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File: Catalyst Quest.png (2.47 MB, 2000x994)
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The year is 606, and in your home— the country of Corcaea— the souls of mankind belong to demons. The phenomenon through which men can become monsters is known as the "Catalyst." Curing humanity of this weakness is your life's work. The cult of Inertia has exposed themselves as an organization worse than any demons. This blasphemous order is in the process of destroying the people's faith in the theocracy. The roots of this faceless organization have burrowed into every holy institution, including your own city. They are a threat to the last of your race, threaten the conflict raging to the west, and are threatening the lives of every last one of your fellow church leaders. Inertia does not fear death. They aim to intentionally turn men into demons, and in turn, have revealed themselves to be worse than any monster. Yet as the lord of compassion— and the lover of the Goddess of excess— you seek to kill your enemies with more than just kindness.

You are Father Richard Anscham, leader of the Church of Mercy: and you have declared war on the cult of Inertia.

You're also a glutton, a masochist, a preacher, and one of the most self-sacrificing men to have ever lived. Your love towards the Gods has defined your life, and your devotion is without compare. You, and you alone possess the ability to channel all of the Gods (and up to two at a time has yet to kill you). By "invoking" a God, you use your body as a vessel, and wield Their might. To achieve this divine connection with a single member of the pantheon is typically a reflection of a lifetime of worship.

You have spent more waking hours in this last week with the Gods than without, and it's taking its toll on your soul itself. It's a matter of debate if you have any limits, and they're about to be tested.

It is the 29th day of Last Sowing. You have approximately five months before snow hits Corcaea. The leader of the Church of Storm has cautioned you that failure to retake control of the nation's supply routes before then is unthinkable. A second famine is already upon you and your city. Thanks to Inertia's intentional flooding of the countryside, communication and supply is almost entirely in their hands. Every last one of your nation's leaders is counting on you to stop this assault on humanity's faith, and to restore order to Corcaea.

You are the lord of protection, and will stop at NOTHING to save the lives of who you love. Winning a war will not happen in a day, but your allies are brutally strong. In addition to the brave souls in your employ, your friends, and family, every last church leader regards you as an ally. The King Himself has pardoned your past actions, and help is on its way. Improving your reputation may be a lost cause, but you are a sucker for lost causes.

After all, you're on your way to get advice from an ex-demon.
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>>4582898
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 concise 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 (Concise summary of the quest's events so far, for reference and looking back. Totally optional! High-res versions are in our Google Drive.): https://m.imgur.com/a/zD6ywiQ
Google Drive (Meta infographics, character info, maps, calendar, 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. All times listed are in EST.
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?: All of our supplemental material is optional reading. I aim to make the quest as accessible as possible, but feel free to ask questions at any time! If you're ever looking for more info, the Google Drive link is kept up-to-date with all supplemental information. The timelines and invocation guide stays on the front page. The in-character journal contains your character sheet, info on the pantheon, and all other aids. The old journal, fanart, and character art is purely saved for posterity.
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>>4582899
https://youtu.be/G55GspnNkBo

Rain is coming down in sheets. The high, stone ceiling of your castle is battered by the onslaught of Storm. It's the only sound you register as you walk through empty halls, with only low-burning yellow candles for company. All fifteen men and women still guarding the keep's main entrance were reassured excessively that you have things handled. That progress is being made. That THEIR efforts have been instrumental in the defense of your home. They took heart, and are gathering their strength for the trials ahead. They'll hit the streets together after they've had enough rest to get back on their feet. They'll be armed by your most combative priest of Flesh.

Now is the Time to strike. The cult of Inertia thrives on inactivity, and you will not rest until you turn the tide of this battle. You can only pray that you still have Time.

There has been no sign or word of your youngest priest of Mercy in nearly a day. Brother Thomas Durville swore to you that he would keep out of reach from any capture, and would aid your cause remotely. You pray for him as you proceed down further corridors, beneath countless mosaics of colored glass.

You think of the destitute, the innocent, and of all the power you possess. An endless flask has its uses, and you will MAKE the opportunities you need for experimentation. The demonic gifts in your care could put an end to hunger in your city.

You think to the demons in your care. The dungeons deep below the stone you walk upon. It's thrilling. Two fallen souls show enormous promise for salvation.

One is here on the surface, though in a different form. The doors to the Church of Mercy are boarded, as you were warned. You start scouting for an entrance that will be more accessible, or discreet than the center aisle.

At the start of last week, you never would have imagined that a fallen figure of Dream, Spirit, and Time could be saved. The venture into the demon of interpretation's lair took 20 years off one of your best friend's life. It didn't do any favors for your own looks. Yet you took the remarkably less heroic image as a blessing. The demon granted you an opportunity for self-acceptance, and you did the same for him in turn. Thanks to your encouragement, the demon of Interpretation embraced his Catalyst.

The entire ordeal still has you, and everyone else involved too traumatized to speak of it. Both priests of Flesh that were entrusted with guarding Adwin are the most congenial men you've ever had the pleasure of meeting. Your workout partners, guards, and loyal clergymen cannot be heard as you approach an innocuous side door. You have to wonder what they think of him. The embodiment of Interpretation looks uncannily like he could be yours and Mercy's son.

(1/2)
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>>4582901
It's been a long day. Your vision swims slightly, as you go to rap on the wooden, metal-banded entryway. There's some noise within the building that's faintly echoing, but it's difficult to make out. It wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility for you to be hallucinating, at this point. Sleep has gone on the back-burner. You've invoked Agriculture twice this morning and afternoon. The prison break you stopped, and saving your knight's life felt as if it would make your very soul burst. The pain has yet to completely subside. Clutching at the robes over your heart does nothing to ease the pressure. It's about as nagging as the ache in your joints, from more physical activity than any man at your weight should be capable of enduring in a single day.

It feels as if your city itself is bleeding out. Anxiety is all through you. The sensitive, artistic, new nature of being you call a mentor has sought protection in the very church of defense. Interpretation is over one thousand years old, and his artistic skill is without compare. Your patronage of this master is ensuring that Adwin Sebastian Anscham has free reign to paint your main choir in the likeness of his Catalyst.

You knock harder. There's no reply, save for the small, incessant sound. It must be real. From the long hallway you're standing in, with an ear pressed against the cold wood, you try to focus— and to not fall asleep standing up. The organic surface is enormously reassuring. The man that's weakly crying within your church is not. It's a voice you don't recognize. No one is talking. There's no movement you can hear from within the building.

Adwin is capable of assuming potentially any form. You've seen him grow wings, shape himself like a human, and become completely immaterial at-will. The prospect of him being capable of changing his voice isn't far-fetched.

The impossible has never stopped you before. Nothing is going to stop you now.

>A] Bang on the door, and shout at anyone within to open up.

>B] Take the door off its damn hinges. If it's barricaded, Gods help anyone that tries to get in your way.

>C] Kick the door down.

>D] You're not taking ANY chances. (Write-in.)
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>>4582902
>A] Bang on the door, and shout at anyone within to open up.
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>>4582902
>A] Bang on the door, and shout at anyone within to open up.
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>>4582902
>>A] Bang on the door, and shout at anyone within to open up.
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>>4582902
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=4wX2xBOuzRg
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>>4583020
(lol)
>>4582923
>>4582926
>>4582983
(Good afternoon, and merry Christmas everyone! Locking the unanimous vote here. I don't have a ton planned today, and should be able to crank out a few updates. Writing now!)
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>>4583080
For all your love of ripping doors off their hinges, weaponizing them, and blowing them to pieces, this is yours and Mercy's church. Violently banging on the wooden door with the side of your fist might as well be a roll of thunder. The echo can be heard from the high ceiling within, as you bellow, "FATHER ANSCHAM! LEADER OF THE CHURCH OF MERCY! OPEN UP!"

The surface underhand quietly vanishes.

The amount of force you were using to pound with has you nearly stumble forward. So much recent combat has done wonders for adjusting to your weight, and improving your center of balance. Quickly righting yourself, you do not hesitate to pick your way forward. Barricades were mounted around the side entryway. The lumber and gilded statues are shoved aside.

It was only yesterday that you last entered your church. Your breath catches in your throat, as you hurry inside. As you exit the side wing, and look out over the main aisle, the source of the sobbing is immediately clear.

Beneath the countless panes of stained glass, below the high vaulted ceilings, apart from the gold-inlaid stone, scattered across the pews, and bleeding out all over the floor is what must have been a man. Adwin has taken a man, and interpreted his form into some better reflection of his nature.

The man's body is almost entirely in strings. It's like a morbid series of festive banners. Broad, foot-wide swathes of flattened muscle protrude with splinters of bone. He's strung up, and spread all the way from the peak of the church, down to its polished floor. It is a meaty, impossible mesh, that's been separating your ex-demon from anyone who might approach him. There are wooden splinters embedded in all of the man's flesh. He's bleeding out, but has impossibly been kept alive. The victim's face is suspended somewhere in the middle of the nightmarish web of his own body. His face is twisted into incomprehensible agony. A low voice croaks out from it.

"Kill me."

The man sounds completely out of his mind. His sobbing resumes the instant he's finished speaking, and is much more intense than before. It's unclear if he can feel what's been done to him, but he must still have some awareness to have addressed you directly.

The embodiment of interpretation is calmly standing on the opposite side of his morbid display. The pale shrouds and white veils that mask his own image are flecked with blood. His fingertips are coated in crimson. He has been painting with viscera, yet calmly calls out to you as if nothing is wrong. "Please mind the door behind you, Father."

The sound of the door re-materializing is a crunchy static at the back of your mind. It intermingles with the sound of a normal, quiet click— and puts a slight pain at the back of your mind.

(1/2)
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>>4583105
Long shadows flicker from the candlelight all around. Storm must still be over Eadric, given how little moonlight is filtering in through the windows above. You make out Brother Eustace and Tancred Nye are silently staring at you from just a few yards away. The hulking brothers are kneeling behind two pews. They've been praying. They're both white as a sheet. Their holy vestments are tattered in places, and dried sweat is on their beards, but they look completely unharmed otherwise. Both of their eyes lift as they realize that it's you who's entered, but they are clearly too frightened to say a word.

