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File: Catalyst Quest OP.png (2.22 MB, 2000x994)
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"We bleed for the ones we love."

The year is 606, and in your home— the country of Corcaea— the souls of mankind belong to demons. The phenomenon that transforms men into monsters is known as the “Catalyst." You are Father Richard Anscham, leader— and former prisoner— of the Church of Mercy. Only the King boasts more authority than you possess. As the foremost research of the Catalyst, you're known as one of the busiest men in the nation. You're also known as a killer, a glutton, a masochist, a preacher, and the Father of compassion. The Goddess of Mercy is your lover. Self-acceptance has been your foremost guide: and has enabled you to save a demon.

Last week, you guided a lost soul to become the embodiment of its Catalyst: Interpretation. Surviving the ordeal was only made possible through the works of the Goddesses of Mercy and Agriculture. The latter promised to curb Her enthusiasm for working through you in exchange for an oath that you would utilize all of Her aspects when you can. The former would like to make a physical appearance with you (tomorrow!) in the main choir of your church— though your first public sermon with Mercy is far from the most pressing issue on your mind.

Even as your city may quite literally be in flames, only 7 clergy are at your disposal, the country is in ruins, humanity is at its end, a war is raging to the west, and— well, in short, there are more problems on your plate than even you can handle. There is a most unwelcome guest at your castle’s doorstep. Father Nicholas Pevrel, leader of the Church of Vengeance, was summoned by the elders of the city of shields to challenge your right to even reside in Eadric. Contesting your God-given leadership is presently due to remarkable changes in your demeanor, appearance, the company you keep, and a laundry-list of issues that will surely be addressed by the lord of judgement himself.

You know Father Pevrel is really here for the murder of 56 men, women, and children. He may have received your written confession. After all, 28 of these deaths were made by your hand. It’s time to face the music.

Retribution is your repentance.
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>>4558294
Stranger to our fiction?:Catalyst Quest is an original dark fantasy setting with an unreliable narrator. We work hard to incorporate all well considered input— even when it means trying to punch out an orc riding a giant centipede— to make sure player decisions matter as much as possible. The power you've earned is immense, and you are FAR from oblivious. The image attached here to the left is a quick reference for the abilities you've acquired, with a disclaimer about our unconventional protagonist. (It's optional reading!) Prompts presented will always be made for intelligent, in-character choices. That said, please feel free to ask questions at ANY time. In addition to the setting and character info available, I am VERY happy to aid in answering any questions about the world you inhabit, the characters you encounter, and the situations you face.

Timeline of events (High-res versions in our Google Drive): https://m.imgur.com/a/zD6ywiQ
Google Drive (Meta info, in-character references, maps, calendars, and much more!): https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1LkahIC8EcwHBPbrkEODUMH9iwQhxkFvB?usp=sharing
Discord (Update notifications, art, music, fan projects, etc.): https://discord.gg/24cmNWp
Twitter (Thread announcements): https://twitter.com/Alaric50857350
Archive: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Catalyst%20Quest

Schedule?: 1-2+ updates Monday-Thursday. Full sessions Friday-Sunday, with updates as often as votes permit.
Voting windows?: No faster than 30-60 minutes a pop mid-session, though we will likely keep the same slower pace as our last thread to better facilitate discussion.
Mechanics?: Typically we use 1d100, bo3. Situational modifiers, bonuses and maluses are based on the prompt selected and are applied before the roll. Percentage of success is most often used. Because of the narrative focus of this quest, and the unusual situations you all often find yourselves in, this is subject to change. Write-ins can make a huge difference!
What if I don't like what someone else is doing?: SPEAK UP! Even if a vote is listed as mutually exclusive, I take all votes and discussion into consideration. Vocal opposition is always strongly considered.
Setting and character info?: The Google Drive link contains all up-to-date information. The timelines are listed on the front page. The in-character journal contains your character sheet, info on the pantheon, your allies, demons you've attempted to save, the current calendar, maps, and more. The old journal, fanart, and character art is saved for posterity.
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https://youtu.be/hV2-zFh3tAU

A sleepless night is both a blessing and a curse. Within the heart of Eadric, beneath the city of shields, in the depths of the Church of Mercy, and far below your tower keep, the first assassin you've managed to capture has been completely stabilized. The degree of pain relief you've granted the prisoner has her sleeping soundly, even if she has been restrained to stop further attempts at self-harm. A life saved— even one without freedom— is a sight for sore eyes. For the last several months, giving and receiving healing has occupied almost all of your time.

Pure is made blood spilled, when held in our hands.

Not all of your work has been as successful. All across the black gilt of your enchanted robes are more flecks of red. Placing a hand to the fabric cleans the garment instantly, along with cleansing most of the grime off of your frame. It does nothing for the sticky residue of decay on the soles of your shoes. The leather has seen more action than most men. They’re currently supporting the weight of the world (the Goddess of the earth, bounty, and growth has seen fit to tilt you up to 300lbs in the last few months), and that will have to be enough. It’s a miracle you’re standing at all. Having slept twice in nine days is the sort of ill-considered feat that gets Dream Himself to strike out at you— but neither pain, nor exhaustion, nor even the very ire of the God of Nightmares will keep you down until your fellow church leader is addressed.

"What fantastic news. I've been looking forward to speaking with Father Pevrel."

The swiftest man in your employ was the first to declare Father Pevrel's location at the drawbridge to your castle. Brother Thomas Durville is still trying to catch his breath from sprinting across the city, and leans on his halberd for additional support. Hot-burning oil from the young man’s lantern paints deep shadows across the stone of high walls, countless cages, and the stairs beyond. It’s at least an hour from these depths below the keep to the drawbridge where your fellow church leader will have arrived. Every bit of the brunette looks like he killed himself just getting here. His daffodil-yellow robes are discolored with sweat, rain, and leaves. He gestures wildly to the dungeons at his back, scarcely able to speak. “Won’t be long.”

(1/2)
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>>4558299
At your side is your knight. Harvey Jay Algrith, 'The Red Lion,' was asked no less than five minutes ago to care for the continued security of the assassin at your back. The fighter is red of hair, paler than death, fleet of foot, brave of heart, and just as sore as you are. Both of you were beaten bloody while trying to restrain your prisoner, despite him being fully armored. It’s a miracle he still has all of his fingers. It’s been his life’s work to look after the affairs of the common man. The safety of your people is his top priority. Neither of you have slept a wink, either— but his eyes narrow even further at your priest. “What d-do you m-mean, ’they g-got j-just ab-bout everyone else?’

The gaze that Brother Durville gives in return is harder than armor. “Took the clergy in for questioning. We were out—” A glance to the prisoner. The entirety of your clergy was in the streets, looking into what may have been hideouts for the cult of Inertia. She’s unconscious, but the boy is sharp enough to not trust her. He might suspect she’s a part of the organization who claims to be capable of curing the Catalyst. Despite being out of breath, he assumes a close approximation to a whisper. “—like you asked. They played nice, while I ran. We weren’t about to let you get caught unaware, Father. He’s not ignoring the fire, the smoke, or anything else in the streets. Pretty sure that he sent out his own men to see to the city as best as he could, all while bee-lining here. Gave me a good chase. Good thing I’m faster.”

It’s impossible to express your gratitude, but you can at least offer some praise. “Your speed is as commendable as your piety, Brother Durville. How much longer do you— do you believe we have—”

Another glance, over his shoulder. “There was no one at the gate. They all must be in on it. I imagine he won’t come down here. Could be waiting, for all I know. Couldn’t hang around for long enough to get any confirmation, Father.”

A bark of a laugh, from Harvey. “B-boy’s g-got some sense.” An apologetic smirk is given to you. “N-no way an-nyone is hid-ding.”

The ex-sailor in your congregation (Carlisle "Irefist” Ballard) is supposed to be at the gate, stalling Father Pevrel. He was in the midst of cleaning up a dead chambermaid that your enemies left in your bedroom. Today is the last day before you were going to hold a public sermon with the Goddess of Mercy. This was supposed to be another full day of establishing a rapport in your dungeons, normal exercise, art, confessions, seeing to meetings, and anything in the way of normalcy. The interruption could not be more ill-timed. From the weariness in your soul, to the dramatic change in your appearance, making a good first impression is one luxury you will not granted today.

Short of making a better first impression, the least you can do is show your guest some hospitality.

(Options in next post.)
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>>4558300
A] Go meet Father Pevrel at the drawbridge. Make it a public event.
>1] Have Harvey stay with your prisoner. She cannot be left unguarded.
>2] You want The Red Lion in your immediate company, even if it compromises your prisoner's care.

B] Ask Brother Durville to invite Father Pevrel inside of the Church of Mercy. You trust that your tenets of healing, protection, truth, restraint, and compassion will be respected there. Harvey is staying with the prisoner to ensure her continued safety and well-being.

C] Propose a meeting in the great hall. A formal invitation will do nicely.
>1] Even though he struggles with speech, have Harvey deliver the message. Your knight is armored, capable, and you don’t want anyone snatching Brother Durville.
>2] Have Brother Durville give the message. He has tact, good breeding, and you trust that he can handle himself. Harvey is to stay here.

D] Write-in. (Your castle is spacious! Feel free to inquire at any time about the locations it possesses, or for clarity on locations provided.)
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>>4558301

>A] Go meet Father Pevrel at the drawbridge. Make it a public event.
>>1] Have Harvey stay with your prisoner. She cannot be left unguarded.

It's our city dammit.
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>>4558304
+1
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>>4558301
A1; a popper welcome is warranted.
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>>4558313
proper*
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>>4558304
>>4558307
>>4558313
>>4558322
(Unanimous vote for A1 is locked! Phenomenal turnout. We'll keep to 30-60 minute voting windows if this keeps up! Writing now.)
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>>4558324
This is my city, dammit.

"Harvey. She cannot be left unguarded under any circumstances. Am I clear?"

A sniff is made. It sounds like a chunk of blood comes with it. "Yeah. Crystal. D-don't let him g-get away with anyth-thing."

"Thank you so much." An exchange of light sources is made, as Brother Durville hands off his high-burning lantern, and you sweep your own neglected candle from off the floor. "A proper welcome is warranted." A glance over your shoulder, to the red lion. He's situated himself to sit and stare at the unconscious prisoner. An iron cage is his makeshift back support. The two of you were up all night with the assassin, despite the physical altercation that preceded it. The red-head is likely going to struggle just to remain conscious. "I'll pray for you. Please take care. The Gods are Merciful, Harvey."

Lengthy prayer is made to Dream, as you and your priest ascend from the Church of Mercy's depths. The pious young man doesn't dare to interrupt, until you both are away from the cages and chains. Up from the lowest floors. Out from the busted entrance, where you will be installing a masterful new door.

Ascending multiple flights of stairs— and rapidly approaching the tower keep's main floors— Brother Durville sweeps up a few more light sources. They're necessary in the dead of night, and with how few hands you have to spare for the castle's upkeep. A leaf is picked off of his soaked robes, with a quick glance all around. The unrelenting stone is quiet. The Church of Mercy shouldn't remain empty for much longer, but for now your soft voices do not echo. "The mission into the city should have been a success, Father. Electrum's and Brother Fergant's leads were sound. We didn't dare enter a single building. Was really obvious that they were all packed with heathens. Could smell the sin on 'em from halfway across the city. The sinners were all holed up in abandoned buildings, or keeping out of sight as best as they could. We gathered that there's at least four dedicated hideouts on the city's perimeter. They suspect that there's even more deeper in, but it would be a lot harder to get to them without detection."

https://youtu.be/Ixdkqw-XmE8

The two of you exit the peak of a banner-less stairwell. The door at the top of the flight is still unlocked. Deafening thunder rips across the sky, making both of your high-strung nerves jump. As you both arrive at the ground floor, rain can be heard pounding on the earthen walls of your home. Droplets are scarcely seen against the pitch-black night. What little gaps there are in the impenetrable defense of the castle carries the scent of hot rain, and a promise of worsening the floods in the countryside. You grimace. "Storm has graced us with His presence this evening. I take it you all would have avoided any suspicion, and kept— and kept out of the streets...?"

(1/2)
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>>4558345
"Wish I could say as much." A bolt of lightning flashes against colored windows. The spark of green and blue puts a few more spots in your stained-glass eyes. The poor weather must be gathered directly over Eadric's outskirts. Your priest winces. "Clouds are right overhead. Storm would have put a stop to the fires straight away. But rather than waste any more Time, we were going to take the information we gathered, and run. The whole city is buzzing about Father Pevrel's arrival. Was impossible to miss him, and I would hate to risk the effort we made. All of this will not amount to nothing."

For the remainder of the walk to the drawbridge, you're informed of the confirmed cult hideouts around your city. Brother Durville stresses the security around each of the buildings, their locations, and describes the suspicious individuals spotted. They matched every description you've been given thus far of the cult of Inertia. No identifying markers, piercings, inks, or unusual coloring. Clearly not clergy, nor bearing any association to the crown.

Common men and women who have forsaken the Gods, who are up to no good in your city.

The current running in the moat of your castle borders on drowning out Thomas' last indoor whisper. "We ran into some of Father Pevrel's men in the streets. Rather than risk an altercation, Electrum insisted that she stay behind with the rest of the clergy. They're all in his custody now. I wasn't going to take that lying down, and ran as fast as my legs could carry me. I do not mean to overstep my boundaries, Father, but it may be prudent for me to hang back. Things are bad enough as it is right now, and I think I can do more for our defense without him trying to order me around, too."

Every alarm bell conceivable is ringing in the tower of your mind. "He's assuming authority, already—?"

"Already ordered the guard to get to the fires on the city perimeter. Must've brought forty men with him. It's a miracle he got here as fast as he did. All his company is working in the streets, trying to get some order going. I think only one of his clergy was able to keep up with us running, though. A priestess of Storm. Probably responsible for their travel, now that I think about it."

(Options in next post.)
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>>4558350
>A] Keep Brother Durville with you. His ability in defense, judgement in regards to your reputation, knack for diplomacy, and respect towards his elders is usually unmatched.
>1] Respectfully request that he keep his comments to himself, no matter what.
>2] Leave it up to the boy's judgement whether he wants to make himself heard or not.
>3] Write-in.

>B] You really need to take care of this matter yourself, and Brother Durville is an asset you cannot afford to lose.
>1] Don't ask him where he's heading. You're an honest man, and ignorance may actually be strategically advantageous here.
>2] Simply ask Brother Durville where he intends to go, for now.
>3] Send him to go get your clergy. You are not taking this kind of treatment for a second. Grant them all permission to retaliate (non-lethally), if necessary.
>4] Write-in.
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>>4558352

>>B] You really need to take care of this matter yourself, and Brother Durville is an asset you cannot afford to lose.
>>1] Don't ask him where he's heading. You're an honest man, and ignorance may actually be strategically advantageous here.

I would rather have a man on the outside if we get imprisoned or some dumb shit like that. We don't need to know, tell him to stay safe.
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>>4558359
+1
>>
>>4558359
+2
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>>4558352
Remember to be kind, but firm. This is our city, and he is our guest, We have nothing to fear.

Also, when our legitimacy is verified, we can co-opt (conscript) their assistance in helping against the cult and to keep order in our city.
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>>4558359
>>4558360
>>4558377
>>4558383
(Great dudes. Noting all the write-ins. Vote is locked. Writing now!)
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>>4558398
The two of you come to a stop. The light in hand is set aside. Your hands are clasped, and pointed towards your priest. "I cannot afford to lose you. If there is some idiocy— if there is anything that compromises my freedom, I will be counting on you. Stay outside of my reach. I do not need to know where you go."

"I will, Father." The hold on his own lantern parts.

"Stay safe, and travel swiftly."

The fighter scrutinizes some unseen course through the shadows, back off into the castle. "Please take care, too. The Gods are Merciful."

Your midnight plodding concludes alone. Emerging from the castle, its high halls, and all of its stone takes you away from the unguarded drawbridge. Away from the candles, and reminder of sanity. Rain is falling in sheets, as lightning tears across the sky. The length of ancient wood and defense was lowered, and the opposite side of your moat is surrounded. It has been ten days since you returned to the city of shields, and only once before have you looked upon your people in the city streets.

A crowd has gathered. The pursuit against Brother Durville attracted an audience. Men, women, and children of your city are leering from the edges of the rapidly coursing water. They're giving a great berth to three figures gathered in the pouring rain. More figures are coming from off in the darkness. Such a large gathering is unbearably dangerous. Though demonic outbreaks are rare in Eadric— and containment is almost a non-issue in your presence— the threat of any loss of life is unthinkable. You gulp.

Irefist's silhouette is the easiest to make out from a distance. His intimidating build, short hair, and physical agitation has his mail clinking over the thunder. He's drenched, and can't hear your approach. The guard is using the breadth of his shield— sword drawn— to hold the front line of defense single-handedly. He's all that stood between your home, a servant of Storm, and the lord of retribution.

https://youtu.be/i-fpuKQ0qf8

Father Nicholas Pevrel is all in black. A fitted, humble garb shrouds the hard, defined, and built body of the leader of the Church of Vengeance. The tattered cloak on his arms and broad back must be meant for travel. All that shrouds him is neglected, or may be to better accentuate the old blood clinging to him. Even in the rain, the scent of copper catches in the air. His sword is sheathed in black, rivals your own in length, yet looks lighter than Piety. It is no doubt made purely of volcanic glass. The item would be the only reflection he possesses. The tallow, sunken skin of the middle-aged man's face betrays a hard life. Not a single scar is on his deeply lined features, save for streaks of premature gray throughout his overgrown hair. His stubble is neglected almost into a full beard. It's obvious he's been traveling hard for days— but that isn't what makes you want to draw back.

(1/3)
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>>4558486
Raven-black pits occupy his eye sockets. It's impossible to tell if he's blind, has been touched by a God, or if the shadow is too deep to see the full extent of his wrath. Your teeth ache from staring at his scowl for more than a moment.

His face snaps towards you. Irefist doesn't budge from his broad defensive stance. A nod of your guard's head is hazarded. "Father. Would say good evenin', but common courtesy isn't so common up north."

The priestess of Storm at Father Pevrel's back is wizened. Her gray hair whips in the wind, as she laughs hysterically at your arrival. You'd pin her at no more than 40 years of age, but something has turned her wild hair stark-white. Her svelte figure is draped in tangerine. Long skirts. Long robes. A cape that further accentuates her consumption of the wind. The voice that peels out from her is high, and bright.

You are the Father of the Day, and stride out to greet your city. The light in your eyes eclipses the lightning above. The rain is warmer, and even more intense than it appeared from within the keep. Tempest has always been near, and dear to your heart. It's refreshing to be out in turmoil.

Irefist twitches, sensing your motion at his back. He's within ten feet of the priestess, and arm's reach of Father Pevrel. The scowl on the priest's face is visible, and impossibly deepening. You stay right at your guard's side. The priest dead-ahead remains silent, as you place a hand to your guard's shoulder. "Irefist. This is our city. These are our guests. We have nothing to fear." Kindness, and firm sincerity is all through your tone. "Father Nicholas Pevrel. Sister. Blessed be the night. I have been looking forward to your arrival, and wish to welcome you to Eadric, the city of shields."

Grime and gravel clings to the unearthly rasp of your fellow church leader's reply. He keeps the pits of his eyes at your head, though he must be six inches shorter than you, and has to look up to do so. Every inhuman syllable he spits out carries more disgust than the last. "Judging by the unkempt mop of even the gold in your hair, you've been fighting. It's evidence of Mercy, but somehow the sun itself won't give you a tan. Most of your Time spent is indoors. Underground. Heard you've been missing for a week. Pallor is from more, but even if the rain you've got dry skin. Chronic dehydration— and former malnutrition. Gaze is unfocused. Feel free to not pay attention to what I'm saying, glutton. Bags under your eyes are further indication of chronic self-neglect, though the recess isn't as bad as it could be. Every indication of very recent self-care, but nowhere near enough. Scar on your forehead, hands, and neck was inflicted trauma. Prolonged abuse. Age is marked at no more than a few years, but that's nonsensical. Demonic influence. At least fifteen years in the stockades. Shrapnel on the cheek and lip, but you've been biting them—"

(2/3)
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>>4558488
His nose wrinkles. "Pleasure in punishment. What a fucking treat. Way to make my job uncomfortable, lecher." The uncanny gaze slowly pours down the rest of you. The spit of every word blends with nausea. "No visible stretch marks, though reports state you were near-death from emaciation as recently as three months past. Posture is well-bred, and matches prior public disposition. This much fat is a recent development. You're carrying yourself too confidently for it to have been a curse." A purposeful spit, off the drawbridge and into the moat. "This was intentional. Your center of gravity is still off-balance. Corpse meat is so thick on your shoes, it's running off into the rain. Doubt your fat ass can even see it, Anscham."

No introduction required. Could be more pleasant, but good.

"You prefer Father? No. Richard. I'm calling you Anscham. I'd give you a second to take any of this in normally, but you obviously will, even if I don't make the suggestion. Sickening. This raises more questions than it answers. You've been up all night, and for most of the week. I'm going to overwhelm you if I ask a single further thing, so pay attention. We're not here to torture you, but I'm getting this shit in order if it kills you. The demon will wait. If the strain on your lungs and heart doesn't have you winded— despite the urgency, way to keep us waiting with this embarrassment to Rimilde for even a second— there's something else at work here as well. Mercy will wait. Time has no jurisdiction here. I do. So who's died? Don't fuck with me, Anscham."

(Options in next post.)

>A] Hold on. You're the one asking questions here. It will be a phenomenal display of publicly asserting your authority, as well.
>1] What has he done with your clergy?
>2] Challenge his presence and orders in the city, without compromising your image of having no hold over public events.
>3] You're an honest man, and need to know what Father Pevrel is doing in the city in your stead. It's fine if it makes you seem incompetent. You NEED to know what's actually going on.
>4] Write-in.

>B] Mercy, he works quickly. GOOD.
>1] Invite Father Pevrel inside so you don't stand in the rain, or discuss extremely sensitive information in the public eye.
>2] Openly ask if he got your confession. A lot hinges on it.
>3] Acknowledge that he immediately endorses your identity. (Write-in if you want to paint it as anything other than extreme relief, and/or graceful gratitude, or something else entirely.)

>C] Cut the bullshit, too, and demand some respect out the gate. It sounds like he won't give it freely, but you want to make the effort.
>1] Mercy implored you to treat Father Pevrel with kindness. Kill him with it.
>2] You can be intimidating, when necessary.

>D] Write-in.
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>>4558492
>>C] Cut the bullshit, too, and demand some respect out the gate. It sounds like he won't give it freely, but you want to make the effort.
>>1] Mercy implored you to treat Father Pevrel with kindness. Kill him with it.

Mostly nice.

>2] You can be intimidating, when necessary.
>1] What has he done with your clergy?

But don't fuck with our people.
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>>4558492
>B] Mercy, he works quickly. GOOD.
>2
>>
Reply that that’s a disproportionately negative view of us and that such thoughts will darken the soul as it has his eyes, his retribution is proportionate
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>>4558591
Plus B1
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>>4558501
>>4558505
>>4558591
>>4558594
>3 way tie
(Lovely. We can incorporate all of this. Vote is locked! Writing now.)
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>>4558492
>B] Mercy, he works quickly. GOOD.
>2] Openly ask if he got your confession. A lot hinges on it.
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>>4558672
(Appreciate you man! Nearly done with the update after several untimely interruptions. Will post shortly.)
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>>4558501
>>4558505
>>4558591
>>4558594
>>4558672
The sheer amount of sensitive information you need to discuss cannot be seen in the public eye. A little intimidation, and a whole lot of kindness can. You have to shoulder-check Irefist from outright leaping at Father Pevrel's throat. "That is a disproportionately—" A grunt from the sailor, as he struggles to right himself. He's brutally strong, but you could throw him like a rag if necessary. Another brief motion is made to keep him on his feet, while you drop your voice to a murmur. "—negative, Father Pevrel. You know as well as I do that our retribution must be proportionate." Absolute sincerity is all through your low tone. Demanding respect is nowhere near as efficient as earning it. "I've heard tell of how sharp your eyes are. You can see how much the matter of my family is weighing on me. Just so we are clear that we both are paying attention: What have you done with my clergy?"

Irefist straightens up. He could not be more tense, but shrugs you off. It's not that he's bothered by the contact— he simply wants the liberty to openly threat a church leader. Rain patters off of the outstretched blade on his sword. There's no illusion that both of you will beat this priest and his own guard into the dirt if he missteps.

The disgust boring into you redoubles. "For fuck's sake, Anscham. The pardon granted to you and your clergy was for your behavior before the re-appointment to your station. Doing some good for the capital is commendable, but you are not your clergy. They are not you. I can't believe I have to say this shit. They're mostly criminals, and so my men are asking them a few questions. They are not being harmed— so long as they don't put any more lives in danger. Can you get your attack dog to unfasten his britches, and drop this shit somewhere other than in front of my priestess?"

"That's it." Irefist tosses his sword to the ground, rolls back his sleeves, and you step right between him and Father Pevrel. He immediately bristles, but has the decency to at least not strike you. "So help me, Dick, I'll kill this right little cunt where he stands—"

"That will not be necessary." The inside of your shoes are drenched. The man at your side is splashing more rain, as he winds back a fist. You catch it, grit your teeth, and keep a level tone. "It is a good thing that Father Pevrel works quickly. You don't want Electrum to be held up any longer than necessary, do you? We can step inside, and get out of the rain. I think your fellow congregation member wouldn't want you getting sick, while we discuss more personal affairs."

(1/3)
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>>4558719
Grumbling. The sailor pulls his fist back, and sweeps up his sword. He's firing daggers at everyone present, instead. "If it's all the same to you, I'd rather wait in the rain than listen to this sodden bastard for one more second. None of you seem awfully concerned about the whole damn crowd, for all that's worth, too."

The priestess at the rear of the drawbridge laughs all the harder. "We haven't made enemies out of half the nation. Only an imbecile would strike against the Father of Retribution. It's you who should fear for their safety—"

You and Pevrel simultaneously move to interject, and wind up talking over one another.
"Sister, I do not need to ask you to mind yourself—"
"Oh, shove it. Why don't you two just wait out here, if you want to overstep your place, AND get better acquainted—"

Both of you stop talking, despite obviously wanting to continue. Revulsion intermingles with the hot and heavy rain. Any company would be better than this.

You turn, and head back the way you came. "Time always has a place here. As the halls of Our shelter remain open to all who seek refuge, so too are Our hands. As a representative of all the Gods, you all are welcome inside, if you wish." There's immediately footsteps at your back. It's fine if no one can hear your gentle praise over the rain. "Time has a place here, in the home of Mercy. I will not shy away from—"

Pevrel walks straight past you. His smile could not be more grating, as he quickly strides by. His teeth are a little crooked, and stained from chronic drinking. The priest leans over just as he passes you, only to whisper, "keep up."

You won't be bothered, and levelly exit the rain. Irefist waits on the drawbridge— along with the priestess of Storm. You're confident that they both will keep each other busy.

Thunder rumbles underfoot. Every door in the castle needs to have its locks replaced, which gives Father Pevrel no pause as he lets himself into the nearest bailey tower. Water drips steadily from your robes and cloak onto the stone within. A few narrow staircases lead to slits in the walls for defense. The weather is no longer deafening, and you assume the usual, soft tone you prefer. "I do not presume to have your respect, Father—"

He's wringing out the ragged old robes around his frame right onto the floor. There's puddles around you both. "Good."

The cling of all the fabric on you is as fantastic as the warm weather. You make no motion to adjust anything on your frame. A cursory glance over the priest shows no indication of personal possessions on him, save for a number of daggers strapped to his body, and what's obviously a flask in his breast pocket. There's no conceivable way parchment would have made it to him in this weather, and especially not in ten days Time, but you need to ask. "Did you receive my confession?"

A nearby wall is propped up against. Father Pevrel sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. "No."

(2/3)
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>>4558722
It took you hours to pen. Years to gather the courage to.

It might have been intercepted. No expense was spared to secure its travel. Maybe it's still en route to Mauseburg?

The devastation on your face must be obvious. He sighs again. "Fuck. For fuck's sake, Anscham." A shake of his head at your shoes. "Alright. I'd heard rumors about a few things." More scrutiny. He might as well be cutting you with his absence of eyes. "I'm going to be straight with you: some dumb bitch in your company thought she was doing you favors by tying up my men. It's not a good look. Neither is this— " A tilt of his sword, towards your gut. "—and if I had anything to say about—"

You at least remember enough of speech to marvel at the audacity of this man. If there's one thing you won't be out-done in, it's verbosity. "Father Pevrel."

"Struck a nerve—? I'm guessing no one's even made an attempt to reign you in—"

"—Father Pevrel. Bolts of lightning, ruins, and Death Herself have blessed my company. You are only insulting your station by failing— by failing to respect our own. You can mind your manners. Please."

He pauses. Those awful eye sockets. A sarcastic gesture is made towards your robes.

You sigh. "Thoughts are no sin, but motion— I am attempting to have a civil discussion with you. I cannot stress how much hinges on this. I have invited you into the home of honesty, but there is wisdom to be had in how the truth is presented—" The way that Pevrel has replaced his hand on the hilt of his sword has not escaped you. "You're afraid."

Shifting. "Why shouldn't I be?"

Fidgeting. "I mean you no harm."

"Sure you do. I've been tasked to oversee this bullshit hearing, and got dragged into all this mess. There's legend about how fucked anyone gets that's dragged into your business, Anscham. My expectations are already exceeded. Whole city's tied up in petty politics, when my unhappy ass is needed in Baranfen and at home. I've got my own city to run. My own people. You know how difficult it is dragging anyone away from their work. Never enough hands, let alone for all the business I need to see to. You can't even wrangle the few that you have—"

"My clergy have been managing affairs where one hundred times their number would have sufficed. You will not make a single, further disparaging remark in their names. Not a one. I am not threatening you—"

"You really are. We both know you could kill me where I stand. You could to anyone. I'm not walking on glass here, Anscham. I'm walking on my own grave."

He's not wrong.

(One paragraph over 3/4)
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>>4558726
It feels like your soul itself is being stared at. The hand comes off of Father Pevrel's sword. "Good thing I'm not a coward. You're softer than you even look in at least one regard. If I don't put my foot down, you're going to lose this shit all over again. Maybe it's warranted. Maybe it's not. I don't know the first thing about you. Not really. But every last room in this castle might as well have another elder's name on it. Another priest's. It's going to be a fucking nightmare sorting this out, and I ditched all of my men to get a fair account. You did the same."

A manic grin dances across his features. "FAIRNESS, Anscham. Fairness in all things. So go on. I want an answer from the Father of Honesty. This is about more than the blood you're tracking around tonight. Confess."

>A] Spill your guts, as the leader of the church of sincerity. Father Pevrel openly acknowledged that he doesn't care how long any of this takes.

>B] You're honestly scared about how he's going to react. Try prefacing the confession. Ease him into it. Start with some sins that typically come with less punishment.

>C] He mentioned something about fifteen years in stockades a few moments ago, just from the thought of you consorting with a single demon. This might not be the wisest move. (Write-in an alternative course of action. Majority vote required.)

>D] Write-in.
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>>4558734
>confess your feelings for him
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>>4558734
>D] Write-in.

Start with the punishment we have already endured, all of it. No expense spared, all the times we felt the catalyst, the 300 years of Beltoro. Dump the entirety of our suffering on this man with no filter, THEN confess. We have been judged by greater being than him, he can second guess the gods themselves if he wants.
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>>4558734
>A] Spill your guts, as the leader of the church of sincerity. Father Pevrel openly acknowledged that he doesn't care how long any of this takes.
We have lots of guts to spill :^)
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>>4558738
>>4558743
>>4558750
(Just about all of this should work. Vote is locked! Writing now.)
>>
(Thank you all for your patience. I'm having some delays IRL due to untimely washing machine repairs that are running on WAY longer than I was expecting, but will get back to writing ASAP. Just wanted to give you dudes a heads up. Will definitely be able to continue updating through the night once this is all done.)
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>>4558879
(So relieved, washing machine is completely fixed. Shouldn't be a problem for the rest of the weekend. Writing now!)
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>>4558738
>>4558743
>>4558750
https://youtu.be/PlkxrGGNg10?t=39

"I may continue to make you uncomfortable, Father."

Most of the tension in the priest's shoulders leaves. More shifting. Pevrel gets comfortable. His arms remain uncrossed, and he doesn't breathe another word. "I seriously doubt that."

You dig into it. All of it. "I have been judged by greater beings. You can second-guess the Gods yourself, if you wish. I was beaten within an inch of my life as a young boy, on more— on more occasions than I could count. Arms, back, face— I wouldn't be surprised if my own mother remembered what my nose originally looked like. But never my legs. I may see fit to deprive myself of the ability to run, for now. For a year, or two, even. But to imagine someone depriving me of that gift as a child? I broke every single bone in Edwin's body that he broke in mine."

You're not seething. You're righteous. "I would do it again, even knowing everything what would follow. The suffering I endured at the hands of my earliest enemies cannot be overstated. We were in a famine. I often was a burden on my parents for month at a Time, as I— as I healed. They taught me of the Gods to grant me hope. Hope! In a hopeless life. My parents granted me Mercy, and I— and I would not know it for years again. She would not grace me with Her guidance, though I would look upon Her light each and every day for years on end."

Ah. To be a child again.

"I was brought to the Church of Mercy— in divine restraint— at the age of eleven. Not once did I think to run. I tried. Oh— how I tried, and had my legs broken again and again. The manacles and chains placed on me were almost a token gesture— to exacerbate the pain. To prolong my immobility. To extend my isolation. To feel my body waste away, for years on end. To see bits of me flayed, and to cling and rot on the walls and floor year AFTER year. I did not make a SINGLE attempt to use the power that was granted to me."

The last remnants of sanity are slipping from your frame, but you don't care. Love, and devotion is all through you as you recount it. "Vengeance knew that when I struck down another child, I did so in retaliation. My wrath was JUSTIFIED, Father Pevrel. But I struck out against Stace only once, in eight solid years of torment. And even then— even then it was to dig my teeth into something! Just after the first two years. I maimed him. I was starving to death, and found poetic justice in biting the hand that failed to feed me. I begged for water, for light, for Mercy— but I did not voluntarily seek Vengeance again. Not for the glass they fed me, nor for racks, or boards on my legs. Pressure. The sound of my bones snapping could be felt louder than any thunder. They tried to take me further from the Gods."

(1/4, enjoy)
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>>4559004
There's something sick swimming in you. It's between nausea, and elation. You want to scream, or vomit, and keep a steady voice despite the horrible tremor all through your scarred hands. "It didn't matter if I was tortured, night and day after lashing out. It didn't matter if I deserved it, or did not. Movement was a reprieve from the unrelenting confinement. I still can't keep still to this day— for how much everyone cares for appearances."

You've never felt so justified. "This has all been a blessing. MY FAITH has been REWARDED."

A tilt comes into your voice. There's no shame in the tremor, or pacing. "I don't regret a thing. Not a single day that Father Sullivan came to my cell. He could not make me see reason, but I understand now. I felt the reach of a Goddess through another. I made him abuse Spirit, in order to try and reach out to me. His mind was badly broken. He wanted to help. To heal. I have walked in his shoes, and cannot blame him for an instant for seeking to unseat me from the Church of Mercy. But it is folly. I do not speak of our reconciliation. Not of the anguish that surely awaits me for the rest of my life, from him tarnishing my reputation beyond all salvation. I can't begin to fathom it— and I forgave him without ever knowing the extent of it all!"

A little more distance, from the Gods. Memories of being granted reprieve from inhibition flicker across the wasteland of your mind. "More than a demon feeding blood into my brain. More than the touch of a succubus. More than drugs, or Gods only know whatever else she forced down my throat. It's not the lessons I've learned from the death of my most beloved mentors. It's not quite the same as the grief I've felt over Mother Bethaea, Idonea, or any one of my children. No one needs to understand what it feels like to choke down broken glass each and every moment they take to try and heal. But Agriculture understands. Mercy understands. They— They have struck against me, too, and I understand."

The frayed edges of your mind unravel further. Your hands are shaking violently. Clasping them barely helps. Psychosis is in your eyes, swimming through the agony. "This is not even the worst of it. I can't remember most of the abuse. It's likely for the best. I could spend all night recounting spikes, stretching, whips, positions I was made to hold for weeks on end, skin ripped off the bone, muscle torn before my eyes, and every last inch of blood caked onto the walls of that cell. But you are not here for me to indulge in old memories. You want me to confess."

(2/4)
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>>4559008
Two-hundred and ten fingers might as well crawl out from your lips. The pitch of your trauma is utterly removed from the realm of reality. "I have looked beyond the veil. This IS a pain more dire than that of screws beneath my nails. The violation of a man. Nearly a decade of immobility. Deprivation of the Gods themselves— or taking a curse on myself, in the name of death. I possessed the love of death, Father. Not as I know it. I do not speak of the Goddess. This IS the mind of a collective. I cannot understand it."

Words fall from you without normal rhythm or meter. "Sullivan would not permit me to go DEEPER into it, and I abused Spirit once again out of desperation to keep harming myself. Beltoro granted me hundreds of years of opportunity. I will know it all, one day I will understand the immaterial in a way that ALL of King Samuel's clergy never could. They felt them in our mind. My memory is now theirs to hold, too. I was so horrified at the Time, Mercy sought to protect me from it. We all know I will go back for it. For more."

You smile. "That's the truth of it all, isn't it?"

The rain is unrelenting.

"The embodiment of my innermost being ACCENTED my scars. I confess: I am a glutton for punishment, and I have plenty more guts to spill."

A sniff, from the priest standing next to you. The grimace on his face could cut glass. "Well, go ahead."

It's all the encouragement you need. You are the leader of the church of sincerity. He openly acknowledged that he doesn't care how long this takes, and you are dumping the entirety of your suffering without any further filter. "Where do I begin?"

"You've already been going on about it. Do what feels right."

The urge to strike the priest for being so flippant rises higher. "Wrath, then. I've always had a horrific temper. Mercy is my lover, but wrath was my first creed. I loved Vengeance like no other, Father. Striking at those who oppose me brings me joy. I would be lying if I said I haven't enjoyed lashing out before. At bullies. Demons. The blood on my hands— it has ALWAYS felt justified. From killing elderly Brother Murdac, for striking at my priest of Flesh— who would use lightning against a man before they even see him, let alone poison hundreds— to striking Remigius with all the strength I had, when she was at her weakest. Even the damage I've inflicted on my own body. All of it. I've made demons kill their kin, before taking their lives for themselves. To flay them alive. All of it was for the sake of protecting my own life— but I know that it must not have been proportionate. I want to be so much better, and to learn—"

"Stay on topic. The confession. Wrath's fine."

The nausea in you intensifies. "I may have lost count of the number."

"Of what?"

(3/4)
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>>4559011
"Lives. Taken. I don't believe I know them all. Imps. People. I am certain beyond any doubt that my hand was forced to take twenty-eight, while in the Church of Mercy, but—"

A pause. "How?"

"Vengeance."

Silence.

"I took no pleasure from the action. But I confess, Father: I could have died. I could have endured. I could have let them keep torturing me. But I needed the pain to end. They broke me. I couldn't do it. I couldn't endure. Just talking about it at length is hard enough. It has taken me years to reach a point where I could even think again on Morris and Stace, let alone my Time in the Church of Mercy. I wrote you a confession, and poured my heart and soul into it. I don't know if I have it in me to do so again. I left for the ruins to die, to get away from the constant reminder of my isolation. The scrutiny. It's all—" It's hard to breathe. "—it's all been so much better. They're gone. I will pull myself away from this abyss if I must. But I cannot forget. I will NOT forget."

"Look at me. Anscham."

Eye contact was an art restored to you in months past. You are not going to fall down that hole again, and lift your gaze. Father Pevrel is white as a sheet, but his expression has not changed. The glare he's boring into you is absolutely drilling straight into your soul.

There's a slight tremor running through him, and you're positive it's from anger. "I'll have plenty to say when you're done. Focus. These are people we're talking about, here. Can you remember them?"

(Options in next post.)
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>>4559014
>Most of the following are not mutually exclusive.
>Please clearly specify if a prompt is selected that you do not wish to pursue.

>A] There's no denying that you enjoy angst, suffering, drama, and dwelling on the past— but this is a bit much, even for you. You've been doing MUCH better lately. There's no use taking ten steps back in your mental well-being here. Not when the progress you've made has been so hard won. This is not who you are anymore. Disengage, gloss over the rest, and move on.
>1] You don't remember to preserve what little is left of your sanity. Appeal to this priest's sense of humanity, if you must.
>2] There's nothing wrong with you to bury this so deeply that it will never, ever see the light of day again. It disturbs you just as much as it's likely going to bother Father Pevrel (if not more), but you legitimately cannot remember your victims from the Church of Mercy. Plainly say as much.
>3] You're not unpacking this trauma with this sorry excuse of a priest, even if he wants to kill you for it. Tell him you'll have Sister Cardew facilitate the rest of the confession if he wants the details, and only if she's willing to do so.

>B] You remember.
>1] You'll get into it.
>2] But you won't like it.
>3] You'll love it.

>C] Write-in. (Feel free to provide any thoughts, suggestions, feedback, hard limits you have on ever discussing this at length again, trauma that would lead you to kill nearly 30 innocent people, or virtually any other suggestion you have in regards to this unfiltered confession.)
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>>4559017
B1,2; it's Time for our soul to be clean, to rip open the scars of our soul so that they may heal properly. There is no better Time than the present.
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>>4559017
B1 2
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>>4559017
B uno dos trés
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>>4559017
>B] You remember.
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>>4559049
>>4559154
>>4559310
>>4559332
(Good morning all! Unanimous vote for B with varying degrees! Excellent. Ready to rock and roll today for another session. Vote is locked here. Writing now.)
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>>4559427
https://youtu.be/cVypnZRO-tU

You need to be clear. "I want to heal."

This is not the Father of compassion that you're talking to. "Can't do shit if you don't try."

Scowling is appropriate. "I am. There is— there is no better Time than the present."

The room darkens. You were seventeen years old, and can see another young man's face as if it were only yesterday. Lacerations, exhaustion, starvation, and wide eyes were all over him. Dull skin. Button nose. His head had been shaved, but your fellow prisoner's demeanor was that of the lower class. He had a knife. Nausea sticks to you. No tremor was in his hands.

"I was taught that my retribution must be proportionate."

Precious last words resurface from a muddled memory, amidst screams in the dark.

"Kill me."

The break in your own voice echoes in the long-forgotten cacophony. "They had done something to them. All of them. They tried to kill me first. They left me on death's door, Father. I was granted no names. No Mercy. Only faces, and pain."

The desire to vomit is unbearable. A hand comes to your lips, as you murmur, "I know that their hand must have been forced." Flaying. "We were— we were all puppets." Drowning. "Only— only the men, and women—" Rape. "—their actions were made purely to facilitate my own—"

The sharp pain in your chest nearly has you get sick on the spot. There's no air in the room, but you struggle through a single breath. "Even at his worst, I was— I got used to Stace. This was something new. Hands that I did not know. Could not have known. They were promised death if they complied. My victims had no Mercy for me. I had to kill them. I had to make the pain end."

Crushing. Metal strapped to every place it shouldn't be. Vices. The pressure and heat on your skull is toeing the line between the past, and present. The voice that leaves you is that of a corpse. "I should be dead. Yet Mercy— Mercy worked through me, Time and Time again."

The hand on your lips keeps you from getting sick on the spot.

Days on end of torture flashes by. Blood was in puddles on the ground.

A few minutes likely pass, in a haze of heat, and old memories.

"It's not that I can't remember them, Father. They were all strangers. I knew them from the ropes and manacles they fitted on me, or the pain of their touch. I could recognize any one of them on the street—" It's taken years to adjust to how bright the world is. "—or in a cell. It was always dark."

Flame.
Fire.
Scalding oil.
Candles.
Hot metal.
The smell of your own Flesh boiling off of skin and bone.

"Almost always dark. Excuse me."

A quick venture is made outside. It's a few steps away, and retching for a few moments more. The hot rain makes it all the more miserable, but you manage.

(1/2)
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>>4559466
The pain in your chest is still unrelenting, as you re-enter the tower. A sick, twisted sense of gratification comes from the pain. The puddles on the floor get new additions, as the dripping rainwater on you intermingles with the rest.

Father Pevrel's intense disgust is almost reassuring. There's no snarky comments, as he silently leans against the far wall. There's not even a question of if you're okay. He didn't follow you outside, and surely knew you'd come right back. The impression of eyes lingers on the heat in your face.

The taste of death is on the back of your tongue. You're getting this all out of your system if it kills you. "Twenty-eight of them. It dragged on for days. I have no idea why. I've never questioned it. I hate thinking about it, but I need to rip open these scars. It feels as if my soul itself has been defiled. I— I want to be clean." It hurts to breathe. "I wish to repent."

Every inch of you wants to cry, as you receive no reply in return. "Please say something."

The floor is a fairer view, but you force yourself to keep your head held high. The priest across from you has found something inside of himself, and there's no weakness in his tone. "I'm reserving my judgement until I get the full picture. Your captors forced nearly thirty others to torture you beyond any human limitations, and compelled you to retaliate in order to make your pain end. But be more specific. You're omitting your own actions."

"I couldn't do it at first. They— they took turns. I wanted to die. I would have rather died. But I had to—" Your voice cracks. "—I had to do something. I had hoped— some broken part in my mind hoped that I would die, instead. That my Vengeance would be proportionate. But the— the God of Retribution did not strike me down. He saved me."

Disquiet takes over the man before you. "Mercy kept you alive, and Vengeance struck down your tormentors."

"Yes." You remember how to breathe. "I invoked Him, on each and every last one of them. One at a Time. It was worse than death."

"This shouldn't be possible. Your enemies orchestrated a situation that manipulated the Gods themselves."

A severe twitch takes over your right eye. "What?"

A small sound escapes Pevrel. "Tch. You were a victim of this situation."

You nearly collapse from relief.

"The means to an end. Stay on your feet, Anscham. They recognized your resilience, and used you to orchestrate their experimentation. This will require further investigation. They will be held accountable." A sharp stare bores into you. "You're too traumatized to think about how to enact this properly. I've seen a few cases in Murgate, but something this severe has little precedent. Stop giving me that look. I will not experiment on you. I'm talking about moving forward, not the past. There's nothing I'd stand to gain from entertaining this sick shit. Justice will be had."

(Barely over 2/3)
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>>4559467
"I—"

"Continue the confession. We'll resolve this, and discuss the matter at length when you're done. Don't obstruct my efforts."

"Thank y—"

"Shut up. I still need to hear about the effects of all this."

>A] Resolve to share your own ideas in full regarding taking Vengeance AND Mercy on Stace and Morris.
>1] The instant you're done with the confession.
>2] Now. Talk over Pevrel.

>B] You'll wait and see what Pevrel has to say about everything once he's aware of how badly your past have influenced your actions thereafter.

>C] Have some water, and try to get the taste of puke out of your mouth. If the Father of Judgement gives you shit, you'll (metaphorically) pile-drive him into the wall.

>D] Write-in.
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>>4559469

>>B] You'll wait and see what Pevrel has to say about everything once he's aware of how badly your past have influenced your actions thereafter.
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>>4559469
>C] Have some water, and try to get the taste of puke out of your mouth. If the Father of Judgement gives you shit, you'll (metaphorically) pile-drive him into the wall.
no homo
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>>4559469
BC; both sound good.
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>>4559470
>>4559475
>>4559481
(B and C it is! Vote is locked. Writing now.)
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>>4559493
"You're right. It can wait."

Fishing for the flask in your robes only deepens the grimace directed at you. Your own severe scowl only exacerbates his ire. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

To the humble, gold-capped container, you say one word: "Water." The enchanted item complies instantly. The tea within is discreetly replaced with icy, refreshing, and clean liquid. Getting the taste of puke off your tongue is a relief beyond measure. It's like a cold spring in the middle of the year, and somehow sweeter.

To Pevrel, you metaphorically pile-drive him into the nearest wall the second you're done. "The audacity you possess to berate a fellow priest for looking after his health, and well-being. You honestly believe that I would drink at this Time of night— with the work that I have to handle— and all of the issues we're presently discussing? Have I given you anything but my undivided attention, courtesy, and hospitality from the moment I first spoke to—"

"Fuck, Anscham! For fuck's sake. Alright. For the love of Vengeance. Don't make me say 'Mercy.' Talked to priestesses that weren't so uptight. They drive a stake up your ass just this morning, too—"

Mumbling under your breath. "Disrespecting the tenets of my primary patrons, in the halls of my own home. Unbelievable. Even Storm would take issue with this measure of disrespect. An absolute disgrace."

"Are you done? Can we move on?"

"No." You make a point of drinking again, before stashing the flask. Smirking is fine. "You want a confession. It's relevant. You have context for a modicum of what I have been through, and the— and the rest is entirely interconnected."

"Makes sense." The scowl in front of you is downright grotesque in its intensity. You're still relieved beyond measure. "Well, go on then. Out with it."

"Pride, well— men such as myself have little use for pride—"

"Humbly bragging is a different kind of sin."

"...fair."

The grimace relents. "I know." You could punch him, but stay your hand. Messing around with the ring on your hand works, which draws a stare. "What about the rest?"

"The rest is not so easy to explain."

"Don't be weak. Try, at the very least."

He's really asking for it. You don't hesitate further. "The values instilled in me, in regards to— in regards to all of the Gods were misplaced. I have justified to myself that the absence of nightmares when I rest is warranted. That to sleep for days on end is a measure of devotion. That my weakness has been my strength. Neglecting my body has been more natural than breathing, most days. Failure to observe Their will, and asking for everything in return—"

"Be specific."

He doesn't have context. It's fine. You can be clear.

(1/4)
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>>4559562
https://youtu.be/hTcBnxxuAls

"I invoked Spirit on my own clergy to deduce— to know their thoughts regarding me— when I could have simply gotten to know them, or made efforts to amend my public image. I fled the Church of Mercy for my own safety, only to binge and seek violent confrontation at every opportunity. I called upon Flesh to heal me from mortal injury, rather than do so in my own Time. I've chronically neglected or exceeded my needs for food, water, and rest for most of my life. It was exacerbated by my work in Wearmoor. I voluntarily took on the curse that was inflicted on Corcaea, to spare Agriculture from Her suffering. It made eating and drinking painful beyond measure, yet I sought help from no one until just this year."

A small noise escapes from Pevrel. It's like a stifled cough.

You've broken his composure, and almost laugh. This isn't even a drop in the bucket. "I've taken twisted gratification from the pain inflicted on me, and sought it at every turn. Over a year of my life was spent deceiving and— and manipulating our country's nobility. It was along with my own church, in order to seek leave from my station. I voluntarily abandoned my post, when it was granted to me out of the— out of the kindness of Father Edmund's heart. He died in my arms, and I threw it all away out of selfish—"

"Anscham." It looks like Pevrel wants an actual drink. "Focus. You're here. I care about the why, but self-debasement is just as much a sin, too."

"Then I am no better than a demon."

The way his scowl never seems to stop deepening is almost impressive. "That's what I'm talking about."

"I'm being honest—"

"For fuck's sake. Weren't you the one who was just talking about how to present the truth?"

A pause. "I'm also a hypocrite."

The way that Pevrel tenses his hands is further indication that he'd like to strike you. He settles on verbal attacks, instead. "That's a start."

Fine.

"I assumed the position of the leader of the Church of Mercy just a little less than two years after the murders I spoke of. My body and mind was in shambles. I could scarcely function, let alone heal. So I left. It never felt as if I had ever led anything at all. I was neglectful. My career has been a disaster, and our country is in ruin. It seemed fitting to seek the ruins out for myself. So I lied. I lied to myself, over and over again. 'This is to cure the Catalyst.' 'These strangers are my friends.' 'I'm doing the right thing.' 'I'm not hurting anyone.' 'I'm wandering in the dark for a reason.' I was DESPERATE to make sense of it all. I had no idea what I was doing. I've learned so much, Father— but I have sinned."

(2/4)
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>>4559565
Deep breath. Swallowing is a little more pleasant, and gives you enough verve to get to the worst of it. "I entertained breaking my vows many times. Lust has not escaped me. Be it for an elf that was in my company, to the foreign assassin that I call a friend. To say nothing of Agriculture—"

It's really not the occasion to dwell on broad tracts of Her land. Memory of a bare demon forcing herself on you has no place beside a Goddess, yet Remigius assumed a form like Celegwen and Mercy. "It was all wrong. But I submitted to a succubus. We spent an evening together in mutual torture, and all the next day in a public display with one another. I agreed to the worst of it. Her army was our audience. I've shoved the thought of it away, and would never speak candidly of this to anyone, but you should know. I broke my vows. I let her break me— and I am not speaking metaphorically. The intensity of Flesh and Mercy working through me has done something to my faculties. Having a demon snap my bones with her bare hands did things to me that no mortal woman ever could. I have loved the pain impressed on me. It defied description, Father. Nothing has ever come close to it."

Pevrel blinks. He actually has eyelids. It's incredibly disturbing. "Wow."

"I'm not done."

"Welp." He crosses his arms. You've succeeded in making the Father of Confessions uncomfortable. "I'm still having my expectation destroyed. We'll come back to it, you sick fuck. Go right on ahead, then."

"I've broken into prisons, to free demons."

"I know." A sneer. "Fred is still cleaning up the mess you left."

"I've allied with more."

He coughs, and uncrosses his arms. Fingers twitching, as if he wants to hold the hilt of his sword.

"Gluttony has been my foremost lover, Father. Even a demon of generosity was impressed by my capacity for indulgence. An archdemon of Agriculture and I are dear friends, quite possibly as a result." The man's hand is on the hilt of his sword. "I know it's cause for death, or exile. But it was through our— through out mutual sin that we bonded. It was what enabled me to earn more than his respect. Yech never feared me, even after he'd heard of how many times I've felt the Catalyst."

A swallow, and a stare. "You—"

"The way that Vengeance works through me activates it."

"You're a demon—"

"No. We're allies. He's risked his life for me, and fought on my behalf on countless occasions. Yech brought me out of the ruins. We've grieved together. Bled together. Cried together. I miss him—"

Something toxic stills Father Pevrel's motions. He's stock still, and simply stares you down through the rest of the confession.

"—and I've missed him each, and every day since I left. I hope he's alright. It's been months since I last received any word."

"You're in contact—"

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>>4559571
"No. The message was second-hand. I've unleashed insanity on our country, too, and rescued over a dozen heathens from the King's reach. Their investigation took me to all new depths. My congregation is unquestionably insane from their Time spent in Ostedholm's ruins, but they were all criminals before the fact. I love them all like children, just the same. I am the Father of Compassion. You understand that I have taken every chance that I can to show myself the same love. I've never doubted my actions since. Not for the months spent away from home, when I truly took the opportunity to heal. I've taken more pleasure from the gifts granted to me now, than ever. And I refuse to lose myself to it. You can call me soft all you like. I've heard it all before. The demons in my dungeons have fairer manners, Father Pevrel. Granting an incubus relief from his loneliness was more pleasant than your company. So was tea with a collective of Spirit. I was unphased when I discovered a dead chambermaid in my solar last night, and have yet to sleep after healing an assassin for hours more. Both were from Stace and Morris' actions. Possibly the cult of Inertia, too. But do you wish to know why I was unaffected?"

There's no need for him to ask. He might be speechless.

"My body and mind is in its present state from spending nearly a week solid with Mercy and Agriculture, Father." All life falls from your tone. "Dream has actively struck me in my waking hours. I have made demands of the Gods, challenged them, and lived to tell the tale. My limits may be nonexistent. They have been pushed beyond trauma that any mortal should comprehend. I have redefined our very reality, and that was far less of a nightmare than presiding over two funerals in less than a week."

The sheer amount of disgust being projected at you makes it look like Pevrel is the one who's going to be sick. Violent intent is all over him. Vengeance and Mercy have been historically opposed. He is the antithesis of empathy, but you are no liar.

"I buried twenty-eight of my clergy with my bare hands. Mercy and Agriculture presided over the funeral service. Stace or Morris— likely both— wanted to remind me of what was left in my cell. I could not move them. I have been overworked, and overwhelmed to the point where so much as how to publicly report the event has escaped me. Judging by the look on your face, it seems that my clergy has yet to report it, either."

He's speechless.

>A] Shift gears, and try to de-escalate the situation. You do not want anyone mistaking you for a demon, and need this man on your side. (Write-ins may help.)

>B] Twist the knife, and keep going. You STILL have more to confess, and you are finishing this even if it kills Pevrel.
>1] Get into your mistreatment of the Gods.
>2] The rest of your own self-abuse is fine.

>C] Write-in.
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>>4559574

>>A] Shift gears, and try to de-escalate the situation. You do not want anyone mistaking you for a demon, and need this man on your side. (Write-ins may help.)

"I do not want anything or anyone to suffer like I have. For all the pain I have felt, it thought me how to *prevent* it. The world seems to want to break me, it never will. My faith has been rewarded, but so has my sin. I seek to *truly* understand my foes and friends alike. I will extend myself to others without hesitation, the hands of Mercy can never be idle. I will take all of the hate and suffering I have been given and pay it back in full, but not with wrath. With kindness. With compassion. Retribution is MY repentance."
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>>4559574
>B] Twist the knife, and keep going. You STILL have more to confess, and you are finishing this even if it kills Pevrel.
>1] Get into your mistreatment of the Gods.
I just want more pervel reactions desu
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>>4559616

I agree but we should also remember that a lot is riding on this confession, we ultimately need him on our side.

Strongly opposing this.
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>>4559574
>>A] Shift gears, and try to de-escalate the situation. You do not want anyone mistaking you for a demon, and need this man on your side. (Write-ins may help.)
>>
>>4559580
>>4559616
>>4559619
>>4559669
(Alright! Majority for A, opposition to B will nullify it. Fear not anon, I'm sure you'll still get plenty of reactions lol. Vote is locked! Writing now.)
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>>4559701
https://youtu.be/e7yhvf_zbSc

Earnestness fills the silence. "The world wants to break me. It never will. All that I have endured has only driven me to prevent the suffering of others. To ease their pain. Are you— are you aware that I ventured from Calunoth in the company of one of your priests?"

Another blink. It's as if he's been in too deep of thought to remember how. "Yes. I missed Holloway on the road. We must have passed right by each other. He taught you a few things, did he?"

"Yes. I've found in recent days just how much overlap our tenets have." The way he bristles puts light in your eyes. "You think I'm crazy? That's fine. We can both be insulted. I seek to know my enemies— and my friends alike. To extend my hands towards others without hesitation. Mercy's should always remain open, and so are mine. I can never be idle, as my faith has been rewarded. You are welcome to disagree, but so has my sin. They are one and the same, in so many cases— and I will take it all. The hate, and suffering that I have been given will be paid back in full. Not with wrath, though. With kindness. With compassion. Retribution IS my repentance."

The ball of angst standing across from you is bristling like a cat. Outrage is all over him. He's completely speechless for several moments, but may have just been gathering his thoughts. "You challenged my audacity for speaking out against you, and you have the gall to contort my tenets?"

"Yes."

"It's genius." He's furious, but grins at you like a lunatic. "You know they're intentionally vague, right?"

It's so disarming, you almost lose your own composure. A nervous laugh suffices. "I was expecting to just get a rise out of you. You have no idea how badly I want to have you on my side— but this—"

"Oh, no. We're getting into the rest of it. You filthy fucking heretic. I'm just impressed that you have the nerve to say so much, after admitting to everything you have. It would be commendable, if you weren't such a disgusting heathen."

"It really isn't even the worst of it."

"Fuck off. I've heard enough. You don't get the satisfaction of—"

"Do you honestly think I'd be satisfied with—"

"Shut the fuck up, Anscham." He's sneering. The wrinkle in the bridge of Pevrel's nose deepens. It's like he can't stand the sight of you, but is compelled to scrutinize your appearance regardless. "Should call you a demon of gluttony, not faith. I'm not lingering on the bulk of— the majority of this shit. Gods. Talking to you is like fucking poison, you know that?"

Offering a smirk that would make Agriculture proud is the least you can do. "Even poison's not so bad, you know. Once you get to know Her—"

The gravel of Pevrel's voice makes his groan sound borderline inhuman. "Obviously not, to put up with someone like you. We're focusing on the shit that's relevant to my work. Demon."

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>>4559792
"I'm not a—"

"Obviously not. But it's upsetting you every Time I mention it, so get used to it. We'll have the rest of your career to sort out the details of half this shit. You can't prioritize where your duties lie, but I can. THAT it why I'm here, Anscham. There's been worse Fathers, even in my Time. Your career is a mess, but if you have Vengeance's favor, you've done something right somewhere. I'm sticking to that, before I lose my fucking mind. I trust Him. And I'm not arguing with Mercy, or Agriculture either. All the rest can keep fucking you up, for all I care. ANSWER MY QUESTION, and tell me exactly who's died that you're aware of. We're starting with what the elders are going to try and run you out of the city for, and we'll go from there."

This is beyond reasonable. You can answer a few direct questions. You've done nothing wrong, after all. "A chambermaid in my solar. It's— it is her blood on my feet, mostly."

"Where's the body? And who else's blood, you psychopath—"

"Irefist—"

A groan. "Out of everyone imaginable—"

You grin. "He's more than capable. I don't think he would have hid her, or even buried her. Not yet, at least. We can ask him where she's been moved to, if at— if at all. The blood is from the assassin we captured yesterday evening, who is stable, and in— and in my knight's care. She is not escaping."

"Alright." A ragged sigh. "Go on."

"As I mentioned previously, there's the matter of the twenty-eight members of my clergy that Stace or Morris killed. It was likely Stace, judging by their mutilation—" The face Pevrel makes could curdle milk. You match it with an equally intense grimace. "—I know. They've never showed me Mercy, Father. I do not expect them to start now. All of my family has been buried. I ensured that they were granted formal, last rites. They are at rest."

"How...?"

"I used my own two hands. Agriculture and I manifested soil in my cell. Mercy blessed the burial grounds. They both cleaned the blood and gore. They're beneath copper blossoms, Father. A perpetual state of mourning, in red— under Day's light, and embedded within Earth's gifts. The entire room has been left unsecured, that they can be visited if the need ever arises. I do not wish to forget."

It looks like every inch of Father Pevrel wants to sprint out of the room, and see for himself. He steadies his voice, though he's still furious. "I need to clarify several things before I can decide where to go from here."

"By all means."

"This succubus had an army. What became of it?"

You breathe a little easier. "I personally spoke to the majority of Remigius' forces on the day that Yech took over Ostedholm's ruins. They are under his authority, now. Storm aided in the sermon."

Another utterly stunned stare bores into you. "You can invoke Them all, can't you?"

(2/3)
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>>4559795
"Theoretically. Time has my respect, and fear, above— above all others. She has yet to make an impression on my vessel."

A sniff. "You're nowhere near as stupid as I thought. Yet you mentioned Dream striking at you. I was joking about them fucking you up. You should be dead. What's all this about a week solid with Mercy and Agriculture? You're dodging a lot, Anscham. I know there's some real sick shit going on here. Answer me."

"It's possible for me to invoke two deities simultaneously, as well."

"Father of Honesty my ass, trying to dodge me. You said you redefined reality itself. I can't punish this much sin in a lifetime. It sounds like you've been subjecting yourself to worse things than what a mortal can dish out, regardless. You'd only like it if I put you on a rack, at this point."

He's not wrong. You find a particularly interesting bit of stonework on the furthest wall to examine. The grout is not of the local area. It's lovely, light yellow, and its speckles of gold flicker in the moonlight.

"Like I said: I'm not here to torture you. I'm here to sort out another lead's mess. Make me repeat myself again and I'll stop ignoring my own tenets, Anscham."

"You intend to raise a hand against me?"

"I intend to save you through punishment. Don't you fucking DARE make this into something it's not, either."

Waving the ring on your hand at him comes with a smirk. "I'm not. If you think there's anything you could do that I would enjoy more than what a Goddess—"

He talks over the last few words. "It's obvious that no one ever does so much as disagree with you. Bet they're all scared shitless of you snapping! And they're justified! I don't care, though. Try me. What are you hiding? Don't think I won't know if you lie to my face, either. Not that you have it in you."

>A] You really do not have a demon in your care! Tell Pevrel that you rescued Adwin from the lair of a demon, and are unaware of what the young man's state of being can be defined as. It's technically not a lie, though you are ABSOLUTELY breaking your vows by intentionally omitting the truth. (Mercy will be unhappy, but this could spare Adwin torment.)

>B] Take the risk, and openly acknowledge that Adwin is a new kind of being. Pevrel is clearly intelligent enough to deduce that your painter is the same individual.
>1] Offer to introduce the two of them. Maybe Adwin could help you cut the scrutiny short. You'd rather be present to mediate the affair, than to risk Pevrel doing so on his own Time.
>2] Blankly state you never want Father Pevrel around your boy. You'll answer his questions to the best of your abilities, but nothing more.
>3] You'll answer SOME of Pevrel's questions. Make it clear that the process of rescuing Adwin was horrifying, and that you don't understand it. You won't admit to him being a demon either.

>C] Write-in.
>>
>>4559800

>>B] Take the risk, and openly acknowledge that Adwin is a new kind of being. Pevrel is clearly intelligent enough to deduce that your painter is the same individual.
>2] Blankly state you never want Father Pevrel around your boy. You'll answer his questions to the best of your abilities, but nothing more.

"You have enough of my children. Not that you could catch him anyway."

He is no longer a demon and if he keeps saying that we aren't answering shit. He can say what he wants about us and shut the fuck up about everyone else. Drunk cunt. He has a few demons of his own that he's trying to drown.
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>>4559800
>B] Take the risk, and openly acknowledge that Adwin is a new kind of being. Pevrel is clearly intelligent enough to deduce that your painter is the same individual.
>>1] Offer to introduce the two of them. Maybe Adwin could help you cut the scrutiny short. You'd rather be present to mediate the affair, than to risk Pevrel doing so on his own Time.
>>4559822
strongly oppose, this will just attract unwarranted intrigue rather be done with introductions if we want pevrel on our side.
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>>4559869

We can tell him what he needs to know without having him meet Adwin. He has barely interacted with the people we trust let alone this VERY abrasive man that is hellbent on retribution. We couldn't even talk to Adwin about the prisoner without risking his mental health. We are absolutely not subjecting him to Pevrel. The Father of Vengeance is a big boy who can handle some soft boundaries, Adwin is way to fragile and I didn't save him just to be bullied by some blind cunt.
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>>4559800
B3; because I don't want to get in the middle of this one.

I will say that Parvrel will be very curious of Adwin, and I bet that he would seek him our regardless of our ward's mental state. However, if we offer to introduce and mediate the two of them, we can lay the ground rules to Pevrel, such as being polite and non-abrasive, and should Adwin become destressed, the meeting is terminated, no questions, no excuses, it's over and Pevrel will just have to deal with it.
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>>4559869
>>4559878
>>4560163
(Lovely guys. Got in a long nap and going to lock the vote here! I'll find a way to reconcile this. Should be up for a bit longer this evening, been doing some drawing too! Writing now.)
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>>4560279
"I'm sheltering a new kind of being."

"A what now?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"He was rescued from my dungeons, and is in an incredibly delicate mental state."

A look is given to you like you're crazy.

"It was insanity. What we went through together to make it out alive was— I hardly understand it, Pevrel, and I do not want to. Not now. Likely not for many years to come." A glare, to the robes and shirt sticking to your fellow priest's skin. The flask he's keeping almost flush against his chest has a clear outline. Your grimace deepens. "You understand, to an extent, don't you? You're trying to drown out your own demons, too."

A hot poker might as well have been put to Father Pevrel's spine, for how quickly he straightens upright and off the wall. "You would, wouldn't you?"

"So you won't blame me, when I say that I would not want you to see him under any circumstances."

"Now wait just a—"

"Adwin is like a son to me. Barring that you could behave civilly, and respect a few soft boundaries— do not lie to my face for an instant and pretend like you would be capable of treating him with decency, let alone respect."

With a sharp breath in, the priest doesn't even pause in his assessment. "Fair."

All the life leaves you. This man is easily aging you five years in a single evening. "That is infinitely more reasonable than anything I could have hoped for."

The drunk gets his flask out from his breast pocket, and makes a show of slowly uncapping it. "I wouldn't want you around my children either, Anscham."

Shaking your head is fine. A few droplets of water come off with the motion. "I would have hoped you'd be enough of a man to tolerate a few limitations."

"Fuck off. I write our country's limitations. I'm not kissing ass for anyone. This is your house. Your kids. You do what you want."

"I will not tolerate you seeking him out in your own Time, either." Your eyes narrow. "No excuses. I did not save him to subject him to a drunkard, no matter— no matter what your station is. You can say whatever you wish about me, but you will not say another word in regards to my family." It kills you, but kindness IS your strength. There's obviously something that this priest has been put through to make him the way that he is. Surely he can listen to reason. "You won't even entertain the notion of showing some manners, and not— and to try to stop going out of your way to cause distress?"

He's sipping at something that smells like one of Spangle's explosives. "Nah."

"Then deal with it." The thought of physically dragging Pevrel away from the Church of Mercy (kicking and screaming) puts some more light in your tone. "What else would you like to address in the limited Time that you are here?"

"You don't get to know."

"Excuse me?"

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>>4560342
"You've dumped so much shit in my lap, we'd be here all night if I went back over it. This has already taken much longer than it could have." He heads for the door. "Salvation through punishment, Anscham. You're going to aid me, so I can aid you. There's no use subjecting you to traditional methods of retribution. We're getting this sorted out, so I can get on with my life and get the FUCK away from yours. Come on."

Both of you stride out into the pouring rain once more. You're tall and active enough to keep stride with the Pevrel's bee-line to the drawbridge easily. The clouds are so dense overhead, there's no sunrise to be found. Fortunately, you keep a particularly close eye on the Time, and are aware there should be another hour left until morning. Your guest barks at you, in the last of the night. "I can't risk your dog— ugh." He catches himself. "Your ex-sailor—"

"That's better. I appreciate the attempt. He is my guard, Father Pevrel. Irefist's given name is Carlisle Ballard, if the nickname— if the nickname makes you uncomfortable."

"Carl. I can't risk Carl moving that body. My men will see to it—" Another sickened glance passes over you. "What? Don't tell me you're going to take issue with me trying to help you, too?"

"My family's lives have been in near-constant danger. Likely constant, given how little they've breathed word of every attack made on our home. Our doors were to remain closed until the safety of everyone present has been secured. The corpse is in the solar. Directly over the grand hall. Almost everyone has been gathering there for our mutual defense, and protection."

A hand drags over Pevrel's face. He groans again, and stops walking. A glance is passed to the edge of the bailey, and to the drawbridge beyond. "I brought ninety-seven men with me. Most of them couldn't keep up, and will be trickling in over the next few days. Three died on the road just trying to get here. Outbreaks damn near everywhere in the countryside. I am not wasting a second of their Time, Anscham. Don't make this harder for me than it already has been."

He's ultimately at my Mercy, here. He knows no one is taking the keep if I have anything to say about it.

(Options in next post.)
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>>4560345
>A] Grant Father Pevrel permission to have his priestess of Storm see to the body. You're ordering Irefist to keep an eye on things.
>1] They can move the corpse to a discreet location outside of the city walls. Let the Church of Vengeance do whatever they please outside of your home's defenses, but Eadric's castle is not being taken by ANYONE until this is all resolved.
>2] They can see to the body with you and Pevrel. It will frustrate him to not delegate, but it might expedite the process to have the very Father of Vengeance investigate (and you're curious what he's like in action).

>B] Give full discretion for Father Pevrel to do what he needs to in the coming days to resolve this affair as quickly as humanly possible. Obstructing his work will only drag things out, and you know that despite his attitude, he IS trying to help you.

>C] You don't trust this asshole as far as you can throw him, and have a much better idea. (Write-in.)
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>>4560347
A2; you already have my curiosity.
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>>4560347
A2
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>>4560347
>>A] Grant Father Pevrel permission to have his priestess of Storm see to the body. You're ordering Irefist to keep an eye on things.
>2] They can see to the body with you and Pevrel. It will frustrate him to not delegate, but it might expedite the process to have the very Father of Vengeance investigate (and you're curious what he's like in action).
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>>4560347
A2
>>
>>4560347
>A2
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>>4560373
>>4560472
>>4560516
>>4560521
>>4560565
(Good afternoon gentlemen. I totally overslept. Making some coffee and will be right back in the saddle! Vote is locked. Writing now.)
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>>4560899
"You and your priestess of Storm have my permission to access the solar, and strictly— strictly for this affair." You stride away from Pevrel to calmly add, "in my company. I'll be ordering Irefist to keep an eye on things, as well."

For how quickly the priest returns to your side, a few raven-colored strands of his hair pick up in the rain. "I'm not here to hurt you, Anscham. Need I remind you that THREE MEN DIED just to get here?"

"A single further loss of life would be a tragedy beyond measure, Father. Are you telling me that you are willing to take that risk?"

The silence that replies could not be filled with more irritation.

"It might expedite the process to have your expertise, as well." You can't help yourself. "Besides— you know that I— that I am curious to see how you work."

Grumbling. "Well. Flattery won't get you anywhere. Softest priest in the nation. This is why we keep the Church of Mercy halfway across it. Hmmph. Bet Fred would have a fit about all of this."

"This is not the Church of Flesh," you politely remind him. Your congregation member comes into view.

A wave, and a call is made to Irefist. He's face-to-face with the priestess of Storm. They are drenched in almost as much fury as rainwater. It's clear that a shouting match drew on for long enough to wear on the nerves of the crowd, as a few individuals have left. The bulk of the remaining bystanders are utterly silent. Deference to the theocracy is instilled more deeply in the citizenry of Corcaea than the need for air. There's no significant interruptions as you and Pevrel order your subordinates.

"Is everything alright, Irefist?"

"What's it look like—"

It was a rhetorical question. "Your presence is needed in the solar. Father Pevrel will be assisting—"

The priest somehow looks down his nose at the taller woman. "I suppose that stooping to this level is your idea of an appropriate display of public affairs, Sister Miramond?"

Far from overstepping your boundaries, you give a deprecating stare to your fellow church leader. "We were to not waste a single second of anyone's Time."

The implication that this was all Pevrel's idea is enough to curtail his own barking. He heads for the castle. You all follow suit, and wind up making a ridiculous show of trying to keep up with or surpass the other's position. Pevrel and Irefist wind up taking the lead, while you downplay their mutual aggression. The latter reassures you all that he has yet to move the corpse. The former refuses to commend your guard for seeing to the matter without compromising his job. Sister Miramond is either terribly respectful, or resents being here enough to not breathe a further word to anyone.

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>>4561058
Through the bailey, and off into the castle proper, you all wind through several high stone corridors in the dead of night. Not a soul is to be found beneath the sparse windows and many candles. The great hall eventually comes into view, having been tidied from the previous day's activities. Not a soul is in sight, amidst the long wooden tables and low-burning hearth. You wonder if Brother Durville warned everyone by now of Pevrel's arrival, or if they're keeping out of sight simply to reduce confrontation.

It's a short affair to scale up two more flights of stunning, spiral stairs. The highest structure in Eadric contains your bedroom, which is still unlocked. Pevrel puts out an entire arm, and quietly requests that everyone stay put. A small, water-tight bag is taken out of his coat. From it, he extracts a thin pair of white gloves. They have silver thread. "Gift from Sullivan. Say what you want about the ponce, but he knows his shit."

The leather is fitted over both of his hands. A pause, before the solar's entryway. Extreme scrutiny ensues over every inch of the wooden frame, handle, and even the cracks beneath. "The locks wern't forced. Noticed none of the building has any. 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend.' Looks like Stace and Morris are happy to enable anyone who wants a go at you, Anscham. No blood or hair stuck to anything. Quiet entries and exits were made, though this item has been damaged and reinforced several times over under other circumstances. Likely prior attempts at getting to your shit. It's irrelevant. Killers are freely coming and going in your home, Anscham."

The door is opened, and no one steps in the massive puddle of gore that's pooled right in the entryway. Pevrel doesn't say a word, as his eyes pour over what should be one of the most luxurious spaces in the country. The room's dusty floor, high ceiling, and gold-leaf aesthetic is nearly fifty feet from end-to-end. All of the gilded furniture has been vandalized, stolen, or destroyed beyond all use. The bookshelves are stripped bare of their most valuable tomes. The sheets, mattress, and king-sized bed frame were slashed and frayed. The canopy was even taken. Puddles of yellow wax trail away from the frame of the massive resting place, off towards a sole washroom.

Blood is streaked across many surfaces with a purpose. Sister Miramond's giggling catches in her throat. Your eyes gloss over a little at the abusive lettering, for the second Time in less than a day. LUNATIC, MADMAN, INDULGENT, GLUTTON, HEDON, MASOCHIST, PERVERT, LECHER, and all the rest paint an ugly picture. DESERTER does not get stepped over, though it is the first word at the entrance to your chambers.

(2/4)
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>>4561064
The investigator in your midst nods to the slander adorning the floor. "This is the church of honesty. With how much fuel you already give them for debasement, they'd have little need to lie. Whole countryside is in shambles, Anscham. A lot of the people are happy to blame your absence. The men under your employ didn't protest your leave for the ruins, though."

He ignores your grimace, and steps inside. The writing on the ground is left intact, and he squats down to scrutinize it. "This was not written by hand. The motions are crude, but the lack of flourish isn't for lack of Time, or effort. It's far from old—"

The priest stands upright, as if a bolt of lightning was put to the base of his spine. A bark to Irefist, and to Sister Miramond. "Keep an eye on the hall."

They do. An immediate, frantic sweep of the rest of the chamber ensues from the church leader. "This was all made by a number of different individuals, as recently as one day past. There have been a number of people coming and going from this room, Anscham." His eyes snap to the candle trail along the floor. "They're toying with you. This is petty vandalism, made by your enemies to ease their nerves. They're attempting to justify their behavior. Anyone who knows you would be aware that this sort of slander would do nothing to compromise your faculties."

He's right, and strides across the chamber with you calmly in tow. The washroom entrance is examined as carefully as the main entrance. Special attention is paid to the handle and nearest edge of the door. "Frequent use. Blood on the handle from tonight—" A glance is made to Irefist, with a shake of Pevrel's sopping wet hair. "—couldn't expect you to leave everything undisturbed. This is a much as I could have hoped for. No other indication of recent violence in these quarters. No forced entry here, either— though the handle and bolt are worn. Rapid entry and exit—"

The door is swung open. The washroom is caked with old blood, gore, and filth. A massive hole is in the far wall, from the security breach you only discovered a few hours ago. The sickly-sweet scent of rot bursts out, and sticks to the inside of your nose and mouth. It's certainly been clinging to your shoes all night, but the fresh wave has your stomach turn over. The corpse lying in the center of the room is at least two months old, by your best estimates. She's in such an advanced state of decay, only her skirts and aprons indicate her gender.

Father Pevrel takes a deep breath in, and grimaces. "Warmer weather than we're used to. Would be felt up here— even given the higher elevation, shade, and stone. Accelerated the rate of decay, along with all the movement through here. I know none of you have a weak stomach, but stand back. I'm closing the door so this doesn't fuck up what's left of the solar."

(3/5 Paragraphs definitely pushed it over)
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>>4561071
A nearby plank of wood is swept off the ground. Irefist takes four steps back out to the hall. Sister Miramond stays suspiciously close by his side. You close the wooden defense at your back, and are no coward. Remaining in the room with Pevrel, you tense as he nudges the side of the corpse. It floods the entire chamber with a renewed, sour stench. At least fifty flies kick up into the air. One is caught between his gloved hands.

Curiosity piqued, you can't help but step closer. "Mercy—"

He's inspecting the insect. It looks like an overgrown fly, though it's slick with liquefied gore. "Body's no more than three weeks old. They kept her in the tub, at first. Smeared all of it around to throw off any immediate scrutiny, and have been writing with the rest. I'd have one of my clergy drawn and quartered for it, regardless of the motivation. FIVE years in the stockades for a SINGLE offense, IF they were under threat of death. But they obviously did this for the joy of fucking with you, Anscham. They have a vendetta." He's still scrutinizing the insect, but finally acknowledges the giant hole in the wall. "Some blood-thirsty enemies of yours worked with Stace and Morris to create a structural weakness in the heart of your home. They did so just before both cunts left the Church of Mercy." A nod, towards the body on the floor. "Some respectful, loyal, and fool-hardy maid of yours tried to put a stop to it. She died for it, and they've been making a mockery of her efforts for weeks. Weeks spent— no doubt— creating further holes in the security of your home."

You take a ragged breath, and resist the urge to cover your nose or mouth. "I can't recognize her. Do you have any idea of her identity—"

"Cover your face. Don't want you puking all over me, Anscham."

You do no such thing, and watch with no measure of amusement as Pevrel kneels down beside the body. He starts picking through what's left of her clothes. Pockets of gas are disturbed. The priest is utterly unaffected, but the smell feels like it's never going to leave your nose and throat. Over-ripened fruit, old meat, and the bowels of a demon are sweeter.

A number of small trinkets are set aside on the floor. Golden prayer beads. A slip of paper that's likely an old love letter. The page is dripping with black liquid, and must be utterly unintelligible to even Pevrel's eyes (or whatever he calls them). A locket. Both of you start. It's a skip in your heart, and a sneer from the man kneeling at the ground. He opens the small item, which was air-tight. Within it are a number of dried flower petals.

(4/5)
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>>4561079
A deep sigh leaves the both of you. More searching. A handful of small pouches are removed. No coin, but there are a few rotten pieces of fruit, and plenty more maggots. Ultimately, Pevrel gestures for you to kneel down beside him. "Not nobility, at any rate. Brown hair. Eyes are too putrefied to make out a color, obviously. She wasn't in the best health in life. Lower class, and wasn't treated right. Fracture in her rightmost arm, and old damages to her chest and head. Judging by how— fuck it, I'm not getting into the rest of the details with you. I don't think it's worth taking anything out of you to get a name, but her family needs to be notified. This was a mother."

"Are you asking me—"

"Look, if you don't have any limits, and want to do the right thing, go ahead. You see how straight fucked I am from all this shit. I WILL blame you if you want to leave her here to rot. If you're going to try and have us saddle what my clergy is meant to handle, go fucking kill yourself for it. See if I care. Someone has to do something about this, so you might as well take some fucking responsibility." The priest of wrath stands back up, and looks like he could spit. "You say a few words for her already?"

"Many."

"Words don't bring back the dead, Anscham. Actions can at least keep more lives from being lost. We've wasted enough Time."

>Be advised that there are likely killers in your home at this very moment.
>Most of the following prompts are NOT mutually exclusive, but it would be prudent to use your Time wisely.

>A] It's going to be disgusting, but examine the dried flower petals. You can deduce where they were grown without any invocation. It might be a lead, if nothing else.

>B] Words ABSOLUTELY have a place here. Work with Father Pevrel to combine your mutual knowledge of your enemies. The identity of this woman is less important than addressing who might be in your castle at this very moment.

>C] Invoke Agriculture. You're VERY curious about your new abilities, and She DID encourage you to utilize as much of Her as possible.
>1] This is DEATH incarnate.
>2] The HARVEST on this woman has been spoiled.
>3] LIFE has been preserved on this corpse's person.
>4] Write-in.

>D] That letter no doubt contains a name, and information regarding the deceased. It's miserable to even consider it, but you'll invoke Spirit to read the note, and bring this to an abrupt resolution. (UNANIMOUS VOTE REQUIRED. Any vocal opposition will be taken into account.)

>E] Write-in.
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>>4561091

>C] Invoke Agriculture. You're VERY curious about your new abilities, and She DID encourage you to utilize as much of Her as possible.
>1] This is DEATH incarnate.
>3] LIFE has been preserved on this corpse's person.

There can be no life without death, and no death without life. Use both, to gain the full picture.

Send the Irefist and the priestess to look for Durville and to check up on Harvey. Two Fathers can handle themselves just fine, tell them to be QUICK and LOUD, potentially scaring any attacks off or a jailbreak attempt. This cannot be ignored.
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>>4561095
+1 lets Dick Death again
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>>4561095
>>4561140
(No life without death [and continue to flirt], send out the guard and make some NOISE. Alright! Vote is locked. Writing now!)
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>>4561196
Irefist and Sister Miramond have been unofficially made partners in crime. You and Pevrel see to it that they go off to look for Brother Durville for further support. An attempt at freeing your prisoner is likely underway, but you trust your guards to handle it. Both of them make their way to the dungeons post-haste. They create a veritable hurricane of commotion, sliding down the banisters to the lowest levels, and shouting the entire way.

