "Not without someone on standby to put out any of the damage, at least."

You frown. "Not funny."

"We made as many connections as we could in Calunoth," Electrum happily deflects, "and tried to spread some actual good word, up top." She is very pleased with herself. "You've had a few friends already come knocking, haven't you, Father?"

Shaking your head is almost more than you can manage. "I imagine this is how you— how you requisitioned so much for our congregation, at such short notice—"

"Hey. Those connections took months! And we've been riding away from them for weeks!"

"Alright." More loudly than you need to, you ask, "so how has the trip been soo far?"

Spangle snorts. "Horseshit, Father. All the way down." She's elbowed hard. The dull, metallic thud sounds extremely painful. "Watch it, bitch—!"

"Sister Corbon," Electrum sneers, "why don't you go first."

"Ah yes—" The priestess of flame sits even further upright, possibly mocking your impeccable posture. A posh voice is assumed. It's stupid. "—I did not particularly care for near-death experiences every morning, noon, and night, Sister Tirel! Why, I dare say, that only the sparks that started this spectacular display of violence were worthwhile at all!"

She's elbowed again, this Time hard enough to wince. Both women laugh, as Sister Tirel says politely to you, "it has honestly been far fairer than I was expecting. Your efforts to ensure our collective safety have paid dividends. I am looking forward to returning home— but this hasn't been all bad."

"Not the forest fires?" You're back to grinning, knowing Spangle can't help herself.

(6/7)
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>>4428005
"Nah," the pyromaniac admits. "It was definitely the highlight."

Assuming a stupidly posh tone, making fun of Spangle wholeheartedly, you inquire, "not any of our Time spent gallivanting with priests of Flesh?"

"Pfft," Electrum tries to not snort, "they're not so bad."

"What of our dear Brothers and Sisters of Mercy," you continue, with a lot less humor, and a whole lot more love.

"Welcome company." Sister Corbon stares you down. "Even if they're probably crazier than the rest of us."

Electrum playfully bites at the air. "Don't be stupid. We'll eat 'em alive."

"Like you did Brother Holloway," you ask, "in all the hours I attempted to have you get along?"

"Listen." Spangle waves a long, skinny finger at you. "He's scarier than Harvey when he catches us goofing off."

You try to not groan. "Yes. Scarier than hours upon hours of horseback riding—"

Both women smirk. Electrum points out, "we barely stretched the stores for the trip as-is. Don't go complaining, when you still could work through enough for eleven men—"

"Sisters." You don't have to hide your smile. It feels spectacular. "I couldn't agree with either of you more."

"Really?" Spangle's legitimately surprised.
"Huh?" Electrum is staring straight at the woman to her side, simply mocking her dismay.

The banners on the horizon grow closer by the minute. The sun itself is in your heart.

"I think we all can't wait to go home."

>A] You'll discreetly have your congregation members go ahead. They won't give away your identity, while they scope things out on the road leading into Eadric.
>1] Harvey, for his leadership.
>2] Irefist, for his muscle.
>3] Walter, for his analytical skills. He'll probably grasp the situation faster than anyone.
>4] James, for his social savvy. He could probably salvage or worm his way out of a fiasco faster than anyone.
>5] Claymore, as a new tradesman (along with Mr. Taylor). They honestly have the most reliable claim to residency out of anyone here, save for your clergy.

>B] Plainly have some of your clergy go ahead. It's custom, you aren't meant to introduce yourself anywhere in your own city, and the formality might help things.
>1] The clergy of Flesh, in case there's trouble. (Specify if there's anyone in particular you want to send out from the day guard, or everyone available.)
>2] The clergy of Mercy, just to see what's going on. (Specify if there's anyone in particular you want to send out, or everyone.)
>3] All of your clergy of Mercy, to formally announce your arrival! Make a huge deal about it!
>4] Brother Holloway, as backup. You are positive he can handle anything that's thrown your way.

>C] Arrive in Eadric with your banner flying high. Don't back down for anything, or from anyone. You have NOTHING to hide, and will arrive at the high walls of your home without any further ado.
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>>4428008
>C] Arrive in Eadric with your banner flying high. Don't back down for anything, or from anyone. You have NOTHING to hide, and will arrive at the high walls of your home without any further ado.
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>>4428008
>>C] Arrive in Eadric with your banner flying high. Don't back down for anything, or from anyone. You have NOTHING to hide, and will arrive at the high walls of your home without any further ado.
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>>4428008
>C] Arrive in Eadric with your banner flying high. Don't back down for anything, or from anyone. You have NOTHING to hide, and will arrive at the high walls of your home without any further ado.
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>>4428540
>>4428628
>>4428743
(HELL yeah guys. Locking the vote here. Been very sick for most of the day but I'm feeling a little better. Going to do everything I can to keep the ball rolling. Writing now!)
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>>4428759
https://youtu.be/ioKgHZWTQ4k

As much as you love the sprawling farmland, and its many defenses, your heart lies with your city. Its high walls, and many fortresses. You ride at the front of the caravan, as you have these last long weeks. The banner of your home is held high, and you don't look down to a single soul. Your gaze stays to the skyline. To the colossal expanse of fortifications, that stretches out nearly with the same breadth as Calunoth. There are thousands of homes situated within. They all have a higher standard of living than the rest of Corcaea, thanks to your care.

There's been a few fortified structures in the countryside, of course. The exterior defenses enjoy the most security, and rightfully earn it. But humanity's last bulwark specializes in the architecture and construction of fallen ages. The object of your homesickness is the city of castles.

You have no standing army. The city itself is a force of nature. Merely granting entry to any one individual comes at an extremely high cost. No one is to cross into Eadric without permit for residency, unless they are in the company of someone who is. Every single citizen is entrusted with its defense.

Riding past the blossoming countryside came with the blink of an eye, despite it now being the mid-afternoon. Taking Impetus' worn hooves, Ray's steady panting, and the delighted gasps of your caravan up along Eadric's roads must take an hour, or more. A slow pace has to be taken, for the sheer number of men and women coming out from their stone-gray homes. There's mutterings in all directions along the broad road, though no one would dare to say a disparaging comment to your face here.

You are the Father of Humanity's Last Bulwark, and could not have more authority in your tone as you arrive at the first set of gates. "Good morning."

Riding atop a warhorse, with a hunting dog at your side that dwarfs most men should be sufficient to intimidate anyone. The two hulking figures at the gate, in swords, shields, spears, helmets, and armor, look you up and down. They pause. Only one man's status in the entire city should make them so much as blink. "Good morning, ser...?"

In just thirteen days, it will have been ten months since you entered the ruins. It's been nearly a year since you left for them to die. You're carrying yourself with seriously more self-respect, in the company of an entire caravan, and with no trace of your usual stutter. Not only are you not wearing the same black, simple holy vestments that you're usually known for. Your hair is a different color. Your eyes are (mostly) a different color. You have at least fifteen new scars. At least sixty pounds more are on you than you left home with. There's even a little color on your skin, from riding under the sun for three solid weeks.

(1/3)
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>>4428808
It dawns on you that no one is likely going to recognize you. You fuss with a number of sigils, stamps, letters, and other items that the otherwise illiterate men are able to recognize. None of the muttering around you is about the Father of the Church of Mercy. Everyone is wondering who the newcomer is to their city, why he's so wealthy, and what sort of business you must be conducting to warrant such a huge guard. There's mutters about nobility. You have to remind yourself that you do not lead the city of knowledge, and wait a minute, for the gentlemen at your side to register your identity.

The second that they do, you're given a very odd response. There's the customary, startled, "goodmorningFatherAnscham" in return, but otherwise, there's no fanfare. No fuss. None of the violence you encountered along the road, from the additional five attempts on your life just this morning.

Irefist killed five men just this morning, and loudly pops his knuckles, from three vehicles down the road. "WE GOTTA' PROBLEM?!"

"No," you holler back. To the guards, you give no further word, and continue to ride. They're to not leave their post under pain of death, and simply stare, mouth agape, as you continue off into the city. The rest of your caravan is let along, with your word. Once your identity is established, nothing further is required.

The event repeats itself half a dozen more Times, as you progress deeper into the city. There is no such thing as a little home in Eadric. Tall, stone structures impose upon the flat city streets. There are only a few children at play, given the population. Most of the crowd that's formed along the road quietly lingers, well ahead of you. There should not be urchins in the city of restraint, but the cobblestone has the pitter-patter of several souls running ahead of you, wherever you go.

Word spreads fast, but something is wrong. Walter rides ahead, after nearly two hours of the event. "You don't want any of us to go on ahead?"

"I have nothing to hide," you insist.

Not from the deeper nestled communities, that can relax some of their defenses. Not from the beautiful, sunny markets, and the colorful streamers hanging above hundreds of stalls. Not from the thousands of flowers providing relief from the stone, in baskets, pots, bushels, and in the hair of plenty of women hanging ribbons from windows. Not from the babbling rivers running beneath the cobblestone, below sprawling bridges, and ultimately leading to and away from the heart of your home.

(2/3)
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>>4428810
You have nothing to hide from your home. It takes the breath from your lungs. You stop a moment in the streets, just to get better sight of it. The Church of Mercy is the second-tallest castle in the country— second only to the royal palace. Many regard Eadric as the actual capital of Corcaea. You usually don't pay the notion any mind, but It's hard not to think of it, as you look to the majesty of its fortifications. The many high towers, the clear water of its running moat, and every drawbridge about the exterior defense. Its buttresses are developed from prior ages. Legend has it that the Church has been built upon by every preceding Father of Mercy, be it physically, or in some other respect. It shows.

Your gardens are the current generation's addition to the structure, though not in a technical capacity, and you're fine with the less literal interpretation. After all, the greenery isn't even visible from your vantage point. It's off to the sun, beyond the moat, and more easily accessible for the public. So are three-quarters of the rest of the structure.

Furthermore, much of the building is below-ground, in sprawling catacombs. To the best of your knowledge, there are no outlets to the ruins themselves. It would be a disastrous breach of security. Rather, demons are intentionally contained and isolated in the deepest of the dungeons. It's no place for men, but your concern isn't what's out of sight. You're deeply concerned about what's before your eyes.