Adwin softly calls out to you, "Brother Eustace and Brother Tancred have provided exceptional assistance in keeping this holiest structure free from harm. The least I could do is return the favor."

His last words echo in the broad, otherwise empty church.

"Favor."
"Favor."
"Favor."

These are the halls of clemency, and forgiveness. You're the very father of compassion. The ache in your soul feels as if it redoubles, but you can manage one word. "Mercy."

>A] Ask Adwin if he's able to restore this man to his original form.
>1] You know he can't— but you're so horrified, you still need to try and ask.
>2] You need to try and keep it together while you approach this tortured figure. See if there's anything you can do for him.

>B] Firmly tell Adwin to stop, and to put this man out of his misery.
>1] You're furious. There is no excuse for this sort of behavior, ESPECIALLY given where you are.
>2] This is a nightmare. You can't believe that he would do something like this.

>C] Seize the opportunity, and see if you can get any information out of this prisoner.
>1] You hold no sympathy for these cultists in your heart.
>2] You don't want this man's suffering to be for nothing.

>D] Write-in.
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>>4583109

>>B] Firmly tell Adwin to stop, and to put this man out of his misery.
>2] This is a nightmare. You can't believe that he would do something like this.

I know old habits die hard but damn.
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>>4583115
+1
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>>4583109
B1-2; I'm not furious at him. I simply expected better from him.

While this may be an invaluable C moment, this is not the way we'll conducted our affairs within our's and Mercy's church.
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>>4583109
C2
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>>4583115
>>4583136
>>4583137
>>4583171
(Vote is locked here. Writing now.)
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>>4583175
This is a damned nightmare. Getting any information out of this tormented man would come at the expense of everything you hold dear. You're the leader of the church of empathy, not punishment. Even if you could interrogate him, it likely wouldn't even render reliable information.

It's almost too difficult to keep your gaze on the figure. You shake your head at the young man standing behind him. "Adwin, I expect better from you. Mercy would expect better from you. Do not extend his suffering for a moment longer. Put this man out of his misery. Now."

All the apology and pain in your eyes meets the poor soul in front of you. How his Catalyst hasn't been triggered escapes you. "I'm so sorry."

His sobs cease. The man's skull is wetly and rapidly crunched in on itself. It's brutally excessive. A spray of blood spurts out from the impact of his skull folding in on itself repeatedly. You wipe the spray off from your face. Adwin has killed him instantly. He didn't have to raise a finger.

The embodiment of interpretation curiously looks at the arc of blood across your hands, and you're confident he's assessing the artistic merit of the crimson streaks. Neither priest here with you dares to make a sound. They've obviously been terrified of suffering a fate worse than death at this creature's hands.

You fearlessly stride forward, as every last banner of gore collapses from the ceiling. It's a rain of death. One of the long tendrils droops harmlessly onto your shoulder. It's lighter than air, as you pick it off your black, gilded robes. The Flesh is still warm to the touch. You swallow a wave of nausea.

This man felt everything that his body was put through. There's no air in the room.

You meet Adwin's gaze. He smiles at you, and politely waits for you to address him first.

The voice you assume is so soft, not another soul alive could hear it. No anger. Anguish murmurs, "I know old habits die hard, Adwin, but—" The blood in your palm is slick, as you clench your hands into fists. "You have robbed me of an opportunity for interrogation, traumatized my men, and—" Every passing second has you wanting to do more. "—you are making this even harder on me. I can't believe that you would do something like this. How could you?"

"What do you mean?" He tilts his head slightly. The utter absence of humanity has your blood running cold. "He threatened our lives. The least I could do is decorate the man for his efforts."

You put a hand to your brow, and sigh. "Damn it all." Adwin is like a son to you, but the thought of any additional turmoil in your already chaotic life is almost more than you can stand. The odor of rot and liquid pain feels like it's never getting out of your nose. It's intermingled with the stench of paint, and light smoke from the candles all around.

(1/2)
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>>4583197
The night is wearing on. You have a LOT to do, and Time is of the essence. The plan was to have Adwin assist you with cartography today. You need to map out the tunnels that have been dug beneath your city. The skill you have depicting depth, perception, and layered environments is amateur, at best.

This new kind of being could not be in a more delicate mental state, and having him entrenched in even more blood, potential combat, and underground excavation could be devastating. So much as suggesting that he be kept under watch is out of the question. He fears imprisonment more than anything. It's clear that he's capable of defying the Gods own will. You freed this ex-demon. The extent of his power escapes you, yet this creature is under your protection. He is ultimately your responsibility.

"Damn it all."

>A] Don't even mention what you came here for. You need to have a firm talk with Adwin about his behavior, and ensure that something like this never happens again. Pray that he can be left here in the church until you finish your business in the city. You WILL find a way to be back here by sunrise.
>1] Find someone to relieve the Nye brothers the second you're done talking to Adwin. They've seen enough.
>2] Go make sure that your priests of Flesh are okay before making any further calls.

>B] This isn't something you can discuss right now, but you'll have ample opportunity for conversation while you're working on those tunnels. Tell Adwin that he's accompanying you through the city. He's not leaving your sight. He can interpret it however he likes. This is not negotiable.

>C] The two of you have demonstrated nothing but mutual respect and support for one another. Ask Adwin if he can help you with plotting out the sprawling network of passages under Eadric. You want to know exactly what his limitations are.
>1] While he explains, you're working together to clean up this mess. You'll give Adwin's victim a proper burial. Three funerals in a week is going to rip your heart to shreds, but you can take it.
>2] You're honestly too upset to do more than stand here and listen. Try to keep it together.

>D] Write-in.
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>>4583198
>C] The two of you have demonstrated nothing but mutual respect and support for one another. Ask Adwin if he can help you with plotting out the sprawling network of passages under Eadric. You want to know exactly what his limitations are.
>>1] While he explains, you're working together to clean up this mess. You'll give Adwin's victim a proper burial. Three funerals in a week is going to rip your heart to shreds, but you can take it.
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>>4583198
C1; but make sure the Nye brothers are alright. I'm sorry they had to witness this, they certainly didn't deserve trauma as a gift for their kindness.
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>>4583198

>>A] Don't even mention what you came here for. You need to have a firm talk with Adwin about his behavior, and ensure that something like this never happens again. Pray that he can be left here in the church until you finish your business in the city. You WILL find a way to be back here by sunrise.
>2] Go make sure that your priests of Flesh are okay before making any further calls.

Give Adwin a crash course on the relevant tenets of Mercy, this is unacceptable. Let him know exactly how much this is hurting us, we don't hate him. But this needs to never happen again, Mercy is as much about how you treat your friends as it is about how you treat your enemies. This cultist deserved death, sure. But not torment, not like this.
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>>4583199
>>4583211
>>4583213
(Oh fuck I thought I had locked the vote. Vote is locked! Proofreading the update now, should be out fairly soon.)
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>>4583277
https://youtu.be/8NK_OHt1NbI

"Help me gather him up, Adwin." Grief is drenching you. The sheer amount of exhaustion on your body does not lend itself well to more activity, but the impossible strands of this corpse are easy enough to move. The artist beside you removes one of the longest shawls from his shoulders, and stretches it out on the floor. There's no hesitation, and he sets about picking up the banners of meat with his bare hands.

You call out to both of your priests of Flesh. "I'll be right there." A firm stare to Adwin. "Do not do anything further to this body. We are gathering him for a proper burial. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Father." He mellowly sets about gathering the rest of the body, while you go make sure that the Nye brothers are alright.

Kneeling beside them only seems appropriate. They were looking to the altar. Both men were no doubt imploring the Goddess of Protection for Her blessing.

Your voice wavers, in the softest tone you can manage. It's almost inaudible. "I'm sorry you had to witness this. Trauma is a poor way to repay all of your kindness." A closer look over for injury doesn't reveal any physical damage. "Are you alright?"

The younger brother takes a sharp breath in. Tancred casts an almost imperceptible glance over his shoulder. He's quiet at the best of times, but his whisper now is just as scarce as your own tone. "Can it hear us?"

Virtually no one who's met Adwin has yet to treat him like a human. There's not much that can be done about this, given the circumstances. You nod, but add, "this is the home of Mercy, and he will do well to know what that means. I'll speak to him." Your emphasis on his assumed gender doesn't make either of your priests look any more confident. "I can't express my gratitude enough to both of you for handling yourselves so well. Your fear— your fear should be for our enemies. Not for your own lives. Neither of you are in any danger. Mercy, I am so sorry."

Staggering to his feet, Eustace offers his brother a wavering hand to rise with him. Both of them having a cold sweat on their brow. The elder brother firmly says to you, "with all due respect, Father, our legs could use some stretching."

The tightness of your grimace must be only outclassed by the strain on the faces in front of you. "Of course. Please. Use your best discretion as to where to patrol. Brother Osmund survived the siege, and is indisposed, but Brother Garrick will be leading a company of our caravan through— through the city's streets."

Some life returns to Brother Eustace's voice, even if he still has no color in his face. "A patrol is in order throughout the keep, then. A serendipitous turn of events. Come along, Tancred. The day may yet come when Father Anscham fights at our side."

(1/5)
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>>4583289
For good measure, you quietly inform them both, "Sister Cardew will be staying in the keep. When she's rested and recovered from her work this afternoon, I— I strongly encourage you both to seek any counsel you need." Heavily sighing does nothing to relieve the pressure on your chest. "Please look after yourselves."

Both men gulp, as they look to the expansive aisle they need to cross in order to access any one of the barred exits. You call out to Adwin, "the halls of our home are to remain open to all of my children, Adwin. Remove these obstructions at once."

With a slow wave of one guts-and-paint-caked hand, the blonde motions to every single door lining the wings and entrance to the Church of Mercy. The pews slide back into place. The wooden barricades reassemble themselves instantly. The statues move to their original locations, and every single door swings wide open.