The entire keep stirs, as anyone who was holed up sleeping is roused by their antics. The choir of disturbances echoes from the lower levels. No sound of Electrum or Spangle can be heard. There's still a few men and women in your employ here, straight from the capital. They fought for their lives just to get here. The clamor of them seeking armor and weapons, and the buzz of corpse flies carries over your soft speech.

"There can be no life without death, and no death without life." Knitting your fingers together wouldn't be appropriate. You kneel beside the corpse, and place a hand to the puddles of liquefied innards gathered below. "Let us use both to gain a full picture."

https://youtu.be/m81oUTPbPQo

Awareness and ecstasy slams into you with enough force to crack the ground you kneel on. It's a tremor of connection to your foremost element. You sigh, and fight through a hard desire to moan. A field of grave dirt eclipses your vision.

Death has flirted with you, and you lean into the impression. An embrace. A body against yours. Not seen, but felt.
For a moment, all life stops.
Your breath catches in your throat.
The beat of your heart pauses.

Every corpse fly in the room drops dead in Her wake. The soft splatter of insect's bodies hitting the blood all around stops the instant it began.

The thrum of your pulse is redoubled. You tilt your head at the bodies, with eyes of green.

"Damn. That's new—" Father Pevrel is a black spot on the room.

You speak with the resonance of the earth, and every body buried beneath it. Every breath is another wave of relief. A grin paints your features. Life emboldens much more pragmatism in you than usual. "Yes. Move out of Our way."

Rapid motion takes the priest back a step. "Yeah. Sure."

The hand you have to the floor digs into the rock effortlessly. A gasp escapes from you, despite your best efforts. The touch of your lover doesn't feel as sweet. There's soil beneath. Soft. Yielding. It's flooded with nutrients— the very same that lends life its green color.

It's thanks to the death of the woman before you, who's life has seeped deeper than what any eye could discern. She's unmistakably been dead for twenty-two days, but there's more to dig into.

(1/2)
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>>4561267
No names of the organic materials come to you. Many have yet to be discovered, in the year 606— but you know their meaning. Their purpose in life, thanks to this woman's death. "She was a smoker, for stress, and for healing. The injuries to her limbs are packed in places with residue of old, inadequate salves. The damage to her torso was treated extensively with materials unapproved by the Church of Mercy. The remnants of metal on her fingertips and hands were thanks to obsessive fretting with her beads. They are not real gold, either. More than metal— poison is all through this child's body."

The slough of her skin is exacerbated by the temperature, but there's more at work here. There's compounds at play lending to the yellow-green that's gathered in the few bits of intact Flesh present. A level breath. The rot on the air has its merits. "Overlap. Flesh is breaking down, but we are spurred to action by the decay of her fatty tissues. Both you and I are too jaded to fear for our safety from the presence of a corpse, Father Pevrel. I do not fear toxin. You will. This body is filled with disease."

The words of one of your last faithful guards hangs in your memory. "Wasn't 'til you left that things got so bad. This is no confession, Father. I won't ever poison my own city."

The impression your palm has made in the ground deepens further. "Morris' efforts in Calunoth were hands-off. I resolved the affair within a matter of weeks— without any interference whatsoever. They were not toying with lives. They were conducting preliminary tests."

The death of this woman could not be more familiar to you. Her lungs are black. She consumed something before her death, and it was not through ingestion or inhalation. "Contact poison."

The sound of Father Pevrel rapidly taking off his gloves registers on the periphery of your focus. The forest and pollen in your eyes snaps towards him. "Do NOT confiscate—"

He's simply holding the items out to you. It's impossible to make out the features on his face, in the haze of shadow that's eclipsing his form. It's like a miasma of sin. "Make sure I'm not sick, and get rid of it. You don't need a further sample, right?"

(Options in next post.)
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>>4561270
>A] Release the invocation to Agriculture, thank the Goddess profusely for Her aid, and use your mundane knowledge of healing to ensure Father Pevrel is alright. The rapport you have with Her is only possible thanks to months of respect and devotion. You will NOT start overextending yourself with Her, and especially not when you need all the help you can get.

>B] It couldn't hurt to try a few more things. Right?
>1] POISON. Gain a complete understanding of this reaction.
>2] HARVEST. Gather as much as you can from this process.
>3] BOUNTY. You want evidence of this victim's toil.
>4] GENEROSITY. Enthusiasm is compelling you to take on the sickness present here.
>5] FERTILITY. Enhance the context of what you've already learned.
>6] LIFE. You want more stimulation.
>7] DEATH. Don't get distracted. Make a final verdict regarding what took this woman's life.

>C] Write-in.
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>>4561274

>>B] It couldn't hurt to try a few more things. Right?
>>1] POISON. Gain a complete understanding of this reaction.
>7] DEATH. Don't get distracted. Make a final verdict regarding what took this woman's life.

She *is* the goddess of over indulgence. This is going to be the most important information when it comes to protecting our city, the fools try to poison a master of the craft. They will come to regret it.
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>>4561289
+1
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>>4561289
>>4561302
(Unanimous vote is locked. Writing now!)
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>>4561368
Over-indulgence Herself is working through you. "On the contrary. It couldn't hurt to try more."

https://youtu.be/bh66pGIhysQ

The priest by your side staggers backwards, as you take the gore-slick gloves from his outstretched hands. Disease is all over them. You hold the item to your face, and close your eyes. It's bliss. Poison. Your tolerance for it surpasses mortal comprehension. The wet contact on your skin is a rush of adrenaline that accelerates the already frantic beat of your heart. This is no common material. It was not cultivated by an enemy outside of your borders, though. This is new. Long, silicate rods. The abrasion they cause wouldn't be visible to the naked eye, but inhalation of them would lead to a rapid death.

You breathe deeply. Low, floral notes are all through the filth on the air. In trace amounts, it could even be sweet. The cloying toxicity works itself into a smile. Thanks to your sensitivity, the crystals and insulation of this poison's vehicle for distribution feel almost like glass. The sharp sting is followed by a caustic burn. The liquid that this poison is in would enable rapid ingestion. Even as a solid, the poison would stick to and burn tissue. This is some sinner's masterwork. It would be slow-acting at best, as a vapor. Concentrate would be required for the worst of it.

It's not a foam of just rot on this corpse's lips before you. It's saliva. The mass rejection of anything in the way of Agriculture. The item in hand is completely interwoven with her death, so you embrace it.

A final verdict is required. No distractions. You swipe a bare hand over the white leather that's been entrusted in your care. The congealed rot and ruin is divine. The gall of your enemies sweeps the mortality from your tone. You speak as a priest of homicide. "This is the most critical information I can gather on behalf of my city's protection. The fools. They think they can try to poison a master of the craft?"

Getting to your feet, you grant the investigator at your side a clear view of the item in hand. "They will come to regret it."

You casually drag your tongue over poison that's come from a dead body. Pevrel starts, and makes a sound between a shout, and as if he could retch. You grin, through the taste of the grave. A single hand is extended to him. One finger. Please wait. I'm not finished.

(1/4)
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>>4561507
Horror is on your fellow priest. He waits. You pause, and linger over the rot. By all rights, you should die within a matter of minutes. The poison is the work of a sorcerer— not a priest of Agriculture. "Someone has lost their way." No doubt this work will turn them into a demon. It's as satisfying as a gifts from a monster of generosity. You relay your findings, as they work through you. The smile drops from your face, as something much better is all through your frame. Departure. The return to the earth. Union with Her innermost being. The world might as well not exist, and is all that there is as you speak.

"The cult of Inertia thinks themselves clever. Someone in their employ has manufactured a new kind of toxin. Its most rudimentary form was distributed in the capital several months past, with the aid of the Church of Storm. Inhalation was an effective means of distribution, but attracted far too much attention. The slow-acting properties that defined their work have been improved upon, as well. Close-contact with this substance is mandatory. It could not be placed in a water supply. Our flooding may have been no coincidence.

"Son of a BITCH—"

"Language, please. A lady is present." No apology, but he looks ashamed of himself. Good. "Now, only through the distribution of food, or physical contact— such as the works of the Churches of Agriculture and Mercy— would this be reliable."

Rage keeps Father Pevrel from speaking out of turn again.

"Once ingested, the secondary toxin will work itself into the throat, veins, heart, and lungs. Simply breathing in a small quantity of this vehicle may cause damage later in life. It would have applications in other places— namely construction— but mining operations would be too dangerous. Typical, for Corcaea. You can speculate how it is being produced— let alone distributed." Every gear in your fellow priest's head is spinning. You stay on topic. This feels phenomenal. It's a mild, gentle reminder of every effect you describe, without any compromise in your function or speech.

"The victim here was force-fed a concentration of the poison." It's almost satisfying. "Her lips and mouth would have immediately suffered burns. Severe drooling, and an inability to swallow would have followed thereafter." You can still swallow, and do so. "She may have experienced severe pain in her throat, stomach, and head, if she was not overwhelmed by its initial effects. The toxin would have spread throughout her system— and possibly caused hallucinations. Ah."

This tracks. The cult is said to be capable of providing a cure for the Catalyst, which is nonsense. "The heretics—!"

(2/4)
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>>4561511
"We are not finished. The rot in her lungs is most apparent, as she was made to both inhale and ingest the material. Suffocation was not the culprit, however. The soft tissue of her heart is nearly indistinguishable from the rest of her decayed innards, now— but it would have been one of the first things to go. The most lethal effect of the poison could take minutes, hours, or days to render a victim lifeless. The dosage is a factor, as always. In any quantity, it slows the blood. Ultimately, it will stop the heart. They killed my maid by taking her greatest strength, Father. This was death by heart failure."

You can hear Father Pevrel gulp. "They've created a national disaster to facilitate its distribution. The Church of Agriculture must be complacent, or a culprit. They're controlling the distribution of resources throughout the country. The Church of Mercy is meant to aid in the relief effort— but you would be blamed for every loss of life, Father." You try not to grin too hard at the use of your title. "This is more than an effort to unseat you. They want the country to try and kill you— and look for new authority while they're at it. These cults know that they have no legitimacy, under any circumstances— so they're dragging the rest of us down with them." The grit of his teeth is loud enough to put a thrill up your spine. "They will be stopped."

A pause, and another horrified, disgusted sound leaves Pevrel. "Can you tell who's specifically responsible?"

It's difficult to see through the haze of sage and euphoria. "I am with the Goddess of Generosity, but She is not knowledge incarnate. No."

"Gloves are off, Anscham. Don't you dare fucking laugh at that. I was going to give this all a cursory look-over, and leave this cult shit to you. This is your city. Your chore. But this is going to hit all of us. I'm gonna lay this out, and I need you to not drift off on me. Do you understand? Are you still with me?"

So much as the rain dripping on the floor resonates in your heart and soul. It's clear that Mercy's and Agriculture's protection from poison has already driven out the last of the toxin in your system. You breathe easy, with a pulse that's justified by all the world within you. "All the world, Father Pevrel. Go ahead."

"Your dead chambermaid set off every alarm bell. So did your clergy. This was not Stace's and Morris' doing, but nearly thirty dead priests and priestesses are. That's a measure of insanity that could even make me sick. I'm still more concerned about what's going on underneath your church than all this shit above it."

You could breathe a sigh of relief, but are certain you'd moan if you ease up on the attempts to stifle yourself.

(3/4)
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>>4561513
Father Pevrel is unaware, or doesn't care enough to comment on your erratic breathing. "Same goes for everyone else that was experimented alongside you here, in the Church of Mercy. The fact that Vengeance made this possible, and that Mercy healed you through this without putting a stop to it has my skin crawling. This is all fucked, and you're shitting on everything I've ever been taught just about every minute I'm in your company. I hate it, and I hate you, but I need answers if I'm going to set this right."

A deep sigh escapes from the priest. "So I'm asking you. You don't know the first thing about what a proper invocation is supposed to look like, and I don't know the first thing about what's actually going on here. You haven't asked for any help until just this year, but I understand why. Fill me in, Anscham. We're seeing this memorial of yours one way or another, but do you think that all this shit up top would do better with your attention?"

The cloud over your mind is NOT going to keep you from doing your job. You straighten upright, and resist the urge to slap some sense into yourself. Blinking several times parts the emerald, the viridian, and the fern. The back of your damp sleeve works fine to get the last of the gore and corpse-fluid off of your face. There's no wrong answers, here. Wherever you don't direct your efforts WILL suffer, but hard choices are your life's work.

(Options in next post.)
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(If this is still messed up I'm just leaving it. Please refresh/F5 if necessary to clear the posts with old formatting if they're still displaying. Thank you!)

>>4561514
>Select ONE prompt from A.
-and-
>Select only ONE (1) prompt from B, C, D, E or F.
>This is for the sake of pacing and risk-management, as you're certain that all of this will eventually get addressed.
>Majority vote will decide for both prompts.

>A] You'd be lying if you said you weren't tempted to do more with Agriculture. It's also worth repeating that the frequency, length, and intensity of your invocations is becoming unmanageable.
>1] Stay with Her, for the moment. You don't want to risk parting ways, or needing Her blessing (and you're still terribly curious how much more you can do).
>2] Release the invocation, and thank Her for everything.

>B] Your clergy already has the ball in motion. You're embarking on an immediate, broad-scale investigation into the cult of Inertia.
>1] Focused in Eadric.
>2] You're hitting the road.

>C] Revenge on Morris and Stace might put an end to ALL of this. Going after them is a lifetime overdue. There's the fewest leads here, but you and Pevrel clearly both have ideas where to start looking.

>D] The other individuals who were experimented on in the Church of Mercy might have held many answers. You need to know what happened in those dungeons with absolute certainty. You're going back into your dungeons, and getting answers once and for all.
>1] You're talking to Mercy first.
>2] You'll get plenty of answers from Pevrel.

>E] You really don't know what healthy invocations look like, and actually trust Pevrel's judgement a great deal. Ask for his guidance on this matter, and trust him to do the right thing.

>F] Write-in.
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>>4561523
A1; Thank you, Agri.

B; if this is as wide spread as it seems, we may have to head to the home of the Church of Agriculture to stop this blight at the source. Unfortunately, that may have to wait a bit. We have to make sure Eadric is secure and stable before we can even think about helping out the rest of the country.

Getting answers from the dungeons is important, as is Vengeance on our enemies, and so is Pevrel's observation on our invocations.

But all of these are secondary priorities, considering the scale of was the disaster looming before us.

On a semi-related note, I do wonder if we can invoke Storm safely for some of his counsel. I don't know if this was ever attempted before, but it may provide some illumination on the situation.

On an unrelated note, we have a busy day ahead of us. A prayer of apology to Dream is necessary, and some sleep at the end of this day is vital.
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>>4561561
(Hey anon! Good evening. Thanks for the in-depth vote! Just a head's up, invoking all of the Gods is an ability exclusive to you-- but to the best of your knowledge, you didn't think it was possible for them to physically manifest at all. Mercy did so to you only this last year. Agriculture's manifestation was something you were confident you could accomplish, thanks to your connection. Dream's was a complete shock, though. You've never been able to facilitate this with any other deity. As a friendly reminder, you can pray to any God (at any time!) for guidance. But actually having a conversation with the Gods is something completely left-field.

You also did write to Father Barthalomew Bennett (leader of the Church of Storm) on the second day you returned to Eadric. That was nine days ago. It could take upwards of a month to receive a reply, even though you spared no expense to get the message to Rimilde. The request was for an accurate prediction and report of the weather, along with a request for any aid that could be sent, and any counsel that Father Barthalomew was willing to send. Further communication with the most far-flung church in the nation is a challenge!)
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>>4561696
Ah, thanks for the clarification. I remember when someone mentioned that different types of invocations produce differing reactions, and I remember the mentioning of Storm visiting us during both of our innovations with him (along with him gifting us with life-threatening spasms, of course). I figure, potentially wrongly, that we may be able invoke him during this Storm-fall, with less threat to our health, since we are in his element and such. Foolish though it may be, but if the flooding is a manmade disaster, then this isn't Storm's work, but that of another, potentially abusing Storm's gifts, and he may shed some light if one of his children has been swept away from him.

Certainly a mad, impulsive decision; as befitting of Storm himself. Of course, it would have to be put to a majority vote, but I'm curious if it'll work.
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>>4561523
>>A] You'd be lying if you said you weren't tempted to do more with Agriculture. It's also worth repeating that the frequency, length, and intensity of your invocations is becoming unmanageable.
>2] Release the invocation, and thank Her for everything.

Job done, time to get to work ourselves.

>B] Your clergy already has the ball in motion. You're embarking on an immediate, broad-scale investigation into the cult of Inertia.
>1] Focused in Eadric.

We have homefield advantage and have already started making progress in this direction, we are woefully undermanned even with Pevrel here to go chasing any other leads. Stace and Morris aren't pulling on the reigns, they set up a perpetual motion machine of aggression. Use Pevrel and the Vengeance delegation to root out this cult from our home and potentially find more of their connections country wide.
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>>4561733
>Pevrel and the Vengeance

Sounds like an epic band name.
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>>4561736

I need a Vengeance heavy metal band now.
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>>4561717
(Happy to help! Just for complete clarity, the Gods have kind of a three-tiered means of interacting with you:

Prayer - Can appeal to them at any time, either to express your devotion or ask for guidance. You do this almost constantly off-screen, and I mention it in passing many times each thread. This costs you nothing, and leads to a lot of benefit in return. (E.g. praying to Spirit and Time for guidance while writing a complex schedule, praying to Agriculture at each meal, praying to Dream before you sleep.)

Invocation - Verbally appealing to the Gods for their abilities, then allowing Them to work through your body to make that happen. In the case of Mercy and Agriculture, no speech required. Some ritual is more pertinent for some than others. Have yet to try this with Time at all. This is normally only achievable by clergy for one (1) deity after a lifetime of devotion, in limited and specific ways. Your extremely broad range of use and ability to do so with all the Gods comes with a high cost, as you're all well aware.

Summoning - Facilitating a physical manifestation of a deity. The toll this takes on you appears to be dependent on aspects of Their domains. (e.g. Mercy wanting physicality, affection, compassion, light, etc.) This has only been achievable with Mercy and Agriculture through your own voluntarily means, and Dream has demonstrated that He can do so without your explicit intent (or consent).

So for ultra-clarity, you do not know how to summon Storm. Invoking Him would not facilitate a conversation, but praying to Him might help lend some personal introspection towards what you know about Him. There's also a priestess of Storm in your castle at this very moment!)

>>4561733
(Because you guys are tied on A1 and A2 I'm going to leave this open a bit longer until there's a tie breaker. Seriously appreciate you both and all of the thoughtful discussion!)
>>
>>4561740
(As an addendum to this I omitted the rare, weird ways they've interacted with you such as the visions you've had of Storm/Spirit/Dream, the physical impressions they leave on you, etc. since that's still completely not understood and not really relevant for two-way interaction.)
>>
>>4561740
Oh, I'm sorry, I meant A2. Thank you for pointing that out.

And thank for further clarification :^)

We should probably consult with before we decide to do anything else, and a prayer for a lightening of his temper, at the very least.
>>
>>4561749
(Oh hell yeah. Thank YOU for clarifying! In that case...)

>>4561561
>>4561717
>>4561736
>>4561739
>>4561749
(Gonna merge all this as best as I can and lock the vote here. Writing now!)
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>>4561749
>>4561741
>>4561740
>>4561739
>>4561736
>>4561733
>>4561717
>>4561696
>>4561561
>>4561523
A2
B?+

Ought to hit the right vote with this..
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>>4561761
(Seriously appreciate you man, thanks for voting! You got it lol)
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>>4561749
Damn, didn't realize how badly I wrote here. I apologize for my writing ability, it's barely understandable.
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>>4561774
(lol no worries bud, I think I got your meaning! You want to consult with Storm before making further decisions, and to pray to Him for the same "lightning of his temper" if nothing else. Yeah?)
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>>4561775
Lessening, but I believe you caught the drift of it, yes :^)

I also meant consulting with his priestess before we consult with Storm proper, but either way I'd probably be satisfied, so no worries here.
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https://youtu.be/0vC1KTCgaME

"Thank you, Aaagri— aahn—"

Her job is done. Ecstasy sticks to every inch of you, for several long moments after.

Several long minutes after.

You drag yourself into a more respectable position, away from the hold you took on a nearby wall. The world exists. You are GROUNDED, and fire a grimace at Father Pevrel. Sparks might as well be in the permanent green all throughout your eyes. "Time to put my own hands to good use."

Father Pevrel offers you a complex look. It's horror all wrapped up in awe, disdain, and possibly respect. He's speechless. Your grimace relents. "Your observations are unbearably important to me, especially— especially in regards to invocation. We will see to my dungeons, and I WILL have VENGEANCE on my enemies. But these are all secondary priorities. The scale of the—"

A hitch in your breath. "Hh—" A few residual waves of pleasure hit you harder than all of the sea.
It's all of the earth.
Reeling is out of the question.
It emboldens you.
You grin. "I will pray to Storm. We will consult Sister Miramond, as well. I must strike as decisively as a bolt of lightning, and with twice as much fury. My home is in peril— and I need your help."

The cross in your fellow priest's arms betrays more insecurity than the bark of his tone. "About fuckin' Time you came around to it." A nod, towards the corpse. "Decent work, by the way."

The thrum of your pulse will not die down. "Decent?" Your breath is hard, and heavy. A cursory exam over your frame doesn't seem as if you're any heavier, but there's something else working through you. Life. Death. There's an urge to make a joke about heavy metals, or to praise the aesthetic of the Church of Vengeance. The macabre. "More than that." Everything is beautiful, but it has to wait. "As badly as I would like to confront the Church of Agriculture this very instant, and to stop— and to stop this blight at its source, it will have to wait. Eadric must be secured, and as stable as I can manage before I— before WE can do a thing about the rest of the country."

"You like to talk nearly as much as I do, you know that?"

You both grin. It's all resentment, and dissatisfaction. "Yes. You know I am woefully undermanned, even— even with you here to go chasing after any other leads. Stace and Morris no longer hold their reigns. This carriage of aggression has been set in perpetual motion." The pace of your heart continues to pick up. "Root out this cult from my home. So find more of their connections country-wide. The blade of Vengeance strikes out from even our borders, does it not?"

(1/2)
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>>4561790
What was a smile is now the haughtiest sneer you've ever seen. Even Walter would be proud. "You don't have any idea how thin we're stretched. Fucking DAMMIT Anscham, get out of my head. We're overworked beyond all belief. I have a better idea. You haven't given my men an order your whole career. Don't start now."

"I have an advantage here, in my home. My clergy has already began to make progress within our walls. I have my reasons, and if you think—"

"No. Did She stuff your head full of cotton, too? Don't give me that face. The people of your city want answers for their accusations. I've gathered more than enough information. We'll set about a cursory hearing— and while they're all distracted, my men can get to the bottom of this. A strike force. Give me your sources."

"Give me just a— give me just a minute."

"Anscham!"

You both stagger out from the solar. Pevrel from shock, and you from physical awe. Every step is divine. You swore up and down to not lose yourself to sensation, and make a simple request. "I need to be out in the rain. This is incredibly important. I won't be long."

The priest of Vengeance tails you out from the solar. "You really are fucking insatiable! Imagine me trying to keep up with this shit! ANSCHAM! I'm going to kill you— "

The great hall below is suspiciously vacant. It seems everyone has cleared out to search the castle for intruders. You don't give the heretic a second glance, and make your way down both flights of stairs. The handrail is used for once, as you can still barely see in colors other than green. He tails you all the way to the closest courtyard.

An orange sunrise is shrouded by dark clouds. Storm has gathered over your city. Rain falls in sheets over your gardens, and practically drowns out the life growing within. Pevrel's resemblance to an irate house cat intensifies, as he bristles. The priest waits indoors. You step out into the downpour. A few words are given to the God of Lightning, as a bolt lances the sky.

"The floodgates have OPENED! I ask not for hands, for eyes, or for relief from Your tempest. Your will be done! Let me be the conductor of your current! I wish to strike my foes with the same VIOLENT intensity that you have graced my city with this very dawn! SURPRISE ME once more! Grant me your guidance, STORM!"

Turbulence is His reply. A renewed roll of thunder.

You're taken back to electricity behind your eyes. Arcs of light flitting along your fingertips, as you tempered an army. The breath of water, and thousands of flickering leeches miles underground. Culling a sorcerer with ten heads. Suffocating Mondost with flame, and liquid alike. The full might of the pantheon. Turmoil, disturbances, and controversy incarnate. The God of maximum overkill.

You have an answer: You will not weather this turmoil. You will worship it.

(Options in next post.)
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>>4561792
>A] Refuse to seek an audience with the elders of your city. Go with Father Pevrel— and no one else— to investigate the hideouts that your clergy located. No one knows where either of you are. It would be an ultimate surprise attack, and NO mortal should be able to take on two leaders of the theocracy at once.

>B] Hope beyond hope that Brother Durville, Irefist, Sister Miramond, and Harvey are capable of handling the situation here. You'll attend this hearing, so long as every last one of your children are present that are able. You have AMPLE evidence and testimony at your disposal, and curtailing the charges against you NOW will calm EVERYONE's tempest.

>C] You're worried sick about the safety of your castle. Make a sweep of a path to the dungeons, just for good measure. You'll head for where your assassin is being kept, and won't rest until you're certain she's safe and secure. No one is standing in your way.

>D] Write-in.

(Vote will remain open for the next five hours.)
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>>4561793

>>A] Refuse to seek an audience with the elders of your city. Go with Father Pevrel— and no one else— to investigate the hideouts that your clergy located. No one knows where either of you are. It would be an ultimate surprise attack, and NO mortal should be able to take on two leaders of the theocracy at once.

Stay not your hand. Become the Storm on *their* doorstep.
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>>4561793
>A] Refuse to seek an audience with the elders of your city. Go with Father Pevrel— and no one else— to investigate the hideouts that your clergy located. No one knows where either of you are. It would be an ultimate surprise attack, and NO mortal should be able to take on two leaders of the theocracy at once.

It shall be a tribute to Storm himself, in his very element. It shall be glorious.
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>>4561804
I should also add that we will gather the elders after our business with Inertia is concluded on this day, and sweep them up in out tempest. On this day, our lightning shall strike twice!

And I must add, the music choice really got me pumped up!
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>>4561793
>A] Refuse to seek an audience with the elders of your city. Go with Father Pevrel— and no one else— to investigate the hideouts that your clergy located. No one knows where either of you are. It would be an ultimate surprise attack, and NO mortal should be able to take on two leaders of the theocracy at once.

Two priests walk into a bar, the bar bends.
>>
>>4561797
>>4561804
>>4561809
>>4561810
(Aw hell yeah guys. Unanimous vote is locked here! Writing now.)
>>
>>4561948
The mad plan is relayed to Father Pevrel. "On this day, our lightning shall strike twice."

A glint of bloodthirst and anger comes to your fellow priest's eye. "Nice. Yeah. Alright. We can make that work." He crosses his arms, and looks you over from soaking-head-to-bloody-toe. "You're not sneaking around anywhere, though."

No wind is being taken from your sails. "Do you know what will happen if we walk into a bar together, Father?"

A look that could curdle milk replies.

"The bar will bend."

He almost smiles. "How do you think you're even going to fight?"

"Pardon me?" You've lifted solid stone, thrown boulders, and trained with tree trunks as recently as yesterday morning. "A fight would not even— what do you think even constitutes a morning workout, with priests of Flesh in my employ—"

More scrutiny. "Still not sneaking in anywhere. Those locations, Anscham."

It's been weeks since your blade or shield have seen action. There's a twitch in your hands. Nothing is halting before your tempest. You quickly relay everything you know. The locations of these enemy hideouts are scattered around the perimeter of the city. Your clergy estimated that the buildings were all PACKED with individuals. You don't know about the details of their security, patrols, or anything more than their potential occupants. The assassins who have been coming after your family are at least mostly related to the cult of Inertia, who seek to poison innocent men and women. They've made open displays of aggression in the streets, and likely have some of the populace on their side.

The public still looks up to you, even if the common man may have great difficulty recognizing you. It's crucial that you do not destroy what little remains of your reputation, as the Father of compassion— and as the leader of the Church of Mercy.

A hand goes to Father Pevrel's sword. "Make no illusions, Anscham. Hesitation is defeat, and your enemies seek to kill you. We must reward their intent in turn."

You realize that you haven't carried a weapon or shield in weeks, and left your things in your old bedroom adjacent to the Church of Mercy. "Mercy in a different form. You want to undergo a mission of extermination. But these are— these are still people, Father. Not insects. Not demons."

"For how long? And what are you going to do, hug them into submission?"

"I prefer to exact my clemency and compassion on a case-by-case basis."

"Pathetic."

The twitch in your fingers intensifies. "Make no mistake: I will NOT stay my hand if the need arises, Pevrel. Storm has brought himself to our doorstep. We will unleash His fury—"

"Words, words, words. Let's go make some heads roll. What are you using?"

(Options in next post.)
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>>4561971
>A] Risk being spotted, and head for your old bedroom. (A MODERATE ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED. Reminder that Adwin is in the main choir, and will likely see you coming or going if not run into you outright.)
>1] You'll take PIETY. The idea of how much weight you could put behind your longsword is electrifying.
>2] Your MACE and SHIELD are rarely tried, but always true. The enchanted weapon and impenetrable defense would be welcome, as Pevrel does not have anything in the way of visible armor or defense.

>B] It's time to raid your ARMORY! (A HIGH ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED. Write-ins may help for how to cross the castle undetected.)

>C] FISTS should do just fine on the street, and you'll TACKLE any other situations as they arise. With your luck? You'd like to see someone try to take you down in a fight. (A VERY HIGH ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED. Write-ins may help for how to cross the city unarmed and undetected.)

>D] There will be no illusions about your identity, and that is exactly how you like it. The risk of being accosted in the streets are astronomical. INVOKE Mercy before even leaving the keep, and call on anyone necessary to keep you and Pevrel alive. (A LOW ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED. Feel free to specify out the gate any hard limitations you want to impose on who you won't invoke, or why.)

>E] Write-in. (Feel free to clearly specify any ATTITUDE you want to take out the gate regarding any enemies you may encounter. E.g. You do not want to kill another person under any circumstances, you'd rather go in swinging if anyone gives you so much as a second glance, etc.)
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>>4561973
>C] FISTS should do just fine on the street, and you'll TACKLE any other situations as they arise. With your luck? You'd like to see someone try to take you down in a fight. (A VERY HIGH ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED. Write-ins may help for how to cross the city unarmed and undetected.)

Let's dress up like a fat executioner in employ of a priest of vengeance
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>>4561973

>E] Write-in. (Feel free to clearly specify any ATTITUDE you want to take out the gate regarding any enemies you may encounter. E.g. You do not want to kill another person under any circumstances, you'd rather go in swinging if anyone gives you so much as a second glance, etc.)

People tend to forget this is the church of restraint too. We will invoke Mercy and fully immobilize them, perhaps Agri if things get too overwhelming. Bind them in golden chains, string them up from their own hideouts. Manacles and immovable posts. All of their malicious intent, pay it back with temperance. Make them KNOW we only think of them as misbehaving children, unworthy of even proper punishment. Pevrel can handle that, he is our subordinate after all.
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>>4561982

Quick clarification, we should hide using >>4561979
and then use restraint once we actually get to their hideouts.
>>
>>4561971

>>4561979
+1, and a head covering or a mask... do we still have the mask of Inertia on us?

>>4561982
Honestly, we could just block the door and windows. They'd be stuck until we can get enough people to properly process them if we're taking prisoners.
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>>4561989

We could also just bind them all together in chains, don't think anyone can get away from holy restraint. An archdemon struggle against it so I doubt some cultists would be able to do it.

Also wearing that Inertia mask is a horrible idea, what cultist would be walking with Father Pevrel?
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>>4561979
(This is fucking genius.)

>>4561982
>>4561987
>>4561989
>>4561991
(Just a head's up, I'm locking the vote in 10 minutes so I can write once more before work! Leaving this open until then for any further strategy you guys want to employ. GOGOGO)
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>>4561979
>>4561982
>>4561987
>>4561989
>>4561991
>UNARMED AND UNDETECTED

>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.
>-35 FAME (Crossing the city undetected as one of the most famous men in the country will be a feat.)
>-10 PRIEST OF AGRICULTURE (Crossing the city after a sleepless night could further compromise your reduced stealth.)
>+20 FATHER OF PURSUIT (You're in the company of the most qualified soul in the nation for this job.)
>+15 RICK THE EXECUTIONER (A clever, plausible disguise will greatly aid in keeping your identity under wraps!)
>+10 FATHER OF RESTRAINT (Playing into your strengths might not help to stay undetected, but it will aid in escape if necessary!)
>+5 SOLID DIRECTIONS IN YOUR OWN CITY (Brother Durville is a fantastic scout, and you know your home!)
>>
Rolled 93 (1d100)

>>4562003

YECH, ALLOW US TO YEET THESES SHITTIES. BLESS THESE DICE, BLESS RICK. LET US MAKE PEVREL SHAKE AGAIN.
>>
>>4562004

I am become Rick, destroyer of bussy.
>>
Rolled 5 (1d100)

>>4562003
Di C)e
>>
Rolled 8 (1d100)

>>4562003
>>4562004

Watch Yech bless me with a nat 100!
>>
>>4562010
>>4562011

My prayer has absorbed all of your luck. I am sorry, but it must be done.
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>>4562004
>>4562007
>>4562010
>>4562011
>>4562012
(I'm actually crying laughing. Good thing we use bo3. lmao. That'll do it! Writing now!)
>>
>>4562014
https://youtu.be/bOUYAsWhZZY

"My fists."

The hands of Mercy are closed. The twitch was a reminder of your foremost weapon. You grin like a lunatic, and take a step back from the priest of Vengeance at your side. Scrutinizing him plainly. His shoulders shake slightly, almost with with a laugh. "Alright. That's better. The fuck you think you're looking at, Anscham?"

"You're the most qualified man in the nation for a covert operation. How's this?" A hand is placed to your robes. "The Church of the gallows is my ally. Grant me the garb of an executioner." A little gold swims in the fabric. You narrow your eyes. "Don't make it pretty."

The water on you evaporates in an instant. The hem of your robes ravels in on itself, and transforms into a filthy leather apron. It seems to be intentionally too small, and emphasizes the bulk of your gut. The simple, black trousers you have on beneath are a perfect compliment. So is your ill-fitting shirt, the scars all over every inch of your frame, and the blood on the soles of your shoes. The scent of death already clinging to you. The back of your hood is casually thrown over your face, which extends into a grotesque sack. You can see perfectly through the narrow slits for eyes, as if the cloth was scarcely there. It's all jet-black, and unmistakably disguises the last of your discernible features. Long, leather gloves are fitted over the breadth of your wrists and forearms. A bear would be intimidated. You marvel at it, for a moment.

Pevrel whistles. "Holy shit."

As a preacher, and a man who speaks more freely than he breathes, it's easy enough to assume an exaggerated tone. The rocks and silt of all the world come to your speech. It's scarcely intelligible, with a single clearing of your throat. "Let's show off why they call this the city of restraint" A punch into your own open palm. "Brother."

"I could get used to this." The hood on Pevrel's robes are thrown up. He tears off both sleeves on his robes (Cyril would be proud of those biceps), and wraps his cloak around the lower half of his face. A streak of blood is smeared from the bottom of his shoe, across his brow and down below one eye. It enhances the impression of all the light vanishing from his face, with a stark contrast against the pits where he should be blind. The man's sword stays sheathed, but he takes a dagger in either hand without hesitation. It's an instant distraction from his fine weapon. The remainder of his cloak is casually draped over the sheathe. He's instantly difficult to look at, and radiates the energy of a veteran butcher. "That's more fuckin' like it. Let's move."

(1/4)
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>>4562062
You take the lead, but only to guide the priest out from a secret exit in the castle's exterior walls. The two of you snake around the back of the Church of Mercy, and out into the city streets. Little rock structures for business and residency are nestled into segmented walls in all directions. Pouring rain plinks off of a few rare metal fixtures. Gardens litter the unrelenting rock on hundreds of homes, but they've been picked clean in all directions. Storm should be welcome for your city's self-sufficiency. It still won't be enough to compensate for the ruined harvest. Yellow banners and ribbons hang from several merchant stalls that you pass by. Thanks to the poor weather, the streets are fairly empty. Long, stone roads snake through all of Eadric, but travel is intentionally difficult.

There will be eight checkpoints between you, and the furthest hideout. Not a guard is in sight. There's shouts in the distance— no doubt Spangle's doing. Luck would have it that something's pulled most scrutiny away from the castle itself. This is your first occasion to venture out from its walls in nearly ten days, but this is YOUR city.

For appearance's sake, you walk alongside Pevrel. Every soul that passes you by on the street immediately ducks their head, glances away, or outright moves to the opposite side of the street. You're both walking repellent for scrutiny, and no one gives you a single glance. Ducking down a few side streets grants more privacy, still. The instruction you give is a rumble of gravel. "These miscreants occupying my city have misbehaved, Pevrel. I will gladly remind them that they are unworthy of proper punishment. Restraint is my partner. Mercy and I can keep them down for long enough to get your men in place. I'll call upon Agriculture if absolutely necessary. You can handle that much, can't you?"

The two of you snake around a number of winding back-alleys, without a speck of light in view. A number of vagrants are littering the alleyways. It puts an ache in your heart, and you WILL see to the plight of your citizenry— but it has to wait.

Every city in Corcaea is constructed with humanity's survival in mind. Segments divide districts, businesses, and any significantly large structure. The high walls, towers, and guarded defenses are meant to keep demons and citizens in. Reducing the impact of an outbreak is worth the potential loss of life— and also aids in protecting the masses from unwanted visitors. Normally, you could pass freely through any location in the city through your identity alone.

(2/4)
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>>4562066
There's seven guards posted to their station, at a high dividing wall up ahead. It's the most secure structure in the city, save for the castle itself. The retaining barrier is meant to keep the heart of Eadric apart from its surrounding districts. It contains no weaknesses. No hidden corridors. The solid stone is at least thirty feet high, and kept smooth to make scaling it equally challenging. Even Calunoth's protection pales in comparison to the city of defense. You've carved the shortest path to the closest hideout, but this barrier is unavoidable. It also has a nearby post, guarded by what you count as seven men.

"Nine guards," Father Pevrel sneers. The two of you stop leaning around the alley's corner, and slip back into the shadows. The cloth over the priest's face comes further up over his eyes. "Let me do the talking."

The man's body language is instantly unrecognizable. Slouching, and morbid preoccupation over his daggers is evident. Brooding teenagers are less bleak. He strides out, head low. You try not to laugh, and don't even have to try to look imposing alongside him.

A sneer trails out from the priest's mouth. It's somehow more nasally and whiny than the rest of his demeanor. "Heeyyy." The point of a dagger is casually waved at every stiffening guard up ahead. They all tense even harder as they register your form. Most of the men are grizzled, and easily look up to the defense of the inner wall. Nevertheless, pikes, halberds, and makeshift polearms are all gripped behind shields at your approach.

"What's the meaning of this?"

"Who goes there?"

The most elderly of the men bristles all the gray in his beard. A tilt of his helmet, as he quickly looks you both over. There isn't even an acknowledgement towards your presence, which suits you just fine. "Brother, what's happened—"

"Maaan," Pevrel drawls, rolling his head back, and making a sharp gesture towards the guard. He strides straight at him, all while quickly saying, "you have some nerve." The distance between them is closed in a second. He's waving his weapon in the man's face. "You think I wouldn't state my business if there was a neeeed to know—"

All eyes are on the priest, as you briskly come up behind him. Grunting, and putting a hand to his shoulder appropriately makes the priest tense even harder. He turns, and snaps at you. "CUT THE SHIT, RICK, YOU KNOW I'VE HAD IT UP TO FUCKIN' HERE WITH ALL THIS—"

Two of the guards are so uncomfortable, they're not even looking at the priest. A few looks are cast at their superior. How long are they going to be in the city for? Can we just get this over with?

A literal snap of Pevrel's fingers, at the far gate. "GUILTY, ALL OF YOU. This is SLOTH, and DOUBT directed towards a MAN of our GOD. At leaaast THREE days in the stockades for every SECOND you're DITHERING! GET! GO ON! WHAT'S THE HOLDUP?!"

(3/4)
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>>4562067
There's a scramble, as several guards set about releasing the far wall. The older gentleman who spoke out is still bristling. Low voice. "Gods forbid we stay our hands, Brother. Is anyone being executed that we need to be—"

Without even acknowledging the guard's question, the figure of black and spite laughs hard at the poor man's face. "I'll have another priest sent for youuurr in-sub-ord-inATION, SIR." A tilt of his dagger, towards the gate.

A grunt, as you stride over to the gate. It's open. The misery of your guards is on them worse than the pouring rain. There's no point in making a further show of things, so you simply stand by as Pevrel struts out of the tower. A spit over his shoulder. Neither of you need to say another word, but he's quick to add to the men at your backs, "crowd gathered by the castle. Some heretic was on the drawbridge, making a fool of a priestess of Storm. JUDGING by the looks on all yourrr FACES, there isn't a thing you picked up on the affair. Would actually WARRANT your attention. Might keep JUDGEMENT at bay, even—!"

There's a snap from the eldest guard, as he barks at two of his men to go see to the matter.

You and Pevrel snake away from the fortress, and out towards the street. He laughs quietly to himself, the moment you're both out of sight. "Idiots."

Grumbling at him is sufficient. "There is a great deal of wisdom in deference, Father."

It takes less than five minutes to cross through the business quarter. Your first lead is for a residency. The gray brick buildings here are all lined in yellow. Stalls are being opened for the day, despite the sun not shining. The sky trembles with low thunder.

Long before you get within sight of the home in question, you need to decide how to approach this affair. Witnesses would be a tragedy. So would bringing any casualties in. Seizing your element of surprise would be prudent. Pevrel pulls his hood up farther, and stashes both daggers. A hand is kept to the hilt of his shrouded sword.

>A] Find a back door to slip into. These homes are designed to be defended, but you know your city well. (A HIGH ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

>B] You could possibly fit in a window. It would be an easier and quieter breach, but you've got a lot working against you. (AN EXTREMELY HIGH ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

>C] Create an entrance in the side of the building, via invoking Agriculture. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED. The details for your bonuses and maluses will be provided if selected.)
>1] Keep it simple. (A FLAT ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
>2] Try to detect where there is the least motion inside the building, through your attunement to the EARTH. (A MODERATE ROLL will be required.)

>D] Leave it to Pevrel on how to proceed. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

>E] If they have violent intent, let them show it publicly against a priest of Vengeance and his executioner. Knock on the front door. (A FLAT ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

>F] Write-in.
>>
>>4562070

>>C] Create an entrance in the side of the building, via invoking Agriculture. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED. The details for your bonuses and maluses will be provided if selected.)
>2] Try to detect where there is the least motion inside the building, through your attunement to the EARTH. (A MODERATE ROLL will be required.)
>>
>>4562070
>B] You could possibly fit in a window. It would be an easier and quieter breach, but you've got a lot working against you. (AN EXTREMELY HIGH ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
This, i have to see this.
>>
>>4562091
>>4562094
agri creating an opening for us for smoothly slinking through, like an expanding window?
>>
>>4562091
>>4562094
>>4562096
>WINDOW FROM THE WORLD

>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.
>-50 PRIEST OF AGRICULTURE (The Goddess stressed that She *slowed* Growth. There's no understating how much of an effect She's left on you.)
+20 GREEN DAHLIA (Such frequent use of Agriculture's gifts has not only maintained this blessing: You're getting the hang of it.)
>+20 EARTH -TREMORSENSE (You're practically one with this rock and soil.)
>-15 SOULACHE (Invoking almost constantly is seriously wearing you down.)
>+15 MASOCHISM TANGO (You HAVE to see this.)
>>
Rolled 96 (1d100)

>>4562146

OH BLESSED HIGH ROLLER, GRANT ME YOUR FORTUNE ONCE MORE, AS WE PREPARE TO INDEED WRECK THESE SHITTIES. HALLOWED BY THY WINE, FAMED BE OSTEDHOLM.
>>
>>4562150

THY WILL BE DONE, I BOW BEFORE YOUR MIGHT.
>>
Rolled 37 (1d100)

>>4562150
Based
>>4562146
Watch me fail
>>
>>4562157

You must say the prayer, brother.
>>
Rolled 64 (1d100)

>>4562146
>>
>>4562150
>>4562153
>>4562157
>>4562159
>>4562214
(Oh hell yeah that's an 86 for bo3 after all modifiers! I am beyond swamped at work today and will have to update when I get home. Thank you very much for your patience dudes! ETA 3-4 hours.)
>>
(Home at last. Writing now!)
>>
>>4562474
Skirting away from the main streets, and moving towards the perimeter of the district comes with nonstop prayer. Good fortune is your creed. Not another soul is in sight. All of the patrols must have been pulled away by the chaos in the streets. You're certain that someone is going to spot you both creeping by progressively sparser homes, but your luck holds out. At the end of a winding stone road, perched over the edge of the district, is what should be an utterly abandoned home.

The building looks as miserable as your sleep-deprived body is starting to feel. It's also been devastated by vandals. Crumbling stone. Rotting vines. The unrelenting rain and dark clouds overhead paint it in menacing shades of rust. A broad staircase leads to its first floor, which is at a small elevation. There's at least one level beneath. The entire building is on top of a slope, which leads down, and away from the district you're residing in. The retaining wall alone will provide a great deal of cover. Voices can be heard from within the upper level. A small tower no doubt has a lookout that spotted your approach.

You and Father Pevrel make a brisk turn down the road. The priest of Vengeance moves in an odd pattern, and somehow brings you both back around to the side of the retaining wall without leaving the shadows. The two of you stay flush against the stone, and try to listen. There's unmistakably life inside the hideout. Cinder is on the air. Some meat is being burned indoors, which raises alarm bells. Grains are almost all that should be available. Low voices carry over the pounding rain— and they're mostly female. Not a single side or back door is in sight. Every window is at the peak of the building. This is the city of defense— but you have a fine idea of how to circumvent it.

"Anscham. What are you doing?"

The hand you have to the wall has been caressing the building. With a deep sigh, you lean against the rock, and smile. It can't be seen through the hood over your face, but it can be heard with all the love in your voice. "You don't care in the slightest how we get this job done. I'm going to detect where there's the least amount of motion in the building, and create a window for our entry."

"If absolutely necessary, was that it? For fuck's sake. You've got it bad." Concern wraps up into the disgust pouring over you. "You actually have a serious problem, don't you?"

https://youtu.be/ntUbHKenZpI

Your pulse has yet to die down. It's like She's on you, without even calling for Her name. "The substance. The soil. The bed in which Your roots take ho—" It's a little death, and the final shroud on every body. The world gives way, for a moment. "—hold." The world is all that there is, and everything that's within you. On you. Around you. "Agriculture—"

(1/3)
>>
>>4562609
Every last footfall can be felt in the deepest recesses of your being. It's a connection that surpasses sight, and sound. You reach out, in preparation for your devotion. It is with the will to reduce all to rubble. The ache, and stretch on your soul is phenomenal. You manage through digging your nails against the rock and stone, with a bite on your lip—

Father Pevrel clears his throat. "Hate to interrupt, but would you mind?"

"We would."

The scrutiny, and revulsion in his speech is blasphemy of the highest order. He makes some exasperated, heretical sound. "Tch. Explains a lot, doesn't it?"

"Silence."

An easier, quieter breach would be nice. You are practically one with the granite and gravel, and reach out once more. Movement from humanoid figures within are concentrated around the building's entrance. It's likely for a post of guards. Their forms are heavier than the activity beneath the dirt. You safely assume that the men in this location are gathered up top for appearances. There's more to this structure than meets the eye. Some frantic physical activity is taking place in a network of rooms below ground. It stretches out within the retaining wall, and a little further beyond. A point of access should be possible from a garden at the rear of the property.

Your eyes drift open. It's instantly clear why your antagonistic ally has stopped berating you. There is a scythe in your hands. It's at least six feet long, and requires both of your fists to wield it. Timber native to Eadric's forests comprises a jet-black handle. A sharpened stone blade extends with the promise of lethal capacity at its end. You've seen the item, and the many runes from Ostedholm inscribed upon it several times before. It makes perfect sense. The ruins are just as much a part of Her as any other. Yellow-green blossoms dance along the handle. Vines wrap around the entire item, that end by running straight into your veins.

There's no pain. It's comforting. A focus. Reverence seizes you in mutual passion, and a fit of insanity. You stride towards the vacant space you've identified without any hesitation, with the colossal item in hand. "Hallowed be thy wine."

The priest in your company follows you from a distance, but he's no coward. Father Pevrel stays right on your trail, and almost within arm's reach. He hisses. "Keep your voices down."

Down a small slope, and beneath high boughs of the overgrowth, you're offered complete coverage from any scrutiny above. You locate your purchase. Damp soil. Below is a pocket of immobility. A vacant room. "Thy will be done."

The divine blade you're wielding is nearly as thin as a blade of grass. Swinging the item overhead, you look every part the executioner. Floral notes, and adoration drips from your whisper. "Bear witness on earth."

(2/3)
>>
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>>4562617
A swing of the blade. The item hasn't been practiced with, so you use a short arc. Three more follow suit. The outline of a window glows with a faint, green light. "Expand," you politely request.

The window crumbles into a pocket of the earth itself.
The ground gives out from under you, and your fearless companion.
A soft, smooth, and silent landing follows.
You're certain that transcending the elements of nature has lent to you not sustaining serious injury from plummeting thirty feet below ground.
Nothing makes sense, for a few moments.
No panic sets in, from the sensation of being buried alive.

You simply reach out with a bare hand, seize Father Pevrel by the back of his collar, and firmly drag him back into the world as you both know it.

The depths of some underground structure are all around. There's no light, but you can feel life all around. You're both in a small storage closet. Cartons of household goods and trade fare are stacked high. Along with barrels for wine, and a few sacks of potatoes, there's a giant hole in the ceiling. It makes no sense. The window you created appears to have been made of solid dirt. A few particles of earth trickle from the ceiling. The flawless, silent, and covert entry closes without a trace.

You're covered head-to-toe in dirt, and so is Father Pevrel. The scythe is gone. The man at your side coughs a few times, and a cloud of soil comes out with it. He's looking at you like he could kill you, but is obviously too shocked to speak. He collapses against the side of the wall for a moment, and fights to silently hack up the rest of the garden he's inhaled.

You take a deep breath. The barley and apples all around are unspoiled. Even the slightest motion puts a canopy of ecstasy behind your eyes, all through your skull, and down through all the rest of you. It's a finger running up your spine. The temptation under your nails. The might of the earth is enormously reassuring. These hideouts are clearly being used as safe havens in a Time of potential famine. There's at least four people in the hall just outside the door. A massive gathering of at least twenty more individuals is down the hall. You could bury them all alive. New roots could be grown, and used to ensnare them. Your domains are on every side. All the world is your garden, and you know you can reap its harvest.

(Options in next post.)
>>
>>4562619
>A] The intensity and frequency of your invocations is bothering Father Pevrel. Ask him why, and see if your mind and body can mellow out while he rants.
>1] Persist with the invocation.
>2] Release the invocation.

>B] Give Father Pevrel a moment to gather himself, and help him expel any soil he's inhaled. Quietly ask the leader of the Church of Vengeance how he'd like to proceed.
>1] You'll go along with just about anything he proposes (within reason).
>2] You want to hear him out before agreeing to anything.

>C] Go in, and kick down the door while you're at it. Hesitation is defeat. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED. Write-in strategy is welcome.)
>1] Your fists and grit will do just fine. Release the invocation.
>2] Maintain the invocation to Agriculture. You are prepared to WRECK anyone who tries to stand in your way.
>3] Release the invocation to Agriculture, and invoke Mercy. If no one else, the Goddess of Temperance should be able to reign you in.
>4] Invoke Mercy, while maintaining the invocation to Agriculture. Restraint pairs *perfectly* with your excess.

>D] Write-in. (A ROLL MAY BE REQUIRED.)
>>
>>4562622
B2; don't want to scare the man too much, and it would be inappropriate to kick down the door while he's coughing up soil. Offer him some water to help.
>>
>>4562622
B2, while eating an apple. Can't miss out on starting a healthy diet
>>
>>4562622
>>B] Give Father Pevrel a moment to gather himself, and help him expel any soil he's inhaled. Quietly ask the leader of the Church of Vengeance how he'd like to proceed.
>2] You want to hear him out before agreeing to anything.

That's a taste of the ruins right there, Father.
>>
>>4562638
>>4562765
>>4562769
(Love it guys. Unanimous vote is locked here! Writing now.)
>>
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https://youtu.be/XZKDSSBmeG8

A moment is spent deciphering the newest anatomy of your robes. There's a pocket on the interior of your leather apron that holds your flask from Yech. Brushing up against your chest to take our the item produces a burst of pollen behind your eyes. The lowest whisper you can manage is assumed, which masks most of your breathlessness. "That is a taste of the ruins, Father. Have some water. I'll walk you through a means of clearing your lungs."

Doing so silently is going to be a struggle, but you show him some breathing exercises, and means of inducing the correct kind of cough. Ways to use proper muscle groups for it. In the meantime, an apple is located. Medium-sized, striped pink. It has a distinct scent of lemon, which is almost as curious as the way that you respond to eating it.

Eight entire seasons, all of its climate, and the bloom of an orchard works its way into you. The lemon overtone is accompanied by the impression of an early-season harvest. Back breaking labor in your country's over-watered fields viscerally satisfies. The texture is as crisp as the salt spray and sea winds that the item has been blessed by. The produce came from an island off the coast of Rimilde. The union of Storm and Agriculture survived several weeks in storage, as a testament to their hardiness. The fruit stems were manually thinned to a single spur, which grants the you with a fullness of quality. This is a unique variety. It's disease resistant, sweet, juicy and almost unbearably refreshing. You've never had anything more delicious in your entire life, and are certain it's from the invocation. Through a haze of euphoria even you can recognize is disproportionate, you look over the core.

Every seed is picked out, and pocketed. The desire to graft from a mother tree is on you with the same intensity as a Goddess. It's the promise of life. You can't miss out on starting a healthy diet, and have the nutritional requirements of two men. Over-indulgence Herself is working through you. You proceed to work through four more apples.

Pevrel has finished hacking. You want to hear his thoughts on anything but this matter. Simply asking, "how would you like to proceed," is sufficient.

"I can't see in the dark, Anscham, but I sure as shit know we'll have to fight our way out the second we're identified." A pause. You've never heard someone sound so furious in your entire life. "Are you eating"

Your manners are impeccable, and you've been making practically no sound at all. You're also terribly honest. "Yes. Your point...?"

"You have got to be fucking kidding m—"

(1/2)
>>
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>>4563023
The flavor of interruption is just as pleasing. "There are at least four individuals in the hall, and over twenty in the area beyond. Some figures may be inert, but I discerned a great deal of motion coming from at least one, large chamber. They're all women, or young men below ground. The top floor has heavily armed men, and likely a few scouts."

A sword is drawn. Your suspicion was correct. Jet-black, volcanic glass catches on an absence of light. "I'm not hesitating if someone tries to mow me down, Anscham."

"This is a mission of restraint."

"Don't give me that shit, glutton. You wanted to take prisoners. Are you going to discreetly confine every last hideout we hit today? I've seen priests of Mercy work before. You have to be with your target, don't you? It's no good halfway across the damn city. Can the Father of Temperance recognize even one limitation?"

The abuse is ignored. The restraint you've exerted over hundreds of individuals flits across your mind— along with Mercy's comments about how enforcing Her will on others is one of the greatest sins imaginable. "What are you getting at, Father—"

"We don't know if there are any innocents in this building. There might be children, or prisoners being held. We have almost no information. I wasn't expecting you to drop us into the heart of their fucking base. We're cornered, and will compromise ourselves the instant we leave. Those guards on the top floor could run before we even get to them. This is a fucking mess before it's even started, so listen up. We sprint out— for fuck's sake. Can you sprint—" The priest pinches the bridge of his nose. "We'll make our way out from here, and identify the exits. You seal the building."

You were thinking it, but it's fine for the priest to think that it was his idea. "That would be wiser than mindless slaughter, Father."

"Shut up. I'm trying to work with you, but this is going to kill me."

There's rumor that the leader of the Church of Vengeance can't invoke his patron deity. You remain quiet, and respectfully listen.

"I think we can handle this much, so long as no one gets any reinforcements. Will give us some Time to identify who's trying to run— and who's willing to fight, and die. I can strike without killing, but I'm not going to like it. Men will fight even when badly wounded, Anscham. We're going to make this a lot harder on ourselves if we try and capture hundreds. You don't have the hands to watch them in your prisons, either."

"Just to be clear: you want me to seal off the exits, and restrain as many individuals as possible. You'll hold their attention, and strike anyone who— anyone who attempts to directly attack us?"

"Yeah. You can't just capture every enemy you face. Most are better off dead than alive, and you are already having major fucking issues with the sole prisoner you're keeping."

(Options in next post.)
>>
>>4563026
>Choose ONE option from A, B, AND C.
>Majority vote will decide for all three.

>A] There's nothing that can be done this second about your security at home, but you can determine how to hold down your foes (for now).
>1] Creating organic GROWTH through AGRICULTURE should provide a means of natural restraint. Actual LIFE will be capable of persisting even after an invocation has ended, and when you're out of range from your targets. (You still have no idea how this is affecting you, but it doesn't necessarily feel *bad*.)
>2] Though you're uncertain of its duration and long-term effects, you know you've been capable of restraining hundreds through MERCY. (It usually results in a LOT of blood, and knocks you out cold.)
>3] The COMBINED might of Agriculture and Mercy was capable of holding down an archdemon. You'll invoke both of them, and find a new means of safely capturing your enemies. (It nearly killed Arkthros, and human experimentation is far from Merciful. This could threaten lives, and/or your sanity.)

>B] You wanted to strike as furiously and decisively as lightning.
>1] Take no prisoners, save for anyone who outright flees or begs for their life.
>2] Don't stop Pevrel from defending himself, but you'll restrain anyone and everyone you personally can.
>3] You're taking any and every enemy you face today, even if it kills you.

>C] Father Pevrel is a man with a plan, and clearly trusts you with his life.
>1] Agree to the plan in its entirety. It's very similar to what you had in mind, too.
>2] You have a better idea, or want to share additional strategy. (Write-in.)
>>
>>4563028
>C] Father Pevrel is a man with a plan, and clearly trusts you with his life.
>1] Agree to the plan in its entirety. It's very similar to what you had in mind, too.
This house and all its denizens have enjoyed corruption and suffering of honest citizens, the bad apple it is that will rot the whole harvest. I say its time to give the other half of Agriculture a scene.
>>
>>4563028

>>A] There's nothing that can be done this second about your security at home, but you can determine how to hold down your foes (for now).
>>1] Creating organic GROWTH through AGRICULTURE should provide a means of natural restraint. Actual LIFE will be capable of persisting even after an invocation has ended, and when you're out of range from your targets. (You still have no idea how this is affecting you, but it doesn't necessarily feel *bad*.)

>B] You wanted to strike as furiously and decisively as lightning.
>2] Don't stop Pevrel from defending himself, but you'll restrain anyone and everyone you personally can.

>C] Father Pevrel is a man with a plan, and clearly trusts you with his life.
>1] Agree to the plan in its entirety. It's very similar to what you had in mind, too.

Dont kill ourselves over taking prisoners, but do try to be merciful.
>>
>>4563033
B1 and A1
>>
>>4563033

You need to vote for all 3 prompts. Still need an A and B vote.
>>
>>4563038
(He's got it! Ty though anon.

Just a head's up dudes, I've got work in a few and it has been SWAMPED this week. As stated at the top of the thread, some workdays Monday-Thursday I can do 1-2+ updates. Going to do my best to clear out some time this afternoon. If nothing else, I will update when I'm off of work. Until then, the vote is open.)
>>
>>4563033
>>4563035
>>4563037
(Hehe. Fuck it. I'm going to sneak in an update. Vote is locked, will merge everything since you guys are on almost the exact same page. Writing now.)
>>
>>4563102
"The plan is phenomenal, but this house and its denizens— they have *enjoyed* the corruption, and suffering of honest citizens. The bad apple that it is will spoil our harvest, Father. I will not get either of us killed in any attempt to take a prisoner, but— well. Who am I to deny anyone the other half of Agriculture?"

"That's more like it. Stand back. I'm going to make for the entrance."

"Please make every attempt at Mercy, Father."

"You know I won't. Try to keep up."

The priest of Venegance drags himself away from the wall, unfastens the cloth from his face for maximum visibility, and tosses his cloak behind his back. Braced hard against a nearby crate, he feels for the door. The instant it's located, he whispers, "count of three. Keep them down for me. I'm making for the top floor, and getting to the scouts first. They're all going to follow. Don't get overwhelmed. You could waste them all, Anscham. I trust you to *not* hold back."

https://youtu.be/lPVBrRd9wCo

"Three!"

A bloody boot kicks down the storage room door with enough force to snap all of its hinges cleanly off the wall. Without waiting for the wood to even hit the floor, the priest barrels over the item, and screams at the top of his lungs. Sword held high. The basinglass catches on low lantern light, and terror.

There's eight people in the hall. They're all women, who are adorned in simple, baggy, brown clothing. Coarse and undecorated wooden masks are on their faces, in the likeness of the cult of Inertia. Burning oil lanterns are mounted all along the walls in a narrow, wooden hallway. It's no more than seven feet across. There's many doors on each side, and it stretches out thirty feet back. A sharp curve to the right is at its end, obscuring a potential end or exit from view. This structure was recently hollowed out. It would be stone, were it a natural part of the city of shields.

The cultists are all too confused and startled to immediately react. Like a bolt of greased lightning, Pevrel keeps his momentum— and keeps running straight past them. His sword is kept high, out, and ready to strike down anyone who might stand in his way. Three lanterns are knocked to the ground by his sword as he runs, with a shatter of glass, hot oil, and flame.

(1/2)
>>
>>4563164
Revisiting flame, hot oil, and torment so recently still had you off-kilter. The phantom smell of your own Flesh melting off of your bones disarms you for one, nearly lethal instant. There's less than a second to react to the bristling, hostile figures between you and the priest. They're all armed. Three of the slimmest women shift at the rear of the group. They're going to run off after Pevrel. They're both fishing for some small weapon on their baggy clothing, but in the heat of the moment you can scarcely even register the rest of the scene. The other cultists are wielding a flail, a mace, two of them have polearms, one has a bat with nails in it, and the last has daggers clearly strapped to her body. Everyone's weapons are dripping with poison. They're effectively blocking the entire corridor. All six wordlessly agree to work together, and keep you both separated. They're heading for you.

>This vote will immediately be followed by a roll. Please abstain from rolling until the vote is locked.
>You can utilize your connection to the EARTH as a BONUS or MALUS.
>CLEARLY specify if you would like to utilize your +20 GREEN DAHLIA modifier to take advantage of your weight and connection to Agriculture in this situation. This will SLOW your pursuit of Father Pevrel, but will make your actions much easier.
>If you do NOT wish to do so, a -20 PRIEST OF AGRICULTURE malus will be applied. Your pursuit will be EXPEDITED, but obviously your actions have a higher risk of failure.
>If you do not specify using the GREEN DAHLIA modifier, we will default to the malus in this scenario.

>In addition, choose one prompt below.
>Majority vote will decide.

>A] Restrain the three women going after Pevrel. (This carries the highest risk of damage inflicted on you.)

>B] Restrain the six women facing you. (Lowest risk of damage to you, highest risk for Pevrel.)

>C] Attempt to restrain all of the cultists. (Highest risk of failure.)

>D] Write-in. (Further strategy will be taken into consideration, but does not guarantee a bonus or malus.)
>>
>>4563167
Utilize the earth bonus. If everyone is pinned down it doesn't matter how slowly we follow, Father Pevrel is a big boy and can handle himself.

>C] Attempt to restrain all of the cultists. (Highest risk of failure.)
>>
>>4563167
>A] Restrain the three women going after Pevrel. (This carries the highest risk of damage inflicted on you.)
'Git back 'ere
>>
>>4563167
>A] Restrain the three women going after Pevrel. (This carries the highest risk of damage inflicted on you.)

Pevrel is not a fighter, we are. We can take it
>>
>>4563171
>>4563218
>>4563250
>WE CAN TAKE IT

Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.
>-20 PRIEST OF AGRICULTURE (Narrow corridors and no defense makes you the largest target in the area.)
>+10 FAITH OF A GODDESS (Mercy would be VERY proud of your eagerness to defend another priest.)
>-15 SOUL ACHE (Invoking back-to-back is taking its toll.)
>+10 MASOCHISM TANGO (That same eagerness to put yourself in harm's way will go miles for taking a hit.)
>>
Rolled 68 (1d100)

>>4563259
Yech pass the bottle!
>>
>>4563259
>>
Rolled 29 (1d100)

>>4563330
These dice are shit. Shit!
>>4563259
>>
>>4563260
>>4563331
(STAY STRONG DUDES I BELIEVE

JUST NEED ONE MORE)
>>
Rolled 14 (1d100)

>>4563259
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hQlPzrX8u0A
>>
>>4563441
(Absolutely lovely, ty. For the record our Catalyst Quest playlist is now at a whopping 995 songs (not counting music posted in the quest itself). I'm shook lol.)
>>4563330
>>4563260
>>4563331
(Gonna need a drink after this one. That's a 53 after all bonuses and maluses! Locked here. Still afk but I'll be home soon, ETA about 30 minutes and I'll get to writing!)
>>
>>4563449
(Had to take a VERY important phone call, all good though! Writing now.)
>>
>>4563526
https://youtu.be/PRTl31uJ1vY

Father Pevrel is not a traditional fighter. He is the leader of the Church of Vengeance, and will surely slaughter anyone who crosses his path. He can't take this. You can. Six homicidal cultists are heading straight for you. You hold your ground, and shout to the three figures attempting to run. It comes with the reach of both hands. Fingers tensed. The earth itself carries the order, and moves with it.

"Get BACK HERE—!"

An eruption of vines explodes from the wooden floor beneath their feet. The writhing mass violently sprouts directly between the fleeing women and the priest. He's a flurry of black robes and volcanic glass, and sprints around the corner. Hysterical laughter trails behind his escape.

The charge coming at you is two polearms, and a number of daggers. You try to focus through the sharp, stabbing pain in your soul itself. You quickly twist your wrists, and grasp both hands into fists. The damp soil against your rain-slick skin mimics the scene ahead. An out pour of grave dirt and flowers burst from vines, shrouding the hall in a cloud of earthen dust and petals. You don't dare utter the praise you want to, for fear of revealing your position.

As fast as your quarry tries to flee, the vines of your creation wrap around their ankles. The tension in your hands are the bonds around their legs. They're slammed to the floor. A crash resonates through the hallway, and their thrashing is immediately evident.

It's requiring all of your concentration to maintain the new ability from your invocation. Your hands are occupied, as you blindly reach out to ensnare your target's wrists and arms. A quick dodge, as a dagger streaks through the clouded air. It fwips by, just past your face. One strand of golden hair is clipped from its proximity. You're so used to projectiles, you almost laugh at the assault, and your luck— but there's a lot more heading your way.

It doesn't necessarily matter how slowly you follow Father Pevrel, so long as your targets are restrained. The two women with polearms are keeping their weapons out, and swing wildly. You're almost forced back into the storage room. They have a good four feet of lethal defense. One of them speaks out in an emotionless tone. Even given their intense movements, her tone is level, and devoid of all humanity. "Let them go."

A cold sweat is on you. The hold you have on the vines and earth tightens for just another moment. You're confident that the bonds on all three targets are real, living plants, and have totally taken down the targets going after Father Pevrel. The bonds should persist after the invocation has ended. The blade end of one of the spears passes so close to your belly, you turn, and try to make a smaller silhouette.

Two more women can be heard sprinting away. "They're still restrained," one levelly calls out.

Your heart drops. The remaining four charge.

(1/2)
>>
>>4563601
The corridor is just broad enough to accommodate three women side by side. The two with polearms stay up front, as you swing up a hand, and create a solid wall of further constriction. They slice through it, despite you snaking a solid wall of the restraint through the air. A flail is spun behind the wall of lethal blades, and mows through the bulk of the living material.

Your center of gravity is off, and only a few days of adjusting to all the weight on you is nowhere enough to try and flit around their motions. You swing up a hand, as a barrage of daggers is thrown. The motion of your devotion cracks the wooden floor at your feet, and slams a solid barrier up. It's must be the cultists with the mace and bat that are turning to flee.

Three blades stick fast into the lumber that's blocking half the corridor. Splinters hit your face. With another clasped fist, you drop a beam of the wooden ceiling down on one of your attackers. She doesn't scream. It's almost as disturbing as the intensity of the onslaught.

Your opposite hand is used to try and further restrain your opponents, but they're overwhelming. You're used to single enemies. Flicks of flowers and blood are all through the air. Instinct takes over, as you feel out the attacks.

Ducking away from another dagger overhead, you barely register that the woman you tried to crush is still attacking from the floor. The fog of battle is your ALLY, as you reach out, and catch the handle of one of the polearms mid-swing. Tensing your hold on the wood snaps it effortlessly in two. The wood is cast aside. Triumph takes a step forward, to bring down the last bit of confinement that's needed. "HA—!"

The other spear stabs straight in your left forearm.

"—SHIT!"

"GOT YOU NOW—"

There's initially no pain to speak of. The shock of the attack, and the adrenaline pushing your heart to its limit will only increase. The blade went almost completely through your limb. The bone wasn't pierced, but muscle and fat absolutely was. The leather gloves you're wearing reduced the full impact, at least. It prevented the weapon from going through the other side, but blood spurts out in an arc that makes your heart skip a beat. The cultist wielding the barbed flail is seizing the moment of vulnerability, and goes to swing her weapon straight at your face. These attackers are aiming to kill you without any hesitation.

(Options in next post.)
>>
>>4563613
>You're about to be in a world of pain. Let's dance to the MASOCHISM TANGO. Or not! It's your CHOICE.
>You can clearly OPT IN to lean into this injury. It will be extremely ugly, but you will be IMMUNE TO PAIN for the immediate future. (+20 BONUS to all combative rolls.)
>If you DO NOT take advantage of your pleasure from pain, a SEVERE MALUS will begin to accumulate. We will default to this if you DO NOT SPECIFY what you'd like to do, too. (The malus will begin at -20.)
>Be advised that if pushed too far, you can and will lose control of your faculties in either case.

>In addition to CLEARLY SPECIFYING your preference about your bonus or malus, please select at least one (1) prompt from the following:

>A] Invoke MERCY. The sheer amount of violence directed at you may anger the Goddess of DEFENSE, and you know Mercy will stop at nothing to PROTECT you. (Virtually nothing should be capable of touching you, though this will surely exacerbate your mental and physical state.)
>1] Hold your ground until all of these cultists are restrained. You're willing to deal with the consequences.
>2] Go after Pevrel, and TANK any hit directed at you. Mercy's blinded people over less, but that's fine by you.

>B] You have FAITH in a GODDESS. Persist purely with Agriculture. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
>1] There's POISON on these weapons. Turn it against your foes, and try to render them helpless. (Their deaths will be excruciating.)
>2] The EARTH is all around you. Keep up your defense, but don't hold back. (You might take more damage.)
>3] GENEROSITY demands that you give MORE to your attackers than what you've received. (Not even Vengeance would approve of how violent this could get.)
>4] You were encouraged to use ALL of Her domains, not just one. Let loose. (You're not exactly sure what will be required. A separate set of prompts will be provided.)

>C] Elect to use your GREEN DAHLIA modifier. (+20 to all rolls, though you're not certain what it will do in this situation. If combined with option A, it will enhance the effects of Agriculture's work.)

>D] Hold your Relic. (This will offset a PORTION of any maluses incurred from pain, based on what injuries you take.)
>1] Take a precious moment to bind it to one hand. (-15 to the next roll, as you will be preoccupied with the action. Afterwards there will be no malus based on your Relic.)
>2] Simply hold it in one hand. (Persistent -10 modifier as your motions and actions with one hand will be compromised.)

>E] Well. That escalated quickly. (Write-in. A ROLL MAY BE REQUIRED.)

(For clarity: In your post, specify how you'd like to approach your pain, your Relic, and what action to take via invocation. At minimum, select one (1) prompt.)
>>
>>4563616
B4, C; I'm curious, and at least our blood shall fertilize the ground and this garden we're creating all the more beautiful.

I don't think this situation needs two Goddesses two handle, and I'd not like to push limits of our soul further yet.

Whether we commit to the MASOCHISM TANGO or not shall be for the other anons to decide, though I do wish to be more careful in to causing further unnecessary damage to our body.
>>
>>4563744
(...and make this garden...)*

(...two Goddesses to handle...)*

This is why I can't write for a living...
>>
>>4563744
+1
>>
>>4563616

>>D] Hold your Relic. (This will offset a PORTION of any maluses incurred from pain, based on what injuries you take.)
>>1] Take a precious moment to bind it to one hand. (-15 to the next roll, as you will be preoccupied with the action. Afterwards there will be no malus based on your Relic.)

We can use the masochsim tango for one turn to make sure we nullify it with the relic.

>>4563744

Tentative agreement to this. At least until we get our pain relief from the Relic, we should start tying it to our hand before getting into combat from now on.

>E] Well. That escalated quickly. (Write-in. A ROLL MAY BE REQUIRED.)

Grab the polearm that stabbed us, use the attackers INERTIA against her and pull her in front of us. If she gets murked by her own guy that is no Mercy off our back right? If it is disregard this.
>>
>>4563790
(For absolute clarity, pulling someone close to you via their weapon so they'll be killed by their own men is not exactly merciful. By the tenets of Mercy's church, you're meant to protect life, and heal at all costs. Intentionally having someone die, even if it's done by someone else's hand, is more of the hallmark of Vengeance. You're a priest of all the Gods, and have a LOT more leeway than most as the leader of the Church of Mercy, but we'll omit this action for now!
>>4563744
>>4563749
>>4563778
(All that said, locking the vote here! Almost a completely unanimous vote. All bonuses and maluses elected will be included, along with the cumulative bonuses and maluses relevant to the situation. Tried to provide as much transparency as possible here, but please ask if you have ANY questions.)

>GARDEN OF YOUR CREATION
>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.

>+20 MASOCHISM TANGO (Pain keeps your rhythm.)
>-15 RELIC BOUND (A precious moment will be spent tying your Relic to one hand.)
>+20 GREEN DAHLIA (You have the utmost faith in Agriculture's works.)
>+10 CHURCH OF INDULGENCE (Eating while invoking Agriculture has dramatically strengthened your connection to Her. You're confident this could be increased further.)
>-20 SOUL ACHE (You're pushing new and old boundaries, didn't partake in of ALL of Agriculture's gift...)
>-5 SLEEP DEPRIVATION (You've slept twice in nine days, and are fighting to boot. This malus will slowly rise until you rest.)

>Resolving to utilize ALL of Agriculture's domains has illuminated a few more things about each one.
>Clearly specify ANY domain you wish to FAVOR. There is NO upper LIMIT. (E.g. Selecting them all is a viable option. You WILL implement a portion of them all, NO MATTER WHAT.)
>You're certain that favoring MORE domains will help MITIGATE the effects of others (such as growth).
>There's no telling what the cumulative effect may be. Enjoy!

>LIFE] +5 bonus to the roll, thanks to your earlier experimentation today. It seems to effect your vitality in some capacity.

>BOUNTY] Reward itself. Evidence of humanity's toil could manifest in many ways.

>FERTILITY] Prolificacy in a combat situation could get ugly, fast. It could also render your works as lusher, and more virile. Who knows?

>HARVEST] The scythe that you wield, and its process. The labor in your hands could also be defensive.

>POISON] +5 bonus to the roll, thanks to your earlier experimentation today. It's probably going to be painful (for them).

>THE EARTH] +10 bonus to the roll, thanks to TRANSCENDENCE. You're doing some weird shit, and will likely disturb your enemies.

>DEATH] +5 bonus to the roll, thanks to your earlier experimentation today. A deeper appreciation for the macabre is emerging, to whatever end.

>GENEROSITY] Enthusiasm. This will no doubt give more to your enemies than they could ever ask for.

>GROWTH] The Goddesses' foremost domain will grant a guaranteed +55 to the roll. You know the effects.
>>
>>4563851
(Just for clarity, that's a +10 total for your existing bonuses and maluses (with all the math done). That's BEFORE favoring any domains. Forgot to tack on the grand total.)
>>
>>4563851

>>LIFE] +5 bonus to the roll, thanks to your earlier experimentation today. It seems to effect your vitality in some capacity.

Considering we are LEAKING life right now it's probably for the best right now.

>THE EARTH] +10 bonus to the roll, thanks to TRANSCENDENCE. You're doing some weird shit, and will likely disturb your enemies.

We should put the fear of god into them anyway.


>BOUNTY] Reward itself. Evidence of humanity's toil could manifest in many ways.

We did say that we will reward our enemies with kindness, seems like a perfect opportunity for that.

>HARVEST] The scythe that you wield, and its process. The labor in your hands could also be defensive.

I would rather not reap souls. But we could could harvest their ill intent and transmute it into something positive. I am thinking along the lines of the famine curse, perhaps black vines to represent their evil?
>>
Rolled 46 (1d100)

>>4563851
>All

Though you can't go wrong with Growth, with that effect! And Death may not be that of the whole, only of their courage and intent.
>>
Rolled 11 (1d100)

>>4563855
>>4563851

MASTER OF FATE, THROWER OF DICE. BLESS US WITH YOUR FORTUNE, DELIVER UNTO US THOSE BEEG FUCKEN NUMBERS.

>>4563862
(strongly opposing using growth, death and poison)
>>
>>4563865
Poison is change, Death may not be in a physical sense, and with the way the rolls are going, we may need Growth all the more.

Keep in mind, this isn't about picking just a couple domain. All will be implemented in some fashion, though if you wish it, yours can take precedence. Call it my Generosity :^)
>>
Rolled 98 (1d100)

>>4563851
I am here to Yote thy dice
>>
>>4563871

The qm specified that poison is going to be painful for them, not very merciful. The possibility of death being used in a literal sense is enough to justify not using it, if we wanted to kill them we wouldn't have bother so much and just done it, the mental effects aren't something I want to exacerbate either. Also no we don't need extra bonuses even with these rolls, all added up we are getting a 70 and the other 2 aspects are still unknown and may very likely bump the score up even more. The number of opponents has decreased, I think we will do just fine with that.

Also yes, it is about picking a couple of domains. The only way all of them will be implemented is if we vote for all of them like you did.
>>
>>4563882
My hero.

>>4563883
Ever heard of Poison ivy? Not know as a killer, just really irritating.

Also, your incorrect about your last point.

>Clearly specify ANY domain you wish to FAVOR. There is NO upper LIMIT. (E.g. Selecting them all is a viable option. You WILL implement a portion of them all, NO MATTER WHAT.)
>You're certain that favoring MORE domains will help MITIGATE the effects of others (such as growth).

All will be implemented in some form, but some domains will be favored over others.
>>
>>4563891

I am pretty sure these assassins don't have poison ivy coated weapons, which will be what we are going to manipulate.

>1] There's POISON on these weapons. Turn it against your foes, and try to render them helpless. (Their deaths will be excruciating.)

Looking back I will also oppose using generosity, considering it looks like it's going to be maximum overkill.

>3] GENEROSITY demands that you give MORE to your attackers than what you've received. (Not even Vengeance would approve of how violent this could get.)

I saw that and disagree, to my understanding that was meant as an example to what would happen if we opted to use all of them. Qm should probably clarify before locking.
>>
>>4563882
NICE
>>
>>4563897
It was voted for in the previous vote. Even you agreed to it.

>B] You have FAITH in a GODDESS. Persist purely with Agriculture. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
>4] You were encouraged to use ALL of Her domains, not just one. Let loose. (You're not exactly sure what will be required. A separate set of prompts will be provided.)


>C] Elect to use your GREEN DAHLIA modifier. (+20 to all rolls, though you're not certain what it will do in this situation. If combined with option A, it will enhance the effects of Agriculture's work.)

>D] Hold your Relic. (This will offset a PORTION of any maluses incurred from pain, based on what injuries you take.)
>1] Take a precious moment to bind it to one hand. (-15 to the next roll, as you will be preoccupied with the action. Afterwards there will be no malus based on your Relic.)

These were the agreed upon actions.
>>
>>4563897
I will also say that I oppose killing them as well. They can be rehabilitated. We can practice restraint in this instance.
>>
(Woke up piss early for no good reason, need to clarify SEVERAL things, my apologies. Getting some coffee and will clear things up in a moment!)
>>
>>4563976
Piss early good mornings :^)
>>
>>4563977
(ty anon :^), good morning to you too.)

>>4563851
(3AM brain is banned from writing complex votes. I called for the roll like an idiot along with the prompts. I stand by it, though! The roll made here >>4563882 absolutely counts. Please allow me to clarify several things before I address any individual points.
-I keep meticulous track of actions taken by you guys, votes made, and things you write-in. I will NOT write a prompt that goes straight against something you said you'd do unless the situation dictates a damn good reason for it.
-This was to FAVOR a domain. You WILL use all of them, since, well, you guys voted to use all of them! Plain and simple. The effects were to go harder via experimenting with SPECIFIC ones. Think of it like... making a stew. It will change the flavor of the vote-stew by adding more of a specific thing, even though there's already all the other ingredients. So adding extra generosity will make a difference in its bonus/malus flavor. Doesn't mean you're skipping the death-carrots, or the growth-potatoes. Hope that makes sense.
-I explicitly stated a couple of times in the post that you do not know with CERTAINTY what these abilities do, but I will clear up any assumptions made that are incorrect based on what you ALREADY know.

All that said, let me try to clear this up. Please feel free to ask me any further questions!)

>>4563855
>I would rather not reap souls.
(You guys actively opposed killing these women multiple times in prior votes, and would have only done so if you all changed your tune due to how dire the situation got.)

>>4563883
>>4563897
(Apologies for facilitating voting after seeing the results of the roll. Not intended, but the rolls here ARE being counted.)

>>4563891
>>4563897
(These are homicidal cultists and have definitely not covered their weapons in poison ivy-- HOWEVER, you know that you ARE capable of transmuting one natural substance into another while invoking Agriculture! You can DEFINITELY change this poison into another poisonous, non-lethal substance if you want! You just need to know both the substance you're dealing with-- like by being stabbed with their weapon-- and the substance you'd like to turn it into-- like poison ivy.)

>>4563924
(Appreciate the clarification. Just want to stress I did not suddenly provide multiple prompts to kill when you all CLEARLY stated that you don't want to.

Alright! ALL THAT SAID, I'm leaving this vote open for another HOUR to facilitate any further discussion. I'll close the vote prematurely if both of you who were discussing this say you're good to go. Again, to be clear, you WILL use ALL domains. Because the roll's results are transparent, this is purely for experimentation's sake at this point to FAVOR any specific ones.)

No opposition:
>LIFE
>THE EARTH
>BOUNTY
>HARVEST

Opposed:
>GROWTH
>DEATH
>POISON

Not voted on:
>FERTILITY
>>
>>4563992
tl;dr this was the vote that preceded this:
>B] You have FAITH in a GODDESS. Persist purely with Agriculture. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
>4] You were encouraged to use ALL of Her domains, not just one. Let loose. (You're not exactly sure what will be required. A separate set of prompts will be provided.)

(This prompt is for E X P E R I M E N T A T I O N. You guys are a researcher that invokes like you breathe. Going HARDER on specific domains is a new opportunity to explore your abilities. You do not have to elect to do so with ANY of them. You can elect to do so with ALL of them. You can do so with any combination in-between! It WILL carry effects on you. Hope that helps.)
>>
>>4563993
tl;dr tl;dr (this is a choice about intentionally taking a risk if you want to explore your abilities)
>>
>>4563993

So basically we will USE all of the abilities but gain a deeper UNDERSTANDING of the ones we favor in this prompt?
>>
>>4563995
(Right, the merit of experimentation is better understanding something. Research = determining properties, testing something. By electing to EXPLORE a SPECIFIC domain you hope to glean BETTER understanding of it. Obviously you'll still see an effect of a domain, but you will see MORE of it by voting do... well, do more with it. I'm sorry this was so confusing.)
>>
>>4563998
(see the effect of all the domains*
Again, just want total transparency here)
>>
>>4563998

In that case I will bite the bullet and agree to exploring all of them. Might as well get it out of the way so we know what we are doing later.
>>
>>4563992
I'm good to go! Lets do this!
>>
>>4564000
>>4564002
(Hell yes lads. Going to lock the vote. Prior thorough justification to use all domains + now changed vote to use all domains = using all domains.