It's jarringly empty, in all directions. There's no sign of movement. No life. No clergy, no guard, and no visitors. "Something is wrong."

You ride ahead, regardless. Walter refused to budge from your side. "There should be dozens of guards posted in the streets alone."

Impetus is fine, underhand. His nerves aren't shaken, his ears aren't directed towards anything other than a few bird calls. You cast a glance to Ray, who is completely at ease. You smile, aware that he's technically getting a long walk at home. You insist, "you are horrifically mistaken if you think I am backing down from anyone, or anything. Not here. Not in my own home."

Riding across the drawbridge takes a matter of moments. There isn't a soul in sight. Leading the caravan's vehicles to the exterior of the church doesn't take long. You know where to look. Dismounting from Impetus comes from a holler from Harvey, who follows suit quickly. Striding up to the front of the choir's largest door— what is essentially the doorstep of your home, you see it.

There is a letter, etched in familiar writing, from a man who's tormented you night and day for so many years you don't care to count them in this precise moment.

(Just over 3/4)
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>>4428818
"Morris sends his regards. Mercy hasn't."

You try to not see red. There's another note below it, in equally familiar handwriting, from a man who's missing one finger on his dominant hand.

"Thought if you could take nine months to relocate, we might as well should, too. No use lingering when demons are on the horizon. Locks are all changed, by the way. Hope we haven't inconvenienced anyone. -Brother Theobald Stace"

>A] Rip the letter off the door, and get inside. Use your key. Take another door, if the lock's been changed.

>B] Rip up the letter, in front of all of your friends. Break down the damn door if you have to.

>C] Spit on the fucking note, leave it on the door, and make a point of taking a different door. Shout for Morris while you're at it. You're furious.

>D] Write-in.
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>>4428820

This is a petty child throwing a tantrum, we are the Father of the Church of Mercy in our own home. We have total control over this city, calm down, breathe, and try to not have a breakdown first thing back home. We have our friends and congregation, we can handle this. Ask if anyone knows how to pick a lock.
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>>4428820
>>D] Write-in.
Laugh at at their pathetic attempts to rile us, get someone to pick or destroy the lock.
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>>4428832

I think its the actual lock inside the door, I don't want to trash the door. If we can't pick it then we can get Harvey to break down the whole damn thing bc it's gonna need to be changed anyway. Now THAT would be an entrance.
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>>4428828
>>4428832
>>4428837
(Write-ins being so on the same page is so fantastic, god dammit. Alright. Vote is locked! Writing now.)
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>>4428866
https://youtu.be/TBMf3mcIGkw

You laugh long, and hard. Not so long as to lose your breath, or to lose your composure. Without so much as touching the note on the door, you ask to everyone standing around, "does anyone know how to pick a lock?"

Walter shrugs. "Yeah."
Spangle, Electrum, Brother Fergant, and Brother Durville find other areas of the front of the building much more interesting to look at.
Irefist calls again, "WHAT KIND?!"
Brother Holloway gives him a look that could kill. The two set about arguing the morality of breaking into your home, given that it's simultaneously a church, and your castle.
Sister Cardew walks up. "What kind," she asks, far more quietly.
Most of the cooks are raising their gaze questioningly, as are the drivers, the tailor, the wainswright, and Harvey. Harvey laughs, taking in a breath, to brace himself to bash the whole thing down. "D-doesn't m-matt-ter—!"

"Wait!" You must say it at the exact same Time as ten other people. He does.

You ask nicely. "Please do not thrash the door." It's a lovely door. It's protective, and sturdy, and has never given you any trouble. "For all the good it would do. There is a portcullis behind it. There's a beam. I really like this door—"

"F-fine."

You are the Father of the Church of Mercy, in your own home. You have control over this city, this situation, and your breath. It's level. You keep breathing, and don't have a breakdown. "We can handle this. Let's at least try a few other things, first."

His grin could not be broader. "D-deal."

You try your keys. None of them work, predictably. It might not help that they'd been to the ruins, forgotten, and are almost all filled with rust.
Sister Susan strides up to the door, and knocks.
No one answers, to her extreme dismay.
Spangle proposes melting the door down.
Everyone agrees it's a great idea, to your extreme dismay. "Only as a last resort."
Ray starts barking helpfully. You reassure him he's been very helpful, while Walter and Sister Cardew work at the lock for at least ten minutes.
They actually manage to open the door.

The nobleman loses all grace. "Fuck yes."
The priestess is unimpressed. "The Church of Spirit has harder."

It does nothing for the additional beams of wood and metal behind. "This is not the Church of Spirit. Our halls are designed to withstand a direct assault from a demon. A siege."

You all, ultimately, must break the door down. Spangle could not be happier. Neither could Harvey. "Won't t-take m-more th-than a second."

"It will have to be replaced eventually," you sigh.

Spangle is laying very small explosives along the seam, made out of a sticky substance, that looks like she should not be touching it with her bare hands. "Ev-veryone st-stand b-back!"

"This won't harm the stone, will it—"

"Farther back, Father Anscham," Spangle hollers.

(1/3)
>>
>>4428892
You move exactly one foot further back. Ray is commanded to move very far back. You are acutely aware that Mercy wouldn't approve, but you aren't budging. "An answer, Spangle."

"It might scorch it."

Sister Cardew grabs you firmly by the hand, and drags you away from the door. "Cover your ears. Firmly. Come on. We can always buff out or replace anything. It's as you said."

Virtually everyone besides Spangle and Harvey gather behind a nearby outcropping of rock. The two lunatics stay on the doorstep to your home, and take a minute to ignite the material on the door. They run, as if their lives depend on it, and you immediately see why.

The substance in the wood detonates. It blasts the door cleanly inwards. The metal that was in the wall is snapped out. The wood is splintered in one hundred pieces. The sound is deafening, even with your ears covered. You're extremely grateful for looking straight at the source, as even knowing exactly where it's come from, every single nerve on your body is fried.

The world rings, for a few minutes. You don't panic, or lose your composure in the slightest. You know what your enemies have been trying to keep from you, for even one petty second longer, and nothing will stop you from returning to where you rightfully belong.

Harvey is still standing off to the side, protectively shielding Spangle. The dust is clearing. Ray trotted right back over, and nudged Sister Cardew's hand out of your grasp. She mildly tells him, "thank you, Ray," before giving you a patient stare.

Everyone looks to you first, while you walk to the remains of the door. The entryway is open. The wall is scorched, with angry black marks all around. The stone is in chunks upon the floor, but no one got hurt. You walk right over, and step over the rubble, with your best friend at your side, to return to where you belong.

The floor underfoot has not been polished in weeks. The long pews leading all down the central aisle are empty. The altar is vacant. The train upon the floor wasn't even put away. Dust filters through the air— but it catches on one thousand beams of sun.

The Church of Mercy is as as breathtaking as you remember it. The high ceilings stretch up to meet all the light of the coming day. Every surrounding structure in the city serves to protect this particular wing. You've eaten glass to the face from the very window, right at the end of the hall. The floor underfoot just needs care, as do the countless gilded facets upon every last surface above. The vacant seats might as well be those in the dead of night, from a thousand hours spent wandering in the dark, seeking answers that have been given to you. Every statue, every bust, every piece of glass, all serves as a reminder that your love is unfettered by the grasp of Time.

(2/3)
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>>4428893
It fills your sight, fills your heart, and resonates through every word that leaves your lips. You're a preacher, and this is your stage. You call out to an empty building, with heathens at your back, an animal at your side, and hope in your heart, "sacred is the shepherd, as he leads the flock to salvation! But do not fret for the shepherd, that has returned to his flock. Fear not for the sheep. Breathe no word of the wolves— though they have preyed upon our kin! Speak! SPEAK, that you may remedy the defiling of our pastures! Speak of our fold, and ANY who may still reside within it!"

There's no reply. None whatsoever. Not even of a bird nesting in the rafters.

You know, in your heart of hearts, that this is the most Merciful greeting you could have asked for.

>A] Take a minute. Say a prayer.

>B] Take several minutes. Make it formal. You don't care about the circumstances.

>C] Call to everyone to come inside, and that it's safe. You have mortal affairs to concern yourself with.
>1] Ask everyone to split up, and begin searching the EXTREMELY vast grounds of your castle for anyone that may still be here.
>2] Simply let them know that it appears to be empty.

>D] Tell your friends— with all the faith you possess— that there is no one here. You're going to your gardens now, and would like to not be disturbed.

>E] Write-in.
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>>4428894
>>C] Call to everyone to come inside, and that it's safe. You have mortal affairs to concern yourself with.
>>1] Ask everyone to split up, and begin searching the EXTREMELY vast grounds of your castle for anyone that may still be here.

Have someone bring one of the front guards for some questions.
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>>4428895
Support
Obviously dont let the non-combatants go alone or along
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>>4428895
>>4428898
(Phenomenal dudes, locking the vote here! It's extremely late in the evening/early in the morning here, sleep schedule is pretty whack after so many naps while sick. Going to play it by ear, and be back up and running as soon as possible after this. Hopefully won't be more than a couple hours, but at any rate, writing now.)
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>>4428895
+1
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>>4428895
>>4428898
>>4428904
https://youtu.be/HpXHdegMTtw

Everyone is asked to come inside, once you're certain it's safe. All but the most non-lethal of your group are sent out, split up, and go to search the expansive castle grounds. Brother Durville alone is tasked with locating the closest guards with any and all information, while the rest of your counsel stays put. Sister Cardew and Walter are the only two members of your company that have nothing in the way of self-defense, beyond your company.

Both skeptics can believe their eyes, but neither one wants to confront the reality of the situation.

Harriet is as calm as ever, and knows better than to tarnish any one moment you spend here.
"I care about the truth," Professor Echo spits, "and why these flighty fucks would toy with all of this. They aren't just leaving you in charge. There's no way. No fucking way."

The guards are eventually brought. None of them will elaborate. You immediately get it, when no fewer than four members of your congregation are hate, and teeth, and immediately demand answers.

You talk them down, and dismiss the guards, before they're beaten half to death. Not a single one of the dozens of guards Brother Durville attempted to speak to would breathe hide or hair of why the entirety of your remaining clergy left Eadric. Who they were, where they went, or why.