Several candles go out from the fresh air that floods into the chamber. You walk with both of your priests along with the scent of smoke, off towards the same hallway you entered from. The priests are both shaken, but there's more confidence in them with every step they take away from the center aisle.

As they head down the passage, both men wave over their shoulders, and give you a parting glance. Tancred quietly calls out. "Thank you, Father Anscham."

"The Gods are Merciful, Brothers."

With his back turned once more, Eustace mutters something a prayer being answered. You whip your gaze back to Adwin, stride over to him, and try not to break down on the spot. "Come with me. We're finding a place for a proper burial. I need an answer along the way."

The two of you proceed out from the main choir. The entirety of the cultist's corpse is roughly the same mass as an adult male body once it's tied up into a bundle. It looks like Adwin can carry it effortlessly, and you are altogether too tired to not accept the physical assistance.

The gardens are your target destination, but it will take a minute to get there. Winding out from empty stone corridors, and into the night, you mutter to the being at your side. "I have done everything in my power to respect your boundaries, but I still have no idea what they may be. Can I count on your continued support, Adwin?"

Blood is dripping onto the walkway as you both proceed. The splat, splat behind you is given a stern look by Adwin, who might be more irritated by its appearance than its macabre source. "Apologies for the mess, Father. But of course. What is it that you need?"

(2/5)
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>>4583290
"Inertia has burrowed beneath my city. There are tunnels extending from a hideout on the perimeter of Eadric. It is over eight districts away, even taking a clear shot. I must secure this location. It is remote, guarded by multiple priests of Vengeance, carries ample supplies, is strategically placed— I— I could go on. Mapping these tunnels could turn my enemy's strength against them. My own cartography is lacking, and I know that your skill is without compare. I need your help, but only if you would be willing to go underground again so soon. Even getting there will be dangerous, given the current state of affairs."

You've done more grotesque and abhorrent things in recent years than even what you just saw, and your Time spent in confinement was potentially hundreds of years less than Adwin's. "I know what it's like to try and readjust. I won't risk pushing you. Tell me what you need."

He's immediately on edge. "You are not taking kindly to my attempts at assisting with the defense of your home. I don't believe I understand the issue. We may have different ideas of how to manage threats against our lives, Father Anscham. Could you please explain to me how we will survive a war, if you are unwilling to raise a hand against your foes? I mean no disrespect, and can see how greatly this is upsetting you— but I was under the impression that I was defending your home from a crazed attacker."

The two of you proceed through myriad shortcuts, hidden passageways, and halls on the perimeter of your castle. It takes you out to the edge of your gardens. High grass, recently watered shrubs, and stunning bursts of luminescent flowers are all around. High trees carry pollen into the night sky. You take in a deep breath, despite all the rain. It's beautiful, and puts enough strength through you to find an adequate plot of dirt. You head to a nearby supply shed, and get two shovels. One gets tossed to Adwin. "Help me dig."

It's back-breaking effort, but all of the recent rain at least has the soil far softer than it would be otherwise. Through the exertion and sweat on your brow, you try to keep your voice level. "You must try to—"

The words catch in your throat. You're going to lose your composure if you try speaking at length, and quietly dig.

Not only is this the third funeral you'll be presiding over in a week— this is the thirtieth preventable death on your hands in the same span of time.

Leaving a small ledge in the hole was a magnificent idea to help climb out. Further dread creeps into you, with the realization that you do not possess enough strength to have pulled your own body weight out otherwise.

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>>4583292
Both you and Adwin manage to lower the cultist's remains, and begin shoveling in the renewed downpour of rain. It's all down the back of your shirt, gets in the mud on your filthy shoes, and washes the worst of the gore off from your artist's hands. It feels fitting to speak on behalf of the deceased while he's laid to rest. The physical motion of burying him helps to cope with the memories and tears resurfacing.

Kindness is your strength, and this is just another opportunity to learn. To grow. To teach. To serve. This is not about preaching. You are going to give this man a proper funeral, remind your ward of human mortality, and help your own grief all at the same damn Time. "You need to understand."

You cry with as much devastation as you did this morning, and feel all the better for it. "We are gathered here today thanks to our common bonds. As this fallen soul returns to the Goddess, so too shall we return to the foundation of our faith. The halls of honesty cast their shadow over us. Our most fundamental truths have NOT been upheld on this day. For though this blasphemer sought a violent end, he asked for Mercy in his final moments. This man deserved a peaceful death. Not torment."

The sobs that wrack your shoulders are intense enough that you have to stop shoveling. "Not like this."

A few long moments are spent with your head hung, looking to the last of a human's destroyed body. Adwin calmly finishes filling the grave.

You eventually regain your composure. Enough to actually preach, at least, as you and Adwin stand out in the rain. "Compassion is the creed of the Church of Mercy. This can never happen again, Adwin. Mercy is as much about as how we treat our allies, family, and friends— as about how we treat our enemies." The tension in your chest just won't let up. "This is unacceptable. You've tortured a man in the heart of my home, just days after I had to bury twenty-eight of my clergy."

Looking at the neutral expression across from you puts so much mist in your eyes, you have to close them. Turning away just enough to try and wipe the distress away, you choke out, "after trying to save a demon of agony. After having endured unholy torture myself. I started the day confessing about how thoroughly being flayed and abused has broken me. I can't get any catharsis like this. I will be back here by sunrise, to tell any and every citizen who sees fit to hear me that the Gods are Merciful. Everything that I have is thanks to Them. I need you to understand."

There's confusion staring back at you. Adwin continues to remain respectful, and quiet.

(4/5)
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>>4583295
You take serious heart in giving him a crash course on the tenets of Mercy. "I am known as the father of compassion, but empathy is not normally touted as a hallmark of Mercy's tenets. I do not expect my clergy to feel for their enemies. Restraint is typically what defines Her. Temperance. To withhold our anger. It is not weakness, Adwin. Protection is our creed. Be it by providing shelter, or shielding the weak, we are to never turn a blind eye towards ANYONE in need of aid. Healing enables us to make pure the blood spilled by our hands."

The grit and blood under your nails is so deeply embedded, not even the heavy downpour is washing it away. "There are many ways to heal. Some wounds go deeper than the skin. It is our duty— in the halls of Her home, and in my city— to speak and act truthfully. Lies, deceit, and manipulation have no place here. We serve through integrity."

A long moment passes. Rolls of thunder nearly make your heart leap out from your chest, but you keep your ground as Adwin finally finds the words he's been looking for. "Your clergy must uphold your interpretation of these concepts. There are many more ways that they can be construed. Please correct me if I am mistaken, Father, but does Sister Superior Tirel not enable Sister Corbon to set your enemies ablaze? Even while they still draw breath? And are Father Pevrel and his clergy not making even more grotesque displays all around your city, even as we speak? I should apologize for my actions. It is no excuse for upsetting you in such a way, but I was unaware that this behavior was not condoned."

>A] This is not something you have the Time or the energy to explain at length. Accept Adwin's apology, and ask that you get moving. Promise that you'll explain at greater length when you can, but that you just need some distance from the subject right now.
>1] You're emotionally exhausted, and just need a breather.
>2] You don't have an answer for him, and need a chance to think it over.

>B] You are also guilty of setting men on fire, making grotesque displays out of human bodies, and plenty of other unspeakable horrors.
>1] But that doesn't mean that you like it, or that you don't try every other course of action first. Try to explain to Adwin that context matters a great deal.
>2] This is only making you feel worse. Admit that you are far from perfect, and have no place to judge Adwin or your friends. You want to just put a stop to all this violence.

>C] The moral quandary of how you approach your enemies is a complex matter. The way that you handle the people working with you is just as difficult. (Be advised that not everyone is as kind, compassionate, and Merciful as you. That said, you have a LOT of influence, and might be able to make plenty of changes to affairs. WRITE-IN any thoughts you have on the medieval treatment of your enemies in the year 606.)
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>>4583298

>>B] You are also guilty of setting men on fire, making grotesque displays out of human bodies, and plenty of other unspeakable horrors.
>>1] But that doesn't mean that you like it, or that you don't try every other course of action first. Try to explain to Adwin that context matters a great deal.

You had the power to incapacitate him, the power to kill him quickly, but you chose to make him suffer. The people are there are using the means they have at their disposal, the power they wield is not on par with the one you have. There is only so much they can spare without succumbing to death themselves, because *they are only human*. No one is perfect, but an attempt should always be made. In this case the torture not only pointless it was actively detrimental to the mental well being of our clergy, you should do better because you CAN do so much better.
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>>4583298
B1-2; You are right that the methods we use in practice may differ from our interpretation of our creed of compassion, much like how beauty lies in the eye of the beholder. Some tenents may take on more importance than others at times, for every person and situation conceived. In this crisis, our clergy interprets defense more liberally than they would otherwise, and Father Pevrel and his clergy have differing tenents to adhere to, though we shall address their respect of our creed at a later Time. But it is wise to keep in mind the limitations humans face when manifesting their interpretations into reality. Not all my clergy, or humanity, have such tools as yours at their disposal when putting their intent to a canvas, or sculpting reality to their desire. In a sense, the limitations that humans face, and the ways they devise to overcome them, can be an art in of itself. Innovation in the face of our limits is art given human form. You may learn more in Restraint than you may with excess, my child.
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>>4583308
>>4583324
(Amazing stuff guys. Locking the vote here! Writing now.)
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>>4583362
https://youtu.be/sXvzp3YKJ1Q

It feels like the sky is crying right along with you. "You're right. All of my tenets can be taken in many ways. Father Pevrel even intentionally keeps his vague, to better facilitate a broader interpretation of them."

The seafoam in his eyes lights up. Your grimace could darken every candle in the city. "Adwin, the respect— or lack thereof— that my allies hold for my own oaths are not what separate their actions from what you've done. You had the ability all along to incapacitate your enemy, or to grant this man a swift death, but you chose to make him suffer. Most people do not possess that ability you hold, and that is a gift in and of itself. Do you know why?"