>+20 MASOCHISM TANGO (Pain keeps your rhythm.)
>-15 RELIC BOUND (A precious moment will be spent tying your Relic to one hand.)
>+20 GREEN DAHLIA (You have the utmost faith in Agriculture's works.)
>+10 CHURCH OF INDULGENCE (Eating while invoking Agriculture has dramatically strengthened your connection to Her. You're confident this could be increased further.)
>-20 SOUL ACHE (You're pushing new and old boundaries, didn't partake in of ALL of Agriculture's gift...)
>-5 SLEEP DEPRIVATION (You've slept twice in nine days, and are fighting to boot. This malus will slowly rise until you rest.)
>LIFE] +5 bonus to the roll, thanks to your earlier experimentation today. It seems to effect your vitality in some capacity.
>POISON] +5 bonus to the roll, thanks to your earlier experimentation today. It's probably going to be painful (for them).
>THE EARTH] +10 bonus to the roll, thanks to TRANSCENDENCE. You're doing some weird shit, and will likely disturb your enemies.
>DEATH] +5 bonus to the roll, thanks to your earlier experimentation today. A deeper appreciation for the macabre is emerging, to whatever end.
>GROWTH] The Goddesses' foremost domain will grant a guaranteed +55 to the roll. You know the effects.

+20-15+20+10-20-5+5+5+10+5+55 = +90 BEFORE the roll

>>4563862
>>4563865
>>4563871
(Bo3 was 98. 98+90 = 188 out of 100. Let's make this special.

To be clear, the following have been selected as well:

>BOUNTY] Reward itself. Evidence of humanity's toil could manifest in many ways.
>FERTILITY] Prolificacy in a combat situation could get ugly, fast. It could also render your works as lusher, and more virile. Who knows?
>HARVEST] The scythe that you wield, and its process. The labor in your hands could also be defensive.
>GENEROSITY] Enthusiasm. This will no doubt give more to your enemies than they could ever ask for.

VOTE IS LOCKED. Writing now!)
>>
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>>4564006
https://youtu.be/jvEin4SOOgY?t=5

In the same moment you gasp from the poisoned weapon sticking inches into your limb, you register every last property of the liquid slicking the blade. No clinical detachment is had. It's a religious experience. Your enthusiasm is met, and exceeded by the Goddess in you.

Instant manipulation of an organic compound. The degradation of the reaction, THANKS to the poison flowing through my veins.

This is a variant of the substance you licked off of a corpse last night. Fresher. But it could be more virulent. This can be harnessed, like anything else.

Increasing the RICHNESS of any substance can be made possible, through Her works. Fertility.

You will the fastest-acting coagulant you've ever utilized into being. It comes straight from another substance, of course. The burn all through your veins won't kill you in seconds, but you have no intention of dying. The underlying components of this material, and the poison you harnessed were similar enough.

There's also still two polearms, a flail, and daggers headed for you.
You lean into the stab wound, and outright moan as the weapon pierces straight through your arm.
An explosion of ecstasy has you duck away from a flail heading straight for your head, and practically collapse from the sensation.
Metal sails through the air, as you drive a heel into the wooden floor.
Two daggers streak by, but you're too grounded to let them go unnoticed. The motion intensifies the pain in your forearm, the pleasure through the limb, the impossible rate of your heart, and the exhaustion coating you. The boughs that fell to create the ground you stand upon are dead, but you have MASTERY over stimulation itself.

The capacity for continuous change. The cycle. Life. Death.

Before you can blink, wince, or continue to moan, a dead bough is brought to seeding. Simultaneously, the blood gushing from your stab wound congeals.

Let's see the emergence of something new.

The seed becomes a sapling.

Not the cessation of mortality as they see fit.

The coagulant you've created out of the poison flooding through your veins seeps out, and is weaponized.

An entire tree bursts from the corridor's floor. A trunk three feet in diameter, covered in leafy growth blocks your attackers from sight. It also shields you from the polearm, the flail, the daggers— and nearly rips the spear from your arm.

Mercy.

You can't help but show your own enthusiasm, as the pain fully registers. The few sounds that follow are completely indecent. Those same, precious seconds are spent shifting back. Getting a better purchase. You're backed up almost into the damn storage closet.

(1/3)
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>>4564046
It takes only one more precious second of breathless, perfect agony. The room swims. You snap your Relic's chain off, and bind the locket around one hand. At the same Time, you continue to violently pull back on the spear. The force of your movements drags your attacker with the motion. She doesn't shout, but you can hear the grit of her teeth behind that wonderful wooden mask. The handle of her weapon is made of lumber, too.

Ha.

Splinters and barbs of poison ivy creep up her spear, over her face, along her hands, and grow directly into her skin. She screams.

You rip the spear out from your arm, as the tendrils of spiked growth rapidly multiples. A solid wall of defense is formed across the entire corridor, catching every weapon directed at you.

Improvement.

The remaining attackers struggle against the barrier, cutting through it as rapidly as they can. The woman who you first attacked is desperately trying to pry the mask off of her face, as she collapses to the floor. You soften the wood, will the splinters to be removed from the softest bits of her face, and know the damage will be temporary.

Poison ivy snakes along the ground. It sprouts on and around the splintered victim, and the cultist already pinned to the ground at the rear of the hall. It grows up, and around the ankles of both other women still on their feet. The woman to the rear of the hall— with daggers in hand— finds renewed courage to attack. It doesn't matter, even though their struggle is relentless.

Hands are bound, wrists are confined, and the remaining knives are consumed by growth. No aid will come for any of them. Their cries are no doubt going to alert someone to the scene. Flooding the two restrained figures' mouths with flowers silences their screams in an instant. Terrified sobbing replaces it.

They won't suffocate, even if it feels like they're being buried alive.

Your Relic is clasped firmly in hand. Pain relief is a blossom of clarity behind your eyes. Your remaining attackers cut down the last of the wall you've formed. You've backed up almost completely into the damn storage closet.

With a level breath, you lean into everything.

(2/3)
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>>4564051
Poison. Fertility. The tendril of toxin and blood dripping from your injured limb forms stick-thin spears.
Life. Death. The bough of a tree you formed is pierced straight through by your own vitality.
The earth. Growth. The spikes extend in a second, catching your most relentless attacker off-guard. The cultist's flail is dropped from her hands, as she's picked off her feet by her robes and the edges of her skin.
Generosity. Bounty. GROWTH. She's slammed against the closest wall. No Flesh is impaled. The natural fiber of her garments, the wood on her face, and all of the poison you've lashed out at her with begins to merge into the planks of organic material all around.

She'll have to be cut out with an axe. The sole cultist remaining has just a polearm in hand. Every desperate, sharp blow she makes towards you is caught by another vine. Deflected by a bough of wood. Intercepted with a glancing blow of solidified toxin.

Her attacks falter, as splinters of hardened blood fly through the air. She realizes that she can't possibly go toe-to-toe with you.

You take a single step forward, with every last remaining barb of poisoned crimson pointed straight at her. "Let's reap what you've sown."

Harvest. A scythe begins to sprout from your veins, out into outstretched palms. It caresses your Relic. The black snaking in tendrils around the gold is a reward in and of itself. You tower over the shaking woman standing before you.

"Pain is Our garden."

She takes a step back.

A canopy of black flowers unfurls from the ceiling. Chrysanthemums. Death.

Agriculture's favorite. She'll appreciate it.

Flecks of toxic pollen pick up on the air. Your target drops her halberd. She turns to run. You completely manifest the full length of a stone scythe from thin air, and draw it back to swing. A scream catches in your quarry's throat.

In one instant, you recognize the overlap between all the Gods. Agriculture BINDS them. Controlling every element of Her domains enables you to manipulate the fertility of Flesh. The other half of Mercy's healing. The identification of the earth, in a way that Spirit cannot hope to possess. Death, in a means more grotesque than even Vengeance will enable. A utilization of the elements, with more control than Storm's reckless attacks appear to possess. Honoring Agriculture's attention to your wellness almost compensates for Dream's distance. Time itself is heightened, and almost feels stopped thanks to your connection.

The scythe does not fall. You use the blunt end of the handle to sweep the cultist's feet out from under her. She's so frightened, she crashes to the floor without properly catching herself. The slam as she hits the floor can be felt in your teeth.

You step around her body, as the wooden floor sprouts with a collection of green dahlias.

(Over, 3/4)
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>>4564056
The garden almost buries her alive. You are benevolent, and leave just enough of an opening for her to breathe.

Activity, without the action. Something that reduces the activity of the Catalyst.

None of the women you faced showed a single sign of turning. It could be an effect of their association with a cult. It could also be the fact that you have yet to move from a storage closet, captured four homicidal women without a single loss of life, and that the insanity of the scene caught them too off-guard to really lose themselves to it.

You're certain beyond any doubt that this was only possible through using ALL of the Goddess' domains to the FULL extent of your ability. Restraint is the antithesis of Agriculture. Holding back is an affront to Her very nature. There's going to be effects, sure. But you're alive. You have your quarry.

Father Pevrel can be heard screaming upstairs. There's a clamor of weapons. Bodies hit the floor. "ANY TIME NOW, ANSCHAM!!!"

(A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED FOR ALL OF THE FOLLOWING.)

>A] Stay below ground. Scream to the priest to keep talking, so you're sure of where he's at. You'll feel out potential threats, and ensnare them without revealing your location. Staying separated from Father Pevrel increases his risk of injury, but this will completely throw off your enemy.

>B] Trust that Father Pevrel can handle himself. Discreetly exit the building, and seal off the exits from the outside. You are confident you can reenter the structure and help him the moment you're done. (The additional moments of secrecy will be used to reflect on all of the abilities you just exhibited. A roll will still be required.)

>C] Go upstairs, kick down a door, and help with the fight. You don't trust Father Pevrel to not kill as many people as he can, and you DO want to take as many prisoners as possible.

>D] You still have the green dahlia.
>1] Nibble on it. You are seriously curious how it could effect the invocation.
>2] Eat the entire damn thing.
>3] Resolve to save it for the next chance you get to see Agriculture. You want to do something special with it.

>E] Write-in.
>>
>>4564058
>C] Go upstairs, kick down a door, and help with the fight. You don't trust Father Pevrel to not kill as many people as he can, and you DO want to take as many prisoners as possible.
PREP BREACH!
>>
>>4564063
+1, with D3 in mind. You have my curiosity again, but I'd rather not derail the thread again.
>>
>>4564063
>>4564067
(Gonna lock the vote here to get an update out before work! Writing now.)
>>
>>4564081
>Your cumulative bonuses from utilizing all of Agriculture's domains was for EXPERIMENTATION.
>It's seriously taxing your soul itself.
>The cumulative bonus for Her domains was +80 to your rolls, thanks to a matter of life or death.
>While you have a moment of respite, and your life is not in immediate danger, you will NOT use these bonuses.
>Feel free to discuss if you wish to continue to engage with multiple aspects of Her works, or employ other strategy moving forward.
>Strategy may add additional bonuses, but will be resolved narratively if they are applied.

>PREP FOR BREACH
>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.

>+20 GREEN DAHLIA (You're confident that using so much of Agriculture's ability is making Her abilities persistent.)
>+5 CHURCH OF INDULGENCE (Five apples will burn off pretty fast in a combat situation.)
>-25 SOUL ACHE (This is starting to hurt in a way that your Relic cannot minimize.)
>-7 SLEEP DEPRIVATION (You've slept twice in nine days, and are fighting to boot. This malus will slowly rise until you rest.)
>>
(Thanks again for all the patience this morning guys! I just want to try and be clear here: you all tasted the green dahlia you were given. The grasp you have on all of Agri's domains is improving, but it's inherently not as effective, long-lasting, or strong as it could be. Lower risk, lower reward.

Continuing to push yourself to your absolute limit is possible! But if you have any questions regarding strategy, your abilities, prior actions you've taken that have led to your current condition, or anything else please let me know. Have to run to work much earlier than I was expecting. My pain train has no brakes, but I will be around via mobile.)
>>
Rolled 60 (1d100)

>>4564090
Lift the door off the hinges and use it as a ramming battery
>>
Rolled 25 (1d100)

>>4564090
Shock and awe, the way Storm would approve. I'm certain our experimentation with Agriculture will help with that.

>>4564093
Well, I was of the mind to block the entrances and exits with Earth, with maybe a rinse and repeat with other cultist groups. Obviously, that's not feasible now, but this was a venture of Storm, and I gotta say, as a man down to Earth, we sure did him proud.

When this is done, we'll take take a nap in the building while Pevrel goes to get some help with prisoner transfer and organizes the audience with the elders, which I hope to be awake and semi-rested for.
>>
>>4564105
If it's made of wood, we could cover it with with vines and poison ivy so when hit, the person gets ensnared by growing vines as we barrel forward.
>>
Rolled 23 (1d100)

>>4564111
>>4564108
>>4564105
>>4564090

Think bigger guys, we didn't risk the integrity of our soul to make a battering ram.

If the door is wood, explode it and make the splinters contain a sleeping agent. Have them act as seedlings for a new garden, one the might honor Dream a bit more. We know teas like the back of our hand, IMPROVE their effect to it's utmost limit and make tranq darts from the splinters of the door. We can remove it from Pevrel personally and the splinters themselves won't do too much damage. After they are all filled with these make them sprout and cover their target with vines, so that they cannot move even if they wake up.
>>
>>4564105
>>4564108
>>4564111
>>4564178
(Super based. Bo3 is 53 after all modifiers!

It's definitely definitely worth stressing how worn out you are. Conserving your energy here and doing something less complex upon entry can help reduce the complexity of the situation overall. The door, vines, poison ivy, and other notes are all extremely cool though. Going to leave this open for another sixty (60) minutes. At that time I'll reconcile any and all strategy provided and make the wisest call. Slow day at work so I should be able to update after that!)
>>
>>4564191
(Alright lads. Got some time squared away and all my notes organized. Will try to combine this as best as I can. Vote is locked! Writing now.)
>>
>>4564252
https://youtu.be/cPAMKCeHKnU

From your head to your toes, your body is screaming to lie down. The pressure on your soul is immense. A giant stab wound is straight through your off-arm, and not even your Relic can keep the level of exhaustion on you at bay.

It's *perfect.* Your heart goes out to the blessings given to you, while stepping over living graves. Four restrained cultists are rapidly passed by, beyond their bed of flowers.

The green dahlia in your possession warrants something special. The next chance you get to see Agriculture will make meaning of it. It's innocent, loving devotion and curiosity that compels you. Not the heat in your face, your erratic breath, the pollen in your eyes, or the desire to do *more.*

The curve at the end of the hall is flanked by at least five more doors, and lanterns on a few sparse holders. There must be at least twenty more people down here than you suspected, and probably more imports if safe goods. The figures you detected earlier are keeping dead silent.

The building WILL be sealed, but you can't worry about that this instant. Screams, and the clash of metal on glass resonates from above. At the end of the bending corridor is a single flight of rickety stairs. Father Pevrel's shouting gets louder by the second, as you scale the flight. A hand goes out to the closed door at the top of the landing— and the second to last step gives out from under you.

Several thoughts cross your mind:
You're pushing over 300lbs, and need to seriously reconsider the integrity of anything you put your full weight on.
You're going to barge into the room ahead no matter what.
Tea is practically a weapon.
Your weight is a BLESSING.
Lifting the door off of its hinges will make for a fine battering ram.
Shock, and awe will annihilate your enemy's composure.
Taking as many prisoners as you can would be even better.

The door is grabbed onto, and you do not falter. Your balance and intent is a force of destruction, in devotion to the God of the Tempest.

You hoist the entire item up and out of its place on the wall. Splinters work underhand, from the heft of the iron-handed defense. The creak and SNAP of the metal hinges being pried off is drowned out.

You roar. All the strength you possess, and your wrecking ball of momentum is devastating in its force, as you barrel into utter chaos. There's dust EVERYWHERE. Little visibility is to be had in a literal fog of war.

Two armored men were right at the door, obviously waiting for your entrance. You slam into them. It's the impact of thunder, and the decisiveness of lighting as the three of you *keep moving.*

They scream in abject terror, as vines and poison ivy ensnare them from *within* the wood underhand. They're effectively trapped, as you aim to use both bodies as an additional battering ram.

(1/3)
>>
>>4564369
Father Pevrel is shouting over the impact and chaos. He must be striking down multiple foes. Wet, slick, and meaty sounds are on the air. There are no screams for Mercy. The shock of your entrance has caught at least half the room off-guard.

Destruction, energy, and momentum is your God. There's practically no resistance against you, compared to the force you propel both cultists underhand with. An entire table and three chairs are bashed aside, and splinter into flecks of sedating mist. Two more men are bashed aside.

At the same time as you charge into the packed, filthy, blood-slick hideout, you lean further into the wood underhand. The wooden, planked floor beneath groans. Myriad pieces of overturned furniture are slick with blood. There's corpses on all of them, and most get shoved aside. The room is smaller than you expected. There are three open doors the dust is filtering out of. One is dead ahead, and two are to the left. Father Pevrel must be holding a corner to the right, as more men filter in from somewhere else in the building. There's shouting downstairs, from where you came as well.

Before crashing into the far wall, the wood underhand is held in a vice. Every last splinter that's connected with the bodies on the other side grow, and snake around their necks and hands outright. Poison ivy blossoms. Both men scream, thrash, and try to pull away. You keep the momentum, manipulate the vines, and make use of the splinters.

The entire door is pumped full of the most potent sleeping agent a Goddess can muster. With a final step, you thrust the door as far away from you as you can. At your back, two men burst through the dust clouds. You throw yourself to the ground, evading swings of two axes that were aiming for your head. One blow nicks the side of your right arm. The other almost grazes your neck.

You land hard behind an overturned table, and succeed in not falling on your arm's worst injury. A scream is made to Pevrel that scrapes your throat raw. You have to try. "COVER!!!"

He shouts in return, sounding like bile, and death warmed over. The gutteral growl is utterly inhuman. "LOCK IT ALL DOWN!"

There's a clash of glass on metal. A hard body hits the floor, devoid of armor. You pray for the best, and slam a hand to the ground. Your battering ram holds the promise of every domain. You think of an explosive plant you and Father Friedrich sampled together, and how it could be made into something *more.*

The door bursts into a thousand further splinters. It's a blender of agony that sprays over the entire room, packed with a sleeping agent. The screams all around are deafening.

"My EYES!"
"Why?!?"
"GET IT OFF OF ME—!"
"RUN!"

(2/3)
>>
>>4564373
At least five armored bodies collapse instantly in the chaos. The dust is thick even near to the ground, but you make out a single figure all in black. Father Pevrel rapidly low-crawls towards you. He's slaked head-to-toe in blood, and swings to slit the throat of a nearby unconcious body even as he comes over to you. You grimace. There's massive gashes in his coat, but not a single scratch you can discern on his skin.

The man's sword is dripping with blood, which leaves a streak on the floor as he ultimately drags it behind himself in exhaustion. There's many footsteps coming from the three doors surrounding the room you're occupying. More noise can be heard from at least the twenty figures downstairs. More can be heard above, on a flight or attic that must be at the top of the building. There's no less than fifteen corpses on the floor that can be seen through the dust and splinters on the air. Bodies are dropping by the second from the intoxicating shrapnel you unleashed. It will be nearly impossible to discern in the heat of the moment who's alive or dead, so you keep your hands to the ground.

Ensnaring every last figure in tendrils of thick vines will dramatically improve the chances of keeping prisoners. The force of doing so *fills* something *deeply* inside of you. You gasp. It's less of an ache, and more of a sharp pain. You wince, without any pleasure from the stretch on your soul itself. It's terrifying, and exhilarating, and even as you draw in in yourself it's *still* something you can fight through. You're probably going to lose conciousness, or at least the last of your faculties if you keep this up. No part of you feels like you need to stop. Testing your limits beyond mortal capacity is a deeper, darker, more *satisfying* connection than even—

"DID I STUTTER?!" The priest that's crawled towards you looks you over with a face paler than death. He's so out of breath, he can hardly speak. His voice is utterly level, and instantly takes on the gravest tone you've ever heard. "Oh, holy shit. Anscham. You— you're going to kill yourself. But we can't let them get away. There will have been no point. We're going to be surrounded in seconds. Focus, and *listen to me*. Close off the building. We'll get you somewhere safe after this—"

There are footsteps charging towards you on all sides. Pevrel gets to his feet in a second— sword drawn— and looks like he is NOT ready to die. "Hurry."

(Options in next post.)
>>
>>4564377
>A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED FOR ALL OF THE FOLLOWING.
>Modifiers will be heavily situational depending on strategy, if write-ins are employed, prompts selected, etc.
>This vote will remain open for the next 4 hours.

>A] Dig deep, and close off the entire hideout. It's really going to hurt, but it will ensure no one escapes. There's no guarantee you're going to be of further use afterwards.

>B] Give Father Pevrel permission to go hunt down anyone who tries to flee. You'll close off just the top floors, and stay to fight as best as you can.

>C] Do something to lure everyone to you and Father Pevrel. The top and bottom floors don't need to be closed off when you feel like you can take on the world itself. (Write-in something crazy enough to accomplish this.)

>D] Write-in.
>>
>>4564378
>>B] Give Father Pevrel permission to go hunt down anyone who tries to flee. You'll close off just the top floors, and stay to fight as best as you can.

There were more people than we expected and we already captured plenty, an attempt at Mercy has been made, It's time to let Vengeance get his share too. Perhaps if we cannot fully block of the hideout we can trap its exits, something that will make them easier to track and also slow them down. This should be the time to ask if he can really invoke Vengeance.
>>
>>4564378
>>4564394
(Appreciate you man! I'm going to make something for the /qtg/ and it's a pretty slow night. Don't mind having some longer voting windows this thread, so let's leave this vote open for now.)
>>
>>4564394
+1
>>
>>4564378
>>C] Do something to lure everyone to you and Father Pevrel. The top and bottom floors don't need to be closed off when you feel like you can take on the world itself. Thunder like Storm, and insult Inertia at it's core.

>>4564394
Did we ingest a bio-luminous agent? We can add poison ivy to help it spread.
>>
(Thank you all for your patience! The aforementioned thing for the /qtg/ was a chart of all current quests on the board. Spreading some love. If you're interested, it's here: >>4564745 )

>>4564394
>>4564721
>>4564723
(Going to favor B here, but we'll implement the strategies listed for a few bonuses!)

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

>+20 GREEN DAHLIA (For now, using so much of Agriculture's ability has stopped the decay of this bonus.)
>-30 SOUL ACHE (Whether you like it or not, you're pushing the limits of your soul.)
>-9 SLEEP DEPRIVATION (You've slept twice in nine days, and are fighting to boot. This malus will slowly rise until you rest.)
>+10 PRIEST OF VENGEANCE (Part of you enjoys violence.)
>+5 PREACHER (This ought to get their attention.)
>+5 GREEN BOUGH (You and Mother Bethaea engineered a bioluminescent herb. You know it better than any other.)
>>
Rolled 6 (1d100)

>>4564759
>>
Rolled 2 (1d100)

>>4564759
I have faith.
>>
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98 KB
98 KB PNG
>>4564766
>>4564774
(Guys?)
>>
>>4564776
Faith doesn't leave when times are hard.

We got this.
>>
>>4564777
(Checkin those divine trips. Here's hoping!)
>>
Rolled 25 (1d100)

>>4564759
WITNESS MEEEEEEEE
>>
>>4564831
We were witnessed, and found wanting. It'll be tough, but we'll prevail. We survived worse, after all.
>>
Rolled 9 (1d100)

>>4564759

My lord Yech, hast thou abandoned us?
>>
>>4564766
>>4564774
>>4564777
>>4564831
>>4564834
>>4564997
(Alright lads. Can't win em all. Bo3 is a 26! Vote is locked. Writing now!)
>>
>>4565155
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_4z9xxgIu2Q

Digging your hands completely into the wood before you makes no sense, but it helps. So does preaching.

"Children. You are all so misguided."

The jagged material is a further connection to the Goddess working through you. Your faith has ALWAYS gone rewarded, and you will NOT falter now.

"The absence of action IS the work of the Goddess.

A clash of swords sings overhead. Father Pevrel catches and defects two attackers from bringing their sin down on you. Their absence of speech or sound is disarming to an extreme.

"A lesson is in order. We have been blessed with an opportunity for a private sermon."

The force within you reaches a fever-pitch, as you reach out, in, and through the stone all around. Sealing off the top of the building is all you can manage. You're certain it would have killed you to do more. Without sight, you think to the blessing that is your city. Were it not for the organic material at your disposal, this would be a fate worse than death. The sermon falls, as the start of a scream catches at the back of your throat.

You slam every entrance and exit closed in the entire above-ground structure, with the tension in your hands. The last resistance that your body is capable of giving. The existing material broadens over doorways, windows, and slits for arrows. The stone thickens, beyond any hope of mortal men breaking through. Every inch is coated in a bed of a new variety of green bough. You know the herb like no other. The delicate life you and Mother Bethaea cultured from the ruins would normally glow in dark conditions. This can be enhanced.

For how hard you're trying to keep your composure, you can't breathe. Can't scream. "Vengeance," you choke out.

A hybrid is made, between the poison ivy sprouting throughout the entire building. Glowing pollen drifts through the air. Anyone who so much as brushes up against the exits will be coated in a painful, glowing toxin. They'd be spotted anywhere in the city, and come to the Church of Mercy to be rid of the pain. It will be agony, but you have always held a love of violence.

It scares you each and every time.

"Not NOW, Anscham!"

One hand rips out from the ground, and tears off your mask. The inability to register anything normally is certainly robbing you of your sight. The scent of blood, sick, sweat, dirt, plant-life, and poison is still hot on the air.

(1/3)
>>
>>4565192
"Hunt them down." You're sure that Father Pevrel is listening, as you drag yourself to your feet. Anguish interlaces between the groan, and gasp that's labored between your absence of breath. Nothing physically makes sense. Your limbs don't need anything, when you have the earth. This vessel is your state of being, but it is ultimately a vehicle of deliverance. Snaking vines and poison leaves wrap around your hands and forearms. The wound on your left limb is filled with every last medicinal property in all of creation. The splinters and ivy that were digging into your skin twist, and solidify. "I'll stay and fight."

The church leader's sword is streaming with black. There's no light to be found in the entire structure, but it's not a distortion in your perception. Every last crack in the stone must be sealed shut. He strikes down four men in a single blow. Your fellow priest might as well not be found. Agriculture won't touch him.

The pressure within you is a pain you've never experienced. It keeps turning the world sideways. It's not a slip away from the Gods. You've never felt closer to them. You can't see, and want to place your hands back to the floor. So much as standing on something natural helps, at least. There's nothing else that can register. Something needs to ground you, beyond just the vessel that is your body. You can't exist without the earth. You need the soil spreading out, through all of the world. The forests. The fields.

The glow of pollen cast through the air here clings and clutches to every living body but the priest of Vengeance. It's sticking to their outlines, but won't reach any deeper. It could. You could kill them all in an instant.

The connection you're sharing with Agriculture is only made possible by the life within you.

Material exhaustion is discarded, as you clasp both hands together, and drop both fists down over a suicidal attackers head. He drops to the floor with a grunt, and is rendered unconscious on the spot. You don't have a second to breathe, as Father Pevrel slams his back against yours. The two of you are completely surrounded by enemies in the neon green darkness.

"Can you even HEAR ME—?!"

Gods, does it feel good to get your hands dirty. Shoving four men aside is made possible through a single, glorious motion. Your fists follow. Every blade that tries to strike out at you means nothing. A strike to a jaw, that puts a shudder through your spine, and cracks the bone you slam your fist into. His weapon slices your arm an inch deep, and you can't even feel it thanks to your Relic. Slapping another attacker's ears, to render him dazed as you drive an elbow down onto his back. A polearm threatens to skewer you, but it's intertwined with the growth all along your hands. The entire blade is snapped in half, and discarded by a vine.

(2/3)
>>
>>4565193
Six men are sprawled on the ground, as a field of agony for everyone to step over who dares approach you. "If there were ever a Time for you to invoke—!"

"NOT THE TIME, ANSCHAM—!" The tail end of your name picks up into a shout. Pevrel uses you as leverage, and throws himself at three cultists. Sword first. They're skewered from the force of the blow, and screams echo throughout the small room. There must be fifty people trying to pack into the space.

Horror beyond horrors registers. "There's only one reason for this many people to be gathered."

A rip and tear straight out of a nightmare registers from two of the men who were stabbed. Pevrel rips his sword away, and staggers a step back. He pushes himself against you once more. "Fuck."

"They're trying to force an outbreak—"

The men and women that have been attacking you have done so with no regard for their life or safety. They've all seemingly [/i]wanted[/i] to die, save for human instinct. Only when they thought you were escaping did any one of them seek to run themselves.

These hideouts were placed solely to destroy Eadric.

The screech that bellows from both bodies ahead forces you to put your hands to your ears. The world is ringing. Their forms are starting to merge— and more screams echo around them. They're absorbing the bodies around them. You've only seen two demons in all your life that were a collective, and both were powerful beyond measure.

There was also no conceivable way that you could have broken into the heart of a cultist's hideout without a plan, hoping to take prisoners, and to survive the break on absolutely no energy without some serious casualties. The thought flits across your mind that Father Pevrel has only agreed to this much to try and punish you.

The priest beside you breathes hard, and fast. "They did, and we can't let this leave the building. We can take it. I can take it, if you need to run. We could use some reinforcements—"

Time is a luxury you are rarely afforded. The figure before you is eliciting so many screams from all around, there's no conceivable way that it isn't engulfing every last member of Inertia it touches. They might still be alive. The glow all around is dimming.

The room is black. A cold sweat creeps along your spine. Without sight, or sound, you feel the figure beside you part from your side. This is the city of honesty, and few men alive have the audacity to lie to your face.

Father Pevrel does not invoke Vengeance. He waits for his God to come to him.

(Options in next post.)
>>
>>4565194
>A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED FOR ALL OF THE FOLLOWING.
>This is FAR from an exhaustive list of abilities and options available to you.
>Write-ins and questions welcome.
>All non-conflicting votes will be implemented where possible. Vocal opposition, as always, will be taken into full consideration.

>A] Run for your life. You'll keep the top floors sealed, fight your way downstairs, and head out whatever escape route was already used. You can track who's escaped AND go for reinforcements.

>B] Stay and fight.
>1] Try and unite your invocation with Agriculture, and Father Pevrel's connection with Vengeance via your Relic. You've never felt the God of Retribution as intended, and are willing to risk the effects to strengthen you both.
>2] Maintain your invocation with Agriculture. You're going to crush this threat before it escapes, and are positive that going any harder with further invocations will seriously damage you.
>3] Invoke Mercy, along with your invocation to Agriculture. You pray that the Goddess of Healing will keep you on your feet for long enough to get out of this alive.

>C] Write-in.
>>
>>4565195

>>B] Stay and fight.
>>1] Try and unite your invocation with Agriculture, and Father Pevrel's connection with Vengeance via your Relic. You've never felt the God of Retribution as intended, and are willing to risk the effects to strengthen you both.

Together become *death*.
>>
>>4565195
>>B] Stay and fight.
>>1] Try and unite your invocation with Agriculture, and Father Pevrel's connection with Vengeance via your Relic. You've never felt the God of Retribution as intended, and are willing to risk the effects to strengthen you both.

Does Vengy like his VENgetables?
>>
>>4565210
>>4565202

We are not stuck in here with YOU. YOU are stuck in here with US.
>>
>>4565202
>>4565210
>>4565224
(Fuck my life, I actually completely forgot something for once. Your Relic's functions so that if you use one property, it stops another. Uniting yourself with Pevrel will stop the pain relief, and you are going to be in a LOT of pain. You all opted in to use the MASOCHISM TANGO bonus earlier, which would negate the malus at the cost of behavioral and psychological factors. This can and would influence Father Pevrel as well, if you unite with him at the same time. Are you guys ok with this? Feel free to change your vote or add anything else to it. I'm so sorry for forgetting, I usually keep very close track of these things and it completely slipped my mind.)
>>
>>4565256
>>2] Maintain your invocation with Agriculture. You're going to crush this threat before it escapes, and are positive that going any harder with further invocations will seriously damage you.

Let's hope this and Pevrels invocation will be enough to pull through.
>>
>>4565256
MASOCHISM! MASOCHISM! MASOCHISM!
>>
>>4565263

What did he mean by this?
>>
>>4565269
(Pretty sure he's on board for A] but I'll need some clarity lol.)
>>
May as well go ahead with masochism tango, what's a little pleasure with your pain.
>>
>>4565263
>>4565302
>>4565258

Fuck it. Balls to walls. Let's do this. MASOCHISM TANGO.
>>
>>4565202
>>4565210
>>4565224
>>4565258
>>4565263
>>4565302
>>4565321
(Unanimous vote to stay, fight, and take on the pain! Vote is locked. You guys will use your Relic to try and unite with Father Pevrel.)

>LET'S DANCE
>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.

>+20 GREEN DAHLIA (At least Agriculture is happy!)
>-35 SOUL ACHE (It's closer to anguish, at this point.)
>+30 MASOCHISM TANGO (Your extreme eagerness to take on pain has temporarily increased this bonus!)
>-15 FATHER OF JUDGEMENT (Pevrel hates you. Convincing him to ally with you might be a challenge, even if his life depends on it.)
-11 SLEEP DEPRIVATION (You've slept twice in nine days, and are fighting to boot. This malus will slowly rise until you rest.)
>+10 FAITH OF A GODDESS (Your Relic was Mercy's gift to you, and protection is your creed.)
>+15 DEMONIC VETERAN (THIS IS YOUR ELEMENT)
>>
Rolled 65 (1d100)

>>4565348
This time for sure!!!
>>
Rolled 7 (1d100)

>>4565348

I BEG THEE FOR FORGIVENESS AND PRAY THAT MY SINS HAVE BEEN WASHED AWAY. BAPTIZE ME IN BOOZE, DELIVER ME FROM THIS FOUL OFFENDER AND RUINER OF GOOD VIBES. ETERNAL GRACE BE UNTO THEE.
>>
>>4565355
>>4565353
Read and weep, Yechitte!
>>
>>4565358

My good sir you forgot to throw the dice!
>>
>>4565360
(He already did my pious skeletal brother >>4565353)
>>
>>4565366

Million apologies! I was busy whipping my spine in penitence and I did not notice, my mind isn't what it used to be, It's gone! Hahahah.
>>
Rolled 68 (1d100)

Black peas
>>
>>4565353
>>4565355
>>4565358
>>4565360
>>4565375
>>4565378
(Bo3 is 68-- which comes out to 82 after all modifiers! Locked here. Writing now!)
>>
>>4565384
With a shout, you drive down a foot to the ground, and sweep your arms upwards. In the same motion, the wood beneath your feet cracks. A ten foot high, and one foot thick wall of lumber manifests in a solid perimeter around you, and the priest at your back. One or two cultists are caught on the edge, and are crushed into the ceiling. Blood sprays onto your grimace. It buys you the precious seconds you need. Poison drips from your lips, with every word you spit. "I'm staying to fight. Vengeance will have His turn. Ally with me! Become DEATH."

A shifting form of black and darkness bristles beside you. It's tendrils of violence. You've stayed the hand of a God, if only for a moment. The gravel of Father Pevrel's voice is wrath incarnate. The tone is not his own. It's years of pent up aggression, that's knives in your ears, and bile crushing your throat. "GLUTTON. HEDON. WHY WOULD YOU WARRANT OUR—"

*Mercy.*

It's almost more than you could ask for. "Then do so to punish me."

Dismay twists the shroud of death beside you. It's so familiar. Love is all through you, and the Goddess of morbidity.

The locket clutched in your hand is extended— though you still hold onto the blood-slick gold for dear life. "We are not *trapped* in here with heathens and demons. They're trapped in here with US. Make a demonstration, Father. I've never felt the God of Retribution as intended. I'm willing to risk everything to strengthen us both. Or are you— are you afraid of me overwhelming you?"

Bile-coated hands grasps yours. Your Relic's gold is covered in an instant. "I hate you. *I* fear you. But He never will."

"You'll join me?"

Threat is all through the monster of judgement. He shifts sharply, into spikes of the night. The reply is delayed.

There are still people here, though their sin is without compare. Their beating against your barrier intensifies, from axes and fists. No screams. It's unsettling. They would rather kill you than to run or save themselves. You likely have seconds before a wave of destruction rains on you both.

His answer is a surge of force. "Hesitation is defeat." The hold on your Relic *deepens.* "We will not back down from your challenge." Pain begins to emerge, from the crushing grip on your fingers, down into the depths of your being. Revenge smiles. "You should pray."

All pain relief vanishes with the alliance. You're so overwhelmed, you can only register flashes of sensation. Breathing is impossible. You clutch tightly onto the hand in yours, with both palms. The open wound straight through your arm is packed with coagulant, poison, natural medicine, and the injury of a serrated blade. Every violent beat of your heart throbs with the ragged skin, and the damaged tissue.

Heat.

Pleasure.

Masochism.

"Nn—"

(1/4 enjoy)
>>
>>4565505
https://youtu.be/XPLwPRhHw0M

There's multiple gashes inches deep on the rest of you. Your weight has your joints screaming from extended combat and motion across the city. Not resting for days has your head swimming, and exhaustion coating you.

"Aaahhhhh-!"

The hand grasping just as tightly onto yours is more pressure. More than the stretch on your frame. Not nearly as much as the push within your soul itself. Tendrils of vines wrapped all in blood drip from the hold you're both keeping. As they fall to the floor, the wood underway rots from a corrosive acid. The scent of sweat and cadaverine is on the air.

"AaaaaAAAAH—!"

You can't breathe, and try to stop tensing. ("Mmnn~ Aa, Aaagriculturre~") Nothing makes sense. You don't want to be lost to pleasure. There's lives on the line. Demons to slay.

There's the figure standing beside you, who is far from level. The scales of his devotion are tipping, thanks to you. They want retribution. They want punishment.

You want punishment.

"Aa~AAAAHN-"

You might as well go ahead.

Veracity adds a layer of further indulgence to your tone. "Mm— *more*—"

What's a *little* pleasure with your pain? The heat in your gaping wounds? The injury in your soul itself? The way it feels like your life is being scraped over with a knife of judgement? The scars you hold? This is nothing. You can take it.

"Fuck~!" The urge to go as hard as possible overwhelms you. "Give me *more*— PLEASE—!"

The hand in your hold draws back in revulsion. "I get it."

Father Pevrel punches you across your face. The impact is deafening. Pops of neon green pollen dance in your eyes, as you hold your ground, and obscenely gasp over and over again. The throb and beat of your pulse is as deafening as the ring in your ears, and the heat that's blossoming along your jaw. For good measure, you lean back against the wooden defense you've made. The euphoria running through the hit is threatening to make your legs give out. The very pit of your soul is at full capacity, but this is too important. You feel deeply, down into the world, as you reinforce the structure. "Aahh—"

"Do you really think you can *justify* this—!"

Another swing of a fist lands soundly in your stomach. You're so soft, the punch sinks a few inches into tender, sensitive, *blessed*—

-----
>>
>>4565509
Your breath hitches. Nothing exists for a moment. Some further debasement might be uttered. It's drowned out by a climax of ecstasy, and several utterances to your Goddess. You nearly collapse forward, and lean on Father Pevrel for support.

He winces, but rather than draw back, the entirety of the shadow wreathed around him snakes around your throat. Your hands. The measure of pain on you ramps up the pleasure all over again. The amount of heat in you is so intense, you could die. The moan that leaves you has you wanting for something to touch. Something to feel. Every nerve in your body is on fire. An oral fixation leads to you wanting to bite down on your lip, or a knuckle, but you can't speak for several seconds.

The way your breath is catching almost drowns out what's imparted to you.

"You are your own worst punishment."

Something clicks in your ally's mind. It's all through your own thoughts as well. Why should he need to leave when your very company is the greatest example of retribution he could ask for? Sure, it's miserable for him to be near you for a moment. But there's a sick, twisted gratification blended into the company he keeps. The antisocial leader of the church of Venegance can not just *tolerate* the company of Mercy's partner. He can *relish* your own self-abuse. Father Pevrel knows that you'll seek to damage yourself without him ever lifting a finger. This is a treat. You are a *gift* of masochism— for a sadist who knows no limits.

There's no impression of Vengeance on you. He won't touch you, but will work through your Relic. He'll work through His partner.

The floor beneath you cracks in an explosion of death. Jet-black bile and coagulated blood floods over the cracks. The barrier you've made is destroyed from the force of the impact. The gushing, corpse-scented liquid rushes towards the edge of the room. It splashes against every figure, and forms into barbs of solid violence. The serrated spikes are littered with barbed plant life, and become a blender of death. Every single standing cultist is screaming incoherently. It's a cacophony that you'll hear for the rest of your life, as over fifty people are eviscerated without hesitation.

Pleasure is consuming you. The light falls from your eyes. It's a forest at night, shrouding a crime that won't be discovered. You still can hardly breathe, and run a hand over your face in exasperation. It pulls on one of the gashes by your wrist, drawing out a whisper. "*Mercy.*"

There can't be any fear, for how good you feel. A demon has formed, and is still absorbing the bodies here. You do not need sight to see it, when Venegance is the shadow. Father Pevrel does not need stability, when Agriculture is ground itself. She still won't touch your ally, either. This union is flawed and abusive to an extreme. Everything is wrong. He didn't really want to ally with you. He just wants pain, too.

(3/4)
>>
>>4565515
Deviancy is your expertise, and you instantly recognize most properties of the creature before you through the fog of sensation. The cult of Inertia does not identify any God as their leader. They have forsaken the pantheon in life. This willful ignorance is the greatest sin imaginable. A demon of *misconception* has spawned, in defiance of Spirit. The monstrosity is almost invisible, save for the bioluminescent poison clinging to it, and the corpses it's taking in. You're reminded of a mass grave. Limbs and eyes pop and snap every second. It's blindly, mindlessly consuming everything in its path. The creature didn't recognize your wooden barrier as a threat. It didn't acknowledge it at all. It's moving gradually over the eviscerated corpses, and tipping over furniture to get better access where the bodies are blocked. It doesn't make much sense.

Father Pevrel quietly notes, "it's not attacking. Only consuming. This is wrong."

Deep breath. You can do this. "Nn- everything we do to it *will be wrong*." Fuck. "*Aaahhh—*"

"I'd slap you and tell yourself to get it together—"

A desperate, "nnn," interjects any thought or reason. This isn't conducive. You might be insatiable. Some frustration is worked out through reinforcing the doors behind you. The pressure from Agriculture working through you is reassuring, but there's no question that cultists will have escaped into the city. At least you're back on your feet. The way Agriculture is working through you makes up entirely for Vengeance's detachment. It's a blessing. You take several deep breaths, and level your voice. "This is fine."

Father Pevrel makes a nauseated, "tch." The twisted bastard is smiling. He has it just as bad as you do.

This demon that's manifested is unlike anything you've ever seen before. Virtually every cultist in the room is dead, in an ankle-deep sea of blood and bile. It's *invigorating*. You also look terrible, and don't want to die and be discovered in leather. A moment is taken to put a hand to your disguise, and assume the garb of a priest of Agriculture. The accents on the robes are all in black. It's tasteful, even if your bulk won't permit it to be flattering. You're confident that you can stay on your feet. The floor beneath the demon ahead of you groans once more.

Pevrel tenses. He's smarter than he seems, and utilized the moment to breathe for actual observation. "Striking it down might backfire. I'm staying my sword, not my hand. You try something first."

You vocalize the suspicion on your mind. "This entire venture was just an attempt to punish me."

There's humor in a God's voice, all wrapped up in Pevrel's satisfaction. "Worked out swell, didn't it? And you still want more, don't you. Might as well. What's the harm. You could stop any time you wanted, if you really meant it. Don't lie to either one of us."

The man at your side is filled by a monster, but he wants to *understand you.*

(Options in next post.)
>>
>>4565522
>A] This man is a monster and the relationship he has with his God is just as horrific. Brother Holloway was right to caution you about Father Pevrel. Leave, and go go pursue the cultists in the city. Seeing the actual motives of this priest to work alongside you was way more than you could handle. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

>B] Don't lie to yourself. You want more-- but lay down some boundaries.
>1] You'll kill Father Pevrel if he touches you again.
>2] You both are never speaking of this again.
>3] Write-in.

>C] By all the Gods you are STAYING AND FIGHTING DAMMIT! Lash out at the demon of misconception with… (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
>1] LIFE
>2] DEATH
>3] EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN
>4] Invite Father Pevrel to stop dragging ass and help out.

>D] Tell your fellow priest that you are seriously going to lose your mind or permanently damage yourself if you go any harder. You'll stand by, observe, and guide him as best as you can.

>E] Write-in (MAY HELP ENORMOUSLY).
>>
>>4565525
>E] Write-in (MAY HELP ENORMOUSLY).
Time to pull Storm out and l'evisceraté the blood, bile and existence of the demon. Maybe we can experiment with souls while at it and see if we can explode the demons instead of taxing ours.
>>
>>4565525
>>E] Write-in (MAY HELP ENORMOUSLY).

It seems like we are literally 2 sides of the same coin, we are going to be keeping in touch for a long time to fix the damage all of this is doing.

This is a demon of misconception, it survives on lies and false belief. Not much we can do against it with the current combo we have, let Pevrel know thine enemy with his cool eyes while we do our best to restrain it. If it ignored the wood wall it means we can possibly trap it in a box and squish it together more and more, like we did with the demon of agony.
>>
>>4565548

Strongly oppose invoking storm oh god that would literally kill us right now absolutely not.
>>
>>4565548
(Thanks for the creative write-in, anon. I want to be clear: invoking another God right now would be a fate almost worse than death. Even calling on Mercy would cause further, extreme, lasting damage. You guys are hurting. I really don't want to write self-inflicted torture porn at the moment, and especially when you all have been so firmly adamant about not ruining yourselves. Even though it's *possible* to invoke Storm at the moment-- and would likely be effective in resolving this hectic situation you're in-- the toll on our protag would be so extreme that I need to veto this. Thanks again for the contribution though, and I don't want to deter any write-ins! Please feel free to ask any questions or run anything else by me.
>>
>>4565548
Seconded
>>
>>4565525
>C] By all the Gods you are STAYING AND FIGHTING DAMMIT! Lash out at the demon of misconception with… (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
>3] EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN
>>
>>4565553
+1, he may not understand what happening around him, as the demon's very perception is distorted.
>>
>>4565548
>>4565638
As much as I'd like to meet Storm, it'll have to be another Time. We're not under a sky, or lost in a Tempest, but in a house made of Earth, and that we're running ourselves ragged, I'd not risk more damage than is necessary. We do need to rest and heal a bit after this.
>>
>>4565638
(Two vocal, strongly justified oppositions and a hard veto from the QM definitely is going to set aside any further votes for this course of action. Thanks for understanding guys.)
>>
(Deleted the last one because I keep forgetting a > on the sleep deprivation malus and it's driving me nuts lol)

>>4565548
>>4565555
(sick quads btw)
>>4565638
>>4565639
>>4565642
>>4565645
(Vote is locked here!)

>CONFINEMENT
>WITH EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN

>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.
>+20 GREEN DAHLIA (She doesn't want you to die.)
>-25 SOUL IS ON FIRE (It's aflame with desire! The sheer degree of masochism you're exhibiting is making this less of an issue.)
>+10 ALLY OF DESIRE (Turns out your newest ally is pretty messed up. It's a boon in this particular situation!)
>+30 MASOCHISM TANGO (Your extreme eagerness to take on pain has temporarily increased this bonus!)
>+15 FATHER OF RESTRAINT (Yep. You're in your element, to say the least.)
>-13 SLEEP DEPRIVATION (You've slept twice in nine days, and are fighting to boot. This malus will slowly rise until you rest.)
>+10 FAITH OF A GODDESS (Containing a demon and staying your hand it is mighty Merciful of you.)
>>
Rolled 63 (1d100)

>>4565718
I have faith.
>>
Rolled 1 (1d100)

>>4565718
Are we winning?
>>
>>4565725
Oh boy.
>>
Rolled 75 (1d100)

>>4565718
>>
>>4565774
My man!
>>
>>4565720
>>4565725
>>4565774
(This massively appropriate situation, smart thinking and that 75 will absolutely get the job done with a 122 out of 100. Making a note that you guys definitely want some more time with Storm, and some good rest ASAP. (Along with all the rest.) Writing now!)
>>
>>4565777
(also nice blessed trips again dude)
>>
(Formatting pushed this to 1/6. Each part will effectively be much shorter than usual. Enjoy lol.)

>>4565778
https://youtu.be/WfOUo97vBQw

Experimenting with your soul itself crosses your mind. Reason is leaving you. Instinct kicks in. The church of restraint. The faith of a Goddess. The agony of your innermost being. The excess that's causing it. The pressure on you. The weight. An ally by your side who's facilitated making things worse by the second, and loved it all the same. The only hold you're getting here is on another. You're a master of the earth, and could kill this demon instantly, if you wished. There's no doubt that uncertainty, Mercy, and inner turmoil is what stays your hand.

One fist closes. You coax the edges of the room to bend to your will. It's the stone of your valley. The fallen trees of your forest. Over fifty dead bodies shifting puts every one of your hairs on end. With the push of the surrounding room inwards— gently coaxing the walls towards the demon— small waves of toxic bile floods against a monster. Storm would be proud. Vengeance might be impressed. Agriculture is delighted. Corpses swim in it. It's a cage that the demon can temporarily occupy itself with— and provides your fellow priest with further opportunity for perverse observation.

Father Pevrel snaps all the shadow around his face towards you. He was silently watching. There's so much tension in his frame, that the grin across his face looks psychotic. "Feeding it, Anscham? Really?"

You close your eyes, and take a deep breath. The heave of your chest is unrelenting. The pollen hanging hot and heavy in the air might as well be steam. Fire is working along the worst of the injuries on you, and it's not even eclipsed by the pain within. You can't care about petty words from petty men. He gets it. "What place do you have to judge, Father, when we ahh— are— two sides of the same coin? Aahh—"

"Eugh. Your head is so clouded—" He leans closer towards you, thinking it's menacing. You're thrilled by the proximity. "—that you think you know the first thing about me?"

(1/6)
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>>4565892
>>4565892
The tension through your fist could be improved upon. "Mhmm." Another hand is extended. You shift your stance, to grant further stability to the effort you're going to exert. "We'll be keeping in— in touch for long enough after this." More impossibilities. Your heels dig into the floor. You're grounded. "To fix the damage—" A gasp leaves you. "—that all of this is doing." The slightest motion of your injured arm coaxes smooth, innocuous vines around the demon. Despite what anyone may have to say about you, you DO know when to exhibit restraint. "This demon survives on lies, and fa-Aah-alse belief." This is agony. Blessed, immaculate agony. Speaking at length has always been a gift for you. "Not much we can do with our present combination."

You'd recognize compromised perception anywhere. A test. The growth is slow. It doesn't antagonize the demon. It didn't recognize your barrier, and it doesn't seem to register the new growth now. Both you, and the priest at your side assume a whisper. He keeps his sword out, with tension through every tendril of black. "The fuck do you mean? Excellent pace, by the way. Hedon. Proved me wrong in one department. Would put Wearmoor's best to shame."

"Thank you." Your similarities and complements are so obvious, it would take all night to list them all. More importantly, you're certain speaking at greater length will result in noises too obscene for justification. "Use your eyes."

You close yours. Rest would be impossible like this. Agony has every last nerve on fire, fried, and you want to do unspeakable things with the cinders. "Nnnh."

You'll rest as soon as you can, and heal as much as you're able— but after-care will have to come after minimizing the damage that's being done to you. You're also a horrible tease, and can't resist keeping the work through you to the gentlest motion. A few flowers catch in the darkness, and against the glowing pollen. There's more than the favor of a Goddess. "Aahh—"

The catch in your breath is almost as sharp as the blades that ran over your skin. A thrill runs through you, that's only emphasized by the gradual prison you're forming around the demon ahead. It's still taking in blood, and bodies. Demanding more of you. A contest of wills— against a man with no limits. You want to laugh. It would literally kill you right now to exert the full extent of your ability. Insanity doesn't grip you, despite thinking to an open sky. Lightning in your eyes. Tremor in the dark. Nearly dying each and every Time. Months of agony thereafter.

There will be a Time for Storm. For now, you'll take it slow. Steady. Lashing out with everything in-between could take awhile. "Nnh—"

(2/6)
>>
>>4565896
Father Pevrel doesn't risk snapping his fingers to get your attention back. He settles for flicking the side of your (more severely) wounded arm.

"Aah! AaaAAAh—"

"Pay attention, demon."

The momentum of the torn injury builds, and spreads. You are completely content to ride out the sensation as the priest beside you speaks. "Its focus is on spreading. This demon's mimicking the behavior of its former self. Typical. I'm certain that it's only ignoring your work because it's so unusual. Talk about excess. This much growth would kill any normal priest of Agriculture. Freak. ...you're already tuning me out. Anscham! You didn't answer my question, either."

"Which one—?"

"Accusing you or I of having any similarities. You don't know shit about Us."

"You don't know Them the way I do." The fury that wants to rain on you is paused by the sheer intensity of your amusement. "Do you think Agriculture ever would hold back? I'm the one staying Her hand. And why not use the blessings given to you? You're just ahh— as strange as I am."

"Fuck off." He loves it.

"What is your judgement?

He's smiling again, through the shroud over him. Mulling over how to best phrase it.

"There is much more that I'm certa— aah— certain we can learn from one another."

"Fuck you. There's no sanity here. And I'm talking about the demon, you sick fuck. It's obviously something that needs to die."

More testing. You're capable of producing enough growth to snake around the perimeter of over fifty corpses. There's no motion from downstairs. Prolonged connection to Agriculture is heightening your ability further. She guides your awareness, to confirm the worst. The force of yours and Father Pevrel's alliance scared every last living soul away from the room you occupy. They fled. There's no telling how many of the forty-something individuals downstairs escaped.

"They're gone, or dead. All of them."

"What did I tell you? Hesitation is defeat. This is going to be a nightmare to clean up. Now's not the Time. Focus."

You have to focus. There's a demon in front of you, mindlessly consuming the last of the bodies in its immediate vicinity. Having it move is not an option.

"It may not even— ahhh, understand what's happening around it."

Growth is Our foremost domain. But what of something less obvious? What if We test a few definitions?

(3/6)
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>>4565899
Transcending the earth has its bonuses. A sudden, sharp disconnect from reality takes hold. It's pleasant. No temperature. No pain. You can bend and manipulate the lumber all around as if it were water. The material solidifies further, though remains pliant. This could be construed as fertility, and prolificacy. Or harvest, and the process. Even generosity, for your enthusiasm to create something new.

The man at your side takes several rapid steps backwards, and behind you. He's literally using you as a shield, and snips, "what the fuck are you doing?"

The cage you've been constructing over the now-massive collection of corpses extends, and grows rapidly. A set of bars comes directly between you, Father Pevrel, and the main mass of the creature. You leave the slits just wide for your ally to see through, though you're not entirely certain if it's even necessary.

A ragged breath leaves him. His sword wavers. "Talk to me, Anscham. Are you still in there?"

Swallowing hard, you're eased back into the moment by a Goddess. A few of the spare flecks of poison ivy along your veins outright caress you, as you find your voice. "Yes. I need to know: Your eyes are remarkable. How do you see...?"

He sounds deader than usual. Deader than the church of murder. "Don't ask me again. What are you doing with this thing?"

Two can play at this game. "You have yet to exhibit any ability. Feel free not to answer me. We've— ah— we've wasted enough Time."

Death is the most unusual element to utilize with growth, but even the deceased are part of a cycle.
You are a master of your craft, and do not need to hold back.
Slaughter is another kind of harvest.
You can reap the bounty of this effort, thanks to its life and fertility.
Extending one hand towards the barrier you've created, you exert the full extent of your domination.

From the stone and wood underfoot, you manifest four walls on the edges of the room. They suddenly and sharply slam upwards in a perimeter around you all. In the same instant, another layer of organic growth forms on the ground beneath the demon, for good measure. An identical, flat surface manifests from the ceiling in the last of the moment. Two beams are created beneath it, lending structural support on the entire room. Both of the planks of wood snake under the walls and surfaces you've created. What you're about to do will concentrate the weight of every corpse in this room on one location, and your earlier mishap was a valuable lesson.

Each motion makes no disruption in the blood you and Pevrel have been wading in. These elements are yours to control. They are prostrate before your rule. The priest at your side has been tensing hard enough that the sudden motion he makes at your side puts another thrill through you. It's a break in your nonexistent concentration.

Hit me. Hit me again

(4/6)
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>>4565900
The motion was to brace himself behind you. He thinks you're going to pass out. "I don't need to prove shit, Anscham. Let's see what you can do."

This is one challenge you won't back down from. The demon of agony flits through the pained landscape of your pleasure-drenched mind.

"You're holding back, aren't you?"

Instant encasement in solid stone. A demon of Time and Flesh couldn't escape your grasp. One demon. Still, it was only one body.

"What are you waiting for?"

The memory of so much unwanted pain is sobering. There's also extreme comfort all through you. Softness. The hold of the earth. The connection to the restraint of your making. "It's so much."

A catch in your breath. Exhaustion is making the world spin, but you can manage this much. Single targets are your specialty, and you can this one underhand like an insect. No hesitation.

A single clench of your fist.

The creature isn't even given enough Time to scream. Every single wall suddenly, violently defies all logic. They compact, merge, and slam onto the demon's location without ever touching you or Father Pevrel. A sickening, wet, sloppy sound smashes in on itself. The cube in the center of the room starts off as soil, wood, and stone. Further squelching noises can be heard, through the crunch of bone. The sheer force of its compression projects clouds of silt into the air. It keeps compacting, with the weight and force of the world itself. There's snapping of sinew from how quickly and firmly it's smashed in on itself. Poison floods into the location with enough intensity to corrode any and all Flesh within it. You leave nothing to chance. The scent of melting tissue is on the air. Your vision goes black.

It's like the sheer force of the attack took the world out from under you. Father Pevrel leans in, to try and help to support your weight. The God of Retribution does want to even touch you, so the priest ultimately draws back as if he's touched a hot iron. "Shit. Nice work. Take a knee, or something—"

You take a knee, breathing hard. A long, obscene sigh escapes from you. Every attempt at keeping your composure is insufficient. The hold you have on the ground underfoot parts, and you nearly collapse face-first. Sheer force of will keeps you upright, and steady. You jerk yourself upwards, to try and maintain consciousness. Pin-pricks of sage are flashes of light before your open eyes. You try not to groan.

The haze of ecstasy all over you is still dissatisfying. You wanted a fight. Heroism. This couldn't have been that easy, even if you've been capable of killing a priest of Storm in a single blow as well. "This demon's effects were wrong."

With a drag of his sword over a swath of his cloak, Father Pevrel cleans the blade. It's shrouded all in night, and soaks in all of the blood on his body. "No. We are."

(5/6)
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>>4565903
Both of you reflect almost-silently in the clouds of silt for several moments.

"Ahh." "Aaahhhh—" "Nn~"

Father Pevrel breaks the near silence first. "Get it together. Looks like most of the rumors had some truth to them. You don't disappoint. For fuck's sake, though, Anscham. I can't imagine what could actually kill you. I can go get some backup, if you don't die if I leave for a few minutes. You leave anyone alive downstairs?"

He has a fixation with death. It's almost endearing. "Yes. I'm—" Speaking puts a blurry wave of green behind your eyes. "Aahh—"

The scent of lily of the valley is impressed on you, though the Goddess is not physically here. It's almost as if She's on you. The softness of Her hair. The hand trailing along—

"Anscham."

"Four cultists."

The priest looks around, as if he's uncertain as to where everyone's gone. "Wait here."

He said it like you're capable of getting back to your feet.

"Please don't kill aa-any of them."

There's a blink of your eye. Some dark spot registered at the edge of your mind, and flickers before you again. Out of Time. Out of Flesh. Out of Spirit. There's more blood dripping from Father Pevrel's sword. "No one else in the building, except for one bitch in the wall. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"It worked, didn't it?"

"Stop being right. Fuck you. Let's get you somewhere to pass out."

"Wait."

"You fucking glutton— what more could you possibly want—?"

"The demon should be dead, but—"

"It's dead."

You're too exhausted to fidget, and try to focus on looking through the rubble. The monstrous coffin of death that you manifested was compressed to no more than five feet across in every direction. The surface of solid stone is layered, with multiple alternating patterns of wood and rock. Claymore would be proud. It's smoking from the sheer amount of force exerted on it. "How do you know?"

"I know my enemy. You've seen way too much of the wrong shit, haven't you?"

Even talking at length is pushing you. There's a dull throb deeper than your soul itself. There's something wounded in you, and it only makes the moment sweeter. "You have— ahh— no idea."

(Options in next post.)
>>
>>4565904
>A] You just need a minute to collect yourself, so you can stagger somewhere to safely pass out. There's virtually nothing that could have survived that attack.
>1] Ask Father Pevrel to organize the hearing with Eadric's elders. You'll rest only for as long as your city can safely afford. You have to see to this situation as soon as humanly possible. (Dream will be pissed. Lives will no doubt be saved.)
>2] The meeting with the city's elders has to wait. You need to recover. (Dream will still be pissed, but it won't exacerbate His ire. People might die.)

>B] Dismantle the demon's prison, even if it makes you lose consciousness. You legitimately have seen too much shit, and need to confirm that your enemy is dead with your own eyes. (There's no guarantee that your sanity or body can handle anything further.)
>1] Make a peep-hole. (A low roll will be required.)
>2] Create a large enough opening to view it from a distance. (A moderate roll will be required.)
>3] Destroy the entire structure. (A high roll will be required.)

>C] Write-in.
>>
>>4565905
>>C] Write-in.

Flood the coffin with amber or sap so that even if it's alive it cannot possibly move or grow anymore.

>A] You just need a minute to collect yourself, so you can stagger somewhere to safely pass out. There's virtually nothing that could have survived that attack.
>1] Ask Father Pevrel to organize the hearing with Eadric's elders. You'll rest only for as long as your city can safely afford. You have to see to this situation as soon as humanly possible. (Dream will be pissed. Lives will no doubt be saved.)

Dream can get bent for the time being, we have people to save.
>>
>>4565922
+1, take a nap in the meantime, and a prayer of apology to Dream.
>>
>>4565922
>>4565928
(Good afternoon guys. I overslept. Love the write-ins. Unanimous vote is locked. Weekend sessions are here! Writing now!)
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>>4566202
"Just a minute. I'll rest the moment this is done."

An exasperated, sarcastic "tch" replies. The priest goes through the motion of cleaning his sword once more.

Kneeling, and the closer proximity to the ground helps. There's no conceivable way that anything can free this demon. There's no way it survived. Still, Father Pevrel has a point. You have been in enough combat to know to take no risks with your enemies.

You close your eyes, and focus. The lumber within the cube could be pine. You tend to it, with a gentle motion from your hands. The unmistakable scent of pine lifts in the air, and provides some relief from the blood and bile. You sympathize even with trees— and even as the Father of Excess, you only draw out only as much pine resin as necessary. Enough production to fill a single bucket should take months, or years naturally. You encourage the extraction through a few methods you're familiar with, and the blessing of the Goddess. Pulping. The aid of a few acids. The scent of citrus catches on the air, from rinds that manifest out of sheer devotion to the craft.

Powdered bone, squashed muscle, and crushed blood is gradually, and completely flooded through its spiderweb-thin cracks. A glistening, glassy, sticky pine tar drips from every now-identifiable opening. Spangle would be delighted. Along with all of its medicinal properties, this material is also the foundation of many explosives. It could be ignited with the right amount of heat. Further insurance for securing this demon's destruction.

You almost collapse once again. You drop to your other knee, and catch yourself from passing out with both hands. It's thrilling. The force of nearly falling, and putting even some of your weight on your injured arm instantly jolts you back to consciousness. A moment is spent drawing in on yourself, breathing hard, and fighting to not scream or moan loudly enough for the neighbors to hear. Biting on a knuckle gets you through most of it. There's two problems you dwell on, while loving the nervous energy all through you:
-Resin does not solidify into amber in a single age, or even ten. You are a priest of Time, but will not invoke the Goddess of Ages even under threat of imminent death. Agriculture knows this, and the sheer scope of the venture frightens Her enough to stay your hand.
-The prospect of the most down-to-earth Goddess being frightened of anything puts a chill up your spine. It's a cold reminder of your limitations. It's also a topic for discussion later. The prospect of broaching it with Agriculture (and possibly getting real answers) has you excited all over again.

(1/3)
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>>4565905
>>4565922
support
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>>4566243
Appreciate you man!

>>4566242
Several minutes later, Father Pevrel stops tapping his foot, and tries hoisting you up by the back of your robes. His invocation drops completely. Vengeance seems to have an equally twisted sense of humor. The priest's arm nearly gives out, despite his obvious strength. You finally start to get back to your feet, and watch the world spin. The man's voice remains level, and he does actually extend his other hand to ensure you don't drop dead on the spot. "Alright. Come on. Do you have any idea how unnecessary that was?"

"I know nothing could have survived the attack, but..." This is an ordeal, even with Agriculture's aid. There's plenty of foundation for you to stand on, but your grasp on anything but the world is tenuous at best. A few dozen beloved memories of harvesting from pine trees flit by your thoughts, along with orchards, and the familiar scent of butterscotch sap. Resin is a priceless commodity. Sap is easily the most valuable portion of the entire tree for its transport of nutrients, sure. But the resin is a an entirely different material. The semi-solid liquid is caused from injury to the plant. Aside from fire-starting and aiding in rope making, it can be used as ointments, or even chewed on for its healing properties.

Resisting the urge to slap yourself away from obsessing over plants (of all things to think of right now), you manage to still every other moan that wants to escape from simply getting back on your feet. The unrelenting ecstasy that's been running through you is wrapping back in on itself. It's a different kind of burn at the back of your skull. You wonder if it's possible that you're numbing your capacity for normal pleasure, too. The sheer intensity of it has you quiet for further long minutes, as you both walk away from the blood-soaked room of the hideout. Pevrel makes a point to avoid the stairs, so you both proceed into a nearby room.

Distance from the demon, the scent of so much new life, and getting your feet out of chunky blood does wonders for your faculties. You still register dead bodies littered along the floor. The small bedroom you're in is no more than ten feet across at its widest, yet a dozen men are collapsed over decaying pieces of furniture. The first floor of the hideout was seemingly an innocuous home for a prior resident of Eadric, but its condition must have been miserable even before its nefarious occupation. Aside from Father Pevrel's capacity for violence, this raises even more questions.

How much damage did Morris and Stace intentionally do in my absence?
Our other holy cities are in remarkable shape, by comparison. Would Father Wilhelm, Friedrich, or Sullivan even be capable of guiding me with the current state of affairs?
Father Pevrel may be a sadist, but he DID ultimately come here to help me. Is there more to this venture that I'm not understanding?
Is that a bed?


(2/3)
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>>4566247
There's a bed. Father Pevrel shoves the dead body draped over it aside. The sheets are torn off, which soaked up most of the blood. He debates tossing the mattress, but you don't care. One hundred praises and extensive requests for forgiveness are uttered to Dream, as you collapse on the filthy resting place. "The Gods are Merciful."

"Stay put. I'm going for backup."

"Father Pevrel. Organize the hearing— hnnnh— aaah, please organize the hearing with Eadric's elders."

An amused grin flashes at you. "I was thinking it. No better Time for it. They can see for themselves how hard you're running yourself into the ground, right?"

He's worse than you thought. "This— you did not antagonize me and drag me through this all just to make a better case—"

Laughter that would put a demon to shame trails away, as the priest heads out of the room. He doesn't wave, or even look over his shoulder. "Better fall asleep quick! Won't be getting much rest on my watch!"

He's a sadist. Possibly a genius. It's hard to not hate him, but you won't complain. It's what you were hoping for, too.

Darkness shrouds your vision the instant you lay down. Dream is going to be furious by such little rest, but you legitimately can't afford to appease every God at this very moment. Lives are on the line. Further prayers of outright apology are given. You fall asleep almost instantly, and at some point must have released your invocation to Agriculture. There's people to save, and there's no doubt in your mind that this sacrifice will make it possible.

-----

You know above all other things that the Gods are Merciful. It's been eight years since you last had a nightmare. It still comes as no surprise that the ire of Dream has been provoked. A choice is granted to you, deep in the dark.

>A] Voluntarily accept the will of Dream, and accept his nightmares. This could be a blessing in disguise.

>B] Demand an audience with Dream. It's not your place, this is not the Time, and your interaction would no doubt be cut short— but you need to try and say something. Bargain, even.

>C] You have more trauma than most men could ever hope to reconcile, and do NOT want to deal with this right now. Fight it. (Write-in how you wish to cope with, manage, or outright avoid the wrath of a God.)

>D] Write-in.
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>>4566249
>A] Voluntarily accept the will of Dream, and accept his nightmares. This could be a blessing in disguise.

It's time, to rest and dream of dark moonless skies.

He's granted us enough of a reprieve from out inner demons. We must face this pain head on and learn from it.
>>
>>4566249

>>A] Voluntarily accept the will of Dream, and accept his nightmares. This could be a blessing in disguise.

Fucking bring it on bitch boy. We are gonna kill the demons in our head too.
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>>4566249
>A] Voluntarily accept the will of Dream, and accept his nightmares. This could be a blessing in disguise
>>
(Ah helll yeah gonna do half hour voting windows when we're this fast. Vote will remain open for the next 12 minutes.)
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>>4566253
>>4566257
>>4566267
(Unanimous vote is locked! Noting all write-ins, great stuff as always dudes. Writing now.)
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>>4566275
Let me face my pain head-on.
I'll kill the demons in my head, too.
Bring it on.


https://youtu.be/dC0BUKhdi1g

A small, curly-blonde woman pulls hard against the crushing grasp you have on her wrist. You tighten your grasp, with a hand so much larger than her own that you know you could crush her in seconds. The halfling— your friend— lets out a small whimper. There's hesitation. She tried to attack you. Right? "...A white oak tree. We stamp it with a 'B'. Richard— it's me. I don't know what's goin' on but you need to calm down! I'm not gonna hurt you or Gwen—!"

Your shadow eclipses the halfling. You don't pay any heed to the demons around you that have stood up from their chairs in the beet-red theater of sin. They're complaining about you interrupting the show.

"AND NOW, INCUBI AND SUCCUBI, MAJOR DEMONS AND HEATHENS OF ALL RACES- WITHOUT FURTHER ADO: THE MOMENT YOU ALL HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR! PLEASE PUT YOUR HANDS TOGETHER FOR THE LORD OF LEWDNESS, THE KING OF KINKINESS, THE SIRE OF SALACIOUSNESS-! YOUR HUMBLE HOST! REMIGIUS!!!"

The thunderous applause around you all is the only thing that punctuates the darkness.

"I'm so sorry. I never meant to jeopardize anyone's safety."
"Sorry, sorry," You tried to mutter, but your voice coming out too soft, barely audible over her panic. You try to gesture, articulate an apology, and manage to somehow bump into her again—
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

"Richard. Richard, it's okay. I'm going to get help."

The demon is lying on the floor, still as stone. Ray is unconscious next to the monster. Your boy is still breathing, but his breath is ragged. He's obviously badly hurt. You start to move towards him, but a hand is on your shoulder. The halfling. The halfling you met— how long ago was it now...? She's leaning over you. There's blood up to her upper arms, matching the color of the demon, as it leaks the poison inside of its body out onto the floor of the ruins. The greater demon's shadow feels like its still leering over you.

Blood flows freely from your veins, as you struggle to knit your slashed fingers back together. It's useless. The long digits can barely press against one another. Furious and terrified, your green irises bolt up to the shadow leering above you. "I like that look." The demon leers. Its wet voice drips over you, and you stagger backwards. Your hands uselessly hand at your sides. A stalk of weighted, coagulated blood is weighing down on your skull. Pressing behind your eyes. Flooding your brain.

You're covered in blood, still sobbing and panicked, fighting against the halfling to get to your dog. The white light of Spirit has left you, but your heart is racing faster than it ever has.

"Hey. Hey. Richard. It's Ofelia. It's okay- it's okay. I'm going to go get help."

(1/2)
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>>4566294
The demon's voice carries over the tail end of your agony, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry... I can't imagine what you're thinking. Please trust me. Please. You know I would never hurt anyone unless our lives were in danger. I need you to trust me. Please."
"I'm sorry that I haven't been more forward with you both sooner."
Your voice is low, your eyes downcast. "I know I abused Her. I know this isn't right. I'm sorry you had to see me in such a way. I need some Time. Some space. We will be alright—"

The urge to go back into the corridor and to meet a certain death is intense. The heat, the radiance, and the divinity of your Goddess is entirely absent. You feel a new kind of whiplash. Fear and timidness creeps straight back into your voice. Angst wraps itself around you as your sweat starts to dry. "...what's wrong with me? What am I even doing— are you alright, Ofelia? I'm— I'm so sorry. I'm sorry."

"I'm so sorry. I never meant to jeopardize anyone's safety."
"I'm sorry. Father, I understand completely."

You know where you wish to go. You need to go back.

>A] DEEPER

>B] DARKER

>C] FUCKING BRING IT ON BITCH BOY

>D] Try to wake up. (Write-in.)
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>>4566296
>>C] FUCKING BRING IT ON BITCH BOY

These are not our failures or shortcomings. These are our conquests, we endured once, we will do so again.

Come get some trauma blue cunt.
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>>4566296
>C] FUCKING BRING IT ON BITCH BOY
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>>4566296
>C] FUCKING BRING IT ON BITCH BOY
>>
>>4566296
>C] FUCKING BRING IT ON BITCH BOY

Well, we finally accepted Dream, in all his domains. I'm proud of you lads.
>>
Rolled 93 (1d100)

>>4566299
>>4566319
>>4566323
>>4566337
(Bring it on. Vote is locked! Writing now.)
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>>4566347

This is either really good or really bad and i have a feeling it is going to be REALLY bad.
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>>4566347
>>4566348
Nah mate. It's going to be good. Even if it appears bad at first. I have faith.
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>>4566347
>>4566348
>>4566353
https://youtu.be/ICjD3f-8SXE

"I would like for you to take whichever form you wish, if I win again."

There's a harsh bark from the succubus that could be mistaken for a laugh. "That's so generous of you, Daddy. So generous. Let's see if your luck holds out, you piece of shit."

Dream gracefully tosses a coin into the air. It's caught on His arm. Remigius reveals it, baring her pointed teeth at you with so much satisfaction that you immediately begin to wonder if you will leave her company alive. Her form twists, and shifts.

King Magnus' face leers at you both, from the sides of all four walls. A loss.

You tense, eagerly anticipating a blow. "This is exactly what I need—" You're worshiping at an altar of pleasure, hardly able to move. "Bring it on." Paralyzed. "Coward!" Curled in on yourself.

The gold and green in your eyes lifts up, silently imploring your mentor. Father Friedrich's lack of amusement turns to a sneer. "I want to help you, Richard, but I know someone sick when I see it." The priest's patience is befitting of a God's. His lips are as tight as his fists, which are clearly fighting to not put you in your place. "I swear, on all of the Gods, Richard—"

"You have never felt Her, but you understand a fraction—"

Through the haze of elation, nerves aflame, you struggle to suppress the sounds that Mercy is eliciting from you. A reply entirely escapes you, despite all of your brewing questions. You knew that something wasn't quite right since you last invoked Her, but the reaction you're having to this blessing is more than you can stand. It's difficult to even think.

Idonea seems revolted, turning away from you with a sound that you don't particularly care for. You'd like to defend yourself, but she speaks over the rising gasp in your throat. "Once you have finished..." She places a hand to the back of Freya's golden hair, turning the minor demon's face away as well.

"Spoiled little shit." The hulking church leader takes a step forward. "You've never had someone stop you from running—"
"—of Their blessing—!"

A number of daggers pelt into your back. You can't quite discern how many. Your body— Flesh and Mercy's vessel— is an inferno of sensation. You're completely overwhelmed by the pain and pleasure, and indecently cry out as you release your friends. It's all you can do to try to push them away from the carnage. You cry out, overwhelmed as you crash-land. The blades embedded in your back slink dangerously close to your spine.

"—your fucking mouth—"

Keeping your shield out, you drop your mace, and twist back. The handle of one of the daggers is grasped as tightly as you can. Hesitation is not an option. You think of soft gold and light as you pull out the blade in one swift motion. Stars explode before your possessed and metallic eyes. Blood pools down your back. Flesh floods the wound as you cry out.

(1/4)
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>>4566397
"—it was more than any mortal man could hope to comprehend, Father."
"Did I fucking stutter?"
"I could scarcely tell what was happening at the time."
"You can't tell what the fuck is happening now—"
"Daggers."

Three more. The barbed and jagged edges take away a significant amount of Flesh as you extract another. Crimson viscera cuts across the pews as you tear the weapon out. Blood and gore arcs through the air as you hurl the dagger back at your foes.

"You're making a fucking—"
"Blades."

Distracted, you don't react in time as it tries to drive a sword straight into your stomach. You scarcely move in time. Its blade cuts into your side.

"—fool of yourself—"
"Imps, in the halls of Her Church—"

You gasp in agony and elation, and don't hesitate to tear out the third dagger. It's uncertain if this torture is endurable by a mortal man. The cracks in the edges of your mind deepen. The fractures in your soul are barely bound together by the embrace of Mercy and Flesh. You are either screaming or gasping as the blade slides completely out from your body. It's hard to tell. You're losing yourself.

You're being lifted to your feet, by the front of your sweat-soaked shirt. Father Friedrich could not look more disgusted. "I don't want to hear it. I can't do anything for you if you won't even listen. You need my help. Our help. You're sick."

With a smile, you are more than happy to say, "I know." The fist around the cloth on the front of your shirt tightens. The Father of Flesh is keeping you on your feet effortlessly. The edges of his lips twitch as you continue. "I do not regret anything. This outbreak was child's play—"

There are never enough hands to spare, for maintenance, or for care. Not in any one of the nine miles you run outside of the furthest fortifications. Not at the Morinburn River. Not along the banks, and never in the series of shallow, empty graves you’ve dug. Priests of Flesh are not buried. They are normally burned. You kneel. Catching your breath is easier than remembering names infinitely more befitting of your family, and your children.

Jonathan was a strong name.

You spend a few moments beside the last physical evidence that your son ever lived at all.

"You shut your fucking mouth."

"I saved every life in my care— staved off a dozen imps without— nnn. Suffering more than a few more scars, Father—!"

The flurry solidifies into a singular blade of glass. It slices the back of your ankles clean open. The sound of every tendon splitting, and of your blood splattering onto stone hangs in the air for an eternity. Shock doesn't allow the pain to register for a singular moment.

"Ah— aahn—! AAaahhhhh—" you can barely breathe, let alone speak, and swallow hard. One word. Just a few syllables. "Aah, Aagriculture—!"

The motion is more than enough to elicit another wave of delirium. Memory. Ecstasy.

(2/4)
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>>4566401
Every single weight drops upon your target, and melts into a liquid nightmare the second it lands. "Restraint, aah-Aarkthros."

The vacant domain is covered in your mutual destruction. The archdemon is buried, smoking, and desperately trying to not scream. He bares his teeth, and spits, "hypocrite!"

The glass upon its wings, are in dozens of tendrils. Despite extending outwards, they're nowhere near as mobile as they once were. They've now hardened into dozens of long and toughened knives. In unison, they slice up, and free Arkthros entirely from captivity. The archdemon is so injured, he rises back to his feet through flight alone. The blackened and crusted skin upon his burnt limbs move to twist his neck. The crack releases a small cloud of dust. The grains of sand between you twist into petals, the moment you lay eyes upon them. "Permit us to help one another," you gasp.

"Glass. More than you've ever seen, stained in Her light. It was like rain. Daggers. I can run, Father, but I didn't need to. They healed all of them. It should have killed me. It was a gift. Do you understand?"

Radiance flares forth from your shield, just barely extending the radius of your protection as hundreds of lethal panes crash down. Both women scream, and throw their arms overhead in an attempt to shield their face. A waterfall of painted agony crushes into your barrier. The weight of it splinters bone, and shreds tissue. The sound is deafening, but it's the least of your concerns.

Father Friedrich grabs you firmly by both shoulders. "It's sick. You don't know what you're saying. Shut the fuck up, Richard—"

"I loved every second of it—"

He strikes you. Clean across your face.

Trying to move your uncooperative limbs sends so much pleasure through you, you don't want to stop more from coming. There's a second impact, as you don't even try to save yourself from dropping face-first to the floor. Blood is dripping from your mouth. Hot. Copper. Crimson. Your pulse is in your ears, so hard and fast that nothing else exists. The throb, and a steady drip.

Drip.

Throb.

Drip.

The demon gestures broadly. She's obviously casting a spell. There is a moment of lucidity. An absence of struggle, replaced by a plea. "Can't stop— please help."

No hesitation meets you in reply. There's a tear of fabric. One of Father Friedrich's hands part from your wrist, but it's pinned again in an instant by one of his knees. The weight is crushing, but the moan that threatens to escape you is muffled. "Sorry about this, Richard—"

A strip of cloth is firmly shoved into your mouth, forcing your jaw open. It's your mentor. Your friend. Your Goddess. Your worst enemy.

(3/4)
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>>4566403
The hand that isn't around your throat is forcing down more of the rations. You want to vomit, to cough, to do something to get out what you can only hope is merely poison. Your limbs aren't cooperating. Every movement seems to take an eternity. Breathing is impossible until you take in the entirety of the drugs, the blood, and the meat— so you do. The sensation of broken glass sliding down and along the length of your throat is inescapable. Something buzzing in the back of your head keeps any actual pain at bay. The slivers of pressure, and suffocation is unbearable. You get down the worst of it. Enough to plead.

"M-Mercy—! Remigius, stop—!"

"I didn't say you could fucking stop. This one is going to kick up your appetite. I know that you can't feel it— but your body sure as shit will. It'll get easier. Eat. Listen."

"I can't—"

The sound of splitting wood cuts through the comfortable haze that's settled into the corners of your mind. It takes you a long moment to react. Looking slowly over, it seems that the succubus has splintered a handful of the lounge chair off with nothing but brute strength. "If you tell me one more time that you can't do something—"

She's supposed to be helpless, given the emaciated form you dared her to assume. This makes no sense. There's an afterimage of her form moving towards you. With no relief, no wave of pleasure or pain or anything more than the deep pressure against the back of your spine, Remigius pushes you against the back of the chair. Even with your back completely straight, your gut easily sticks several inches over your waistband. Nevertheless, with one hand she swipes off your belt. With the other, she puts a hand to your throat. "Last warning. Listen. And you don't get to fucking know what's in the rest if you don't. I'm not giving you the fucking option to stop, Daddy."

>A] Push the succubus off of you. Fight back through the drugs. Her form was supposed to be weak.

>B] Try to appeal to reason. Try to explain. You never MEANT to act like a psychopath towards her. You never MEANT to come across as a violent monster.

>C] Don't apologize. Make a show of enjoying her attempts at torture. You couldn't appreciate it at the time, but you can now.

>D] You are a priest of interpretation, and there's a lot to unpack here. Make of it what you will. A genuine opportunity for catharsis might even be hidden among countless reminders of past trauma. (Write-in.)
>>
>>4566406
>D] You are a priest of interpretation, and there's a lot to unpack here. Make of it what you will. A genuine opportunity for catharsis might even be hidden among countless reminders of past trauma. (Write-in.)
Recline further into the Dream, look at ourself with His eyes, see real insanity.
>>
>>4566406
D; we need to forgive all of them, but most importantly, we need to forgive ourselves. Embrace the Dream, and forgive. There is no other option.
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>>4566406
>D] You are a priest of interpretation, and there's a lot to unpack here. Make of it what you will. A genuine opportunity for catharsis might even be hidden among countless reminders of past trauma. (Write-in.)

We should have taken that damn rose. That was the real sin, not anything that came before it. Do it now, if we can. Our folly was wasting an opportunity to forgive, that is the real nightmare. The world threw pain at us again and again, it is not sane or healthy but it keeps us alive. It keeps EVERYONE alive, perhaps we should stop enjoying it and take a colder more clinical approach to it. Weaponize suffering, it's what our entire life has been about anyway. Our strength has always been willpower, this does not show just our weakness, it shows our greatest strength. Tenacity, against all odds.
>>
>>4566413
>>4566425
>>4566455
(Well this is just lovely. Dammit you guys. Wonderful. Vote is locked here. Writing now.)
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>>4566472
https://youtu.be/jex5rtwx94k

You obscure your sight by failing to open your eyes.

Open your eyes.


You open your eyes.