Not a man will be bribed. Not a one will resort to divulging a peep out of the kindness of their hearts. You see to it, before any one of them are brought here, that some of your more covert congregation members check the streets for word as well. There's someone out there who will talk. There always is.

That was seventy-three minutes ago. No one has yet to come back— save for Brother Fergant. He's sweating, having obviously sprinted to find answers, and gives you a hard look.

Harriet, Walter, and Harvey (when he's found) will be tasked with ensuring no one kills anyone else to get information. For now.

The elderly gentleman at your side doesn't mind getting his hands dirty, but he's worried. "Father Anscham. May I have a moment?"

"Of course." You have yet to sit down, or to stop pacing. There's trails in the floor, in the dust, and in the light, from where you've been walking over your own steps.

"There was nothing I could find. Most of my old contacts appear to have left the city. It's insanity. They've obviously been paid off, or relocated."

"This is incredibly troubling."

"This may not be the worst of it." Neither of you have forgotten any attempts on your lives in the weeks past. "The most suicidal of your opponents have thrown themselves at you, long before you arrived. To storm the city of shields is folly. Is it not?"

"Yes."

(1/2)
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>>4428918
Peter wipes his brow with the back of his hand. Grimacing at it, he continues, "to attempt to make any open ploy against you is equally unwise. You are a powerful man, in every respect of the word. You have become something of a legend, during your short reign—"

"I am not a ruler. I am a priest—"

His gaze snaps to yours. The veteran has zero patience for any of this. "We are a theocracy, and you are at its head. Its real head."

Your scowl could not be more extreme. Brother Fergant shows no sign of apologizing, as you accuse, "treason."

"Am I mistaken? Is King Magnus not more concerned with the affairs of every other nation before our own? He is counting on you, is he not?"

"That is three questions too many, to attempt to justify—"

"Your enemies know it. They cannot take you on directly. They tried to take you down once before, by destroying you from within. Did they not?"

"They did." Your grimace easily outclasses the graying one before you. "They failed."

"It was not their only play, Father Anscham."

"This is not a game."

"It may serve you better to think of it as one. Keeping you away from home for even longer was not to grant you stability, or success. You have surrounded yourself with heathens, and killers. They are not your sheep. They are the wolves."

Your face is hurting. "Mind yourself, Brother."

"How effectively do you think you can run your city, when we have hardly any hands at our disposal we can trust, and fewer still that know the first thing about our affairs?"

>A] "Very." Leave. Make a note to better research the company you choose to keep, moving forward.

>B] "How well did you say you knew Father Edmund?" It's a dirty dig, poorly-timed, and won't put you in Peter's good graces, but you're offended.

>C] "How well do you think I can?" Put this on him. If Brother Fergant presumes he can offer you counsel, he'd better start proving it, and fast.

>D] Write-in.
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>>4428921
(For full transparency, I would normally want to spend much more time on this sort of interaction, but will close out this matter in this post or the next because of how fast we're falling off of the board. We'll have one final scene with the remainder of the post count, so it doesn't feel quite so rushed. In our next thread we will have 100% of the time and attention dedicated to stuff like this, so don't fret! Just trying to bring the narration full-circle, and get a very satisfying capstone before going into the next. Going to take a nap and leave the vote open for a couple hours until I get back!)
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>>4428921
>>C] "How well do you think I can?" Put this on him. If Brother Fergant presumes he can offer you counsel, he'd better start proving it, and fast.

Maybe we can convince more people from the caravan to stay, the city is usually hard to get into and I don't doubt there isn't anyone who would want the protection of it's walls. As the Father of Gold money isn't a thing so we could afford to sponsor a few more people moving into the city, get word out. In a way maybe this is for the best, we don't have to worry about enemies in our midst, all of the traitors have left and we didn't have to do a thing.
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>>4428921
>>4428969
Support

I mean it won't be hard really, as we can literally make money on command with Mercy's permission.

But man, what a bunch of fucking cowards and deserters. They never really deserved to be in our church did they? At least they saved us the trouble of having to purge our clergy. Now we have the opportunity to rebuild it from the ground up, stronger than before, and our new invokers will be able to swear themselves to Mercy face to face.
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>>4428993

Agreed, if anything this is a fresh start. We could always ask for more clergy from Calunoth, the people in Eadric were a skeleton crew anyway. We have a better reputation in Calunoth now so there is a chance of people coming, but we are still hated enough that the people who show up ACTUALLY believe in us. This is a blessing in disguise.
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>>4428921
>>4428969
Support
>D] Write-in.
Tell him that the company we keep may be heathens and killers yet in comparison to the church of mercy's absent clergy they are closer to our family than they ever were. That can be seen more so than now when our clergymen leave us to follow the lies of these traitorous curs Theobald and Morris. On the eve of our return instead of a frontal confrontation or a shadow war by the likes we've already endured, Men and Women willingly walk out on this city, our last bulwark. As the Father of the Church of Mercy, I strip these deserters of their titles of brothers and sister, of clergymen and clergywomen. Allow none of these sinners to don the robes of any of church, any person knowingly aiding these blasphemers shall be declared excommunicated alongside those they aid. However, none can say that I Father Richard Anscham am without mercy. Those that have strayed from the flock by the lies of those transgressors may find resentment in her goddesses own home. As it is said the Church of mercy will never turn those away that wish to repent, to gain their titles back they must prove their loyalty to the goddess herself.
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>>4428898
Id change
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>>4428969
Supporting.
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>>4428969
>>4428993
>>4428997
>>4429004
>>4429008
>>4429258
(Thanks for bearing with me dudes. Was a lot sicker than I initially thought, but got some rest, and I think I'm good to go! Just grabbing a little coffee and I'll be writing. Vote is locked.)
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>>4429371
https://youtu.be/aMhZh8Hydf0

"Now that these cowards, deserters, and false friends have seen themselves out of my home? Without having the trouble of purging them myself— knowing there are that many fewer enemies in my midst? Now that I am surrounded by friends and real family, who are dearer to me than those pretenders ever were? Now that those traitorous curs are gone from my sight? When I can supply any with protection who may seek it, with the word of the Goddess? You tell me, Brother Fergant. I am not without Mercy. Prove your counsel. How well do you think I can run my city?"

"Any company will seem more substantial, contrasted with the presence of enemies in your very own home. I am glad that they are gone as well, Father, but I would be doing you a disservice to not be frank. You have been absent for months. We have been starved of information from our arrival. Your foes seek to undermine you, even from abroad, or wherever they may lie—"

"This is for the best. A blessing in disguise, if there ever was one. I will not stand by idly for one second longer. Please get Sister Cardew. I have a few proposals and decrees to see to, before any further orders of business can be seen to."

-----

Every single member of your caravan are granted an offer they can't refuse. Relocation from Calunoth to Eadric, guaranteed housing, support for their trade, the personal protection of the church (barring matters of extreme emergency), and all of the privilege afforded to members of your fair city is extended, with no obligation. They have already proved their mettle, their loyalty, and every single one of them accepts the offer. One of the cooks requests to take up a position in the church itself, right off the bat. One of the drivers is curious about the vastly superior infrastructure in the city, versus the rest of the country, and wants to arrange for better services throughout Eadric for those not as familiar with the church. It brings the number of new occupants to the city to 29. (Yourself, Ray, Sister Corbon, Sister Tirel, and Brother Fergant not included.)

"Tourism" is not an ugly word. Not compared to what you decree for your enemies. Sister Cardew reads off the last of the one hundred signed, stamped, and otherwise sealed letters to be delivered and read aloud throughout the entire country, as soon as humanly possible.

(1/3)
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>>4429486
"With respect to King Magnus the Merciful, and on behalf of Father Richard Anscham, leader of the Church of Mercy: clergymen and clergywomen of our most holy order have abandoned the Goddess, our home, and their titles. They are being sheltered by traitors. Let it be known that ANY person knowingly aiding these blasphemers shall be declared excommunicated. These sinners are hereby stripped of their rank. Do not permit them to don the robes of our church, the symbols of our devotion, or to breathe so much as a word of further falsehood. They have spurned the Goddess of Compassion, and do not rate speaking so much as Her name. Let it be known that Mercy is here, with us all who still have kept Her in our hearts. These actions have been taken independently of the Mother and Father, and they ARE Merciful. Father Anscham extends an invitation, to any who wish to accept it: repent. Through love, and devotion, do we walk with the Gods Themselves. Prove your loyalty, and regain what you have carelessly thrown away. No soul will ever be turned away from our doors. Our hearts, hands, and the halls of our home remain open to any who righteously seek it.

The Gods are Merciful."

An entirely separate notice is drafted. It's to be read at places, Times, and under circumstances better outlined by James, Walter, Harriet, Electrum, and Brother Fergant. The notice is more of a flat invitation, for any to relocate to Eadric, who are willing to accept the city of defense's measures of protection into their lives. It's under similar premises as your caravan member's offer. There's undoubtedly going to be a population boom. You're delighted, and don't pay any mind to the disparaging reminder from Peter that this will do nothing to replace the invokers you may have lost. That it takes a lifetime of devotion for any one individual to connect to the Gods. That you're increasing your workload dramatically by bringing more people into the fold.

It's been hours since you arrived. It's with a hop, and practically a skip in your step, that you manage to excuse yourself from the absurd number of affairs already being conducted in your name.

You make your way towards your greatest immediate concern at home. Not the small, shoddy room you previously kept, though it's on the way to the gardens, and only takes a moment to inspect.

Someone threw out your plants in your bedroom. They probably died from nearly a year of neglect. There's over 10 months of dust on every surface, and not a single footstep into the small chamber. But all of your books are intact, your bed is still made, the small sketch you did of Ray as a puppy is still on the wall, your cracked mirror hasn't gotten any worse, and you'll worry about it all later.

(2/3)
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>>4429493
There's no use fretting over the cobwebs on some of the rafters, as you head down multiple long halls, of the exterior wings. Below all the light filtering in through windows facing the day, there's warmth all around. None of the spiders here could come from Ostedholm. Not when you know that Malimos struggled to get even a single child to another Archdemon, after months of turmoil.