The rebuke has put significantly more thoughtfulness, and softness to the boy's tone. "Why?"

"No one is perfect— but we all are granted the ability to try. The ways that we overcome our weaknesses is an art it and of itself. It's not even just that: Innovation made because of our limitations is art given human form."

Rain pitter-patters onto a fresh grave. Both of you share a moment of silence.

"I'm sorry, Father."

You fight through a sob, and wipe all the rain off your face. The memory of over fifty lost souls just this morning cracks the strength of your tone. "No matter how liberal my allies interpret my creed— no matter what anyone may think of me— make no mistake. My child, there is more to be learned from restraint, than in excess."

A roll of thunder sounds much closer ahead.

"You don't believe me."

"I do. I'm thinking. You said that we are all worthy of your love?"

"I meant every word. Did I not bring you back from the brink?"

"You did. You also said that we all deserve a chance at redemption."

"Yes."

An apologetic gaze bores into you. "You also said that you regret nothing."

You're going to break down all over again, and keep your fists clenched all the tighter. "A few things, Adwin. But not you. Come here."

He doesn't hesitate to hug you in the rain. You grit your teeth all through it. "In every situation— and for every person— some tenets may take on more importance than others. Believe me when I say that I have forgiven, and been forgiven for greater transgressions. I have no place to criticize you. I know I sound like a hypocrite. I'm just as guilty of torture and senseless violence, Adwin. But that— it is no excuse. I hate it."

"Me?"

"No. No. Never. I hate the struggle. Showing Mercy to the undeserving is one of the most challenging things I could ever ask for. Context matters. Of course there— of course there is a place for self-defense. But you know that I always aim to attempt EVERY other course of action first. It's as I said: my enemies can say whatever they wish about me, and my proclivities. It does not change the fact that I have always been the Father of Restraint."

(1/3)
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>>4583394
The hold on you tightens. "I know. I still can't believe that you wouldn't raise a hand against me. You didn't ever entertain the idea of even attempting to fight me."

"We both know there was never any need. You should do better, Adwin, because you CAN BE so much better."

He's struggling hard with something, and makes a small noise against your shoulder. "All I've done is waste your Time, and make things harder for you."

"Don't you dare lie to me."

"I know I'm going to keep disappointing you, Father. If men are coming into your home to try and kill anyone even resembling your family, there are bigger conflicts at play here than anything I should have a hand in. You said that there is wisdom in restraint." He's sickened. "I still don't understand. Humans do everything in their power to send a message. My Catalyst was caused from my inability to do more with the tools I was given."

You try not to make any noise. He pulls back. It's hard to tell in the Storm if he's crying, or furious. "You know that I turned because I failed to express myself? My vision?"

"No. I had no idea."

This young man is likely more volatile than you even first expected. He sneers. "I want to help you. There may be wisdom in granting me your best interpretation. I'm here thanks to you. We agreed that I could stand to learn more from the works of others. Guide my eye, and I will lend you my hands."

This is wrong on many fundamental levels. "I can't tell you how to live your life."

"You can give your child a few clear boundaries before he makes a fool of himself, or jeopardizes everything that you've worked for. I devastated your clergymen and have stolen precious moments of your Time after encountering just one of your enemies. I would like to help you with your venture across the city, but if I can't trust myself to not destroy everything, it's going to be impossible."

This REALLY doesn't sit right with you. "We need to be on equal ground, Adwin."

"Which is exactly why I am asking you to help me. I wouldn't trust any other man alive to truly have my best interests at heart, AND to give me an honest answer."

Grumbling. You're uncomfortable. There's never enough damn clarity. "Is there anything that you— are there truly any limitations that you have?"

"Don't let me be locked away again. It's all I ask for, Father. Being able to put my skills to good use will only remain possible if no one takes my canvas away from me." He thinks on it for one more moment. "Something consistent would help. What year is it, again?"

He was a demon of Time. You patiently remind Adwin, "Six-oh-six."

"It still makes no sense. You're more civilized than most men from my Time, and we were far more advanced."

(2/3)
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>>4583395
It makes no sense, but you're not going to dwell on it. He has a point. Torture and execution is a daily part of life for much of Corcaea. You're asking a lot of him, and he's going to be tested at every turn.

An ex-demon needs a moral compass. Yours may be as muddied and circumstantial as it gets, but you can't imagine anyone else even trying to facilitate a conversation like this with Adwin.

Your boy needs to know what it means to be a decent man, and you are not about to let him down.

>A] The issue you have is with violence for its own sake. If Adwin has to fight for his life, he needs to strike decisively. You're making a detour to the armory, and getting him something for offense AND defense. This IS a war, but you won't stand for anything like this ever happening again.
>1] Pick up Piety, your mace, your shield, and your satchel along the way. Even if you can't fight nowhere near as effectively right now, and even if they don't get used, and even if it's a massive pain in the ass to carry even more weight around, you want to make a point.
>2] You're not a liar, and try not to be a hypocrite. Be clear that *you* are relying on the Gods for Their support because THAT is the best option afforded to you during this crisis.

>B] The sheer amount of power Adwin possesses might outclass your own. There must be a way he can reduce the amount of violence he exerts WITHOUT causing untold nightmares for others.
>1] Ask your boy to stay his hand— even in the face of aggression. He never should have been left unprotected at the Church of Mercy. He'll be in your company for now, and you'll see about a better solution for his protection in the future.
>2] Implore him to stretch the limits of his imagination. A demon of Dream, Spirit, and Time can do worse things than even the body horror you just witnessed. You'll be watching him like a hawk, but can intervene if he tries something completely insane. It may be worth seeing what he's capable of in a non-lethal capacity.

>C] This is a daunting decision that will shape the way Adwin looks at you, the world you inhabit, and human morality as a whole. You're willing to rise to the challenge. (Write-in.)
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>>4583398
>C] This is a daunting decision that will shape the way Adwin looks at you, the world you inhabit, and human morality as a whole. You're willing to rise to the challenge. (Write-in.)
Ahem

Many men often become misled into thinking that being gentleman means being a “nice guy” or a pushover. This is far from the truth. Being a gentleman means much more than saying please and thank you and always giving in to others. That is a shallow and unfortunate misrepresentation of how a man should conduct himself. Being a gentleman means carrying yourself with confidence and showing respect to all people.

When facing hostile behaviour, a gentleman does his utmost in defusing the situation without violence. Only when violence is inevitable does a gentleman strike hard and decisively as to not prolong the predicament.
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>>4583398
>>A] The issue you have is with violence for its own sake. If Adwin has to fight for his life, he needs to strike decisively. You're making a detour to the armory, and getting him something for offense AND defense. This IS a war, but you won't stand for anything like this ever happening again.
>>1] Pick up Piety, your mace, your shield, and your satchel along the way. Even if you can't fight nowhere near as effectively right now, and even if they don't get used, and even if it's a massive pain in the ass to carry even more weight around, you want to make a point.

We also should not invoke anymore because it is literally gonna tear us apart. Go with the old fashioned methods.

Tell Adwin that his actions must ultimately lead to the betterment of mankind, it is like mending an injury, at first it will hurt but that is needed for the healing process. We are doing the same now, mending a broken country filled with lost people. Sometimes all we can do is end them before they willingly become demons, sometimes we can do more. Let him INTERPRET his actions in the scope of the greater good, how each stroke adds to a painting. No one movement is useless right? They are all important to make the full picture, let him paint a better vision of tomorrow through his ACTIONS. That is true art, making your vision manifest. Sometimes a painting is not enough to express yourself, sometimes the world itself must be changed.
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>>4583457
>>4583473
(It is insanely late at night but you guys are so fucking based and this is so fucking good that I'm going to write before bed. Vote is locked here. Writing now!)
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>>4583475
"Walk with me, Adwin."

"Yes, Father."

You both put up the shovels, and head back inside. It's far warmer indoors, and though you're instantly uncomfortable with the damp fabric on you, you make no attempt to remove any of the blood, dirt, or misery.

The straightest, and most discreet path is chosen to return to the Church of Mercy. The wet slap of your's and Adwin's shoes carries down long hallways. Clearing your throat barely carries over the noise. The strength, and conviction all through your speech is more readily heard. "Men are often misled into thinking that to be a gentleman is one and the same with being pleasant, polite, or— or, well, letting others take advantage of you. This is far from the truth. Being a gentleman means much more than saying 'please' and 'thank you,' or yielding to the whims of others. That is a shallow, and unfortunate representation of how a man should conduct himself."

Even Father Pevrel recognized you by your posture. If nothing else, you have a reputation throughout the nation for keeping your head held high. "Being a gentleman means carrying yourself with confidence, and showing respect towards all people."

Adwin remains incredibly quiet. He's thinking intensely on everything you're saying, and before long, the two of you arrive at in front of your old room. It's adjacent to the Church of Mercy's main choir. The spartan, small space has no lock on the door.

Clouds of dust pick up into the air as you step inside. The longsword Father Friedrich gifted you with is still propped up against the far wall. 'Piety' has taken bolts of lightning on your behalf, and smited enough demons while you've been with the Gods to warrant its name. You take up the sheathed, long-hilted blade. It does your height and bulk justice. The weapon feels remarkably lighter than it used to, and is a fine supplement for the enchanted mace and shield beside it.

The inconvenient realization that the old harness for your mace will no longer fit is fine. Carrying it suits you, for now. You're headed for the armory after this, anyways. The shield is strapped to your back, and Piety's holster is too. Its scabbard feels right. So does the endless bag that Yech conjured for you. The black, inconspicuous bag does have a few ornate gold buckles, but it's tasteful, and you don't mind slinging it on.