Father Friedrich spent five back-breaking months of his life tolerating your irrational behavior. He pinned you down to force you to look after yourself, when necessary. Even when it meant compromising his best man's sanity and family life, you were kept under lock and key. Your fellow church leader cares deeply about you— but even he has his limits. He saw you as an emaciated, utterly insane young man— separated from his home— who abandoned his post voluntarily. He knew that you left for the ruins to die, unleashed over a dozen violent criminals out onto the world, and mistreated the trust of potential enemies to the nation.

He still sheltered you, and hid your presence in Beorward whenever possible.

You reminded him of the dead sons and daughters he'd lost. Every soul he can never heal. But you can't return his efforts. There's no way to ever repay his kindness. He's still halfway across the country, and wants to kill you for destroying your body. He knows your self-abuse has been unrelenting. He's not around to stay your hand. Even the Father of Resilience has his limits— and you've exhibited none.

Ofelia actually forgave you, despite everything you put her through.

"Trip back would have killed me." She frowns. "I stayed. I'm gonna stay! It's not so bad here. You really sold me on it while we drank ourselves half to death. I don't forget shit so easily too, y'know."

The one and only occasion you drank with Ofelia in the ruins was when you drunkenly rambled about abuse, or old flings. The church's mistreatment of you was a common topic. So were invocations to Agriculture, Vengeance, and Mercy. Even admittance to Celegwen that you thought humans were inherently cruel to one another.

Your friend was being sarcastic. Ofelia was in tears from the first moment you reunited in Calunoth. She's obviously been suffering enormously during all of her residency in Corcaea. She was ready to uproot her entire business in the capital at the first opportunity that presented itself. Now? She might have a good life with Cyril and his daughter Elena. They're living under the Church of Flesh's protection, but they're halfway across the country. Word is hard to get in the year 606. You've done all that you could, but she still must see you as a madman. This is nothing new. Dream is not the God of knowledge. He grants you the opportunity for vision, through reverie. You seize the reminder. The gift of interpretation.

"I know I asked ya' to not come lookin' for me."

You start, "I did not—"

"Listen, Richard."

Your explanation stops, just as soon as it started.

(1/4)
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>>4566593
"I know it was all fucked. We were all fucked. But that's was no excuse." There's months of pain all over Ofelia's small frame. She clutches back onto you, trying to not cry. "I'm a better person. Right?"

Breathing in sharply does virtually nothing to relieve the pressure. "Right."

She's legitimately scared.

"You were out of yer mind. I thought you'd lost it. Fer good, I mean. You wouldn't stop screamin'. Over and over. Six days of it, Richard. We weren't about to give up, but it— it was the worst thing I'd had to see, the whole while we were down there. I couldn't understand. There might as well have been twenty of ya'— I looked after ya'. Best as I could. You were hurtin' yerself, Richard. Bad. We had to keep ya' down, through most of it. I never would wish that on anybody. Not my worst enemy. Never on you, and never to get anyone help. I thought you were gonna die. Yech tried to get you some sleep, near the end of it. It seemed to do the trick."

"You all kept talkin' over each other... you were sayin' you were, and weren't trapped... restrained, Richard. Unrestrained. It got so ugly. You just about lost it, all over again, when we had to try to— when we needed to keep ya' from hurtin' yerself." She gives you another hug, and quietly cries. Her face is buried against your side.

An archdemon of Time saw you as a pervert, who took pleasure from your pain. One who was capable of exhibiting unrivaled power. He tried to run from you at several opportunities. The encounter you both had will have discolored his opinion of Yech's legitimacy as a leader. The two of you are known allies. The newly risen archdemon has endorsed and trusted in your company.

Arkthros showed you Mercy, but you both parted only on neutral terms.

You awaken sitting upright. With one arm in a sling, you're in a change of clean clothes. Not only is the acute pain on your abdomen and shoulder gone— your clothes fit properly again. They almost resemble your old robes. Your bandages have been replaced underneath them. Even if Remigius wouldn't admit to it, she saw fit to dress and heal you while unconscious. Your head is a lot clearer.

It looks like you're in a bar. It's always a bar. It's well decorated, and largely vacant. You're reclining in the center, deeply into the Dream. The armrests are blue. The chamber should be red, but everything is in hues of navy and midnight. Opposite your armchair is a small table, lined with candles. Several large windows across from the stools and empty tables reveal the landscape of Dream's domain.

A painted moon is breaking over countless people leaving their slumber. They descend from one hundred ladders, and return to the depths of consciousness. It is a black pit, devoid of the God's moonlight.

There's a dull ache in your shoulder, and in your lap. Remigius is sitting in your lap. She keeps a hand firmly on your shoulder, while muttering something under her breath. It's an incantation.

(2/4)
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>>4566598
The sorceress is in the form of an attractive woman, with a modest frame. She has strawberry blonde hair. You've seen the same hue on one other soul. Remigius' descendants might still be in Wearmoor, if Mother Bethaea's unusual hair color was any indication. Pale skin reflects the demon's proximity to nobility, in a former life. She's trying to look at you with Mercy, and stark yellow eyes. A simple black dress is tastefully lined with gold. You don't mind the sight. The succubus knows what she's doing.

Every inch of her is an attempt to appeal to your senses. To have you look at her with a kinder eye. Healthy, sane relief spreads through your shoulder as you silently wait for her to finish the spell. She swore that in exchange for helping her save face in front of an army, that she would mend your body, and would lie to Idonea regarding your behavior in her domain.

"You— you kept your word, Remigius." It isn't a question. You state the fact plainly, hoping that saying it out loud will somehow make the situation you find yourself in feel less like a Dream.

"Yeah. What the fuck did you expect? It gets lonely down here." She has been lonely. No one wants her company. "Good company's hard to come by." Save for an army of rowdy monsters. "Couldn't send you off in the shape you were in." She wanted to help you maintain appearances. You came to her looking like garbage, after weeks of toil and sin.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Seriously. Idonea would kill me."

Remigius gets even more comfortable on your lap. An arm lazily drapes over your healed shoulder, before gently digging in an elbow. It's obvious that she's merely testing her work, not trying to provoke a response from you. There's a lot more that pushes back against her administrations. Light almost comes to the deadened pits of her gaze. She's looking you over, lingering on your scars, and meeting your eyes infrequently. There's a thousand questions she wanted to ask.

There's one answer you want to give. "I ruined everything."

The succubus leans over the table, pressing a finger to your lips. "Ssshhh. Don't worry about it. You're actually learning something, right?"

The finger parts. She's so soft. "No. Listen to me." Reality is slamming back towards you rapidly. You try to not panic.

"Thanks for stopping by, Daddy. I don't expect you'll ever want to see me again— not that anyone ever does— but this was fun."

A red rose is slid across the table, nestling in between the candles and wood. You look down to the object for a moment. Thorns. Dew. The softest petals you've ever seen. It's organic.

She has a garden somewhere.

(3/4)
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>>4566603
Your heart catches in your throat. The sage of your eyes returns instantly to Remigius, and pours over her earnestly. She's so tense. There's desperation, and pain all through her. You were supposed to be an actual leader of the church of Mercy. She wants to love badly enough to keep trying to make this work, but there's nothing left here. You're going to leave, and hate her, and curse her name until the day you die. She chokes out a few more words. They're bitter, and more pained that you recall. She hates herself. You were supposed to help her. "Try not to forget me."

One rose: Love at first sight. Red: Romance, desire. These are surface-level observations. A succubus would be one to teach you about a deeper definition of the flower's meaning. They can also represent respect, and appreciation towards one another. A deep red rose can even symbolize that you are ready for commitment, and have a passion for that person.

"I can't expect you to forgive me, but I have to try. I never wanted things to work out this way, and I— I wasted every opportunity that you granted me. Everyone is tired of hearing it. I know you will be, too, but— I'm— Remigius, I am so sorry."

You take her peace offering.

Her lip quivers. The demon looks like she's going to break down on the spot. "I am, too."

-----

A sob rises to the back of your throat. Failing to forgive has been your greatest shortcoming. You don't want pleasure in this. It's not sane. It's not healthy.

Not taking that damn rose was the real sin. You need to forgive all of them. You need to forgive yourself. There's no other option.

Father Friedrich is still on the other side of the country. So are Arkthros, Ofelia, and Remigius. You never apologized. You never got reconciliation. You never seized the chance that was given, and might regret it until the day you die. There's a few moments given to you in the darkness. Tenacity. Willpower. Strength through adversity. These things, these people, these memories, and all of your trauma are to help you reflect before you wake up.

The Gods are Merciful.

(Options in next post.)
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>>4566607
>A] It's fine to cry right when you wake up. It's not weakness. You KNOW you're a better man than the one who left Remigius' company. (Write-in any thoughts, ideas, actions, plans, or anything else you'd like to share regarding this demon and/or your relationship with her.)

>B] The Gods are Merciful. Every second you can afford when you first wake up will be spent on thanking Dream for restoring this gift to you.

>C] This hurts worse than any nightmare could. Regret is going to haunt you.
>1] You need to apologize to Father Friedrich, and try to make things right between you both. He currently wants to kill you, but when you can make the Time you WILL seek reconciliation.
>2] You miss Ofelia, and want to make sure she's okay. You promised to write to her, and you WILL make the Time for it.

>D] The entire affair with Arkthros was insanity.
>1] You can write to the King whenever you wish. You both respectfully did not pry into each other's demonic alliances when you last met, but there must be SOME way to securely discuss it. You'll seek counsel from your advisors before making an address to Him.
>2] You want Father Pevrel's judgement when you can get the chance to ask him. This is such an important and extreme situation, you want all the help you can safely get.

>E] Write-in.
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>>4566608
A; we'll have to apologize in person, and offer our rose up to her. We should have been better, and there was no excuse for our behavior. Putting our demons to rest... need not be literal.

B, all the Cs, and 1D; because we have to make amends, even... even if it kills us in the end. They were only trying to help the best they knew how, and we fought them all the way. They didn't deserve it, and we must apologize for making their lives miserable as a result for their kindness.

Love the music btw.
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>>4566648
(Super glad you liked the tunes man. Great stuff. I'll likely leave this vote open overnight, but I seriously appreciate you!)
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>>4566608
>C] This hurts worse than any nightmare could. Regret is going to haunt you.
>1] You need to apologize to Father Friedrich, and try to make things right between you both. He currently wants to kill you, but when you can make the Time you WILL seek reconciliation.
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>>4566648

I will second this with the exception of arkthros, that is a much more delicate affair and I would rather take care of it personally when and if we get the chance.
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>>4567220
That's alright. I understand when a more personal touch is needed.
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>>4566648
>>4567142
>>4567220
>>4567263
(Good afternoon gentlemen. Locking the vote here, good to run another session! Writing shortly, just making some coffee.)
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>>4567452
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i8eOFho6Rlo

You awaken in a dark, and empty room. It's not weakness to cry right when you wake up. The very Father of Strength is your mentor. Wiping a few tears from streaming off your face, every passing second is spent uttering your thanks to the God of Nightmares. You've never been more grateful in all your life for His blessing. This hurts worse than any nightmare could, but you will embrace EVERY aspect of Dream.

"...The Gods are Merciful..."

Remigius needs an apology. An actual apology. This is a lost opportunity, but you WILL tend to your own gardens. It's not too late to try and offer a rose of your own.

There was no excuse for your behavior. Bolts of lightning flash across your memory, in a Storm of missed opportunities. A welcoming invitation to her domain. Gifts for you, and your friends. Enchantments, to try and temper your response to the intensity of her company. A party at the gate to curtail anyone who was not invited to enter. Separated rooms for the rowdiest of guests. A spell over her theater, to ensure that only you would be permitted entry. A chance to play into her sense of humor, and demonstrate willingness for compromise. Multiple invitations to send off your friends before they were hurt any further. Remigius escorting Celegwen and Ofelia out herself, to ensure their safety. Multiple attempts at reason. Willfully assuming a guise that was as weak, and nonthreatening as possible. Forcing you to not harm anyone else in her domain.

You curl in on yourself, and grit your teeth in a swell of self-revulsion. The prayer to Dream stops. This was all avoidable. Remigius might never forgive you, or even believe that you're the same man who once saw her— and she would be right. You are BETTER than the man who left her company.

A few precious moments of respite are being offered to you. A few more sobs wrack your body.

Putting your demons to rest does not need to be literal. You can handle this much. You've been through worse— and you, yourself have been worse. You miss Ofelia. She deserves for you to keep your word to her. The two of you agreed to write as soon as things settled down. She'll understand the delay in a letter. She's always been unbearably kind, and you haven't heard yet from her either.

There's no light, and no parchment. You came to this hideout with nothing but the clothes on your back, and your fists. The intent was to get your hands dirty. You have always meant well, but good intentions are not always enough.

Arkthros is a delicate matter. It's not safe to mention King Magnus' alliance to anyone. His friendship with an archdemon could destabilize an entire nation. You know enough of His affairs to unseat him, if you wish. He also could do the same to you in a heartbeat. The trust of your King means the world to you, and you'll see to the matter again yourself. Your failings will not fade.

(1/3)
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>>4567609
You sniff, and dry your eyes completely. It's been over a month since you last sent a letter to Father Friedrich. You'll seek reconciliation, and reach out to him as much as necessary. He might want to kill you, but you'll make things right. It matters if he hates you for your current condition. Your current condition:

Your Relic is still in hand, keeping most of your pain at bay. The ache in the pit of your stomach and the center of your heart is not just from regret. It's overindulgence on a metaphysical level. Akin to being overstuffed, ignoring all limitations, and pushing yourself even further— the stretch on your soul itself is inescapable. Regardless of the way you shift, or try to evade it, it's there. Relentlessly. Invoking anyone right now would likely be excruciating. You're also insatiable, and the prospect of still having that choice is thrilling.

The intensity of your scars has been reduced. It's not a tan, or removal of the old signs of injury. Actual color lends itself to the pale, and far more flattering skin. Conversely, the ragged stab wound in your left arm is two inches in diameter. It should have compromised your use of the limb for life. It might still lead to nerve damage, if untreated. The entirety of the wound has been packed with the best natural remedies known to mankind. A dressing of soft, fibrous leaves are wound all around the opening, which looks as if it will help with the healing process. There's additional lacerations all over your arms, and a couple on your side. They need to heal and close before you work out again. By all rights, you should be down and out for at least the rest of the day.

The fabric on you is still soaked along the hem in chunks of blended gore and pollen. There's likely been less than an hour of rest, even for how long it felt like you were with Dream. By all rights, you should be dying from how hard you're pushing yourself.

Despite the scent of gore and death on the air, you seem to have picked up on some organic properties. The scent of clove, papyrus, myrrh, and a few other pleasant herbs are on you. A Goddess knows your preferences.

Agriculture swore up-and-down to slow Growth. You knew the risks of experimenting with it, despite having every other domain to lean on. It's hard to judge a precise amount of weight gain at this point— but judging by how bulky you feel, the way the clothes beneath your robes simply do not fit, how thick your wrists and forearms are, and the fact that not even an enchanted garment can mask the breadth of your belly— you must be around ten pounds heavier than you were last night. Thanks to your unusual height, even this much weight shouldn't compromise your health (particularly with Mercy's own endorsement)— but your company is going to be worried. People will make further comments, no matter how sick of it you are, or how much self-compassion you exhibit. That said, there's no discomfort. It's downright pleasant.

(2/3)
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>>4567613
The small pocket mirror that James gifted to you is found. Insanity looks back at you. The marbling and metals that were all across your eyes are restored to a more mundane, natural surface. The hues of sage around your irises are closer to your birth-color than they have been in months, but it looks as if you're still invoking Agriculture. All the whites and pupils are a field. A forest. Seeds. Life, death, and everything in-between. You could get lost in them. They're also rimmed with horrible bags. Despite your Goddesses making every attempt to improve on your health, nothing can undo the look in your eyes. The nervous energy all through you. The blatant evidence of over-indulgence.

Aside from the fat obscuring most of your facial structure and muscle, there's a terrible, terrible urge to do anything with your mouth. There's a darker, deeper infatuation with the world. The silt and dust that's settled along the blood-streaked floor. The nearby corpses are no bother. The catch of cadaverine and putrescine on the air is captivating. Right along with the disease they're carrying, their capacity for change, and all your enthusiasm to keep on living. You want to make something, of all of this. It's enthusiasm for life, a longing to be closer to the grave, kindness towards your current position, and a deeper connection to the earth than ever.

In short, you seem to have a remarkably heightened sense of self-awareness. Anyone who looks at you will immediately pin you as a glutton of the highest caliber. It will raise questions about your mental stability, or what issues and lifestyle choices have led to your current state. This is not a respectable demeanor for the leader of the Church of Mercy by any old definitions.

Father Pevrel seems to think that this is exactly what you need for this hearing.

(Options in next post.)
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>>4567616
>All of the following will reduce your maluses in some capacity.
>None of the following are mutually exclusive, except for prompt E.

>A] Go back to sleep until Father Pevrel arrives. You still need all the recovery you can get. (If any other options are selected, it will cut into the amount of rest you get. You'll nap with whatever remainder is possible.)

>B] You're doing wonders for your soul through repentance, reflection, and prayer. Some additional comfort would be nice. Make your prayer to Dream more formal with a tea ritual.
>1] Conjure something to drink that's explicitly for your pain. You don't want to look like you're dependent on your Relic (even if you are).
>2] Anything that you can manage for not going on a crash-diet would be fine. Even the Nye Brothers would kill you if you go back to starving yourself.

>C] Your nutritional needs are significant, and you are not about to disrespect Agriculture. Go inspect the wares here in this hideout. You can test their origins, and deduce how many safe supplies are here, all while placating your own hunger.

>D] The garb of a priest of Agriculture (with accents of gold) was a nice thought, but the city of Mercy might find it tasteless.
>1] Something befitting of the leader of the Church of Mercy should send the right message.
>2] Something closer to your older attire could get the dust out from between their ears.
>3] The city's elders can interpret your allegiance and loyalty to Agriculture however they want. You're not changing.

>E] Father Pevrel made a point of running you ragged this morning, and you are alright with showing up to this hearing looking like shit. Don't eat, don't drink, and don't sleep. Wait until the leader of the Church of Vengeance returns. (ONLY THIS OPTION IS MUTUALLY EXCLUSIVE. Feel free to write-in anything you want to impart to Father Pevrel when he returns, your own justifications for self-neglect, etc. Majority vote required.)

>F] Write-in.
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>>4567623
first a little B2, then we tour the C), cross by the D1 and stop at A]
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>>4567616

>>4567634
+1
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>>4567623

>>B] You're doing wonders for your soul through repentance, reflection, and prayer. Some additional comfort would be nice. Make your prayer to Dream more formal with a tea ritual.
>2] Anything that you can manage for not going on a crash-diet would be fine. Even the Nye Brothers would kill you if you go back to starving yourself.

>C] Your nutritional needs are significant, and you are not about to disrespect Agriculture. Go inspect the wares here in this hideout. You can test their origins, and deduce how many safe supplies are here, all while placating your own hunger.

DO NOT overindulge, this is not to placate hunger but rather discern the origins of this cults backing. One piece of each different type of food and NO more. We have spent a long time with bounty and are neglecting temperance.

>D] The garb of a priest of Agriculture (with accents of gold) was a nice thought, but the city of Mercy might find it tasteless.

Our normal tasteful gold robe but keep the damage on them, that way the elders will be able to see from the get go that we are not hiding and in fact putting our own life at risk for THEIR sake.
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>>4567634
>>4567657
>>4567681
(We can absolutely combine all of these. Vote is locked here! Writing now.)
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>>4567634
>>4567681
+1
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>>4567736
(Gotcha boss, tyvm!)
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>>4567634
>>4567657
>>4567681
>>4567736
Formal prayer doesn't come often enough to your life these days. A tea ritual is made on behalf of dream. Steam, relaxation, and the promise of not going on a crash-diet fills the air from the flask that Yech gifted you. Chamomile. Peppermint. Ginger. It's steamed with milk, and works perfectly. The smell should be nauseating, given the proximity of death. There's no teacups, or tools, or candles.

Neither you, nor the God of Reverie care.

You feel better enough at the end of it to test the extent of the damage done to you. Getting out of bed is an ordeal. The pain in your soul itself is excruciating, and no pleasure is to be had from the sensation. Still, you head out from the bloody bedroom.

Wading through the final resting place of the demon of misconception, you make zero attempts to not get your robes any filthier. It would be impossible. There's still pollen drifting through the air, and blood so thick on the walls and furniture that it's dripping. Many of the cultists' corpses were absorbed into the fallen monster's body— and compacted in the cube at the center of the room— so there's at least enough space to snake around to the rear entrance.

Blood rushes out from the door as you open in, in a disgusting waterfall over the steps. Extreme care and four points of contact are kept to not slip, particularly as you step over the broken, second-from-the-top stair. The entire rickety structure creaks and groans, but you get to the basement's many doors within their central, curving corridor.

Father Pevrel mowed down two escaping cultists since you were last down here. Their bodies are slumped by the closest, leftmost door. You gently drag them aside, and don't dare remove their masks even to close their eyes. The door is unlocked, as is every other side room in the basement. You test each one, and confirm that all of the passages leading out from this main corridor are additional tunnels. They're flanked with supplies around the entryway, but quickly become empty. Each one seems to stretch out indefinitely, so you quickly double-back from each one before risking discovery or altercation.

The cult of Inertia has been tunneling under Eadric.

The odd way they've been entering the castle and moving about the city without much detection instantly makes sense. This all but confirms the Church of Agriculture's involvement. Safely manipulating underground supports would be a herculean endeavor otherwise.

(1/3)
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>>4567913
You need to deduce the origins of this cult's backing, and the very source of their security is the best place to start. You mull over all of this while selectively taking inventory of the abandoned supply. The densest group of cultists you detected earlier were gathered in some makeshift sleeping area. It's filthy, but has a wide assortment of goods in crates, barrels, baskets, and jars all around. Even the congenial, ever-understanding Nye Brothers would kill you if you go back to starving yourself— but bounty is going to kill you faster, at this rate. Resolve seizes you to stop over-indulging. One of everything is temperance, in your case.

You keep your journal out, and devote further attention to Dream through sketching and noting every single finding you make. Taking Adwin's advice spares you an incredible amount of Time. Rough shapes, light sketches, and the minimal amount of detail captures only the essentials.

Apples, unspoiled barley bread (some sliced into trenches, others in untouched whole loaves, all abandoned mid-flight by your enemies,), and a few other raw grains cultivated in Corcaea proper. They're the most abundant provisions in the country, and their presence here indicates that the entire harvest was NOT spoiled. There are pockets of land that survived the flooding, and crop has been taken explicitly to support the cult.

The Church of Agriculture is officially implicated.

Those striped-pink, lemon-scented apples from off the coast. Northern Corcaea is the only portion of the country that touches the Cabochan Strait. An island somewhere further north than any region you have traveled is being used for exports. Only the Church of Storm could survive the waters there.

Either Father Barthalomew is directly involved, or his people are in some capacity.

There's a small quantity of preserved jam. They're in jars, right beside the apples. You know that the substance is often rationed and used by sailors, to keep yellowing and spotting of the skin at bay. The base used here is shockingly sweet peppers. Spice something you're incredibly fond of (and not just as a masochist). They're an absurd luxury, no matter what form they come in.

This confirms that my enemies are VERY well-funded, and have theocratic associations.

There's another notable commodity here as well: cheese, in several varieties. The animal products don't require any sampling to discern their origin. They're rarely seen anywhere but the capital, due to the difficulty of keeping swathes of livestock alive.

The cult of Inertia is known to have started in Calunoth. At least some of their forces followed me STRAIGHT here.

(2/3)
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>>4567920
Lastly, an abundance of salted, pickled, and smoked foods are present. It's all from within your borders, though the majority is from the south-east. It would be furthest from the war in Baranfen, furthest from Eadric, and therefore furthest from scrutiny, danger, or suspicion. The Time to harvest, preserve, and transport these goods is staggering. This was a calculated endeavor.

They found a way to distract, or ally with the churches of Dream and Time. Father Wilhelm or Mother Aimar would not have let this effort to go unnoticed— or unwelcome— otherwise.

It all raises almost as many questions about your friends as your enemies. The bedroom upstairs is staggered back up to. Getting a decent breakfast feels remarkable, and you have a lot to show for it (and not just as a glutton). The sketches in your journal are stashed on your person, and you murmur your thanks to Agriculture.

Assuming Her garb was a wonderful thought, but the city of Mercy would be insulted by their Father doing as much. You tug a little on your undershirt, and make a note to invest in a new wardrobe as soon as possible. For now, a hand goes to the garb Father Wilhelm gave you.

"Something befitting of the leader of the Church of Mercy, but keep the damages. Let my city's elders see that I have been putting my life at risk for THEIR sake."

The garment immediately complies. The same, tasteful, gold robes you've taken to. The tone is muted. Most of the light is taken in rather than refracted, and every last streak of blood on the surface is emphasized. Accents of metallic thread draw the eye to sleeves, near the scars and lacerations all over your hands. Adjustments are rapidly made to the cut and fit. Far less emphasis is placed on your bulk. The collar is flattering, the length isn't overwhelming, and it's honestly better than you could have hoped for.

Collapsing back on the bed comes with a single breath. "Thank you."

You fall right back asleep.

>Write-in any observations, theories, or speculation you'd like to make regarding the cult of Inertia, your friends, and/or your known enemies.
>This vote will remain open for 1 hour (the next 60 minutes).
>After that time has elapsed, all discussion will be taken into account, and we will continue.
>Please feel free to ask ANY questions you all have. I will answer them to the best of my ability (based on what you already know).
>>
New to the quest here so I do not know all the context but anyways

> what would the church of agriculture and particuraly their head priest benifit from this operation ?
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>>4567950
(No worries at all! The Church of Agriculture is the only one in the country that presently has no leader. Their last leader died three years ago. Mother Phyllis Bethaea (pic related) was one of your most beloved mentors. The incredibly kind priestess killed herself right near the end of your time spent under her tutelage. They've been running under the King's authority since then. King Magnus is still in the capital, and has an entire war to think of. His thoughts are predominantly with border security, NOT Agriculture.

As a decentralized, overworked, and INCREDIBLY vital part of the nation their reputation is also in the can. Every single person that's acknowledged you as a priest of Agriculture has made some disparaging comment about how ineffective, slow, or otherwise crippled they've been in the absence of a local authority.)
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>>4567961
HOLY SHIT ! THIS IS VERY VERY BAD WTF ,
> My detective senses are telling me that Agriculture may have been fed up with this shit and they have been promised some very good benefits by Inertia to get them inside to do whatever sinister shit they have to do ?
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>>4567927
The cult has been longer established than we can comprehend, our return from the ruin must have been an unaccounted incident which did not upset their plans at all, instead helped them when we sought and distracted leaders of the respective churches. Only thing we can do now is rest and prepare to inquire a corpse or prisoner for knowledge into the chains of connection within the cult and follow it like on excising a tapeworm from an lepers leg.
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>>4567927

It looks like every single church in the country is in on this somehow. The church of Agriculture doesn't have a leader so it would be the easiest to infiltrate and manipulate. The church of Storm has a sick leader that would also have trouble keeping everything in check, Murdac was absolutely part of Inertia and I am starting to suspect that the cunt bros are honorary members. This begs the question of if they REALLY left or if they merely buried themselves underground like rats. We should attempt to find out all of the exit points of these tunnels and secure or outright collapse them. Pen letter IMMEDIATELY to every church leader about this, it is now a national affair. The war in Barafen is the King's concern, the war on Inertia is our duty. We now know that their strategy is to force outbreaks, in my eyes this makes them worse than demons as demons usually don't intentionally trigger their catalyst. We should really push this angle on the elders, it HAS to get them on our side. Even if they fear us I am pretty sure they would fear people that willingly turn themselves into demons more. Restraint when it comes to Inertia raids is officially off the table, it would not be Mercy as it would simply give them more opportunities to turn. Ending them promptly and painlessly should be our new approach. Inform Pevrel of all of this and beg him to investigate the church of Agriculture next after he is done here. Get in contact with Chesty and Serpent too, if not by letter let Pevrel know we have agents that are already investigating.

This is way bigger and more dangerous than I first anticipated, EXTREME prejudice should be applied when it comes to dealing with cultists. If any of them escaped we should try to turn this into a publicity stunt, from what Bert told us most people aren't fond of the cult and us heroically striking back at them and sending them running would bolster the loyal citizens. It will help end the rule of terror the cult had over honest citizens.

I fucking wish we had the flea circus with us, dammit.

Convene with EVERYONEEEEEEE after we get back. That includes the Veng fags, we need to let all of our allies in on everything. It is vital we mount a coordinated effort, strike at them here in Eadric and try to make it as safe as possible before Pevrel leaves. Ask him politely if he can refocus his efforts domestically rather than in Barafen, it is no use defending a nation that is about to implode. Striking at their breadbasket and logistics in Wearmoor is a good second step after we decimated their presence in Eadric. I know for a fact we will not eliminate them here but the focus should be putting them on the back foot so we can dictate the battlefield. Ask Fred for some good strategy advice with our apology for being a fat fuck.

Put Spangle and the Flesh priests in charge of organizing an offense while Harvey and the rest of the congregation handle defense, give the guard a good shakedown.
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>>4567994
I think we should do what you said but use a bit of caution if all the churches move at once and / or you are noticed moving a lot it could alarm your enemies !! But yeah we should warn everybody
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>>4567994
I agree but I dont think sending letters would be wise as proven earlier the cult intercepts even high priority ones. Best bet is to ask the gods to relay messages or ask Mercy to write in gold through the windows for the ones we want to contact.
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>>4567927
Inertia was planned well before we became the Leader of the Church of Mercy, as you don't influence or effect a number the Churches of the Pantheon without some forethought.

Inertia has taken root at the core of the Church of Agriculture, and will need to be pulled out root, stem and all. A lack of leadership is a significant problem, and will need to be rectified soon. This should be our first priority after we bring stability to Eadric.

Tunnels don't appear by themselves overnight, and not within the very heart of the Church of Mercy. Morris and Stace are obvious collaborators, and actively sabotaged the Church of Mercy at it's core. They will be dealt with, in our own Time.

The Father of Dream wouldn't help us if he was involved, and we can trust him to deal with his affairs appropriately. He'll need to be notified.

Mother Aimar was busy fighting demons last we corresponded, so she's uninvolved in this conspiracy. She'll need to be notified as well, though I bet she already knows she has a problem.

Storm's Church is obviously infected, though only he may know how far the rot goes. It'll need and investigation, and a reckoning. After all, the flooding may not be Storm's doing, but that of agents within his church. Our Storm shall encompass them eventually, and our enemies shall not weather it.

We don't know how far this corruption has spread, though we know in originated in the Capital. It may be the case that the other churches are infected as well, and that the problems in the Church of Spirit may be more that meets the eye. Sullivan should be notified, and the extent of this rot must be known.

First thing's first. The cult of Inertia must be driven from Eadric, and the city brought under our control and stabilized. The tunnels must be mapped and utilized, then demolished, as it's an insult to Mercy herself. This situation must be brought to heel. The Gods are Merciful.
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>>4567970
>>4567982
>>4567994
>>4568001
>>4568002
>>4568003
(Good fucking god this is awesome. I'm going to post our timelines in the interim as a fast reminder of everyone mentioned and to fill up the remaining time. Please feel free to continue discussing, oppose strategies presented, etc.)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KJEV6PhQEmk&feature=youtu.be
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>>4568002
That's inspired, anon. You have my appreciation.
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>>4568007
(Just as a friendly reminder these are kept up-to-date ((INTACT!)) and are accessible at all times through our Google Drive and imgur.)
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>>4567994

Make sure to salvage all of the stuff here, all the food and weapons and armor and make sure to purge this building of sin. Establish a temporary presence here so that we can follow up on the tunnel investigation, fuckers think hiding underground is a good idea against a congregation of people that lived there for months, they keep playing to our strengths and are going to regret it. We should have a serious conversation with Cardew about her invoking Spirit to detect these heretics or at the very least teach US how to do it as much as possible. This sort of sin has been happening right under our nose and we didn't know any better, surely that means more disrespect to Spirit than utilizing her gifts.

Once we recover I propose invoking Agriculture to gather the full extent of these tunnels, have Adwin teach us how to make maps as fast as possible and sketch out the network to the best of our abilities. If need be, we could always have Spangle blow it up and trap them below ground.

I wonder if all of the demons they are going to form are going to bear this same form, something to think about.

Have a chat with both Irefist and that priestess of Storm Pevrel brought along, we need to figure out how to approach this and they are the best suited people for it. Ask Pevrel how much he trusts the priestess too first. At the very least get the tenets of Storm from her so we can worship properly.

Talk to Bert again and ask him about the general feel of the people after all this, he should be our ear to the ground. We need more people we can trust, if Inertia doesn't kill us exhaustion will.
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>>4568011
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>>4568016
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>>4568026
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>>4568002
>>4568001

Good call on the letters, the Church of Spirit is probably also compromised so even the safest channels are now unusable. Bring it up with Cardew, she is the master of communication and should know these things best. Mercy doesn't really lend herself to messages that way, Spirit would be our best bet here I think.
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>>4568037
Why not a union facilitated by our Relic? I think it could work.
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>>4567950
>>4567970
>>4567982
>>4567994
>>4568001
>>4568002
>>4568003
>>4568009
>>4568014
>>4568037
>>4568056
(Absolutely beautiful. I can't say just how much I appreciate you all! Thank you for the incredible discussion, PLEASE feel free to continue it as I write. Bear in mind that anything not included in a post immediately following a vote IS noted and I WILL keep track of it all!

VOTE IS LOCKED. Writing now!)
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>>4568056

It could, good idea.
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( God damn the timeline is FOOKIN amazing holyshit , thanks to the drawannon who made this and thanks Alaric for this amazing stuff )

>>4568056
Yeah probably , we need to exercise caution ,if it doesn't work call on cardew , fix up your worship of storm ,convene with dream to rethink all the information you got , and cull the sin from agriculture for you are all out of mercy
(sorry for being late)
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>>4568101
(You're so welcome anon, I actually did all of the art, assets, bg, formatting, etc for it too lol. No need to apologize for "late" posts, you guys are welcome to plan and discuss things at ANY time!

Proofreading the update now, almost done.)
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>>4568060
https://youtu.be/IVwJqEXWSOQ

Dream visits you in the darkness, though not as you have known him in many years. You're reminded of the ire of a Goddess scorned. Tapeworms exised from a leper's leg. Cultists burying themselves underground like rats. Parchment intercepted, and dripping with blood. Chesty and Serpent, though your agent's faces are blurred. A missing flea circus. Shaking down a breadbasket.

It spreads from the base of the sea, up, to the horizon. The base is hale, but the uppermost branches have rotted. You reach out as far as you can. As you extend your hands, you see with perfect clarity. There is no thread in your eyes. No sinew. There is gold. It is the only trace of the metal, in the entire world.

At the peak of the sky, you see it: Between your outstretched hands are the moon and the stars.

You have reached out to Dream.


-----

Father Pevrel is violently shaking your shoulder on the arm that was injured. You hiss inwardly, and bolt up, shrugging him away as hard as you can. "What—?!"

Actual fear and shock is on him. He draws back instantly, and laughs to himself. "Shit. Interrupt a good Dream or something, Anscham?" He has four men behind him. They're all priests of Vengeance, and much older than most clergy you're used to seeing. Every single one of their salt-and-pepper beards are in a frown. The men are reeking of combat, sweat, and a hard fight on the way here. Soot is on their black robes, and matted hair. Swords, bows, arrows, axes, and shields are all put away. They're shamelessly staring at you. Their church leader sniffs, steps back, and straightens all the blood on his shirt. "Get up. We have a hearing to attend to."

You grab him by the collar, and drag the priest next to your face. Pevrel starts, as if he's going to spit in your face or kill you on the spot. Every priest at your back tenses. The grimace you assume is deep enough to cut the basinglass he mowed down over sixty people with this morning. "We need to warn everyone." You dart your eyes to the other men assembled. "Good afternoon, Brothers. No apologies for asking you to stay your hands. Welcome to the city of Mercy."

They could not be more irate. Father Pevrel jerks his head to the side, and waves to his men. They immediately leave your presence.

The second they're gone, he mutters, "they're searching all the wings downstairs. I instructed them all to use a lighter hand until the hearing is over. We can strike far more decisively if our enemies underestimate us, Anscham." He wrenches away from your hold. "So calm the fuck down."

Our puts a lot more light through the promise of death in your eyes. "Mercy. Good. I'm asking the Gods themselves for assistance with our communication, if necessary. Can you trust— do you trust those four?"

"More than most." He sniffs. "So no. Never. I don't trust you, either. Why would you bother asking?"

(1/3)
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>>4568167
"These tunnels need to be mapped, and then demolished. This is an insult to Mercy Herself. They have burrowed under my city, Father."

"They likely went under the foundations of major structures. I'm sure mindless destruction appeals to you, but ruling over ashes isn't nearly as sweet as it sounds." He sniffs again. "Is that mint?"

You shove your flask at the death-soaked priest, and grumble. "You need it more than I do. This situation must be brought to heel." He spots the tally-marks on the underside of the item for each of your invocations to Vengeance, and scowls. No complaints while drinking, at least. "The Gods ARE Merciful. We can salvage everything here before purging this building of sin. I want a manned operation stationed here at all times, while the— while the damn tunnels are investigated. These heathens think they can hide from my congregation underground—?"

The flask is handed back to you. Your fellow church leader couldn't look more pleased. "They took plenty of confidence in trying to overwhelm you. I doubt that they ever expected you to come back, let alone make any sense of the matter. Overconfidence will be their undoing. It's not a question of victory. It's how many lives are lost in the process."

The world doesn't tilt as you get out of bed. You hardly got any rest, but sleep has never been a reliable source of information for you. It doesn't hurt to ask, "how long have you— have you been away for?"

"Less than two hours to assemble a formal gathering of the second-dustiest asses in the country, get my men, clear up the mess with yours, and wake your fat ass up. You sleep like the dead, you know that?"

He's interwoven insults with the remarkable amount of work. It's surely to evade you thanking him. It's fine. "I appreciate the quick work. They keep playing to our strengths. They WILL regret it."

You anxiously look to the vacant door, and Father Pevrel trying to pull away. There's a thousand things you want to do and discuss. None of them can be implemented at this very second. A union with your most loyal priestess, to properly devote yourself to Spirit is LONG overdue. Cartography with Adwin, and coming back to the tunnels here shouldn't wait for anything. Overseeing a meeting with all of your men, for the safety and security of your entire home could save lives. Meeting Sister Miramond with Irefist properly might answer a hundred questions and save lengthy investigation. Confirming Wybert Selly's home situation as secure could preserve your best ear to the ground, and repay a fraction of his kindness.

There's at least one thing you can cover this second. "This sin has been going on right under our very noses. Sister Miramond, she— she has been in your company, and ensured your safe travel here—"

(2/3)
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>>4568169
Chauvinism discolors your fellow priest's speech. "She's not much to look at, and did what she was told. We would have made it fine here without her, Anscham. I requisitioned the aid of the church of Storm for appearance's sake, and wouldn't trust the mean bitch as far as I could throw her." He breathes on the side of his arm, and sniffs one more Time. His nose wrinkles less than usual, with rapid steps out the door.

Your nerves are on fire, as you stride after him. "Wait—!"

"Gonna piss off the people you need for help if you keep them waiting." Father Pevrel's men are loyal, and hardworking at the very least. No one is on the opposite side of the door, and noise can be heard downstairs from cartons being moved. "They'll check every inch of this place under pain of death. We need to take care of the people who are directly working against you in your own home, first. Mighty Merciful of me, isn't it?" He makes a sound like he's going to retch, and smiles all through it. "I mean, if you'd rather we burn the building they're in straight to the ground, and get on with our young and miserable lives—"

>A] WAIT. No, you SERIOUSLY need to meet with someone before this hearing. (Between you and Father Pevrel, you can make almost anything happen— but this can and will hurt your position with the city's elders.)
>1] Sister Cardew. You need to get a warning out to your allies IMMEDIATELY.
>2] Sister Miramond. You will NOT have another member of the church of Storm run amok on your watch.
>3] Write-in.

>B] Talk while you walk. It will NOT be safe OR secure, but you can discreetly cover a few ideas you have with your fellow church leader.

>C] Make a beeline for the hearing. You've put this off for long enough.

>D] Write-in.
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>>4568174
>>C] Make a beeline for the hearing. You've put this off for long enough.

Let's fucking go boys, Storm bitch is about to get interrogated too. But first let's try to get some allies.
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>>4568199
+1
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>>4568199
>>C] Make a beeline for the hearing. You've put this off for long enough.

We need them very much
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>>4568199
>>4568206
>>4568226
(Let's fucking go boys indeed. Vote is locked! Writing now.)
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>>4568277
Sister Miramond will be interrogated. There's fifteen other plans, but it's going to be far too risky to expand on a single one of them for now. You stride just past Father Pevrel, and snatch your flask back from between his hands. "You're right. I could use a few more allies. Let's go."

As you both exit the hideout you're hit by balmy, hot, and unbearably humid weather. A rapid pace is taken through the city. Stone streets, low buildings, and countless bits of green pass you all from under the colossal shadow of the Church of Mercy. Father Pevrel makes a point of taking some convoluted, open, public path. There's commotion in the streets that can be heard from far-flung districts. Smoke is still rising in the distance. It's beyond alarming. Either Spangle has been working for over half a day straight, or something is literally on fire in your city. Fighting can be heard. Just about every passerby that catches you in the company of a priest of Vengeance can put two-and-two together.

Father Pevrel leans towards you as a particularly horrific scream echoes from over a distant wall. "Try not to panic. I've had men coming in all day. They're making sure the damages are kept to a minimum, and we're mowing down any open opposition." The twisted bastard is managing to help your public credibility even while you're en-route to the hearing.

There's no obstruction at each checkpoint, and far fewer guards posted than normal. You're intelligent enough to deduce that your men are dealing with their internal turmoil coming to a head. It's no wonder that most aren't at their usual stations. Every last traitor to the church of Mercy will be deciding right now who they openly want to side with. Many of them will be in hiding, or trying to play for more than one party. Gratitude for striking down as much opposition as you could this morning can wait.

The course puts you both out of the merchant district (few stalls are open for business), through a residential quarter (the streets are empty, as your citizens will seize the opportunity to defend their home's security), beyond a number of little offshoots of the Morinburn River that run through Eadric, and ultimately to the city's outskirts. The walls of Eadric are significant, but it seems that Father Pevrel selected a ruined outcropping for the gathering.

There's massive visibility leading up to the ruined area as you head over. Mossy rock is all that's left of a decades-old, abandoned church. No roof. Plenty of rafters. Voices can be heard chattering away from great distance. No one else is filtering inside. The surrounding streets are desolate. You spot a few priests of Vengeance shifting from high windows, and flanking the streets. Bows and arrows are already notched. They're all trained on the location you're heading towards, and the roads leading up to it. They're ready to kill anyone that tries to so much as approach without an escort.

Good.

(1/2)
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>>4568430
As you approach, Father Pevrel drops his voice to a whisper. It almost can't be heard over the light rain, damp leaves whipping about in the wind, and all the mud underfoot. "The elderly are all throughout your city. No segregation. I can appreciate that, Anscham. Their experience is venerated, and their families are the lifeblood of your home. This audience you've sought isn't to appeal to age, or authority. We are gathering to hear the heads of every last household outside of your own. These are the fathers and mothers of their own castles. We would do well to not piss them off."

"You don't need to tell me any of this—"

"I really think I fucking do. Remember yourself. We only lead because we have those who will follow us. You're ultimately at the Mercy of these people. Would you swallow your ego for three seconds and let me get a word in edgewise? Can you let me do my fucking job?"

Deep breath. "I know I need them. Badly. You're taking the words from my mouth—"

"Can you trust me to kick this off on the right foot, then? You don't need drama, or preaching. Not yet, at least. They need to vent. Let them get this dumb shit out of their system. Can you let me make that happen for you, so we can deal with the sin that's drowning everyone else here?"

>A] Let Father Pevrel lead the proceedings, and try to give him the floor as often as necessary. You'll oblige his request, and pray that this doesn't take too much Time.

>B] This is the city of Mercy, but you need Time to be respected too. Ask for Father Pevrel to insist on a timer for EVERY speaker. It's not Merciful in the slightest, and your audience will be massively offended, but maybe it will go over more smoothly if he's the one to propose it.

>C] You're trying VERY hard to be more self-aware, reasonable, and to behave in a manner befitting of your station. This might be the worst conceivable time to preach, rant, or try to take a position of authority. (Write-in if you'd like to make some demands or take additional courses of action, regardless!)
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>>4568435
>A] Let Father Pevrel lead the proceedings, and try to give him the floor as often as necessary. You'll oblige his request, and pray that this doesn't take too much Time.
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>>4568435
>>A] Let Father Pevrel lead the proceedings, and try to give him the floor as often as necessary. You'll oblige his request, and pray that this doesn't take too much Time.

Like a good Father, take the time to listen.
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>>4568435
>A] Let Father Pevrel lead the proceedings, and try to give him the floor as often as necessary. You'll oblige his request, and pray that this doesn't take too much Time.

Mercy best girl , we can honor her and give these poor people Time to vent !
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>>4568438
>>4568442
>>4568451
(Unanimous vote works just fine guys! Have to take care of something IRL. Shouldn't be more than hour, going to leave the vote open for now. Thanks for your patience.)
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>>4568435
>A] Let Father Pevrel lead the proceedings, and try to give him the floor as often as necessary. You'll oblige his request, and pray that this doesn't take too much Time.

We are the Father of Restraint, even if we take that title more literal than figurative.
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>>4568438
>>4568442
>>4568451
>>4568472
(False alarm. Alright! Vote is locked here. Writing now.)
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>>4568480
"I can honor Mercy, myself, and every last one of these poor souls gathered here today, Father Pevrel. Even if I take my title more literally than figuratively—" He gives you a questioning stare, as you look to the ruins ahead. "The Father of Restraint can take the Time to listen, for a change."

The absence of eyes follows suit. A few of the priest's fingers drag across a smear of blood on his robes. He drags the congealing crimson over his brow, and trailing down from his smiling lips. "Wait here. I'll call for you in a minute."

https://youtu.be/X5d8bnvO2JQ

A few strides, and he's out of view. The chatter of voices dies instantly. The lord of judgement assumes a low tone, though it has enough resonance to carry all through the open air.

"The Gods are JUST, my lords and ladies. I do not presume to place your children or your homes under any greater threat than that which you all already face! As you can see— I have been preoccupied this morning with the likes of demons. Ones that wear masks upon their faces! The cowardice of ALL OUR ENEMIES will not escape the EYE of Vengeance. I need no such luxuries such as SIGHT—" A few women gasp. He's probably doing something disgusting with his eye sockets. "—to sniff out their sin!"

If there's a single spy or traitor in Father Pevrel's midst, they know he's coming for them. The gathering might as well have died. No one dares to do so much as move. The priest continues, "we all know that demons live in the ruins!"

A few bold replies, all along the lines of "yes," and "yeah!"

"We all know that we have not left the walls of Eadric! This is your HOME!"

"Of course!" Someone's already offended.
Grumbling from someone who might have gargled rocks on their way over here. "This is an insult."
A mellow, elderly woman. Possible relation to clergy. "Naturally, Father."

"We have established that your enemies wear masks!" Some agreeable noises. "THEY CANNOT HIDE FROM ME." Fewer noises, though the ones that persist are far more impassioned. "Those who I have STRUCK DOWN today were sinners, or demons! Their blood is clear FOR YOU ALL TO SEE, here upon my face." The crowd is getting antsy, but remains respectful. "It stands to reason that I would not bring any enemy before you, yes?!"

"Don't be ridiculous."
"This is a waste of Time."
"Get on with it!"

"Then without further ado: Permit me to welcome a man who has completely destroyed himself in the name of PROTECTING YOU ALL into our circle, then!"

Some agreeable murmurs.

"His appearance will alarm you! There is nothing you need to fear! Is this the city of COWARDS?!"

Outrage.

"Then there is no question you all will stay your hands!"

Nervous shifting. The outrage dies down.

"I assure you, HIS devotion to Mercy is without equal! He's certainly softer than any other man present here today! Likely most of the women— but I digress! FATHER Anscham!"

(1/4)
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>>4568592
You're used to public speaking. Your nerves are not shot. Your held is held high, and your breath is level. You've slept three times in nine days, you're fine, this is fine. You stride with bloody, death-covered steps into the ruined building.

There's an immediate descent. It's an abandoned, ancient auditorium. Stone steps are carved into a gradually declining chamber. The room is circular. Around every side are small stone ledges. At least one hundred men and women are gathered. Most are so shocked by your appearance, they don't know how to react. Several people cough. At least twenty look around, wondering if the wrong person has shown up. A few others abruptly breathe in. There's low laughter from half a dozen daring assholes.

At the lowest level, standing in the center of a flat stone platform is Father Pevrel. You don't hesitate to cross the entire scene, and walk up beside him. He's standing at the same height as you thanks to the podium, and looks incredibly pleased with himself for only a split second. Disgust is fired off at the crowd. "I cannot linger here all day, while my men are fighting in the streets! You all would never wish to do the same when YOUR children are fighting on your behalf!"

The tomfoolery stops at once. A (broad) gesture is made to you. The priest of Vengeance declares, "Father Richard Anscham, leader of the Church of Mercy, preaches the merits of an open hand! He extends an open invitation to you all to make your grievances clear, despite all of his children having worked themselves to the bone. I can vouch for the unrelenting efforts they ALL have made! You all possess eyes, do you not?!"

Everyone present seems to be trying to remember how to speak.

Father Pevrel gladly continues speaking. "I see you all are debating the merits of judgement, before the very Father of Righteousness! VENGEANCE would be THRILLED by all of the piety exhibited here today! Do not STILL your tongues! SPEAK, that we may resolve this matter DECISIVELY, and WITHOUT FURTHER HESITATION!"

(2/4)
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>>4568595
It's easy to forget that you have surrounded yourself with scholars, clergy, and other intellectuals. Literacy is a rarity for most citizens of Corcaea. Reason is not the forte of the city of honesty, either.

Several individuals start, and wind up talking over one another. One graying, upright soul looks as if he's recently seen combat. There's soot in his mustache, and a tear along the shoulder of his tunic. He has a stack of papers in his hands, which you recognize even at a distance as copies of the addresses made to Walter throughout the last 10 days. "Every dawn that's passed since this UNTIMELY occupation of our home was addressed, without a SINGLE REPLY IN RETURN—!"
A woman is bent almost horizontally over her cane, but speaks with a booming voice. "Ninety-EIGHT Rising Moons have passed my way and not a ONE had the NERVE to INSULT OUR FAIR CITY IN SUCH A WAY—!"
"Father Anscham's care and company was last reported in the capital, but he was hardly seen." An unusually level voice, from a middle-aged and age-spotted farmer. His skin is badly damaged from too much sun, and he's one of the few people furious enough to have stood immediately.
"EXCUSES—" A man with hearing damage. His left eye is missing, and old shrapnel took most of his nose. He's seen outbreaks. "—EXCUSES! LET'S HEAR FROM HIM, EH?!"

Something they all can agree on. A rousing choir of agreement. Many more people get to their feet.

The priest at your side moves to speak. The instant he does so, several people quiet back down. "You would rather hear from this individual beside me?!" A few timid individuals sit back down. "Are you saying that his word carries more merit than the LEADER of the Church of Vengeance?!"

Dead silence.

Another broad gesture from the showboat at your side. Father Pevrel motions to the gold all through your hair. "Forgive me if MY JUDGEMENT is inadequate! I will make a few short observations—"

At least twenty people are back on their feet, and loudly protesting.

The preacher shouts over them. "UNLESS YOU DON'T WISH TO HEAR MY SCRUTINY IN ANY CAPACITY—?!"

They quiet down.

He assumes a normal tone, that demands everyone strain their ears to listen. "Mind that you maintain your own judgement. Citizens of Eadric. Your city of Mercy knows Her gold better than any other." He reaches over— you instinctively flinch— and a single hair is pulled from your head. It creates the appearance of a normal reaction between both of you. The sadist skips happily off from his podium, strides up to a man at the left-most and lowest corner of the room, and hands off the strand of metal. "Pass this off to the person beside you, when it's been inspected to your standards." A turn, and a question is made to everyone present. "Who is truly responsible for your prosperity?!"

This is all very silly. Multiple people look exasperated, or embarrassed with themselves. "Mercy" is said reluctantly by only a handful of individuals.

(3/4)
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>>4568610
There's deeper issues with your Goddess at work here than what even your absence or present appearance can account for.

Returning to your side, Father Pevrel motions for you to get on the podium. It's completely unnecessary, but you go along with it. You're dramatically taller than anyone else in the room, and you instantly get it. Your shadow is even more imposing than Father Pevrel's. The light is at your back. It catches on the gold through your hair, on the fabric adorning you, at the promise ring on your injured arm, and the chain of your Relic (that you're still keeping in a fist). It's a fine way to highlight the contrast between the two of you.

One further declaration is made. "Bear in mind that Father Anscham is Merciful. I AM NOT! This is MY Time we are operating on as well! I will NOT take kindly to anyone present here WASTING IT! ASK YOUR QUESTIONS!"

It's incredibly silent, for many long moments.

One abrasive merchant has yet to stand up. A few silks are draped over his narrow shoulders, and shroud his greasy black hair from the mid-afternoon heat. He reclines. "What made you think you could waltz in here from Wearmoor, boy?"

You try not to hurt yourself from how fast you scowl. Before you can reply, three people talk over the tail end of the merchant's question.
"Look'd more like a noble on the way in, how d'you know this is even 'im—?" Thick accent. Someone who came to Eadric later in life, likely from the eastern border. A dark-skinned, blonde-haired, hulking type. Might be a guard.
Someone has the audacity to chuck a pebble straight towards your head, which you instantly dodge. Several people whistle, and many more holler. Father Pevrel shoots them all a death-glare. The offender is an older man, who looks incredibly spry for his age. "No apologies, Father! His breeding tracks. Sure is carrying 'imself stuck up enough for gold through his 'air. 'Ow d'we know this ain't no plot from the north, to send some traitor to the crown!"
"Wearmoor's been hurtin' worse than us—" A farmer. He's wearing leggings damp with mud, with a coat and shirt that's still stained with grass and rain. "—and even they'd have him buried. Never seen such a..." There's at least a dozen slurs about your weight. About two dozen people hop on board in agreement. There's comparisons to pigs, houses, and bottomless pits. You really don't care to focus on them.

(Paragraphs weirdly pushed this way over, 4/5)
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>>4568611
The crowd is coming around. There's another farmer. She looks ragged. Starving. Pissed. It's likely a mother of a large family, which is terribly unusual. She should be at home with her children. Tending to the field. Not here at a meeting. Her chest heaves, as she balls her fists, and shouts at you. "I don't care who you are or aren't at this point! Mah husband's dead! Sons are DEAD TOO." It sounds like she's cried all she can. Red, dry fury is in her eyes. She looks around to every single person present. "You ALL are sick. We've been fightin', and you keep wastin' all of our Time—!"

The shrapnel-covered veteran leers at her. "Eh? And you think getting your skirts in a twist oughto bring them back?" The subject of his ridicule is furious, but she can't scream in reply. Both citizens of the city of restraint grab her by an arm, and force the woman to calm herself. Her target's only eye pours over you, as he snaps, "you have been fighting, but what for? Trouble's been in the streets, and you got Father Pevrel's men on the job! What could have been so important the last week for you to not answer us?!"

>In years past, non-conventional interpretations of your vows gleaned the RESPECT AND GOODWILL from your fellow man.
>If you want to truly maintain a positive reputation in the eyes of your people, the social requirements asked of you will ALWAYS be higher than that of any other citizen.
>This doesn't change the fact that Eadric respects you for all that you've done for them.
>This also could be a massive distraction. It's your city. You know would do anything for it, no matter what.

>A] You can't bring back the dead, but you can give the people hope. Try to explain the fruits of your labor in your absence. Do so in layman's terms, without compromising anyone's safety.

>B] Address each individual that is questioning you as patiently and honestly as you can. Invite everyone else to continue speaking up, if they wish. You wanted an audience with your people? You got it— even if this is less than ideal.

>C] You REALLY need to do something about the colossal amount of disrespect being cast your way. Don't compromise your values (you resolved to never have an argument about your weight ever again), but at least put the rumors about your association with nobility or the Church of Agriculture to rest.

>D] Hold your own. (Write-in.)
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>>4568613
(Last of the timeline is here, which is the only supplemental material we have that's not totally up-to-date. I'm going to go blast through writing up the finished copy for thread 21's events.

This vote will remain open for at least the next 9 hours.

Have a great night everyone! I'll still be around.)
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>>4568613
B, and then we can move to A.

Dealing with daemon in the city of Defense. We were trying to prevent a true outbreak before it started.

Do they think us unaware of how we look? That we'd somehow wanted to consume more while my people are starving? Richard was a starving farmer himself as a boy, and took on a curse for a Goddess herself. We did not gain this weight willingly, it was a blessing that wasn't called for, but who are we to dispute the will of one of the Pantheon?

We've been working ourselves to the bone, even forgoing Dream's rest days at a time, to our detriment. You have not been abandoned, and I agree, I should have done more, should have been better, but I won't leave you all in darkness and panic, chaos and death. There will be peace within Mercy's city, even if I have to run my soul and vessel ragged to do it.

I know there's a perspective change, and I'm sorry for it.
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>>4568727
(No need to apologise anon, as always I seriously love it.)
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>>4568613

>>A] You can't bring back the dead, but you can give the people hope. Try to explain the fruits of your labor in your absence. Do so in layman's terms, without compromising anyone's safety.

To live is to serve, and serve we did. Descend among the people, stare them in face while we speak. This is *our* city, and we decided not to preach. For the mother that lost her family, EMPATHIZE, we have lost ours too. For the man fighting, show him our scars even if they have been healed by Mercy, we never stopped fighting for them and never will.

I will this prompt to suggest something else. Uniting all of them with us using the Relic, if they want to. It will instantly evaporate any doubts but I won't do it unless other people are down for it as it might be a risky move.
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>>4568903
I'm fine with it, though it'll have to be near the end of the meeting.
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>>4568727
+1

" Speak ye of faith and let your voices be heard , for I am the Father of mercy , and although it may seem that I lack Restraint it is as my gods ordained for I have taken upon a curse and a blessing , and who am I to go against gods ?! This is my city and you are my flock !!
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>>4568613
>A] You can't bring back the dead, but you can give the people hope. Try to explain the fruits of your labor in your absence. Do so in layman's terms, without compromising anyone's safety.
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>>4568943

Opposing this, specifically said not to preach the last prompt. We need to show that we are there for them and not some snobby cunt hiding in the castle.
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>>4568965
Ah well my bad man ,tried to write morale support ended up preaching
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>>4568979

It happens a lot, we ARE a preacher but right now is not the time.
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>>4568981
Yeah , well I guess we go with >>4568903
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>>4568727
>>4568903
>>4568919
>>4568943
>>4568946
>>4568965
>>4568979
>>4568981
>>4568986
(Goddamn you guys what a thing to come back to. Locking the vote a little early. Didn't sleep so please excuse any more fever-dream weirdness than usual. I'll do my best to proofread thoroughly so things are coherent and up to my standards. Writing now!)
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>>4569020
Welcome to insomnia land where you run on fumes and the scream of the damned
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>>4569029
(thank you kindly, I'll enjoy my stay and know I'm in good company)
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>>4569020
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MPbZGYdKgQM

"Demons." You take a step down from the podium. The sound of annoyance from Father Pevrel has no sincerity to it. This might have been the ploy all along to highlight your differences, but you can't care. Looking your citizens in the eye, and directly addressing them comes first. They all seem to want an actual answer, which you try to clearly provide. A sleeve is rolled back to show the monstrous stab wound on your left arm. Several women gasp.

Mumbling and muttering is second-nature only when you're uncomfortable. You're a preacher through and through, and will use all the volume and solidarity you possess. It's still with a gentle, level tone that you try to stress that you have been there for them, and declare to a half-blind veteran, "I have been preventing true outbreaks long before they could ever start."

"The feck is that supposed to mean," he asks. Several people chime in with agreement.

"I will explain." To the widow, "you know better than any of here what it means to defend the city of defense. The defense of our city is ONLY made possible through the efforts outside our walls. You don't want to hear how little sleep I've had for days at a Time. You see it clearly on my face, and all the rest of me." To the farmers, and every last soul that's fired a disparaging comment your way, "you are well aware that I know how I look. I am no nobleman. I speak to you in ruins, not the castle. Does a single soul here even— has anyone here even heard of Pontos?"

Several people wrinkle their noses at the unusual name. It's such a small, far-flung fishing town that plenty of them obviously think you've made it up. After a brief pause, one grizzled old man in the top row calls out. "Aye." He spits. "Shitheap, it is."

Disagreeable murmurs break out. Your grimace could cut glass. "That shit-heap is my hometown. What do you know of it, sir— aside from our lack-luster appearance?"

Another spit. "Fishin' village. Such shit at farmin' they're all on the edge o' the river, barely scrapin' by." An impressed look passes over you. "'ow the fuck d'joo come outta there?"

You scowl straight at every naysayer. "My parents instilled a deep respect for our land in me. It is a tragedy that the only opportunity I ever had to work alongside the Church of Agriculture was under Mother Bethaea's tutelage." Multiple, depressed murmurs carry through the crowd. "The sacrifices we all made during the famine are ones I would never wish to impose on another, and never— NEVER when my OWN PEOPLE are starving."

The slurs redouble.

You wait, and let them get out of their system before continuing. "I did NOT invoke Agriculture for Her to impress this weight on me."

(1/4)
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>>4569083
Curiosity, or fear shuts just about everyone up. You look around to pale, irritated faces, and sigh. "I've accepted it all the same, and will continue to sacrifice EVERYTHING that I need to in order to PROTECT my home. Our home. That is up to, and including my image—"

There's some irate grumbling. The mustached man who's carrying around a stack of paper speaks up. "And you expect us to just accept this?"

"No," you immediately reply. "Not everyone can be the Father of Compassion."

It's like you've slapped him.

While he's reeling, you try addressing the grieving widow. She bristles like a cat the instant she realizes you're talking to her. "I've buried so many this week. Ma'am. You know your grief is justified. I—"

Her hair might as well be standing on end. There's tears in her eyes. "What would you know?"

You cast a glance around the room. There's the same pain in your voice as there was over the two funerals you presided over this last week. "I can know anything you all are willing to tell me."

"And if I don't want a damn thing to—" She thinks you're going to interrupt. A satisfied smirk crosses her features, as she realizes she can simply rant at you. "—do with your miserable, spoiled, unwelcome presence here in MY city?"

"This is the city of honesty. I would rather you speak your mind here, than anywhere else. I have answered your hearing rather than see to burning buildings, cultists running amok in the streets, potential outbreaks, or my own health— and that is to say nothing of my own partner, and children."

There's some nervous, guilty shifting in the crowd. You try to focus on the individual you're talking to, and trust Father Pevrel will note anyone suspicious.

"You don't want to hear about the friends and family that I've lost. I'm sorry if I'm preaching. I simply wish to understand."

A sniffle is hidden by a ruddy, dirt-streaked sleeve wiping quickly at the woman's nose. "Well, Father—" She's mortified, and straightens as if a hot iron was put to her back.

All trace of your grimace is gone. Misery, and regret is all that's left on your features. She's ashamed to be the first citizen here to acknowledge your title, even WITH the endorsement of Father Pevrel. This is insanity. The priest of Vengeance has been shockingly quiet, but you pay him no heed. He wants you to demonstrate your own authority. Your own tenets. "I did not mean to put you in a compromising position—"

More sniffling. She can't help herself, and is breaking down all over again. The two men that were at the woman's side are shooting you dirty looks, but she snaps at both of them. "Stop it. Stop it! Both of you! All of you." Aprons and skirts are picked up, as she moves to leave. "This is a waste of Time." She fires you a red-eyed, hate-filled stare. "The GODS are Merciful, Father."

"Thank you. The Gods are Merciful."

She makes a disgusted sound, and heads up the stair.

(2/4)
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>>4569086
Not every soul will listen to reason from the first moments you meet. This is the most important thing you can conceivably stress, and it's addressed to every last person present. "Please continue, if you wish. All of you. Any of you. I— I could still do so much better. My Time is of no use to me— and neither is my health. Not if I— if I make ill use of it. There will be peace in Mercy's city— even if I have to run my mind, body, and soul ragged."

Many expecting stares are cast your way. The nearly-horizontal crone waves her cane at you. "Well? Go on then!"

You're a walking target for abuse, and will gladly seize the opportunity to actually talk about your sacrifices. It's what you do best. "You do not have to believe me, but I know that this is a city of faith. We ALL have been fighting with HOPE that there is a future for us all. For our families. You see the look in my eyes. I have witnessed horrors no one should ever have to face—"

"Like what?" The hulking, dark-skinned man who pinned you as a noble.

"Like smashing sixty cultist's bodies into a cube of rock and wood less than three hours before coming here." You pull on the side of your sleeve, and the damp blood that's still caking it. "Their blood has yet to dry from my frame. It's under my nails, along with the grit of invoking Agriculture Herself. Not for weight,or abuse. To end human suffering, and put a stop to senseless violence as quickly as possible."

The farmer who's still damp from running in the rain squints at you. He obviously believes your claims about Agriculture, but, "don't change that this here's all fucked. You've gone and cracked, Father?"

You could breathe a sigh of relief. They're coming around, even without much in the way of evidence provided. "I stand before you with scarcely any resemblance to the priest who left nearly one year past, BECAUSE I have changed. I am holding my ground here, with all the truth that I possess in the HOPE that I can STAY." Waking up crying this morning really set the tone for your mood. You couldn't sound sorrier. It's miserable enough that no one interrupts the rant. "I've taken curses upon myself, and have always looked upon them as a blessing."

A few horrified gasps from the crowd.

"Let me be clear: I am NOT cursed."

Some coward that's hiding in the top row shouts, "prove it!"

"Every word I have given to you all today has been made with complete honesty. I have killed more demons than I can count. I have invoked multiple Gods." Father Pevrel gives you an encouraging scowl, and darts his eyes to the left half of the room that is now collectively debating the actual value of your hair. "I have driven myself WELL past the point of insanity. I would do it ALL OVER AGAIN, if it—" Your voice cracks. "If it meant coming home."

(3/4)
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>>4569088
Kindness has always been your weakness, and your greatest strength. No one present has the audacity to challenge your sincerity, but you continue. "I would never expect anyone else to do the same. I don't even ask for you to understand. Do you— do any of you want to say something—?"

Father Pevrel clears his throat, and declares to everyone present, "Father Atticus Wilhelm, leader of the Church of Dream, has provided LENGTHY correspondence on behalf of Father Anscham! His message is for ALL present for this hearing! His vision encompasses nearly three solid feet of parchment, in STUNNING blue script! It is a nightmare for the eyes, and a reverie for the ears! If there are any further disputes regarding Father Anscham's identity, I will gladly have the scroll produced." He doesn't wait for an actual response, despite several increasingly-pale citizens that are visibly sweating from the prospect of this dragging on. "May I have a volunteer who wishes to read it, as a neutral party..."

That confirms it. Father Pevrel is punishing these men and women simply by keeping them here.

>A] Come clean about the most unusual portions of your research. The uses of your Relic are completely unique (so far as you're aware), and maybe the crowd will be more receptive to an expedient(?) alternative. Stress that you have never attempted to use it on more than two individuals at a Time, INCLUDING Father Wilhelm, Father Friedrich, AND Father Pevrel.

>B] The sheer amount of effort Father Wilhelm went through to aid you had you write a five-page, tear-soaked thank-you letter to him in reply (complete with a bouquet of your finest yellow roses). Don't let it go to waste. You'll use the Time spent reading it...
>1] To scan the crowd for anyone that's acting suspiciously.
>2] To conduct yourself in a grateful, pious, and sincere manner. You'd want to kill yourself all over again if you ruined another mentor's attempts at helping you.

>C] This entire hearing was obviously a charade on multiple sides to waste the other's Time. Calling anyone out on the matter will result in chaos, but you trust that you can handle it. (Write-in what approach you want to take, as the Father of Honesty.)

>D] Write-in.
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>>4569093
>>C] This entire hearing was obviously a charade on multiple sides to waste the other's Time. Calling anyone out on the matter will result in chaos, but you trust that you can handle it. (Write-in what approach you want to take, as the Father of Honesty.)

Our city is ablaze. Our enemies run amok. If you still question my identity or motives I will remain here for as long as it takes. What I ask of you is this, do you wish to bicker and throw insults at me or protect our city? I would rather prove myself to you through action rather than words, and there is plenty to be done. *TIME* is of the essence.
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>>4569101
+1

( Would using our relic to bring us all to one understanding be bad )
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>>4569101

>>4569093
I think this pairs nicely with A.

B can be done if needed, though I'd hate to waste his efforts if it's unnecessary, it is quite beautiful. We could set it up for display in the church proper, incase they still have doubts.

>>4569108
Depends. It is undeniable proof that we've been successful, and further supports our claim.
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>>4569108

Maybe. I don't think the situation is a bit too delicate for that now, perhaps we could do it with the sermon later.
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>>4569108
(Hey there hoboanon, for your convenient reference I have a little journal page on most aspects of the quest. This one here has a pretty brief summary of the Relic's uses. A big thing about it is consent and willingness to use its abilities. Trying to force your ability on a big group of angry citizens is... well, probably not the best idea. You're not sure if it will work at all on more than 1-2 people, so this would be public experimentation as well. Just a few things to bear in mind for you all, too!

Gonna leave this open for just another fifteen (15) minutes since votes are rolling in so quickly. You guys are the best.)
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>>4569101
>>4569108
>>4569112
>>4569113
(Locking the vote here guys! Writing now.)
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>>4569129
You have to say something. This is obviously a colossal, intentional waste of everyone's Time. "Our city is ablaze." Father Pevrel snaps his lack of eyes towards you. He's mortified. "Our enemies run amok. If you still question my identity, or motives, I will remain here for as long as it takes."

Your fellow priest hisses, "no shit." A scowl is offered to everyone present.

They don't dare fire a retort. Not a single one. Several citizens in the stands could not look more anxious.

Some of them might not be here of their own volition, either.

Your most loyal guard— potentially your ONLY loyal guard— feared for his family's life. Wybert Selly only had the courage to speak to you about MASSIVE breaches in your city's security when blood was smeared over his own hearth.

Dread sinks into you. "What I ask of you all— do you wish to bicker, and throw insults at me? Or protect our city?"

A few men sitting at the bottom row happily inform you that they are protecting their city by keeping you here.

The rest of your words fall on almost deaf ears. You hold in your hand undeniable proof that you've been successful. Your Relic further supports your claim to lead. You can obviously invoke Mercy, and have physical evidence of two Goddesses on you. But No one here has batted an eye at your claims about being capable of invoking multiple Gods. They have scarcely acknowledged your ability to cull over fifty threats to the city's security. They've been debating petty currency. They are outright ignoring your attempts to point out how irresponsible this hearing is.

The massive, beautiful collection of art and inscriptions that Father Wilhelm spent hours (if not days) penning were almost avoided, in the name of obstructing justice even further. They're wasting Father Wilhelm's Time.

They know Father Pevrel cannot resist the opportunity to punish unwilling men and women. (That may even be an advantage, in his eyes.) He will stay here all day, if it means inflicting the most damage possible on your enemies. You know this beyond any shadow of a doubt after allying with him. Though the joining of your invocations and strengths is abusive, flawed, and has you questioning most things you know about the upper echelons of the clergy— you're certain that the priest honestly wants to help you. He's serving his own, sick inclinations all along the way. You do the same thing, given the chance. The leader of the church of Vengeance may actually be in a worse place than you are mentally. Your city is literally on fire in places. Forces were drawn away from the fight in order to guard this structure. It's likely no coincidence that Father Pevrel had his men train their weapons on this building long before you even entered it.

(1/2)
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>>4569214
They're trapped in here with you, too. Sermons need to wait. You have attempted lengthy discourse in the name of logic and reason. You've presented ample evidence to support your claims. Only an idiot would need to listen to you for more than a minute to realize your identity. It's not a stretch that your distinctive nose and plentiful scarring hasn't changed. Everyone knows you left Calunoth to come straight here, on the King's orders.

This has never been about my identity. They called Father Pevrel here to punish me for the deaths of my clergy— and he's running me even further into the ground with each passing second in an attempt to make my life even harder.

The gift of awareness has recently been bestowed upon you, and you're coming around to it nicely. A few words of thanks are uttered to Agriculture. The Goddess of Life, Death, and everything in-between wants to keep you grounded. You look to the bored expressions on a third of the people around you. These men and women are not questioning your authority. They are challenging it.

As the leader of the Church of Mercy, it's up to you how you handle opponents to your position. You did stress that you wanted to hold confessions in the evening, and grant a private audience to anyone who sought forgiveness in your eyes. You also don't want to make your tenuous hold on the city's control even more compromised than it already is. Several disturbing memories and related revelations cross your mind:

Morris and Stace EXPERTLY navigated the political waters of Eadric during your previous years here, as the leader of the Church of Mercy. They felt like the ONLY men capable of doing so. You tried many alternatives. None were effective. It felt like your hand was forced then, just as much as it does now.
Father Edmund was worked half-to-death during HIS rule as the leader of the Church of Mercy. He wrote a suicide note before he fell on the field of battle. That same letter crossed hands between Mother Aimar AND Father Wilhelm before being trusted to you.
No one objected to your leave from Eadric.
You have had nothing BUT obstructions to your legitimacy and power since you returned.

You suspected that the cult of Inertia likely predates your own rule in Corcaea. It takes Time, resources, effort, and MASSIVE political pull to try and unseat a theocracy endorsed by the Gods themselves. You simply can't run your city if a large portion of its families are actively against you. Many of these people are willing to sit around and let your people die as your city burns and cultists run amok in YOUR streets. Logic, reason, and an appeal to emotion will not work on plenty of people. How you handle opposition as the Father of Kindness is entirely up to you— and you are now POSITIVE that words alone will not grant you respect or authority here. Remembering why the pantheon has advocated for your right to rule just might.

(Options in next post.)
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>>4569216
>A] CLEMENCY. Accuse the entire hearing of obstructing Father Pevrel's attempts at justice. Anyone who wants to publicly confess now is welcome to. Everyone else can enjoy the company of the Lord of Punishment, while you go see to YOUR city. You will provide opportunity this evening for confession to ANYONE who wants to come clean privately. You won't entertain this charade for a second longer. (It's a good thing you kept a few men on the outside. Father Pevrel will be occupied, and it will fall to you to determine the safe location of any clergy or congregation you need to gather. This will also create opportunities for spies, and could further compromise the security of your home.)

>B] PROTECTION. Remind everyone present that your foes seek to create outbreaks, and that you will be sweeping the city in the name of culling Inertia as they are found. You will always stay your hand for anyone willing to make an open declaration of allegiance to you, of course. Now is better than never, given that anyone who doesn't publicly denounce traitors and heretics here will be assumed as THEIR ally. (You and Father Pevrel could make VERY quick work of this group. You also will likely be labeled as a violent, psychotic tyrant by your enemies. Many of your allies will be horrified, at best. Unanimous vote required.)

>C] You said you wanted to be held to a high social standard, but this is WAY more than what you bargained for. Call for a break in the hearing. Pull Father Pevrel aside, express how distressed and overwhelmed you are, and implore him to help you take control over this situation. You are young, you have little to no experience actually leading the nation, and you desperately need guidance.

>D] THERE ARE BETTER WAYS. (Write-in.)
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>>4569218

(Anybody got any good ideas because while giving them the A as the stick , we could get run over by spies and the city will get more damaged )
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>>4569218

Kindness is not weakness. My hands are open, if you wish to take it.

It's time top show the people the power of our Relic, ally their strength, and grant them Mercy from their sins. Else all will be undone by their Catalyst.
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>>4569252
It's time to* show people...
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>>4569218

>A] CLEMENCY. Accuse the entire hearing of obstructing Father Pevrel's attempts at justice. Anyone who wants to publicly confess now is welcome to. Everyone else can enjoy the company of the Lord of Punishment, while you go see to YOUR city. You will provide opportunity this evening for confession to ANYONE who wants to come clean privately. You won't entertain this charade for a second longer. (It's a good thing you kept a few men on the outside. Father Pevrel will be occupied, and it will fall to you to determine the safe location of any clergy or congregation you need to gather. This will also create opportunities for spies, and could further compromise the security of your home.)

Why should we hold the confessions in the church? Use the FRESHLY cleared out hideout as a place to listen to them, we have a guarantee that no cultists will return there any time soon and we wanted to establish an outpost there anyway. It is also beautifully poetic. We get the benefit of clemency without the risk of spies, best option here.

>>4569252
I respect the sentiment, but you are a bit off the mark with a few things. How about we play it safe?
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>>4569255
We could, but a show of faith is required. Everyone here is worried, but are unwilling to back us up. They need reassurance, not only that things will get better, but that we have the power and authority to bring this madness to heel. Simple talking won't suffice, and though we are plan on gifting Inertia Vengeance, it'll only ruin our reputation if we admit it here.

A show of legitimate strength and authority is required, and must be felt by the people in a direct but reassuring fashion. Granting them Mercy though our Relic may do more to move their hearts than just words.

But if you wish to play it safe, I don't mind taking the longer, harder route to gaining their respect and support.
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>>4569274

These people are mostly our enemies, probably part of Inertia. They are not our friends, also that is not really how the Relic works. This is an obvious trap, we NEED to get out of here. They have us by the nuts.
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>>4569274
(Just want to provide complete and total transparency here, this >>4569279 is a sound and reasonable view of the situation. There are no friends here. Pevrel is your ally, and some of these people may be capable of one day supporting you, but you are in the lion's den right now. I presented a prompt for wholesale slaughter as a viable choice, and there is no shame in taking an approach that could save your life and reduce the deaths of others.)
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>>4569279
I don't really think that. They may not be friends, but they are not our enemies. They are people who suffered from neglect and theocratic corruption in the extreme, and simply wishes for security, not matter the form it takes. Stace and Morris did a number on them and our reputation, but they can be salvaged, given proper care and Time.

Again, this is just an opinion, and if you prefer a show of force with Clemency, that's a fine way to go about it as well. I'm just offering another option.

>>4569285
It is true we did walk into the lion's den, and yet, are we not the Beast Tamer?

I don't mind going with >>4569255 option, but I honestly don't see these folks as our enemies, even when they obstruct our work. Just neglected.
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>>4569234
(Love the new name so much.)
>>4569252
>>4569253
>>4569255
>>4569274
>>4569279
>>4569285
>>4569293
(And an absolutely blessed conversation. Going to lean towards the more conservative angle here but the sentiments and strategy for how to handle your enemies and their own struggles is invaluable. Really seriously appreciate you guys. Vote is locked! Writing now.)
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Saw this recommended on /qst/ and been reading archives. This quest is amazing QM.
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>>4569316
(Thank you so much man, it means the world.)
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>>4569302
( Thanks man I love you and your quest )
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>>4569327
(Thanks so much dude. Seriously. You all are the absolute best.)
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>>4569302
https://youtu.be/mVKPvspyyyQ

You have the power and authority to seize control over any situation that demands it. A single, curt glance to Father Pevrel is all that's needed to grab his attention. He's been watching you like a hawk. Your eyes flit to the hilt of his filthy sword. He gets it, and clears his throat. The gathering falls silent.

Your convicted and compassionate tone carries through all the ruined church— and out to the priests of Vengeance stationed further beyond. "The importance of my company's safety needs to be restated. My people have suffered from neglect, and theocratic corruption in the extreme." Every paralyzed, anxious, and otherwise timid figure should clearly understand your meaning. At least twenty-five men instantly bristle. Your smile is bittersweet. "You simply wish for security, no matter what form it takes. Stace and Morris are exiled and subject to MY Mercy." It's worth repeating, as a few hands go to swords. "I strive to show them Mercy— yet Father Pevrel does not."

He has yet to draw his sword. All the crookedness of the murderer's teeth are bared to the auditorium. He's loving every second of this, and happily gives you the floor to speak over a number of hysterical, stupid complaints.

You've always hated mind games. "This ENTIRE hearing is guilty of obscuring Father Pevrel's attempts at JUSTICE." Over half of the protests are silenced. It identifies the priest's targets easily enough.

He draws his blade with no hesitation. The entire sheathe must be filled with blood. Swollen droplets fall to the stone and moss at his feet.

Drip.
Splat.
Drip.

There's no need to yell in the hot silence. "A show of faith. You require reassurance! Rest assured: I live up to my titles. Do you all know what beast tamers excel at?" There's no need to wait for a reply. "Disarming traps."

Three men suicidally move too quickly within the reach of the lord of punishment. They're cut across the face, neck, and chest respectively. All three collapse to the ground wheezing, or coughing up blood. The priest skewers them through the heart and eyes as you speak. "Anyone who wishes to publicly identify their treason now is welcome to seek forgiveness in the eyes of the Father. If you require a private confession, I welcome you to do so this evening. I will be indisposed until then, as I put a stop to the fires in our streets, and this ceaseless loss of the LAST of humanity's life."

Any corpse you've seen this week stirred with more motion than the gathering before you now. Anyone who's remained quiet for this long will not risk revealing themselves before suicidal cultists at the peak of their fervor.

"I will not entertain this charade for a moment longer. Anyone who wishes to continue wasting mine and Father Pevrel's Time will enjoy the privilege of his company from now, until after dark. Blessed be the Dream."

(1/3)
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>>4569579
There's blessedly an archway at the base of the gathering. Father Pevrel must have spent most the two hours of his absence finding an adequate location for the meeting. It obscures a potential exit. Someone catches you with their voice, before you turn to leave.

It's the farmer who was heckling you for your weight. He's furious, and your comparison of this hearing to a lion's den seems to have struck a nerve. "Siccing your pets on us, then? Is this how the Father of Restraint wants to be remembered?"

They think they have you by your balls. "My hands remain open to any who wish to take from me. Not my family. Never my city. My children, you would do well to remember that The GODS are Merciful."

You walk away from the scene unscathed. Arrows are loosed from several archers down the road. Three men drop dead who turned to run. The God of Deliverance does not stay his hand. Each body is stuck with a minimum of one arrow through their eye.

The second you're around the corner and out of sight, you place a hand to your robes. The quietest murmur you can assume requests the removal of all of the blood and gore from your frame. No footprints are going to be led back to the hideout you cleared this morning. Father Pevrel knows that you wouldn't jeopardize the security of the Church of Mercy, let alone invite potential enemies into your home.

Everyone in the city will expect you to seek refuge in the castle. There's countless hidden passages, corridors, stairwells and routes for use in times of emergency. Brother Durville and Harvey are the only allies you are almost certain are still within the building. The young priest is quick enough to evade almost any capture. Your red lion is as ferocious as they come, and succeeded in evading the wrath of the King Himself. There's no doubt that they both could hold the entire keep on their own if it came down to it— but there also may have been a break for your prisoner. They can't hold it all. Irefist held his own in the ruins with nothing but his bare hands. He can likely handle a priestess of Storm, and they all can no doubt fend for themselves.

They're not who you're worried about. The urge to panic is swallowed. Adwin is in the main choir alone. Sister Cardew was alone in the castle as well. She's at least been been in the tower keep in some proximity to Ray, along with the rest of your cunning caravan. Fear for your unhinged ward, your priestess, and your dog's safety makes your blood run cold. Mundane defense will not suffice to cover for their vulnerabilities. You MUST contact the allies you can trust, and the priestess of Spirit is your best bet at doing so without destroying your soul in the process.

Walter Middleton, is easily the smartest man you've ever met. Despite being an expectant mother's partner, the man has no pride to speak of. They were separated before all this came to a head, and he would have sought refuge in the city.

(2/3)
>>
>>4569584
Your best man on the outside is a blacksmith. Claymore's armaments and weapons are some of the best mankind has ever witnessed, and you've been itching to try a few unorthodox things.

Spangle could be invaluable in the demolitions or closure of the tunnels in your hideout, with or without a supply of explosives. The thought of what she could do with the sheer amount of pine tar you created is spectacular.

An incendiary priestess of Mercy is only one member of your clergy. The other six unaccounted members were in the process of staking out the other hideouts of the cult of Inertia.

The smoke on the horizon makes your stomach drop. There's increased fighting in the streets, and no telling if there's been an outbreak from district to district barring the birth of a catastrophically large or powerful demon. You have MANY advantages here in your own city, but every checkpoint between you and each destination could be a nightmare. Stealth is far from your expertise, too. The few rogues that you call friends are halfway across the country, or have been missing for months.

You utter a prayer to all of the Gods under your breath.
There is no room for error here.
Hesitation is defeat.