Every bell spider in Ostedholm couldn't put a chill on you, when there's heat, and life, in multiple acres of land purely dedicated to your love. You forget for a moment about stone, but look to the moss. The trickling water.

Stepping out from the interior of the church for the first Time in hours provides complete relief. You've filled the center of the city with gardens. Ponds. Fountains. Soil. Topiaries, trees, and flowers in every shade imaginable. It covers the unrelenting rock, and from it, more life blooms than anywhere else in the country. (Possibly save for Wearmoor's church itself.)

The centerpiece is the golden orchard you've designed. The trees have been pollinated with every amber and yellow blossom you could get your hands on. They're treated with all the devotion you've shown to Mercy, and glint against the afternoon rays. Ray loves them. They're sweet to smell, to taste, have several healing properties, and you have every intention of taking him on a long walk through the fallen petals.

But you're here alone, for a moment. There are no visitors, as the leaves drift by on a light wind. The most delicate of the plants in surrounding flowerbeds are a little strained, from only having rainwater for what is definitely the last two weeks. It's likely not a day more, which dates the absence of your most loving (former) clergy at not even fourteen days past. They'll be fine. It's not even the extremely fine attunement you have to Agriculture that allows you to make the observation, but simply the fondness and closeness you have for every last little blossom.

The scent of pollen, damp soil, and overgrown grass is on the air. You can only worry about one thing.

This needs to be perfect.

(Options in next post.)
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>>4429494
>This will be the final scene of the thread, to bring all the affairs set out on from the road trip to a close.
>The invocation you intended to make to Agriculture came a little late, but better than never!
>We'll run until 404, or until a satisfying conclusion. Whichever comes first. I'll do everything I can not to cut anything short, but we'll see how it goes.
>Any other affairs will absolutely be dealt with in our next thread. Please feel free to continue any discussion or present any questions at any time.
>I'll make note of everything, as usual!

>The following are not mutually exclusive. Everything that makes sense to incorporate together will be included.
>Any active/vocal oppositions to a vote will be noted, as always.

>A] Stay nearest to the trees, and the sight of all their gold. This is a meeting with Agriculture, but you don't want to forget for a second who your heart truly lies with.
>1] That said, set up a little picnic. Keep it simple, sociable, and sweet. You seriously want to not fuck this up, and it might be in very poor taste to stress one deity while bringing another to you in a physical form.
>2] Simply invoke Agriculture. The Goddess of Life should be content just with your presence. She always is.

>B] Move to the greenest, healthiest, blossoming section of the gardens. You know of a place that will take Her breath away.
>1] This is the Goddess of Death. Set aside some fruit, or wine. The nicest you can get. Make it count.
>2] The Mother of Bounty should appreciate your work for its own merits. You don't expect Her to be content with it alone, but it should be a start.

>C] Write-in any additional thoughts, measures, or your general attitude towards the invocation. (We'll definitely touch on your curiosity about Agriculture's association with death no matter what.)
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>>4429495
>B] Move to the greenest, healthiest, blossoming section of the gardens. You know of a place that will take Her breath away.
>1] This is the Goddess of Death. Set aside some fruit, or wine. The nicest you can get. Make it count.

Set up the picnic from A1 as well. Let's go all out for the goddess.
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>>4429497

Second this.
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>>4429495
>B] Move to the greenest, healthiest, blossoming section of the gardens. You know of a place that will take Her breath away.
>1] This is the Goddess of Death. Set aside some fruit, or wine. The nicest you can get. Make it count.
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>>4429497
>>4429503
>>4429506
(Awesome, guys. Keeping to half hour voting windows if things stay quick! Vote is locked. Writing now.)
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>>4429540
Running back to the castle's wine cellar, you fetch a bottle of an incredibly fine vintage. A cute, light green blanket is located. So is a straw basket, that's just large enough for a few additional things. Several bundles of grapes are hand-selected, from vines at the edge of the garden. So are a handful of decorative flowers, and a stretch of strawberry vines that are exactly ripe enough to contrast against the entire ensemble.

The picnic is laid out within the greenest, healthiest, and most fantastic stretch of the gardens. It's not the centerpiece, but it's one of your favorite locations in the country. The moss and grass underfoot was meticulously kept. It's now just overgrown to feel plush to sit upon. The scent is phenomenal. Bright, crisp, and borderline sweet dew is all around. The shrubs and flowers infringing on the walkway haven't lost any luster. Light filters through the leaves, in every shade of pink, sage, and violet you can imagine. High boughs reach out in the distance, forming something of a tunnel, between every trellis.

It all leads around to more life, in every direction. You even have a canopy of pale petals upon trellises, reaching out over the sky ahead. The one you're beneath even shields the wine from the direct sunlight. You wait to uncork it. Everything else is tastefully arranged, and inviting, and you fuss with your hair a little without any shame.

It's perfect. There's no need for prayer. There's no need to say anything at all, but you know how much She wants to hear you speak.

For a moment, the wind stills. Every last flutter of bird's wings, their tweeting, and the rustling of bunnies in the branches comes to a halt.

You close your eyes.
Why clasp your hands, when you can trace a finger along the grass?
Why look to the green all around, when it's framing your eyes, framing your heart, and running all through your tone?
Why utter a prayer, when you've connected with the world itself?

You both reach out.

https://youtu.be/cPAMKCeHKnU

"Agriculture."

Petals drift through the air. It's not a violent explosion of intensity. There's no blinding sear of radiance, nor a heat upon you that could rival the sun itself. There's a gentle pressure in the palm of your hand. The grass is not just pressing lightly against you. Someone has grown closer to you.

You open your eyes. Everything has flourished. The grass is flowering. The trees ahead are in blossom. The petals drifting through the air are in hues and makes never seen before.

There's no use concentrating on the flowers on the air. Lips are scarcely a few inches from your face. They're red as a rose, and softer than the chrysanthemums drifting by. Dew clings to them. Petals cling to them.

(1/2)
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>>4429633
The Goddess of Agriculture makes no motion to part from your frame. From the roots at the tip of her raven-black hair, to the pollen running in branches all beneath, She's just slightly shifting. Every last strand runs far down, beyond Her shoulders, trailing your gaze towards Her bosom. The sun itself is taken into the contrast, as you look at a hue deeper than death, and darker than night. An organic sundress covers almost none of Her skin. The fabric is clinging, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. Thighs, and arms, and the entirety of Her back is bare.The tone is sun-kissed, healthy, and dusted with smatterings of rose and pink upon cheeks, and the flush across Her collarbones.

Every last bit of restraint in you trails to Her face. Her features are soft, Her face is just round enough to accentuate every flicker of Her eyes, and you can't stop staring. There's practically hearts in Her eyes. Maybe they're seeds of potential. Maybe it's the exact same radiance you've looked at in your own reflection, or envisioned while in the throes of the Goddess before.

She's bright, and deep. Life, and death, and everything in-between. All the sensation of calling upon Her is not of exhaustion, or energy, or an absence of it. It's as if She's doing more with what She's given.

It's difficult to focus on anything at all, but She has yet to move. Her very presence is just as overwhelming as you could have hoped for. The lips before you part. Agriculture's voice is deeper than you expected. The methodical, savory syllables are swimming with sweetness, and fullness, that hangs in the air as She lingers on every word.

"You've finally called upon me properly, Richard. Is just one Goddess not enough for you?"

She gives you a sly smile, making you gulp. The Goddess leans back just far enough for you to get a complete look at Her.

>The following are not mutually exclusive. All prompts that can be combined, if selected, will be.

>A] "It's not." Agriculture absolutely has something that Mercy doesn't.
>1] The Mother of the World has hips that do Her title justice.
>2] The Goddess of Harvest has a bosom that leaves little to be desired.
>3] The very personification of Bounty is full-figured, in every way.
>4] Write-in.

>B] You're an honest man, but will keep quiet. Let Agriculture make whatever She wants out of your intentions.

>C] (The Goddess of Agriculture is plainly assuming a form with some consideration for your preferences. Write-in anything you'd like to say that might influence it, to spell it out plainly, or to actually vocalize anything to Her.)
>>
>>4429636
>B] You're an honest man, but will keep quiet. Let Agriculture make whatever She wants out of your intentions.
>>
>>4429636
>B] You're an honest man, but will keep quiet. Let Agriculture make whatever She wants out of your intentions.
>C] (The Goddess of Agriculture is plainly assuming a form with some consideration for your preferences. Write-in anything you'd like to say that might influence it, to spell it out plainly, or to actually vocalize anything to Her.)

Be what you want to be, regardless of Richard's preferences.
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>>4429646
>>4429813
(Pious and blessedpilled. Got that write-in too. Vote is locked! Writing now.)
>>
>>4429646
>>4429813
https://youtu.be/B22eZY1PESY

Agriculture is divine. The wave in the grass beneath you can be heard. Birds flutter, and sing in the silence.

The green all through your eyes trails along the sway of Her hair. The swell of Her chest. The plenty of Her hips. All along the bare skin of Her thighs, as they move just slightly, leaning further against you. You don't linger on any one curve, though curves are all She is.

There's no use looking to the wind, the light, or the sky. Not when the amount of life, and wholeness that's on you. Not when it's perpetually taking your breath away. Neither of you part. Your eyes lock. A gentle weight is pressing against you, as She stays. The world might as well still be on fire. Lips linger over words unspoken.

Be what you want to be.

You're taken into a hug. Agriculture nearly squeezes all of the life out of you. A smile can be felt against your robes, just barely keeping the softness between the two of you apart. "That's what I thought."

She nestles Her face over your shoulder. The scent of the world is on Her. It's of the powder on flower petals, and soil after rain. She's the soul of the land. Rustic, and hearty, and every bit a country girl. Everything is so unreal, you can't even return the motion, let alone a single word.

Agriculture is too grounded to ignore what you've brought. Her nails are trimmed short, and look as if She's been in the field. The two of you break apart, only so that the wine can be masterfully prepared, and poured. You brought cheese, and fruit grown by your own hands. It's supposed to be had before the wine, and the country girl is beyond smitten.