(1/3)
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>>4583515
It dawns on you that Yech may have prioritized creating weapons you could wield over weapons that would bear the greatest effectiveness in combat. There are still merits to both items. The flanges on the small, one-handed weapon have yet to dull. The shield can take in the impact of seemingly ANY attack. You let the handle of your mace fall once or twice into an open palm, and marvel at its weightlessness. The shield in your possession is equally, devastatingly light. All the while you seriously need to keep elaborating. "When faced with hostility, a gentleman does his utmost to defuse the situation without violence. Only when violence is inevitable will a gentleman strike hard, and decisively— so as to not prolong the predicament."

Adwin is confused, but you are going to keep clarifying until he gets it. "I have invoked Agriculture on three separate occasions since this morning, and Mercy as well. It was better— and worse— than my Catalyst. She would not kill me, Adwin, but it may literally tear me apart to call upon Them again in the near future."

The ex-demon puts a hand to his mouth. He's too horrified to reply.

The heft of your mace falls against your palm once more. "We'll go with old-fashioned methods. Come on. There's something we have that I am certain you will want to see for yourself."

En route to the armory, you engage in some extended prefacing. "All of my work— I have always prayed that it would ultimately be for the betterment of mankind. It's not always easy, Adwin."

The young man dares a slight smile. "It seems as if it never is."

Your grimace is unrelenting. "Yes. Well. I'm known as the Father of Healing for good reason. It's not just in observance of my own resilience, Adwin. Our country is broken, and packed to the brim with lost souls. I will not insult you by pretending like you haven't suffered more than any of us. You should understand more than anyone that at times, all we can do is put a stop to this madness. To end our enemy's lives before they willingly become demons."

Coming to a halt before a broad set of banded, wooden, hefty double doors, you pause. "Your canvas is not merely the walls of our home, or the form you assume. Sometimes we can do more. A gentleman seeks to understand the full picture. Do not settle for the mistakes of the past. Let's paint a better vision for tomorrow."

The last few words trail off, as you open the armory's double doors. "Sometimes the world itself must be changed..."

"Well said. This is unfortunate. Someone's been stealing your things, Father."

(2/3)
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>>4583516
It's cleaned out. All of it. The broad, stone, sheltered expanse is completely empty. All the armor's gone. All the valuables. All the weapons, save for two objects at the center of the room. They're placed upon the floor. Both are mundane. There's no note. It's abundantly clear that people have been walking around the singular dagger, and the flail set on the ground because of what's on them.

You'd recognize the filthy objects anywhere on earth. A gasp of horror and panic rises to the back of your throat. Terror has you take a step backwards, away from eight years in the dark. Eight years with the company of only one jailer. Eight years under the knife. That same knife, there on the floor.

Swathes of skin from your arms being carved away sears into the front of your retinas as you stagger backwards and try to not scream. It's an onslaught of violence in the forefront of your mind. A blinding headache accompanies the red-hot flash of boiling oil being drenched over burns on your arm, and that very same flail ripping the tortured tissue clean off the bone.

Eight years of the strips of blood-caked leather sitting there on the floor. It's the memory of begging for relief from your thirst and starvation. The reward for speaking out of turn. The rot is so thick on it, you can smell the pain from a few yards away. The urge to run is extreme.

There's a sound on the periphery of your vision that spikes your adrenaline so hard and fast, you can scarcely register what's happening
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>>4583517
>The following prompts may aid in avoiding a catastrophic breakdown (or worse), due to the following maluses:
>-80 TRIGGER (Nearly a decade of torture hard-wired you to expect a world of pain from these items.)
>-50 SOUL STRAIN (You've done something seriously right in the last hour, but some wounds will take more than Time to heal.)
>-15 SLEEP DEPRIVATION (Getting two hours of sleep did help. You're still in a bad state to see this.)

>In addition, you will have the following bonuses:
>+20 REALITY CHECK (Your venture to your cell earlier this week was traumatic, but was still enormously reassuring. You know you're not in those dungeons anymore.)
>+20 FAITH OF A GODDESS (Between your recent actions with Adwin, the prisoner in your care, and everything else you have done, Mercy wants to comfort and support you more than anything.)

>DO NOT ROLL AT THIS TIME.
>(Altogether) that will be a -105 modifier before any additional modifiers are applied.
>The following prompts each represent a modifier. The modifiers voted for be utilized only once the roll is called.
>You can select multiple prompts. They are not mutually exclusive. ALL VOTES will be counted unless vocally opposed.
>Discussion is strongly encouraged, and write-ins may help substantially.
>This vote will remain open for at least the next six hours.

>A] You don't fear the pain of your former captor's touch. On the contrary. [+30 MASOCHISM TANGO (Your extreme eagerness to take on pain has temporarily increased this bonus.)]

>B] Do everything in your power to stay in the moment. Keep it together. [+20 GREEN DAHLIA (This is just another opportunity to stay grounded.)]

>C] There's no shame in empathizing with your personal demons. Breaking down doesn't have to break you completely. [+15 FATHER OF COMPASSION (Kindness is your strength.)]

>D] Dream granted you a vision of forgiveness and second chances just this morning. It was only made possible through owning up to your failings. (UNANIMOUS VOTE REQUIRED.) [+30 ATONEMENT (You were brought to the Church of Mercy for a good reason. This is a good opportunity to practice what you preach, and acknowledge that second chances are worth giving.)]

>E] You can have someone else put the weapons away for safe-keeping, or have them disposed of. [+10 WALK AWAY. (Get as much distance from these reminders of your captivity as you possibly can. Adwin shouldn't see this, either.)]

>F] Write-in. (Subject to QM approval. Any modifiers that are determined based on write-ins will be applied AFTER the roll is called.)
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>>4583518

>>A] You don't fear the pain of your former captor's touch. On the contrary. [+30 MASOCHISM TANGO (Your extreme eagerness to take on pain has temporarily increased this bonus.)]

A knife and a flail is nothing. Really. Being scared of this would be insulting to our station. Snap out of it, the pain we CAN take is much greater than these 2 items.

>>B] Do everything in your power to stay in the moment. Keep it together. [+20 GREEN DAHLIA (This is just another opportunity to stay grounded.)]

The ground is there, we are in the presence of our kid, we are teaching him life lessons. This is one. Through adversity we grow stronger...

>>C] There's no shame in empathizing with your personal demons. Breaking down doesn't have to break you completely. [+15 FATHER OF COMPASSION (Kindness is your strength.)]

Strong enough to realize when we are hurt...

>>D] Dream granted you a vision of forgiveness and second chances just this morning. It was only made possible through owning up to your failings. (UNANIMOUS VOTE REQUIRED.) [+30 ATONEMENT (You were brought to the Church of Mercy for a good reason. This is a good opportunity to practice what you preach, and acknowledge that second chances are worth giving.)]

Strong enough to forgive those who have wronged us. Stace and Morris deserve all the fresh hells Pevrel could think up for them, but the one thing they do not deserve is Mercy. That is why we are going to give them exactly that, not for their own sake. They want us to be a monster, to break and tear everything apart including ourselves. Forgiving them here would strip them of the last power they have over us, this is a chance for liberty. Kindness is not weakness, it is our greatest strength. Forgiveness isn't naivety, it is our greatest weapon.

>F] Write-in. (Subject to QM approval. Any modifiers that are determined based on write-ins will be applied AFTER the roll is called.)

Pick them up. We have turned our own trauma into weapons before, do it again. They are just tools, wielded by madmen. Use them to protect our family against the cultists, conquer our fears for those we love.
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>>4583518
>C] There's no shame in empathizing with your personal demons. Breaking down doesn't have to break you completely. [+15 FATHER OF COMPASSION (Kindness is your strength.)]

F] Write-in. (Subject to QM approval. Any modifiers that are determined based on write-ins will be applied AFTER the roll is called.)

Embrace the pain
Embrace the pain
Embrace the pain
Invalidate the pain
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>>4583563
+1, I agree with it all. It's time they are used for Mercy than against her.
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(Overslept so badly omg. Back in the saddle!)

>>4583563
>>4583606
>>4583624
(Amazing stuff guys. A few adjustments are in order. The justification for D is extreme, even though I said unanimous vote required the lack of vocal opposition and you all clearly being on the same page is more than enough to warrant it. Enjoy ALL the bonuses, you madlads.)

>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.
>INVALIDATE THE PAIN

>-80 TRIGGER (Nearly a decade of torture hard-wired you to expect a world of pain from these items.)
>-50 SOUL STRAIN (You've done something seriously right in the last hour, but some wounds will take more than Time to heal.)
>-15 SLEEP DEPRIVATION (Getting two hours of sleep did help. You're still in a bad state to see this.)
>+20 REALITY CHECK (Your venture to your cell earlier this week was traumatic, but was still enormously reassuring. You know you're not in those dungeons anymore.)
>+20 FAITH OF A GODDESS (Between your recent actions with Adwin, the prisoner in your care, and everything else you have done, Mercy wants to comfort and support you more than anything.)
>+30 MASOCHISM TANGO (Your extreme eagerness to take on pain has temporarily increased this bonus.)
>+20 GREEN DAHLIA (This is just another opportunity to stay grounded.)
>+15 FATHER OF COMPASSION (You're strong enough to realize when you are hurt.)
>+30 ATONEMENT (This is a chance for liberty.)
>+5 PRIEST OF AGRICULTURE (Opting in for every single thing presented to you short of walking away is doing serious service to the Goddess of Indulgence.)
>+10 EMBRACE THE PAIN (Literally weaponizing your trauma should feel DAMN good.)
>+15 LEADER OF THE CHURCH OF MERCY (ANYTHING short of embracing this situation would be insulting to your station.)

(After the extreme number of bonuses and maluses, the total to the roll is +20.)
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>>4583868

DICE. FROM THE BOWELS OF OSTEDHOLM.
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Rolled 94 (1d100)

>>4583873
>>4583868

THEY HAVE BEEN DELAYED BY VILE CULTISTS.
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Rolled 52 (1d100)

>>4583868
At this point this is a mere formality.

>>4583874
Yech did indeed bless these rolls on this fine day.