You are the leader of the Church of Mercy, and have effectively declared war against the cult of Inertia.

(Options in next post.)
>>
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>>4569586
>The following are mutually exclusive.
>This vote will immediately be followed by further detail regarding what you know about the last location of the missing individual, and how you can potentially reach them.
>MAJORITY VOTE WILL DECIDE.
>Feel free to specify what priority you want to place on any one of these prompts.
>In the event of a tie or conflicting votes, specified priority and/or further justification will take precedence.

>A] You'll find Walter first. He's likely in Claymore's company. Though compromising a safehouse out the gate is ill-advised, they will help you with virtually any planning and fighting you need. Most importantly, and you're positive they'll have the best idea where Sister Cardew's location might actually be.

>B] You have to focus your efforts on getting to Harriet first. The cunning priestess may have fled the castle, or hid. She's held her own in the capital, and you know she can take this much. Brother Durville and Harvey might have lost their hold on the dungeons and gone for her, too. You'll wrack your brain, and come up with a strategy.

>C] The castle simply needs to be your top priority. There's so much as stake that you stand to lose. You'll take stock of the situation when you get there, be it to locate Adwin, to try to find who's in Ray's company, to gather your priests of Flesh, to secure the dungeons with Harvey, locate Brother Durville or Irefist... or to buckle down for a siege. You promised Mercy you were hosting a public sermon tomorrow, and BY ALL THE GODS you are NOT losing Her church.

>D] Do not panic. Securing the hideout you cleared is paramount. Electrum is a genius (if not rightfully paranoid), and had the foresight to keep several safe houses throughout the city. Spangle knows which ones are not compromised.
>1] Find Sister Corbon first, for her aid in healing and demolitions. Everything else will be much safer.
>2] Fear for all your clergy may be misplaced, but they are YOUR children dammit. You are NOT losing a single one of them. Their proximity to the other hideouts throughout the city has your nerves on fire. You'll go after Electrum, who may be with the Willoughby triplets and Brother Fergant. There is STRENGTH in numbers.

>E] No one will expect you to go looking for James. He's a wildcard, but you have always treasured his friendship. He was willing to sacrifice his youth for you. Go risk your life for him.

>F] Write-in. (While remaining alone is a viable option, it would be wise to seek support from your hard-won allies.)
>>
>>4569590

>>C] The castle simply needs to be your top priority. There's so much as stake that you stand to lose. You'll take stock of the situation when you get there, be it to locate Adwin, to try to find who's in Ray's company, to gather your priests of Flesh, to secure the dungeons with Harvey, locate Brother Durville or Irefist... or to buckle down for a siege. You promised Mercy you were hosting a public sermon tomorrow, and BY ALL THE GODS you are NOT losing Her church.

Gather manpower, we can form groups to look for everyone else after we collect our muscle. This is the time for action, make Flesh proud.

Adwin is the most vulnerable, try to get to him first after finding our fighters. Everyone in the congregation is second priority, they have the most experience with evading capture. Get Harriet somewhere safe second as communication is going to be vital. We need to consolidate our forces before they pick us off one by one.
>>
>>4569602
+1
>>
(Finally hitting the wall and going to take a nap. Just in case I oversleep, wanted to give you all a fair heads up. HOPEFULLY I'll be back in no more than an hour. Thank you guys for the PHENOMENAL sessions this weekend. Be back soon!)
>>
>>4569602
+1
>>
>>4569602
>>4569618
>>4569656
(Back. Vote is locked. Writing now!)
>>
>>4569740
It's time to make the The God of Action proud. You can picture a plan of attack in your minds eye. The castle is your top priority. You'll gather manpower, and look for everyone else after you collect your muscle. Brother Eustace, Tancred, Osmund, and Garrick are priests of Flesh who have sworn to fight on behalf of your church. They will be easy to spot, if things have come to a head. They're aid will be critical in compensating for Adwin's vulnerabilities.

The rest of your congregation will follow suit. They have ample experience with chaos, and particularly in evading capture while in a city.

After that, locating Sister Cardew and prioritizing her continued safety is a must. Her ability for continued communication is VITAL to your success.

You will consolidate your forces. You are STRONGER TOGETHER.

Smoke rises in the distance. It's coming from the borders AND the center of the city.

They might be trying to restrict travel, too.

There's many, many problems standing in your way. First and foremost is how to actually reach the castle. Father Pevrel's meeting place is conveniently located three or more checkpoints between you, and your destination. Crossing the city could take two or three hours in your current condition on a good day. You'd curse the priest of Vengeance under your breath, but this also provides you with the greatest amount of distance between your known enemies and the church.

Throwing them off your trail SHOULD be easy enough, but you're running on three fitful bits of rest in nearly ten days. Stealth is not going to be a luxury afforded to you unless you are VERY lucky. Getting through the city proper will be a nightmare of an ordeal if even a single individual tries to coerce you into putting out catastrophes, or worse— trying to keep you from getting to the castle.

You'll take care of what lies outside of your church's walls when you get there. There's nothing on you but your fists, the clothes on your back, your Relic, and your faith. Your worst enemy right now is exhaustion— but you will not rest until your family is safe, and your home is secure.

>BE ADVISED THAT YOU PRESENTLY HAVE A NUMBER OF SEVERE MALUSES (even while using your Relic for physical pain relief).
>The amount of pain you would be in without your Relic so severe, I will not present a prompt to use it for any other ability unless it is a matter of life or death.
>Most of your maluses can be mitigated through your skills and abilities. They will be listed in detail when the vote is locked.
>Write-ins are welcome to supplement these prompts with further strategy!
>You are confident that dual-invoking would be a fate worse than death, hence why it is not presented as an option.
>Please feel free to ask questions regarding Eadric's layout, its peoples, or any of the limited resources currently available to you.

(Options in next post.)
>>
>>4569838
>A] Tap into everything you've learned from the rogues and master assassins you call friends. You have lived among shadow, and have faith in your own ability to make it to the church undetected. (Your friends were not exaggerating when they said you have become dependent on the Gods. This will carry no additional risk of damaging your ability to invoke, but will rapidly add to your physical exhaustion. Failure could be disastrous. AN EXCEPTIONALLY HIGH ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

>B] Mercy has always been there for you. (NO MATTER WHAT happens, She will make sure you get to the Church of Mercy. What condition you arrive in is not entirely in Her hands.) Invoke your Goddess for...
>1] HEALING. (The massive injury on your left arm will cripple your ability in combat, and could cause permanent damage if you keep pushing yourself. This does not promise protection from further injury, only that you'll heal rapidly. You're not sure what effect this would have on the pain you have in your soul. A HIGH ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
>2] DEFENSE. (You've declared war on Inertia, and are going into a battle zone. A shield probably won't cut it. This won't treat any ongoing problems, but would greatly compensate for your weaknesses. A MODERATE ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
>3] RESTRAINT. (Recognizing threats and keeping them down will take a LOT out of you, FAST. It will also help reduce the chaos in the city as you move. Failure may carry catastrophic results. Your behavior and lack of attention to this domain will further complicate the affair. A VERY HIGH ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
>4] Write-in. (The options available to you are current VERY limited due to how far you've pushed your soul. Attempting anything more complex than this may cause horrific damage. Subject to QM approval.)

>C] To say that you have Agriculture's favor would be the understatement of the century. (You currently have several VERY positive modifiers that coincide with invoking Her, too.) Invoke your Goddess for...
>1] EVERY DOMAIN, EXCLUDING GROWTH. It will take a lot out of you, but will minimize the effects of Growth. (A LOW ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED. This will carry additional effects on your mind, body, and soul. Overuse of Her ability will still lead to some weight gain.)
>2] ALL DOMAINS. You hyper-attunement, love, acceptance, and frequent leniency on Agriculture's foremost tenet has led to dependency— but you are becoming a veritable force of nature as a result. (The effects on your body are rapidly becoming unmanageable, but this remains an option due to consistent characterization and voting. Success is GUARANTEED. A ROLL (or depending on the success and subsequent scenes, ADDITIONAL ROLLS) will be used to determine just how many problems this STOPS en route to the Church of Mercy.)
>3] Write-in.

>D] Write-in.
>>
>>4569842

>>C] To say that you have Agriculture's favor would be the understatement of the century. (You currently have several VERY positive modifiers that coincide with invoking Her, too.) Invoke your Goddess for...
>>1] EVERY DOMAIN, EXCLUDING GROWTH. It will take a lot out of you, but will minimize the effects of Growth. (A LOW ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED. This will carry additional effects on your mind, body, and soul. Overuse of Her ability will still lead to some weight gain.)

We can use all domains of agriculture which will give us more versatility than using mercy. We can make defenses and restrain people using agriculture just as well. Exhaustion is our middle name, HAUL ASS to our people. We need to delegate as much shit as possible especially now with the condition we are in. Take a minimalist approach to everything, run on the bare minimum. We got this boys, we are taking our city back. We can use our mastery of the earth to sense threats within the enclosed stone walls of the church too, it is perfect for our current situation. If we reach any of our other clergy maybe we can ask them to invoke mercy to heal us, but that is for later.
>>
>>4569847
C1; we're really going to need to take it easy when we get there. And I mean a proper rest after our duties.
>>
>>4569842
C1
>>
>>4569842
C1
>>
>>4569842
C1
>>
>>4569847
>>4570096
>>4570220
>>4570306
>>4570435
(Guys thank you all SO much for your patience, I seriously overslept and had several things to knock out at work today. Locking the unanimous vote here and will be taking all your notes into consideration. Will call for the roll shortly.)
>>
>>4569847
>>4570096
>>4570220
>>4570306
>>4570435
>HAUL ASS
>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.

>+20 GREEN DAHLIA (Your mastery of the earth has stopped the decay of this modifier for the foreseeable future.)
>+10 FAITH OF A GODDESS (Upholding Mercy's tenets of defense, restraint, and wishing to take a minimalist approach has Her ECSTATIC.)
>-40 SOUL ACHE (Richard "Exhaustion" Anscham will be getting some rest as soon as humanly possible. Your devotion to Dream has actually reduced this a little!)
>-10 SLEEP DEPRIVATION (The naps you took earlier granted less than an hour of sleep, which helped as much as you could expect it to.)
>+5 CITIZEN OF EADRIC (You know these streets and your city, even when it's pitted against you and is in flames.)
>+15 PROTECTOR OF THE CITY OF SHIELDS (You're the most qualified man alive for this job.)
>+15 LEADER OF THE CHURCH OF MERCY (Delegate!)
>>
Rolled 53 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>4570615
>>
Rolled 99 (1d100)

>>4570615
Well, it's nice to know Dream help us out a bit.
>>
>>4570636
Well, that was something.
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>>4570636
>>4570638
(Hot damn. Nice!)
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>>4570636
Holy Mother Of Mercy , my good man you are a blessing
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>>4570640
( Is the bonus I counted correct ?)
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>>4570645
(Yes, only thing that could be better would be a nat100. Since I only just called the roll ofc I'll leave this open for a few so a last roll can be made.)
>>
Rolled 96 (1d100)

>>4570615

THANK YOU LORD YECH FOR THIS BLESSING
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>>4570647
( Thanks man , I think you should totally run a dark souls inspire quest , you have great writing and a good pace and flair to write amazing shit <3 )
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>>4570651
(Thank you very much dude! I hope that one dark fantasy quest is enough for now hehehe.)

>>4570615
>>4570623
>>4570636
>>4570638
>>4570641
>>4570645
>>4570650
(Bo3 is 99 but DAMN you guys
99+20+10-40-10+5+15+15= 114 out of 100. Absolutely based. Mobile so this might take me a little longer than usual but writing now!)
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>>4570660
It's a disservice to the pain in you to say that "exhaustion" is your middle name. It would be an understatement to say that you have the favor of Death Herself. While Healing may be your lover, the feelings you have towards versatility can't be emphasized enough. It's more than mastery.

There's no need for you to speak in order to invoke Agriculture. She can feel your need. Your love.

https://youtu.be/ALlZI4mHn4I

As you stride away from the sound of slaughter at your back, you're reminded of the first Time She came to you: Poison in the city. The gentle reassurance of Her presence. No disproportionate heat. It's far from intense, save for the streak of green across your eyes.

A few hundred jasmine blossoms that burst from a nearby vine of their own volition. You don't gasp, or do so much as remain hellbent on your mission. There's smoke on the horizon, and you move with PURPOSE. It's not *detachment* that keeps you from using the smallest measure of force necessary. It's *respect*. Devotion. *Faith.*

Every other one of Agriculture's domains can be used to their fullest, without over-use of a single one. Your city is made of stone. It's as much of a blessing as every single house that's littered with growth. Your home aids your connection to the Goddess. A comfortable degree of *awareness* keeps you from getting lost to Her. On the contrary! Life is *thrumming* through the tens of thousands of footsteps in the streets.

You don't fear the world or the sun itself, and head straight towards the castle. One of the priests of Vengeance in their outposts didn't recognize you. Simply turning the corner results in an arrow whizzing inches past your face. The harvest of your enemy's violence is just another part of the *process*.

You cross over to them, to horrified apology from four of Father Pevrel's men. They call to you from high windows, and you call back in a voice brimming with the promise of death. They can respect it, and listen to every command. Their efforts are to hit and extinguish every flame at your back. Not every inch of your city can be seen to by your own procession to the castle. It seems the leader of the Church of Venegance (for all his attitude) has already instructed his men to defer to your authority without hesitation. They take off running to the perimeter of the city, in flashes of shadow and blood. You're reassured that ample forces are in hinding to back up Father Pevrel if necessary. Something is slipped about over two hundred of his men working through the city. He brought a small army to seize control back over Mercy's city. Your ally takes the potential fall of Corcaea's capital with infinitely more gravity than he's even preached. Word will spread quickly to reduce the spread of destruction at all costs. The cult of Inertia thinks that they can challenge the Gods themselves. It's a death sentence. They're lucky that kindness is your creed.

(1/4 yes while mobile strap in bois)
>>
>>4570906
The first checkpoint is being besieged by a variety of masked and unmasked civilians. There must be twenty people gathered. It's nearly impossible to distinguish who's slaughtering or causing chaos for the sake of it, and who's attempting to hold the wall. A sweep of one hand coaxes the vines and rock from a nearby home to ensnare every single weapon away from outstretched hands. An equal number of petals burst in spots before your eyes. The slight motion seizes bows, swords, spears, and shrapnel. You manage to stay standing, as shouts of shock and dismay snap towards your position. The items are safely deposited on the top of the wall, while drawing the attention of every last soul present to you.

You casually wave, while blinking away the exhaustion, and redoubling the effort. It's agony that you can lean into, while coaxing the vines into a trap between you and the crowd. The few men stupid enough to roar and try to charge towards you step into potholes or other divots that are discreetly created in the same motion. You not only level the ground underfoot, but help it's underlying potential *thrive.* They crash face-first into brambles, snares, and thorns. Screams of frustration and pain carry over the BANG of an explosion in a distant district. Mercy would be delighted. Storm surely is, too.

Calling out to the city of restraint takes only a few more moments. Those who have made no attempts to attack you, and those who are truly defending the line have nothing to fear.

The protection of your allies, and the restraint of your enemies is twofold. Screams fade at your back as you step around the men tearing themselves to shreds with every attempt to escape. Their attackers keep alongside your calm exit from the outer district. All questions regarding your absence, appearance, invocation and the occupation of Vengeance in the city will "be addressed in a public sermon tomorrow afternoon, barring the insidious actions of the cult of Inertia."

The bold men and women of your city gladly tear off into the streets to rally more support. They're to address the hideouts you identify, and keep a lookout for any and every stray dissenter they can find. The lord of punishment is a guest in your city, and you grant your blessing to any and all who wish to join you in the war on sin. The checkpoint's doors and walls are reinforced with a network of preexisting moss, ivy, and poison deterrents to anyone idiotic enough to try and breach the outer defense.

You are taking your city back, even if you can't see to every last effort yourself. Ideas and legacy are in the palm of your hand. So is versatility. The next two checkpoints are addressed with near perfect efficiency.

There is a Time and a place for Mercy. It's a damn good thing you've kept your options open.

(2/4)
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>>4570911
Emerging into a central mercantile district reveals fire on every nearby garden. There's a riot in the streets fifty-heathens deep. You could laugh, if it wasn't the greatest affront to Her substance imaginable. The culprits of the pryomancy are nearby, and turn with bows and spears to try and stop you. They're suffocated in the pain of their own making. All fifteen heathens are ensnared in the wood of their own weapons, and flung like tinder into the flames. Their charring bodies are used to smother the flames in a show of *restraint*.

The surrounding attackers and men drop their weapons who can register the sheer amount of force that's being used. The rest hesitate in their attack. The shock and awe is all the Time your people need. Necks are slit, bellies plunged into, eyes gouged, and no fewer than five more men shoved with shields into the flame of their own creation. Any extra hands go to reclaiming the far wall.

You detect an ambush in an upper tower, as you casually stride through the turning tide of battle. Heading towards the next checkpoint, only a few bricks are necessary to cure the poison that's plagued your guards within. The sound of their skulls and legs being crushed, along with their agonized screams silences the opposition on the opposite side of the wall. You and much of your company safely pass by. Ten men followed you, eager to badger the protector of the city of shields for support and direction in how to better reclaim their home from destruction.

A veritable avalanche of activity is left in your wake, as you approach the last wall between you and the castle. Each and every soul in your path is tied down, or sent off to attend to another matter in the area. You delegate everything humanly possible. The siege at the front of the gates gets the bulk of your men's attention. Something or someone within is valiantly holding the line. The remainder are sent off to aid with stopping the threat of an outbreak in the surrounding districts before they begin, or fighting off anyone who may have followed your approach. You do all that you can, but Time is of the essence.

WHITE smoke rises from the three districts you were able to see to, as well as many more on the perimeter. You're certain that the situation has dramatically improved in less than two hours.

There are countless hidden entrances, corridors, stairwells and towers meant to be used around your castle in times of emergency. No less than five hundred feet from the furthest wall of the bailey, you kick up a cloud of dirt, and temporarily blind any unseen pursuers. An innocuous shack is slipped behind. The building behind it has a faulty lock. You enter through a hidden door embedded in the side of a game stone wall. A trap door is underneath a ratty old rug within. The emblem on the fabric is of your church, and vanishes from view once it's kicked back. You descend into a discreet stairwell before anyone could know you're gone.

(3/4)
>>
>>4570918
For good measure, you bind the top of the trap door shut with rust. Darkness consumes your world. Good thing you've transcended it.

Walking through the dark corridor beneath the church of Mercy's moat heightens your sensitivity to every tremor taking place above. The rush of rainwater coursing only dozens of feet away will corrode the earth between many of these hidden passages, and flood them in Time. You make a note to have them reinforced as soon as possible, but have to focus on the task at hand.

Proximity to the hall of temperance is done justice by your overwhelming desire to do only what's necessary to reunite with your family. You'll see to the protection of those in your care, but you could use your muscle. The tell-tale rumble nearest to the keep grants you all the information you need to know:

Brother Garrick is the most veteran priest of Flesh in your employ, and easily the strongest. The deafening sound of someone attempting to bash down the front gates of the main hall is no doubt his single-handed success at holding back a siege. He could use reinforcements— literally.

Brother Osmund is a fighter. The cacophony coming from the dungeons sounds deeply within the earth. You can feel the clamor of metal and blood in your teeth. He's likely alongside Harvey. Everyone there is dealing with an EXTENDED battle over your prisoner. The thought of your knight having even less sleep than you have in the last two weeks puts dread and added urgency into every nerve in you.

The more conservative and balanced of your priests— Eustace and Tancred Nye— scarcely registers. There IS motion in the main choir. You know that the respect, piety, and intelligence of your priests would send them to hold the Church of Mercy itself. Adwin wouldn't leave there voluntarily. He'd avoid confrontation even if his life depended on it… and the thought of anyone confronting him is more nerve-wracking than any mortal danger you could comprehend.

The hidden corridor will let out in only two locations. It's designed to minimize flaws in security, but still provides you with options in such a dire situation. One exit will come out within the depths below the tower keep. An innocuous landing several stories beneath the most secure location in the city will grant you Time to assess the situation in the dungeons and the siege, but will take you farther from the Church of Mercy itself.

The other exit will come out just outside the armory. You'll be in the keep, but less distance away from the church— and granted a better visual glimpse of the situation. Proximity to where Adwin, Ray, and Harriet were last seen could be a boon, too.

There's also the opportunity to simply carve out the earth where necessary. To make your own path. Manipulating so much earth safely is not out of the realm of possibility. It will drain you when you're already at your limit— but you know by now that pushing your limits is what you do best.

(Options in next post.)
>>
>>4570922
(A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED FOR ALL OF THE FOLLOWING.)

>A] Emerge near the dungeons, deep under the tower keep.
>1] Harvey is only a man. He can and will fight to the death, and exhaustion is surely killing him. YOU can kill three birds with one stone: help your knight, see to a prison break, and try to get Brother Osmund's fists on your side.
>2] More security breaches will exacerbate every problem. Go to the main gate, and secure the keep's entrance. Brother Garrick is the strongest man in your employ. Gods help anyone that try to take you both on together.

>B] Exit just outside the armory.
>1] Take a precious second to arm yourself. The sheer amount of metal that could be at your disposal is obscene, and will make life easier for you and everyone you encounter.
>2] You have to get to the main choir with as much efficiency as humanly possible. You don't even want to think about how bad things could get if someone has discovered Adwin.
>3] Try to find Sister Cardew. You need her help now more than ever.

>C] Dig. (Write-in your desired destination. Be advised that less is more here, and your SOUL ACHE malus will dramatically worsen the more specific/excessive you are.)
>>
>>4570925
A1)
>>
>>4570925
>>A] Emerge near the dungeons, deep under the tower keep.
>>1] Harvey is only a man. He can and will fight to the death, and exhaustion is surely killing him. YOU can kill three birds with one stone: help your knight, see to a prison break, and try to get Brother Osmund's fists on your side.

While C would be fun , since we will get a specialized route , we are exhausted and I do not trust Chance
>>
>>4570925

>>A] Emerge near the dungeons, deep under the tower keep.
>>1] Harvey is only a man. He can and will fight to the death, and exhaustion is surely killing him. YOU can kill three birds with one stone: help your knight, see to a prison break, and try to get Brother Osmund's fists on your side.

Strike decisively, Harvey needs to rest but Brother Osmund can and will be instrumental in striking back at the cult. Run, there is NO Time to waste. Minimal force for maximum effect as always, enable Harvey to retreat and Osmund to end them.
>>
>>4570926
>>4570928
>>4570940
(Locking the unanimous vote for A1!)

>LEAVE NOTHING TO CHANCE
>(YOUR RESOLUTION TO TAKE AS FEW RISKS AS POSSIBLE HAS INCREASED THE LIKELIHOOD OF SUCCESS!)
>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.

>+10 FAITH OF A GODDESS (Minimal force.)
>+20 GREEN DAHLIA (Maximum effect.)
>-45 SOUL ACHE (Fuck)
>-12 SLEEP DEPRIVATION (Crossing the city took even more out of you. As previously stated, this malus will slowly worsen until you rest.)
+15 LEADER OF THE CHURCH OF MERCY (No man alive can utilize this building like you can.)
+15 FATHER OF RESTRAINT (They're going to be trapped in there with you.)
>+15 THE LION'S FANGS (Your knight does not bark. He bites.)
>+15 ACTION IS YOUR ALLY (Brother Osmund will hold the line like the Gods depend on it.)

OPTIONAL:
>-50 PRIEST OF AGRICULTURE - RUN (This is only possible thanks to all of your youth as a SPEED DEMON.)
>(You can RUN, thanks to a lifetime of perfect form and training-- but it's not going to be pretty. At your current weight, level of exhaustion, preceding combat, injury on your left arm, lack of healing, AND the ache in your soul itself, it's a BAD IDEA. You CAN opt in to get to your allies as fast as possible, and any person rolling can elect to take this malus for their roll. This WILL increase all other maluses on you, but will decrease how long it takes you to reach your allies. Be advised that only a LOW roll is required due to the strategy employed and all other factors in your favor, so it may be worth taking this malus to reduce the toll on your allies. It's your choice!)
>>
>>4570994
(To make life easier, that's (+33) to the roll as-is. Voting for the PRIEST OF AGRICULTURE - RUN malus will take the modifier to (-17).)
>>
Rolled 89 (1d100)

>>4570994
Dice gods! From the critical failure, deliver us!
>>
Rolled 99 (1d100)

>>4570994

OH LORD YECH, BLESS THIS FAT FUCK AS HE COMES BARGING IN FROM THE UNFATHOMABLE DARKNESS. FOR GLORY, FOR WINE.
>>
>>4570999
>>4571001
>trips and 99/100
(You assholes were just saving your luck earlier in the thread I see)
>>
>>4570999
>>4571001
(With bo3, the only possible rolls for the remaining 1d100 is a 132 or 133/100. If you two and/or the remaining roller would like to make a sick entrance into the fight, please feel free to write one in. I'll be home in a little over an hour, so take your time if you want to brainstorm something ridiculous/badass/lethal/effective/etc. As always, if you guys prefer I'll come up with something either way.)
>>
>>4571015

trip them up by raising a few bricks behind them and then hang them up by their necks with vines from the ceiling. Let our allies get their Vengeance in.
>>
>>4571022
Brick flinging priest , break their legs using constricting vines ?
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>>4571044

I was thinking more about stringing them up so our boys can use them as human punching bags for a bit. Get that frustration out yknow.
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>>4571047
Yeah why not dangle them for their legs they'll last a lot longer , and if we don't kill them , we could either :
> Make vines burrow under their skin and start to climb up their bodies slowly
> leave them hanging upside down and let them die of blood pressure ??
What do you think ?
>>
>>4571050

overkill, just restrain them and let our allies kill them. We are supposed to be minimalist remember?
>>
Rolled 30 (1d100)

>>4570994
No amount of fat will stop our gains.
>>
>>4571054
I forgot sorry , sure let's just hang them as you said
>>
>>4570999
>>4571001
>>4571022
>>4571044
>>4571047
>>4571050
>>4571054
>>4571058
>>4571069
(Wonderful lads. Absolutely wonderful. Thank you for the feedback and ideas! Of the three rolls, that 99 will be the best of. As previously stated, that makes your total after all modifiers (with no one electing to take the malus) as 132 out of 100. Simple hanging will do nicely. Everything is locked, back at home, writing now!)
>>
>>4571121
https://youtu.be/Y6sEx0HY87w

Time is of the essence. You use all the speed and agility afforded to a man who has...
-Slept three times in nine days
-Has called upon the Gods no less than 13 times in those ten days
-Spent a solid week of that Time pushing your soul to its absolute limit through nonstop invocation
-Defied metaphysics and failed to comprehend them
-Gave birth to a new kind of being
-Seen to the needs of three districts in your city personally
-Hit over 310lbs as a consequence of loving the Goddess of excess
-A gaping stab wound in his left arm
-Kept fighting with several more injuries you don't particularly care to feel at this moment...

Needless to say, it's not as fast as you'd like. Running is an option, but it feels like doing so would be a fate worse than death. You need to actually be of some use to your allies when you get to them. They're counting on you. Your heart goes out to your knight, as you make a bee-line for the dungeons. He's...

-Not slept in over ten days, to the best of your knowledge. He should be dead.

You increase your pace despite your best interests.

Harvey...
-Was pulled away from guarding the tower keep ten days ago, after hours of investigation in the pouring rain.
-Saved James from a bar fight.
-Descended into your dungeons as a common man, out of the kindness of his heart, and the desire to protect you at all costs.
-Stayed his hand against an utterly insane demon of Spirit who tried to poison you all in a morbid tea party.
-Took on a demon of Flesh and Time, lived to tell the tale, and even stood by during its funeral service.
-Kept watch on you during your first real visit from the God of nightmares, with his sanity intact (you think).
-Saw the way you handled an incubus, and still trusted your judgement enough to descend into another realm of insanity after the fact.
-Took your sacrifice of your image in stride, and offered to help you with your weight immediately after the fact (barring no later complaints). You have honored his request at all costs, and at least take some comfort in that fact.
-Realized the severity of his memory loss, and HESITATED to seek help regaining his past life.
-Confronted the demon responsible for removing 20 years from James' life.
-Went through the same insane flight from the demon of interpretation's lair as you WITHOUT THE GODS on his side.

You realize he has slept once, in these last ten days. A sigh of relief leaves you, as you leave the hidden passage.

The sigh catches in your throat. There's piles of bodies, and streaks of blood leading all the way down to the dungeons. They're mostly "guards".

Traitors.

(1/4)
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>>4571227
The rest are strangers, and most are wearing masks. The same, hateful, wooden, butchered masks. None of the caravan who accompanied you from Calunoth. None of your clergy. None of your congregation. You breathe a little easier in the darkness. Most candles have burnt out, but you can feel your way through the many stairwells, corridors, and descending passages well enough. Their pillars of support are like beacons of earth in your mind's eye. So is the rumble and clamor of violence in the lowest levels.

-Even after releasing Adwin, Harvey saw to the safety of the keep. It's no doubt that his efforts have enabled your allies to hold out for as long as they have, with all of Inertia trying to assault your home.
-He valiantly kept personal watch on Harriet and Walter for as long as he could.
-The man even found it in him to take an assassin off the streets, and hold the psychotic woman single-handedly.
-He's been down there for nearly a day.

The DAMN BUSTED DOOR that you WILL HAVE REPLACED with the FINEST barrier the world has EVER SEEN is still a security issue at the front of your FUCKING dungeons. You spit a hundred prayers. "Deliver me from this critical failure." "Bless this fat fuck as he comes barging in from the unfathomable darkness." "No amount of weight will stop our gain." "Let us burrow beneath the very veins of my enemies." "Surely the Goddess of excess would appreciate it if we killed our enemies with pressure from their veins and hearts themselves." "I'm willing to bet that Mercy would like it just the same." "Wouldn't it have been fun to take a specialized route."

You throw up a field of stone and rust at your back, to keep anyone else from passing into the dungeons (at least while you're down there). You all picked the closest conceivable location for the assassin's restraint, and it's only a quick corridor— and a few flights of stairs— before you can smell the violence.

Copper and filth is hot in the air. You can taste the death in all the mint and supply at the back of your tongue. A little intimidation ought to aid in your work. You coax the bricks you're certain stand between the majority of the motion, and the two steady figures at the back. It feels as if your prisoner is thrashing hard against her bonds, while two men are back-to-back beside her. It can't be one man that's holding the line, but there certainly is. Puddles of blood squish under the destroyed soles of your shoes. Each utterance makes the walls themselves tremble. The rumble and rocks that fall with dust from the ceiling create growing ripples in the red liquid. The muttering and bitter expletives take on a dramatically more sinister tone, as you make quick work of the last of the dark. "LET US RAISE THE DEAD, AND KILL THE LIVING."

(2/4)
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>>4571233
Several people pause in confusion, terror, or some blend of the two. You can hear Harvey's exasperated, relieved declaration just around the corner. "Th-thank fuck—!"

Some machine of violence redoubles his efforts. You come around the corner, and sadistically grin, "sound the dead men's bells, digitalis."

The bricks you've kicked up suddenly, and violently drag behind the heels of thirty startled men and women that are practically surrounding your friends. They fall, catch themselves, trip, and otherwise are completely caught off-guard. Brother Osmund and The Red Lion couldn't have possibly held out a moment longer on their own.

Harvey is on his knees, and has been obviously using his armor to heavily compensate for the little strength he has in him. He's soaked head-to-toe in blood. The sinewstone on his frame looks more like beet-red Flesh. A corpse is skewered on the spikes on his shoulder. Half of someone's face is sticking to the spikes on his helmet. There's a pile of bodies he's using as a wall, which he slumps against, smiling at you and laughing like a madman.

At his back is Brother Osmund, in the throes of a God. He's got blood and gore painted all the way up to his hulking upper arms and elbows. Every inch of him is smoking, and flame licks from his bloody, beaten-raw fists. The man has at least forty wounds that have torn off half of his clothing, and a broken shield is protruding from a dead body slumped at his feet. It looks like he's used shrapnel from the former defense to kill more men, but more have just kept coming.

The utter lack of defense at the entrance to your dungeons, and all along the way no doubt let every single person who got through the keep easy entry to your prisoner. You drop thirty vines of foxglove from the ceiling, and ensnare every single attacker's neck in the same sudden motion. A clench of your fist cuts off their oxygen. An eyeball pops, and drops to the puddles of blood on the floor. Before it lands, every one of the cultist's bodies gets hoisted several feet off the ground. Someone pisses themselves in terror. Every single person immediately begins kicking and writhing, or frantically clawing against the poison blossoms. There's a few screams.

The flowers are a plague on even the most veteran of gardeners. The shade flower can cause allergic reactions in the hardiest of men, and feel like poison to the touch. Most of your victims try screaming as the sensation sets in. Those who have open wounds will feel the effects of nausea and heart failure with sufficient exposure. You tighten your grasp further.

(3/4)
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>>4571235
Calmly walking through the forest of soon-to-be corpses, you extend a hand to Harvey to help him get up. Those who are within flailing range of your knight and priest are pulled violently back, snapping their necks in the same motion. Their inert forms bring tears to the red lion's eyes. He blinks hard, takes your hand with more strength than you could have hoped for, and you both get him to his feet in the blood-slick embrace.

"I thought you might want a chance to set down your sword."

He tosses his weapon aside, and pulls you into a weak hug. The grit in your teeth does not compare to the grit under your nails, as you use a free hand to tighten the foxglove further on the most violently writhing bodies.

Brother Osmund is breathing so hard, you're worried he might collapse. The extent of his invocation to Flesh has led to some severe scarring along his limbs. Most of his arms are bare, and have obviously been healed over beyond mortal damage. He should have lost both limbs. You give him a grateful scowl. "And for you to end them."

The priest of action prefers to talk less, and move more. He nods to you, spits a wad of blood out with a tooth, and cracks his knuckles. A nearby cultist is punched straight through their gut. They scream even through their natural noose. Their executioner grins, while dragging out a fistful of innards. The next closest target loses their mind, and stops kicking as they're approached for death with their own ally's organs wielded as a flaming weapon.

The sound of sizzling meat carries over the air. Your prisoner is still in all of her restraints, though she was scarcely visible in the dark. She's slick with blood, and has obviously made the situation even harder. It looks like Harvey padded her restraints in places to keep the suicidal woman from killing herself during capture. You give her one, warning stare. She stops writhing.

Your knight collapses back to his knees, and slumps to the floor. You immediately kneel beside him, fearing the worst. While looking at the ceiling (his eyes remain open as you scour for injuries), he laughs. "You son of a b-bitch." He waves for you to collapse next to him. You do no such thing, while keeping one hand extended to continue suffocating thirty of your enemies. Supporting their weight is nothing compared to what you've had impressed on you.

The ground is another blessing. Fear for your knight's life keeps you on the highest alert conceivable. He seems unscathed, thanks to his armor— but it's almost impossible to tell. You're with the Goddess of practicality, and at least know he won't take off his armor voluntarily right now for closer inspection. You quietly ask, "any injuries?"

More laughter. Relief might kill him before exhaustion does. He closes his eyes, and chokes out, "n-nah."

(Barely over 4/5)
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>>4571239
The sound of Brother Osmund grunting in satisfaction as he snaps a man's legs clean off at the knee (for the joy of it) nearly drowns out the next thing Harvey says. You hate it, but ask him if he can repeat himself.

"M-might n-need some help, Rich-chard. It's b-been a long week."

He's dying. You're certain he should have died days ago, and has likely only been pushing through out of sheer force of will. The man's only human. He grabs hard onto the side of your robes, and laughs quietly. "D-do whatever you g-got to d-do. I d-don't care."

>A] Release the invocation to Agriculture, and invoke Mercy. Heal Harvey's exhaustion as if your own life depended on it. It'll get him back on his feet, and take care of any injuries you're both unaware of at the moment. It's going to SERIOUSLY tax you, but you'd do anything for him. You know Mercy would NEVER let one of your children die under Her own roof, and is also likely dying for the opportunity to lash out at invaders in Her home, too. (This could provoke the ire of Dream, or hurt Harvey's ability to sleep normally in the future.)

>B] Release the invocation to Agriculture, and invoke Dream. Give this man some SERIOUS rest. You'll have Brother Osmund carry him to safety, and will fight on both of their behalf if you need to. (To say how badly this will stress your soul cannot be understated, but you know you'll make your own Time to rest as soon as you can, and will show your unfailing trust and gratitude towards the God of Respite.)

>C] Invoke Mercy while persisting with Agriculture. Agriculture will help you keep your sanity, and to stay grounded through the healing process. Mercy will completely stop any of Agriculture's effects on you at this point. The maluses you have will STEEPLY increase, and you may be rendered almost completely ineffective physically for long after you end both invocations— but you are going to take back your city today NO MATTER WHAT. (Unanimous vote required.)

>D] Write-in.
>>
>>4571243
>write in

B plus C.

Use Agriculture to ground your mind, invoke Mercy to heal the wounds of the body and use Dream as a mediator between them. Keeping your effects and control over the situation, you can then lend Harvey to Dream and let him rest while you continue onward.

This is an extreme level of invocation I don't think it is possible, but if Richard can pull it off, maybe this form of gestalt invoking could lead to less of a strain on ourselves and even further our field of research. Using the gods to mediate each other could help lessen the burden, but I also imagine it could backfire something fierce.

Only even offering this option because I think Richard is the only living thing in this world even capable of doing this.
>>
>>4571310
I agree with your reasoning that Richard is probably the only man able to pull it off, and the idea of retraining our enemies by putting them to sleep is intoxicating.

However, it would require a unanimous vote to commit to, and the potential backfire of this would be legendary. If the other anons agree to risk it, then I won't oppose it, and merely state that we are going to be unable to commit to our duties and promises on this day.

I would also like to mention that care and defense of the prisoner should be committed to, in some way or fashion. We can't leave her alone in the dark like this.
>>
>>4571243
>D] Write-in.
Pop the flask out, ask for pulped cranberries, poppy seeds and nettles. Let Harvey drink it.

Let him rest in a cell away from prying eyes while we tend to Ozzy Osmunds crazytrain wounds before sending him up to help his brother.
>>
>>4571310
nothing ventured , nothing gained
>>
>>4571451
As long as it doesn't kill him, I'll support along with a prayer to Dream. I don't wish to push our soul further at the moment, though if he is going to die, I'd rather us invoke Mercy to save his life.

We can create a herbal bandage for Ozzy's arms and wounds, and potentially set him to rest and guard both the prisoner and Harvey while we move on the the Church proper if we wish to. We could create an organic barrier at the dungeons entrance to as temporary stopgap to prevent further breakout attempts and excursions.
>>
>>4571310
>>4571369

Strongly opposing dual invoking especially at a time like this, we can barely handle this one invocation and have been specific about using the bare minimum so as to not tax ourselves further.

If he can't walk get ozzy to pick him up and carry him until we can find another Mercy invoker to heal him. Block the door to this cell as we leave and ask ozzy if he knows where anyone else is. If there are no Mercy invokers within the castle I second >>4571451
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>>4571451
We might as well let the prisoner rest with this concoction as well, to not put unnecessary stress on her further.
>>
>>4571310
>>4571369
>>4571451
>>4571467
>>4571470
>>4571527
(Absolutely spectacular discussion and suggestions you guys. Seriously. As previously stated, dual invoking (or trying to triple invoke for the first time ever) is beyond risky. I will happily write it if EVERY SINGLE VOTER is in consensus to take that risk. Just to be clear:

Harvey is dying.

Tea will not suffice in this situation. If you're willing to go BOOK IT to find someone that can heal him, that's a risk you need to be willing to take. There is no guarantee that someone will make it back in time. You are here, and you CAN invoke just Mercy to heal. You CAN invoke just Dream to give him actual rest, and hope for the best. But abstaining from action here risks your knight's life. It's your call.

This vote will remain open for one (1) more hour. At that time I will reconcile all votes if a consensus is not reached.
>>
>>4571541

Fuck it, call on Mercy. If it brings him back up to strength at least we can delegate more to him, this is going to fucking suck.
>>
>>4571541
Mercy, then. It's the only way.
>>
>>4571541
Why didnt you say so directly :^)
Dialing mercy rn
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>>4571551
(I'm sorry bro I tried :^)
really though I seriously needed to make sure the gravity of the situation was clear, glad I stressed it.)
>>
>>4571543
All for healing him ?
>>
>>4571586

We need to put our lion back in action man, unleash the BEAST.
>>
>>4571590
This dide is mad loyal , so yeah I think it's time : UNLEASH THE BEAST
>>
>>4571590
We really need to promote self-care after this.
>>
>>4571543
>>4571547
>>4571551
>>4571586
>>4571590
>>4571664
>>4571666
(Unleash the beast, put your lion back in the action, sick fucking trips, have definitely noted you guys want to look after yourselves ASAP. Gonna lock the vote here. Writing now!)
>>
>>4571715
https://youtu.be/bM284RlnIRI

The Red Lion is dying.

All logic goes out the window in less than a split second, and loops back in on itself. But you can entertain the prospect of invoking three deities at once when your most loyal friend on earth isn't dying in your arms. You can experiment with herbs, mundane healing, and tea when this is all over. Brother Osmund will pull through. He's pulling out the innards of every cultist around you like a macabre party decoration with his bare hands.

You can only think of the slowing breath of the knight you hold in your arms. Harvey laughs a little, and pulls himself closer. A few teardrops cut through all the blood on his armor, from both of you. He's so relieved just to see you. He trusts you with more than his life, and you're crying just the same.

You don't want to die either.
You can't waste another second.
It took you too long to reach him.
There's so many others who might be in worse shape.
He's clutching onto you for help.
He has no idea how hard you've been going, too.

All that you are, and all that you ever wish to be is healing. Protection. Truth. Compassion. You are the LEADER of the Church of Mercy.

NO ONE is dying on your watch.

"Mercy."
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>>4571784
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>>4571786
The yellow, the gold, and the heat of the day is all that there ever was. All that you ever wish to be. Something between a scream, and hysterically relieved laughter leaves you.

You don't die. It feels better, and so much worse. There's no Catalyst. A psychotic, insane thought flits across the broken and utterly ravaged landscape of every broken mind.

Is the Catalyst a better alternative?

This is a wholeness of being. Every last flutter of every beating heart in all the world is yours to feel. It's agony. It's the pain of every death in every pair of arms. You're crying hysterically, and want to hold them all. You possess the hands that mend. You are the restored strength in every son who wishes to fight. The entirety of your existence is the suffering of all your children. In an instant, you are removed from Time, and the lives they might not lead even close to how they imagined.

Loss.
Grief.
Mourning.

You've never cried so hard. This is one man in your arms, and there is so much MORE than what you could EVER hope to heal. You can't reach them all, even if you ache with every last fiber of your being to stop it all. You want a cure. You want it so badly YOU could die, and want to be cut off from it all. A voice leaves you that is entirely not your own. It's human. It's not. It's away from you. It's Mercy. "Darkness has defined your existence. But you have not lost yourself. NOT YET. You are Harvey Jay Algrith. Your devotion is not to the Gods, yourself, or any petty material endeavor. Though you have been called a coward by many, you know what you stand for: Every human life is worth saving."

There's a delicate pull along his shoulders. He can see your light clearly now. It goes through your skin. Mercy is the only thing keeping you from losing consciousness.
>>
>>4571787
The yellow, the gold, and the heat of the day fade.

Mercy is casually standing beside you, and is slick with gold. She doesn't resemble a human in any form. The Goddess of defense has seen thirty heathens tied up in Her dungeons, and something smiles sweetly to you as She melts them all into liquid gold. Starting from their eyes, so that they don't have to look at or smell their fellow cultists as they're melted alive. She is Merciful.

Nothing needs to be said as you collapse forward onto Harvey, and speak with the voice of death itself. "Get up."

Neither of you care who you're talking to. He's breathing. By all the Gods, he is alive, and breathing. There's a flush in the deathly pallor of his freckled skin. He wipes a streak of blood away from his eyes, and keeps you both upright by leaning your shoulders against each other. There's a fire in your lion. More than in the bushy, matted mane of his frazzled beard and crunchy, perpetually unwashed hair. He reeks of death, and LIFE, and you can't stop crying from relief. "You're alive. You are a BEAST, Harvey— you're a beast, and I'm— we need to let you out and away from these damn cages—" Laughing while crying is oddly cathartic. It hurts. Everything hurts more than you can possibly hope to express, as gold pools around both your bodies.

Your knight pats you on the back a few times. "Who do I g-gotta kill to g-get even with whoev-ver g-got you in th-this b-bad of sh-shape?"

"Don't you dare." You try wiping the sides of your face. This is not a physical pain. The motion is a spike of agony on a level deeper than anything you've ever felt before. "Mercy—"

A desperate look darts around the room, to the sniveling, Gods-forsaken prisoner. She's in filth, and blood, and has stopped moving. She's so scared of the last vestiges of Mercy's manifestation, the assassin may have stopped breathing. Mercy is calmly creating solid gold shackles around the paralyzed young woman. You try to focus on Brother Osmund, who is staring dumb-founded at the physical, flitting, shifting form of Mercy who is slowly pooling back into the gold on the floor. You can't focus on what was the cultists. They're now pools of molten death two inches high on your dungeon floor.

(4/5)
>>
>>4571789
You want to take care of everyone. You're confident that you're capable of doing more, but it's going to be painful. It's going to be agony. You're the leader of this church. They need you. Your ability, your knowledge, and your resilience is what's brought everyone here together. You have so many strong friends. So many incredible allies. They're so hard-won, and they all respect you more than they can ever say. But the intensity of Mercy's invocation is robbing you of any and all connection from reality. It's emotion that's guiding you, and you have to rest too. Working like this will continue to drive you into the ground, and for once, you might actually be considering putting some limitations on yourself.

The man who's now holding you up has never felt better. You'd given him more than a second wind. The Red Lion has a THIRD lease on life, thanks to yours and Mercy's gifts. He pulls you into a firm hug, and grits his teeth as he finds a steady breath. This isn't easy for him, but he focuses all his will on just two words. He can manage that much, and has done even more before.

"Thank you."

You start crying all over again. "The Gods are Merciful. Harvey. I'm so glad—"

"Yeah. M-me too."

(Options in next post.)
>>
>>4571791
>A] You are not heroic in the slightest. Everything you know has been a roller coaster of trauma, ecstasy, and pain. Yours is EASILY the hardest path walked, but every last one of your difficult choices has come with GREAT reward. The Gods Themselves respect your faith. This is YOUR city to protect. Harvey will remain loyally by your side, or go wherever you ask if you think he would be better off elsewhere. He's dedicated his life to protecting you, and ALL of humanity. You know he won't let anything happen to you. You'll still make him, all the rest of your family, and the Gods Themselves proud. CONTINUE THE THREAD AS FATHER RICHARD ANSCHAM, LEADER OF THE CHURCH OF MERCY.

>B] You are a hero if there ever was one. The life you led before the ruins is a blank in your mind. All you can remember are madmen and sinners. Your victories are far from humble, yet you have always given the spotlight to others. The mountains you climb, the roads you travel, the Kings you disgrace, and the armor on your back is what REALLY matters. You sword doesn't even have a name, yet you've somehow found yourself allied with one of the most powerful men the world has ever seen. Father Anscham has pushed himself beyond all human limits, and has given you one more glimpse of the sun. You can't call upon the Gods, and still aren't even sure what that means— but you won't let his efforts go to waste. Give the man a rest. CONTINUE THE THREAD AS HARVEY JAY ALGRITH, THE RED LION.

>Majority vote will decide.
>Write-ins are welcome to supplement why you wish to change perspectives at this time.
>For reference regarding Harvey's abilities and history, the entirety of thread 16 "THE RINGLEADER" is told from our deuteragonist's POV. http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/4313892/
>This vote will remain open for at least the next 5 hours. Have a beautiful morning everyone.
>>
>>4571792

>>B] You are a hero if there ever was one. The life you led before the ruins is a blank in your mind. All you can remember are madmen and sinners. Your victories are far from humble, yet you have always given the spotlight to others. The mountains you climb, the roads you travel, the Kings you disgrace, and the armor on your back is what REALLY matters. You sword doesn't even have a name, yet you've somehow found yourself allied with one of the most powerful men the world has ever seen. Father Anscham has pushed himself beyond all human limits, and has given you one more glimpse of the sun. You can't call upon the Gods, and still aren't even sure what that means— but you won't let his efforts go to waste. Give the man a rest. CONTINUE THE THREAD AS HARVEY JAY ALGRITH, THE RED LION.

He always said that to live is to serve.
>>
>>4571792
Can we play as Yech now please?
>>
>>4571798
(No write-in options were provided anon. Better luck next thread.)
>>
>>4571800
And I seriously entertained the idea, but we've got a cast of seventy-six named characters and I just don't have the power to shift gears that hard mid-thread. Sorry to disappoint bro.
>>
>>4571803
Does this mean Richard is going to be out of action? If we pick harvey i mean.
>>
>>4571807
(Apologies in advance if any of this is redundant or rambling, it's 7AM here so I'm gonna get some sleep after this. That said!

NOT NECESSARILY! You guys have advocated HARD to get Richard some rest. He does have STRONG characterization and 22 threads of established behavior. If you all are comfortable with it, he could provide support or have a supplemental role while you guys play as Harvey. For absolute transparency, your current plan of action was:

-Continue invoking Mercy (this is locked in no matter what if you shift perspectives until he passes out or gets somewhere safe to rest)
-Get Brother Osmund healed
-Ensure the safety of your prisoner
-Ensure the safety of the other muscle in the castle
-Figure out the location of everyone else in the castle and their safety
-Ultimately get in touch with Sister Cardew for communication
-Utilize Sister Cardew's communication to aid in supporting reinforcing the hideout

Then there's the shit that's gone so far south it likely has prevented this from happening:
-Having a confession TONIGHT in the hideout outside of the castle
-Ensuring Father Pevrel didn't kill every last person at that hearing
-Figuring out the location of the rest of your congregation and clergy
-The safety of the city

Aaaaand well the entire to-do list is a 11k character notepad++ document complete with all the planning throughout this thread. It's a lot, but I've been keeping meticulous track, and WOULD do EVERYTHING reasonable to address it all based on your guy's direction. You CAN try and have Richard delegate as much as possible to Harvey if you have us switch protags for now. You could also respect your knight's judgement, and assume his role as-is for a glimpse at how someone more well-adjusted handles affairs. This is up to you guys! It's our quest. Please feel free to discuss how you want to proceed. We can also of course have Harvey with you if you play as Richard, with a mutual understanding that he'll be your hands with you as the brains of the operation. Just be forewarned that the sheer amount of exhaustion and pain on our usual protag WILL be a series of substantial maluses that will not improve until he gets some rest.

Going to leave this open for a good long while. Please feel free to ask more questions, I will be back in no more than 4-6 hours!)
>>
>>4571810

in that case i will switch my vote to stay as ricahrd and delegate some stuff to harvey
>>
>>4571807
I believe so, since Harvey is giving the man a rest. I'd imagine Richard will commit to some care of the prisoner before he finally rests for a moment, if we choose Harvey.

I'm honestly undecided, so I'll had the choice off to you lads for the moment :^)
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>>4571792
Continue as Richard , let Harvey take care of the easier stuff , or play a supplemental role

What do you guys think ?
>>
>>4571798
>>4571807
>>4571811
>>4571812
>>4571819
(Alright guys, we have a majority here to continue with our current protag. Rest assured this is not the first or the last time a choice to swap POV will be presented! Vote is locked here. Per usual workday updates will be a little slower, but I'm writing now!)
>>
>>4572071
https://youtu.be/T12ygsp9Mvg

Over fifty cultists died by your hands this morning. The worst traps and hurdles your enemies could conceive of laying have only made your resolve STRONGER. You saved hundreds just on your way to the castle. You halted a prolonged prison break, saved Harvey's life, and there's puddles of gilded VICTORY around you and your knight's body.

With your prisoner secure, your enemies slaughtered, and liquid metal coursing hot and fast into the inches-wide stab wound in your arm, you have never felt more comfortable in your own skin. Sure, it would be nice to be a skeleton again. You respect your friends and allies more than any other man alive. You would JUMP at the chance to walk a day in Yech's shoes, and want so badly for Harvey's own strength that you could die. But the truth is: You are a killer, a masochist, a glutton, and a preacher. The road you travel is far from heroic, and the mountains you climb are as perilous as they get. You know that most men would break to pieces under the strain of any one of the brutal choices you make each and every day— without any armor on your back to speak of. Your sword only has a name out of respect for the priest who gave it to you, not a soul alive might respect you for everything you've really done, and when it comes down to it: that is EXACTLY how you like it.

Your knight in sinewstone armor owes you his life once again, and uses every last ounce of strength in him to keep up with the priest in your midst who is channeling strength itself. They get you on your feet. Everyone groans, and laughs, and resolves to pay Flesh due devotion as often as possible when you all make it out here alive.

The last of your injuries are completely healed before you're back on your feet. Light and glimmer parts into the air with the rough, extended motions of Brother Osmund hoisting you onto his shoulder. A fine mist of blood spurts from one of his open wounds. Deep satisfaction is all over him, and the smoke licking and writhing around the might of his muscular form.

The God of Achievement practically owes Mercy and Agriculture a *favor* for the opportunities you're presenting them with. YOU are already seizing the moment, in devotion to the God of achievement. The Goddess of compassion helps you heal your clergyman as rapidly as you're able. But this is not just about Them. This has never been about honor, glory, or death on the field of battle. It's not about the trauma you've felt, the ecstasy that tempts and teases— or even the pain you call a lover. The story of your life is about EVERY SINGLE soul you save. The demons you heal. The friends who will fight with you, laugh with you, cry with you, and die for you. This is ultimately about the choices *you* make.

You are Father Richard Anscham, leader of the Church of Mercy. This is YOUR story, YOUR CITY, and your battle. You are a man of all the Gods, and you have a war to win.

(1/2)
>>
>>4572206
You conjure an earthy flask of cranberry, nettle, and poppyseed tea. "The prisoner," you choke out, to the men keeping you upright. It's agony to speak, to move, to breathe, and healing is still all that's registering on your fractured mind. Brother Osmund is right as rain by the time he helps you over towards the restrained, filthy, obviously dehydrated, and utterly terrified captive you keep.

You really could use a sounder mind for interrogation, but don't care. This woman is getting compassion and aid if it kills you. No bargaining is made for her compliance. She thinks you're going to poison her, so you take a swig from the container in a display of good-will, before handing the item off to Harvey. He's instructed to help her, but only if she sees fit. You can barely focus on what you're even saying, but you are GOING to make this work. There's too much to be done. Empathy Herself is your guide, and will not lead you astray. You've wandered in the darkness yourself for longer than any other.

You can literally see in the dark. The bruised and bloodied face of your anguished prisoner is as clear as the mended Flesh across Brother Osmund's shoulder. You slump harder against him. She's uninjured. By all the Gods, your men kept her safe. Your timing couldn't have been more fortuitous. There's still so much going on in the city, but you are WHOLE. Having your faculties compromised has NEVER stopped you before. It won't stop you now.

You have had a plan, and a schedule, and have two of your best fighters waiting dutifully for you to decide how to proceed. There's no question in your mind that they will grant you as much rest as you need, fight as hard as you ask, and go wherever they're needed most. There's the three other priests of Flesh in your company that WILL be seen to.

It's likely less than a minute or two that's passed you by-- if even that-- since saving Harvey's life. Time is escaping you, and that is a *blessing.* You are not only the most qualified man in the nation to lead the Church of Mercy, or to protect the city of shields: you are the ONLY man alive who can handle the gravity of your job.

You focus. All of this has only been possible because you make EVERY second count.

(Options in next post.)
>>
>>4572209

>A] Send Brother Osmund to go help your other priests of Flesh. He'll move faster, strike harder, and wear down FAR less rapidly without supporting you.
>1] Send him to the main gate, to assist Brother Garrick with the siege.
>2] Send him to the main choir, with CLEAR INSTRUCTIONS to de-escalate the situation if necessary, not to antagonize anyone if at all possible.

>B] Unleash the beast.
>1] Your Red Lion is a monster in a fight, and you shudder to think of what he can do at peak performance. Have him help you secure the prisoner SAFELY and DISCREETLY here in the dungeons so there is no immediate rush to get her under new security.
>2] Harvey knows the castle almost as well as you do already. Have him help you find someone. (Write-in who.)
>3] You need backup down here badly. Get your knight to requisition enough forces to safely guard the prisoner. You'll see to the security of her, and the dungeon entrance in the meantime.

>C] You're in bad shape, and that's alright.
>1] You'll stay on your own two feet.
>2] Lean on Brother Osmund as much as you can, for as long as you can.

>D] Write-in.

(Thank you all for your patience and apologies for any dip in quality, I have had several hellish interruptions and will not be able to update again until later this evening. This vote will remain open for at least the next 5-6 hours.)
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>>4572211
>>A] Send Brother Osmund to go help your other priests of Flesh. He'll move faster, strike harder, and wear down FAR less rapidly without supporting you.
>>1] Send him to the main gate, to assist Brother G nice dub dubs arrick with the siege.
>>
>>4572211

>>A] Send Brother Osmund to go help your other priests of Flesh. He'll move faster, strike harder, and wear down FAR less rapidly without supporting you.
>>1] Send him to the main gate, to assist Brother Garrick with the siege.

Stay not your hand Brother.

>B] Unleash the beast.
>2] Harvey knows the castle almost as well as you do already. Have him help you find someone. (Write-in who.)

Durville, he is the fastest out of all of us and we need to reach everyone to mount a coherent defense. Ask where Cardew might be and go find her ourselves if she is in the castle, if not go straight to Adwin.

>C] You're in bad shape, and that's alright.
>1] You'll stay on your own two feet.

Mercy is with us, we are never alone. We must not slow anyone down, Time is of the essence and we will just slow everyone down.
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>>4572222
+1, plus B3, but only after his obligations with B2 in the previous post have been achieved. We'll get the dungeon entrance sorted out before we focus our efforts inside our church.
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>>4572236
+1, We need the comms that Cardew will provide while also assuring the prisoner doesn't run away
>>
>>4572222
(Nice quads)
>>4572213
>>4572236
>>4572294
(Hey guys, I have had a fucking hurricane of shit hit me today. I'm pretty certain I am getting it all straightened out at home tonight, but I probably can't update again today until much later this evening or early tomorrow morning. Hope the two long updates today (on a weekday) tide you over. I'll back back soon, and of course will update tomorrow! Thank you all again for being so absolutely stellar, appreciate you guys more than I can say.)
>>
>>4572407
( take your time, the quality more than make up for it)
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>>4572493
(Thank you very much, it means a lot.)
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>>4572407
Don't worry about us mate, just focus on getting your house in order. Hope it gets better, certainly.
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>>4572558
(Thanks again man. Pretty late here but things are smoothed over.)

>>4572213
>>4572222
>>4572236
>>4572294
(Alright alright. Got a LOT going on here. Vote is locked here! Anything not immediately addressed in the next post will absolutely be noted. Writing now.)
>>
>>4573009
https://youtu.be/Tr6BMiHMPtI

"Stay not your hand, Brother."

Brother Garrick is sent off running with the speed of a monster, and the blood thirst of a God. You can't see or hear the bodies that will fall under His and Flesh's fists, but you know your priest will head off the siege. Nothing will help you enemies against two ruthless priests of combat. They are stronger than stone, and can heal through the might of a solar flare itself.

You're not wasting a second, even if so much as standing of your own volition is a battle all its own. So much Time spent with Agriculture is doing WONDERS for practicality, and brevity. The bliss of anguish in your very soul wraps all up into each inhumanly grateful utterance. "Harvey. I must find Sister Cardew."

A crimson grin shines at you in the dark. ""Whole keep was put on g-guard d-duty. D-don't th-think I'd trust Walt-ter with th-that sh-shit. Sh-she'll still b-be th-there, if th-the g-gates have held."

"They will. Please find Brother Durville. We will mount a united defense against our enemies. Any hands that can be spared, AND trusted with the security of our prisoner are needed here. She will NOT be kept unguarded."

The two of you head for the dungeon entrance. Your prisoner is infinitely too terrified to thrash or call out for aid. She may consider the prospect of starving to death in the dark more palatable than your company. Hot metal clings to your feet and the bottoms of your robes. It's pooling from your eyes, and practically radiating in waves from your hands. Every step is worse, and better than the last. Only a few other blessings flit through your mind, of Mercy keeping you on your feet through even more severe physical conditions. Never something on such a deep level, though.

You take a deep breath in, to the scent of sunlight. A promise from the Goddess of agony. The promise of more. A broad grin discolors your unhinged features. "I'll hold the door, in the meantime."

Harvey is insisting on trying to help support you, as you both traverse the length of the dungeons. "What d-door?"

"Forgive me for failing to laugh, Harvey—"

"Heh."

"I'll hold the line until help arrives. If the main gate falls, look for me in the church. Adwin may be in trouble."

(1/4)
>>
>>4573069
No darkness can pierce the vision granted to you. The two of you traverse the rest of it in complete silence, with both of your nerves on end. The clamor of combat is resounding in levels above. There's strategic advantage to the dungeon's locations, like everything else in your home. As you emerge from the demonically-destroyed opening to your prisons, you're back out to a flat landing. Countless, monstrous stone pillars are reinforced with barbed and garish metal all around. They're spaced out no more than fifteen to twenty feet apart, double as cover, and can be destroyed for a weapon in a pinch. It's all that registers, before something you've heard one hundred times before fwips through the air.

Three men are filtering down from the stair, and think they have a leg up on you and your knight. They've conveniently identified themselves with mundane, brown clothing. Blood on their frames. Thick wooden masks, and weapons in hand. All ranged. You could laugh. Three small throwing knives are chucked at the two of you with uncanny speed. You turn your gaze slightly, turn a hand just slightly towards the oncoming attack, and grin as every piece of metal detonates in a burst of light and liquid gold instantly. The molten counter-attack launches backwards towards the cultist. A spray of pain splatters over his face and eyes. It does more than halt his procession, and rob him of the sight of the Goddess. His allies are supposed to be fearless, and even they falter from the intensity of his shrieking.

"GET IT OFF, GET IT OFF OF ME—! HELP! SOMEONE! PLEASE, AAUHHHH—! AHHH!!"

As you stagger, and lean hard on the nearby wall, Harvey tears after the remaining assailants. Your knight's hysterical laughter further disarms both men, who make the fatal mistake of hesitation. They are not granted the seconds they need to realize they're facing a fully armored combatant.

You waste no Time in seeing to the dungeon's defenses. The sick crunch of two skulls being slammed into one another is music to your ears. So is the wet squelching of brains being mashed together, and three men collapsing dead at the top of the stair. It sounds like Harvey is propping up their corpses at the top of the flight as a defense. He quickly calls out, "g-got th-them. You g-good?"

Focus.

"I will be. Go with all the Gods, Harvey. They are Merciful."

(2/4)
>>
>>4573070
Something monstrously heavy crashes many stories above. It's loud enough to shake the foundations of your home. Rubble breaks off in a few weak locations in the ceiling, dropping rock and silt as the last of Harvey's clanking can be heard running in the stairwells above. You'd have only slowed down the forces of nature you call friends to stay in their company, but pay no heed to the prospect of something assaulting your home. While some monstrous battle must be taking place at the doors of your home, Every precious second is spent on fortification, and healing. These are the halls of Mercy. You're never alone.

The defense. You'll have something practical made as soon as possible, but the Goddess of defense has NO care for the mundane in Her gilded heart. You sweep an open hand across the opening. In the gesture's wake, spots of light rupture from the over-abundance of divinity in your soul itself. A surge of temperature and passion manifests into bars that would melt any unwanted intruder alive. They're thicker than iron, denser than stone, and hotter than the lover who's impressing Herself deeply into you with the effort. The solar energy licks and dances along the surrounding stone, charring the natural earth a pitch black in warning.

The wound on your left arm was inches thick, and pierced straight through the other side of the limb. Unwinding the wrappings and poultices Agriculture produced takes your breath away. A mesh of immaculate gold-work can be seen raveling and unraveling within your own skin, even by the naked eye. Every last laceration on you is completely mended by now, but Mercy is working to heal the long-term damage as well. There's enough gold pooling from your palms and the tips of your fingers that you can safely coat both hands entirely in metal. It feels right. So does refastening your Relic, and knowing full well that you won't have to rely on it for your physical exhaustion any Time soon.

Mercy has kept you on your feet through much worse than even this. The gate you've created of heat and light is placed at the far-most wall, with a stretch of bare wall on either side. The majority of the long hall extending away from it is shrouded in utter darkness, which you can see in clear as day. It grants you maximum visibility of anyone descending into the dungeons, who have to step completely away from the straight stair over fifty feet down the corridor in order to even begin to see you.

(3/4)
>>
>>4573071
It can't have been more than fifteen, or maybe twenty minutes, before you hear a HARD battle being fought by no less than ten of your caravan members. It sounds like Harvey requisitioned over half of the current residents of your castle. The men and women from your caravan are savage fighters, and natives to the capital city of Calunoth. You still don't even know all of their names, but they're fighting bitterly to reclaim the most contested location in the building. There's screams. Cries to your Goddess for Her protection. The chaos breaks at the top of the stair.

Blood is splashing against the walls. Several of your people are badly injured— but so are their enemies. Opposing them is a ragtag assortment of guards, civilians, and people who are clearly identifying themselves as cultists. The chaos is almost incomprehensible. Even sorting who's who is a struggle. Still, the clamor of weapons, shields, makeshift armor, and prayer puts a smile across your face. These newest citizens of Eadric were forged in a furnace insanity. They fought alongside all of your blasphemous congregation AND clergy during long weeks on the road. Encouraging everyone to lean on each other's strengths seems to have elevated everyone's capabilities. There's a lot you can do to elevate them even further.

There's also a long way to go. If the dungeons remain secured, it's still going to be an ordeal to get up through the lowest levels of the tower keep. It's most likely that Harvey's pulled away EVERY spare hand from Harriet's guard. He's under the premise you'll be rushing to her side the instant you're able. It's either that, or the gate has fallen, and her safety is compromised.

You could risk shouting, and compromise your position in order to glean this critical information by shouting out to anyone and everyone who might be able to answer. There's no Time to spare for extended communication. Revealing your ignorance of the situation could also boost the morale of the enemy— especially if you have just lost hold of your home's primary protection.

Either way, there can't be more than ten more common men and women here. That would leave ONLY your clergymen and congregation members here in the castle to hold it against ANYONE who seeks to take it. Brother Durville and Harvey will work as quickly as they're able to get reinforcements. Every loyal man, woman, and child in the city also calls this castle their home. They'll hold it to the last, if it comes down to it. Stace and Morris striving to empty the Church of Mercy at all costs makes more sense by the second— yet your thoughts go to clemency, and compassion.

The gold on your fists could instantly cauterize any wound. It would also burn any unwilling victims with a heat that transcends the sun itself. Mercy can be shown in many forms, after all.

(Options in next post.)
>>
>>4573072
>Choose ONE option from A, B, AND C.
>Overlapping strategy and/or write-ins will be combined wherever appropriate.
>A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED FOR ALL OF THE FOLLOWING.

>A] Communication is key.
>1] Call out to your men and women, and try to assess the situation at the main gate. Sister Cardew will have to wait, and so will the situation at hand.
>2] It will be a nightmare if you fight all the way into the heart of the keep, and don't find Sister Cardew. Confirm her location.
>3] Focus on stressing the sane and compassionate treatment of your prisoner, and that she is not to be harmed at any cost. No one should enter those dungeons unless they will honor all of Harvey's and Brother Osmund's sacrifices.
>4] Write-in.

>B] Turning the tide of a mundane battle is the main reason the theocracy rules Corcaea. Remind your enemies what you and a Goddess are made of.
>1] Keep EVERYONE on their feet. Heal the injured, and use your Relic to supplement your efforts where necessary. You will not let ONE man or woman here falter. They are YOUR hands. Let them fight!
>2] Prevention is the best cure. Those who are injured need to be ordered to fall back into the dungeons. Put up the best defense the world has ever seen, and tank the onslaught all on your own.
>3] There is a distinct chance that you can kill every single enemy here, but it may blind some of your own men and women. You know this effect is excruciating, traumatizing, and permanent. Caution everyone to run beforehand, and to shield their eyes. It's a SERIOUS gamble if everyone will understand the risk or even believe this unique ability enough to listen.
>4] Write-in.

>C] You are slower than you'd like, the odds of more people coming are high, and reinforcements are here. TAKE ACTION.
>1] Make a break for the stair the second you're certain the situation is under control. You can't waste a second, and will make for Sister Cardew's last seen location as quickly as you're able (within reason).
>2] Men like you have NO use for pride. There's a few side areas and secret passages in these levels of the Church of Mercy. Combine intimidation and discretion to escape, and trust in the backup provided to keep your prisoner safe.
>3] Focus on the fight at hand, and stay put for now. More forces might be inbound, but you want to try and bolster your forces out the gate. If nothing else, it will seriously boost morale.
>4] Write-in.
>>
>>4573072
B2
>>
>>4573073
>B] Turning the tide of a mundane battle is the main reason the theocracy rules Corcaea. Remind your enemies what you and a Goddess are made of.
>1] Keep EVERYONE on their feet. Heal the injured, and use your Relic to supplement your efforts where necessary. You will not let ONE man or woman here falter. They are YOUR hands. Let them fight!

This will do wonders for their morale and also free up 10 people to redistribute around for the castles defense. Pure is made blood spilled when held by Mercy.
>>
>>4573079
>>4573082
(Sorry if it wasn't totally clear but I'm providing the opportunity to communicate (option A), aid in the fight (option B), AND to keep taking advantageous action (option C). If you don't want to do all of those things that's ok but wanted to clarify.)
>>
>>4573089
Oh that was my bad, head empty rn.

>A] Communication is key.
>2] It will be a nightmare if you fight all the way into the heart of the keep, and don't find Sister Cardew. Confirm her location.

These heathens are as good as dead! Where is Sister Cardew?

>B] Turning the tide of a mundane battle is the main reason the theocracy rules Corcaea. Remind your enemies what you and a Goddess are made of.
>1] Keep EVERYONE on their feet. Heal the injured, and use your Relic to supplement your efforts where necessary. You will not let ONE man or woman here falter. They are YOUR hands. Let them fight!


>C] You are slower than you'd like, the odds of more people coming are high, and reinforcements are here. TAKE ACTION.
>1] Make a break for the stair the second you're certain the situation is under control. You can't waste a second, and will make for Sister Cardew's last seen location as quickly as you're able (within reason).


Protect the weak! Shield the innocent! Mercy!
>>
>>4573089
lol, I didn't even register the first parts of the prompt
>>4573094
seconding this then
>>
>>4573094
+1
>>
>>4573135
I trust that Harvey will make sure everyone who guards the prisoner will treat her well. Cardew, Adwin, and Ray should be our priority after this battle.
>>
>>4573094
+1
>>
>>4573079
>>4573082
>>4573094
>>4573116
>>4573135
>>4573136
>>4573432
(Wonderful lads. Wonderful. Priority given to finding Cardew, then Adwin and Ray. Unanimous vote for A2, B1, and C1 is locked!)

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

>-50 SOUL ACHE (The fact that you can even try to fight right now is a gift from the Gods Themselves.
>-14 SLEEP DEPRIVATION (There are some domains Mercy will not or cannot touch. Dream's effects on you are apparently one of them.)
>+20 FAITH OF A GODDESS (You have been VERY Merciful. This bonus is temporarily increased as a reflection of your compassionate behavior!)
+15 FATHER OF HEALING (You're usually humble about this, but it's common knowledge that you're the most capable healer in the country.)
>+10 CURE TO THEIR PAIN (Your Relic was practically made for this.)
>+15 LEADER OF THE CHURCH OF MERCY (Protect the weak! Shield the innocent!)
>+15 COMBAT VETERAN (This is your element.)

(To keep things simple, after all bonuses and maluses the roll will be modified by +11)
>>
Rolled 58 (1d100)

>>4573477
The Gods are Merciful.
>>
Rolled 60 (1d100)

>>4573477
>>
Rolled 39 (1d100)

>>4573477

OH MY LORD IN OSTEDHOLM BRING UPON ME SALVATION
>>
>>4573481
>>4573482
>>4573485
(Holy tits that was fast. Love you guys. That bo3 here comes out to 71 out of 100! Even though I'm mobile I'm gonna pound some coffee and get this update out! Writing now!)
>>
>>4573496
( Enjoy your cofee m8)
>>
>>4573518
(it's wonderful, thank you! Post inbound.)
>>
>>4573496
https://youtu.be/WmzlFNTkyNI

"MERCY!"

Your cry simultaneously brings the attention of the enemy away from the fight, grants your men and women a chance to strike, and rallies every last noble soul present. They are YOUR hands.

You tense all the gold in your fists, and produce a shield of solid, radiant light. It's at least four feet across in all directions. Showers of light fall from it with each motion you make, and doubles as a beacon. You LOVE being a target, and your forces are coming to you.

Harvey would have stressed the safety of your prisoner. A small opening is created in the barrier at the dungeon entrance, with another wave of your hand. Gods help anyone who stands in the way of your charge. There's cries from your people. Utter chaos delays the battle at the stair. You carve a way through a rain of projectile weapons, keeping your defense held high. Every last arrow that pelts your way disintegrates the instant it makes contact with the divine surface. It's a shudder in your soul itself, but you do not take injury. You heal.

Wading straight into battle as a priest of Mercy could not have emboldened your forces more. There's screams all around.

"What are you DOING?! Get the DAMN PRIEST!"
"Father Anscham?!"
"FALL BACK, HE'S PUT UP A LIGHT!"
"FUCK!"
"DON'T BOTHER WITH THE SHIELD, YOU IDIOTS, SURROUND HIM!"

The base of the stairs collide with your charge, the forces Harvey sent backing up, and what appears to be twenty or so of the opposition. It's almost impossible to discern the plain-clothes men and women from one another. Your caravan members are sharp, and they've worked with you all before. Cries rise in *coordination,* to direct you towards the most badly wounded.

Triage is your mistress. Your hands fall on skewered bowels, slit throats, and men who are literally standing on one leg. It's light, and gold. A complete disconnect from everything but the hands that heal.

"Pure is made blood spilled."
"Pure are the hands of Mercy."

It's a miracle that you're not dead. Your faith is without equal. You'd gladly drive yourself into an early grave for those who would destroy themselves on YOUR behalf. The punctured waists are mended in a matter of moments, with gold stretched between your hands. Cuts and nearly-lethal assaults are cauterized with the heat of the sun itself. You are the lover of pain itself, and the scent of burning Flesh on the air only emboldens your worship of the Goddess of agony. Your Relic is used at each and every turn. You carry a cure to your children's pain, and do not hesitate to use it. And while restoring entire limbs would rightfully kill you in your current state, you can grant your allies a shoulder to lean on.

(1/4 combat scene while mobile get that popcorn and enjoy)
>>
>>4573582
You'll do a hell of a lot more than stand on your own two feet. Some idiot thinks they can try sneaking up on you. Three men on your side are at your back, and have been covering for your efforts as you get every last soul in your care into top form. The heroes holler, and cut down the wave of attackers that tried surrounding you. Blood spurts in arcs in the air. The corridor is hotter than sin. It's swimming with the scent of sweat, dirt, sunlight, honey, and death. You couldn't feel more at home.

The gentleman leaning on you for support is handed of to another, as you roar at the opposition. A few steps forward, and bashing them with the entire breadth of your defense sends two of them flying off their feet from the force behind the motion. Three more stagger behind, them, trying to catch their alljes. With swords in hand, every last enemy nearby attempts to confuse and devastate you. Their numbers are dwindling, and they resort to relying on the attacks still raining from above.

An arrow whizzing through the air clips the side of your shoulder. It's an explosion of light in your eyes. The very sight of someone drawing your blood stirs the cultists present into a frenzy of action.

You won't press on until you're certain the situation at hand is under control. "Let not ONE man or woman here falter!"

The intensity of your desire to protect practically blinds you to anything but the devastation you all wreak on the opposition. There's a flare of light from your shield, that dazes and confuses those stupid enough to try and look directly at you.

Someone falls. Your heart leaps to your throat. With a bellowing cry to the Goddess of Restraint, you shove and force your way through the pack of fighting traitors. It's all towards a blood-slick, downed woman. She's breathing hard, and using a polearm to stab at everyone attempting to kill her while she's down.

Every single figure you shove and toss aside is caught off guard just long enough for your people to mow them down. Passion seizes you. "You are the blades of RIGHTEOUSNESS! WHO ARE WE TO WITHHOLD OUR BLESSINGS?!"

One more shove, as you knock aside a malicious cultist. Shield up in one arm to keep any arrows at bay, you extend an open hand to the fallen figure. Your Relic is in the open palm. "The Father will endure, but my children do NOT have to suffer."

Her eyes are clouding from hate and pain. She has a grotesque gash across her brow. In the same instant she grasps your outstretched hand, you have to crouch and shield her entire figure with your own body and divine defense. Five arrows from archers at the top of the stairs try to shoot straight past your reach, into exposed limbs. Each one is taken hard into your shield arm, with your SIGNIFICANT reach. The assault melts straight down the second each ranged weapon makes impact. The hits don't quite register like a normal shield would. There's a sharp pressure *within*.

(2/4)
>>
>>4573585
The feedback only emboldens you. A cry is given to every last figure who is out of your reach. "Grant our enemies SALVATION!"

The woman who's life you've saved twice in a matter of seconds drags herself to her feet, right along with you. She's doing the church of sincerity proud. It's one of the tenders for your animals, who helped aid the wheelwright during your expedition from Calunoth. She speaks gruffly, from shouting and fighting for what's likely been several hours on end. "Thank you, Father."

You sweep a hand past her brow, below sandy-brown bangs slick with sweat and blood. The gash on her fair face is covered with a gauze of solid gold. "You will heal naturally. Please, do you know if Sister Cardew is safe in the tower keep?"

A quick nod. "She trapped the entire corridor, with the minstrel's aid."

You might be even with your initial bet to James. The sheer amount of gratitude sticking to you is a nearly-lethal distraction. The animal handler's spear swings suddenly to her back, and the thrust impales a former guard that was charging you. At the same time, you throw your back against her and catch three more arrows in your shield.

"We couldn't risk getting her out, Father. There was no Time, but Ser Algrith ensured her safety. She'll be there."

"*Thank you.*"

One more charge. One final push. You barrel towards the stair, as the tide of the battle has shifted entirely in your people's favor. There's no helping the two cultists who try to block you with halberds. Their weapons melt as they contact your shield. Slamming into them grants both figures a concussion, at least. Their collapse to the floor resonates with your rallying cry. "The Gods are MERCIFUL—!"

Your presence would embolden even a priest of Flesh's courage. To have a man present who can heal any wound strengthens the resolve of the fighting force to the point of frenzy. Every single figure you pass is granted relief from their pain. Mended limbs. Restored mobility. They're practically singing praises to the Goddess, and the opposition cannot hope to win. Everyone has pushed through the length of the hall. Multiple men with shields are holding a hard barrier at the entrance to the dungeon with massive shields and spears. You're certain they'll hold the line.

You push for the stairwell, with your destination clear in your mind. It feels impossible to heal everyone here, and some of your men will be nursing their injuries as they hold the prisoner's capture. It will have to do. The rush is made as a break between each and every pillar available for better cover. Clearing away from the crowd brings you to hug the rightmost wall. It's *something* at your back. Pulling away from the pack leads to cries of gratitude pouring for the lives you've saved, and wounds you've repaired. There's so much more you could do, but your people could not be more grateful for even minutes with you on their side.

(3/4)
>>
>>4573587
Your enemy can't hope to take you, and might be hoping to get to the prisoner rather than to give the most powerful man in the city chase. No one comes after you. There's only a few of them left, and you have to trust your people. They'll fight to the last, and you have a long way to go.

The last of the hall is crossed as quickly as you're able. At the top of the stairwell are five archers that have been plaguing you throughout the fight. They all bristle, and move to unleash a massive volley the instant you come into view.

>A] DEFENSE. There isn't a single man here who could overpower you. Crush them under the weight of their sin, use your shield as much as you can, and get moving. You'll try to keep the momentum going as you head through the castle. (A MODERATE ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

>B] RESTRAINT. It will take more out of you, but create shackles or chains for anyone who tries to attack you. It will support your allies, and potentially grant you more prisoners. (A LOW ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

>C] COMPASSION. Stay your hand wherever possible. Use every advantage granted to you in your home, from your allies, and have faith in your Goddess. Enough blood is already being shed. (A HIGH ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

>D] Write-in. (More strategy is strongly encouraged! Please feel free to ask questions about your known abilities while invoking Mercy, or what's available to you en route to the center of the tower keep. Due to how dire your condition is, A ROLL WILL STILL BE REQUIRED.)
>>
>>4573591
>C] COMPASSION. Stay your hand wherever possible. Use every advantage granted to you in your home, from your allies, and have faith in your Goddess. Enough blood is already being shed. (A HIGH ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
YEET
>>
>>4573591
>>A] DEFENSE. There isn't a single man here who could overpower you. Crush them under the weight of their sin, use your shield as much as you can, and get moving. You'll try to keep the momentum going as you head through the castle. (A MODERATE ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

I would rather they die than any of our children, they have suffered enough and these bastards not nearly enough. Mercy would also be the God of schadenfreude, she wont mind.
>>
>>4573591
>C] COMPASSION. Stay your hand wherever possible. Use every advantage granted to you in your home, from your allies, and have faith in your Goddess. Enough blood is already being shed. (A HIGH ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
>>
>>4573620
>>4573593

Not sure if you guys were paying attention but this requires a high roll and we are getting stacking maluses after each prompt.
>>
>>4573623
I am and I thought we'd be able to do it, but now that I'm looking back you might have a point.

>>4573591
>>4573620
Changing to
>A] DEFENSE. There isn't a single man here who could overpower you. Crush them under the weight of their sin, use your shield as much as you can, and get moving. You'll try to keep the momentum going as you head through the castle. (A MODERATE ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
>>
>>4573593
>>4573609
>>4573620
>>4573623
>>4573629
(Great guys. Going to go for the majority vote here but will bear in mind that you do want to be compassionate about things!)

>THE BEST OFFENSE IS A GOOD DEFENSE
>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.

>-55 BROADENED SOUL (This isn't a stretch, or an ache. You're causing some sort of damage on an existential level.)
-16 SLEEP DEPRIVATION (This malus has been, and will continue to slowly worsen until you rest.)
+20 FAITH OF A GODDESS (Mercy loves you to death. The only thing person who's permitted to cause you pain in your home is Her.)
+15 FATHER OF DEFENSE (You were born and bred for this.)
+15 LEADER OF THE CHURCH OF MERCY (You'd like to see anyone out-maneuver you in your own home.)
+15 COMBAT VETERAN (Any attackers heading your way probably has a fraction of the experience you do.)
+20 GREEN DAHLIA (Utilizing your weight as a priest of Agriculture can REALLY come in handy.)

(After all bonuses and maluses, that brings your total modifier to +14.)
>>
Rolled 20 (1d100)

>>4573673
Hey hey people, Yech here.
>>
>>4573673

LET THE BLOOD FLOW LIKE WINE, BLESS THESE DICE.
>>
Rolled 76 (1d100)

>>4573676
>>4573673
I MEANT THESE DICE
>>
Rolled 45 (1d100)

>>4573673
>>
>>4573675
>>4573676
>>4573677
>>4573679
(Let the blood flow indeed. Even with these ridiculous maluses your bo3 comes to an even 90 out of 100! Locking here. May have a few interuptions, but writing now!)
>>
>>4573682
Your declaration booms over the sound of a volley unleashed. "Let blood flow like WINE!"

CHARGING headfirst towards the attack, you take in every arrow released with your shield. The wave of arrows strikes with NOWHERE near enough force to send you staggering backwards. You lean INTO the assault, and grin at your *enemy's* misfortune. They cannot hope to stop you. Momentum is your creed, and the Goddess of schadenfreude is *delighted* to see you make use of Her gifts.

Screams. Your charge up the stairs will not stop for anything, as the shield in hand flares with each attack. The heat of the sun itself begins to char the steps underfoot, and a trail of scorch marks is left behind your movements. The cultists consider abandoning their position a moment too late. You slam the first two bodies you can reach against a nearby wall, and crush their heads and necks onto the stone without hesitation. You won't draw things out. The screams intensify, as you grimace, and turn towards your enemies with blood all over the gold upon your hands. "The Gods are Merciful."

The remaining three attackers turn to run. You continue your charge, and grab one by the back of one archer's collar. Slamming the victim to the floor, and stomping his face in brings death instantly. The scent of charred hair and skin from the heat of Mercy's blessing is all through the air. It catches on the screams that echo up the corridor.