The trees overhead rustle, as you each raise a glass of red. No words need to be spoken. No apologies. No good-byes. You share an afternoon, and mutual appreciation for the land. For your home. For the light in your eyes, and every hour you've spent toiling over keeping Her safe. You suffered for nearly half a decade, in Her place, and don't dare to look sheepish while you both eat. Not when She's entirely to thank for your safety, and newfound normalcy.

You share fresh strawberries, and luxuries pressed from rosy-purple flowers. The wine pairs with it perfectly, and is as complex as She must be. Mushrooms, and forest floors. Vanilla, and spiced oak. The few moments you can process more than the unrivaled intensity of Her company, and the gratification of Her blessing, you're nothing short of speechless.

It's difficult to even imagine anything else. The woman beside you is devouring your figure with Her eyes, and making absolutely no attempt to hide Her smile. You try to not make too much sound as you swallow. There's as much heat on you as usual, and a thousand things between you both that have gone unsaid.

There's no pain. No curse, and nothing to hide. Only a world to love, and to be loved by in return.

(Options in next post.)
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>>4429983
>A] Break the silence, just for some light conversation. You have a long history with Agriculture, but know very little about Her.
>1] Plainly ask Agriculture how She's doing.
>2] Ask Her what She likes. About anything.

>B] Try and express a fraction of your gratitude for everything that Agriculture has done. There's too much between you two for small talk.
>1] Work at the wine and food, and share some of the flowers you've brought. Actions can speak much louder than words.
>2] You would love to get to know all of Her. Make it clear.
>3] You're curious beyond all measure what's been going on with your recent invocations to Her. Ask.

>C] You both shared a curse. Talk about it.
>1] Keep it light. Your relationship has changed dramatically over the years, and you want to move forward on the right foot.
>2] Ask Her for full disclosure, whatever it may entail. If She's comfortable speaking about it, of course.

>D] Write-in.
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>>4429987
>A] Break the silence, just for some light conversation. You have a long history with Agriculture, but know very little about Her.
>1] Plainly ask Agriculture how She's doing.
>2] Ask Her what She likes. About anything.

>D] Write-in
Ask her how we failed Mother Bethaea. Did she really take her own life, or was she assassinated?
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>>4429987
>>4430055
Addendum: Agriculture is the Goddess of death, what can she tell you about the afterlife. Did Father Edmund and Mother Bethaea make it to her?
>>
>>4430055
>>4430060
Supporting 100%.
>>
>>4430055
>>4430060
(Actually shouted "finally" at my computer while laughing, GOOD stuff man. Appreciate you so much. I'd hate to do a disservice to this at 3am when I'm still under the weather but we'll get to it. Vote is still open until I can update later today. Probably won't be later than 2pm est. Good night everyone!)
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>>4429987
>C] You both shared a curse. Talk about it.
>1] Keep it light. Your relationship has changed dramatically over the years, and you want to move forward on the right foot.
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>>4429987
>A] Break the silence, just for some light conversation. You have a long history with Agriculture, but know very little about Her.
>1] Plainly ask Agriculture how She's doing.
>2] Ask Her what She likes. About anything.

>C] You both shared a curse. Talk about it.
>1] Keep it light. Your relationship has changed dramatically over the years, and you want to move forward on the right foot.
>>
>>4430055
>>4430060
>>4430138
>>4430247
>>4430252
(Awesome guys, and good morning! Locking the vote here. Just going to make this a longer update to accommodate everything. If for whatever reason I'm not done before I have to leave for work I'll give everyone a head's up. Writing now!)
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>>4430398
https://youtu.be/O8h_IliiYoI

"So." The smile is mutual. Yours doesn't hurt in the slightest. There's a little sun in your vision, but the slight squint in your eyes is over infinitely more than the rays peeking through the flowers above. "How are you?"

"Never better." Agriculture's glass of wine is slightly tipped towards you. It's perpetually full. She's been refilling the bottle of wine this entire Time, Her lips are just a little stained, and certainly knows you've noticed. "You?"

The normalcy of the reply doesn't throw you off guard. On the contrary, you try relaxing a little further. Everything feels *fantastic.* "As chaotic as usual. But— but far better than usual. Thank you for asking. Is everything— how is the wine?"

Ruby-red lips linger on the edge of a glass for a full minute. Her smile seems permanent. "It's perfect."

You wilt a little further. "I— I wouldn't mind knowing *any* other preferences you have."

Her teeth peek out again, from how broad of a smile is cast your way. "What about *all* of them?"

"You'll spoil me," you tease.

"Good. You deserve it." The Goddess reclines slightly, hardly batting Her long eyelashes. With an arm behind Her for support, Agriculture swirls Her wine below Her face for the aroma alone. "The berries are spectacular, Richard. You don't *need* me to tell you that I adore every last inch of this garden, or any other in our country. But it's not just the soil, or the harvest. I like working with my hands. Making the connection. Feeling as if my work is a part of me makes it less for toil, and more for gain—"

Adjusting Her position so She's sitting almost upright, Agriculture crosses Her legs beneath the high seam of Her dress, and leans in a little more towards you. "I do love flowers. Every last kind. Every seed, even if it's turned, or dried, or petals only used for potpourri. The rose-hips. Tea is a blessing. Beer for that matter, too."

She creates some in Her wine glass. It's no sorcerery. The frothy, deep, bitter, pungent brew is utterly real, and looks ridiculous in the wrong kind of container. She's grinning. "Life. All of it. Laughter. Dancing. Singing, too. Dream isn't so spooky, once you get to know Him. He's got the right idea! Same with Flesh. Love-making— and all of the joy that it brings— is just as sacred as any other form of prayer." There are definitely hearts in Her eyes. Agriculture pulls at Her drink. Some foam gets on Her upper lip, which She leaves for a moment, knowing full well that it's making you smile.

You gesture to the foam on Her face, regardless. "You got a little something—"

She makes a show of licking it off. "Laughter is a different kind of music entirely. All your lives are all too short for anything less. I like to see you all grow, Richard. Looking to Our people's health is just as important to me as it is to Mercy, you know."

(1/3)
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>>4430510
Your smirk gets buried in the wine glass at hand, as you mumble, "in different ways?"

"You don't believe me?"

You nearly spit out your drink. "Perish the— perish the thought—"

"I'm teasing you."

"I know." You pause, and have to ask, "what else?"

"Well." A few strands of Her hair are twirled around a finger. It looks unbearably soft. "We can't appreciate the sun without any rain. Life is beautiful, in all of its pleasures— but what comes after has its own beauty, too. The change. The departure. Stillness, and quiet, and peace."

"What does come after," you whisper.

The Goddess of Death fires a coy glance over one shoulder, and the other. There's obviously no one around, and She simply wants to play up the drama. A finger is used to gesture for you to lean in closer. You do. The scent of wine, beer, and fresh fruit is borderline intoxicating. Agriculture cups a hand to Her lips, and whispers in return, "love. Our embrace. Oneness. No further toil, or strife. No separation from the Gods." She scoots a little closer. "Not even the sliver between you and I." You scoot a little closer. "It is not a pause in the cycle, Richard. It is not an end. It is Our last gift to you all, as one day we must *all* return to the Earth."

You blink. "Aerth?"

She blinks. "Bless you?"

"A misspelling." You shake your head as you realize it, and try not to laugh. "Those old texts were rife with broken grammar, but spelling errors…? You would think Spirit would have amended—"

"Go ahead and laugh at her. Spirit is an old git, anyways. Her sense of humor is terrible."

"It was hardly any opportunity for humor. *Mercy*—"

"No, She's far more spritely."

It's hard not to laugh. "I have been meaning to ask you something."

"You don't have all day." She *winks.*

You almost groan. "Did Father Edmund—"

"Unquestionably."

Relief soaks into you. "Even though—"

"He was a pious man."

"And Mother Bethaea—"

"Yes." The smile before you softens further. "She deserved better than me."

"P-pardon me—"

A finger trails around Agriculture's glass. She drinks the beer in a single swing. "Would you mind?"

You're encouraged to go through the motions of refilling Her goblet with more wine, still. Her gaze trails to a few of the remaining strawberries, in the meantime.

"You know a lot came between us. She was too sweet for this world, Richard, and too good for *any* of us. I wouldn't have ever wished any of it on anyone. Especially not my little strawberry."

"That is a terribly fitting nickname."

The smile stops faltering. "You think so?"

"She was too sweet."

The wine glass is set aside, while the Mother of Harvest sweeps up the last of the strawberries. "She's with what she loves. With who she loves. I just wish we had more Time together, in other ways."

More quietly still, you ask, "the curse we shared? Did it have anything to do with—"

"Everything. Spirit imparted a little of King Vaughn to you?"

"Only snippets," you reply.

(2/3)
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>>4430512
"He was a bastard. Literally. No claim to rule whatsoever, more than being a particularly vindictive priest of Vengeance. He seized his rule, and attempted to crush Us all— the Gods, Richard—"

"I understand."

"—he wanted to stop Us from interfering with anything he saw fit. The bastard worked in tandem with savages, heathens, and monsters. A pact with demons, unlike the world had ever seen before. He cursed me, without realizing the folly of cursing Us all. It stilted my ability to work. To tend. To grow."

In a whisper, Agriculture confesses, "I stagnated for over one hundred years. No one ever thought to take it all on themselves. Not until you."

Just as quietly, you ask, "did Mother Bethaea take her own life?"

"Yes." The world almost gives out from under you. "She was not loved, nor respected in life. Never as much as she deserved. Few of us ever saw her in the way that you and I did, Richard."

"Who—"

"I'm not all-seeing, or all-knowing." There's enough melancholy in the smile before you to kill lesser men. "We didn't speak much, towards the end. But I know my Phyllis. She wouldn't have. She loved me. Even if she had considered taking her life—" A knowing look is cast your way. "—she never would have left me. Not like that. Elias didn't, either."

The world gives out from under you. Putting a hand to the ground for support is necessary. "What."

"He didn't want to die. I'm sure of it. Not that you all ever do— not when it comes down to it— but particularly not him. He had your Mercy, didn't he?" You're not entirely sure what She means. Her glass of wine is slid over to you, which is exchanged for your empty one. "Here. It helps."