My hero.
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>>4583877

FEAR NOT CITIZEN. THE BONE LORD WATCHES OUT FOR ALL OF US.
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Rolled 63 (1d100)

>>4583868
let this 1 ID lad get Malimos' blessing
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>>4583880
Fear not. Mailmos' Time will come.
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>>4583873
>>4583874
>>4583877
>>4583878
>>4583880
>>4583882
(Welcome to the fold, spider priest. Best of 3 from the bone zone is a mighty 114 out of 100. Everything is locked! Writing now.)
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>>4583885
The sheer amount of strength you possess is more than enough to realize when you're hurt. That the sob rising from the back of your throat is not weakness.

It's more than enough to hold your ground, and to part your hands from the hilt of your sword. You are not taking your eyes off of those weapons for an instant. The amount of torture and agony you've endured eclipses anything that these simple items could do to you.

There's nothing that can be done to you by a mundane weapon that you wouldn't embrace. It's a different kind of mantra that keeps you grounded. All the anticipation wraps itself up into relief, and as you close your eyes, your breath levels.

Embrace the pain.
Embrace the pain.
Embrace the pain.
Invalidate the pain.


Not a soul attacks you. No one is torturing you. The noise was Adwin, who repeats himself. The boy is keeping a foot or so away, but he's moved to your side to better gaze into the empty armory. He's got his gaze fixed straight at you now. "Father Anscham?"

Breaking down doesn't have to break you completely. Not by a long shot. "My enemies continue to bless me with opportunity. Adwin, do you know what these are?"

His eyes light up. "A particularly well-used set of weapons, Father. Their condition indicates that they were not used as their maker may have originally intended. The knife may be best served for carving bone, whereas the flail may be a repurposed tool of Agriculture. It's quite odd." The joy at having an opportunity to share his thoughts on the matter fades as quickly as it came. "Yet these items have caused you extreme distress."

"You are absolutely right. Caused. Come here."

https://youtu.be/YwmzXkhBUPs

You're conquering this fear. Sweat, terror, and enthusiasm closes the distance between you, and Stace's old torture devices. The dagger's handle is plated with tarnished gold. A little adorns the base of the blade for decoration, rather than reinforcement. It looks as sharp as you remember it being, and the item's odd shape does lend itself well to carving out meat away from bone. It's much more precise than its partner. The flail should have been meant for loosening grain off its stalks. Stace fastened a number of barbed, metal pieces to the entire item. A weighted spike rests at its end. It would potentially be riskier to use in combat than to go bare-handed. It can break bone with ease, and would likely tear through a shield. As a priest of Agriculture, you can't help but marvel at the durability and practicality of both objects. They're a mockery of both of your foremost patrons.

Mercy has always stressed that your propensity for pain is a gift. Agriculture taught you that poison is not inherently evil. There is no evil to be had from these items.

(1/3)
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>>4584003
You stash your mace inside of Yech's bag. It feels as if every scar on your hands is darker. They're wanting for the source of their old injuries. You take a deep breath.

"Through adversity, we only grow stronger."

Both the dagger, and the flail are picked up with your bare hands. They're entirely mundane. No curse is laid upon them. The old chunks of skin and muscle sticking to both weapons are looked over with renewed curiosity. There's no mistaking that these are the same objects, that it's impossible to even swallow, or that there is resilience through every word that leaves you. "These are just tools. They were once wielded by a madman, who sought to take me further away from the Gods. His efforts were misguided, and have amounted to more than he could have ever imagined. I've weaponized my trauma before. I will gladly do so again."

The nausea clinging to you is almost as intense as the way your hands are shaking, but you don't care. "Every last attempt they've made to wear me down has only strengthened my resolve. Do not think me a fool, Adwin. I recognize that the men responsible for this turmoil deserve anything and everything Father Pevrel could imagine."

The two of you share a long, hard stare. Your boy knows what you're going to say, and doesn't dare interrupt.

The knot that's formed in your gut isn't going away any Time soon. You could get used to the constant discomfort. It's nothing compared to eight years in confinement, or anything else that was done to you. The anguish is a pleasant reminder of the past. This is one more challenge to overcome, and you know you can take it.

"My enemies seek to break me, by tearing apart everything that I hold dear. Their original justification to do so could be seen as sound. Much of my hometown still mistakes me for a demon. I have had a great many failings, Adwin. And I have many regrets."

The weight in your hands is clasped so tightly, you can feel the crunch of dried blood between your fingers and palms. "This will not be one of them. Stace and Morris may not deserve Mercy, but I will grant it to them regardless. Do not think me naive. These men think that they can try to destroy our nation, kill my family, and torture me until the day that I die? They are mistaken."

The dried, cracked blood underhand couldn't feel sweeter. "Forgiveness is not just about stripping Stace and Morris of the last power that they have over me— though it is a significant, and important advantage. Kindness is not weakness. It is our greatest strength. It's high Time that these weapons were used on Mercy's behalf, rather than against Her."

It's remarkably easy to forget that Adwin is several ages old. The ex-demon murmurs to you, "I wouldn't have expected anything less, Father."

(2/3)
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>>4584005
"They've granted me a chance for liberty, Adwin." The ache in your heart feels so much lighter, you could laugh. You offer your ward a broad smile. "I'll gladly conquer my fears for who I love. So let this be a lesson to us both. Forgiveness is our greatest weapon."

For several moments, the young man at your side couldn't look more pensive.

Ultimately, Adwin clenches his fists, and looks to you with determination. "Thank you your wisdom, and all of your kindness, Father. I would like to defer to your judgement in one more matter."

"Of course."

"I believe I understand. You have a city to save, and a country in need. We've taken up so much of your Time. Allow me to best grant you my services. I'll do everything I'm able to assist with mapping these tunnels beneath Eadric— once we reach them. I'm not used to fighting admirably, but, well." His grimace tightens. "This has all been rather inspiring. I'd like to try."

>CHOOSE ONE PROMPT FROM A.
>IN ADDITION, choose one prompt from B.
>LASTLY (if you wish), choose one prompt from C.
>Majority vote will decide for all three.

>A] Your boy is not coming away from this lesson empty-handed.
>1] Entrust your mace and shield to Adwin. The enchanted defense of an archdemon should compensate for his lack of close-quarters combat experience.
>2] Ask Adwin if he would like to use any of the other weapons on your person, or has any ideas for a supplement. He creates and manipulates object effortlessly, after all. You trust that he'll make the best call.
>3] As the defender of the city of shields, all of Eadric is at your disposal. You can think of something. (Write-in.)

>B] A knife and a flail is NOTHING.
>1] So you'll stick to using Piety in a fight. You'll keep these weapons on your person as backup, though.
>2] There is poetic justice in mastering a tool of Agriculture as a weapon of Mercy. You'll see just how much damage this flail can do, and will favor it for now.
>3] Getting up-close and personal with your enemies is beyond fitting, for the Father of Love. That dagger is about to spill a lot more blood, by prioritizing its usage.
>4] Your mace and shield hasn't gotten nearly enough love. You want to put them to the best use possible, and will safely stow away everything else. (This option cannot be selected with A1.)
>5] Fists alone won't cut it in the battles to come, but you have a better idea. (Write-in.)

>C] Weapons with this much history deserve a name.
>1] These are the tools of a gentleman. Your dagger is a means of "Forgiveness." The flail is your vehicle for "Discipline."
>2] These weapons honor the two Goddesses you hold most dear. Mercy's surgical knife embodies your strength, and "Atonement." Agriculture's thresher of "Harvest" will suit you nicely in the seasons ahead.
>3] Write-in.
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>>4584007
A2; as I'm interested in what he'll come up with.

I have no opinion on B, other than realizing the truth of 4.

C2 sounds lovely.
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>>4584028
(Really appreciate ya anon. Spending some time with the missus tonight, planning on pulling an all-nighter to make up for my ruined sleep schedule lol I really goofed. If we get some votes rolling in I'll be up all early morning and should be able to get some good momentum! If we don't have any other participation in a bit we'll just plug on ahead, but I'd like to give peeps some extra time given the holiday season. Speaking of which, found some old Saint Yech fanart while I was cleaning out my desktop last night too lol. Hope you're having a great night.)
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>>4584028
+1
>>
>>4584028
>>4584464
(Let's rock and roll boys. I'm staying up all night. Vote is locked. Writing now!)
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>>4584466
https://youtu.be/S_AzwJwy7Ns?t=17

"We will honor my patrons— starting with these weapons. Items with this much history deserve a name, Adwin."

He appreciates it more than he can express. The new being straightens upright, and respectfully listens.

You adjust your grip on the the dagger in hand. "This surgical knife embodies Mercy's will. The strength I have been granted. An instrument for agony, an embodiment of my actions, and all of the healing made possible because of it. 'Atonement.'"

It sounds lovely. Much more tension leaves your shoulders, as you slide the weapon against the back of your belt. The flail is gripped with both hands. "A thresher. My enemies have sown the seeds of discord. This weapon will do well to loosen the stranglehold on our nation in the seasons ahead. Agriculture has truly blessed me with Her 'Harvest'."

It sounds right. Resolution, care, and all the confidence you possess ensures that the weapon is safely stashed away in your satchel. It takes some maneuvering, but as you secure the weapon, you can't help but muse aloud. "Adwin, you have manipulated mundane objects with seemingly no effort at all. My armory has been ransacked, but you— you do not truly require my assistance to arm yourself. Do you?"

He gives you a slight smile. The artist's hands outstretch. From thin air, he fabricates a swirl of paint, ice, and flecks of sand. It's terrifying, and beautiful, and coalesces into a nightmare. It's a dagger unlike any you've ever seen. The material it's fabricated out of reminds you of ice, a darkened sky, and layered rock. Eight notches are in its thick blade, as flecks of frost part into the air. Each recess in the dagger's length is sharpened into points. Each one could no doubt could catch any blade that strikes it. The guard on its hilt further gives off an impression that the item is designed for parrying an attack. A metal loop banded with a shade of the deepest night is swimming with fragments of string. Solid stone at its base glints with moonlight, and stars.