"They can run," you mutter. They can *try* to warn their allies. Your hands are *open* to anyone who wishes to oppose you.

Luck holds out through most of the dungeons. The cultists are likely gathering forces, and launching assaults in an attempt to free your prisoner in waves. The intensity of their efforts raises a lot of questions. What are they so afraid of?

You reach no further opposition while ascending through the many dark corridors, narrow stairs, and past the destroyed table in your makeshift meeting room. The ache in your soul has pushed through into something significantly worse, and is almost all you can think about. It's a haze of ecstasy, and a deep level of *borderline* satisfaction. You still want more. Stopping now is unthinkable. The urge to groan, or shift, or to do something to *exacerbate* the sensation is hard to resist. Words like 'overstuffed' come to mind. 'Stretched.' It's the lingering sensation of the Goddess of excess, in ways that no other man has likely felt Agriculture before. It's like the impression and vision of the Goddess of knowledge, long after Spirit's sight left you. It's the touch of nightmares with waking eyes, and the complete embrace of Dream. You're wrapped up in and practically *overflowing* with the intensity of Mercy's emotion, and the suffering of all the world.

(1/3)
>>
>>4573731
You stopped walking at some point, to clutch against a stone wall, and to breathe hard. To try and stay grounded. To remember the world, and all the life on it.

Breathe.

It helps. The cold reminder of your home's deep, *tangible* walls is an additional measure of support. Of protection. You're going to use as little force as necessary, if you can help it. A nearby, narrow, discreet corridor is used to circumvent the main hallways that connect to the deepest portions of the tower keep. You have to turn a little sideways at times to really fit. The concept of how hard your heart must be working to support your body puts a *thrill* through you. But Mercy won't let your health come to any harm. She's seen to it that every last wound on you is mended— inside, and out.

Your vision is swimming. Your breath is erratic. Your senses are frayed from such prolonged sleep deprivation. It's *perfect.* Nothing is going to stop you. Not when the Gods Themselves will still see you stay on your feet.

Emerging from the hidden corridor brings you out to the level Sister Cardew should be occupying in the castle. You want to laugh, if it wouldn't give away your position. Nine old guards (obviously associated with Inertia, given their complete complacency about the security of your castle,) are quietly talking amidst themselves at the start of the hall. There's a narrow stairwell leading up to their position. Thanks to all the light in your eyes, you can clearly make out everyone standing with swords, shields, maces, spears, and more armor than their class or position rates. You're not being pretentious. Most of the metal is worth more than gold, thanks to its scarcity. Most intact armor in the country is dedicated only to clergymen.

Your armory has likely been ransacked. That's fine. You don't need any mundane defenses.

The breadth of the light and heat underhand complies, as you will Mercy's blessed defense into a tower shield. It's something you've seen in the ruins, and actually have to laugh at its efficiency. The sound alerts every man at the top of the stairs, and they are given no Time to react.

Storming up the stairwell with a wall of solid light and over 300 pounds of force behind it is terrifying enough to make your enemies take a few steps back. They take *only* a few steps back. There's a split second to react to why.

Behind the gaggle of former guards is a long hallway. It's flanked on each side by several open doorways, which you know are repurposed into the beginnings of Eadric's first library. At the end of the long hall is a single door. It's plastered with warning signs and elaborate instructions on how to disengage the traps leading up and into the room (if it is REALLY so important to see Sister Cardew). What's in-between is the cause for alarm.

(2/3)
>>
>>4573733
At least one hundred different sadistic devices have been perilously rigged in the hallway by thin bits of white string. Klepto has a magnificent sense of humor, and has guarded your priestess with the most convoluted and twisted series of torturous gadgets he could put together at a moment's notice. Serrated wheels made of blades are propped up in ramps, that will no doubt collapse and devastate anyone who approaches them. Hundreds of ball bearings and marbles are slick with grease and what are likely explosive liquids. Flame is perilously close to many of the threads and blackened fire-starters. Their mechanism will surely release more of the contraptions. There's a ticking sound somewhere that sets your nerves on end. The sound of a dripping liquid catches on the guard's shouts. The scent of tar, alcohol, and rot is on the air, all through the spots of light and gold dancing before your eyes.

It all registers in less than a second, and you are not about to grind to a halt and try to read Sister Cardew's instructions. Not when nine killers are at your Mercy. Not when the violent, paranoid, unhinged, psychotically protective, skilled, and *blessed* heathens in your company call themselves your friend.

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

>A] Barrel into the group, and push them all into the hallway. Let havoc reign, and pray that you can back up in Time. At the very least, you hope to survive the onslaught.

>B] Screech to a halt, and use EVERY trick in the book (WRITE-INS MAY HELP ENORMOUSLY) to try and get these men to…
>1] Leave with their lives intact. You are the Father of Compassion, after all.
>2] Assist you with disarming the hallway. You would be happy to have them go first, if they're so eager to see your priestess.

>C] Screech to a halt, back up, and lure the guards away from the traps. Fight them on the stair, and get back to the corridor leading up to this death zone. You want to actually investigate the traps James made, and it will be impossible if these ruffians set them off.

>D] Write-in.
>>
File: Spoiler Image (364 KB, 600x536)
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(At a voter's request, made a meme edit for Ozzy and Adwin tonight. Hope you all are having a wonderful evening. Probably won't be able to write again tonight, so I'll be back in the morning!)
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>>4573739
B1; All eyes are on us, so blind them with Mercy's light, so they may see the folly of their ways. Their sight shall repay their fall from faith, and their theft from Mercy's armory. We shall pray for them, and hope they seek to repent after this day.
>>
>>4574185
+1
>>
>>4573739

>>A] Barrel into the group, and push them all into the hallway. Let havoc reign, and pray that you can back up in Time. At the very least, you hope to survive the onslaught.

Can't let good traps go to waste. Try to use the cultists themselves as shields against the traps after we barrel into them.

>>4574185
>>4574224

We are running on borrowed time. The city itself is burning and I am pretty sure our soul is about to pop in 3 more posts, we don't have the time to sit around and try to convert people that are obviously past the point of redemption, so much so that they would rather willingly become demons. Fuck em and the horse they rode in on, we are at war and we shouldn't negotiate with terrorists.
>>
>>4574185
>>4574224
>>4574243
(Thanks for the participation and votes lads! Low-key I spent half the night updating all of the timelines with the most up-to-date art, and completed the one for the Atonement arc. It spans from threads 20-21. All of the imgur and Google Drive is now 100% caught up, just be advised that due to the height of the final image the imgur one is very compressed. Posting the cropped one here for the highest resolution. I'll update tomorrow afternoon at the latest, vote will remain open until then!)
>>
>>4574224
>>4574243
i thought it was B) for bowling, but thats what i get for skimming the prompts.
changing vote to B)ased.
>>
>>4574259
bA)sed*
>>
>>4574243
Not trying to convert, just disable them in a timely fashion. Faith is always a personal matter, and if they want to atone after they're blinded, that's on them.

The main reason why I wanted to blind them is to preserve the traps for later, as I'd rather rest properly knowing we have some measure of security rather than wasting it killing guards that can be easily dealt with. After all, who'd be crazy enough to try and pass a bunch of traps blind? :^)
>>
>>4573739
B)ased
>Leaving with their lives intact
does not imply being able to move , nor does it mean concious and with all of your limbs.

I suggest trying to convince them to leave , if we are not able , have them go i first , and after they disable the most dangerous trap , disable the heathens one by one using the things at your disposition.
>>
>>4574394

My man they are in the middle of an active coup. How are you going to convince them to go in first? Do you really think they are up for a chat when we are caked in the blood of their friends? WHERE would they even go? Just get rid of them and get Cardew and James out.
>>
>A] Barrel into the group, and push them all into the hallway. Let havoc reign, and pray that you can back up in Time. At the very least, you hope to survive the onslaught.

don't loot my shit
>>
>>4574185
>>4574224
>>4574243
>>4574259
>>4574261
>>4574295
>>4574394
>>4574540
>>4574545
(VERY strong justification on both sides. I'm going to lean towards the majority for A but will do my best to implement as much as I can (even if not in this post, then at a later time too!) You all are the best. Vote is locked. Will post the deets for the roll shortly.)
>>
>>4574185
>>4574224
>>4574243
>>4574259
>>4574261
>>4574295
>>4574394
>>4574540
>>4574545
>TRAPS OF ATONEMENT
>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.

>-60 BROADENED SOUL (At this point you're getting scared.)
>-18 SLEEP DEPRIVATION (This malus will continue to slowly worsen until you rest, which you *intend* to do.)
>+20 FAITH OF A GODDESS (Mercy could not be more eager to aid you in this cause.)
>+20 GREEN DAHLIA (Using your bulk to your advantage will greatly compensate for being a larger target.)
>+15 COMBAT VETERAN (Your reflexes and experience will greatly aid in evading danger.)
>+10 PRIEST OF VENGEANCE (You are not getting mad. You're getting even.)
>+10 PRIEST OF TIME (Opting for the fastest possible resolution to this situation is incredibly respectful in the eyes of the Goddess of the Sands.)
>+5 BLASPHEMOUS CONGREGATION (You've heard enough stories and been around Klepto for long enough to know a thing or two about how he works.)

(All maluses and bonuses combined comes out to a +2 to your roll.)
>>
Rolled 89 (1d100)

>>4574573

LORD, HELP US YEET THESE SHITTIES. FUCK EM, IN YOUR NAME.
>>
Rolled 72 (1d100)

>>4574573
Ancient spirits of discord, transform this decayed form to DICE-RA, THE HIGH-ROLLING!
>>
Rolled 4 (1d100)

>>
>>4574600
I would like to sincerely apologize for this roll
>>
>>4574602
It is because you didn't pray to our dice god Yech! You must adjust this immediately!
>>
>>4574603
How much is Yech against genocides.
>>
>>4574579
>>4574583
>>4574600
>>4574602
>>4574603
(Bo3 is 91!! Very nice guys. And Brother Murder there's no need for apology, for this is a quest of Mercy and all rolls are beloved.

Lol. Mobile for the last day this week, will be back home for normal sessions starting tonight. Also found out I get an extra day off next week! Ready yourselves lads. Writing now.)
>>
>>4574614

Barely, he is more worried about wine and dice.
>>
File: 13Archdemon Yech-2.png (4.89 MB, 2000x1412)
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>>4574614
(He is genocide incarnate my man. Your guys outdated journal has entries on your expedition into the ruins. Here's the bonelord's entry. :) In our timeline for Atonement there's also an entry on him at the very start for thread 20.)
>>
>>4574623
Shit , now I realized that Yech is a very fine gentleman , I might have to change faiths .
>>
>>4574628

WE WELCOME YOU WITH OPEN ARMS. LET THE WINE FLOW IN YOUR HONOR!
>>
>>4574617
https://youtu.be/NOoMgtZGMJI

Your heart goes out to your family and friends. Theft must be paid back in full— and these heathens have robbed yours and Mercy's armory. Not even the luck you had gambling with your best friend could will save you from the peril ahead in your current condition, but you know your congregation well enough by now. There is a Time for negotiation, and it is not now. You've seen enough of torture, death, and treason to know how to handle this in a *Timely* fashion.

The charge is unrelenting. Every guard shouts, and readies their weapons to slaughter you. In the same instant, you cry to your Goddess. Holy light blasts forth from your shield, with enough intensity and brightness to blind every single man staring straight at you. Their screams are deafening.

It's hard to pin exactly what is causing the excruciating, tender, and deep-seated push on your soul, but fear that it will outright pop crosses your mind. The thought is discarded the instant you collide with over half a dozen crying and despairing heathens.

The shield is discarded. It puffs into the air. Particles of golden sunlight persist in its wake, while you grab one guard in a chokehold. He's used to bash and batter three of his fellow traitors straight into the traps ahead. As the rest are dazed and confused, you focus your efforts on taking a step back.

Every sinner present acts as a human barrier between you and chaos. The instant one of the guards sets foot in the hall, a pressure-sensitive plate under the floor sinks in. The ticking sound in the wall abruptly stops. The rightmost side of the hallway cracks, and shatters as a series of explosives detonate. Two men at the front are reduced to a mist of gore and blood. The spray of their innards trips several more wires.

The blended remains of both guards was Mercy. Their compatriot had his right arm torn clean off, and most of his face, but he's still alive. Shock might be delaying his pain, as he remains standing in a daze. There's barking from the door at the opposite end of the corridor. Ray must be with Harriet. The first trap served as a brutal first line of defense, and an *alarm* system. She's guarded by at least two strong measures of defense, and you're re-emboldened.

One of the guards with a polearm blindly attempting to stab you. You shove your human shield away, and effortlessly sweep the attacker's legs out from under him. As he falls, you catch his entire weight, and push him with all but one of the rest of the guards into what looks like the most complex and lethal of the contraptions. All of the motion and preparation distracts you from something at your back.

(1/4 while mobile strap in)
>>
>>4574800
Behind you— above the door— are a series of rocks that were connected to a separate trigger. The jostling of stone is so familiar, you recognize the threat just in the nick of time. Stepping forward to evade catastrophic head injury still gets you clipped by the small avalanche. A few abrasions and bruises are nothing short of a blessing.

The countless, jagged bits of rubble and stone creates a deafening roar. Their collapse sends silt and dirt up into the air. It clouds your view at the exit, and severely blocks the way out. This all happens as every last one of the saw blades are released, and barrel towards you and the former guards. The meat shields save your life. Two men in front of you scream as the rotating metal careens from their original height, and cuts right into them. The heretics' armor, bulk, and thrashing to resist certain death slows and stops the blades before they can reach you. Both men are sliced through their abdomen, and fall dead seconds later.

Meanwhile, the men who were pushed into the hall are trapped in a series of devices so macabre, you can scarcely process what's happening. A network of wire that has been coated in metal barbs has trapped the armless figure deep within the corridor. His writhing is cutting him to ribbons, and a sticky substance has dropped onto the floor to slow everyone's progress. Calm movement would be nearly impossible. A number of marble and ball bearings drop along with the mess, coated in resin— just as one of the torches is released from the wall.

You shove the last guard you've been using for defense forward, manifest your shield, and brace for impact. A roar of flame captures the front half of the hall. Thick, jagged shards of glass crash down at the same time from the opposite direction, pushing the men present further into the flame. Those who haven't been completely butchered are losing their minds.

Several minutes pass by. You don't waste a second. You would rather preserve a few traps for personal security, remain completely on the level through this insanity, and are intelligent enough to not proceed through this passage blind. As the flame dies down against the stone and suffocatingly hot passage, you inch forward with your shield, and sweep a nearby corpse up. With a grunt, you hurl the body as far down the passage as you're able. You train with tree trunks and boulders, and send him farther than you expected. The body sails halfway down the hall, and lands without triggering anything along the way.

(2/4)
>>
>>4574802
There's still myriad wires, threads, baubles, and strange devices all over the walls, ceiling, floor, and everything in-between. You call out to the poor bastard without an arm, who's *quietly* screaming as he extracts himself from the last of the barbed wire. "Repayment for your fall from faith has been made in full. I don't have Time to sit around and negotiate with heathens who would *voluntarily* become demons. Your faith is in your hands. Traitor, would you BLINDLY seek atonement?!"

He's crazy enough to stagger a few steps forward, and collapses to the floor from pain and exhaustion. Another series of rocks that drops from the ceiling. You could swear you see the man's form relax a second before the impact. A few dozen large rocks cave his head in, and bury all the rest of his ravaged body.

Everyone is dead, and there's still peril between you and the end of the hall. Caution beyond caution, and two corpses are used for defense as you proceed ahead. Your size makes the process tedious to an extreme, but it actually better serves to increase your deliberation in every movement.

Not a single further trap is triggered, by the time you cross three-quarters of the way into the corridor. The pile of rocks are used to toss and test a safe path through the rest of the hallway. It's sufficient, though the venture surely took over half an hour. You couldn't be more relieved to have had Mercy's additional measures of defense. The scent of charred skin and hair is hot in the hall, even at its end.

Every sign posted on the door contains actual instructions on how to disarm the traps. It seems Sister Cardew doesn't fear anyone intelligent enough to take their Time to read and follow her directions.

You gladly skim it, and confirm that the door to her chambers is *almost* safe. There's a request for a code word, to gain admittance. She has a wholesome sense of humor, and you gladly oblige. After sweeping off one sheet of parchment from the small stack tacked to the door, some of the cultist's blood on your hands is used to write out 'wine and spirits.' It would deter any humanoid demons from attempting written communication. Your calligraphy is borderline illegible when finger-painted, but you slip the note under her door all the same.

At least ten locks are immediately unfastened from the other side of the door, over nonstop barking from your boy. A muffled, level tone tries to mask what you know is the weary scholar's worry. "Richard. Step back."

(3/4)
>>
>>4574805
The entrance swings open. You preemptively brace yourself for Ray to tackle you, and give him a few commands to stay down just to be safe. Harriet's and Walter's bedroom has been repurposed into a war room, and a shelter for siege. All the provisions from the tower keep have been relocated here. The clean, untainted supplies are stacked to the ceiling, and shoved against the farmost wall. The few small tables and chairs are packed with letters of correspondence, maps of the country, and drafts for what's likely war strategy. The only window is boarded shut, and trapped with some malicious blades device. Their bed is made, and four others are present as well. One is mussed with blood and dirt. It's likely from the other company here. Your dog, priestess, and minstrel are all present and accounted for.

James was poised by the door with a dagger raised, but lowered it the second he saw your entry. The middle-aged minstrel is far from speechless. Blood is caked on him, from the deep maroon of his striped sleeves, to a handprint on his bright red codpiece. He's likely been emphasizing his combative superiority with or without weapons, given that every inch of gold he's wearing (as an open symbol of allegiance) is muddied or dirtied in some capacity. That said, he looks remarkably well rested. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he's been taking it so easy since leaving the dungeons out of the expectation that something like this would happen. He's so impressed, he simply stands back, and slowly claps.

You resist the urge to bow, and have to see to your boy. Ray is too well behaved to disobey an order to stay. The mastiff sits and whines incessantly. He's shaking hard, ears back, and tail down. He's terrified of thunder. Between Storm's visit all through the night, the earlier quake of the castle, and the explosives in the hall, his nerves are shot. You instantly kneel beside him, and sweep your boy into a hug. All the praise and reassurance in the world falls from you as you try to make sure that everyone else is alright.

Sister Cardew is staring at you with the thinnest line you've ever seen her lips in. It's rare for her to ever have to think for more than a few seconds before speaking, so this is cause for alarm. Shawls, gauze, and white thread looks as if it's all she is. The petite mother-to-be looks uninjured, though, and that's more than you could ask for.

About three seconds have passed, and you all start talking at once. Sister Cardew sweeps you into a hug, though her tone remains as neutral (as always). "Richard. You came straight here. Thank the Goddess. Walter and I have been putting everything in motion." A pause. "Mercy. This is *significantly* more weight, and— you need to let me know what's happened—"

(Paragraphs put it just over 4/5)
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>>4574810
James couldn't be more delighted. "Well I'll be damned. You actually made it through." He peeks his head around the door, and whistles. "I thought it would take out at least fifteen in the first go. Didn't expect anyone to go deeper! You wonderful, sick fuck, yooouu. Maaag-nif-i-cent."

The group hug is magnificent even without James participating. Ray is calming down a good deal already, as you ruffle his ears, and keep your tone light to help ease his nerves. "I am *so* glad to see you all are alright— but there is absolutely no Time—"

Ray repeatedly licks your face. James makes a show of skipping and hopping past you. He does a cartwheel through the traps at the entry, and a few more utterly unecessary skips through all the rest. You resist the urge to politely clap. The minstrel calls out to you, "I'll rig the rest. Go on." A tip of his hat. The feather is drooping from how much blood is on it. "I'll juggle any idiots who try following the noise."

>A] There's no fucking Time. Propose that you and Sister Cardew ally through your Relic.
>1] Explanations can wait. She knows this is long overdue.
>2] You have sworn up and down to treat this woman with all the same respect she shows you. Remind her of everything you've been through together.

>B] Try to respect Harriet's most firmly held belief. She has been born and raised by the Church of Spirit, and respects her Goddess above all others. Try to talk to her respectfully about why she refuses to invoke, before you do anything else.

>C] Collapse on the best bed in the room, and implore your friends to grant you however much rest you can safely afford. You'll talk after you take advantage of this incredible opportunity for recovery.

>D] There's ALWAYS Time for your friends. Fight to stay awake, and try to catch up with them and all they've done on your behalf. Hearing what's going on with Walter and all this business is extremely important. Stay in low-energy mode, and look after yourself while your friends talk and work.

>E] Write-in.
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>>4574811
>>A] There's no fucking Time. Propose that you and Sister Cardew ally through your Relic.
>>1] Explanations can wait. She knows this is long overdue.

Everything is on fire, there are tunnels under my city and cultists are kicking down the gate. TIME TO SHIFT INTO MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE.

>D] There's ALWAYS Time for your friends. Fight to stay awake, and try to catch up with them and all they've done on your behalf. Hearing what's going on with Walter and all this business is extremely important. Stay in low-energy mode, and look after yourself while your friends talk and work.

Get a summary of everything they know and have planner, get in and out of here as soon as possible, people still need us on the outside and Adwin isn't accounted for.
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>>4574823
+1
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>>4574824

Strongly opposing resting, there is not time and the exhaustion modifier isn't that bad, the soulache is what's holding us back the most. The sooner we get everything set up the sooner we can drop invocations.
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>>4574835
Yeah I removed it , since I originally thought we can fix ourselves by resting , then after re reading I changed my vote
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>>4574842

Fair enough, shit is kinda crazy rn. Don't blame you for having to re read.
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>>4574823
>>4574834
>>4574835
>>4574842
(Hey guys just to be clear, you do not know how to fix the soul ache modifier. You know that invoking is making it worse, but that's it. Rest was strongly recommended by Dream Himself to help you, Mercy told you to take better care of yourself (with regular exercise, diet, and sleep) and Agriculture encouraged you to indulge in whatever you can, whenever you can. You also can ask your priestess of research about her theories, or see if James has any thoughts.

Again, for clarity: the ONLY thing you know about the soul malus is that continually pushing yourself is making it worse. Whether or not sleep or rest will mend it is uncertain.
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>>4574843
Whie I enjoy experimenting , now is not the time , let's leave research for later ?
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>>4574852
What research?
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>>4574854
Working with the chick to check how to fix soul ache
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>>4574861

That's not what we are doing anon, we allying with her so we can combine our strengths, it has nothing to do with our soulache.
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>>4574823
I'm opposing all of this. We need to rest, not fight a war single handily. We were worried about our soul poping before, and I'm not about to have it pop when we are needed most. Adwin can take care of himself, whether it be changing his form or literally flying is up to him, and I trust him to come back.

We are resting now.

>C] Collapse on the best bed in the room, and implore your friends to grant you however much rest you can safely afford. You'll talk after you take advantage of this incredible opportunity for recovery.
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>>4574811
>C)
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>>4574882

We are not fighting a war single handily, we are trying to organize all of our people into an effective fighting force and literally get cultists off their ass. We can rest all you want but it wont make the malus go away fully and it will sure as hell not help anyone outside. We can rest after we make sure everyone is not currently in immediate danger and that they organize a proper defense. You wont have your soul pop when you are needed most but taking a nap while our guys are holding off an army is fine? Adwin cannot take care of himself, we couldn't even tell him about the prisoner without risking his mental well being and you think he will be fine in an active siege? If he turns in the middle of our choir or who knows what else happens there wont be any amount of invoking that will save us from that damage. No naps during war anon, peoples lives are at stake.
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>>4574890
We haven't slept properly in a week, and I doubt we are in any mental state state fit to leading and organizing our forces at the moment. We've been pushing body, soul, and faith to the limit, and any amount of rest will help limit the malus in a tangible way. Frankly, it's a miracle we're still on our feet. We keep pushing it, and our soul will pop, and then winning the siege is meaningless. Adwin is capable of taking care of himself, and has chosen flight instead of fight before, and even if he's forced to fight, I'll feel sorry for the man who has to face him.

Face it, we need to rest and we need it now.
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>>4574903

We have done more complicated things in conditions that were way worse. We aren't organizing our forces, we are giving them enough room to breathe so they can do it themselves after we pass out. Get Adwin to the war room and then we can sleep or whatever, get the last few vulnerable people out of trouble and free up the Nye brothers. That will conclude all of the urgent matters and allow everyone else to do their thing. After we help them we can drop the invocations which will stop the soul ache from getting worse. We are so close to reaching a modicum of stability stopping now would be an absolute waste of time and effort.
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>>4574920
We are not close to reaching a modicum of stability. We are doing damage to our very soul, in ways only demons know of. Coordinating the defense, finding and securing Adwin, and freeing up the Nye brothers will take more than 3 posts, and we have nothing else to give that won't cause us problems in the future. We've reach our limit for the moment, and are at risk at burning out our soul.

We're exhausted, and more of a burden than help at this point. We need to rest, with a prayer to Dream, so we can get back into the fight with better results for our efforts.
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>>4574940

How are we a burden? We literally aided everyone just on our way here, Agri gave us the gift of self awareness so our faculties aren't so affected as to not be able to coordinate war efforts which is something we are already pretty good at. We are close to reaching a modicum of stability because we would be clearing out our base of operations, how is that not stability? I know we are doing damage to our soul even if I don't know what that demon comparison was supposed to mean, but Adwin and the Nye brothers are in the same place if the previous prompts are still valid. It would be one more big action before we can drop our invocation and settle down for planning or rest. I am also not sure what you wanted to say with "we have nothing else to give", we are literally blessed by the gods and most of the bonuses to those rolls aren't from invoking, we are incredibly capable even when not using the gods.
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>>4574951
We may have been gifted with self-awareness, but we sure as shit aren't using it. We're tired, and are propped up by our faith and divine intervention. Without Mercy, hell, without all the Gods we'd be as useful to our church as our dead clergy members, and that in of itself is a problem. There won't be any big action without tearing our soul apart at it's core, and I have faith that Adwin and our congregation of Flesh will survive our absence a bit longer.

We need to rest, and there are no buts to it.
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>>4574966

It's obvious no one is going to change his mind so I will agree to disagree.
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>>4574970
That's fine, disagreement is healthy. :^)
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>>4574951
Just to clarify the demon comparison, Idonea'a Catalyst was her children, and just because we may be resistant to our Catalyst, it may not make us immune. Just like our revelation with our poison resistance.
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>>4574811
>C] Collapse on the best bed in the room, and implore your friends to grant you however much rest you can safely afford. You'll talk after you take advantage of this incredible opportunity for recovery.

The soul is sacred.
>>
(Absolutely love the discussion guys, thank you for keeping it civil. I'm at work for one more hour, but when I'm home I'll be off for the rest of the weekend and we can get this crazy train running at full steam ahead! Vote will remain open until then.)
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>>4574823
>>4574834
>>4574835
>>4574842
>>4574843
>>4574852
>>4574854
>>4574861
>>4574865
>>4574882
>>4574884
>>4574890
>>4574903
>>4574920
>>4574940
>>4574951
>>4574966
>>4574970
>>4574973
>>4574980
>>4574984
(Phenomenal discussion dudes. I'm seriously pretty shook by how active this thread has been, and I appreciate all of you guys so much. Thanks for the wonderful feedback. This is all SERIOUSLY invaluable, even if it doesn't get instantly implemented.

We're going to lean towards the majority for C for your immediate action, bearing all opposition and other plans in mind. I'm going to work to incorporate as much of this as possible, and have noted the other things you guys want to immediately address as well!

I'm off of work all the way through Monday. Let's get this show on the road! Vote is locked. Writing now!)
>>
(Thank you all kindly for your extreme patience. I had a lot to work with, and the post is kind of a monster. 8 parts if I'm not mistaken. Making some nice pics to accompany it for some visual relief, will post shortly!)
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>>4575111
https://youtu.be/rwLzHNfl0WQ

Everything is on fire. There are tunnels over your city, cultists kicking down the gate, a critical lack of information, and one thousand assumptions. You do not want to be a coward. Your family is in danger, and you have done more complicated things in worse conditions. There's no fucking Time for anything. Research can wait. The sooner you have a base of operations set up, the sooner you can stop invoking. Still, you were blessed with improved self-awareness, and know the following:
Your behavior in the ruins drove Celegwen away from your life forever, and made Ofelia never want to speak with you again.
The nightmare you had this afternoon centered around how driving yourself into an early grave continuously pushes away the people who want to help you.
THREE Gods have implored you to look after yourself in order to better help your family in just this last week. There's precedence for this, too.
It currently feels like you're experiencing a pain worse than death, even in the hold of the very Goddess of comfort.
There is no conceivable way you can function right now without the Gods.

Devastated, miserable laughter falls from you as you get to your feet. Staggering to the king-sized bed in the room feels like a death march. Sister Cardew could not look more worried. It's fine. You collapse face-first on the mattress. It feels as if Mercy cuddles up beside you. Your arms snake around a pillow. A bitter realization falls from your lips. "This is a divine intervention."

It's hideously clever, but not even Sister Cardew can find any humor in it. Ray continues whining, until you mutter for him to get up if he likes. He climbs into the bed right beside you, which is now groaning from the sheer amount of weight on it. You don't care.

A horrified, "ah," escapes from your counselor. She immediately sits next to you. "Whatever you've been through would have no doubt killed lesser men. Get some rest. You have good people here. We will see to the keep. They won't let it fall in a matter of minutes."

It feels like crying would be appropriate. Addiction might as well be your middle name, and cutting yourself off from work is a new kind of agony that you can take no pleasure in. "Please wake me the instant you see fit to do so. Blessed be the night, Sister Cardew."

A hundred prayers to Dream are uttered. You force yourself to roll over, and groan from the agony of even one more instant of the stretch within.

"We'll catch you up the instant you're awake. Blessed be the Dream, Richard. Sleep well."

(1/8)
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>>4575359
The damage to your soul is something only demons know of. A deep burn is all through you.

Idonea's Catalyst was the love she held for her children.

You clutch at your stomach and sides. The pressure in you is unbearable.

Sprouting wings did not take Adwin away from danger. He fell at the first sign of you being there to catch him.
You both want to lean on each other.
You're terrified that he can't even take care of himself.

Your soul is sacred, and yet you have taken pleasure in over-extending it. You've always exceeded reasonable limits, but this is so much worse.

You want more.
Just one more thing.
One more action.
One more fight.
One more demon.
One more invocation.

The pain is insufferable, and perfect. It's deeper than anything you can touch. You only have two hands, and want to touch so much more than the swell within you. It outclasses the bloat you witnessed on any corpse this week.

The excess is better. Why should you change a thing? Your innermost pain is healthy. It is the conflict, the agony, and all of the turmoil that you love.

You'll take more.
And more.

And burst.
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>>4575361

-----

Violently sitting upright— gasping for air— you have to bite down a scream the second you wake up. The side of your hand is used to try and muffle the cry. There's pain through you on a level you almost didn't think possible. Your memory is violently jerked back to having your back flayed in pitch-black cell. It's a fine comparison to the push within you. The pain is in a perfect mirror of what you felt in your nightmare.

Fear is hot and fast on you that you're going to die.

It's been eight years since you initially prayed to Dream to make the nightly terrors stop. It's no surprise for them to come back in full force.

It feels perfect, and you grab the pillow at your back to scream into.

You can't breathe. You still are having trouble breathing, and can't totally register what's going on.

Exquisite agony—

Someone sits down beside you. The panic and pleasure is stilled in an instant. Horror and a cold sweat intermingles with several long moments of waiting for the pain to die down.

The figure is so light, it has to be Sister Cardew. The borderline immaterial scholar quietly eventually replaced the pillow in your hands with a glass of water. It's cold, and real. Condensation drips against your violently shaking fingers. It's a chill up your spine. A reminder of reality. The priestess quietly reminds you, "take a few deep breaths. You're awake. It's alright, Richard. Only James and Ray are here with us."

The memory of everything you need to do has you choke through several ragged gasps. There's no Time for this. The moment your breath levels, the water is kicked back, and you force your eyes to adjust. There's no gold. No green, save for what's permanently persisting across your irises and pupils. A mad stare goes to your priestess. "Thank you. How long—"

She's visibly sweating, though her face is completely inscrutable. "Two hours."

"What's wrong—"

The three veils she's wearing shakes with her head. "You're having nightmares again?"

"Dream came to me again."

"You voluntarily...?"

"Yes." Deep breaths. You ARE awake. Your mind may have been playing tricks on you. Maybe not. Harriet stops sweating, and you realize that the pain is dying down by the second. "A blessing."

"I never thought I would see you lay down like that without someone putting a sword to your throat. I never should have left you alone with Father Pevrel."

"There's no Time for this, and explanations can wait—"

The glass is gently taken from your hands. You were clutching onto it so tightly, it's a miracle that it didn't break. Sister Cardew gently takes both of your hands in her own. "They can't. You wanted a report." An unhappy smirk flashes at you.

(3/8)
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>>4575362
It's not that your eyes are playing tricks on you. The room is pitch black— likely to preserve candles and oil on hand. You can feel Ray sleeping at your feet. The thunder may have stopped him from resting the night before. Your heart is already aching. James can be seen perched on a chair just a few feet away. He's not paying you or Harriet any mind, while working at some combination of vials that smell like hard liquor.

The scent of death, blood, and clove is still all over you. Every pained breath is myrrh, and thyme, and agony. The ache in your chest is unrelenting.

"I would normally give you a moment, but you need to hear this. Please just listen to me. Focus on my voice, alright?"

"Alright."

"I sent your confession with Brother Holloway. He's honor-bound to let no man read it other than Father Pevrel. On his return to the capital, he intentionally avoided running into him. There is a real risk that every church has been compromised by this conspiracy."

She pauses. "This is a lot."

"Yes."

"I'm sick of insulting you by obscuring information."

"Good."

"You can handle it."

https://youtu.be/SCPrywzCQIM

"Clearly."

"You're willing to take the Time to listen?"

"It is fine. Go on, then."

"Holloway is directly under the King's employ, and will discreetly requisition as many forces from the capital as humanly possible. Your open communication with King Magnus will ensure that he trusts your allies word over the local populace— particularly regarding the affair with your clergy."

She takes a deep breath, and squeezes your hands even tighter. "There has been no word from any of your clergy that are in Father Pevrel's company. The presence of the Church of Vengeance here in Eadric will aid enormously with quelling this initial surge of violence. Still, you MUST NOT let Father Pevrel dictate how you lead your city. I can tell that he's already attempted to exact his sick brand of judgement on you. Breathe with me."

You do.

"Your allies survived the ruins without the Gods. They made it for MONTHS in Calunoth with the King exerting ALL of his power to capture them. They've taken on demons with mundane weapons. Adwin is over one thousand years old. Trust them and me, and look at me, Richard."

It hurts to breathe, but you manage. Your priestess is incredibly vindictive when it comes down to it, and she's shaking with righteousness. "I'm so proud of you. I trusted you to handle the affairs of your castle. Even without mine and Walter's counsel. It's been a long week. We started it without anyone being comfortable leaving you to your own devices. We've done EVERYTHING in our power to compensate for the lack of hands here. Your clergy rooted out the local bases for Inertia. Irefist identified a number of questionable locations in and around the city's outskirts. Help is on its way."

(4/8)
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>>4575363
This is the most you've ever heard your priestess talk in all the months you've known her. She's showing no sign of stopping. Your breath is a lot more level. Being treated how your station warrants is a little overwhelming, but it's refreshing to simply listen.

"I have been investigating Inertia's activity from the first night you and Cyril went out in Calunoth. Chesty gave me ample counsel, which we will discuss when there is more Time. I trust his work with Serpent will be fortuitous. Their lack of correspondence IS helpful. We know with certainty that Wearmoor is involved in all this, and have prepared accordingly for obstruction of supply. Walter has supplemented my efforts while we were on the road, of course, given how often we came under attack. The next few weeks will be trying, but we will endure. We will be stronger for it." A rare smile. "I have not tolerated your company for anything less."

"You're never going to let me live that down."

"Never." Her lighter expression drops as soon as it came. "Not so long as you live. You look ill. Most of this isn't your blood, but Mercy has healed you thoroughly enough to mask where the rest came from."

"We can talk about it— we can talk about this later. What of Walter?"

"Walter is staying outside of the castle, to support Claymore's and Spangle's efforts in retaking the city."

The spike in your heart rate might kill you. "Retaking—?!"

"From the heads of families, the elders, the political enemies you have made. Calm down. I'm trying to respect you enough to give you more information for once, Richard. Don't insult me. You're smarter than this. There's been no loss of power. It will take infinitely more than one temper tantrum from a bunch of heathens to threaten the theocracy. Speaking of which: James!"

The clown peeks his head up from his work. "Do you have any idea how sensitive this is? The fuck you want, Cashew?"

She mimics his tone perfectly. "Do you have any idea how sensitive HE is?"

You blink at how disarming the imitation is, and recall the young woman disguising herself as a man in the capital on multiple occasions. You never asked why. She probably has more skills than you're aware of.

She drops the accent and impression. "Come here. Please inform Richard of the pertinent activity you're aware of within the castle, as quickly as you're able. Don't make me repeat myself or call on any favors you owe him."

The nastiest, most nasal mimicry of her own voice is assumed, as he saunters over. "Walter's working with Claymore to put out the metaphorical fires country-wide. Both of them were already launching a covert operation to intimidate the ever-loving fuck out of your enemies here in the city as of... yesterday?"

You recall the bloody mask of an Inertia member that was left on your guard's hearth. "It feels like a week ago, but yes."

(5/8)
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>>4575364
"It's been brutally effective, in combination with your own efforts and Pevrel's twisted shit. While they're working, Spangle is helping to slow down and repress any violent opposition. The girl's sharp, and has all of Electrum's resources. The fires are her doing. Pulling away Pevrel's men if they get too zealous with the locals, and took down the worst of the hideouts that were found. Nasty stuff. Sticks to the skin. Not a demon in sight, for how fast she got the job done. Taught me a few things!"

A grand gesture, and sadistic laughter towards the vials at the other side of the room. "Guess who's having more fun than ANYONE?!" His laughter intensifies. "I've been giving the real fools here in your castle the run around. Yet no one seemed to take your precious little spinster seriously. Except Harvey. How is he, by the way? Thought I heard him laughing a few hours back."

You breathe a sigh of relief. "He was fighting fit when we parted ways."

"Guy could scare a demon. Anyways. After I trapped every weakness in the building that Irefist identified, had some fun running around in the street. Sung a few new ballads to put your fear of the Gods in your enemies. Not that I give a shit, but if it works, it works. No need to lie when the stuff you're capable of is weirder than anything I can come up with. We got the keep cleared out, and I came straight for Cashew. Everyone who wasn't sent down to hold the prisoner went to the main gate. We'll hear something big if anyone's stupid enough to try breaking in elsewhere."

James giggles to himself. "Except the Nye's. Harriet told both of them that their hands were needed more in the church. No questions asked! The guys are sharper than brass tacks. They'll be babysitting your twisted little monstrous sadistic fucking—" The minstrel stops his temper so suddenly and sharply, your blood runs cold. He smiles, with a perfectly level voice. "Adwin. He should be fine."

This is not reassuring in the slightest. "Thank you, James. So neither of you have left this wing since...?"

"Are you kidding me?" The clown sniffs. "And miss out on all that? I only just got back. They got the attack at the gate under control—" You try not to panic. "—thanks to backup from Father Pevrel's men." Another sigh of relief escapes you. "Heard it was a slaughter. Scared everyone stiff. They did some twisted shit with the bodies all the way up to the main gate! Between that, and rumors we're spreading about how you and Harvey handled the mess in the basement—"

Dead-panning is fine. A headache is coming on. "You just asked me how Harvey was doing."

(6/8)
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>>4575366
The bulbous end of James' nose turns up, in mock offense. "Pardon me, your holiness. How dare I ask you how our lovable lion is really doing? It's not as if I respect your opinion, don't trust his crazy ass as far as I can throw him, or was simply trying to extend a little human fucking decency!" Acid drips from his last few words, with further spittle in the subsequent speech. "Mind you, I wanted to repay your priestess for her foresight. Would have lost our faces to frost this week if she hadn't looked out for some simple COMMON needs. The girl's got brains, unlike almost everyone else around here. Why don't you give us both all that credit you clearly want to?! If you're actually deciding to act normal for a change, how about you fill us in on what no one else in the city has been privy to? EH? Eh, Father?"

A sharp, deep breath. This is so much information, and there is so much to do, and a beautiful realization dawns on you. "Yes. Well, I— I seem to be getting some relief."

Harriet whips her head towards you, adjusts her glasses, and leans in. "Explain."

Cracking your neck to the side isn't excruciating. Same with testing the waters through a small stretch of your back and right arm. The left might as well have never been stabbed at all. "Mercy healed my physical injuries completely, but I have been experiencing an almost unbearable pain within— within my soul itself. It seems to have improved." The grimace you assume keeps both of your friends from asking any more questions. "We can experiment with this later. Winning a siege is meaningless if my soul pops before the fact—"

An alarmed noise escapes both of your friends. It's more of a splutter from James, and a snort from Sister Cardew. They glance to each other.

Harriet quietly proposes, "why don't you tell me what you had in mind before you slept. We can go from there."

"Giving our forces room to breathe, granting the Nye Brothers the ability to move freely, securing the most vulnerable members of our company— particularly getting Adwin to this room— and ensure a modicum of stability for us all. The location Father Pevrel and I secured needs to be cleared out. There is also the matter of not— of not tearing my soul apart at its core."

You slump against the bed, and part your hands from Sister Cardew's hold. "I'll kill myself at this rate. I won't have anything else to give, for all the good that I've already done. I never meant to sound like I want to fight this war single-handedly. But I cannot begin to fathom how dire things would get if anything happens to Adwin— to you both, to the city— I just— I just want to help—"

A gentle offer from Harriet. She knows how to cheer you up. "I know you still have something more you want to do."

(7/8)
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>>4575369
Propping yourself back up, you manage to get into a mostly presentable position beside your priestess. The number of struggles you have been through together could fill a book. "This was the very first thing I wanted to say, from the instant I woke up today. I've been trying to ensure your safety above all others." James sniffs, and mocks insult. Sister Cardew fires him a glare. "You have inquired about my Relic more than any other, and I have— I am so sick of making mistakes."

This feels like one of the longest exchanges of your life. Like one of the most important moments of your life. In the darkness and heat, you wonder if you really died in the nightmare you had hours past. Everything is surreal. It's hard to feel grounded at all.

Your breath catches in your throat, with an irrational fear. Fear for your priestess creeps into the back of your mind.
Fear of inflicting some measure of your inclinations on her.
Fear of not respecting her wishes.
Fear for how badly you are itching to call upon the Gods again.
To be closer to the earth.
The moon.
The sun.
The immaterial.
It's overwhelming, and toxic, and you're positive that the damn sadist who you voraciously gave your all to just this morning is practically in your head. Distracting you from the moment.
Making you think of punishment rather than anything that's taking place.
Is it influence from being rejected by Vengeance?
Are you simply considering what a negative influence you could be on such a pious, respectful young woman?

Am I actually losing my mind?

The slender priestess of Spirit has yet to budge from your side. She knows how much physical contact helps you, and gently takes your hand once more. It's a light touch, to help telegraph that she's completely at ease with the subject. "Do you remember what I told you? When we first came to Eadric, I mean."

"It— it is not our circumstances that define us. It is how we face them. But I—"

James sniffs. "Can it. You're killing yourself. Anyone would, trying to sort out all this. But you're better than sniveling, or letting your enemies win. They want to break you? Got you thinking you can't even take a fucking nap without being weak? Are you seriously going to let a bunch of cowards and heretics fuck up your life? When you've got bitches like this, and a Goddess on either arm? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"James—" The priestess didn't blink at the expletive, but Klepto's last comment set her off. You're directly addressed. "Whatever is giving you pause means just as much to me as what you intended to say. It's alright."

(Options in next post.)
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>>4575371
>A] You have to slow down, or you're going to kill yourself. Your behavior is totally unsustainable, your allies are extremely competent, and THEY DESERVE TO KNOW what's going on, too. Give both of your friends full disclosure about your behavior since you last met. Simply see what their thoughts are before proceeding.

>B] Tell Sister Cardew that you want to ALLY WITH HER using your Relic, but voice your concerns with the suggestion. She's wanted to experiment with the object for months, and would find your hesitation fascinating at worst. At best, she might be able to offer some reassurance and help.

>C] ASK FOR HELP with...
>1] THE GODS. Sister Cardew knows how much of a struggle this is for you. James has seen how far you're willing to go for others as well. Implore them to help you manage your dependency on the Gods. You need accountability, and it feels like you're slipping all over again.
>2] YOUR MIND. The disconnect from reality you're feeling is worse than it's been in months. You're scared of what prolonged effects might have resulted from going so hard this week, and need to know that you're not losing your mind. You've been through worse trauma than almost any other man alive, and it's to be expected that so much stress would take its toll on you. It doesn't matter how Harriet or James can help you this very instant. Even some reassurance would be nice.
>3] YOUR BODY. Your desire to work is actually going to kill you. You made a firm schedule last week, which obviously cannot be upheld in current conditions. It's devastating, you need something more structured, and just can't think straight enough to do it alone. Two hours of sleep is not going to cut it, but you simply can't fathom resting more right now. Tell your friends.
>4] YOUR SOUL. The pain in your soul is alarming beyond all measure. This is not about experimentation. You are the Father of Healing, and need to make sure that you're actually alright. See if everyone here (for all of their experience, intelligence, and compassion) can be of some assistance.

>D] You have sworn up and down that you will not run yourself into the ground, destroy your health, ignore the Gods will, disrespect your allies, ruin your body, lose yourself to pleasure, abuse invocations, fail to trust in others, or make the same mistakes. You're not a demon of faith. YOU'RE ONLY HUMAN, and hope to express yourself without pushing all of your allies away. (WRITE-INS will be subject to QM approval. Be advised that you can and will destroy your pact with Mercy if you hurt yourself through working yourself to death. Please feel free to ask questions if you're uncertain of what might continue to exacerbate the extreme condition you've pushed yourself to.)
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>>4575372
Our behavior is unsustainable, but fine in short bursts. This is a war, and as such we need to ration out our invocations, as with ever other material, and use them in a strategic fashion, instead of just brute force.

We will have to ally with Cardew, but we'll make it as short and sweet as possible. There's no need to fear abuse in this instance, as it takes two to tango, and I trust Cardew's judgment, even... in instances we're unaware of. I trust her, even if she doesn't trust us with all the info.

Help is needed, in all aspects of how we conduct ourselves, as much as I loath to admit it. Though I believe we can do this on our own, I would appreciate any advice, even... especially considering the mistakes we've made along the way. Kindness is not weakness, and neither is asking for assistance when it is needed.

We will manage our dependency of the Gods, and even if it cannot be done within this crisis, then atleast we'll try as best we can in Time. Even if we have to make a promise to Time herself to make it happen, it will.

It can be argued that we're not further from reality, just closer to the Gods within our mind, but that's neither here nor there. During this state of war, we will have to devote more Time for rest, and worship Dream in an unusual, inspirational fashion, with multiple naps a day if one long rest can't be adhered to. A side note, sleepwalking between locations may help with this, though we'll need our allies to make sure we don't wonder off or walk straight into danger unaware.

The soul needs a break, and we should be treating ourselves like we're another person we're responsible for. After all, we wouldn't ask our friends and allies to do have the shit we've accomplished alone, right?

We'e not trying to fall back on bad habits, or push our allies away, we just... we just want to help, and we simply don't know how best to.

Those are my thoughts, at least. I welcome everyone to share theirs as well.
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>>4575415
+1
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>>4575372

>>A] You have to slow down, or you're going to kill yourself. Your behavior is totally unsustainable, your allies are extremely competent, and THEY DESERVE TO KNOW what's going on, too. Give both of your friends full disclosure about your behavior since you last met. Simply see what their thoughts are before proceeding.

Give em all the info.

>B] Tell Sister Cardew that you want to ALLY WITH HER using your Relic, but voice your concerns with the suggestion. She's wanted to experiment with the object for months, and would find your hesitation fascinating at worst. At best, she might be able to offer some reassurance and help.

Ally so she can pick around our brains, looks like she has been thinking about this for a while too.

>C] ASK FOR HELP with...
>4] YOUR SOUL. The pain in your soul is alarming beyond all measure. This is not about experimentation. You are the Father of Healing, and need to make sure that you're actually alright. See if everyone here (for all of their experience, intelligence, and compassion) can be of some assistance.

That fucking -70 or whatever it is up to now it's keeping us out of action big time and also probably fucking with a few of our faculties. We can handle the rest later but right now this seems like the most difficult thing to patch up.

Cuntists are out of the keep at least and being ass rammed outside in the districts but I don't like the whole implication with the church of Vengeance, 100% something we should be wary of when sharing information with Pevrel. So far I think we can only REALLY trust Willhelm, a bit iffy on Fred but Will is a straight up g.
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>>4575472
I think we can trust Pevrel with Inertia. Trusting him with everything else is foolish, the man has just as many phycological problems as we do, and entrusting him to run Mercy's city? I laugh at the very notion of it. We need to take back control of our city, not hand it off to a nut job with anger issues. Pevrel's a ally, but an unstable one, who needs just as much help as we do.
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>>4575488

Killing cuntists is his thing but any sensitive information that he does not need to know to do that should be withheld. There's moles everywhere apparently, they even dug tunnel under our city.
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>>4575491
Agreed. I imagine this is an aspect of Restraint we will gladly embrace.
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>>4575415
>>4575456
>>4575472
>>4575488
>>4575491
>>4575503
(Good afternoon gentlemen! Awesome, awesome stuff. Had a few delays in getting started today but I'm ready to rock and roll for our weekend sessions. Vote is locked. Writing now!)
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>>4575662
"Kindness is not weakness." You need to hear it, even if your friends don't. "I— Sister Cardew, I have been wanting to ask this for so long, but I— I need to explain a few things, first. You both deserve to know what has happened. I would not— I would not ever ask any one of you to do any of the things together that I have accomplished alone— and my— my soul needs a break—"

Harriet levelly tries encouraging you. "Go ahead, Richard."

"I am desperately trying to not fall back on old habits, or to push you all away. I just— I just want to help, but I have no idea what the best way is to proceed. It could be argued that I am not further from reality, but that I am closer to—" You try not to sound too insane. "—that I am closer to the Gods within my mind."

Both of your friends couldn't look more concerned.

"That is neither here, nor there. I know that I need to rest, whenever I can, and that I— and that I am working myself to death. I will see to my body and mind when we are not at war. My concern lies with my soul itself. And while my behavior is sustainable in short bursts—" A groan from James. Harriet purses her lips. "This is WAR, and I cannot stand by while my men and women are DYING in the streets. But I do not wish to implement brute force. I need strategy." A little desperation takes hold of your tone. "I need control."

Your voice cracks. "I need help."

All the sass leaves your minstrel. "Well isn't that just music to your ears?"

The tension in Sister Cardew's shoulders falls completely. "I'm so sorry, Richard."

James sighs. "Yeah. No kidding. We've all got our vices. You've got more reason than most, but it's one thing to ask for help, and another to actually take it—"

A shameless hug from your priestess is obviously made for investigation's sake alone. It cuts James off out of surprise alone. You don't mind the squeeze, the slim priestess' inability to get her arms around you much at all, or the scent of jasmine and parchment. She immediately draws back. A significantly softer tone is directed towards you. "As I suspected. You must be invoking with a frequency that's rivaling your entire duration within the ruins... in a matter of days. Walter and I have had our theories, but this is more severe than I thought. I was under the impression that you had an alternative—"

"I want to keep this short, and sweet," you interject. This is seriously the least important thing you could be discussing.

James giggles with disbelief. "Oh. This ought to be good."

Your priestess stops her speculation in its tracks, and gives you the benefit of the doubt. "Go right ahead."

(1/4)
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>>4575865
"Walter was right. My dependency on the Gods has become so severe, it's almost completely compromised my ability to take action. My faculties may be suffering—" The faces being made at you are not encouraging. "My faculties have been affected. While we can handle the rest of my issues later. I'm— I am begging you both to please— please help me. The mistakes that I have made— this all is weighing on me just as much as the ache in my soul. I need to make my concerns clear, Sister."

She straightens up. Anxiety has you pick at a wad of dried blood that's hardened on the edge of one sleeve. "I confessed in full to Father Pevrel within minutes of meeting him, and he has stopped at nothing to find alternative means of punishing my sin since then. He has just as many mental and emotional problems as I do—"

It's laughable. "The idea of an unstable sadist with an— with an anger issue—" A hard, red flash of being beaten and pushed to your limits puts heat all through you. It rises mostly to your face, as you choke out the rest. "He is an ally, and is unquestionably the other side of our coin. But the idea of him attempting to run my city is laughable. Any information regarding Inertia can be entrusted to him for the sake of his slaughter, but that is— that is all. Our relations with the Church of Vengeance are officially being kept on a need-to-know basis."

Absolute silence answers in reply, as your friends try to contemplate what's happened. Continuing to choke on your own words is a nightmare all its own. "I have to manage my dependency on the Gods. I swear— I swear by the Goddess of Ages—" Fear has your heart in your throat, but you grit your teeth, and resolutely declare, "that if I cannot aid myself in this crisis, I will try to do my best with this matter in Time."

James and Harriet pause for several moments.

Your priestess ultimately shakes her head. "Oh. Richard. I'm failing you, aren't I—"

The minstrel says what's on both of their minds. "What the fuck did he do to you?"

An unhinged, and heated smile crosses your face. "I have invoked Agriculture twice since this morning. We assaulted and cleared one of the hideouts for the cult of Inertia. There were easily one hundred people in the building. Together, we killed over fifty— including a demon of misconception that spawned in defiance of Spirit. It was made possible through our alliance—"

Ray starts to wake up, as both of your friends totally lose their composure. It's saying something. Klepto's spluttering drowns out Harriet's mumbled series of wholesome swears.

The priestess of Spirit is not offended, but she needs clarity. "You allied with the leader of the Church of Vengeance? How?"

(2/4)
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>>4575869
"It's as I said." You begin unfastening your Relic's chain. "It has taken two for this dance that we— that we both seem to know so well. I do not want to linger on the matter, but I— I am confident that my faculties are becoming compromised from the extent of all this."

The small locket about your neck is kept in one hand. A pair of immaculate, clasped hands almost shines at you. The item is slick with blood, which you quickly buff off with the side of your sleeve. "I said I wanted to be brief—"

"Heh." James is back to giggling. "Yep. Should have bet on it. But I wouldn't want to miss out any of this for the world. Some stories need a little more Time to spin, right?"

"Right—"

"You're leaving out all the spicier bits, aren't you?"

The heat in your face redoubles. "Yes. Well." The locket in hand is a much fairer view than your friend's judgmental stares. "Listen, I—"

"Richard." Sister Cardew leans in slightly, and is keeping her gaze right on all the green in your eyes. "I appreciate all of this more than I can say. Thank you for trying to caution us regarding your actions today. But you know that I have never been afraid of you. I never will be. You're a good man. Even I do not know the full extent of your sacrifices, in the name of others. You are the way that you are because of your selflessness, and compassion. I am so sorry that we haven't been more help—"

You have to interject. "You all have done the work of one hundred clergy—"

She talks right over you. "And not one thousand more hands will help where one single HEART is needed."

All of you take a long pause, in the dark. Both researchers present have been speculating about the same thing for months. "This is long overdue."

https://youtu.be/HQC9sToSdmM

Both of you hold hands, with your Relic in-between. Harriet smiles. It's a treat. She has a dimple, and light is in her eyes. She pulls back all her veils, clears her throat, and sits even straighter. "Alright. How does this work?"

James takes several steps back. Your own nervous grin broadly flashes from him, to your priestess. "I honestly have no idea. We are pushing the boundaries of the world, the sun, the moon, and all the stars in the sky."

"The immaterial. Do you know how long I've been curious about this?" She's shaking, keeps her hands on your own, and leans against you with a hug from her soul. "You've never once doubted me. No matter how much I've challenged you. You've always respected me all the more for it. You'd never toy with my emotions. You hate mind games, and all of the trappings that our families are so hung up on. It's your honesty, and all of your compassion that's helped me to be a better person. Even when we've had our disagreements. We have come out all the wiser for every last one of them."

Both of you keep one hand to your Relic, and pull each other into a tight hug.

(3/4)
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>>4575872
"I don't want to pursue my work for the relentless pursuit of knowledge, Richard. I want to help people."

You keep your voice low. "Do you have any idea how much good you've already done?"

She shakes her head. "We can do so much more."

James is pretending to gag. He takes several more steps back. There's an aura of something sweeter than honey, and lighter than reality drifting from all the thread and gold between you two.

"Then let's put our minds together."

You can feel her smile against you. "Short and sweet? Is that what they'd call us?"

Both of you break into light laughter. James groans, then gasps, and rapidly backs up. All the warmth between your hands bursts into faint light. Strands of thread drift into the air. It's wrapped up into the scent of gilded lilies. You both are already such a complement to one another. You smile at the drifting metal-on-petals. "Would you look at that? Is my Relic poking fun at us, too?"

Pulling back from the hug just enough to see the burst of new life, Harriet resumes a more neutral expression. Her glasses are smudged from the blood all over you, and she doesn't care in the slightest. "We can examine them later. You have a war to win."

She can't hide her smile. Neither can you. This is the first occasion you've had to ally with someone without invoking, and it's infinitely milder. There's no massive destruction in the room, and you can think far more clearly. "I will need both of your help. I'm beginning to wonder if Father Wilhelm is my only ally outside of our clergy and congregation that I can trust, too"

James goes back to his work with a deep sigh. The woman at your side pulls away from the hug, and looks you over. "You would only drive yourself to these lengths for a good cause. We need to keep you away from Father Pevrel, or ensure you're in some good company while in his presence. He's an enabler. The Gods are putting a limitation on your soul, but They won't say 'no' to you, either. What say we come up with a solution for this right now?"

By all the Gods.

"You've been holding back."

"Absolutely." She hops off the bed, and goes to sweep up a collection of parchment. "Stay in bed. Get as much rest as you can, while you can." Harriet's glasses are adjusted, along with a massive stack of papers and pens. She sits back down beside you, as Ray rolls around. The bed is groaning so much, you politely ask your boy to join you at the floor beside the bed. He complies. Flower petals are kicked up with each sleepy step.

(Barely over 4/5)
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>>4575875
Sister Cardew repeats herself. "I'm sick of obscuring information from you. You're capable enough to handle this all without running off the instant we're done speaking." Guilt slams into you. "I didn't mean any offense. You've learned a lot. You will continue to improve. I hope that you will guide my efforts, too. Why don't we start with your practical concerns, and we will develop a strategy for your invocations once we have a complete picture? I promise you, we will come back to your concerns regarding your soul. We can address it right along with every other urgent matter."

There's no need to fear any abuse here. "I knew I could trust you."

Her tone is settling back into something more business-like, but there's a happier tilt to it. "Likewise. Do you have any complaints or suggestions, before I drown you in even more information? This war will not win itself in a day. I intend to be here for all of it."

She's a blessing. "Thank you."

"We will pace your efforts, and I would like to address your other obligations, too. Go ahead."

>A] Give up on the prospect of getting back to the hideout tonight. You'll focus on what's here in the church and castle. Adwin is your top priority, right along with helping all of these hard-working men and women.

>B] Holding the building you and Father Pevrel cleared is non-negotiable. Adwin still needs to be seen to, but you want to make for the hideout as soon as you can.

>C] Though your congregation and clergy are devastatingly capable, you're still VERY worried about them. Once Adwin is seen to, you want to get out in the city and attempt to locate your priests and priestesses of Mercy.

>D] Write-in.
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>>4575877
>>B] Holding the building you and Father Pevrel cleared is non-negotiable. Adwin still needs to be seen to, but you want to make for the hideout as soon as you can.

I am currently worried only about Adwin, every other member of either our clergy or congregation is a fierce combatant that can handle anything thrown at them. First the soft boi and then the hideout, it is vitally important for mounting a counter attack and hindering their mobility.
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>>4575877
>B] Holding the building you and Father Pevrel cleared is non-negotiable. Adwin still needs to be seen to, but you want to make for the hideout as soon as you can.
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>>4575877
>>B] Holding the building you and Father Pevrel cleared is non-negotiable. Adwin still needs to be seen to, but you want to make for the hideout as soon as you can.
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>>4575883
>>4575894
>>4575909
(Beautiful guys. Since we've got so much activity going on I'm going to do a 45 minute voting window for this session rn. Unanimous vote is locked! Writing now.)
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>>4575917
"I'm currently only worried about Adwin. Every other member of our clergy and congregation are fierce combatants. They can handle anything thrown at them." Both of your friends give you an appreciative smile. "First my boy." James grin turns upside down. "Then the hideout." Harriet's brow furrows. "It is VITALLY important for mounting a counter-attack, and hindering Inertia's mobility. They have tunneled under my city, and there are a number of measures I believe we can immediately take to reduce the effectiveness of their efforts. Mapping the tunnels with Adwin's instruction would be vital in identifying what specific threats remain from their work. We could even use this against them."

A deep breath leaves your priestess. "Alright. We suspected as much, but this confirms it. It sounds as if your efforts this morning paid off, despite all of Father Pevrel's... sadism, for lack of a better word. This is absolutely a top priority. Bear with me, since we have a few other things to handle. I trust that Brother Eustace and Tancred will have ensured Adwin's safety. You should still see to him as soon as possible. Is there anything else I need to be made aware of?"

"My fellow leaders. Contacting them in regards to this affair has been on my mind all day. The Church of Agriculture is obscuring trade, and the Church of Spirit may be obscuring communication. I do not trust the effectiveness of our roads, and the Church of Storm may have meddled with our entire country's well-being. The sheer scope of Inertia's efforts has eclipsed all expectations I had of them. The Fathers and Mother of our nation need to be notified at once. We are all in danger."

James shifts. "You think that only old smokey is reliable?"

"Father Wilhelm is unquestionably an ally, but the rest, not— not necessarily. Mother Aimar is most certainly preoccupied with some violent affair. Father Barthalomew's health has been failing him, and he has been nothing but respectful towards me for all my career. He may be unaware of the efforts his church has made, or is unable to do a thing about it. Sullivan— please do not make faces like that at me. I know you both hate him. But he has risked everything to help me. He has ALWAYS had my best interests at heart. Regardless of his methods, he is no doubt facing just as much turmoil as we are for his actions. And Father Friedrich—"

Your tone drops to one so soft, it's scarcely audible. "I need to make amends. He wants to kill me, and I have to apologize for my— well, for my appearance, if nothing else. He's sacrificed so much on my behalf, and I have been nothing but ungrateful. It's put shame to his efforts. I have to try and reach out to him, no matter our disagreements. Scorning my allegiances, and wasting the efforts of everyone who has struggled to help me has to stop."

(1/4)
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>>4576026
You sigh deeply. Your friends are thinking hard. "Let me be clear. My concerns are here at home. I am not about to go running across the country. Before ANYTHING is addressed outside of my city's walls, my efforts will remain here at home." You look to Harriet. She has a hand to her temple. "I need to protect my family. They're all a part of it. I was hoping you could help."

She nods, with determination from head-to-toe. "Yes. Of course."

Blinking a few times does nothing for processing this. "Excuse me?"

She continues nodding. "Yes. Absolutely."

This can't be that easy. You're stunned into repeating, "excuse me? What did you just say?"

"You are the second-most powerful man in the nation, and we've already forwarded an address to the King. Help will be en route to strengthen our forces, but the next few weeks will have us cut off from all reliable contact. This is a matter of preserving the theocracy, and uniting every single branch of our holiest institutions. A divine message is mandatory. All other means of contact would jeopardize the security of your message, the life of whoever would be elected to carry it, and— well. What better way to express our allegiance?"

She's practically giddy at the prospect, and is openly struggling to maintain her composure. You have unquestionably made an impression on her. "Long-distance communication is utilized by the Church of Spirit when our need is greatest. I recommend a message that would startle your enemies, while simultaneously warning your allies. One which cannot be misconstrued. The shorter, the better. We have a few options."

You lean in a little closer, with even more excitement than she possessed. "Go on."

James is silent as the grave, though you can tell he's mentally taking notes about the whole situation. Ray is curiously nibbling at some of the flowers.

Your priestess is wrapped up in a religious reverie. "The Goddess of communication would is honored best by clarity. A peculiar series of mirrors are in Father Sullivan's and Mother Aimar's possession. They can see the sender through mutual invocations. I would have to briefly contact them, and then initiate the exchange with their consent. It would alert them, and any enemies in their midst, but would enable a lengthier and clear exchange. This would do nothing for Father Wilhelm, Father Friedrich, or Father Barthalomew, of course."

Breathing is optional for this explanation. "I see."

(2/4)
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>>4576029
"As Spirit is the Goddess of the immaterial, I am not reliant on physical means for Her works. It amplifies Father Sullivan's efforts, and of course is necessary for Mother Aimar. Transmitting a message from such a tremendous distance will be taxing, and I need all the help I can get. Fortunately, I have ample opportunity for physical rest and recovery. I would gladly do this for the sake of our Mother and Fathers. For the rest, I would need for you to grant me something Spiritual. It is a holier symbol than any typical divine medium. Wouldn't you agree?"

"That is debatable." This is beyond exciting. "Please be more specific."

"Forgetting memories is most commonly associated with Dream, but only thanks to Father Wilhelm's peculiar abilities. Remembrance, recall, memory, abstraction, and knowledge are domains of my Goddess. A memory you possess from each of these individuals could be utilized, and modified for our uses. We can bridge the gap between you all through this incorporeal, preexisting bond."

You're acutely reminded of your work with Father Sullivan. He was capable of looking into your memory from Beltoro, and safely navigated your ravaged mental landscape. He even guided you into reshaping bits of it, and pulled you away when necessary. "A mental bridge. What of any risk of resistance, or retaliation?"

A worried, but respectful stare passes over you. "Not normally. I would only fear Father Sullivan being capable of causing any true damage, and I welcome an excuse to lash out at him, Richard. This would be a tremendous honor. ...there is one other option."

"Please."

"With the high risk of the message being disseminated, intercepted, or even missed entirely— I could simply project a few written words. It would take far less out of me, and would leave a lasting impression for your enemies. I would only do this for Father Wilhelm, given how deeply we trust him— but even so, his home may have also been compromised. His reluctance to send Brother Wilhelm out from Somerilde's walls is enough of a warning for us all."

James sniffs. "Yeah. Some dumb shit, if I've ever heard of it. Might as well send out a crier to the whole damn city that we're on the move."

"Precisely," Sister Cardew replies. She turns to you. "I am making this offer as a demonstration of thoughtful, deliberate, and responsible invocation. This is a war, and I will never hesitate to do my part. Do you understand the difference between this, and how you often call upon Them?"

Grumbling. "Not necessarily. Matters of life and death—"

"You yourself acknowledged that you have many natural skills at your disposal. Perhaps invoking Agriculture for most of the day— twice today— was necessary because you opted to go with only one man to take on an entire, packed base of cultists with no backup or alternative courses of action—"

You didn't want a lecture. "I know."

(3/4)
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>>4576032
"You need to hear this. I am weighing the potential implications of every alternative granted to me. Mundane communication in ANY and EVERY form would be insufficient. This is a LAST RESORT, Richard. Do you hear me?"

She might be saying this for her own sake. You quietly, respectfully reply, "yes."

"Listen. I am only invoking as a last resort. When all other options have been utterly exhausted. When no mortal could accomplish the same feat. This is a request for DIVINE intervention. It is not a personal request."

James groans. The minstrel's head lolls, and he looks at you sideways. "She's being a bitch, but you do look at Them working through you on a personal level. Right? It's way more for you than the bigger picture. You're dying just to have a go at it, too."

He couldn't be more right. By all the fucking Gods do you want in on this. The prospect of learning how to invoke Spirit correctly, and experiencing it yourself is exciting beyond all measure.

You resist the urge to bite your lip, and try to keep a straight face.

"...not that I give a shit about it, but you skirts seem to get real worked up over it." Klepto takes on a holier-than-thou tone. "How abusive! How repulsive! Even thinking about sniffing Spirit's ass while beside one of Her priestesses? What a disgrace! What a lecher! What a glutton! He must surely not have DAMN good reason for killing himself over it!" The tone is dropped. "I get it. But it does look bad, Dick."

"Think about it." Sister Cardew gives you a stern stare. "Really. Think about it. We're going to come back to it again, but let's work on the task at hand. This is your message, and we want it to be one that your enemies will not forget. This won't take long, even if it may feel as if it takes longer. Let's send something that your allies will take heart in, starting with my first suggestion."

>THE FOLLOWING ARE MUTUALLY EXCLUSIVE. Majority vote will decide.

>A] Ask for Sister Cardew to send your message via Father Sullivan's AND Mother Aimar's mirrors. You're willing to take the risk of your message being intercepted by either one of them.
>1] Starting with Mother Aimar. You respect her Time more than anyone else alive.
>2] Starting with Father Sullivan. You're DEEPLY concerned about how he's been, the Father of Communication would appreciate this more than anyone else alive, and you want to give Sister Cardew this opportunity as fast as possible.

>B] Only Father Sullivan's mirror should be used. You don't want to risk distracting Mother Aimar, and are still scared shitless of her Goddess.

>C] Only Mother Aimar's mirror should be used. You want to afford Sister Cardew the opportunity to communicate directly with Father Sullivan, even if it carries high risk.

>D] Don't use the mirrors at all. You want all of your allies to be on the same page.
>>
>>4576034

>>A] Ask for Sister Cardew to send your message via Father Sullivan's AND Mother Aimar's mirrors. You're willing to take the risk of your message being intercepted by either one of them.
>>1] Starting with Mother Aimar. You respect her Time more than anyone else alive.

Various methods of communication with each leader will make it even harder for people to intercept it. Ring up Astrid on the not!phone mirror so we can get the spookiest shit out of the way.
>>
>>4576048
(Super appreciate you man. Going to leave this open for a bit longer, give peeps some time to roll in.

Not sure how many of you have seen this outside of the discord, but our fan playlist has officially reached 1,000 hand-picked videos by you guys. Every single entry on here was sent to me since September of 2019 in relation to the quest! https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkU4Xr75eVDt6VmyD8vEMyTPUtcvvmdPO

Some really good shit in there, and a lot of amazing lyrics too. Thanks so much you guys for all the amazing participation and interest!)
>>
>>4576034
>A] Ask for Sister Cardew to send your message via Father Sullivan's AND Mother Aimar's mirrors. You're willing to take the risk of your message being intercepted by either one of them.
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>>4576034
>A] Ask for Sister Cardew to send your message
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>>4576034
A1; as we haven't met her yet, though calling Sullivan after is important.
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>>4576048
>>4576554
>>4576617
>>4576684
(Good morning all! Ready to rock and roll for a full session today. Vote is locked here. Writing now.)
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>>4576765
You gulp. "Mother Aimar. Let's contact her first, and get the worst of it— the worst of this over with."

"It will not be anything to fear." Sister Cardew closes her eyes. "Not for you, at any rate. Do you still have your mirror?"

James gave it to you like it was nothing. You fire Klepto a glance. He gives you the cheekiest grin you've seen in your entire life. "I knew it would be safer in your hands than mine, okay?"

"That— that is incredibly kind of you. Thank you, James." You immediately produce the small and innocuous item, handing it off to your priestess. It's been used only once or twice, and is utterly unscathed.

"Excellent. James, would you please take Ray out to the hallway?"

Zero hesitation from the minstrel. He pats her on the back on the way out, and says to you, "no problem, big guy. We'll keep an eye out. Don't get yourselves killed. Imagine me having to explain this shit."

Both guards promptly exit. The click of the door is quieter than the beat of your heart.

Harriet is keeping a completely stoic expression. "One more word of caution, Richard: I've never tried this before. I knew you would not mind."

You can't keep yourself from grinning at her. "You would never offer to do something like this unless you were certain of— certain of what you are getting yourself into—"

"Yes. I'm intentionally being vague about the mechanism. Given how dire our situation is, I take no issue with you relying on me in this capacity. I'll attempt to relay as much as I'm able. It will take a lot out of me, regardless of how brief the exchange is. I do not mean to insult you—" She smirks. "—but you must understand that some of us do have limits."

Brevity is one of your greatest weaknesses, but you're coming around to it. The fact that your priestess doesn't trust you to handle this situation without killing yourself is honestly a better judgement call than most. You place your hands together, and lightly point them at her. "The immaterial must be known."

"The immaterial must be known. Spirit."

(1/3)
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>>4576860
https://youtu.be/-UjQDx4k2L0

Harriet's last utterance to the Goddess didn't initially register. It's as if the stream of words now leaving your priestess' lips are even harder to latch onto. They're a river of intangibility. The fact that you can't hear her prayer isn't frustrating— it's an invitation to learn.

There's no veils obscuring her face now. There's hardly anything to her at all. You look in abject horror as the Flesh and bone on your priestess looks as if it's fading from existence. Her thin pair of incorporeal hands slowly removes an unneeded pair of glasses. Sister Cardew sets them aside on the bed, clearly still able to interact with the world. The bridge between intangibility and a Goddess beams up at you, with pearly white streaked across all of her eyes. The incantation from her lips has yet to stop, though her rapid breath and visible excitement is lending additional movement to her small chest and trembling shoulders.

A violent jerk pulls the slender woman backwards, as if she's been struck by something straight through her heart. A burst of coarse sand scatters across the bed behind you both. Streaks of lavender and mauve swirl through the miasma across her eyes.

The room freezes.

At least two hundred particles of grit and fine gravel are still suspended in the air. The collection of material slowly coalesces, as if it were moving through something thicker than water. Harriet is unmoving, though she looks completely at ease. As your priestess is suspended in Time, the form of sand at her back has taken shape. The six-foot-tall impression is of a woman's head, neck, and bust. The oversized figure is more akin to a crudely sculpted statue than any human you could recognize. Yet the woman's long face, stern demeanor, and razor-sharp features are intense even with the sand all about her softening the overall form. Long locks of hair shift and bend in an unseen substance, floating about her figure in tendrils. It's like staring straight at a star, or the space around it.

You wince, and remember how to breathe. Sister Cardew's nonstop, inaudible chanting suddenly becomes tangible. Something wiser, ageless, and divine wraps up into every reverent word. "Mother Aimar. Sister Cardew, of the churches of Spirit and Mercy. Father Anscham has declared war on Inertia."

The monstrous figure behind your priestess nods once, while darting the impression of eyes over the room rapidly. The stores of supplies at your back, the maps, the lack of light, and all of the blood soaking your haggard frame passes under her fierce gaze. Your fellow church leader's voice is unbearably distant. She might as well be speaking ten rooms away, at first. After the first audible noise, her volume suddenly slams forward into the room in a deafening roar. You instantly get the impression that this communication is only achievable through your priestess facilitating the exchange.

(2/3)
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>>4576861
"You have our allegiance. Continue to NOT waste my Time. Eanlac is in motion. Don't miss your sermon, Father. The Gods are MERCIFUL."

Every grain of sand abruptly drops to the bed, in a formless mess. Time resumes. Sister Cardew slumps forward, and you effortlessly catch her before she falls off the bed. There's no weight to her body at all, and you almost use too much force sitting her upright.

A pair of utterly insane eyes gleam at you through the darkness. There's streams of white thread pooling from Harriet's vision, and trailing onto her cheeks. The impression is less of sorrow, and more of someone crying out of joy and elation. You have to actively concentrate on each syllable she utters in order to truly listen, but it's manageable. "She was bloodied, and in somewhere with a tremendous quantity of sand. I've read of deserts, but never seen one so expansive. There's no doubt she is aware of the situation. Your last correspondence must have reached her as well. Help is coming. Mother Aimar must have dropped the invocation prematurely. She was with Time— and it looked like she was fighting. We would do well to heed her advice."

You're sweating bullets, and that's fine. It's the beginning of the evening, and you still have more to do than most men could accomplish in weeks. You were supposed to have a sermon with Mercy at sunrise, and if nothing else, this is a fine reminder that your people need to be made aware of the situation as well.

Sister Cardew rolls her head back slightly. A thin smile stretches across her face. A vicious, crooning tone takes her over. It's vindictive. She would have serviced the Church of Vengeance well, too. "Oooooh, Sullivaaaaaaan...?"

>A] The instant all of this is over, you're heading out, getting Adwin, and bee-lining for the hideout. Time is of the essence, and you're going to manage EVERY SECOND afforded to you as efficiently as possible. Sleep will have to go on the back-burner for now. Mercy will hopefully understand.

>B] Devotion to Dream is part of the reason why you are coming to realize the importance of respecting and relying on your allies. Pushing your sermon with Mercy forward a few hours tomorrow would still be heeding Mother Aimar's advice, without compromising your rest and recovery.

>C] The Goddess of healing worked through you all this afternoon. Though the ache in your soul and the exhaustion on your body is intense, you know you can handle a lot. Mother Aimar's advice could be construed in a few different ways. (Write-in any thoughts, suggestions, plans, or anything else you might want to express after hearing from the Mother of Ages.)
>>
>>4576862

>>A] The instant all of this is over, you're heading out, getting Adwin, and bee-lining for the hideout. Time is of the essence, and you're going to manage EVERY SECOND afforded to you as efficiently as possible. Sleep will have to go on the back-burner for now. Mercy will hopefully understand.

Spooky Time mom told us to not waste Time so by all the gods and their mothers I will haul ass. Dream can pout all he wants I refuse to fuck with Time in any capacity.
>>
>>4576862
>A] The instant all of this is over, you're heading out, getting Adwin, and bee-lining for the hideout. Time is of the essence, and you're going to manage EVERY SECOND afforded to you as efficiently as possible. Sleep will have to go on the back-burner for now. Mercy will hopefully understand.
>>
>>4576874
>>4576898
(Wonderful guys. Locking the unanimous vote here. Writing now!)
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>>4576914
https://youtu.be/93JUbnn3s-U?list=OLAK5uy_lERa47I-AIl3zq3Gju3wOCT9OjooeGZp4

By the Gods and all their mothers, I will haul ass. Wasting Time in any capacity is out of the question. The instant this is all over, I'm getting Adwin, getting to that hideout, and managing EVERY SECOND afforded to me as efficiently as possible. Dream can pout all he wants. Sleep will go on the back-burner, for now.

I can only pray Mercy will understand.


"Sister Cardew, what is taking so long—"

One of Harriet's eyes tracks to the back of her head. The other snaps towards you. You want to retch, but she sounds delighted. "He's bloody. You wouldn't believe it. He's getting somewhere he can talk. Just a minute."

Both of her eyes slowly slide back into a neutral position. The sweat on both of you catches on the scent of the lily petals scattered around the floor. This is the longest you've continuously seen someone in the throes of a God while not invoking yourself, and you can't help but feel more than a little uncomfortable. The young woman next to you is flitting in and out of existence— or, at least as you can try to perceive her. The steady stream of prayer falling from Sister Cardew's lips continues to escape your comprehension.

She suddenly jerks back, then bends forward. Her hands clutch onto the sheets, and a gasp parts from her lips. You stagger backwards off the bed, and several feet back as something begins to crawl out from her skull. You try to stifle a shout.

There's no blood. A figure made entirely of spun thread starts with a pair of unworked hands, wrists, and arms. They grab onto the side of your priestess' head, who lets out a low moan. It's not like any injury you've ever seen. Her body remains intact, but the impression that she's hardly there at all intensifies. Your eyes are swimming trying to discern exactly what's emerging, what she's producing, or if there's any danger to be had.

There is. You take several further steps back, as the face, neck, and torso of Father Henry Sullivan extracts himself from Harriet's mind. The impression is impossible, and space stops making sense entirely as his resemblance— legs, white robes, and all— calmly steps into the room with you.

Sister Cardew collapses in a heap on the floor, giggling softly to herself. A disgusted look passes between her, and her Father.

Despite the nausea and nerves, you take a step forward. There's not a second to waste. He seems unphased by your priestess, and you will not let her work go to waste. The voice that leaves you is as resolute as ever. "Sullivan. It's Richard. Are you safe?"

(1/3)
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>>4576977
The figure of thread doesn't open his lips to speak. He's standing calmly across from you, yet the voice you hear sticks to the interior of your skull. The man's domination of Spirit apparently can cross a nation, even if it's through the vehicle of one of his children. Maybe it's heightening his ability even further. All the pomp, pretension, and mildness of the man's speech is almost exactly as you remember it. It's still like a razor dragged across the back of your mind, in all the right ways. You take in a sharp breath, and clutch at your skull.

"What do you think? Of course I'm not. Yet neither are our enemies. I have my hands full in Murgate, Richard. What do you want?"

"War."

"You've finally caught on?" He brushes off a few flecks of white mist from the edges of his threaded robes, as if it makes any sense, or matters at all. The sheer amount of intangible fabric on his form is drowning out most of the elderly man's shape or substance, but you can still discern a sneer across the vague resemblance to the priest's actual features. The deep-set anguish and insanity in his disgusting eyes. The borderline demonic lack of color, or form. His gazes passes around the room rapidly. "You all are capable enough. What do you expect me to do for you?"

"I needed to warn you."

A bark of a laugh. All of the insecurity and suicidal behavior he exhibited in Calunoth is nowhere to be found. "Oh? Please. Educate me." It's highly likely that the man is under too much stress at the moment to show you any respect.

"The Church of Agriculture is unquestionably involved in Inertia's activity. The Church of Storm has some association with them, and Father Barthalomew's involvement is unknown. I know that your church has been compromised. Mother Aimar is preoccupied with battle outside of our borders. Father Wilhelm will not leave Somerilde, and my castle has been under siege. Father Friedrich will have been preoccupied with our efforts in Baranfen. Two wars is too much for the last of humanity. We all are in—"

"Stop insulting my intelligence. Listen to me, boy. WHAT do you WANT?"

You dart a panicked glance to Sister Cardew, who has possibly lost consciousness. "Is this—"

"She knew the risks."

Kneeling beside your priestess, you quickly check her pulse and breath. She's alive, and still conscious, but in the throes of something so intense she has completely slipped from any grip on the world around her. You dart your gaze back to the man standing calmly beside you.

Sullivan passes a quick glance over you. "I'm certain you have, too, but don't let Father Friedrich see you like this." You grimace. He makes a motion like he's wiping blood off a dagger, though there's nothing you can see in his hands. "Are you somewhere safe?"

"As much as I can be. We are retaking my city by force, and no one has truly breached the castle."

(2/3)
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>>4576980
"They tried to capture and torture me. I only arrived in Murgate two weeks past, and have had to stay on the move. Seven priests of Dream are fighting on my behalf outside the door. I do not possess access to my libraries, and your request for information regarding Aldreda—"

"How do you know—"

"SEVEN priests of DREAM, Richard. I cannot honor your requests for physical information. Pick my mind now, if you wish. I cannot spare more than a few seconds of Time. Last offer, Richard. One or two questions. Make it quick."

Mercy.

Information from the Father of Knowledge is priceless. You're going to choose your words carefully.

>SELECT 1-2 PROMPTS.
>CLEARLY specify which question you ask first.
>There is no guarantee that the second question can be answered.
>Briefer or simpler queries have a higher chance of being answered.

>A] You want the last known location of your Flea Circus: Norward "Mick" Bauldry, and Randall "Randy" Holland. Their ability would be PRICELESS in your current situation, they've been missing for months, and you suspect Sullivan was involved with their initial disappearance.

>B] The spy that wormed his way into your congregation (Victor "Mad Dog" Bonamy) was on the run back to Murgate. You need any critical information regarding this cannibalistic threat NOW. He wormed out of Beorward, he knows you went to Eadric, and there's no guarantee that he won't try and kill your family in their sleep.

>C] Clarity is needed regarding the Church of Spirit's ability, effectiveness, and whoever is leading it right now. You know Sullivan will divulge whatever is most important.

>D] You SWORE to Aldreda that you would get her help, and will NOT forget about the souls in YOUR care who are COUNTING ON YOU for help. Ask Father Sullivan for his counsel about his former patient.

>E] You have to cut off this snake's head. See if he knows of any leaders or major bases for the cult's operations.

>F] Write-in.
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>>4576983

>>A] You want the last known location of your Flea Circus: Norward "Mick" Bauldry, and Randall "Randy" Holland. Their ability would be PRICELESS in your current situation, they've been missing for months, and you suspect Sullivan was involved with their initial disappearance.

I need my fucking boys back.

>F] Write-in.