You drink. It does help. The edge comes off a little, with the vanilla and spice, but swallowing liquor does nothing to help make the news more palatable. A little breathlessly, you come up from the glass to gasp, "please tell me everything you know—"

A hand is placed gently on the edge of your knee, just as a reminder that you're still present in the moment. "We'd be here until the stars go out from the sky. I don't know who killed your mentors, or forced their hands. I know when my partner and children come home, Richard, but not where they've always been. Does that make sense?"

"Yes." By all the Gods, do you want to move forward, and to do so on the right foot. "I wanted to help. More than anything. I always have. Did— did anything I—"

The gentle pressure on you squeezes a little mor, with a genuine smile. "You're why I'm still here." The Goddess sweeps Her glass out from your fingers, keeping both of Her hands on its stem. The grin gets cheekier. "I know you're not satisfied."

"No."

The Goddess of Fertility has yet to take Her eyes off of you. "I'm not either."

(Options in next post.)
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>>4430515
>A] She's literally so much more down to earth than Mercy, you can hardly believe it. You also really don't want to ruin the mood. Keep things light.

>B] Ask Agriculture if she wouldn't mind talking about Mother Bethaea a little more.

>C] You seriously want details on Agriculture's attention to and control over the domain of death.

>D] You've never been particularly bothered by the way that Agriculture works.
>1] Ask Her if She could just talk some more about Her gifts.
>2] Ask Her if there's anything She'd like to do.

>E] Your faith brings out the best in you. (Write-in.)
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>>4430517
>E] Your faith brings out the best in you. (Write-in.)

Ask if she'd like to work with you in your garden today, you have so many new plants and seeds to cultivate and plant, including the rare few from your dual invocations.

We could call over our circus too, if she'd like to talk with any of them in particular and make it a group gardening project today for fun, or just keep it between the two of us today.

(I wonder if Mercy can be summoned here with Agriculture, I don't want to particularly leave her out desu.)
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>>4430517
>A] She's literally so much more down to earth than Mercy, you can hardly believe it. You also really don't want to ruin the mood. Keep things light.
>C] You seriously want details on Agriculture's attention to and control over the domain of death.
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>>4430517
>>A] She's literally so much more down to earth than Mercy, you can hardly believe it. You also really don't want to ruin the mood. Keep things light.

I liked the gossip about the other gods, press her a bit more on that. Maybe we could ask for her take on what's happening with Mercy?
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>>4430517
If your looking for more discussion topics OP, I do wonder about her thoughts on our proclamation of Excommunication, the abandonment of our church, the the poisonings of her bounty in Calnuoth.
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>>4430517
We could also ask for her take on animals, they grow too,do they not matter?
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>>4430533
>>4430536
>>4430545
>>4430551
>>4430564
(Why the fuck not let's try to do everything. Vote is locked! May take me a few but writing now.)
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>>4430655
(Got absolutely destroyed by the workload at my job today and am being wrangled into getting a nice dinner. Will be back to write in just a bit, thank you all for your patience.)
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>>4431064
https://youtu.be/1-g15ipBS74

"Would you like to work with me in the gardens today? I—" you seriously feel spoiled, "I have so many new plants and seeds to cultivate. To sow. To say nothing of the rare few from my dual invocations."

The smile that shines at you is sweeter than all the wine in the world. "I would love to. It would be nice to see what They're putting you through!" Agriculture pauses, and gives you an apologetic look. "I'm joking. It's difficult at the best of Times to know what your limits are, you know."

You know, and try not to smile too hard. "I could send for my congregation as well, if you'd like."

You move to get up. It's a mistake. It was altogether too easy to lose track of how much you were eating and drinking. The integrity of your undershirt is being called into question, as is your waistband, and you're almost full enough to die. Outwardly debating how to proceed, you suggest, "a group gardening project could be fun, but we— we could just keep it between the two of us today."

You're given a hand to get up, while Agriculture is still seated. "This is exactly what I mean. Are you alright?"

The motion is so similar to being asked to dance, you can't help but grin and accept it. "I think I will be just fine—"

Both you both tilt a little, laughing while getting to your feet. It's an ordeal.

"I think I'd like to steal you away for a while longer, Richard. If that's alright with you—!"

The world is a little fuzzier, and a whole lot warmer. "I think that would be wise," you try to breathe, through the heady aroma of wine and fruit. Agriculture seems equally pleased with Herself— though how a Goddess could also be drunk escapes you. A nearby bench is staggered to for support. It doesn't help. Neither of you keep your composure, and manage to laugh over to the rest of the garden's grounds.

Walking feels spectacular, as does virtually everything else. The birds are chirping. The sun is shining. Getting your hands into soil, finding old watering tools, and being given any tips whatsoever from the very Goddess of Life is more of a blessing than you could hope for. Agriculture is beyond taken by the moving fountains, the flowering trees, the topiaries, and even the hibiscus seeds you've been carrying for a month. There's more than the warmth all through your body, the weight that you're carrying, or the constant affection.

It's hot. The light of your life is on your mind. Your lover— who might as well be on every taut inch of skin, while you tend to a few seedlings beneath the sun— is on your lips. "Do you think Mercy—" A dessert wine was created for the afternoon work. You have been assured five times that it won't actually kill you, and the glass beside the soil you're working is filled again. "—thank you. Do you think She would be able to join Us?"

(1/4)
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>>4431287
Agriculture has tied Her hair back with a few grape vines. It's adorable, and frames Her face nicely. She's eating a few of the pieces from the growth, and waves one of the orbs at you. "It probably would really kill you. This won't. Look here, and catch."

The grape is tossed. Even through the haze of over-indulgence, your reflexes are still razor-sharp. Catching the item between your teeth comes with a grin, and some polite clapping.

You pause with it still on your tongue. It's drier than it should be, and has definitely been getting too much sunlight. You frown. "Do you have any— any idea what's going on with Her? And can you try to explain—"

"We're connected. All three of Us. But you're still only human. The close proximity we're keeping is making it much easier on you for me to be here. Physically. Being around so much of Me is certainly making it easier, still. Around you. In you." Another grape is thrown at you.

This one is quickly caught between your fingers. It seriously feels like you can't eat anything else. You wave the small object at the Goddess of Harvest, smirking. "You're trying to make this easier on me?"

"Your Goddess of Honesty sure isn't as up-front as you'd think, is She? Mrs. Touchy-feely? Or does Mercy ever try to not let on how She's feeling?" A kissy face is made at you, with lips that are seriously obscene. You try to not flush, but it's a lost cause. "Mhm. Bet you both make the Church of Love live up to its name. Makes you wonder how much Time the Father of Dream spends sleeping, does it? Or the Father of Flesh—"

"Agriculture." You are still trying and failing not to laugh. "Please."

"What? You'd rather talk politics?"

"Maybe in a minute. I still— I don't think—"

A ridiculous pose is assumed, as Agriculture places Her hands together in a parody of prayer. She keeps the bundle of grapes in hand, not daring to drop the item short of picking off a few more individual pieces to launch at you. With all the green in Her eyes to the ground, with Her low voice, and a smirk, She whispers, "We are not in prayer, *Father Anscham.* We are maintaining a sacred bond. One through which your very soul is being tested."

"And why is gardening, or spending the afternoon with the soil insufficient—" There's a nod toward the fruit that you've caught, to which you frown, and oblige. Through the mouthful, you mumble, "—and whaddyou you mean about Mercy—?"

(2/4)
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>>4431289
The silly pose is dropped, in lieu of kneeling down beside you. A hand goes to the flowers you've been tending. They're some of the blossoms that came about from the current invocation, all in the deepest hues of green you've ever seen. "We are strengthened, and emboldened, by that which We embody. Sharing Our works with you makes it significantly easier to bridge the gap, Richard. Mercy prefers to show Her affection through Her emotions, and yours in turn. I like to eat, and to get some flowers every so often. She protects. I sow. She heals. We grow. You get it?"

She's so much more down to earth than Mercy, it's got you wanting for nothing more than to keep the mood light. You shake your head, and relent on the grimace. "What do you think She might make of all this, then?"

"How cute you look?"

"No. ...thank you."

"You're welcome. The great work we're doing on the garden? Hand me that spade, by the way, I want to try something—"

"Sure, here—"

"Thanks."

"—but no. Mercy's order. My clergy. Their absence, and ex-communication. If She were to take strength from Our home...?"

"It's about what these things represent, too." A small divot has been made in a broad expanse of the soil. The last of the grapes She's been picking at are dropped inside. "We don't drink wine straight from the seed. She doesn't need a bunch of blasphemous curs to thrive. Her heart's too wrapped up in all of it to really get it. Stand back."

You do. Agriculture gets off of Her grass and dirt speckled knees, to grin at the soil. She sweeps a nearby stick off the ground, from beneath a tree. A makeshift trellis is planted. Topsoil is patted down, covering the small piece of fruit, and She places a kiss right on top of the earth.

In less than a second, a new vine snakes up, and out. The Goddess moves Her fingers along the dirt in a swirl, and coaxes the rapidly growing item up, and out. Several dark purple bunches are already sprouting, thousands of hours faster than they should. "We all have a little overlap. It's about what these things mean to Us, Richard. I have no mastery of love, or Time. Mercy is not the Goddess of revenge, or combativeness. She will no doubt be hurt by Her children wanting to leave, but She will still take comfort, and draw strength from your home. From your love. From your passion."

You're a little speechless, still. A broader smile still is fired at you. "Try these." She plucks a fully-formed bunch of grapes right off the vine. "This plot has just enough sun for a proper vineyard, if you really wanted to expand on it."

The spot really does have the space to reach out, further into the gardens. It could accommodate more than enough vines, in due Time. You try exactly one grape. It's easily the gift of a Goddess. The wine itself didn't have as much crispness, juice, sugar, or potential. "This is to die for."

"Make something special for me, alright?"

(3/4)
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>>4431294
"I will." You pause. "You haven't really answered any of my questions about Mercy."

A warm, and apologetic smile shines at you. "You should probably ask Her these things yourself." She's not trying to scold you. "We're not as close as We used to be. She's been a little distant from everyone. Would you let me know if She's alright?"