Adwin creates two more similar weapons in rapid succession. They each have a different flare. One is embedded with frost, and has a mesh of gold on the hilt. The other is so sharp, your heart-rate picks up just looking at the way it catches on the light. Three, beautiful words leave a master's lips. "Blessed sword breakers."

(1/2)
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>>4584485
With your mace and shield in hand, you look to Adwin with amazement. Your own enchanted gifts from a demon have been given nowhere enough appreciation. It's certain that all three of his newfound weapons must be perfectly weighted, and possess unearthly properties. They're swimming with promise. So is the look in his eyes. Though the blonde's face remains veiled, he quickly sets about tying off most of the loose fabric on him so that he has unhindered mobility. The smile falls. "Art is a weapon. Creativity shall be my ammunition. Your faith is my shield, but no blade will withstand the scrutiny of my trained eye. Thank you for challenging my preconceived notions, Father. May we shatter your enemy's resolve just as quickly."

There's more moonlight in Adwin's eyes than there are in the weapons he wields. "I will require parchment."

You carry enough on your person to arm a small library. "It will be supplied. You may wish to keep your hands free."

The two of you exit the armory, and leave the door open on your way out. The absence of locks in your home is yet another gift. "The halls of our home are to remain open, Adwin. The gates of my city may not share the same luxury. Come along. We have a war to win."

>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.
>STATE OF AFFAIRS

>+15 DEFENDER OF THE CITY OF SHIELDS (Your past actions in guarding Eadric may have helped enormously in fending off disaster.)
>+10 WHITE SMOKE (Three districts were saved thanks to your fast action.)
>+10 FAITH OF A GODDESS (The Goddess of Protection wants to ensure that you travel safely.)
>+10 CHURCH OF WRATH (Father Pevrel's men have been hard at work.)
>+10 BLASPHEMOUS CONGREGATION (Your most loyal followers do not fuck around.)
>-15 INERTIA (A cult of complacency has infested your home.)
>-25 WHAT WAS THAT SOUND? (About two hours ago, you heard a deafening rumble in the upper floors of the Church of Mercy.)
>-20 THE SOULS OF MANKIND... (There's weakness in the hearts of humankind. Situations like this are a recipe for disaster.)

(Total modifiers come out to [-5] to the roll.)
>>
Rolled 60 (1d100)

>>4584486

YECH, LETS PAINT THE TOWN RED.
>>
Rolled 82 (1d100)

>>4584486
Dabbed dubs
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Rolled 45 (1d100)

>>4584486
>>
>>4584494
>>4584505
>>4584520
(Wonderful dudes, best of 3 is a 77 out of 100. Writing now!)
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>>4584527
The best minds in your care are out of commission, or are halfway across the city. Communication can only do so much. You're hitting the streets, and sizing up the situation for yourself. There are eight districts between you, and the hideout that was cleared this morning. Father Pevrel should still be at the cleared building, guarding any surviving elders from the hearing this afternoon.

https://youtu.be/uJ7OOQ_Ny9U

Your soul may be fit to burst, and exhaustion is still drenching you, but by all the Gods: NOTHING is going to keep you down today. Hidden corridors, narrow hallways, and one last secret passageway leads you away from the castle, out of the high walls, and to an exit away from scrutiny. Emerging into the pouring rain, you're soaked once again from head-to-toe.

The sky is as black as the parade of death that's marched across your city. Sprawling gardens lining low, rocky buildings cast a little relief from the unrelenting defense. Eadric's homes are designed for protection. The recessed buildings that compose this residential district are adjacent to the castle's walls, and outside of your moat. Most of the streets and retaining walls are smeared in soot and blood. There is a new perimeter around your home, too.

The Church of Vengeance saw fit to line the winding streets around the castle with bodies on pikes. Sickness catches in your throat, as your breath hitches, and you try not to stagger back in the dark of night. Cultists— still fully dressed, and wearing tell-tale wooden masks— are strung through from ass-to-mouth on spiked poles in a neat little line. There must be thirty of them, though the trail curves around the moat, and disappears from your view down the street. Some of the heathens are still alive. They're twitching, and some are making low sounds of agony. Many of them have had their hands or legs weighed down, to ensure that even the most psychotically devoted of them would not come free from their slow demise.

"Mercy..."

Your stomach turns at the sight of bowels intentionally strewn around one particularly poor victim. The hand keeping your weapon steady instinctively goes to your lips, to try and stifle a horrified gasp. Adwin's eyes narrow, as he scrutinizes the color and function of gray smoke still rising in the distance. There's clearly no emotional concern for the men and women poised all about, but he looks to you with a softer gaze. "Father, it appears that your allies and enemies have yet to honor your tenets. We can't tolerate this. The fact that none of these men or women have turned is nothing short of a miracle."

(1/3)
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>>4584554
Humidity is causing the rain to come up in plumes of smoke along the road as you lead Adwin away from the castle. The breadth of your shield feels significantly smaller than it used to, as you keep ahead of him, with your mace at the ready. "Not a miracle. They are out of their minds. The Church of Vengeance saw fit to punish only the zealots that they knew would survive the ordeal." You swallow hard. "They know their enemy."

It's eerily quiet, beside a few whimpers from the tortured bodies down the street. James described the situation outside the castle as the calm before the Storm.

The beat of your heart picks up with a roll of thunder off in the distance. Mud pools in the cobblestone underfoot. A flash of lightning catches on your vision. The seizure that was in your memory less than two hours past does not carry into the present. Though you long for the tempest, no tremor comes to your frame. All of your focus hones in on the present moment. It is a conduit for your own devotion.

There's plenty that can be done along the way to your hideout. The night is young, and so are you.

The Church of Mercy is at the heart of Eadric. The discreet exit you took brought you out of the moat's perimeter, and into the nearest residential district. Father Pevrel's men have created such a disturbance in your enemy's composure, there's no fighting to be had in any immediate direction. Inertia has taken their most visible efforts outside the area. Carving a straight path to the hideout would be most advantageous. Seizing this moment of respite and discretion would be wise.

There's a few other options at your disposal. Adwin possesses the ability to take on any form. The enchanted robes you wear are capable of assuming any disguise you wish. The two of you could discreetly attempt to pass through the city unharmed, and to make quick work of this venture. There's honor and glory to be had in accomplishing your goals, staying on track, and saving your strength for when it's needed most.

Serious merit can be found in utilizing your authority, too. Especially in a Time of crisis. As the leader of the Church of Mercy, your allies will answer to you without question. Delegating the safety and security of your home has already done wonders for the situation at hand. The pyromaniac in your service has been distracting and culling the violence around town for over a day straight, now. White smoke is still drifting from the three districts you saw to today, and you know more will follow. Trusting in your men and women to keep the situation under control has been more than adequate to stave off complete disaster.

There was also a sound that shook the earth itself less than two hours past. Scouring the skyline for any source, you notice through the fog of night that something is wrong.

"Do you see that, Adwin?" There has been a black spot in your eye no matter where you look. It's four districts away, near the eastern outskirts.

(2/3)
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>>4584556
"There's nothing to be seen, Father. But yes. It's unmistakable. There is a darkness there that even your light may not reach."

The river Morinburn runs through all of your city, and it looks like one major offshoot is being utilized by the priests of Vengeance in your home. The prospect of a threat great enough to require divine quarantine has your blood running hot. The grip on your mace's hilt tightens. The reminder of your alliances is a small comfort. It's a matter of hours before you intend to give a public address in Mercy's company— and you're sick of not living up to your title. As the Father of the Day, you won't shy away from this turmoil.

It doesn't change the severity of your grimace, or the gravel in your voice. "The night is darkest before Her dawn."

>Most of the following are not mutually exclusive.
>Your city is enormous, the situation you're facing is growing more complicated by the minute, and the fog of war can be confusing at the best of times.
>Please feel free to ask any questions you have regarding the situation at hand.

>A] Put these tortured cultists out of their misery. You're taking an extra minute anywhere and everywhere you're needed to stop this senseless suffering in its tracks.

>B] Attempt to cross town in disguise. Ask Adwin to modify his shroud accordingly. You can't afford to waste one more second.
>1] The garb of a priest of Vengeance is tasteless, but it wouldn't raise any eyebrows.
>2] You've been mistaken for a nobleman with increasing frequency. The authority and power you command would lend well towards traveling as one.
>3] No one is mistaking you for anything other than a priest of Agriculture. Not only would you not be taken for a threat— it should deflect any scrutiny about your real identity entirely.

>C] A straight shot across three districts (even while invoking Agriculture) took you over two hours. Seeing to your city's needs could take all night. You are willing to make the Time.
>1] Starting with this district. You're micro-managing, and don't care how long it takes.
>2] Try to get to the next district, and assess the situation once you're further away from the castle.
>3] You'll be touch-and-go. Call out to anyone who seems available. Walking and talking is kind of your thing, and you have serious faith in your citizens.

>D] What the fuck is happening across town
>1] Make a bee-line for the dark shroud that's near the eastern outskirts of Eadric. Stay on high alert.
>2] Try to gather some information as you head for the hideout. You trust that the situation will be kept under control, but want to stay informed.

>E] Write-in.
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>>4584557

>D] What the fuck is happening across town
>2] Try to gather some information as you head for the hideout. You trust that the situation will be kept under control, but want to stay informed.

This seems like a huge issue we know nothing about, get on that. Maybe Adwin can turn into a bird and take a look, he IS able to fly.
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>>4584570
+1
>>
Yes
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>>4584570
>>4584578
>>4584586
(Bird's eye view. How can my voters be so based? Vote is locked. Writing now.)
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>>4584591
https://youtu.be/sobYJY7nHIA

"This situation across town." Your steps pick up as you leave behind turmoil and sin. "I trust that it will be kept under control, Adwin." A mad glint comes to your eye. "Perhaps you can take a look."

The artist keeps his head held high. "My view is obscured by something deeper than night, Father."