Cliff notes on the spread of the cult. Numbers and locations, where are they most and least. Just a general scope of their influence.
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>>4576989
(Do you want to try and ask about your boys first, or the cult?)
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>>4576994

Boys first, cult second.
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>>4576989
+1
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>>4576989
+1, the rest we can get to later, though getting the Church of Spirit sorted should be the priority of our next communication, and I trust Sullivan will do the best he can, given current circumstances.
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>>4577007
>>4577006

The whole gang is here. Get hype boys.
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>>4577008
Hell yea!
>>
Rolled 76 (1d100)

>>4576989
>>4576996
>>4577006
>>4577007
>>4577008
>>4577009
(HELL yeah. Vote is locked! I'll keep to 30-45 minute windows while we're moving so quickly. Writing now.)
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>>4577013
https://youtu.be/recganp1M24

"Norward "Mick" Baludry, and Randall "Randy" Holland. I know you were involved in their disappearance. Their skills are beyond measure, and their aid has always been priceless. Sullivan, I need— I need my boys back. Do you know ANYTHING regarding their whereabouts? Even their last known location."

The priest's shoulders slouch. His tone drops. There's still so much tension and stress running through his form, you can tell he's fighting to stay brief. The priest must have a thousand things he wants to say, too. "Magnus had turned a blind eye to most of the cult activity in the capital in hopes of running your men out, Richard."

Guilt slams into you like a battering ram. "The cult's current strength is partly my fault, then."

Apology sinks into Sullivan's tone. "Yes. It's also partly mine. Victor rooted out all of your boy's bases of operation, but they cleared out their forces before the attack fell. They must have only had a few hour's notice."

Mick's abrupt departure from your company puts light in your eyes. He heard of your alliance with Sullivan, and immediately fled. This sounds at least fifty alarm bells, as this means the lord of information still had his rogue agent loose after he apologized to you. "You lost control of Victor that early on?"

"I couldn't risk destroying your work in the capital with further distractions. I'm sorry, Richard."

You grit your teeth. "Where's Mick, Sullivan?"

"From the sound of things, he mobilized nothing short of a small army. There's talk of preaching in your name as far north as Anson. The rumors stop there. I suspect they were compensating for your lack of reach at the coast, with their men."

"That is an odd distinction to make."

"Obviously. Your boy's hand in my affairs has been too light to be seen by most. I do not need eyes or hands, Richard. I know what transpires in my city, and have reason to believe that Norward and Randall are actually here. They have a personal vendetta against Victor that is likely being settled with the blood of my children. You can imagine how insane things are."

You could cry. They're likely alive, and are fighting the good fight. The men and women they rescued from the capital would be out of the King's immediate reach, AND are stalling your enemies at the coast. "You are truly the Father of Intelligence. Thank you."

Reluctant muttering, all laced with guilt replies. "It's the least I can do."

"I have one more question, and will make it quick: the numbers, location, and a TRUE idea of Inertia's spread would be invaluable. Please. Only with as much Time as you can afford."

(1/3)
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>>4577102
"That's at least three questions, you—" He sniffs, glances over his shoulder quickly at some unseen and unheard noise, then scowls at you. "Inertia's splinters have slivered into our entire nation. They will not be so easy to extract. There are opponents to the theocracy in every last village and hamlet. Many citizens live in terror every day of their lives, and are lucky to even hear of the Gods working among them. The work that the Church of Mercy performs—"

"You are referring to the cross-country sermons that have been a hallmark MORRIS' SUPERVISION for his entire career." Horror, and nausea is on you hot and fast. He's been using you to spread support of a cult, for all of your career. "Oh. Mercy."

"He's likely been working right behind every last effort of the theocracy, not just you. These seeds of seeds of calamity have been sown for most of his life. Many clergymen are like him, Richard. It's not uncommon for a pious man or woman to spend their entire life in unrelenting devotion without thanks or reward, only to watch as their families are taken by demon—"

There's a monstrously loud BANG in the background. For it to have registered in Sullivan's mind, and Harriet's, and be projected to you from halfway across the country raises more questions than it answers. The priest's volume and speed redoubles. "A precise number or location is impossible to discern. Inertia's hallmark is the ABSENCE of motion. THAT is what you must look for. The influence you will find is from where there is NO activity, Richard. Our halted trade. Our stifled communications. Farmers who cannot tend to the field. Sailors who cannot reach their waters. An empty Church of Mercy—"

"HOW would you know—"

"SEVEN PRIESTS OF DREAM, RICHARD." The priest whips his head behind him, and gasps. "By the Goddess."

"Sullivan—!"

He whips his head back around. The impression of unbearably wide eyes bores into you. "Pray for me. I'll pray for your children. If I find them, I'll do everything I can to ensure their safety."

The entire pile of thread pools to the floor.

You're left in a quiet room. It's dark. No one is around to hear the series of expletives that fall from your lips, save for your priestess.

(2/3)
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>>4577105
Her piles of skirts and shawls stir. One, long, violent gasp drags in and out from Sister Cardew. As she breathes in, all of the thread on the floor ravels in on itself into a single thin strand. The remnant of Father Sullivan's invocation snakes back into the top of her skull. The length of it takes several second to completely vanish from sight. As she breathes out, all of the color and proximity to life seems to come back into her frame. Tears (watery, substantial wells of real material) are streaming down her face. She laughs quietly to herself, before snapping all the insanity in her eyes to you. They're flooded from one edge of the socket to the other with bands of silver, and streaks of pearlescent fluid. "That sick, miserable, wretched old bastard. Thank you, Richard. I hope no one cuts his tongue out before I get the chance."

There is A LOT that obviously went unsaid between the church leader and his priestess. You take a deep breath in, and try to assess if the mother-to-be is alright. There's no physical damage you can see, but... "I don't want you to hurt yourself. Are you alright?"

"Not in the slightest!" She's still crying horribly, but without any noise. It might be sheer dominion over her own emotion that's steadying her breath and expression. Between the disconnect from her emotions— and such an open display of them— the overall impression is downright inhuman. The steady palms of both her hands open to you. "But to suffer is to serve, Richard. Don't make me repeat what he said."

She knew what she was getting into.

"Father Barthalomew will be in the greatest need of information— or the best recipient for a real threat. You have no memories to share with one another. It will be the most taxing to even reach him, let alone to convey a message. I strongly recommend saving his correspondence for last, in the event that my sanity is compromised."

"Your what—?!"

"As I said, I will need to rest and recover after this endeavor. The effect should not be permanent. The human mind is simply subject to strain. From being graced by divinity. Father Friedrich would be a better candidate. With a sufficiently strong memory, I can bridge the gap between your minds without need for him to invoke. I may have to do so against his will. Given his open hostility. I advise that you play into it."

"I beg your pardon—"

"A violent memory may be easier to ease him into your communications, Richard. Please let me know of one you both share. I am still more than willing to help facilitate an attempt at reconciliation between you two. We can potentially aid two war efforts in doing so." She smiles, all through the tears. "Things like this are exactly why I want to help you. This is the opportunity of a lifetime."

You're not wasting one second arguing about this. "Alright."

(One paragraph over, 3/4)
>>
>>4577110
The months you spent in Beorward were some of the worst of your life— and that's REALLY saying something. It wasn't all bad, though. You can surely think of something, even if however this is supposed to work is still nonsensical and confusing to an extreme.

>A] Use your memory of when you first met him. His city was in peril, and he immediately asked for YOUR help. You both have relied on one another from the first SECONDS you've truly worked together. He shouldn't have forgotten.

>B] Use your memory of fighting the demon of heat in Father Friedrich's courtyard. It was when you both ALLIED your strengths with Father Wilhelm, and might remind the lord of action to temper himself. It could also tap into the unbridled blood lust he had at the time.

>C] Use your memory of your first sparring session together. It was a NON-LETHAL encounter, and Father Friedrich even spoke highly of your ability to his fellow clergy after you outran him. Given your current inability to do so, it could be in poor taste.

>D] Use your memory of the night Father Friedrich implored you to invoke Mercy just for Her company. You were out of your mind at the Time, yet your mentor showed you unprecedented COMPASSION. It will be extremely unpleasant for both of you, but it might be exactly what he needs to remember.

>E] Use your memory of being discovered in the depths of Father Friedrich's prisons, after a brutally abusive invocation to Dream. You have come SO FAR since then. By comparison, you look like an incredibly sane and well-adjusted young man. It's a very ugly reminder of what you're capable of, and might shut him away instantly. It might also help highlight your strengths— past, present, and future.

>F] You spent over five months living in Father Friedrich's home, and have a lot to draw on. (Write-in.)
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>>4577113

>D] Use your memory of the night Father Friedrich implored you to invoke Mercy just for Her company. You were out of your mind at the Time, yet your mentor showed you unprecedented COMPASSION. It will be extremely unpleasant for both of you, but it might be exactly what he needs to remember.
>>
>>4577113
>D] Use your memory of the night Father Friedrich implored you to invoke Mercy just for Her company. You were out of your mind at the Time, yet your mentor showed you unprecedented COMPASSION. It will be extremely unpleasant for both of you, but it might be exactly what he needs to remember.
>>
>>4577113
>D] Use your memory of the night Father Friedrich implored you to invoke Mercy just for Her company. You were out of your mind at the Time, yet your mentor showed you unprecedented COMPASSION. It will be extremely unpleasant for both of you, but it might be exactly what he needs to remember.
>>
>>4577124
>>4577147
>>4577148
(Beautiful you guys, locking the unanimous vote here. Writing now!)
>>
>>4577113
>D] Use your memory of the night Father Friedrich implored you to invoke Mercy just for Her company. You were out of your mind at the Time, yet your mentor showed you unprecedented COMPASSION. It will be extremely unpleasant for both of you, but it might be exactly what he needs to remember.
>>
>>4577239
(Thanks for casting your vote anon! I'm still writing but the update should be out relatively soon.)
>>
>>4577163
There's tightness in your chest, and heat all in your face just thinking about it. "The night that Father Friedrich implored me to invoke Mercy, just for— just for Her company."

Sister Cardew has heard about the entire affair before. She looks VERY worried. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I know I was out of my mind at the Time. I know it will be unpleasant for both of us. But it— this may be exactly what he needs to remember."

Both of you sigh deeply, and are still sweating.

"Alright, Richard." Harriet motions with her open palms towards you. You place your own hands over hers. "Please don't worry about hurting me. I am the medium through which you will experience the memory. It should be as real as you remember it, but I will not permit Father Friedrich to truly hurt either one of us. Close your eyes. If I thought he would, we would not be attempting this—"

You close one eye, and squint with the other. "He can inflict harm on you through this?"

"In a way. It will be worse for you, either way. And you know you made it through it. Now close your eyes. Breathe." You comply. "The mind is a curious, beautiful thing. I'll ease you both into it, to ensure he is not caught unawares. I have heard this before, but you start. It will help things."

"It was right after— right after you and I had both come out from the rain. It was pelting down on the Church of Flesh so intensely, I thought it may have been hail. Storm— Storm had just begun the flooding—"

"Try to stay focused."

"I had just finished a formal prayer to all the Gods."

"Good."

"I brought Ray along with me to meet Father Friedrich. I was late to the training he offered to give me that evening, so it was no surprise that he was alone. Smoking. His office..."

You catch a glance inside his office. The war room is spacious, rivaling the size of your solar. As the leader of the church of movement prefers to stay on his feet, the space normally is occupied only by one colossal table at its center. All of its maps and pins are cleared. Two chairs are temporarily set up next to the table— just as you had requested for a more cerebral meeting. Numerous lead-filled objects are still scattered about the floor, in various shapes and sizes for training.

You recognize that the weight is a pittance, and marvel at just how weak you were less than a year ago. There's no trace of the personal items that had littered the room earlier in the day, from the soldiers who fell during the battle of Beorward. The grieving families, nobility, and spies are all gone. There are no suits of armor. No weapons. No priest. Not even Ray is beside you. The hallway behind you rapidly begins to darken.

Hurrying inside the office, you cannot get comfortable. There's an intense impression of someone watching you, though you're utterly alone. A number of voices rapidly fill the edges of your mind. The room blurs. A splitting headache lances your skull from ear to ear.

(1/5)
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>>4577309
"Atticus and I have been more than happy to extend ourselves to get you back on your feet. We appreciate you, Richard. All the good work you've done. Saving my home. Your research. Staying out of our business. You've always been respectful. I know you're a righteous man, no matter what anyone says—"
Exasperated, you mutter, "I am sick of hearing this—"

"Hey. You hear the other words coming out of my mouth?"

"Yes."

"We appreciate you. I appreciate you."

"I understand."

"I'm going to kill him if you get all this help and go home to a church on fire."

The anxiety written across your face must be plain as day.

"Not literally. I'm not going to stand for all the slander. I can take care of myself, but do you want me to do something about Sullivan? For you. It's the least I can do. We'll get to the lesson—" He waves a hand-written sheet with the tenets of Flesh on them. "—but this is important. As important, if not more so. You'll have to get back to the world at some point, and I don't want it to get back at you."

Father Galterius Friedrich, leader of the Church of Flesh, looks like he's aged five years since you last saw him. There's substantially more white in his full beard and mustache, and his widow's peak has drawn farther back. The creases around his eyes are deeper, though they still look like they're from smiling. Still, his grooming is beyond impeccable. The man's possibly put on more bulk, and gotten harder since you last saw him. A skin-tight, thin black shirt and tapered trousers emphasize every chiseled inch of him. The Father of Combat looks like he could still throw you around.

He has placed nine different, progressively larger weights in his arms, and is making his way quickly back over to you. "Alright. There's a method to my madness, Richard. Ready?"

"I—"

The weights are all collectively dropped to the stone floor. You're surprised that the rock doesn't shatter, for the sound it makes. Your vision cuts out for a few seconds. Turning back, the priest of Flesh is right at your side. Two of the smallest weights are in his hands. "We're working your quirk out of you, even if it kills me."

Dread creeps into you. This is going to hurt, isn't it?

(2/5)
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>>4577312
https://youtu.be/ErTbScSd_LM

Time continues to make no sense whatsoever. Your brain scrambles to piece together slapdash memories and snippets of conversation. You're granted relief from the onslaught through only a few momentary glimpses of reality, despite every word leaving you, and the priest at your side.

"I know enough of restraint, Father Friedrich. There may be more overlap between our tenets than even a cursory glance warranted."
"Not only Agriculture, Mercy, Time or any other God's gifts should be taken in moderation, Richard. The Gods themselves do, too. You don't believe me?"
"Invocation is perfectly justifiable when lives are on the line."
"How's that worked out for you?"
"I beg your pardon—"
"Let's see. Go on and get down. Copy me."

Several hours of the workout slam through your body and mind in the next few seconds. Your wasted, tortured muscles from a lifetime of abuse. Refusing to back down. Testing your mentor at every turn, and refusing to communicate a single limit.

Over.
And over.
And over again.

Sweat on your brow. The pins and needles through your left arm is a familiar agony, after having the injured location worked well past its limits. Despite how much running you've done through your life, Father Friedrich worked a burn into even your core and legs. It feels like every muscle in your body is being broken down. A building nausea is on you. Memories of a full day of binging and drugs flits by. Waking up in the middle of the night to go drinking, and fishing with Brother Trebbeck and Father Wilhelm. A long afternoon with exotic and imported goods. Dinner with Sister Cardew, at the nicest lounge in the city. Tea that could calm even your nerves.

It's perfect.

The agony is wrapping back around into something a lot better, and you really don't want to complain. Slick with sweat, breathing hard, you try to move your hair aside. There's heat and gold popping before your eyes through the slightest motion. Indecency comes out of every last unhinged syllable that escapes you, through the filter of a fractured mind. "Can we go harder?"

Disgust and disappointment replies. "We're stopping here."

Leaning into the pain and pleasure, you close your eyes. "You do not understand. This is exactly what I need. What I—" Every syllable is another wave. Another thrill. Your breath hitches with each one. You gasp through it, and fail to regain some semblance of communication. "want— have— to have. To feel."

The green in your wide eyes lifts up, imploring your mentor. You can't speak normally. His sneer is even more judgmental than you remember. "I want to help you, Richard, but I know someone sick when I see it."

"You do not even know the half—" Relaxing your arms to try and move is a mistake. It redoubles the relief, and redoubles the pain.

(3/5)
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>>4577314
Pulling closer into yourself, it makes you tense all over again.
Burying your face in your arms.
A few long minutes likely pass as you fight to keep your composure.
Quelling any sounds that want to rise.

Dragging your head off of your arms, you stare straight at your fellow church leader. The priest's patience is befitting of a Father's. His lips are tight, but his fists are tighter. They're clearly fighting to not put you in your place. "Stop. I know enough of Mercy to stay my hand. I don't need to sit here and listen to this."

Eyes on a clenched fist, your erratic breath is unable to keep up with your enthusiasm. With your pulse racing a mile a minute, you murmur, "then stand."

"I swear, on all of the Gods, Richard—"
"You have never felt Her, but you understand a fraction—"
"Spoiled little shit." He takes a step forward. "You've never had someone stop you from running—"
"—of Their blessing—!"
"—your fucking mouth—"
"—it was more than any mortal man could hope to comprehend, Father."
"Did I fucking stutter?"
"I could scarcely tell what was happening at the time."
"You can't tell what the fuck is happening now—"
"Daggers."
"You're making a fucking—"
"Blades."
"—fool of yourself—"
"Imps, in the halls of Her Church—"

You're being lifted to your feet, by the front of your sweat-soaked shirt. He has to use both hands, but absolutely still possesses the strength to do more. Father Friedrich could not look more disgusted. His words and breath are level. "I don't want to hear it. I can't do anything for you if you won't even listen. You need my help. Our help. You're sick."

You say with a smile, "I know. I do not regret anything. This outbreak was child's play—"
"You shut your fucking mouth—"
"I saved every life in my care, staved off a dozen imps without suffering— nnn— suffering— more than a few more scars, Father—!"

His shoulders are shaking in frustration and anger. Every inch of him reads that he's going to hit you at any moment, but something is staying his hand. The hold on your shirt persists, as your mentor loudly sets you back to the floor.

The motion is more than enough to elicit another wave of delirium. Memory. Ecstasy. "Glass. More than you've ever seen, stained in Her light. It was like rain. Daggers. I can run, Father, but I didn't need to. They healed all of them. It should have killed me. It was a gift. Do you understand?"

Father Friedrich grabs you firmly by one shoulder, with a single hand. "It's sick. You don't know what you're saying. Shut the fuck up, Richard—"

"I loved every second of it—"

The leader of the Church of Flesh goes for the same spot on your jaw as before. The same spot Father Friedrich had punched and nearly fractured on THREE separate occasions within your first week meeting him. The same spot Father Pevrel fractured this morning.

He strikes you clean across the face.

(4/5)
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>>4577322
The impact is deafening. The crack in your jawbone resonates in your skull, with a BANG.

The ringing in your ears almost eclipses the flecks of blood and gold dance in your vision. You can't hear. You can't see. There's a second impact, as your exhausted limbs fail to cooperate. Your face slams on the floor, along with all the rest of you.

Blood is dripping from your mouth. Hot. Copper. Crimson.

Dragging yourself upright on instinct, there is a moment of respite. Your pulse is in your ears so hard and fast that nothing else exists save for the throb, and a steady drip.

Drip.

Throb.

Drip.

Throb.

Drip.

It doesn't last for long. A flood of heat is in the site of the injury, and is growing by the second. It eclipses any sane or rational thought. You lick at the blood pooling from your mouth. It's gratification. Bliss. "Mercy."

Press a digit down into the wound. Maybe even more.

Father Friedrich moves faster than you can even lift your arm. "Don't you dare!"

He rushes forward to pin you back to the ground. Both of your wrists are grasped by his hands tightly enough that escape should be impossible.

Would a dislocation, a tear, or a break be more efficient?

The very thought destroys the last of your composure. You want to bite down on something to still every sound that you know is about to escape, but tensing your jaw sends another explosion of pain through you. Another blossom of ecstasy. "Aahhhhhnn—"

"Richard."

The moan is more motion. It's only making things worse. "Mercy—!"

"Father Anscham!"

"Flesh—!"

"I am going to find a way to shut you the fuck up if you don't stop yourself, right now."

>Write-in.
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>>4577328

What am i supposed to write in?
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>>4577333
(Nice trips. Literally anything you want to try to say or do given how absolutely fucked the situation is, given your behavior in the memory and Father Friedrich's seeming inability to control his actions in it either. It's such a complex situation with so many factors that it felt out of place to write prompts, despite me coming up with several. You all wanted to communicate with him about the war effort, but the means that Sister Cardew has for long-distance communication is VERY dependent on the bond between the two individuals talking. Since you got this priest balls-deep in a memory, it's up to you all to work with it.

If you guys are absolutely and utterly at a loss for what to do after thinking on it I can still provide prompts, but it really seemed out of place. Hope that all clears up things, thanks for the question and please let me know if I can be of any other help.)
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>>4577328

"Help me get back at the world, let us *act*"
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>>4577328
"With the powers bestowed upon me by the Gods, I will better myself and fix the shit that keeps slipping around!" "I am C-man!"
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>>4577340
>>4577347
(Gotcha guys, vote is locked here! Writing now.)
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>>4577429
A few moments pass in so much shock and dismay that you fall completely silent. This isn't who you want to be. The Gods Themselves see fit to bless you. You have overcome pain worse than this before through Them, and through your own will to serve.

You pray, while swallowing the sticky copper that's gathered in your mouth. It's all in your teeth, and must look disgusting, but you can't care. It feels like you're going to drown— laying down with blood pooling right back down your throat— but you miserably talk through it. Coughing a few times helps, even if a few droplets of blood come up with it. "I will—" A pause. The pain is immediate from trying to speak, but there will be no indecency. You're going to get a hold of yourself.

Your heart might as well be vibrating from how quickly it's beating, and everything hurts so badly you could die, but that's fine.

Deep breath. You manage to not inhale or choke on all the blood. "...I will better myself. I can't— I will not keep slipping. I'm tired of Inertia, Father Friedrich."

Light instantly comes to his eyes, but he remains silent.

"Help me get back at the world. Let us act."

The vice on both of your wrists does not budge. It doesn't rival the pain in your jaw, but it's still practically cutting off your circulation. The position you're both in is unbelievably uncomfortable, too. You're taller than Father Friedrich, significantly wider, and he's slightly sunk in on the softness of your legs and hips. He can't weigh more than 2/3rds of what you do, yet it still feels like a boulder is crushing your upper thighs.

Can humans be this hard? Is he cut from solid marble?

There's the threat of renewed violence on every exhausted inch of him. You've never heard someone sound so disappointed. "I'm stopping you, Richard, because I know it's going to kill you more to hold you back—" He grits his teeth, and scowls at you from head-to-toe. "—than to let you keep hurting yourself. You're sick. You're still sick."

>A] Don't argue. Just try to listen to whatever he has to say.

>B] Ouch. "You're still finding ways to hurt me. I don't want this."

>C] "I'm sorry." Give the most heartfelt apology you can muster.

>D] Write-in.
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>>4577469
A; we need to hear it, and he needs to vent.

>>4577328
Better late than never.

You know, he'd make a brilliant priest of Mercy, with all the restraint he was showing before.

Inertia, infecting the soul of our divine institutions. It reached the very heart of Mercy. Our imprisonment was no accident, nor was the insanity. They tried to turn me into a demon, and failed. I have declared war on Inertia. Beware spies in your midst.

I am sorry, for the trouble I put you though. I realize you were only trying to help me, and I was fighting you every step of the way. What I have put you through, is unforgivable. I should have treated my Flesh better, and you were remarkably kind when dealing with something that near drove the Father of Reason mad. I'm sorry I've failed you, in any and all forms. I'll try to be better than I was.
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>>4577620
(Appreciate you so much man. Getting some sleep late tonight but I'll be back in a few! Vote is open til I return.)
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>>4577469
>A] Don't argue. Just try to listen to whatever he has to say.
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>>4577469

>>A] Don't argue. Just try to listen to whatever he has to say.

>C] "I'm sorry." Give the most heartfelt apology you can muster.

Hey man, were just fat ok. We also talked to Agri about it and it's not like we lost all the muscle underneath, we have it handled unlike these cultists.
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>>4577828
>310 lbs of devotion
>Fred panics harder
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>>4577620
>>4577800
>>4577828
>>4577840
(Good morning guys! I'm back in the saddle and ready to rock and roll. Vote is locked here, absolutely blessed write-ins. Writing now.)
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>>4577966
https://youtu.be/iaoOp4lVLgs

You need to hear this. He needs to vent. You have learned so much in the months you've been apart from Father Friedrich. Laying back, trying to not choke on the blood all in your throat, and listening is the least you can do. Just the fact that you don't immediately try to talk over him, make excuses, or go off on some tangent has the priest slowly loosen his grip on your wrists.

His shoulders and arms are still shaking with frustration. "Richard. I can't know everything you've been through. I sure as shit don't want to— and you know why?"

The wetness in your throat almost helps to politely choke out, "why?"

He drops your wrist, and punches the ground at your side. There's a fracture in both of your minds through the memory, and the floor remains intact despite the force used against it. It only seems to make the priest more frustrated. "Because there's no pride or joy to be had in suffering. Why don't you get that? We're all fighting for our lives. My sons and daughters are not out risking their lives so that we can sit around on our asses— fat or not— and leave all the work to them! I worked you into the ground for months on end. This isn't about my feelings. I'm worried about you. We're soldiers, Richard. Soldiers. Not chieftains, or politicians, or lords, or kings."

The Father of Strength loses his composure. His voice cracks. "We can't get soft. How could you do this to yourself? What happened to running? What happened to you? And this—" The grating sound of his teeth wearing at each other makes your jaw ache all the more. "—this fixation you have? Why? I've tried so hard to help you. I never expected you to repay me. But I could never—" He's furious. "I never could have imagined that you would just throw it all away."

Shifting upright is not a mistake. It's annoying, the pain through your jaw is excruciating, and your stomach is entirely in the way (you will never forget the face Father Friedrich makes when he realizes your gut reaches your upper thighs while sitting), but it's worth it. Fighting down the heat through your face, you both shrug off of each other, and look one another in the eye.

Your mentor is radiating disappointment as he sits beside you. He's waiting for an answer, and excuses, and arguments, and insanity.

The ache in your chest rivals the pain in your soul. "I'm sorry."

He almost draws back. It's a gut-punc that makes him sound just as hurt. "You should be."

It's obvious that all the sternness of his tone is killing him, too. You sniff, and try to not choke or cough. "I've been fighting you every step of the way, when you have— when you have only been trying to help me. What I've put you through is unforgivable."

A long silence hangs between the two of you.

The furrow between your brows is so tense, it's giving you a headache. "I have disgraced Flesh. I should have treated myself better."

(1/5)
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>>4578037
Half of the tension in Father Friedrich's shoulders drops. You know him well enough by now to tell his lip is quivering, even through the beard. He doesn't interrupt.

"You've been remarkably kind while dealing with something that nearly drove the Father of Reason mad."

"Sullivan...?" You nod. Father Friedrich scowls. "Well. At least he's deserved it."

This is miserable. The guilt on your shoulders feels heavier than anything that's physically on you. "You've demonstrated my tenets without fail. And how have I repaid your compassion? By making you miserable? You would have made a brilliant priest of Mercy, Father Friedrich. I can't think of any other man alive capable of exhibiting so much restraint."

The priest of resilience could not be frowning harder. He's clearly deep in thought.

You clutch at the robes over your knees. Each word hurts more than the pain in your face. "I'm sorry I've failed you. In any, and all forms."

The frown across from you intensifies.

It feels like you could cry, but nothing's coming. You and Father Friedrich disagree on a least one complaint at a fundamental level. He's still not saying anything. "I don't want to make excuses—"

"Then don't."

Mist swims in your eyes. There's one thing you shouldn't be sorry for. "I'm just fat, okay? I am okay with it—" His anger redoubles, as you intensify your tone firmly enough to stop his complaints in their tracks. "—enough to have TALKED TO Agriculture about it."

His complaints shift into shock. "What?"

"It's not as if I've lost any of the muscle underneath, either."

Incredibly intense scrutiny passes over you. Father Friedrich's eyes narrow, as he's obviously reeling from both pieces of news. He might not believe you. "Don't be weird about this," he mutters. The priest wraps both of his hands around your upper arm, and feels around a little. You flex. His eyebrows raise. There's substantial bulk, and unquestionably a great deal of muscle under all the fat. "Hmph." He crosses his arms, and leans back. "You've managed to work with Him, then. At least once."

"Yes." You soften your tone considerably. "I'm trying, Father. I'm going to keep trying to be better than I was. I'm sorry for everything I've put you through. You have every right to be upset, but— the fat, at least— I have it handled. Unlike these cultists."

A hand runs over Father Friedrich's face. If you weren't mistaken, there was a tear or two that he expertly wiped away with the motion. He laughs miserably to himself. "Well, I'll be damned."

"What...?"

"I'm still going to have trouble keeping up with you. Aren't I?"

You sniff, and battle to not break down on the spot. "Is that—"

"I'm not the lord of judgement, Richard. I just want you to be healthy, and happy. How is your heart keeping up with this much dough?"

(2/5)
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>>4578040
"It— I—" There's way too much to explain. "She... Mercy is my partner, Father Friedrich. If the Goddess of Healing couldn't handle me—"

More miserable laughter. "For fuck's sake. That's— that's fucked. That's fucked up."

Your grimace could kill a man.

"Oh, don't give me that shit. Glad you took my advice?"

"More than I could ever say."

A few of the priest's fingers pull slightly on his beard. He sighs. "I have half a mind to kick your ass. For all the good it would do! You'd only like it, if you could even feel it."

"That was unnecessary."

"So is your weight. You'd only get like this so fast from something that should have killed you ten times over."

"Eleven, by my count."

You both manage a smile.

"Shut the fuck up, Richard."

"I really am sorry, Father Friedrich." Your grin drops. "I wish we could have spoken so much sooner."

"Yeah, well— we're probably killing your priestess, too—"

Panic sets in. You need to make sure—

"Hey. Calm down. I'm not killing you just yet." Grumbling. Something about how he's actually going to have to kill you when he gets his hands on you in the Flesh.

"Pardon me, Father? Was that something about not knowing how to take three-hundred-and-ten pounds of devotion—"

"That's it." He wraps you in a head lock.

Hissing in immediately doesn't cut it, for how tender your jaw and face still are. "Mercy—!"

The hold is kept, as the priest laughs to himself. "Alright. Make it quick! What do you got?"

"AaaHH—! I take it you're not HONESTLY upset with me, then—?"

He tightens his arm, laughing all the harder. "Bullshit. Of course I am. I'll hold your shit-talking against you, Richard, but not your work! What do I run my mouth at you for, boy? You think I took you under my roof just to have you watch yours burn down?"

It's a miracle you can breathe. You'd be lying if you said you didn't love it, too. "No—!"

"Damn straight."

"—I could speak far more readily if you let me go—"

He lets you go. "Maybe if you dropped some of that devotion it would be easier to do something about it! Haha."

Damn him. "Very funny."

More of the intense scrutiny. You can hear every sadistic gear turning in his head, with exercise routines that would surely kill you. "Yeah. Don't think I'm letting you get off that easily. You're lucky we've got half the country and two wars between us, boy. I'd burn this shit off of you. Especially if it killed you. But let's hear your report. No use with the efforts at our borders if there's trouble on the home front."

Music to your ears. "I knew you would understand."

"Don't think for a second I haven't been investigating. Have had my men putting out a curfew in the capital for months. Squashing this shit wherever it's cropped up hasn't been easy. That's the trouble, isn't it? The cowards. Hiding like rats. They're a worse sickness in our home than any rodent, either."

(3/5)
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>>4578041
"Yes. Precisely. I'm sorry if this is all something you already know, but I have— but I have confirmation that the Church of Agriculture is enabling the cult of Inertia. I have reason to believe that they are directly responsible for at least a portion of their current efforts. My men are looking into the current leadership in Wearmoor, and we'll be in correspondence. I intend to look into the matter personally, just as soon as I'm able. We've had our supply interrupted in Eadric— yet the Church of Storm has managed new imports and exports as recently as this last month. I'll be contacting Father Barthalomew next—"

"Sorry to interrupt, but let me know how Bart's doing when you can. If you can. I know you can trust him, Richard."

"I will. Thank you for the counsel."

"Go on."

"The Church of Storm is obviously involved. The entirety of the Church of Spirit is in extreme turmoil— though I also have a few of my boys stationed there, who are helping our cause. The matter is covert. I trust that you won't breathe word of any of this to anyone."

"Don't be ridiculous. This stays between the two of us."

Your grimace relents. "I trust they will have the matter handled to most of the north. It seems they've launched counter-measures against Inertia's preaching in the countryside, and a broad effort is being made to restore some faith in the theocracy. What troubles me most is that Mother Aimar has been embroiled in some conflict that's rendered her almost entirely unavailable."

"Where?"

"A desert. I have no idea what the location is, Father Friedrich. Even the Time seems elusive."

Nervous laughter. "I'll look into it."

"...thank you. Father Wilhelm has also been preoccupied. Something, or something has rendered him almost entirely unable to reach out from the Church of Dream. Some affair to the south has been disabling our strongest leaders. Nothing is preventing Inertia's actual movements. The cult has infested my city. Father Pevrel is here in Eadric—"

If Father Friedrich were to have had some tea, it would have been spit out by now. He splutters, "the FUCK dragged his unhappy ass out from Mauseburg?!" Extreme worry passes over you. "Oh, for the love of all the Gods, Richard. Are you okay—"

"I will be. My city's elders summoned him. The political nightmare I am currently entrenched in encompasses most of the city. We've had to punish the assault on my castle and church with extreme prejudice. An example is being made of the worst of the attackers. Their motives are unclear, but it appears that Inertia's current goal is to intentionally start outbreaks."

Father Friedrich gets to his feet. He's radiating so much anger, he might as well be on fire. "You've been doing our country a service by killing these wretches where they stand."

(4/5)
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>>4578044
He makes no offer to help you stand, but you get up without further event. The pain in your jaw still feels unbearably real, but you ignore the urge to rub at the spot. "I'm doing everything I can. I'll be seeing to my men in Wearmoor and Murgate, just as— just as soon as I'm able. We're going to exterminate every last one of these pests in my home, first."

The war general at your side puts a hand to your shoulder. "Hey."

You blink. "Yes?"

"The western conflict isn't faring as well as it could be. We've been pulling resources for so long from home—" The hold on your shoulder tightens. "—I can't help but feel like I'm responsible for all this. I'm going to see to as much of it as I can. But I won't lie to you Richard— we're already stretched to the breaking point. I don't know how much help I can be at this very second. Losing our defensive capabilities, weakening my men, pulling out from the fight— it would redouble our problems here. I know it seems counter-intuitive, but having the war brought into our borders just can't happen. We all rely on the Church of Mercy for our home. You are the Lord of Protection, after all. Right?"

Father Friedrich is asking you to shoulder the war at home. All of it.

(Options in next post.)
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>>4578045
>A] Men like you have no use for pride. This is about the LOVE you have for your home, Gods, and family. Reassure your fellow church leader that you will get this situation under control. King Magnus also implored you to focus on your efforts in Eadric first, which you will do— but you are not resting until your enemies are snuffed out.

>B] It's not your place to make the suggestion, it's not your position to offer counsel, but you ARE the leader of the Church of Mercy, and Father Friedrich DOES technically answer to your authority. (Write-in an order to give to your country's war general. He cannot refuse if you give him a formal command. Be advised that he will be VERY offended if you do so. Unanimous vote required.)

>C] Your mentor has been as much of a father to you as the man who helped bring you into this world. You still want Father Friedrich to be a part of your life, even with all the distance between the two of you. Aside from the war effort...
>1] Ask him if there's anything else you can do to try and make amends.
>2] You just want to stay in contact. Make it clear that you treasure your alliance, and don't want to ever take it for granted again.

>D] That letter to Ofelia probably won't happen any time soon. Ask the leader of the Church of Flesh if he can do you an enormous, entirely unjustifiable favor: to pass along a message to your friends after you part ways.
>1] You just want to let Ofelia know that you'll be alright, and to wish her well. Implore the assassin to keep safe, and out of trouble.
>2] Urge Ofelia and Cyril to stay within Beorward at all costs. They have an adopted child, and you can't stand the thought of something happening to any of them.
>3] Your friends are unbearably strong. Ask Father Friedrich if (or how) their talents are being put to use.

>E] This might be the last chance you get to talk to Father Friedrich for a very long while. You really want to say something more, before you have to go. (Write-in.)
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>>4578046
>C] Your mentor has been as much of a father to you as the man who helped bring you into this world. You still want Father Friedrich to be a part of your life, even with all the distance between the two of you. Aside from the war effort...
>>1] Ask him if there's anything else you can do to try and make amends.
>>
>>4578046

>>A] Men like you have no use for pride. This is about the LOVE you have for your home, Gods, and family. Reassure your fellow church leader that you will get this situation under control. King Magnus also implored you to focus on your efforts in Eadric first, which you will do— but you are not resting until your enemies are snuffed out.

He is the Father of Strategy, ask for some wisdom.

>D] That letter to Ofelia probably won't happen any time soon. Ask the leader of the Church of Flesh if he can do you an enormous, entirely unjustifiable favor: to pass along a message to your friends after you part ways.
>3] Your friends are unbearably strong. Ask Father Friedrich if (or how) their talents are being put to use.

We know a lot about the poison that they are using, have him let Ofelia know while also telling her...

>1] You just want to let Ofelia know that you'll be alright, and to wish her well.
>>
>>4578046
A, E; How goes the war, then? What exercises do you recommended, to help worship my Flesh? How are you holding up?
>>
>>4578052
>>4578053
>>4578062
(Beautiful guys, locking the vote here. Writing now!)
>>
>>4578071
"Right. King Magnus was clear that I'm needed most in Eadric— and I will not fail him. My efforts are here at home, Father Friedrich. I promise you, I will not rest until our enemies are snuffed out."

The hold on your shoulder tightens a little further. So do his lips. A few nods. "Right." Deep breath. He couldn't be more relieved. "Right. I can tell. I know you've been working yourself half to death. Thank you, Richard."

It doesn't feel right doing anything other than trying to apologize. "I just want to make amends. To keep us all safe. To do the right thing. You're the Father of Strategy. Could you lend me your wisdom?"

A pause. "You've changed so much." His lips get a little tighter. "Keep up whatever it is you're doing."

"I will."

"This war won't be won in a day. We might not ever be able to root out all of this nonsense. Don't scatter your efforts. Inertia claims that they're faceless, but we both know the truth."

"I need to go after their leadership."

"It's certain that their ability to regroup so quickly is due to some sort of coordination. They wouldn't have weaseled their way so deeply into our affairs otherwise. I don't have the Time, the manpower, or the energy to root them out. I'm sorry, Richard. I know you have a few of my lads at your church, and I want you to make the best use of their strengths that you can. Strike decisively. Save your strength for where it counts. You've got a lot of good minds at your disposal, right?"

Both of you awkwardly look around the room. You settle your gaze back on Father Friedrich, certain that this is probably killing Sister Cardew. "The best in the world. Absolutely."

"Don't waste them. You have to manage your resources wisely. There's only so much we have to give. If I had to guess, they'll try and stall you in Eadric for as long as possible. It seems like this affair with Father Pevrel was meant to hold your attention. That means they're stirring up trouble elsewhere. The mind is a muscle too, right!"

"Right."

"And so is the heart. Don't you go losing yourself."

"I promise I won't."

"I know. Mercy wouldn't have anything less." Another look passes over you. "She seriously..."

"We can hopefully discuss this when we have more Time at our disposal, Father Friedrich."

"Right." He sniffs. The hand comes off of your shoulder. "Just want to be clear, Richard: don't kill yourself over this. We're counting on you. Treat your body as your most valuable asset. If you don't have your health, you don't have anything. You got me?"

"Yes, sir." Your frown returns tenfold. "Thank you so much, for everything."

"You're welcome. What's wrong?"

"I know a great deal about the poison that Inertia has weaponized. One of my best friends— Ofelia Banks— she should be with Cyril. Are you putting either of them to...?"

There's a hard shift in the memory. A cold sweat is on your mentor. "I don't want to—"

(1/2)
>>
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>>4578112
The room is darkening by the second. A familiar voice picks up on the periphery of your mind. It's accompanied by the SLAM of a door being broken off its hinges.

"FRED I SWEAR TO ALL THE FUCKIN' GODS IF THIS IS WHAT I THINK YOU'RE CALLIN' ME UP HERE FOR—?!"

The shift is darker. Starker. The floor feels like it gives out from under you.

"I didn't want to tell him, Richard, but I—"

There's a massive, hard disconnect from the war room, and your mentor. It's like you've physically lost a train of thought. There's something here that's stronger than even the encounter you had with Father Friedrich all those many months ago. "What could you have possibly..."

Horror sinks into you. "You didn't."

There's another SLAM.

"WELL!?"

>A] Father Friedrich needs to face his demons. You both want to understand where Brother Trebbeck is coming from. The hot-headed priest is just as much your ally as the leader of the Church of Flesh.

>B] There's no way Father Friedrich would have pushed Cyril even farther than he already has without damn good reason. You trust your mentor, and would rather see things from his perspective.
>>
>>4578114
>>A] Father Friedrich needs to face his demons. You both want to understand where Brother Trebbeck is coming from. The hot-headed priest is just as much your ally as the leader of the Church of Flesh.
>>
>>4578114
>A] Father Friedrich needs to face his demons. You both want to understand where Brother Trebbeck is coming from. The hot-headed priest is just as much your ally as the leader of the Church of Flesh.
>>
>>4578118
>>4578126
(You guys down for half hour voting windows?)
>>
>>4578114
A; though I'm sure B has it's valid points as well. I only hope this doesn't harm Cardew.
>>
>>4578147
Ye, sounds good.
>>
>>4578118
>>4578126
>>4578149
>>4578151
(Yeah fuck it let's do this thing.

We are initiating action protocol: 30 minute voting windows.

We'll proceed as such until things slow down, e.g. less than 2 votes during that period, or the action slows. Vote is LOCKED. Writing now!)
>>
>>4578154
"Father Friedrich." Your voice is calm. You've seen enough weird shit to last several hundred lifetimes, and know how to handle this. "Listen to me. You need to face your demons."

"You don't understand—"

"You do not understand. We want to understand where Cyril is coming from. I trust you. I trust him. Please think of Sister Cardew's well-being. Try not to make this any more challenging for her—"

The light increases in the room.

Everything is clear.

Your mind feels completely unfettered.

Free of the trappings of restraint, and compassion, and everything that makes you who you are.

This is a man who has nothing left to lose.

It's terrifying.

https://youtu.be/FbmnDBDHWKc

Storming through the halls of the Church of Flesh took you all the way up the stupid fucking cobblestone roads. Your rain-soaked shoes squished the entire way, nearly tripping you ten times as you kicked every rock on your path. At least Ofelia was at home this time to look after your little dew drop. It's been ONE DAY since you returned home from TWO MONTHS out in the capital. The whole venture back was more fighting. More assassins. More death. You've hardly slept, not that you ever sleep well. The nightmares have been worse since leaving home, but it's NOTHING compared to what it feels like when you're awake. Being summoned by Father Friedrich in the early morning could only mean one thing.

All the way through the miserable little shopping districts, up the Gods-forsaken drawbridge, past the miserable little forts ("Mornin', Cyril!" "NOT NOW, JEFF—"), through the packed main hall, and along all the miserable little halls. Under high burning chandeliers. Past several dozen men and women all being armed and readied to be sent off. The Church of Flesh has been emptier and emptier in the last few years. It's only gotten worse in recent months. It's only going to keep getting worse.

The fucking door to the entrance of Fred's pompous war-room. The entrance is banded with dented metal over the cracked wood. It puts a smile on your face, for all the times you've knocked it off its hinges. Instinctively, you go to roll back your sleeves. But you don't wear sleeves. Fuck sleeves.

The heel of your slippery, sodden, unhappy boot slams into the front of the door.

SLAM!

It's deafening. The kick carries through your leg, and all up into the scowl smeared across half of your ugly mug. It stings, with a familiar numbness that reaches up into your slightly exposed teeth, and all the mottled skin (save for the missing ear, and busted eye). The scars from Calunoth won't heal. It's Fred's fault you were sent to babysit in the first place. Sure, you got your babe out of it. Sure, Richard got his work done, and actually got his shit together. Sure, you all saved hundreds of lives. Stopped those demons. Got out. Got home. But it's no excuse. There's no excuse for any of it.

(1/2)
>>
>>4578173
You sure as shit haven't skipped a leg day since Richard ran circles around you. Made a fool out of you. But it's a good thing. Every bit of air in your healthy, well-worked lungs is put to good use. "FRED I SWEAR TO ALL THE FUCKIN' GODS IF THIS IS WHAT I THINK YOU'RE CALLIN' ME UP HERE FOR—?!"

The old man is standing behind the excessive table in his otherwise empty office. Good. More room for you to storm across the chamber and bark, "WELL?!"

The edge of the desk breaks off, from how hard the priest clutched onto it. Father Friedrich looks at the chunk of wood in his hands, sighs, and gently sets it back on top of the surface. "Not gonna waste your Time. I'm not sorry for calling you here. Just sorry for what I have to say. We're losing, Cyril. We're losing more men by the day. I asked for you to come away from your girls this morning because if we don't win this, there's not going to be a home to come back to."

You can only hope that the ice in your eyes will kill this man where he stands. "Don't you dare, Fred. Don't fuck with me."

"I'm ordering you to Baranfen."

You'll kill him. "No."

"This is not negotiable."

"No, Fred."

"You gonna go rogue?"

"Bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?!"

"Don't make me—"

"What a great idea! MAKE ME!."

(A roll will be required for both of the following.)

>A] Invoke Flesh on the spot.

>B] You want to beat him down with your own Flesh and blood.
>>
>>4578174

>>B] You want to beat him down with your own Flesh and blood.

I swear to god Fred.
>>
>>4578174
>B] You want to beat him down with your own Flesh and blood.
Can't beat Dick fred, not the Dick.
>>
>>4578189

We are seeing things from Cyrils point of view here, not Dicks.
>>
>>4578180
>>4578189
>>4578202
(Locking the unanimous vote here. Writing now!)
>>
>>4578174
To B, or not to B.

It's B.
>>
>>4578214
(24 seconds away from missing you kek. Gotcha boss.)
>>
>>4578202
Yes
>>
>>4578212
"Don't make me do this, Cyril." He slowly circles around the side of the table.

All of the scar tissue across your knuckles stretches, as you pop each digit with one quick motion. Winding back a fist, you shout, "I'm not giving you a CHOICE!"

Every ounce of force you possess pivots through the ball of your foot, your thighs, your core, and slams with every muscle in your arm straight across Father Friedrich's face.

It's like hitting concrete. The impact is a wet CRACK as three knuckles pop out of place. "WHAT THE FUCK?!"

He doesn't even draw back, as you quickly retract your arm, and shift your weight slightly. A smear of your blood is left in the punch's wake.

You make a quick assessment of the priest from head to toe. He's not invoking. He doesn't look any different. He shouldn't be this hard. The burn feels like you've broken a finger, despite using perfect form. You spit, "FUCK you!"

The priest doesn't make any sudden movements. Doesn't even wipe the blood off his face. He sure looks like something hurt him. "Last warning."

"I swear to God Fred."

"Poor choice of words!"

He lunges straight for you. The leader of the Church of Flesh is seriously going to try pinning you down.

(A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED FOR ALL OF THE FOLLOWING.)

>A] You're going to try and outclass his strength through rage alone, and NO ONE works out his arms like you do.
>1] You will beat this man to death right here and now.
>2] You're not fucking around with this change in his body composition. Invoke Flesh. (This will remain an option for the rest of the encounter, but will not be presented as a prompt if ignored after this barring extreme circumstances.)

>B] Use your slender build against Father Friedrich's bulk, and evade his tackle. Lead him out from the nearly empty war room. Let's see him try to keep up.
>1] To the main hall. Make a SCENE over him trying to drive your family apart.
>2] Through all the corridors and halls. There's a lot of flame, and a lot of weapons. You'll destroy his home before he pulls you away from yours.
>>
>>4578239
>>B] Use your slender build against Father Friedrich's bulk, and evade his tackle. Lead him out from the nearly empty war room. Let's see him try to keep up.
>>1] To the main hall. Make a SCENE over him trying to drive your family apart.
>>
>>4578174
(Totally just realized I was supposed to have called for a roll here, and since it wasn't in all caps I missed and forgot it after calling the vote. Sorry about that guys, has happened once before in over a year of running but that's seriously my bad. For transparency, it was going to be to determine the amount of breakage from punching Father Friedrich. If you like, all three of you can retroactively roll a 1d100. I'll resolve/address it with the next post. This will not interfere with the current vote, either. Sorry about the confusion.)
>>
Rolled 60 (1d100)

>>4578253

TREMBLE BEFORE YECHS MIGHT
>>
Rolled 21 (1d100)

>>4578247
+1

>>4578253
Let the rage flow, and blood torn a thunder!
>>
Rolled 67 (1d100)

>>4578239
A1
>>
>>4578247
>>4578255
>>4578266
>>4578276
(Beautiful! Thanks for being so understanding, guys. Brother Trebbeck is an ordinary man, who came to the Church of Flesh as an outsider. He's worked hard for the skills he has, and still possesses incredible ability! We use the average of 3, rounded up to the nearest whole number with this particular character. That's [60+21+67]/3=50 out of 100. The modifier will be reflected accordingly below.)

>LET'S MAKE SOME NOISE
>Roll 1d100. Average of 3 will be used.

>-15 INSOMNIAC (You never sleep well.)
>-15 HARD WEEK ON THE ROAD (Death isn't good enough for those cultists.)
>-5 BLOODY KNUCKLES (Pffsh. Broken knuckles? It's only a Flesh wound.)
>+25 COMBAT VETERAN (There's few men alive that have seen more shit than you.)
>+15 VETERAN PRIEST OF FLESH (To fight is to serve!)
>+10 FOLK HERO (The people love you.)
>+5 CITIZEN OF BEORWARD (You know this castle well enough to have a few tricks up your sleeve.)

(That's a +20 to the roll, after all modifiers.)
>>
>>4578282

AGAIN.
>>
Rolled 27 (1d100)

>>4578282
>>4578283

THIS TIME THE ROLL WILL WORK AND ALSO BE BLESSED
>>
Rolled 79 (1d100)

>>4578282
Flesh DEMANDS action, and who am I to dispute the will of a God? BLOOD shall flow this day, by HIS WILL!
>>
Rolled 30 (1d100)

>>4578282
YEET
>>
>>4578283
>>4578285
>>4578290
>>4578293
(46 out of 100 it is. Writing now!)
>>
>>4578296
(Before modifiers. Sorry for not clarifying. 66 out of 100 after! Math, amirite.)
>>
>>4578298
>66
Engage beast mode!!!!
>>
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>>4578355
https://youtu.be/8nZyemRSN-A

You let loose a scream, grab onto the side of the table, and flip the entire thing straight at him. A sear streaks through your blessed arms from the force of lifting it.

Time slows, as the item hurls through the air. You can register the moments before Father Friedrich's next footfall. One hundred pins clatter to the ground. Dozens of maps fly into the air.

At least 100lbs of solid wood SLAM straight into your target. Fred lets out a shout, but doesn't even stagger to the side from the force of your blow. It's like fighting a moving wall.

He'll only stay dazed for a second. The tenuous hold you have on the floor won't hold his strength back. But the door at your back is open. "EAT SHIT AND DIE, OLD MAN!"

He doesn't have time to reply as you back up rapidly. You turn on a heel, and sprint out the door. "TRY AND CATCH THIS!"

The booming shout from the office already at your back shakes the stone walls. "CYRIL!" The priest's rapid footsteps instantly register, as you both careen down the narrow, borderline empty corridors. "YOU'RE MAKING AN ASS OF YOURSELF! CYRIL!!"

Every step underfoot matches five pounding beats of your heart. A red haze creeps up on the edges of your vision, but you can still easily see your target. The corner of a nearby archway is gripped onto at the side of the wall. You nearly crush the wood underhand, from using it as leverage to swing around the corner.

The sharp turn takes you down a rarely used passage. Father Friedrich's cries at your back redouble. "FUCK!"

There's a scramble, and a near-crash that echoes behind you. He probably slipped on all the water you're tracking around. Your laughter carries over his hollering. "Cyril! CYRIL! GET BACK HERE!"

The main hall rapidly approaches. You peel around the corner, but don't pay any attention to the STUPID banners. The churches of Flesh and Vengeance have made an open declaration of their alliance in Baranfen. Checkered black on red will soak in most of the blood of your enemies. The eye of Vengeance is lanced with a single needle. The three pillars of Flesh are unified in their one vision: Death.

The countless spears, swords, shields, and fighting forces all around you are up in arms within seconds. They don't care who's chasing the most veteran clergyman in Beorward. Five brave souls are instantly at your back, halberds pointed towards the corridor you came from. You turn to the priests and priestesses behind you. Gods, are they strong. Your voice is hoarse from screaming, but hatred keeps all the heat in your voice as you growl. "He wants to take me away from my girls."

Everyone looking at you slowly lowers their weapons, as they heard Father Friedrich ripping down the corridor. "CYRIL! FOR THE LOVE OF— WOULD YOU GET BACK HERE AND NOT MAKE A SCENE?!"

"FUCK YOU, OLD MAN!"

(1/3)
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>>4578453
Your spit is still hanging in the air as your brothers and sisters piece together the scene. Sister Katharine has six sons. The middle-aged lifter has lost four of her children this year, and is going off to the 'fen just the same.

As Father Friedrich comes careening into the hall, he has enough red in his face to rival the uniforms on his men and women. You run for the highest nearby object you can find. Sister Katharine's black, bobbed hair shakes with the motion of her spear sweeping across the floor of the entryway. At the same time, you skip up onto a nearby stone column.

Your leader trips right over the outstretched metal pole. The stumble and struggle to stay on his feet carries with all the momentum from his sprint here, taking him dozens of feet into the hall. He looks a damn fool, and is subject to ample teasing from the men and women near the back who have yet to figure out what's happening. You're more than happy to scream to everyone present, "FRED'S STOPPED GIVIN' A SHIT! THINKS I'M OUR LAST SHOT! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?! HE WON'T TAKE ALL OF YOU OVER ONE LITTLE OLD ME! WHAT'S THE MATTER, FRED? THINK THEY'RE WEAK?!! IS THIS COWARDLY, BEAT-UP OLD BASTARD BETTER THAN EVERY LAST ONE OF THEM?!"

The priest rights himself, and snaps his furious gaze to you. "FLESH FUCKING FORBID I TRY SAVING MORE LIVES, CYRIL! GODS FUCKING HELP ME IF I WANT TO GET YOU ALL BACK HOME, AND PUT A STOP TO ALL THIS!"

Angry muttering and curses fills the hall. Several people start shouting.Someone accidentally overturns a lantern filled with hot oil. The sound of swords and shields being put up is immediately made evident. Sleeves are being rolled back. Spit on hands. You greedily eye a nearby lantern with hot coals in it. Chandeliers hanging overhead.

"Boy." Father Friedrich quickly walks up to your vantage point, and stays just far enough away to be out of arm's reach. "Get down from there. You know I don't give a shit about treason. You're going to be called a damn coward by your men. You think you're going to have a leg to stand on if you lose all respect your last day here?!"

"OH!" You holler to everyone present. "HE THINKS I'M A COWARD! BUT HAVEN'T WE ALL DONE OUR PART—?!"

The declaration is just enough to distract the dismayed politician. You don't give a shit, and leap off of the pillar. Elbow first.

The air soars past you for only an instant. Your shoddy tunic and cloak, leggings and boots are still slick from the rain. Droplets of water are suspended in the space above you. The length of your ponytail whips up as you both sharply collide, and the CRASH as you both make impact with each other is almost as loud as what comes after.

Someone slams a chair against Father Friedrich's back. It happens at the exact same time as when you collide with his body.

(2/3)
>>
>>4578454
The world goes red. You're both knocked sideways with enough force to separate your initial blow. It throws you three more feet through the air. You go hard to the right. A nearby pile of equipment collides with your frame. Pain crashes into you from the suit of armor your body awkwardly wraps around on impact. Piles of helmets, bags of provisions, and a sheathed sword crashes down onto you.

All hell breaks loose. The main hall becomes a cacophony of fists and boots, metal on flesh, and shouts filled with anger. As you drag yourself out from the pile of supply, you see five people are piled on Fred. Four are there just to keep him pinned. He's screaming something stupid at all of them, despite someone having taken off their holy vestments to try and choke him out by his neck. A separate clergyman runs up, to attempt to land a blow on his chest or abdomen that might leave actual damage.

You emerge fully from the mess of weapons and gear. The priest being pinned down screams, throws every single person that was on him off in a single motion, and drags himself to his feet. The priests all go scattering, before they can be recognized. There's a little blood on the side of his lip.

You grin. Your knuckles are barely scratched. Just a minor fracture. Only a Flesh wound. You smear the blood from it across your face. The scent of copper hits you hard, as you spit, "GET UP! GET MAD, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!"

A circle of men and women form a ring of death around you both with their own bodies. It's a ring of devotion. The greatest form of worship. Plenty of men have ripped off their shirts. A few of the women have, too.

"FIGHT!" "FIGHT!" "FIGHT!"
"FIGHT!"
"FIGHT!" "FIGHT!"
"FIGHT!"

"I don't want to hurt you, Cyril, but so help me." Fred grabs the thin strand of red from around his neck, and rips his holy symbol off. It's shoved in a pocket. "This is between you, and me." He screams to everyone present. "YOU GOT THAT?! HIM, AND ME!"

A roar. They got it.

You scream right back. "Flesh demands ACTION! AND WHO AM I—" A turn, and a wave to everyone to bring the circle tighter. "—TO DISPUTE THE WILL OF A GOD?!"

The lord of combat bends his knees, and shifts his weight just slightly. The stance is for grappling. "Then come get some."

You survived living in Beorward for all your life. Great ape demons have died to your bare hands. Even with the capital city embroiled in a civil war, you held your own with AND against Dick "Thunder" Asscock and his freakshow circus. You didn't just survive. A master assassin with an AMAZING rack and the best cooking in the whole damn world is your lover. Your darling little girl calls you a beast, even if she won't let on that she thinks that you're her hero. You murdered your own damn parents to get where you are today. You're a bastard, and a priest of Flesh who has EVERYTHING left to lose.

"NO ONE is taking me away from MY FUCKING FAMILY—!"

(Options in next post.)
>>
>>4578457
>A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED FOR ALL THE FOLLOWING.

>A] Grab the nearest halberd. Keep him at arm's length. All men bleed. You'll fucking kill him if you can.

>B] Use your fists. It won't be the first or the last time you beat your knuckles raw. It'll be worth it, just to see the look on his face.

>C] So he's too tough to crack? Fine. He still has joints. You'll wrestle, and take all the air from his lungs. No Mercy.

>D] (Write-in.)

(This concludes our 30 minute voting window period. We'll proceed with a more standard pace for the rest of the evening!)
>>
>>4578458
A; what is a man, with everything to lose? A nightmare shrouded in Flesh.

Don't mind me, just going crazy over here!
>>
>>4578503
Been there before man lol, no worries
>>
>>4578458
>B] Use your fists. It won't be the first or the last time you beat your knuckles raw. It'll be worth it, just to see the look on his face.
>>
>>4578458
>C] So he's too tough to crack? Fine. He still has joints. You'll wrestle, and take all the air from his lungs. No Mer
>>
>>4578458
>>B] Use your fists. It won't be the first or the last time you beat your knuckles raw. It'll be worth it, just to see the look on his face.

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD.
>>
>>4579044
FLESH FOR THE FLESH THRONE!
>>
>>4579044
>>4578503
>>4578590
>>4579010
>>4579044
>>4579119
(Good afternoon guys! I had a disastrous morning with a construction worker parking behind me and keeping me from getting to work, but I eventually made it. Holiday food, a little down time, and this vote are on lock! Going to go with the majority for B.)

>O FLESH
>Roll 1d100. Average of 3 will be used.

>-15 INSOMNIAC (You never sleep well.)
>-15 HARD WEEK ON THE ROAD (Death isn't good enough for those cultists.)
>-5 BLOODY KNUCKLES (Pffsh. Broken knuckles? It's only a Flesh wound.)
>+25 COMBAT VETERAN (There's few men alive that have seen more shit than you.)
>+15 VETERAN PRIEST OF FLESH (BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD)
>+10 FISTS OF FURY (Punches are your favored weapon.)

(That's a +15 to the roll after all modifiers.)
>>
Rolled 91 (1d100)

>>4579376

FUCK YOU FRED YOU WRINKLY OLD BASTARD LET ME SHAG MY BIG TIDDY HALFLING GF.
>>
Rolled 67 (1d100)

>>4579376
Sorry to hear that. I hope that will be the low point of your day.

>>4579389
Based
>>
Rolled 25 (1d100)

>>4579376
YEET IT DOWN
>>
>>4579389
(NICE)
>>4579397
(Thanks man, really nice of you. I hope so too.)
>>4579420
(That makes the average (after modifiers) as 76 out of 100! As always might take me an extra minute to write while mobile but I'm going in. Writing now!)
>>
>>4579427
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pDXf4XXBvDY

He lunges. The distance between you closes in an instant. With a single step, you seize an explosive motion for a punch with your ENTIRE body. The momentum from the charge in your chiseled legs transfers straight through the rock-solid DEVOTION of your core. It's channeled through the delivery mechanism of your perfect arms, to match Fred's impact in the most devastating *feint* you've ever managed.

The priest throws himself right where you should be. Right where the punch would have landed. One, perilous moment has him lose his footing. There's hardly any space between the two of you. You hawk up a wad of phlegm, let the sound register in his hearing, and spit straight into his good, unscarred eye.

The crowd all around you both stops their screaming and shouting for a moment.

He knows your game. Rather than howl, the fighter starts to bring his arms up to defend his face. He doesn't even make a move to wipe the liquid away.

*The idiot fell for it*. He's shown his weak spots. There's a few organs he can't harden. Eyes. Brain. Heart. His hands are up high, as you circle back around him like a hunter who has cornered his prey.

Form that would make a God proud controls your next series of at least two dozen jabs. It's like punching concrete, but you just need a single opening. The blows are kept much lighter than they normally would need to be-- but you're not trying to knock out this priest. A series of hooks follow so quickly, you don't give your target time to think. He's a master tactician, but he knows that you're fighting to kill.

The opening comes with a single falter in the fists clenched above his face. It's not ideal. There's no doubt he's going to punch you, but this is exactly what you need to strike.

Your lead foot comes down with all your weight on the front of his own stance. His arms completely falter. The step forward won't compromise your balance. Shifting your position twists and digs into the thin leather he has over feet that are DEFINITELY feeling the hit.

You bend down with him only a few inches more, and swing an upper-cut smack into the bottom of his jaw. It sounds like a bat slamming against a boulder. The impact against his skin and bone is closer to slamming your fingers against volcanic rock than a bearded jaw. Every small bone in your fingers cracks and strains from the impact, and you don't stop.

Time slows. Fred's beard wobbles against the sheer force of the blow. A spray of blood bursts from his lips. It's stark against the gray and white strands of sweat-slick hair around it. You don't let up until every last ounce of rage from the blow is pumped into the hit.

(1/2)
>>
>>4579617
Drawing your hand back quickly, you only have a second to react. Father Friedrich isn't dazed. He's PISSED. All the red in his eyes resents what he has to do. He knows you're *right*. The sheer amount of self-resentment and bitter regret across his features almost feels like this was worth it.

The Father of Strategy also took the hit *intentionally.* This is bad. He can drop demons in a single swing, and is going to make a counter-attack.

>A] Disengage. Break away from the fight ring, and use your environment to flee. Go to Ofelia and Elena.
>1] So help you, you will seriously go rogue. Aim to flee.
>2] You just want a chance to see Ofelia try to kill this man where he stands.
>3] This is purely a guilt trip. You're going to rub it in Father Friedrich's face that you care more about your children and partner than he ever has for his own.

>B] Go toe-to-toe with Father Friedrich. It's only a question of how long it takes to outlast him. You're confident that you just need to wear him down.
>1] Take the hit. You'll probably live, and it will give you time to fight even dirtier.
>2] Go on the defensive. Evade his hits at all costs.

>C] Write-in
>>
>>4579624

>>A] Disengage. Break away from the fight ring, and use your environment to flee. Go to Ofelia and Elena.
>3] This is purely a guilt trip. You're going to rub it in Father Friedrich's face that you care more about your children and partner than he ever has for his own.

You're a miserable fucking coward, you would send everyone else to die but yourself. If shit is so fucked why don't YOU go? SAVE LIVES FRED. THINK OF THE LIVES. Are you scared of ending up like the rest of us? You old fucking excuse of a leader, this is the church of Flesh, not a fucking meat grinder! Father of action MY ASS, at least Agriculture's fat asses plow the fields! How about you fight something other THAN YOUR OWN FUCKING PEOPLE.
>>
>>4579624
(Fuck, absolutely forgot to drop a line for the prompts: ALL PROMPTS will require a roll.)
>>
>>4579646
+1
>>
>>4579646
>>4579741
(Locking the unanimous vote here!)

>GUILT TRIP
>Roll 1d100. Average of 3 will be used.

>-15 INSOMNIAC (You never sleep well.)
>-15 HARD WEEK ON THE ROAD (You hate cultists almost as much as your church leader.)
>-15 BLOODY KNUCKLES (It was worth it.)
>+25 COMBAT VETERAN (You've seen enough.)
>+15 VETERAN PRIEST OF FLESH (You don't skip leg day-- or ANY workout day, for that matter.)
>+10 FOLK HERO (Your friends and neighbors will understand.)
>+5 CITIZEN OF BEORWARD (Those miserable little districts are more familiar to you than the back of your bloody hands.)
+15 DO IT FOR HER (You will be DAMNED if you don't get to see your girls.)
>+5 CUTTING WORDS (The memory of what you're about to say is going to keep Fred awake at night.)

(That's a whopping +30 to the roll total.)
>>
Rolled 13 (1d100)

>>4579768
The needs of Flesh of be taken care of.
>>
Rolled 89 (1d100)

>>4579768
usually put the mod but uh...I'll leave that to you QM
>>
Rolled 67 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>4579768
>>
>>4579779
>>4579921
>>4579958
(Hot diggidy damn that's 87 out of 100 (with the modifier applied, I gotchu anon)! Locked here. Holidays might slow updates just a little for the remainder of the thread but I'll get to writing ASAP!)
>>
>>4580017
(Knocked a bunch of stuff out, writing now!)
>>
>>4580051
https://youtu.be/GNs8na4zeT0

Disengage. Your mind and body screams it, but there's no dodging a blow from the leader of the Church of Flesh. The brick of his fist swings, and one step back almost keeps it from fully connecting.

You want to breathe a sigh of relief, to turn and run— and the priest extends his reach at the last moment. The blow slams into your chest with enough force to knock the air from your lungs and your feet off the ground. Fifteen clergy at your back shout, rapidly leaping out of the way to try and evade you as you fly through the air.

It feels like your ribcage crumples. The ground finally reconnects. So does a nearby pillar. The collision of your back and head on the solid stone cracks the rock in fifteen places, and a cloud of dust kicks up right into your battered lungs.

Gravity decides to make itself known, as you slide to the floor. But nothing is keeping you from your girls. Hands and knees on the floor are more leverage to kick off from the pillar behind you.

Without even any air in your body, your panicked heart races just as fast as your legs. The world is left behind, as you break into a full sprint out of the Church of Flesh. There's a hundred cries from your fellow clergy. You can hear them at your back, as Father Friedrich screams for you to stop. They can be heard as you rip away from the main hall, out to the courtyard beyond. It's still pouring rain, but you'll hear them.

You'll never forget it, for as long as you live. They're rooting for you.

The blessed sound of a riot is at your back. Coals overturned. A massive pillar collapsing. Shouts for blood. Fights between clergy on either side of the debacle. It's going to slow the pursuit, and that's exactly what you need.

Red is in your eyes, your heart, and your soul. The streets of Beorward streak by, in a gray and red blur. You've never ran so fast in all your life. Your little girl and the love of your life are at home waiting for you. The slick cobblestone streets won't stop you, and neither will every last cry at your back.

Fred screams for you, and chases you all the way out from the main hall. Beyond the barely-guarded forts ("CYRIL WHAT'S WRONG?!" "STALL 'IM, JEFF!"). Over the Gods-forsaken drawbridge. Through the miserable little shopping districts.

All the way back home. You love your girls so much, you could die. They're standing out in the rain, dressed for long travel. They didn't know what might happen, but they were waiting for you. Bags packed. Ready to run.

(1/4)
>>
>>4580166
Elena might not be your blood, but she might as well be cut from your own Flesh. Having just turned ten years old, she's already seen enough of war. Her jet-black hair and steel-gray eyes are her father's, but she's looking up to you. She's seen you kill demons with your bare hands. She's seen you toss and turn late at night. She's seen you do your best to shelter her, to keep her secrets safe, and to work to keep you both fed all alone for all the time you've fought together. Your little girl is a fighter.

Her eyes are dry, as she runs out into the rain to meet you. "You came back."

You put a hand to her damp hair, as she hugs the side of your leg so tightly, you forget all about the pain in the rest of you. "Told you I would, didn't I?"

Ofelia walks up alongside her. The enchanted, deep-blue cloak she killed her mother to get repels any rain that threatens to fall on her form. It's fastened with a real eagle's eye. The item of stealth and subterfuge is easily worth as much as half the armor in Beorward, but it can't shroud the impossible light in her eyes. She was blinded by Mercy, and is resilient enough to have stayed sane after being healed immediately after. You can't forgive Richard for it, even if she can.

Your partner is far and away the kindest, most beautiful woman in the world. As she looks up to you— not caring for the material things at her back, only for your safety— Ofelia pulls back her hood. A smattering of dark freckles are nearly concealed by strands of her curly, sandy-blonde hair. The faint yellow glow casts a sickly hue across her skin, but it might as well be the light of the sun itself. With a sideways smile, she's even brighter. Three daggers are unsheathed from hidden straps in one, smooth motion. No hesitation. The master assassin's breath is level, her chest stilled, and the divine sight on her narrows at the road you ran off from. "Just say the word."

"Not yet." You breathlessly put out a hand. There's no keeping the hate out from your voice. "Be a good girl, Elena, and stay with me. Alright? No one is caging this beast."

A hard nod. Her lips are so tight, they could cut glass.

Ofelia wiggles the fingers on her right hand. There's an almost-transparent strand of wire that catches on a bolt of lightning off in the distance. Trip wire. Her grin broadens. "You sure? Could cut his legs clean off! Nothin' to it—"

"CYRIL!" Fred's breathless cries carry over a roll of thunder, even from all the way down the street. "CYRIL! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

"Maybe in a minute," you murmur. Your eyes stay dead ahead. You're not compromising anyone's safety, and you're not giving him anything to work with. "TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH! HOW MANY MORE CASUALTIES DO YOU THINK HAPPENED SINCE WE LEFT, FRED?!"

(2/4)
>>
>>4580168
A few neighbors peek their heads out from shuttered windows. There's no one else out on the street in this weather. Father Friedrich slows to a jog. Ofelia doesn't take his neck off just yet, and scowls. Her hand discreetly loosens the traps as he closes the last of the distance between you all.

The priest huffs, red-faced, and devastated. "Cyril." He shakes his head. "Cyril, don't do this."

"Don't do what, Fred? Don't fight for what I LOVE? Don't come HOME TO MY FAMILY?!"

You give an apologetic look to Elena. She obliges, and puts her hands over her ears.

You wrap an arm around your girl. Every word that you spit is more righteous and convicted than the last. It's a poison that you want to kill him where he stands. "You're a miserable fucking coward. You would send everyone to die but yourself. If shit is so fucked, why don't YOU go?! SAVE LIVES, FRED." You're screaming, and don't care. "THINK OF THEIR LIVES! OR ARE YOU SCARED OF ENDING UP LIKE THE REST OF US?!"

The man standing across from you looks like he's going to break down on the spot. He shakes his head, and croaks, "what do you think I've been doing?"

"You old fucking excuse of a leader. This is the church of Flesh. Not a fucking meat grinder! Father of action my ASS. At least Agriculture's fat asses plot the fields! How about you fight something other THAN YOUR OWN FUCKING PEOPLE."

He draws back like you've slapped him.

Ofelia lets out a small, "heh." You gently take Elena's hands off of her ears, and sweep your girl up into your arms. She glares hard at the church leader standing across from you, as her mother nods. A gestures with her knife is made towards Father Friedrich, as he reaches for a pocket. "Guy's not as stupid as he looks. Actually listened to ya'." She sniffs, and spits. "Ya' gonna stand there and stare, or are you gonna say somethin'?"

The man standing across from you swallows loudly enough for you to hear it. He takes his holy symbol out from his pocket, and clasps it underhand while shaking with anger. You're positive it's purely with himself. "You're right. It's not my place to drive one more family apart. If my children want my company, they can follow me in the 'fen."

You take a sharp breath in. Rage is all through your question. He hates repeating himself, and you want to twist the knife. "What was that, old man?"

"You heard me, boy. You know they'll kill me. The information and connections I have would make me a walking target." His fist tightens further, as those awful red eyes bore into your icy blue. "But I've thought of nothing but it. Don't you think for one instant that I don't lie awake at night, wanting to go running out into the jungle. Don't you dare think I'm not sick of burying my babies. I'm going to sleep well tonight, Cyril. I'm going to go fight for my family. So are you going to step up?"

There's a lot less air. "What?"

(3/4)
>>
>>4580171
"I only gave the order because I trust you to have fought in my stead. You're younger. Sharper. Maybe not stronger, but I know you've been pushing yourself even HARDER since you left for the capital. You've learned a lot. Seen things none of us should have. I don't give a rat's ass if you're not from the church. The fact that you don't give a rat's ass about nobles or profit just makes you a better fit. So take over for me. Fill in my shoes while I'm gone, at least. It's yours if I don't come back."

Father Friedrich keeps his holy symbol held tightly enough to draw blood. A few droplets fall to the cobblestone streets, and gets swept up in the current of the rain. "I'm sorry. You don't need to hear apologies, either. You need action. I think it's high time I get back to practicing what I preach."

He takes a step back, and looks apologetically between Ofelia and Elena. "I've trampled all over your faith, your home, and all the respect your family deserves. I've let you all down." The gaze and fire of a soldier bores straight into you. "You don't have to say a word. I'm not going to stop you if you want to walk away. But the church is yours, if you want it. I'd have made you acting leader of our operations out in Baranfen, if you accepted it anyways. You're my best man by a long-shot, Cyril. I've always trusted your judgement, so it's your call."

He shakes his head again. "This shit's gonna haunt me 'til the day I die. If you go, I just want you to know that. You're the one that's saved their lives. You're the one who deserves their respect."

(Options in next post.)
>>
>>4580174
>A] You're DONE. Hand over your holy symbol and robes. Denounce your order, and formally resign from your position as a Brother of the Church of Flesh.
>1] You'll stay in Beorward as a citizen, and trust that someone else will take over in your stead.
>2] Even heretics are safe in the Church of Mercy, and you know its current leader would NEVER hesitate to help you. You'll take your family to Eadric. It will be safer, calmer, and you'll finally be free from Father Friedrich's influence.

>B] You'll ACCEPT the offer to lead the Church of Flesh in Father Friedrich's stead. While he goes to fight in Baranfen, you'll rule Beorward, handle Corcaea's war strategy, deal with allocating forces to the rest of the nation, answer to the King for Fred's sudden departure, and everything else the job entails. Assuming this much responsibility at a moment's notice is a recipe for disaster— but if even Richard could manage his appointment as a church leader with *even less* guidance, you're positive you can handle this.
>1] You're not promising that you'll permanently take the position, though, and will still only answer to "Brother."
>2] Fuck Fred and the horse he rode in on. "Father Trebbeck" has a pretty nice ring to it. You'll gladly assume the title, and have a LOT of changes you'll be making in his absence.

>C] There is truly no man alive that can WIN like you do when you're with Flesh. This old man is going off to die, and you know that his capture could compromise the safety of the entire nation. You've stopped outbreaks single-handedly, and turn the tide of every battle you've ever been in. You hate it, you hate him, and you love your family, but you are going to go fight the good fight. Let this guilt weight on Fred's miserable shoulders for the rest of his life.
>1] But you will demand one more week to get your affairs in order, and to properly say good-bye. Every second until then is going to count.
>2] You won't waste any more Time than you have to, and will leave tonight. Needless to say, you are going to do EVERYTHING humanly possible to get back home safely, and as quickly as you possibly can.

>D] Write-in.
>>
>>4580175
>>C] There is truly no man alive that can WIN like you do when you're with Flesh. This old man is going off to die, and you know that his capture could compromise the safety of the entire nation. You've stopped outbreaks single-handedly, and turn the tide of every battle you've ever been in. You hate it, you hate him, and you love your family, but you are going to go fight the good fight. Let this guilt weight on Fred's miserable shoulders for the rest of his life.
>>1] But you will demand one more week to get your affairs in order, and to properly say good-bye. Every second until then is going to count.

heavily tempted to choose B just because i feel like cyril would be able to come to the table with good strategy and a perspective from outside of the clergy, meaning he'd do a good job in my eyes. if anyone else agrees with that count my vote as switched to that
>>
>>4580175
>>C] There is truly no man alive that can WIN like you do when you're with Flesh. This old man is going off to die, and you know that his capture could compromise the safety of the entire nation. You've stopped outbreaks single-handedly, and turn the tide of every battle you've ever been in. You hate it, you hate him, and you love your family, but you are going to go fight the good fight. Let this guilt weight on Fred's miserable shoulders for the rest of his life.
>>1] But you will demand one more week to get your affairs in order, and to properly say good-bye. Every second until then is going to count.
>>
>>4580175
>B] You'll ACCEPT the offer to lead the Church of Flesh in Father Friedrich's stead. While he goes to fight in Baranfen, you'll rule Beorward, handle Corcaea's war strategy, deal with allocating forces to the rest of the nation, answer to the King for Fred's sudden departure, and everything else the job entails. Assuming this much responsibility at a moment's notice is a recipe for disaster— but if even Richard could manage his appointment as a church leader with *even less* guidance, you're positive you can handle this.
>>1] You're not promising that you'll permanently take the position, though, and will still only answer to "Brother."
>>
>>4580175
>>C] There is truly no man alive that can WIN like you do when you're with Flesh. This old man is going off to die, and you know that his capture could compromise the safety of the entire nation. You've stopped outbreaks single-handedly, and turn the tide of every battle you've ever been in. You hate it, you hate him, and you love your family, but you are going to go fight the good fight. Let this guilt weight on Fred's miserable shoulders for the rest of his life.
>>1] But you will demand one more week to get your affairs in order, and to properly say good-bye. Every second until then is going to count.

I don't want the old fuck to die, just feel really bad about living.
>>
>>4580175
>B] You'll ACCEPT the offer to lead the Church of Flesh in Father Friedrich's stead. While he goes to fight in Baranfen, you'll rule Beorward, handle Corcaea's war strategy, deal with allocating forces to the rest of the nation, answer to the King for Fred's sudden departure, and everything else the job entails. Assuming this much responsibility at a moment's notice is a recipe for disaster— but if even Richard could manage his appointment as a church leader with *even less* guidance, you're positive you can handle this.
>>1] You're not promising that you'll permanently take the position, though, and will still only answer to "Brother."
>>
>>4580219
>>4580252
>C1

>>4580226
>>4580279
>B1

>>4580184
>C1 initially, but wants his vote switched to B if anyone else agreed to that

(B1 breaks the tie just by a hair. Goddamn what a close one. Got up extra early this morning, locking the vote here. Hopefully can get out an update or three before work! Writing now.)
>>
>>4580362
https://youtu.be/n3Ew2JlklE0

Every inch of you wants to spit Fred in his other eye. "I want you to feel really bad about living, you old fuck. I don't want you to die. Do you think I was just blowing hot air? Can you even IMAGINE how bad I want to put an end to all this? To fight?" Elena looks up at you with substantial fear in her beautiful eyes. You murmur, "don't worry, dew drop."

Ofelia is infinitely too sweet to talk over you, but bumps you slightly with her hip. Her broad, pained smile beams up at you. It's easily the most wonderful expression in the world.

You take heart, and swallow your pride. "I could come to the table with strategy and perspective from outside the clergy. In my eyes, that makes me a good fit for the job."

Father Friedrich nearly loses his composure on the spot. Something between a gasp and a sigh of relief escapes him, as he starts choking up.

You talk right over him. "I'm only doing this 'cause I know you all agree I'm the best man for the title. I'm still a Brother, though. You're the leader of this madhouse, Fred. I'm not taking this all on forever. Not when I know you're coming back."

Both of his fists are shaking. So are his shoulders. The priest bites down through all the pain in his voice, grits his teeth, and steels his tone. "I'll do everything I can to stop letting you down. It's official, then. I'm appointing you as the acting leader of the Church of Flesh— Brother Trebbeck."

-----

The walls, floor, ceiling, and overstuffed office chairs from Father Friedrich's war room slams back into your vision. Though you're standing once more in the fragments of the same memory from your training session with him, everything seems substantially darker than before.

This memory that's plagued you for months is barely a blip on the back of his mind. The thought of surrendering his life's work, going off to Baranfen to die, and losing all of Brother Trebbeck's respect has been tearing the priest to pieces.

You're Father Richard Anscham, leader of the church of compassion. Though you have enough turmoil waiting at home to drive any man to madness, YOU have never truly wanted to die. There's hope and love in your heart. You care for every last soul worth saving. It's a blessing that you've gone soft. Your miserable colleague wipes the tears from his eyes, and wordlessly accepts a hug. You're all the more reassuring for those in your care, and can tell by the way Father Friedrich squeezes you that he couldn't be more relieved for someone to hold onto.

He keeps his head held high, but you can feel silent sobs wracking at him.

There's a lot you wanted to say. This is definitely killing Sister Cardew, and you are NOT going to waste a second. "Where are you right now?"

(1/2)
>>
>>4580406
Business is immediately in his tone. It's bitter, cold, and brutally strong. "On a hard march across the Doorway. Should be another two weeks before we're even close to the border."

"You stopped writing. I thought—"

"I didn't want to worry you. I've been stupid, and petty. You don't need all this shit on your shoulders. Cyril was right. He's been right about everything. I can't believe it's taken me this long to listen." He laughs bitterly. "That fucking comment he made, about the fucking fields? He might as well have stabbed me."

The priest pulls back, and looks you over from the almost-scruffy gold atop your head, to the blood still sticking under the soles of your shoes. "I've had no place to criticize you. Age is catching up to me, Richard. I know you've been working relentlessly before you even came into your station. Been out there fighting, and what do I do? I keep falling into old habits. It's no fuckin' excuse. It's like I said: I just want you to be healthy. I can't imagine you driving yourself into an early grave. You must not even be able to fight without Them. Don't you get it? I won't be able to reach anyone. I'm tackling this war against humanity. But everyone here at home? We're all counting on you."

Something seizes him. Tears well in the eyes of what's supposed to be the strongest man in the nation. You know kindness is strength, and take him right back into a hug. "You are not—" Your grimace intensifies. "I was going to ask how you were holding up."

Between nervous laughter, and a sniff, he struggles to keep his voice level. The hug is returned in full. The man's grip is crushing.

The memory of hours of pain slams back into you. It's as tangible as the ache in your jaw, and you have to wonder if it's been fractured in reality as well. Nothing makes sense. You both stay standing through it, as your countryman chokes out, "I want there to be a home to come back to. The fact that I haven't been there to help you more is the real disgrace. I wish we had more Time, Richard. I wish so many things could have gone differently."

The lord of combat draws back, and stares you down with red in his eyes. "But I'm not sorry for this. I'm going to put an end to all of this madness. Even if it kills me."

(Options in next post.)
>>
>>4580407
>A] Now is not the most appropriate occasion to ask Father Friedrich for exercise advice, but you're reminding the man of some normalcy and humanity. Ask him for a routine anyways. You don't care how sadistic his methods are, or if you can't uphold it right now. Swear to run it by your priests of Flesh when things calm down. You'll do your best to honor it.

>B] You were going to ask about how the war is going. This is PRETTY telling, but you still want more information. See if Father Friedrich will divulge his strategy for when he gets across the border. You have your reasons for wanting to know. (Feel free to write your reasoning in.)

>C] That was a LOT to take in. You're also utterly insatiable, and really, REALLY need to know more.
>1] Ask about the formal appointment of Brother Trebbeck to his temporary station, and how this will actually affect things.
>2] Seriously ask Father Friedrich how he's doing. He must be feeling like the loneliest man in the world right now.