"Of course."

The two of you set about properly tending to Chesty's hibiscus seeds, the resulting flowers from the rest of the current invocation, and the maintenance of the gardens at large for quite some Time. Conversation is flowing as freely as the dessert wine, which obviously was created to pair perfectly with all the fruit. There's at least a thousand questions on your mind, and Agriculture doesn't miss a beat.

You both take a break for a few minutes, at the edge of a nearby fountain. It's sculpted in the likeness of a tree, and every branch bears pots for additional flowers to be placed in. The last of the afternoon sun is on the horizon. It's just barely visible over all the treetops, and plenty of shade is finally cast over the two of you. The scent of dirt, grass, flowers, drink, and several solid hours of work is hot on both of you. Every breath feels phenomenal. Your inhibitions are lowered enough to broach a few more taboo subjects.

"What about animals, then?" This is a sore spot for you. "They grow, too, don't they?"

"As much of a blessing as Ray is, Richard, he's not of my domain."

"He is a blessing."

"Yes, but I don't know what more to tell you."

"Why?"

The smirk cast at you couldn't be greater. The perpetual bottle of wine is waved to the sun. "Why is Mercy the Goddess of Shields? That doesn't make much sense, does it? Isn't the light supposed to be blinding? Doesn't it scorch us? Isn't our Flesh what protects you all from Her heat, and all Her fury?"

"Well, She— She is Merciful. She wouldn't bring any harm to anyone. Her way is of compassion. It's what She embodies."

"Right. Then why the light? Why not Storm?"

"I have a lot to learn," you murmur.

Agriculture gives you the bawdiest smile yet. "You're still not satisfied."

"No. Wait!" More wine is pressed at you. You laugh, and lean back, and look to the clouds. "You're actually going to kill me."

The smile softens a great deal. "I promise this won't. I'm enjoying the afternoon. You're still fine, aren't you?"

"Yes. What of death, then? Tell me about it."

"You're not too squeamish?" A finger waves dangerously close to your stomach. "Not going to lose anything on me?" The nervousness of your laughter causes Agriculture to retreat all threat of poking you. She folds Her hands politely over Her lap, and asks, "what of it, then?"

(Paragraph over 4/5)
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>>4431298
Moving to a more relaxed position is not only possible— but satisfaction defines every possible position. Fidgeting takes on a new level of comfort, while you tug a little at your shirt, and turn to face the Goddess. "What do you like about it? What can you control?" She's been staring at you almost without fail, and you don't hesitate to meet the intensity of Her gaze. Leaning forward just slightly, grinning from the pressure of Her stare, and everything else on you, you say, "I want to know everything, Agriculture. Everything."

A little reservation comes into Her voice, for the first Time all afternoon. "Can I be honest with you?"

"Of course."

Now She's the one fidgeting. "No. Really."

>A] "Of course." Stress it. You're the Father of Sincerity.

>B] You have a few reservations.
>1] Respectfully ask Agriculture what the problem might be.
>2] Ask Her to keep things a little lighter, too.

>C] Try to open the floor for discussion. Share a few thoughts you have on death. (Write-in.)
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>>4431300
>A] "Of course." Stress it. You're the Father of Sincerity.
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>>4431347
(Appreciate you dude. Gonna have to head off to sleep in a minute here, going to leave this vote open until morning. Just wanted to mention that I didn't forget about the prompt for the Calunoth poisoning, but just didn't want to make this 5-6+ parts. We'll get to it, as always. See you guys tomorrow!)
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>>4431300
>A] "Of course." Stress it. You're the Father of Sincerity.
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>>4431347
>>4431529
(Oh hot damn. Wasn't expecting to have a unanimous vote. I'm going to lock here, and try to get this done ASAP! Writing now.)
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(The one time I don't check the youtube link! Dang copy/paste. Whoops. Please refresh/f5 if the old post is still displaying. Will post the corrected version in a second.)
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>>4431554
https://youtu.be/QgaTQ5-XfMM

"Of course." Leaning a little closer, you take Agriculture by the hand, and really stress it. In only the way that the Father of Sincerity can. "You've spared me from poison, plague, and over a century of famine. I want to hear what you have to say. All of it."

Your hand is clasped by both of Hers in turn. There's more life in Her voice than ever. "You really don't mind?"

"The only thing I could ever mind is— is you holding back." It's hard not to keep grinning. "Go ahead. I'm listening."

Agriculture sighs, like a woman who's thinking of Her lover. "I don't even know where to start. No one— it is only human to fear death. I understand. But it's hard, Richard. I love every last step of your lives. From the first moments you draw breath, to the very last. And those final moments are what define so many of you. Your triumph, and pain. Every last moment is taken into perfect clarity. Be it from decades of regret, or merely wishing for parting words that mean something. It is so much more than drama, or anguish."

The hold on you tightens, just slightly. "It's beautiful. The absence of motion. Perpetual rest. The decay. The slow return to silence. Not even Dream can grasp the extent of it. When your souls have left the ground, and reunite, with Our innermost being. You come back to the earth. For all the life that you leave behind— and everything that will come thereafter." She's trembling, and draws an arm around Herself. Agriculture closes Her eyes. "The dark is nothing to fear. We only shy away from what we don't know."

Her eyes open wide, with another grin. "But the questions that are asked in its wake! "Why are we here?" "Where will we go?" "What should I do?" "Who am I?" "Who will my children become!" It's thrilling. There's nothing else like it. You all have the gift of death, Richard. To know that your Time is fleeting. That nothing can last forever. That the cycle will not come to an end— but will continue to grow."

She couldn't look more passionate. This easily rivals, or eclipses Her love of the world. "This is so much more than any one part of it." A little sheepishness comes over the Goddess. Her hands come back to Her lap. "I'm rambling."

Your reply is immediate. "No. There's still so much you aren't telling me." It isn't radiance shining back at you. It's dew drops on morning grass. There's light in Her eyes, and a seemingly permanent smile, as you ask, "there's more to it than even that. Isn't there?"

She might cry. "I'd hug you if I could."

You're going to do your best not to gasp. "Be gentle."

(1/2)
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>>4431601
An incredibly gentle hug brings you both a little closer together. It's a bouquet of almost unbearable sensation. You outright hold your breath the second She takes you into Her arms. "It's about what brings you all there, too. It completes your lives, and every moment after. We grieve. But doesn't it make the light shine all the brighter?"

You practically gasp, managing a shallow breath, "Calunoth has been grieving. I know you said that you're doing better, Agriculture, but I— I can't help but worry."

"I never could have asked you to look after it all." She sniffs. "Letting you know a second sooner would have been doing just as much. You're too good for this world. You know that?"

Returning the hug is necessary. The simple motion is another extremely intense sensation, that you don't particularly care to stop. "Thank you."

"Don't ever let anyone ever tell you otherwise."

Your smile threatens to fade. "You know it won't be easy."

"Not to anyone who really knows you. Not as you are. Try not to worry yourself." She holds you just a little tighter. "My church isn't without its adherents. Help will come to the capital. The poison was potent, but it can be treated."

"I know." You really don't want to move.

She's showing no sign of budging. "Toxin has its own beauty, too."

"I shouldn't be drunk." You manage to laugh whole-heartedly. You're immune to poison. This is stupid. "You're the only reason we're both drunk, aren't you?"

You can feel Her smile against your shoulder. "I thought you might appreciate me letting my hair down."

The scent of freshly cut vines is all through the bundle She's made of Her hair. She's shorter than Mercy, and buries Her face a little against your sleeve. It's softer than you imagined. "It's still up, Agriculture."

"Yeah." She's close enough to whisper, so gently you're certain not a soul on the planet can hear, "I should go."

Neither of you make any indication of budging. The sun is setting, and the air is just cool enough to contrast with all the heat between you.

"Can I stay a little while longer?"

(Options in next post.)
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>>4431602
>A] There's about thirty red flags going off. Heed them. Promise Agriculture that you'll see Her again soon. Release the invocation.

>B] Get some space, some air, and clear your thoughts.
>1] You still REALLY want to ask about the invocation you had with Agriculture and Mercy. What HAPPENED between the three of you?
>2] What about the fact that you can invoke Her at all?
>3] One of your best friends is a poisons master. Another is a demon of Agriculture. Many of them are notorious killers. Share some of your mutual appreciation for the darker side of life.
>4] Simply stress what a wonderful day you've had. Leave the matter of any other meetings like this to Her judgement.
>5](Write-in anything else you'd like to discuss, ask, or mention.)

>C] There's about thirty things you can think of that you'd like to do right now. They're all healthy.
>1] Quietly ask Agriculture if She'd like to dance. If for no other reason, you REALLY want to burn off some of what you've had to eat and drink today.
>2] Peck Her on the cheek— come what may— and release the invocation.
>3] End the thread. Leave it to your imagination.
>4] Write-in.
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>>4431605
>C] There's about thirty things you can think of that you'd like to do right now. They're all healthy.
>4] Write-in.
Cuddle with your (big tiddie Goth GF) Green Goddess of Death until she leaves. You'll be enjoying both Mercy and her company plenty in the future here.

You're the most spoiled man in the country.
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>>4431605

She said Vaughn allied with demons, just like Magnus has, and just like we have. Ask for her take on it, can Yech really be redeemed?
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>>4431605
>A] There's about thirty red flags going off. Heed them. Promise Agriculture that you'll see Her again soon. Release the invocation.

>>4431646
support
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>>4431745

I am strongly against releasing the invocation, there is still so much to ask.
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>>4431624
>>4431646
>>4431745
>>4431747
(Good morning guys. Strongly against releasing the invocation, going to incorporate the rest! Vote is locked. Writing now.)
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>>4431745
yeah, against releasing, let it run it's course.
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>>4431624
>>4431646
>>4431745
>>4431747
>>4431905
https://youtu.be/Sx3WV9GSOmc

Both hands trail along Her back, and bare skin, before pulling the Goddess flush against you. Her bountiful chest heaves with light laughter. It's easily the softest thing you've felt in all your life. There's enough heat on you to rival the sun. She loves it, with that smile sweeter than wine. "Is that a yes?"

There's about thirty red flags going off. The scent of Agriculture's hair. The setting sun. The chill on the air. The heat all between you. The lingering taste of liquor, and more than you've probably ever had to eat in all your life.

"Please don't go." Your eyes are fixed on Hers. They're beautiful. You murmur, "not yet."

A hand runs up along your back. It's the gift of life, and a different kind of death. Your soul might as well have left your body, and been replaced by something else entirely. She doesn't need to say anything, but wants you to hear, "I won't."

There's no doubt that the Goddess of Fertility is responsible for how sensitive the response to every touch is. "I have plenty of my own demons," you quietly grin. Your lips stay just an inch or so from Her ear. Resisting the urge to nibble at it is possible. Keeping any further distance is not. She smells like fresh roses, and a few dozen strawberries. There's less soil on the air, though it's still between both of your hands, and so soft underfoot, you're not surprised when Agriculture picks Her legs up off the ground.

She giggles, and slides a leg over one of your own. "I thought your Catalyst was faith, Richard."

"Oh?" She's onto something. You're losing count of the flags. It's irrelevant. You want to let this play out.

A familiar weight is pressed just slightly against you. Agriculture rests Her head on your shoulder, and practically sits on your lap. "It might as well be passion alone. What's on your mind?"

"You mentioned that Vaughn—"

"You think he didn't rate the crown?" She's delighted beyond all measure.

So are you. There's no need to hide your disdain. "Hardly."

The grin against your shoulder widens. Her cheeks must be hurting. "Good."

"—Vaughn allied himself with demons. Just as my King has. Just as I have."

Agriculture's voice drops to a whisper. "It's not the same."

"You know Yech, don't you?"

"Eric has always been a handful. Yes."

Your heart must be racing faster than it ever has in all your life. "Do you think he can be redeemed?"

She swallows, loudly enough for you to hear it. The hand running along your back pulls you in a little closer. Agriculture's free fingers wander, finding your own hand, and intertwining the two together. "He abandoned me, Richard. I don't know. I can't know."

"Why? What has he done?" The gentle hold between your hands tightens. You don't squeeze hard, but just enough to emphasize the question, "how can anyone stay out of Your reach?"

(1/2)
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>>4431947
"I can imagine how deeply you must care for him, Richard, but he distorted my meaning. He robbed so many of their lives. He used my gifts. My work. My bounty. My poison. He used me. It broke him, and broke us apart. I can't connect to someone who's so far gone. Not when he's unrepentant. Not when he doesn't want to change."

You can't breathe. It's not just the weight, or heat, or the way that She's staring you straight in the eye. Choking on your own words, you barely manage, "what—"

"The Catalyst severs you from the Gods— are you alright—"

You remember how to breathe, and hold Her that much closer. Gently taking your free hand, you intertwine every digit with the back of Her hair, and hold Her to your chest. "Please don't stop."

Her laughter falls, like blossoms from every nearby tree. Agriculture continues, "humanity has a deep connection to Us all. Your Catalyst severs it. I cannot reach your demons. Not when they are unable to reach me."

>(Write-in anything you would like to do or say, given this revelation.)
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>>4431949

But if *somehow* they reached back, if they could *possibly* be convinced to. What then? Is it possible to repent? *Would you allow my fallen children to repent?*
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>>4431955
Basically what i want to say is if she knows of any way to cure the catalyst or if there are any leads she could set us on. She quite literally has her ear on the ground so.
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>>4431949
Ask agriculture if she has any knowledge of how to stop humanity from being affected by the catalyst
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>>4431949
But Agriculture, Richard is quite literally the person here that can be a bridge for you to cross the distance created by the catalyst and reach out to fallen man.

We've done alot for you Agriculture, what if we want something in return? At the very minimum I want to see a on going dialogue between her and Yech. Nothing changes if you don't act to make change happen.
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>>4431955
>>4431968
>>4431970
>>4431998
(Awesome stuff guys. Locking the vote. Writing now!)
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>>4431955
>>4431968
>>4431970
>>4431998
https://youtu.be/r_5bYNqpEFU

"What if they reached back?" You can't hold Her tightly enough. Agriculture is on you just as fervently, keeping Her fingers interlocked with yours. Your heart is in your throat, and you practically gasp, "what then? If they could be convinced to— would you allow them to?" In a voice barely above a breath, you pray, "would you permit the fallen to repent?"

"Of course. It's insanity. No one ever thinks to ask." The smile beaming up to you is everything in the world you've ever wanted or known. The Goddess of Life and Death itself says, "you've always known that We are Merciful. Not nearly enough people do. Tell them. Show them. Save them."

You could cry, and hold onto Her all the harder. "How can we stop it? How can I protect my children— how can I share our hope, and love—" Pulling back just slightly, to see more love than you can bear, you insist, "I am here for you. Permit me to be more than a vessel, Agriculture. I want to be the bridge between the Gods, and to every last soul who is out of your grasp. Let me help you stop it. Give me a lead. Lend me your ear. Grant me the blessing of Your world, Your wisdom, and all of Your life. Help me cure the Catalyst."

The woman wrapped up in your arms is wrapped up in every word, the devotion, and all of your love. Agriculture meets your verve. She meets your eyes. She nearly meets your lips. The Goddess stays a sliver of light away, and murmurs, "I grant you my life. You are my world. We are connected by a bond as deep and whole as the earth itself. Reach out to your fellow man. Share your love, and everything We have to give. Help them change. Help them grow. Reach out to me."

You both reach out, and close the last of the distance between you.

>PERMANENT MODIFIER ACQUIRED
>+10 TO CHANGE IS TO GROW
>Any action taken befitting of the Goddess of Growth, Generosity, Fertility, Life, Nature, Death, Harvest, Bounty, and Agriculture will receive this bonus.
>Actions taken that deprive you or your fellow man of Her blessing may permanently remove this bonus. (e.g. encouraging stagnation, ignoring an opportunity to give, neglecting your own growth, distorting the cycle of life and death via murder, etc.)
>Serious consequences may result from spurning Agriculture's gift. The positive effects you've gained from Her prior invocations have not been negatively affected in any way.

You put a hand to your lips. There's no blood. No bile. Just a little red, from all the wine you both have shared, and a kiss that pulled you into the world itself. There's so much heat on you, you cant think. There's only one thing you can see.

Your eyes couldn't feel heavier, as with all the rest of you, as Agriculture leans a little closer. Those cherry-red lips whisper, "if anyone can bridge the distance between us all, it's you. So reach out."

(1/2)
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>>4432170
You pull Her in as close as you can. The sly smile Agriculture first greeted you with is utterly eclipsed. She gulps, and is rendered speechless as you grin, "I have already given you so much." She's so soft, you could die. It's not too much to slyly ask, "what if I want more in return?"

"You want *more*?" Her laughter is more refreshing than the forest air after a hard rain. It's so enthusiastic, another field of flowers might as well bloom. "Why am I not surprised?"

Flashing your teeth, you tease, "I'm *starved* for information. For life. For love. Let me be the change you wish to see. Tell me more. Tell me everything. Make it happen for our world, Agriculture. For everyone who is lost, and *can* be found."

The answer is immediate. "I'll help you." She straightens a little further upright. The slightest motion sends a thrill from the base of your spine, through all the rest of your body. She shifts again, just to get a rise out of you, and grins, "you're mistaken if you think I won't try to satisfy you."

With a muffled groan, through a bite on your lip, you manage, "there's more you aren't telling me."

The sun has set. A few fireflies drift by, illuminating the flower petals all throughout Agriculture's hair. Her lips light up the night, with the same genuine joy She's had from the moment you first met. "It's up to you to spread Our good-will. You are not the Father of Temperance, Richard. You're the Father of Love. Compassion. Hope. *Give* yourself to the ones you care for. Find your lost children. Show them that there is an answer. Help me save our world."

There isn't a star in the sky that's brighter than your smile. "We can stop it."

"We can try."

(END THREAD.)
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>>4432175
Archive (feel free to +1 if you liked the thread!): http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Catalyst%20Quest
Imgur (To anyone who would like to catch up, or are curious about the events that have already transpired, I've made a timeline packed with original art and highlights of major events. It can be found in this imgur (and in our Google Drive), which includes everything up to the last thread): https://imgur.com/a/MXi710P
Google Drive (Your old in-character journal with maps, a guide to the Gods, details on your expedition into the ruins, fanart, and more character portraits than you can shake a stick at): https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1LkahIC8EcwHBPbrkEODUMH9iwQhxkFvB?usp=sharing
Discord (Art, a huge music playlist, fan projects, update notifications and much more): https://discord.gg/24cmNWp

With that, we end our 19th thread of Catalyst Quest! What a seriously wild ride. Thank you all SO MUCH for the phenomenal posts and participation and all the rest. I hope you had as much fun as I did!

I'll be taking a break for the first time in nearly a year from Catalyst, before starting thread 20. During the next couple of weeks, I'll be working on a lot of supplemental material. The primary project will be the new journal, packed with all of the characters you've come to know, and that now occupy your church. I'll be making maps for Eadric, getting a ton of more art, and fine-tuning my writing. Most of this will be tracked in our Discord, so feel free to hop in if you want to see the progress or contribute!

I'll also be here in the thread, on the board, in /qtg/, and will keep you all posted. I've got a few (IRL) commitments that might take up some time, but as soon as I have a set date for thread 20 I will post it in the /qtg/, and in our Discord. It won't be longer than a month out.

Please feel free to share your thoughts! Constructive criticism! Ideas for moving ahead! Literally any feedback is insanely appreciated. Couldn't run this quest at all without you guys. Thanks so much again, and I'm looking forward to running Catalyst Quest #20 very soon!
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Happy anniversary guys! We're in full swing for thread 20 prep. I'm certain the hiatus will be no longer than a month. Look for this title card no later than by October 1st! I'll be uploading all of the new assets to our Google Drive. Notice the new folder! Your new journal will be updated with each page as I make them. The first character sheet of the quest has been added in. I'll be creating all of the previously promised content, a few more surprises, and as said before will have all progress updated through our Discord.

Thank you all again for an amazing year. Here's to many more updates to come!



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