>D] You're definitely killing Sister Cardew. It hurts, it's awful, and it's one of the hardest choices you can make— but you're going to look out for your priestess and cut this short.
>1] You got to reconcile your differences with your mentor— and you're not sure if you ever can live with the cost. Give a heartfelt goodbye to Father Friedrich. Pray that you'll see each other again one day.
>2] You have a lot to think about. Part ways here, before you say something you might regret.

>E] Write-in.
>>
>>4580409
D1; I only hope we can talk about the other stuff later. Just don't die before then, alright?
>>
>>4580409
>E] Write-in.
Run from Freddy, like back in the good old days
>>
>>4580409

>>B] You were going to ask about how the war is going. This is PRETTY telling, but you still want more information. See if Father Friedrich will divulge his strategy for when he gets across the border. You have your reasons for wanting to know. (Feel free to write your reasoning in.)

"I know we are losing, but how fast? I *know* we are all on a time limit, worst case scenario, I need to know if there is going to be a second war coming into the country. I am the Father of Protection, and that includes protecting you too. I will see to the other churches, but it's no use if the front line collapses. How much longer do we have?"
>>
>>4580414
>>4580415
changing to E to B but really with a bit of C2
>>
>>4580413
>>4580414
>>4580415
>>4580428
(Absolutely blessed. Going to lock the vote real quick here while the tie is broken so I can write before work! Vote is locked. Writing now.)
>>
>>4580432
https://youtu.be/uBzUfjkdPq4

You frantically look around, and can't help but wonder if this is literally killing Sister Cardew. You shove down the panic, shove down the urge to run, and hold your mentor all the more tightly. "I'm the Father of Protection. That includes protecting you, too. I wasn't joking when I said I wanted to ask how you've been."

Father Friedrich breaks down completely. "Better, Richard. Better. I'm so glad I got to see you." He shakes his head, crying all over your shoulder. "You've come so far. I know we're in good hands."

You pat his back a little. "I will see to the other churches, but it's no use if the front line collapses. I know we're losing. Time is so precious. Do you have any idea of even— of even how much longer we have? In the worst case scenario— what are the odds of them coming into the country?"

A ragged sigh leaves him. The tears evaporate as quickly as they came, as he straightens upright. The war strategist wipes his face with the back of his hand. He gestures towards the large table at the center of the room. In the memory, it was bare. This is ridiculous, and you both are in a memory, but it feels real enough that the both of you have been completely taken by it. "You see this? I never wanted to worry you. I've been thinking that if I tell you a thing, you're going to leave everything you have behind all over again. But that's not fair to you. You're a grown man, and can make your own damn choices. You should know."

The father of strategy explains, "Magnus has every right to be scared shitless. His efforts at diplomacy to the east have kept the largest enemy forces at bay for a century, but it hasn't been enough. It's no coincidence that we've held Corcaea longer than any other territory. You know how rough the waters are to the north. The Gods themselves aren't enough to deal with some of that shit, so we don't have much there to worry about from our enemies. And the natural defenses we possess to the south are held by a thread, thanks to Atticus and Mother Aimar's efforts. The mountains aren't nearly enough, though. There's a few shallower expanses of land to the west. Higher elevation, and all the demons to the west holds most of the line. Pevrel's been working with his men all his career to try and weaponize most of it. I've been keeping the rest at bay. Baranfen has been our last push, before closing us off from the world altogether."

Both of you sigh deeply. "Cyril compared Baranfen it to a death pit," you note.

"It is. The sick fucks know how to tame demons, Richard. Some war chief went and figured it out. He knows us. Knows what we can do."

You are not going to have a heart attack, but are visibly sweating. Your voice is that of a dead man's. "Oh. I see."

(1/3)
>>
>>4580464
"Magnus told me about your little adventure. The bits of it I need to know. Looks like most of his family heads the worst of the assault on the front lines. Guy's got a vendetta. Losing just as much of his children as we are, but they breed like rabbits. There's just too many of them. Plenty of elves that have completely ignored the King's treaties, too. Who the fuck's gonna hold 'em to peace out there? They're armed with magic. Their alliances are stronger than ours, and they don't need invocation. Not when they have numbers, territory, and all the rest of the world on our side. They think we're the rats, Richard. Not humans. Not people. The shit I've seen—"

Realization slams into you harder than your recurring pain did moments ago. "You've been out there before."

"I didn't get my position sitting on my ass. Of course I've been out there. Here at home, too. I've only told you one or two stories. You haven't heard the half of the shit I've..." He sighs all the harder. "It's not important. They're coming for us. I'm going to lay low at first, and get my eyes on the ground. No telling what intel's been compromised. If I can take stock of the situation without getting killed out the gate, then we'll push past Baranfen. I'm heading for Cyno, and taking this chief out."

"Orgoth held his own against Flesh, Father. Toe-to-toe. It would be a death sentence. You—" You can't breathe. "You can't die. Not before— there's still so much to—"

Both of the priest's hands go to your shoulders. "If I can't find him, I'll pull us all out. I'm not coming home empty-handed. We'll retreat from the 'fen, and close off the borders. I'll get the whole damn clergy of Agriculture and Storm on my side. We'll make a wall that even you couldn't break down. I've talked before with Sullivan about all this, and he thinks I can manage it. We'll demoralize them so badly, they'll HAVE to reconsider. This isn't a battle we can fight forever, Richard. These freaks don't have the fear of the Gods in them. They fear us, and every day we fight them it only makes their conviction more justified."

He raps you lightly on the side of your right arm. "The front line won't collapse. We're going to buy you as much Time as you can get here at home. We have our communications out there, too. I don't know how the fuck Harriet's managing all this. You take good care of her." The priest awkwardly says to the walls and ceiling, "you hear that?! Don't let him run you into the ground, either!"

Both of you meet eyes, clasp hands, and pull each other into one more firm hug. "Don't die on me, either," you mutter, patting him hard on the back.

"I don't plan on it. You've gotten strong as shit, too. I knew you wouldn't lie to me."

"Never."

"Give these sick fucks what's comin' to 'em, Richard."

"I will. It's the Gods who are Merciful, Father."

You stop patting his back. There's a moment of silence. He doesn't want to let go.

(2/3)
>>
>>4580466
You're not going to cry. "I'll miss you."

Father Friedrich sniffs. "Yeah. Well. Look after Cyril for me. Guide him, if you can. You know how it's like when you first come into all this shit."

"I'll do everything I'm able."

He grits his teeth, and chokes out, "you know what? Fuck it. I'll miss you too. And say goodbye to Atticus for me, if you get the chance."

You're going to cry. "Don't say that."

"Promise me."

There's no shame in a few tears. "I swear. I'm not going to let you down again." You wipe the side of your eyes with your shoulder, and look your mentor over.

His eyes are dry. He couldn't look more proud. "You haven't let me down yet."

-----

Reality rips itself back into your view. The pain in your jaw is instantly gone, and replaced with the familiar exhaustion that's been on you all week. The same ache in your soul. The same heat on your body, the weight on your frame, and the panic on you. It feels like it's later in the evening, but since it's still pitch-black you can't really tell. The absence of Time keeping has you almost as panicked as the sight of your counselor laughing hysterically to herself through tears and vomit. Your sobs catch in your throat.

Sister Cardew is on hands and knees, vomiting profusely onto the floor of her pitch-black bedroom. The sticky, pearly-white substance she's heaving up lifts dozens of the petals on the floor up into the liquid.

You stagger off from the bed, and kneel at her side. Your hideous gold handkerchief is produced, and kept in hand for the priestess once she stops getting sick.

It only takes a few seconds. She nearly collapses forward into the mess, but you effortlessly catch her. "Sister Cardew." Your voice isn't hoarse from screaming or crying. It's level, from a few hours of rest and a recent alliance. "Sister Cardew. It's alright." She's too weak to even lift her arms or head. The woman's eyes are still open, but persists in the throes of a Goddess. The same fluid she's been expelling is smeared across her vision. The likeness is absolutely revolting. The sickly-sweet scent of lilies is hot in the air. There's no heat coming from the bile pooled around you both, which you confirm while wiping your poor clergywoman's face clean. "It's okay. Speak to me. Tell me what you see."

She's not responding.

You resist the urge to shake her, or scream. You're a priest of Spirit, and know how to handle something like this. A reminder. "To know is to serve, Sister."

A sudden, sharp, and ragged breath draws wetly into her lungs. It's like she'd forgotten how to breathe.

"Sister Cardew. HARRIET! Answer me."

A few shallow pants escape from the small woman. She looks through you, with those awful eyes. Her voice is distant, and so enamored with something unseen that you scarcely recognize her tone at all. "Sight beyond sight, Father. Beyond the veil."

(Options in next post.)
>>
>>4580469
>A] Demand that Sister Cardew release her invocation. There is no justifying this.

>B] Every one of your allies is willing to overextend themselves JUST as much as you are. Ask Harriet what she needs. She swore to you that she knew the risks of this effort, and you MUST communicate with Father Wilhelm and Father Barthalomew.
>1] You'll respect her judgement in this matter, and are willing to deal with her potentially being out of commission for awhile after this.
>2] You're curious beyond all measure if her connection to Spirit has further illuminated some information. Guide her through it.

>C] Ask Harriet what the least taxing method of communication is that she can manage for your other church leaders. It might jeopardize the integrity of your efforts AND warn your enemies that you're coming, but you trust both Father Wilhelm and Father Barthalomew enough to risk anything at this point.

>D] Write-in.
>>
>>4580473

>>B] Every one of your allies is willing to overextend themselves JUST as much as you are. Ask Harriet what she needs. She swore to you that she knew the risks of this effort, and you MUST communicate with Father Wilhelm and Father Barthalomew.
>>1] You'll respect her judgement in this matter, and are willing to deal with her potentially being out of commission for awhile after this.

Willhelm has the gift of foresight, he is probably going to figure shit out on his own. Get Bart as he is the most in the dark about everything and an active component in supplying the cult. If we use mundane means with the other leaders and they figure us out this will all be for nothing.
>>
>>4580473
>B] Every one of your allies is willing to overextend themselves JUST as much as you are. Ask Harriet what she needs. She swore to you that she knew the risks of this effort, and you MUST communicate with Father Wilhelm and Father Barthalomew.
>1] You'll respect her judgement in this matter, and are willing to deal with her potentially being out of commission for awhile after this.
>>
>>4580473
B1
>>
>>4580473
>A] Demand that Sister Cardew release her invocation. There is no justifying this.

We can communicate to them after Harriet's rested. It's not like we'll forget about communicating afterwards, and we've made enough progress to justify a break. We aren't getting out of this mess in a day. We can practice restraint in this matter, and I don't want to push others the way we push ourselves.

Even though I do trust in her judgement, and I'm curious about B2, we do have Time to take care of ourselves, even if it isn't proper care.
>>
>>4580481
>>4580505
>>4580526
>>4580547
(Great stuff dudes. Busy day today, but much better! Locking the vote here, going to incorporate as much as possible. Writing now.)
>>
>>4580590
For the love of all the Gods. You just can't catch a break. Wiping a few more tears from the side of your face doesn't help. Your heart is still aching from just parting ways from Father Friedrich, and there wasn't even a chance to breathe. "Harriet. Harriet, listen to me. Can you hear me? Are you—" You take a ragged breath in, with the nearly-sour scent all in the air and on the floor. The huge breakfast you had threatens to make itself known, but you choke down the nausea, and steel your nerves.

The woman in your arms keeps stopping her breath. The edges of her lips are blue, and her skin is paler than death.

You lightly shake her, and keep a hand to her back. The other gently keeps her head upright. "HARRIET. BREATHE with me. Can you hear me? Are you still with me?!"

One more deep, wet breath drags into your clergywoman. She smiles as if the motion is a religious experience. Her head lolls backwards, and the slender scholar whispers to no one in particular. "What is distance? Why claim dominion over the land between? We are neither the wind, nor the air. There is more." Her smile broadens, and the priestess stares straight through you. "Signals. All of it. Neither energy. Nor heat. It is the same as how you and I are speaking at this very instant. It is instant, and distant. Time has no dominion over Spirit's message. It is different in every fundamental way. I know, Richard. I know it can be done. We can reach them. We can reach *anyone.*"

Seeing anyone push themselves the way that you do is a nightmare. The thought of how others perceive you for going to these lengths on a daily basis is one thing, but her safety is another. Self-revulsion is going to kill you, if Harriet doesn't lose her mind first.

You want to know more. You are dying to push this, and keep your hold on Sister Cardew all the closer. Restraint hasn't escaped you completely. "We'll contact Father Bartholomew, and then you're releasing the invocation. That's an order, Sister. We'll get you some rest as soon as we can, however— however we can. I won't risk all of your work by trying *any* mundane communication. It's as you said— there is no other reasonable option."

She's not breathing again. You shake her harder. "Sister."

One inhale. It's deep enough to settle your nerves. "Father Wilhelm is the very lord of vision, and he'll— and he'll have seen all this coming. He'll understand why I can't reply. He'll get my thank you note. Just tell me what— please explain to me what you need."

(1/2)
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>>4580646
"Memories are a crutch, Richard. I *understand* why. We are not utilizing the memory. Not necessarily. We are utilizing its *meaning*. Her strength is derived from knowledge. Wisdom. Abstraction. Though you and Father Bennett do not share any memories together, you both have mutual understandings. We can harness this connection. That will be our bridge. This is what can close the gap between our nation's leaders. Tell me not just of a memory, Richard. Tell me what you both *know.*"

There are stars in her pearl-coated eyes. "You are the Father of Truth. Grace us with verity. The immaterial must be known."

You can do this. "We will not permit anyone to linger in the dark. I believe in *you.*"

"This has never been attempted, Richard. Spirit will not permit me to die, but I may lose myself." The hard, clinical tone of your friend as you know her creeps back into Harriet's speech. "Take me back to the material, whenever we're done. Remind me of my baby, and Walter, and all of the things we've seen if you must. I will not fail. Now close your eyes. Try your best not to hold me. I trust you won't accidentally hurt me. Be forewarned that this may be excruciating for us all."

"Do what you must."

The hold you keep on one another couldn't be tighter, just before letting go.

The priestess places a hand to your cheek. "Lean down."

You cautiously do. On the floor, in the dark, surrounded by flowers and illness, Sister Cardew places her forehead to yours. She's clammy. For good measure, you keep your hands on your Relic.

Your priestess clutches onto the hem of her robes.

You know just the thing that should work.

>A] The day you killed Brother Murdac.

>B] Your first invocation to Storm. He showed himself to you, all while saving you life many times over.

>C] Your second invocation to Storm, and the sermon you gave to an army of demons.

>D] The demon of Storm you fought in Calunoth. You lived through being struck by lightning several times in the battle.

>E] Your most beloved memory of being caught in the tempest. (Feel free to write in, otherwise your QM will provide a memory.)

>F] Having grown up next to a river, with a love of fishing, swimming, boating, fording, the rain, the wind, and the flame, you have always been a devotee to the God of Turmoil. (Write-in.)
>>
>>4580648

>>B] Your first invocation to Storm. He showed himself to you, all while saving you life many times over.

If nuking an incredibly powerful demon PLUS being visited doesn't work nothing will.
>>
>>4580652
+1
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>>4580678
Though I do say, F sounds nice.
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>>4580652
+2
>>
BIG OVERSIGHT. This means we ALSO need to get in touch with Cyril, he is now the muscle head in chief and wields all the domestic meatheads.
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>>4580768
(You guys absolutely feel free to discuss any plans, strategy, or anything else you want to do about this.)

>>4580652
>>4580678
>>4580680
>>4580724
(I'm not going to lie, the opportunity to revisit this in any capacity has me excited beyond all reason. I'm going to make some pics. I'm a very slow artist so there might be a slight delay on the update, but I will have it done before the end of the night! I'll keep you guys posted if it winds up taking a long while lol. Vote is locked. No input made after post this will be included in the upcoming update, but as always you guys are welcome to discussion.)
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>>4580890
(Back in the saddle. Writing now!)
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>>4580652
>>4580678
>>4580724
"My first invocation to Storm."

Sister Cardew takes a deep, level breath. Her gaze crosses over the sweat on your brow, and the tremor all through your body. "You're not hesitating. Yet a part of you longs for lesser turmoil."

Piety and terror replies. "Yes. But I'm certain, more than than— more than words could ever say. You know I love Him as much as any other. If this doesn't— if this doesn't work, nothing will."

The pressure of your brows pressing up against one another begin to spike rapidly into an excruciating headache. Sister Cardew winces, and murmurs, "you'll be alright. Focus. Don't back down. Not even once. Don't forget that you are not alone. Find him. Do what you need to do. Get out. I'm going to take us there, Richard. Guide me."

The same fear that was on you then is sinking into you now. "We were in a cave, miles below ground. Deeper than Malimos' lair. Deeper than the heights of the waterway. There were endless networks of grates, pipes, and rock. I had attempted to follow Orgoth in a desperate bid for companionship, and— and comfort. He trapped the corridor. I wandered right into it. He set the entire passage behind us to collapse, but he didn't cause the flooding. The destruction of the demon's lair alerted its master: Mondost."

Your side sears with pain. The barbed javelin that stabbed you earlier that week was slick with poison, and the wound was intentionally neglected. Gallons upon gallons of filthy, blood-slick, and viscera-filled water careens into the passage that you're moving through now. Flecks of gore and the dead catch in your nose, and tease at the injury on your side. The infection will be extreme. But it's a straight shot out, through this passage. A steep ascent is at your back. Your breath catches in your throat.

The gray and pink foam rushing to meet you cannot be outran. Gallons are pouring down rapidly. What was up to your ankles is now knee-high. The entire corridor ahead is half a mile long. No one could survive this. There are no outlets.

It's a death trap. There was time to say goodbye, but you did not long for death.

You pray.

https://youtu.be/J7ajf9TNySA

The passage underfoot trembles. Thousands of leeches cling to the rock. They're barely visible in the dark. Tufts of them break off into the water, and are swept away like the filth washing past you. The blood of a centipede. The blood of a war chief. The blood from your injury.

Bracing against the side of a jagged outcropping of rock, you clutch onto your side. You can't breathe.

"Storm..."

Water flows around you, on you, and out from your lips. It's in your lungs. It's in your soul.

Everything goes black.

(1/4)
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>>4581071
You're held in the embrace of an endless ocean.

Gathering clouds obstruct the sun. They possess their own shapes and colors, and all defy comprehension.

Lightning caresses the sky.

Heat arcs through you. Water flows freely through your eyes and mouth. Your vessel has been endlessly fractured, but you have been filled with solid gold. The sun. The world. The light of everything in-between gazes upwards into the clouds, as you look upon a God.

An impossibly beautiful figure touches the height of the tempest. He is neither shadow, nor substance. Your mind scrambles to assign a form, or function. Storm has favored you. You are gifted with a shape to gaze upon.

The moment that stretches out into hours, and days, and something beyond Time Herself. He will not permit you to suffer the pain of the ages.

Reverence spurs you to praise Him. Though your prayers cannot be heard against the whip and crack of a rising hurricane, your worship is heard. Thunder answers. The sky stirs into a frenzy. Rain falls in sheets. The very ocean rises to greet you. The world and the sun vanish.

Lightning falls in an arc from the sky. It blocks out all that ever was, and ever will be.

For the briefest of moments, all the earth might as well have died. You're swept into a vortex of agony.

You convulse.

Not like this.

There's heat behind your eyes. Your body might as well be on fire. There's no controlling your breath, and a lethal inhalation floods your lungs with water. All that registers in your vision are orange bolts that lick around your fingertips. It exacerbates the shock in your skull. Wave after wave of it crashes into you. It's worse than before.

There's nothing but coral.

Flame.

Lightning.

There is lightning arcing from your fingertips. It's behind your eyes, and all through your mind. Hundreds of flickering leeches are all gathered around you. The world might as well have been submerged. You're deep underwater, as the entirety of the passage has flooded.

You should have drowned two solid days ago. What little skin is visible on you is horribly water-logged, and moving is agony. A tremor is through your aching limbs, and the searing pain in your skull. The shaking won't subside. You had been starving yourself to death, not had even a drop of water in days, walked for over a week on end with scarcely any rest, and your mind might as well be fit to burst.

Dense clouds of the aquatic worms are all drifting towards you. Each and every time they get within a few feet of you, another arc of electricity zaps through the water, and keeps them at bay. It's scarcely enough heat to kill anything. He doesn't want to tax you. He doesn't want you to suffer.

The Gods are Merciful.

(2/4)
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>>4581075
Storm saw fit to grant you a degree of natural protection. The flooded corridor is disorienting to an extreme, but you can see with the light and flame all throughout your skull that there is an outlet further beyond. It will lead into the lair of the most powerful sorcerer you've ever faced. It's nigh impossible to truly see anything, given the density of the leeches. You're reminded that Storm has never needed you to speak. Not in order to invoke Him. Never in order to use His ability.

This is only a memory, but you remember how it felt with even more clarity than you possessed in those few, fatal moments. Your hands clasp in prayer.

You breathe water.

A gale presents itself between your palms.

Bracing yourself hard against the closest wall, you lean into the flow. It makes no sense to propel this much water out with wind alone. So, splaying your hands and fingers apart, you demonstrate absolute control over every force of nature.

It's excessive. It's obscene. It nearly blackens your vision, and takes you away from the world once again— but you'll be damned if it isn't effective.

The entire corridor drains out, as you cautiously move with the tide.
The parasites within the passage are all electrified in an instant.
A current of wind sweeps up through all the water.

The entire passage is cleared in a matter of seconds, and you emerge from a single, simple opening.

The sheer amount of water you've redirected has flooded the entire floor of a colossal chamber. A crimson light reflects off the water underfoot, which is up to your ankles now. Countless stone pillars reach out from the pool, into an arched ceiling. It has to be one hundred feet high. There's no seeing its furthest ends, save for dead ahead. Several doors are far off in the distance, at one high wall. It's terribly dark, and the strange lighting makes it almost impossible to see countless pools of jet-black liquid suspended in the water. They're in all directions.

You throw up your hands before your face on instinct. Fireballs burst from the flammable substance floating across the room. Heat flares on all sides. Smoke gathers, and tendrils of light rise high from every last puddle.

It's an inferno of impossibility. Sweat is on you faster than the disgusting liquid soaking you to the bone. It makes your gilded black robes cling, and a hideous thought occurs to you. Your physicality— your build, age, and all of your appearance— are entirely unchanged by Sister Cardew's work. There's no bandages around your torso. The pain is completely in your mind. Father Barthalomew's health has been failing for at least several months, if not years. He could be helpless. He might not.

You frantically look around the room for your fellow church leader. Between the flame, and the strange lighting, it's impossible to know where he might be with a cursory glance.

(3/4)
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>>4581078
At the other end of the chamber, you can't miss the silhouette of a gargantuan monster. The shadow cast high over the flame is of the shaved heads of at least ten men. The breadth of its meaty body is more akin to a horse. The figures all share the same torso, but their arms are not at their shoulders. They should have no means of movement, yet from where legs should descend are four, muscular arms.

Every one of Mondost's footfalls quakes the chamber you stand in, as he slowly approaches. Handfalls? It's disgusting. You can't linger on it. You may only have the extent of this fight to find your fellow priest. To hope to communicate with him.

This demon also might seize any moment of weakness or hesitation, and kill you both instantly.

An older man shouts with a voice full of salt and insanity. There IS someone on the opposite side of the chamber. It's like a burn in the back of your mind, and the crushing pressure of an entire ocean crashing down on your tortured body.

He is wildfire. The deluge. A squall. Tempest incarnate.

The leader of the Church of Storm causes thousands of bolts of lightning to suddenly, and violently discharge. They course through the water in the entirety of the chamber, and should fry anything living instantly.

>A] Redirect the lightning that comes towards you back at Mondost. Hold your ground. There's no way you're giving the demon even a second to breathe, and know your fellow priest will see you attack.

>B] Part the water in your path, and make straight for Father Barthalomew. You can't risk ruining this opportunity. Stay on the defensive as much as you can, and leave the battle to him.

>C] This demon terrifies you more than any other. This feels as real as anything you've ever experienced, and you do not want you, Father Barthalomew, or Sister Cardew to die. Take no chances. Dig deep. Endure the attack from Father Barthalomew, and coat the demon in the same flaming, electrified water.

>D] Write-in.
>>
>>4581080

>>B] Part the water in your path, and make straight for Father Barthalomew. You can't risk ruining this opportunity. Stay on the defensive as much as you can, and leave the battle to him.

We nuked Mondost once, Bart can have some fun with him too now.
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>>4581080
>B] Part the water in your path, and make straight for Father Barthalomew. You can't risk ruining this opportunity. Stay on the defensive as much as you can, and leave the battle to him.
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>>4581191
>>4581221
(Good morning gentlemen! Locking the unanimous vote here. Writing now!)
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>>4581343
https://youtu.be/DxpUpyvu8BY

You are the lord of defense. You grimace, and splay your fingers. Water bends to your will. At the same instant that Father Barthalomew's attack courses through the shallow lake towards you, the motion of your hands carves a clear path straight through the pool ahead. Dry ground ensures your safety. One thousand names of long-dead citizens of Ostedholm are inscribed beneath your feet. Not a single spark of energy reaches your frame, save for the God within.

Hands outstretched, you proceed calmly towards the demon ahead. A figure is seated in the water just a little further beyond. Between you and Mondost's approaching shadow is a relatively small, elderly man. He can't be more than 5'5'', and half your weight at most. Though his upper body is incredibly toned, the priest's legs have nothing to them at all. It's skin and bone, as if he hasn't used them in half his life. His long beard and sun-bleached hair is practically standing on end. There's no stress on the man. He simply has the coral in his eyes closed, with one hand extended towards the demon beyond. Father Barthalomew may be infirm, but he is the conduit through which the power before you is being channeled. His vessel is not broken. It is cracked to better service the God of Turmoil.

The first surge of electricity didn't paralyze Mondost. The demon is smoking, and proceeds towards you both without any fear. You dig your heels in, and brace yourself.

Every single one of the demon's mouths opens.
Flame bursts from its lips.
The heat around you all redoubles.
A blast of fire surges straight towards you and your ally.
The tension through your arms and hands sweeps a wave of electrified water between you, Father Barthalomew, and the monster ahead.
At the same moment, the priest beside you closes his hand.
The entire wave is taken from your hands.
The wave you produced suddenly boils from the heat on it. Your fellow church leader is gathering an offering for Storm.
The monstrous sorcerer standing before you continues to screech. He cannot hope to fight fire with fire.
Every hair on your body stands on end, in anticipation of devastation.
Something you've never seen before takes the breath from all the water in your lungs: A discharge of electricity emerges from the demon, in every direction.

The air fills with static and death. A sweep of your hands shoves aside the current underfoot. It deflects the energy further, and is picked up into Father Barthalomew's building maelstrom. Your eyes go wide in horror.

He's absorbed Mondost's attack into a building cloud of smoke, electricity, flame, and oil. It violently spikes towards the ceiling in a liquid tornado.

Mondost rears his arms up, and charges straight towards you both.

The nightmarish pillar's holy conductor swings a fist down.

The pillar follows his motion. The divine hammer slams towards your foe.

(1/3)
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>>4581370
The man sitting before you has so much confidence in his work that he has yet to even move.

With a shout, you rush ahead, and brings your arms before you. The momentum and force of your motion takes the water on either side of you up, and out in waves. You slam your hands together, and push the flood forward towards your target. It is an elemental shield that sweeps across the breadth of the corridor.
The colossal, heated pillar meets its target.
A blast of raw energy from the sorcerer ahead collides with your defense. You feel it in your bones.

A rush of Magic and sin clashes against the memory of divinity, in something your mind never should have registered. The world slightly cuts out. There's a black spot in the back of your mind, and a vague scream registers.

It's your own voice, from an attack you have yet to unleash. It mirrors the smoking turmoil that Father Barthalomew unleashed on your foe.

Your vision spins.

"The Gods are Merciful."

You collapse to the floor. The behemoth of a demon ahead crashes down into the water. You know fights between masters can't last more than a few moments before a lethal blow is struck, and you can't help but hope the priest beside you enjoyed the venture.

Waves erupt from the force of Mondost's deafening crumple, and your mirrored fall. Waves lap at your inert body. The scent of burning skin and electricity is hot on the air. Smoke is rising in thick plumes from the creature's body. Despite the size of the chamber, it's slowly becoming clouded by the demon's death.

You feel like a husk, but will drown if you can't move. It's excruciating to turn, and your limbs feel like lead, but you manage to get on one side. The struggle to keep your eyes open is still well worth the effort.

"Father Anscham, is it? Are you alright?"

Your fellow church leader wheels over. The wrinkles under his stern and long features, the sun and age spots on his skin, and his completely relaxed demeanor is completely disarming.

"It's as I said, Father." Level breath. You're not going to make a scene, and manage to quietly hiss in only once. A grimace is much more befitting of the memory. "The Gods are Merciful."

Father Barthalomew serves the most temperamental of the Gods, but has always been nothing but respectful, and level-headed. "Damn straight. Not a bad job back there at all, for, well, whatever this is. It's nice to finally meet you. Father Bennett. I'm sure you knew. Friends call me Bart."

(2/3)
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>>4581374
With a heavy groan, you roll onto your back. You don't mean to stare, but hazard a quick look for confirmation. The priest is crippled from the waist down. He's sitting in a chair with wheels. It's fashioned out of some exotic metals and woods, and must be worth as much as half of your treasury. It's not affected in the slightest by the man channeling lightning through his own skin moments before. He calmly slicks back the static from his hair. There's still lightning through his eyes, as he releases his invocation like it was nothing. Dead men have more life in their tone than your reply does. "A pleasure. Apologies for the circumstances, Father Barth—"

"Father Barthalomew's fine. I know you're trying to be respectful. This is a whole lot of trouble just for a message, so let's not waste any Time. What's happened?"

>Feel free to write in how you would like to address the leader of the Church of Storm, e.g. Bart, Father Bennett, etc. (He seems to be very laid-back, and obviously doesn't have a serious preference.)

>A] Drag yourself to your feet, shake him firmly by the hand, and give the full picture. The pain will be worth looking more presentable.

>B] Immediately ask if he's okay. Stay down, while you're at it. You have no use for pride, and he must completely understand how much this originally took out of you.

>C] Try to not come across as too anxious, but ask if he's received any of your correspondence already. You've communicated twice now with the leader of the Church of Storm without a significant reply.

>D] Tactfully ask the priest if he's aware of the activity his church has been responsible for.

>E] You need to know the situation in Rimilde. Ask for a report as civilly as you can.

>F] Write-in.
>>
>>4581375

>>C] Try to not come across as too anxious, but ask if he's received any of your correspondence already. You've communicated twice now with the leader of the Church of Storm without a significant reply.

>D] Tactfully ask the priest if he's aware of the activity his church has been responsible for.

>E] You need to know the situation in Rimilde. Ask for a report as civilly as you can.

In this order, it's important to get all the details here as the church of Storm apparently helps supply the cult.
>>
>>4581410
+1
>>
>>4581410
>>4581417
(Based. Going to lock the vote here and get this update out as quickly as possible. If I get cut off by having to run to work I'll give you guys a heads up. Writing now!)
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>>4581420
(Yep, cut it too close. Going to finish this at my desk. Will be back in a bit, thanks for your patience guys.)
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>>4581375
>>4581410
+1
>>
>>4581453
(Appreciated anon!)

>>4581445
You can't even think about moving. Looking to the vaulted ceiling, and the drifting smoke, you choke out, "my *letters*. Have you received any of my correspondence already?"

"Not a word, Father. Been out at sea."

You try not to choke on all the water in your lungs, and dart your gaze towards the priest. He's completely at ease, as you splutter, "you're in the strait right now?"

A shrug. "Whole lot farther out than that. Haven't seen land in weeks."

"Then you—" This explains so much. "It can wait. My writing was primarily thanking you for your respect and guidance."

"Not a problem." His brows furrow. "So. Who's fuckin' up my church, Father?"

This is a catastrophe. He's completely cut off from the situation. "Your clergy is responsible in [i]some[/i] capacity for supplying the cult of Inertia. Last Worship devastated the crop, flooded the countryside, and will cause scarcity in what should be a plentiful Harvest. Imports and exports are being brought in by your men. There's wares from islands as far off as the Cabochan archipelago, at least. I'm unfamiliar with the area, and could be off in some way. But there is no question that the materials were not home-grown."

"Well, fuck me." The sailor leans back a little. "Good to know." He passes a glance over you. "Thought you were a bean pole. Sound and look more like a priest of Agriculture than one of Mercy, you know that?"

"I know." You sigh. "I need to know the situation in Rimilde, Father. All of my other correspondence— I do not mean to overstep myself, but— but they were all requests for additional aid, counsel, and predictions. Anything— virtually any news, from the weather, to what you last witnessed at home— anything could aid in our home defense enormously."

"Yeah. This shit is all off. It's what I get for heading out, and trying to see to things myself." He laughs lightly. "I'll kill them all where they stand."

A cold sweat is on you. He's completely unphased by any of this.

"Was meant to be a rough Worship. They must have seized the opportunity, and made the rains and floods even worse. Doesn't take much to encourage the lot. I can think of a few off the top of my head that would do something like this. It's a damn shame. Guessing a few of you cleaned up the trash before I got the chance. Don't answer that."

The cold sweat on you is heightened by the water you're laying in. The priest pauses, and thoroughly scrutinizes your face. "You might as well have just come out of the 'fen. The fuck have they been doing to you?"

There's no question that the Goddess of Practicality has helped with your own pragmaticism. "It's a long story."

Another light laugh, as he shakes his head. "For fuck's sake. That bad, huh?"

(1/3)
>>
>>4581480
You're not going to have the Time to answer that completely, but he should know. "I need details, Father. Your church is supplying a cult. They've infested my home. Our country is in danger. I understand that your work often takes you away from your own city, but this— this is unbearably important."

"Well." He sniffs again. "I'll keep this quick, then. You should appreciate it more than most."

You give him a curious glance, but don't interrupt.

"Weather was meant to be wet all Worship long. If they've increased it to the point of flooding the inland, travel is going to be compromised throughout the country. You lot are wedged between both rivers. This is going to make three big problems. Problem one: land's fucked."

He's being borderline flippant. Everything hurts. You're struggling to stay alert, and your home is in danger. Grumbling would be understandable, but you settle for a severe scowl instead.

The priest of Storm laughs. "Told you!"

"I fail to see the humor."

"You're right, that this is no joke. With travel compromised, the Church of Storm is going to be given an excuse to head out from our walls. Every last trouble-maker under me is probably out there running loose. I keep a good hold on my clergy, but this is something caused by a much deeper problem. Even a little instability is going to put the common man on edge. The lack of food, massive presence of clergy around the country, and the livelihoods ruined will have my church of calamity even more riled up."

It's hard not to think of how elated Sister Miramond was with the state of affairs. How eager Brother Murdac was to kill hundreds. The water lapping against you is soothing, but your voice is filled with conflict. "People are dying, Father. We have to get a handle on this."

"Yep. I'm not done. You've got problem two: bugs. Humidity from the hotter season, lots of people out working, and all that wetness is going to get the bugs out. People are going to get sick. You're going to have your hands full at the Church of Mercy."

A miserable, nervous laugh escapes from you. "You have no idea."

"Then you know problem three: health. People are going to be hungry, tired, and getting sick left and right. This is a bad setup for the colder seasons, Father. This cult is playing the long game, right?"

"Absolutely."

"They're probably trying to wear out everyone's stores. Starving the people out come Worship will get people desperate enough to listen to anything. They might be trying to destroy our people's faith. By the sound of things, it's going their way."

You try not to interrupt.

(2/3)
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>>4581483
"Rimilde's fine. We're as self-sufficient as can be, and don't have to worry about any of the frost. Might be why my people aren't as bothered by the whole matter, either. They're not going to go running for help when they know they might be the only ones to survive. The more selfish ones must be seeking a profit, or aren't exactly happy with me, either. The whole state of affairs is shit, so listen up: weather *not* the Storm. I'm not trying to be cute. You need to act quickly. You're all about the green, is that it?"

It's an odd question, but you quietly nod. "That is— that is one way to put it."

"So you gotta get these weeds by their roots. Root out these fuckers. I swear to you, this is not going to be pretty if we can't do something by Worship. The snow is— well. It's like I said when I wrote you! Storm's pissed. Real pissed. Has been, will be, doesn't matter much to you. I'm getting it under control. But I've already wasted enough of your Time."

He looks around. "What is all this, anyways?"

"The memory of my first invocation to Storm. This was within the ruins of the fallen city of Ostedholm, and deep below the forests to the west of Eadric. One of my priestesses— Sister Harriet Cardew— is likely killing herself to make this possible. I apologize if it harms you in any way, but— but this was critical. I feared you were the most in the dark of any of us. It appears that my suspicions were correct."

The elderly man sniffs a little, and rubs at his nose from the smoke. "Yeah, well. I'd rather be slower on the uptake and not trust Sullivan as far as I could throw him, than to invite a bunch of spies and liars under my roof. Heard some of the things he's been spreading about you. Doing another Father wrong like that? He should be ashamed of himself."

Just how slowly does word travel to Rimilde, you wonder. Just how bad could things be up north?

"He is. It's taken care of, Father. Truly. Thank you for the concern."

"No problem. You need me to—"

"No. We reconciled our differences several weeks ago. I pray that the efforts of my men and women to put a stop to all of the slander reaches your city sooner, rather than later."

"I'm really taking too much of your Time. Sounds like your place is on fire."

"It was."

"Mercy."

"No, our—" Your morning sermon with Mercy must be rapidly approaching. You genuinely don't have Time for pleasantries. "Our work has only just begun."

(Options in next post.)
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>>4581486
>A] Thank Father Bartholomew for his caution regarding the weather, his church, the potential health disaster in your country, the counsel regarding Inertia, and for the news of his absence. This has been priceless intelligence, even if it's vaguer than you'd like. You'll see him in person one day, and pray it will be sooner rather than later.

>B] Make sure your colleague's health is alright. You can't exactly heal him from here, but maybe you can help in some capacity. Counsel, at the bare minimum.

>C] This conversation was already substantially longer and more fruitful than you could have hoped for, yet it feels like you're starved for information. Ask Father Barthalomew something specific before you part ways. (Write-in.)
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>>4581490

>>C] This conversation was already substantially longer and more fruitful than you could have hoped for, yet it feels like you're starved for information. Ask Father Barthalomew something specific before you part ways. (Write-in.)

Sister Miramond, is she to be trusted? Pevrel doesn't think so.
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>>4581490
I agree with >>4581507
>>C
>>
>>4581507
+1
>>
>>4581507
>>4581511
>>4581515
(Wonderful guys, vote is locked here. Writing now!)
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>>4581536
"Father Pevrel seems to not trust the clergywoman of Storm in his company. I have enough problems as it is, without enemies or spies in the halls of my home. In the care of *my* allies. Can Sister Miramond be trusted?"

Concern flits across his brow for only a moment. "You and Pevrel?"

"Yes." You repress every urge to shift, and fight with every fiber of your being to focus on the present moment. "My concern lies with your priestess."

"You mean Julian. Are you kidding me? Our old snowfall's a barb in my side, sure. She won't take any shit from anyone, if that's what you mean. But Sister Miramond is a good lass." His eyes narrow, with a smirk. "I can't imagine she's letting him walk all over her work. He must be miserable answering to a woman on the road. There's a few words for men like Pevrel, Father Anscham."

You think of things like 'chauvinist' and 'sadist' and 'deviant' and several other tangents all related to blades. The world slips a little further away, with black on the edges of your sight. The sheer amount of pain and exhaustion on you is not conducive for extended discussion. It feels like the world is going to give way any moment. It's hard-fought, but you do everything you can to focus. Shifting slightly upright redoubles the pain, but it help keep you awake.

The motion also gets you an impressed glance from Father Barthalomew. "A hard-working, respectful young gentleman wouldn't have to worry about her giving you a hard time. I can't imagine you having any trouble with her. She's no spy, and is about as faithful as they come. And I'm talking about to me, personally. Not just Storm! But it's no wonder he's having issues. Being pig-headed and brutish won't earn the fear, or respect of any of MY clergy."

A long sigh of relief escapes from you. He must be fighting to not put down Father Pevrel further. "Thank you. She's certainly made an effort to treat him with respect, if it's any consolation."

"Yep." His eyes narrow further. "I'm not worried about her. The sick fuck's trying to do his thing with you, isn't he?"

You cough. "I beg— I beg your pardon—?"

"Don't mean this the wrong way, Father, but you'd be a walking target for him. I'm just trying to look out for you. Fred would want to run you into the ground— did you kick his ass for me?"

The ache in your chest just won't stop. "He's been beaten thoroughly, Father."

"Ha. Excellent. Serves the old bastard right. But Nick's always had *more* than a few leaks in his hull. The lad's eyes are gone, but most of his soul's just as black. I respect his work, don't get me wrong. But if he's all the way in Eadric— and if things are as bad as they sound? You need to look after *yourself.*" He passes another glance over your face, and huffs. "Can't go losing the Father of Healing while rot-eye gets his rocks off."

(Options in next post.)
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>>4581571
>A] Let your jaw hang open for a minute, and ask Father Barthalomew to clarify. He's obviously struggling to not say even more about Father Pevrel. Encourage him to do so, as the lord of truth. This does deeply concern your future work, no matter what cost it's taking on you and Sister Cardew now.

>B] Deeply and sincerely thank your fellow church leader for everything. You are hanging by a thread, and need to think of Sister Cardew's well-being too. Part ways, having done much more than just accomplishing your mission.

>C] There is never enough Time for anything, and for all your answers you still have 1000 questions. (Write-in. There's no guarantee you'll remain connected or conscious for long enough to engage in any other subject at length, and it might hurt to try, but you're willing to risk it.)
>>
>>4581575

>>B] Deeply and sincerely thank your fellow church leader for everything. You are hanging by a thread, and need to think of Sister Cardew's well-being too. Part ways, having done much more than just accomplishing your mission.

We will talk again, and maybe get those tenets at some point. We need to be careful we don't kill Cardew, we kinda figured Pevrel is bat shit insane ourselves anyway.
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>>4581575
>B
For sure. Richard needs to pace himself.
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>>4581575
>B] Deeply and sincerely thank your fellow church leader for everything. You are hanging by a thread, and need to think of Sister Cardew's well-being too. Part ways, having done much more than just accomplishing your mission.
>>
>>4581575
>B] Deeply and sincerely thank your fellow church leader for everything. You are hanging by a thread, and need to think of Sister Cardew's well-being too. Part ways, having done much more than just accomplishing your mission.
>>
>>4581584
>>4581597
>>4581640
>>4581660
(Absolutely wonderful guys. The holidays have things so slow, I basically have the rest of the shift free. It's a Christmas miracle lol. Vote is locked here. Writing now!)
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>>4581675
It feels like you're dying. You knit your eyes shut, and speak with difficulty. "We'll meet again. Thank you so much. Thank you. I can't tell you how much your support and counsel means to me."

Worry comes into your fellow priest's tone. "Think you're going to make it?"

Nodding is safe enough, even if it gets more water down the back of your robes. "By a thread. I have to learn how to pace myself." He snorts. You are quick to tease, "don't *you* answer that."

The slight shake of Father Bartholomew's laughter is audible from the wet noise of his shirt shifting. "Alright. It was nice meeting you, Father Anscham."

"Likewise."

"I trust you'll have all this handled, and don't you worry about a thing. For every bit of slander Sullivan put out there, there's five more stories about all the good you've done. I'm not about to forget that."

More nodding. "I'll be seeing you again as soon as I'm able. Send me your tenets, if you can."

"Hmm? Oh. Oh! Right. Sure. Why not? Soon as I'm back at the mainland. Can't promise you a Time, but I'll see to it. Take care of yourself, if you can. 'The Gods are Merciful', was it?"

"Yes—"

A scream rips your vision, mind, memory, and the world away in a pain so sudden and blinding, you and Sister Cardew fall backwards away from each other and slam onto the wooden floor. A violent, quick turn allows you to vomit away from the white-hot pain, as you fight back a sob or a scream. Spots blink out of your eyes, and the pain only feels like it ramps up harder. The blend of pleasure all through it is almost equal in intensity. You want to cry from it, and aren't sure if it's from joy or some of the worst pain you've ever experienced. The door slams open, and Klepto's voice scarcely registers from the hall. He's at the edge of your thoughts.

Relieved, hysterical laughter falls from you when you realize that the sensation is not going to last forever. It's dying down.

Ray bounds into the room, and pants right beside you. His quiet presence is absolutely there to make sure you're alright, before he sees to anyone else. There's no use trying to see for several long seconds. You pull your boy into a hug.

There might as well be an ice pick lodged into the front of your skull, right where your heads contacted. All you can think of is if Harriet is alright. Fighting to stop retching comes easily enough, but it's at least a full minute before you can hope to see. The back of your hand wipes the sweat off your face. Looking around, your eyes fall on the pile of inert skirts and shawls adorning your priestess.

Sister Cardew has not moved. She's not moving at all.

(1/3)
>>
>>4581761
You quietly ask Ray to move, stagger over to your friend on hands and knees, and take her in your arms. Her head is slack. Her eyes are open, and unblinking. James looks horrified, but is sharp enough to not say anything.

You keep her neck and head supported, quietly command Ray to keep back, and ask your boy to guard the door. He instantly complies, while James kneels down beside you. Feeling for Harriet's breath and a pulse, you confirm that she's still breathing. Relief hits you harder than the pain did seconds ago. *Your* flash of agony has almost completely subsided, but there's no point in taking any chances. You use a tone so soft, it couldn't possibly set anyone's nerves on end. "Sister Cardew."

Harriet's gaze snaps to you with such intensity, you jump. "Richard!"

You gasp in relief. "By all the Gods—"

Her invocation is *fading*. She's so weak, she can't voluntarily stay in contact with Spirit for a moment longer. Yet all of the whites in Harriet's eyes are visible. The sweet, chestnut-brown that used to adorn her irises is completely obscured by what looks like liquefied pearls. It's *only* white that's visible, as she winces in obvious distress. "We did it."

You pull her into a hug, and practically smother your most loyal clergy woman. She returns the hug instantly, though she can hardly lift her arms. One exhausted breath escapes you, and you help keep her up. "You did it. Thank you. I don't know if I can ever repay you.

Her voice is so muffled, you can't hear the reply. "Dhhntt brgh rdcrrcrrrrhhs."

Sheepishly pulling back, you give her some room to breathe.

She's too weak to even sit upright on her own, and sinks deeply against your arms. Smiling. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm still repaying *you*." A tilted, bleary smile looks around the whole room. "Where are my glasses?"

She seems so much more level than you were expecting, every one of your nerves is on end. You quickly nod to James, and the bed. The minstrel hops to get the item.

Harriet leans in towards you, and grins ear-to-ear.

You sigh. There it is. You remain patient, and ask, "yes?"

"I saw their minds, Richard." She giggles. Sister Cardew *giggles,* and it's possibly one of the most disturbing noises you've ever heard. James straightens upright, as if he's heard one of his instruments out of tune.

The young woman drops her tittering as quickly as she started, and stoically continues. "All of them. You're all crazy. Crazy, crazy, crazy. It comes with the job, doesn't it? But you're not bad people. No. Not a one. You all are doing what you think is best. Even Sullivan thinks he's doing the right thing. That's the trouble. Your minds are pushed past the breaking point. We have a collection of lunatics running our nation. In a period of two wars." Despite her weakness, Harriet clutches onto the front of your robes with one hand. "It's the Gods. The Gods drive us mad. I must know why."

(2/3)
>>
>>4581767
A lovely, polite, pained, and utterly insane smile beams up at you. Harriet's eyes are unfocused, as she obviously is reflecting on what must have been the touch of a Goddess. "Will Cyril lose his faculties, too? Oh. But Richard. I understand. I know. It's a struggle. *You* can't possibly think straight. You feel. You don't have just one God vying for your mind. You have many, and They all want what's best for you. But that is your trouble. Your blessing, and your curse. They all are at odds with the other. Your fellow church leaders have it easy. By comparison. They have lived their lives doing only what they were told! But you? You are learning how to balance the Gods Themselves. No man alive should criticize your struggle. You. Are. Tempering. The very. Gods."

There's stars in her eyes. Harriet looks towards the wall straight past you. There's a solid wall, but she's seeing the night sky. "This is the greatest gift I could have ever asked for. My sacrifices have been a blessing. I do not serve the Goddess of knowledge through seclusion. I am not confined by narrow-sighted study. This is the pursuit of the unknown. A venture that will take us into territory never before witnessed by mankind. James knows it."

The minstrel snips, "obviously. The fuck you think I stick around for? Sure isn't for the security."

You stare in disbelief, as both of your friends give the other equally insane smiles.

Harriet breaks the look after a moment. Her smile falters, and she assumes a more typical, neutral expression. Her hand stays clutched on your robes, as if she's afraid of what might happen if she lets go. "I have to think of my baby, Richard. It will kill me to do more. This is not something you can heal. Cyril is strong, and much more competent than anyone gives him credit for. I'll rest, even when I know you can't. Dream will have to understand. I'll pray for you."

You carry her back onto the bed, and quietly ask Klepto to get her something to wear that isn't covered in lilies and vomit. He keeps her glasses in hand, and starts quietly cursing while digging through an armoir across the room. The room is a disaster once again, and none of you care.

Kneeling beside the high mattress, you whisper to your priestess, "thank you."

"Richard."

"Yes?"

"Fred's an asshole."

You squeeze Harriet's hand slightly. She's too good for this world. "Thank you so much, again. Is there anything you need?"

"Keep Ray here. I feel much safer when he's around." You nod, to which she sighs, and lays back. James walks over with her glasses, at least, which she seems intent on wearing even to sleep. "I don't want to ask you to make me any promises. We're all too hard on you. But please try to rest at some point. Do whatever you can to make it happen. You're fighting more often than not, and this will be a war of attrition. It will not be something we can talk our way out of in a single day."

(Baaarely over 3/4)
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>>4581770
"Yes. Of course."

"And Richard?"

"Yes…?"

"I don't think you're hurting anyone by allying with Pevrel. On the contrary. I think he needs your help just as much as any demon. The last thing we need is another leader conspiring against us. So long as you aren't compromising your health or safety, I think there may be great merit in exploring the ways you both can help one another. Please don't lose him."

>A] Give Sister Cardew the biggest hug you can manage. Make her some tea, or something. Try to ensure she's completely looked after before you do anything else. She's too good for this world, and you can't imagine ever finding a way to repay her for this kindness. Your research team will have a LOT to discuss when you're afforded more time (like usual).

>B] Your priestess has effectively demonstrated that she has equal or greater control over Spirit than Beltoro, and you're utterly terrified for her sanity. Finding Walter and informing him of this venture needs to be moved WAY up on your priority list.
>1] Respectfully ask James to go get the father of Harriet's child from wherever he is in the city, right now.
>2] You'll personally locate Walter the minute you're able. Adwin still will come first, but you'll figure out where to go from there.

>C] Try not to panic. You have lost track of the Time for the first Time in 14 years, and will get a look at the sky as soon as possible.

"James." You might be panicking. "What Time is it?"

"Evening?"

>D] Panic. You have to go find Adwin as quickly as humanly possible.

>E] Do not panic.
>1] You can and will kill yourself if you forget that you're still human. Get the sick out of your throat, responsibly ration out something for dinner, and take just a few minutes to breathe. Let James catch you up on things in the meantime.
>2] Try to (discreetly) take stock of just how bad you are off physically.
>3] Take James aside, and have him try to get an honest take with you on how bad off you are physically, mentally, and emotionally.

>F] Write-in.
>>
>>4581772

>>B] Your priestess has effectively demonstrated that she has equal or greater control over Spirit than Beltoro, and you're utterly terrified for her sanity. Finding Walter and informing him of this venture needs to be moved WAY up on your priority list.
>2] You'll personally locate Walter the minute you're able. Adwin still will come first, but you'll figure out where to go from there.

Sir your wife mindfucked the entire leadership of the country.

>E] Do not panic.
>1] You can and will kill yourself if you forget that you're still human. Get the sick out of your throat, responsibly ration out something for dinner, and take just a few minutes to breathe. Let James catch you up on things in the meantime.

Debrief NOW.
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>>4581796
+1
>>
>>4581772
>>4581796
+1
>>
>>4581796
>>4581819
>>4582007
(Thanks for your patience guys, and happy holidays! Vote is locked here. Writing now.)
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>>4582068
I'm in envy of your pace of writing, man. You churn out in 2 hours what takes me a whole day to write. Just wanted to wish you luck with your quest, I'm starting reading from Thread 1. Happy holidays!
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>>4582074
(Thank you so, so much anon. Means the whole world! Best of luck with all of your writing too. Let me know if you ever have any questions, and happy holidays again!)
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>>4582076
https://youtu.be/BRWylroz1mY

One more slight squeeze of Harriet's hands before you part from her side. Terror for the poor woman's sanity is drenching you. "I'm getting hold of Walter the minute I'm able. Adwin needs to be seen to first, but—" It feels like you're losing your mind all over again. The young woman you're looking at is possibly the most powerful priestess of Spirit to have ever lived. "You have demonstrated equal, or greater control over Spirit than Beltoro. I would be lying if I didn't say that I was terrified for you, Sister Cardew."

"Oh. I know."

You meet her grin with a smile so nervous, your heart skips several beats. "Right, then." A shaking hand goes for your flask. You mutter to everyone present, "I am perfectly aware that we are in a period of scarcity, and turmoil—"

James croaks, "you're a gift. Can that thing make wine?"

They all haven't been eating from thoughtlessness, or neglect. They're rationing.

You mutter to the item, "strong wine," and hand it off to your minstrel. The scent of fermented grapes and relief fills the air. The sandy-blonde knocks your flask back without even inspecting it. "I would like a debriefing. Now."

A few hard breaths leave him. He wipes his face. "You're probably going to like this."

You take the flask back, and wash out the sickness and lilies with a beautiful red. It's mild enough to make you forget about the nausea, dry, colored like intense violets, and tastes young. The drink would pair well with the preserved goods present, and you gesture for the middle-aged man to help assist you in rationing something reasonable. It will help you gauge the situation even as you both eat.

The two of you pick a devastatingly small selection of goods. It looks like a quarter of what you actually need. While you work at the meal, sketch everything present, and take notes on the origin of the supply, James speaks. Handling so many tasks simultaneously has stars in your eyes. Time would be delighted.

Your friend still sounds like a dead man. "Harvey's gone to go bust Electrum out. They should be done by now."

Sharply inhaling on a wedge of cheese threatens to kill you on the spot. You cough, "EXCUSE ME—?!"

Sister Cardew stirs slightly in bed. She's already fallen asleep, and is too exhausted to comment. Ray whines at you from the hallway.

The man across from you doesn't even blink. "He really doesn't like anyone fucking with us, Richard. Especially locking any of us up anywhere. Can you blame him, after everything the three of us saw this week? Shit, after anything we've all been through?"

Clearing your throat several times, and more wine gets you over the worst of the panic. "Yes. Of course—"

"Don't panic on me. We're all really trying."

"I know. I— I won't. Please spare no detail, James."

(1/5, you guys did ask for it lol)
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>>4582153
A melodious, yet concise report follows. "The Willoughby Sisters have nothing to hide. The prudes have nothing to fear from Father Pevrel, and made it look like they were saving their own skin. They're beautiful bitches, really. They're really out in the city working to curtail the worst of the violence from Pevrel's men. I'm sure they could be fighting, but the spoil-sports are doing what you all do best: healing, and making sure that the innocent have adequate shelter."

A hard sigh, though he doesn't miss a beat. "Brother Fergant has a suspiciously long history that Pevrel's men have been kept busy with. Lord Uptight's game was to root out any—" Air quotes are made with his fingers. "—Corruption—" His hands go back to getting a cup for more wine. "—that he could punish. I think it's that Fergant is trying to distract and tie up his inquisitors. Would love to root around in his dirty laundry."

"That's disgusting."

"Not as much as the shit Edge Lord got up to. They took Electrum, and were trying to hold her. Oh, the poor, poor bastards. Picture it with me, Richard: Spangle, when she found out that someone tried touching her squeeze."

You pour out a full cup of red from the endless container in hand, and raise it in a toast with your homicidal ally. "How many casualties?"

"Oh." He laughs. "I didn't count when I hit the street. But the whole place was up in flames. Corpses on sticks. Looks like Claymore and Spangle had a coordinated plan with Walter before they even took her. She took the chance to send a message to both sides. Won't make her any friends, but Walter saw the whole thing coming. They just had to get her out. I imagine that the five of them are split up, and are working on striking outside of the city while you see to things here. We're probably going to do your reputation more harm than good for awhile, but you'll thank us later."

Both of you shake your heads. You're going to go gray at this rate. "I need to thank you now."

James laughs hard. "You're just trying to picture how fucked your enemies are, aren't you?"

"Eight Gods is not enough to help them, James— and our friends are heathens. I'm certain there will be no Mercy, no matter— no matter how much I implore you all to think of Her."

"Tell me about it. They'll be fine. Walter should be keeping an eye on Claymore's stuff, and helping to keep up appearances while shit is still literally in flames. You'll find him at the smithy. Pevrel's men are all over the city, too. There was way more than I originally counted. At least double."

"One-hundred-and-ninety-eight. He brought 200 men from Mauseburg, not including himself— and I imagine he did not count Sister Miramond in the number, either."

"Yeah. Well. Not gonna lie to you. Shit's changing by the second. I wasn't trying to be a dick— heh."

"Not funny."

(2/5)
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>>4582154
"Hilarious, right. Anyways. You need intel, and I'm happy to give it, but a play-by-play isn't going to do you any favors. You probably need to get out there and start cleaning house. Let us all worry about the little pieces. Even a priestess of Storm is small potatoes compared to the whole picture. Seems like these cultists have been planning this move for a long time. Pevrel's scared 'em stiff, but his methods... ah, how do I put this?" A swirl of his wine. "It's poor dinner conversation."

You narrow your eyes. "That is uncharacteristically tactful of you."

"You were just puking your guts out. I'm a thief, not a sadist. You want the rest of that report, or...?"

"Please."

"We've put out as much word and as many requests for aid as we can, but it's not going to be enough. Not in the first few days, and maybe not even in the first few weeks. You know how long we've got before this all comes to a head everywhere...?"

"No later than the first snow. Worship, at the latest. Father Barthalomew cautioned me that there will be no helping us if we cannot remedy this situation by then."

"That's barely over five months out. We'd better pick up the pace, then." His shark-like stare slowly fades with each subsequent word. "So. Yeah. No good way to put it. There's going to be a second famine."

Something worse than nausea sinks into the pit of your stomach. It's worse than terror. It's worse than three years of a curse. It's worse than eight years of starvation. It's the memory of a childhood in constant need. You're too upset to reply.

"Supply's been cut off from Eadric, and they're already months deep into the stores. Order in the city seems to have been kept almost purely out of respect for you, Richard, and—" He winces. "You want me to be honest. There's no good way to put it."

A level breath escapes you. "Say what you need to."

A gesture is made to the provisions stacked at the back wall of Harriet's and Walter's bedroom. "This is it, for the entire keep."

Dread washes over you in waves. "This couldn't keep our priests of Flesh on their feet through the end of the month— and there's over twenty of you—"

"And another two-hundred mouths from Mauseburg. I trusted Harriet's judgement more than anyone here to use a lighter hand with the supply. Everyone respects her way too much to fight with her over it for now, but there's a reason we've had the tightest security here on this floor. Why even your dog is being kept under watch. Everyone's going to be upset with you. Everyone." The wiry minstrel sighs, and gives you an apologetic frown. "...even if you're going to go hungrier than any of us."

A stare, at your flask. "That thing is endless?"

Both of you stare at the innocuous, wooden item. Were it not for the gold cap and base, it would be indistinguishable from any ordinary container. "It would appear so."

(3/5)
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>>4582155
A shake of the minstrel's head. His muted curls are damp. He must have only just come out from the rain. "The Nyes boarded up the Church of Mercy. I'd bet another twenty years of my fucking life that they figured out what a threat your precious little artist is right out the gate. No one's come in. No one's come out. No noise from elsewhere in the keep, either. Calm before the Storm, Father. I bet you anything that they're gathering their strength, and waiting to wear ours out."

Sighing deeply comes with a medley of the perfectly conjured grapes, though the flavor brings far less reassurance than usual. "You're still dodging the subject."

"Fine. You need to decide what to do about needing to eat enough for two men. Unless you can get your little pet to take off what the Gods packed onto you, too? It's going to be miserable. You're going to be miserable, but we need you on your feet. I say you use that—" He gestures with his cup of wine towards your flask. "—and try to make up for what we all can't afford to spare. Can't live off of dandelions. Bullshit. You're not a bee." You ignore the urge to buzz. "Way I saw you in the ruins? You could run on fucking air for weeks if it came down to it. Isn't that right?"

"No. I was a walking dead man. My judgement was grossly impaired, James. I could scarcely tell what was happening, and was— I was too weak to make use of so much as a mace, or shield. There can be no understating how dire my condition was. I never should have lived."

The minstrel's tone, and his expression all eases. "I don't want you barely able to stand again, either. The way you work is almost enough to put the fear of the Gods in me, Father."

"You don't mean that."

"Nah. But it's damn good to see you trying to take care of yourself. I'm not suggesting that you starve— not that I think that's entirely possible— but just that you keep your wits running. You won't be any use to us if your judgement gets cloudier than Pevrel's." James runs a hand through his hair, and sets down his cup. "Didn't forget about him either. Don't worry. There's no word of him on the street, but I guessed he's doing something fucked for you."

"We cleared a hideout of over fifty cultists just this morning." Your voice drops to a growl. "And I am not about to lose it."

Light sparks in his eyes. "Didn't think you had it in you."

"I'm full of surprises."

Even more respect beams at you, with a shark-like smile. "Sounds like fun— but if it's all the same to you, I'm staying on the move."

"You're welcome to join us whenever you wish."

The two of you exchange directions to the hideout. James assures you he won't need a code to get entry, if necessary.

"So. Hate to harp on it, Richard—"

"Please do not lie to me."

(4/5)
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>>4582156
"Fine! See what I get for trying to be polite?! No, don't— don't give me that shit. Don't you pout at me. I need someone to blame this on, for when shit really flies. Give me some clear instruction. This is your city. The stores are running low, and we need to make sure your castle doesn't fall in a day. I need to make sure you don't fall by tomorrow, either. This cult's about inactivity. Starving us out is only going to promote that. Inertia WANTS you to do less."

"This is sickeningly appropriate."

"Have to respect their psychotic dedication to the whole gimmick. It's effective. Brutally effective. It might be weeks before we get supplies from the capital, and Pevrel's going to tax our resources even harder. And no matter how hard these Vengeance kiss-asses think they are, they can't scavenge AND keep an army fighting. So, give me those hard calls, Richard."

He sounds disproportionately excited. You pass a hard look over your friend. "Give me a minute. And we're keeping Ray out of this. Don't you dare even joke about him."

"Don't insult me. I figured. He'll be fine."

(Options in next post.)
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>>4582157
(SELECT ONE OPTION FROM OPTION A.)
(IN ADDITION, select ONE option from B.)
(LASTLY, feel free to WRITE-IN any further course of action with option C.)

>A] Your enemies seek to destroy the people's faith in you. A second famine is a pretty good way to try. (1-2 is from highest priority, to lowest priority for the quantity AND quality of rations. Those near the bottom of the list can and WILL go hungry for those higher on the list. If supplies are damaged or run out, those near the bottom of the list WILL starve first.)
>1] Regardless of divine ability: Active, adult men; pregnant women; active men; teenage males; children; all other men (disabled, scholars, etc); women; the elderly; the sick and dying.
>2] Based on effectiveness in this war: Male clergy who can invoke; male clergy who cannot invoke; female clergy who can invoke; female clergy who cannot invoke (healers, combatants); pregnant women; active teenage combatants; children; all other men; all other women; the elderly; the sick and dying.
>3] Even if ethics will not win a war, you are a bleeding heart. Despair could also cause demonic outbreaks. Factor in your humanitarian concerns. (Write-in as CLEARLY as possible.)

>B] Famines are the worst nightmare of any priest of Agriculture, but you in particular have SERIOUS justification for ANY behavior in this situation. (Due to your height, weight, and activity level, your nutritional requirements surpass that of two active men. Anything less will result in your desired weight loss, but will proportionately HARM your strength training, energy levels, health, etc. Obviously this is not a lifelong plan, but a temporary measure until the situation improves. I'll provide a little more meta info in the post after this.)
>1] This entire city is depending on your ability to fight. A liquid diet will not do. You're willing to deal with the endless amount of bullshit that will rain on you to be capable of putting an end to this conflict as effectively and quickly as possible. You are up there with every other top-priority man in your service, are not compromising your strength, and will consequently have to eat more than almost anyone else in Eadric.
>2] You'll take James' advice to try and supplement rations with your flask, to not tax your limited resources more than any other active man in your employ. Every effort will be made to uphold your combative ability, activity level, and invocations without going on a crash-diet. You're willing to accept reduced performance.
>3] The thought of your choices causing anyone else to go hungry is unfathomable. (WRITE-IN how low on the priority list you're willing to place yourself.)

>C] Desperate times call for desperate measures. (Write-in. Please be advised that any efforts made for the supply of the city can and will take away from the limited time available to get to Adwin, find Walter, secure the hideout, etc.)
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>>4582159
(Just as a little optional info, I've been discreetly running the numbers throughout the quest on your guys activity level, diet plans, exercise routines, body composition, health effects, and a bunch of other things none of you ever need to worry about. I think it helps with verisimilitude, and comes in handy for stuff like this! All of this isn't necessary to vote, but just for context regarding the situation at hand:

you are currently a little over 310lbs at 6'2''. With your extreme activity level, even a man at 200lbs (at your same height) would require 3.7k+ calories a day to maintain his weight. This is a VERY conservative estimate.

To maintain YOUR current weight, you could safely eat ~5.5k calories a day. Again, this is a VERY conservative estimate. Anything less guarantees the weight loss you want. Be advised that a drop greater than 500-1000 calories will cause severe compromises in your energy, health, effectiveness, and so on. Obviously, in a time of scarcity, the extreme nutritional needs you have will be observable by the people around you. It's further exacerbated by our fantasy elements.

Please feel free to ask questions regarding how invocation affects your nutritional requirements, if you would like an even more meta explanation of how badly you've been taxing yourself. The previous prompt to assess your current physical condition would have provided a more thorough breakdown of this, but I can answer any questions based on what you guys already know. You can also opt to try and deduce these things in-quest, as well.
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>>4582159
A1
B2
C: in worst case, petition Yech to help us with food
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>>4582159

>>A] Your enemies seek to destroy the people's faith in you. A second famine is a pretty good way to try. (1-2 is from highest priority, to lowest priority for the quantity AND quality of rations. Those near the bottom of the list can and WILL go hungry for those higher on the list. If supplies are damaged or run out, those near the bottom of the list WILL starve first.)
>>1] Regardless of divine ability: Active, adult men; pregnant women; active men; teenage males; children; all other men (disabled, scholars, etc); women; the elderly; the sick and dying.

>B] Famines are the worst nightmare of any priest of Agriculture, but you in particular have SERIOUS justification for ANY behavior in this situation. (Due to your height, weight, and activity level, your nutritional requirements surpass that of two active men. Anything less will result in your desired weight loss, but will proportionately HARM your strength training, energy levels, health, etc. Obviously this is not a lifelong plan, but a temporary measure until the situation improves. I'll provide a little more meta info in the post after this.)
>2] You'll take James' advice to try and supplement rations with your flask, to not tax your limited resources more than any other active man in your employ. Every effort will be made to uphold your combative ability, activity level, and invocations without going on a crash-diet. You're willing to accept reduced performanc
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>>4582171
>>4582180
(Good morning guys! Locking the unanimous vote here. I'm on a four day weekend and should be able to fly through these updates! Writing now.)
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>>4582391
"I told Mercy Herself that we would be making a few changes to how our church is ran. This matter will concern every last one of my citizens, James. Divine ability will not be taken into any consideration."

A seriously impressed look passes over you. "Well, shit. Alright. Go on, then."

Some nearby parchment is gathered. You draft a formal address to all of the men and women responsible for provisions under your care. Literacy is hard-won in Corcaea, but almost everyone in your employ should be able to utilize it if their authority is challenged. "Here. We are placing the greatest priority on all active, adult men. Clergy, fighters, and farmers alike. Any pregnant women take the next greatest priority." Both of you cast a worried look to Sister Cardew, before you continue. "We will not lose our future to present concerns."

Nodding a few times, James takes the letter. He gives it a once-over as you elaborate. "Teenage males will feel this the hardest, and we need them on their feet. If you could spread awareness of any measures to our youngest citizens of how to cope with this catastrophe, James, it could do wonders for morale. Longer times at meals—"

A quick interruption. He knows. "Yeah." Klepto's face has tightened into a pained grimace. "Sure. I'll handle it. Most of us will remember, but the reminder couldn't hurt."

"Thank you. Next, we will place the needs of our children above all others. The other men of my city— scholars, the disabled, and any other individuals who's needs are not as great— will still have higher requirements than our women. The fairer sex will have to get by on less, but they will suffer far less greatly for it."

The tightness in your chest won't stop. There might be something in your eye. You keep your gaze fixed on the parchment in James' hands, and choke out, "the elderly will have to go with the second-to-least. Our sick, and dying will be the last priority. May Mercy forgive me."

James puts a hand to your shoulder. "I want you to remember that you've nearly killed yourself for the sick, the dying, and the infirm. This is going to save more lives than it takes. You're making the right call."

He's such a better man than anyone gives him credit for.

The waver in your vision clears, as you sniff. "Yes, well, I—" A hard sigh escapes you. You tighten your grip around the flask in hand, and nod to James. "Your counsel is exceptional, James. I would be a fool to ignore it. I will— I will do everything in my power to not tax our limited resources any further than— further than they already are. The reduction in my performance is— this is a sacrifice I am more than willing to make. Please understand that I have to place myself with just as much consideration as any other soldier— and I am not about to go starving myself— but I will not compromise my ability. I am doing everything in my power to fight just as much as anyone else."

(1/2)
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>>4582413

Relief has visibly sunk into your friend. "You're going harder than any of us."

You top off your minstrel's cup of wine, before muttering to Yech's relentlessly helpful gift. "Supplement limited rations in a Time of war. Something that will keep me on my feet— through combat, and all of my work with the Gods Themselves."

A savory, herbal, honey-brown mixture floods the container. You eye it suspiciously. The aroma of maple syrup floods through the entire blend, but it's not going to be sweet. Fenugreek is unmistakably all through the drink. You smirk at the flask. The herb can assist with reducing appetite in large enough quantities.

Without further hesitation, you drink (almost) to your heart's content. It's not going to be a complete replacement for actual food, but there's obviously enough nutrition in the mix to help you get by. More than the paltry rations alone would have, at any rate. It feels impossible to actually become full— particularly without anything to chew on. You can take immediate comfort in crushing hunger pangs, at the very least. Doing so without taking anything from anyone else is a better kind of satiety, too.

Both you, and James sigh at one another as you cap the item, and put it away on your person. He mutters, "guess you're heading off to see the freak, then?"

He completely understands where you're coming from. It seems that the minstrel has set aside his death threats against the ex-demon who robbed him of his youth, but you still have your concerns.

The ache in your chest just won't stop. You can't help but think of how Yech's company would be priceless, especially in a disaster like this. It feels like all of your allies are growing farther away by the minute, when you need all the help you can get. Pulling Klepto into a hug comes with a mildly irritated sound, but he immediately returns the gesture.

You murmur, "thank you again. I may have lost count of how many favors I owe you, by now."

"How about you consider us even?" He laughs, and pulls back from the hold. A show is made of fluffing his sleeves back up.

"You—" He's grinning at you so smugly, you could die. You stammer, "you intentionally lost our bet, so you— so you could pull something like this—?"

"Nah, I was piss-drunk. Everyone has an off-day. But it doesn't hurt to call on a few favors, right?"

You both smirk at each other. Pain is all through both of your expressions. "Right."

It's going to be a long while before there will be any normalcy. You both try to hold onto the moment, but before long, Klepto glances over to Sister Cardew. "I'll look after her. You both couldn't have been longer than half an hour—"

You might choke. She said it would feel like longer than the endeavor actually took, but this is insane. "You're joking."

"For once, no. Time's a wastin', right?"

(Options in next post.)
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>>4582414
>A] There's something else you really want to say to James before you go. (Write-in.)

>B] Make your way straight to Adwin, as quickly as you're able. Stop for no one.

>C] Proceed through the castle to the Church of Mercy. If you're stopped along the way, you'll give anyone who needs your attention the Time they deserve.

>D] On the way to Adwin, take a slightly longer route through your gardens. You'll avoid scrutiny, get some fresh air, and be able to better discern the Time. It's not that you're avoiding your clergy and company! You seriously just want a minute to yourself.

>E] Write-in.
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>>4582415
>>C] Proceed through the castle to the Church of Mercy. If you're stopped along the way, you'll give anyone who needs your attention the Time they deserve.

He is in very good hands and in a very defensible position, we should take the opportunity to delegate as much as possible on the way there. This will push everyone to the limits but by distributing the burden we make sure no one *breaks.*
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>>4582415
>C] Proceed through the castle to the Church of Mercy. If you're stopped along the way, you'll give anyone who needs your attention the Time they deserve.
>>
Quick thought. If Inertia wants to wait and starve us out it means they themselves have plentiful resources, during times of such scarcity stockpiles of food will be incredibly rare. This means if we work with Agri on detecting life, FOOD to be more exact, we could potentially raid their own caches and flip the script on this siege. At least as far as Eadric is concerned.
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>>4582422
(That is entirely a possibility! I'm going to jot this down on your guys to-do/mental plan, and we'll cover all of it ASAP.)

>>4582418
>>4582419
(Locking the vote here! Might have a slight delay with grocery shopping, probably not though. Writing now.)
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>>4582422
Another thought. We could produce infinite chicken broth from the flask. It'll certainly help keep starvation at bay.

When we rest, we could try and communicate with Whilliam though a favor with Dream. It'll certainly be a creative use of his domain, and may make Time proud.

We'll going to need to speed up our timetable, and try to resolve Agri's churches problems as soon as possible. Even if we won't be able to advert a famine in Time, we can start preparing for a proper Harvest later. We can also use our connection with Agri to help shore up our efforts for Eadic farming situation at least, somewhat.
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>>4582454

With the amount of blasphemy we have been committing against Dream I don't think we are in any position to be asking for favors lmao. I wonder if we can just straight up make soup with the flask, winter soups are really filling so we could survive strictly off that for a while.
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>>4582454
Now that I think about it, we can produce tons of milk as well, and may be able to turn it into cheese in greater quantities.
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>>4582465
Just means we'll have to take a proper rest before we try and ask Dream about it. He just may oblige us, and we have nothing to lose in the attempt.

And there are other soups as well. Pea soup can be incredibly filling, and it can act as a supplement to our family's diet.
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>>4582454
>>4582465
>>4582467
>>4582471
(Oh, man, this discussion is absolutely wonderful. Love it you guys. You know for a fact that your flask has been capable of producing solids, milk, and vegetables in some capacity so this is not out of the question! Posting the update in a sec.)
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>>4582434
End of thread theme: https://youtu.be/eYDI8b5Nn5s

Parting ways from James comes with considerably more light all through your eyes. He leaves the door cracked for your dog, as you quietly exit. The hall is quiet. The entire castle might as well have emptied.

Your boy whines up at you, with puppy-dog eyes. You give Ray a big hug, a kiss on the nose, several ear scratches, and promise him that you'll keep everyone safe. He whoofs with determination, licks your face repeatedly, and follows you all the way to the end of the hall despite your orders to stay.

The sound of Ray's trot back down the hall carries in the back of your mind, as you exit the second-safest location in your castle. The path you take to get to the Church of Mercy is as straight as can be. It shouldn't take long to reach the building, but you keep an ear out for any possible activity all along the way. You note the blood smeared along multiple stone walls. Overturned candles, and melted yellow wax splattered across the floor. Rain and leaves have been tracked across the floor in countless places. Mud is mixed in with most of it. There's no more dust in your home, at least.

After passing below stained glass for no more than another ten minutes, movement is obvious in the corridors beyond. You have yet to pick up a weapon or shield. Politely calling out is fine. "Who goes there?"

It's one of the members of your caravan. You don't know the tender's name, but the middle-aged man couldn't look happier to see you. His graying mustache and beard are stiff with dried sweat. His tunic is streaked with blood, but he looks unharmed. No one calls themselves a citizen of Calunoth OR Eadric without knowing how to use a blade. To have lived in both of the most volatile locations in the country carries bragging rights, yet a humble, gruff acknowledgement of your station is all that replies. "Father Anscham. This way."

No protests. There will be Time for pleasantries later. You both detour to the main gate of the keep. It's a few corridors away, below moonlight and colored windows. There's fifteen men and women collapsed in different states of exhaustion against the walls. Some have gathered blankets and pillows from elsewhere in the castle, and are attempting to sleep in the middle of the stone floor. The massive, wooden, metal-banded entry way is barred and boarded with boulders, bricks, and even pieces of the pews from the Church of Mercy. You can't imagine even a demon tearing through the defense. It's clear that your priests of Flesh held the line.

(1/2)
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>>4582481
Brother Garrick is nowhere to be found, but Brother Osmund is at high alert beside the entry way. The muscular priest raises his shaved head to you in recognition. There's heavyset bags under his eyes. They're a persistent shade of red, despite his invocation to Flesh having ended. The scarring along his arms and hands has settled into mottled, angry, red streaks. The man has yet to find a shirt that isn't torn to shreds, and might have yet to even sit down since you found him in the prisons. He strides over, and assures you that Brother Garrick simply found a quiet nook to rest in for the night. He nearly killed himself holding off the first wave of the siege— but by all the Gods, he managed.

Granting rest to those who fought hardest is critical. Everyone who is awake quietly bombards you with questions:

Where have you been?
How was the hearing?
Is Father Pevrel being ran out of the city?
Will he kill any of us?
Is Sister Cardew safe?
What about the city?
What about your other caravan members?
Will you use Agriculture to supply the castle? What about Eadric? The country? Just what are you capable of in a crisis like this?
How will the rations be allocated?
What took you so long?
Have there been any outbreaks?
Why is no one allowed in the Church of Mercy?
Is it even safe to rest?
Are you okay?

You're more than happy to take a moment to gather your composure, and to see to your people. Every last one of them deserves your Time and attention.

Your ex-demon son is in the best hands you could hope for. Your intelligence agents are some of the most competent people alive. The fighting forces in your care kill demons with their bare hands. The allies you've made reach further than even the most distant borders of your land. Neither memory, pain, famine, nor war will stop your devotion. This war will push humanity to their limits— but you will make sure that no one breaks. There's a sermon to be had tomorrow morning alongside the Goddess of Defense.

The lord of sunlight knows better than anyone that the night is always darkest before the dawn.

>Take this time to WRITE-IN any information you wish to disseminate to your people. If you'd like to answer their questions directly, or delegate duties, that is entirely up to you!
>There are fifteen men and women with mundane ability at your disposal within your castle's keep. This is not including Brother Garrick, Sister Cardew, James, Ray, or the fighting forces in your dungeons (who are currently indisposed).
>Bear in mind that these people are all utterly exhausted, but will answer to your authority without question.
>Though another quest update will not be made by your QM in this thread, feel free to ask as many questions as you wish.
>This is your war to win.

(END THREAD.)
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>>4582485
Archive (Feel free to +1 if you liked the thread!): http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Catalyst%20Quest
Google Drive (Up-to-date timelines, invocation guide, character sheets, maps, calendar, and much more!): https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1LkahIC8EcwHBPbrkEODUMH9iwQhxkFvB?usp=sharing
Timeline Imgur (Easy-to-read layout of the timelines for posterity. High-res versions are in the Google Drive!): https://imgur.com/a/zD6ywiQ
Discord (Update notifications, art, music, fan projects, etc.): https://discord.gg/24cmNWp
Twitter (Thread announcements): https://twitter.com/Alaric50857350

Thank you guys SO SO SO MUCH for the INCREDIBLE participation this thread! Holy shit. What a wild ride. I hate cutting things off here, BUT! I will be immediately launching our next thread this evening! Look for a link here, in the /qtg/, in our Discord, and on Twitter. I'll be HERE to answer any and all questions you may have. If you wish to take stock of any plans and delegation you may wish to make, feel free to come up with any further strategy you wish, ask questions about your city, castle, or anything else!

Any feedback you guys want to provide is priceless. Please let me know if you have ANY constructive critcism, questions, suggestions, or anything else you want to share! Knowing the things you liked is also incredibly valuable, so I can know what works! We had some very, very weird shit in this thread and I am always floored by how receptive and enthusiastic you all are. Running this crazy show simply isn't possible without you all. Thanks again to everyone who's reading, lurking, voting, or just passing by! Happy holidays, Merry Christmas, and I'll see you guys tonight!

CATALYST QUEST #23 WILL LAUNCH THIS EVENING!
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>>4582485

Tell everyone that things are being handled, that we have been hard at work and progress is being made. Let them know that THEIR efforts have been absolutely instrumental in the defense of the keep. They can rest until they become functional again and then I want them out in the streets pushing cultists out, get them all shields if we can and have Osmund lead them. They should operate as a cohesive force and not split up. Ask if any of them have seen Durville around, I am still a bit worried about him.

All of our efforts should be towards doing the most damage possible to the cult NOW before they go into hiding again and wait to starve us out. If we hit them hard now and keep them on the back foot we will regain home field advantage and have an easier time mobilizing against them. This combined with my previous plan of looking for food stockpiles AND the open tunnels mean that we have a chance of hitting them AGAIN once they are licking their wounds and also raiding their food supplies. It might not be a decisive blow but enough to give us breathing room to take care of the other churches too. Agriculture should be the first one we solve, no food means no faith in the theocracy. Restoring proper supply lines is absolutely vital for our survival. Logistics are the lifeblood of any conflict and we are bleeding the fuck out.

Second church we should get a solid grip on is Spirit, we have assets there already and it would allow proper communications with the rest of the country. Cardew knows a lot about Murgate too so we should be able to assist in a efficient manner.

I hope that the Time and Dream churches aren't riddled with traitors, I am a bit worried about Willhelm but the Father of foresight has the best chance out of any to see this shit coming.

I also want to propose recruiting Sister Miramond in the service of our church. Pevrel hates her and we know she is loyal. Having a Storm fag around is ALWAYS useful, the people are basically nukes on legs and right now we need all the heavy hitters we can get. Pevrel has an army of 300 we have a caravan of dudes, a band of psychos and like 12 clergy. We NEED manpower, one person shouldn't cripple the black parade but will mean a lot for our own retinue.
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>>4582485
Be as honest as we can, and let them gather their strength for the coming trials ahead.

We're going to need to have a communion with Agri and Storm, one to try and salvage as much of the Harvest as possible (or at least see what can be done in so short a timeframe), and to see if we can take Storm's wrath and direct it elsewhere (perhaps to Baranfen and Cayo, to gift our enemies Fire and Lightning, and to support our allies with their war effort, even if we cannot assist personally [I only wish I thought of this during our conversation with Bert] :^)

Going back to our flask, we could use it's unlimited utility to our advantage, by making soup and other fresh liquid rations as supplements to our clergy's meals. I also have a rather mad idea of delegating some of our clergy with our flask to fill barrels of liquid rations (if they store well), or an even madder idea of filling up barrels with milk (we'd brand it 'Mercy's Milk', because it highlights where it comes from, and I like the alliteration :^), and delegating the citizens to create cheese from it. This may save a lot of lives in the future.

We also have other responsibilities (besides proper rest and care) as well, when things have calmed and we have a handle on the situation here. Namely building a rapport with our prisoner (a priority), dealing with confessions, helping our guests in Mercy's dungeons, etc. I'm a bit excited about going back down into Mercy's cells, and I'm particularly interested in seeking Adwin's help (if he's interested, of course, I'm not about to force him back down there), as his insight may be invaluable when helping Aldreda, along with recruiting Plaxilyos to our cause. Some food for thought, at least.

Improving our reputation may be a lost cause, but I'm a sucker for lost causes, and the impossible never stopped Richard before :^)
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>>4582500
>>4582816
This is ABSOLUTELY phenomenal stuff you guys. I'm making note of all of it. You both are a treasure, thank you for all of your thoughts on the road ahead!

The art, assets, and consolidating my notes for the next thread took me substantially longer than I was expecting but I'm working on the final draft of the OP now. You can safely expect the next thread within the next hour!
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Took MUCH longer than I was expecting, but without further ado:

>>4582898
>>4582898
>>4582898
Catalyst Quest #23 is up! Please move any and all discussion to the new thread. Thank you guys SO much for everything, and hope you all have a very merry Christmas!



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