The two of you come to a stop in the middle of the road.

"We both know that Mercy's light can pierce any darkness." The nerves all through your smile lift into something outright insane. "I've seen you fly before. This city cannot cage us. What say you spread your wings, my little bird."

A tilt of the ex-demon's head matches all the insanity through you, with a twitch. There's a flutter. It's not physical. The impression is of a mirror cracking in the back of your mind. A rope fraying into one thousand threads. You take a quick step backwards, as the embodiment of interpretation melts into the shawls and shroud all around his frame.

The entirety of Adwin's humanoid form completely folds in on itself. He bursts outwards into hundreds of fireflies. Deep marigold cast a faint light from the countless insects.

He takes wing, and soars off beyond the farthest walls of your city in blasphemous pieces. Your jaw falls open as you watch the cloud of light pass beyond the wall.

There's no doubt that if this being was not under your instruction that nothing could restrain him. It's exhilarating, terrifying, and keeps you rooted to the spot.

The sparks of illumination gradually fade from view. Sheets of rain obscure him in the distance. Lightning mirrors the brightness of the day that your ward has completely disgraced, embraced, and made into something altogether new.

Before long, every last one of the flickering insects returns. They merge into a humanoid form over a dozen feet above the ground. It coalesces into a being of light, and chaos.

The beautiful nightmare descends, thanks to carapaces for wings. A face emerges from the mesh of bugs, and looks down at you with horror across vaguely humanoid features. One by one, the fireflies smash into the color of Flesh. They're reshaped into Adwin's preferred form. Skin, muscle, bone, and the resemblance of yours and Mercy's son retains a faint glow for several moments. His face is pale, as the young man touches back down to earth.

The shrouds of light fabric, blue thread, and his sword breakers are on him once more. A trembling hand gestures towards the darkness on the horizon. The artist's soft, trembling voice utters only two words: "A collective."

More panic is swallowed down. "Grant me your vision in full."

"Forty priests of Vengeance have assembled. They— along with a priestess of Storm, and the sailor in your command—"

"Irefist?"

"The very same. They are all utilizing the river to contain a many-faced creature. It glows with a neon-green light, and is writhing in agony."

(1/2)
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>>4584626
The cultists that escaped this morning. You can practically smell the Green Bough on them from here.

Adwin continues, "the mass is composed of at least fifty lost souls. They are a behemoth, Father. The shroud these priests of Vengeance have cast over your fair city obscures the demon from the people's sight. I imagine that your fighting forces are attempting to quell any panic. Chaos would certainly arise from its presence becoming known. A network of water, wind, and blood is being utilized to stop the demon's continued growth. Natural barriers and rope are being employed as well. Yet, the demon's behavior appeared to defy all logic."

Rapid strides take you closer to the first checkpoint between you, and the hideout. It's going to be heavily armed. There's no telling if your traitorous guards are present, or if Father Pevrel's men are manning the station. "Please be more specific."

"I am no expert on this matter, but I believe that the demon was responding to the actions against it in..." This was a former demon of Spirit. He's utterly lacking in knowledge, wisdom, memory, or comprehension of the truth. Logic is not his forte. Adwin puts a finger towards his lips, and murmurs, "if I may be so bold: it's as if it was making an incorrect interpretation."

A demon of misconception.

>A] Make a bee-line for the dark shroud that's near the eastern outskirts of Eadric. Stay on high alert, and attempt to cross town in disguise. Ask Adwin to modify his shroud accordingly. You can't afford to waste one more second.
>1] The garb of a priest of Vengeance is tasteless, but it wouldn't raise any eyebrows.
>2] You've been mistaken for a nobleman with increasing frequency. The authority and power you command would lend well towards traveling as one.
>3] No one is mistaking you for anything other than a priest of Agriculture. Not only would you not be taken for a threat— it should deflect any scrutiny about your real identity entirely.

>B] Don't get distracted. Trust in your men, in Father Barthalomew's priestess, and in your saltiest sailor. A straight shot across three districts (even while invoking Agriculture) took you over two hours. Seeing to your city's needs could take all night...
>1] And you're willing to address any OTHER situations that arise. Travel openly, and try to get a scope of the picture at hand. You'll keep your weapon and shield up, and see to the needs of your city. You are scared that you'll die if you call upon the Gods again, and don't trust yourself to exhibit any restraint if you go after that monster.
>2] This is something that has to be touch-and-go. Stay on the move, don't get distracted, and delegate as much as you're able along the way. This is for your health, your ward's safety, and the good of the city.

>C] Write-in.
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>>4584628

>>A] Make a bee-line for the dark shroud that's near the eastern outskirts of Eadric. Stay on high alert, and attempt to cross town in disguise. Ask Adwin to modify his shroud accordingly. You can't afford to waste one more second.
>>1] The garb of a priest of Vengeance is tasteless, but it wouldn't raise any eyebrows.

We NEED to get there, we are a demon expert even without the gods. We killed one of these before with Pevrel, our insight is just as valuable as our strength. If this thing gets out it will be a fucking disaster, the tunnels can wait. Everything else can wait. Collective demons are by FAR the worst and most difficult to handle, this requires our attention and Adwin might honestly be the only thing capable of fully countering it. Yes I know its funny that we are using an ex demon against a demon. The parallel to the cunt bros is not lost on me, but Adwin actually loves us.

Interpretation is just another form of misconception, when you really think about it. Fight fire with fire, get Adwin in the right mindset, establish STRONG boundaries. Get a safe word in case things get too wild and he feels himself slipping or being overwhelmed. Brainstorm with our most creative ally a way of dealing with this demon.
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>>4584637
+1
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>>4584637
>>4584655
(Let's do this shit. Vote is locked. Writing now.)
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>>4584671
https://youtu.be/g3y6MEcOX7o

"If this demon escapes its confines, we will have— we will have infinitely worse things to worry about than any cultists beneath my city. I understand how tasteless this will seem, Adwin, but I— I must get to this demon as quickly as possible. If you wish to accompany me, please do everything you can to modify your shroud accordingly."

He gives you a curious glance, as you place a hand to your heart. It can't hurt to keep things simple. "The garb of a priest of Vengeance."

The bloody, muddied, grave-dirt covered, gilded black robes on you shift hard into the deepest shade of night. It soaks in any and all sun around you. The cut sharpens into angles and edges. It compliments your bulk, disguises any curve, and the absence of a silhouette is instantly more flattering than anything you've worn in weeks. It does wonders for emphasizing your height, and just how intimidating your presence can be. The length of your hood is thrown over the scars on your exhausted face. It drops a complete shadow over all the gold in your hair. Placing your Relic beneath the collar of the garment completes the disguise. The blood-caked dagger at your back, the spikes on your melee weapon, and the disgusting residue of gore upon your shoes only heightens the impression.

Keeping your jet-black shield up, you look every bit the part of a hulking, murderous, battle-scarred zealot. Adwin draws back. You speak to him in the gentlest tone you can manage. "I don't want you to feel as if you're slipping. The parallels to my own captors—" You sigh deeply. "I am not my tormentors. I am not some sadistic jailer." You draw back the hood from your brow. All the green in your eyes softens further, as you try to implore the most delicate creature you've ever met to endure more horror. "They claimed to be my fathers, and never once lived up to the name. I pray that I can do far better than they ever did."

Fear slakes him, like the bonds of one thousand unwanted years in the dark. "I can never thank you enough for my freedom, Father. But I do not believe that I can do this."

Closing your eyes does nothing to hide from how badly he's hurting. You slowly return your pained gaze to the darkened horizon, and set off walking towards the checkpoint. "I understand. I'm sorry you've had to see any of this, especially— especially so soon after returning to the world. I can't tell you how much I treasure your aid, Adwin. While we walk, could you please lend me your interpretation?"

"Regarding the demon?"

"Yes. You're easily the most creative soul I've ever met. There's no doubt in my mind that you have plenty of ideas."

Adwin's shifted every swathe of fabric on him into jet-black mourning attire. The airy, elegant garments are a stark contrast to the fifteen blasphemous, armored guards posted at the gate. They all bristle at the sight of you.

(1/3)
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>>4584741
The strength and bitterness of a preacher who's buried thirty bodies in a week, and killed at least fifty more since just this morning commands. "We're seeing to the dying and the damned. Step aside."

No question of your authority. It's all sideways glances to the wall, uncomfortable shifting, and nervous stares made at your clearly demonic weaponry.

The company you keep has every nerve around you on end. The young man at your side radiates oddness. Murmurs are at your back, along with shifting weaponry, and no small measure of fear.

The checkpoint is passed through without event, and you emerge into even more chaos.

High walls segment each area you pass through, like with every other city in Corcaea— but Eadric specializes in defense. It was almost impossible to make out the scene in the next area over, thanks to each divided region. The distance between each wall is smaller here, than in any other holy city. The tighter and denser defense aids in keeping in outbreaks. It may be a nuisance when distant travel is desired, but the added insurance is invaluable in times of crisis.

The streets are empty. Everyone is in hiding, or is out fighting elsewhere. You're positive that you'll have ample opportunity to reach the location of the demon. The trouble is, Adwin has completely shut down.

The clergy of punishment in your city put heads on stakes in the front yards of countless citizenry. The death toll must be in the hundreds, if this situation spread through most of your home. Blood has been smeared over the doorways of many houses you walk by, in the shape of an eye. It's a warning to those who gaze upon it. To betray the theocracy is to scorn the Gods Themselves. It's an invitation for retribution. The gaze of Vengeance casts over all of Mercy's city.

It's vile. You're wearing their colors— or lack thereof— and can't help but feel like you're crawling in your skin. Blackened ash wafts through the air from a meeting hall down the road that was burnt to the ground. Smoldering piles of imps are gathered around its base.

Less than two hours ago, you were reliving the memory of fighting fire with fire. You mutter to Adwin as you both rapidly stride past the destruction, "you said you wished to help me. To fight. To put an end to this madness, and to grant you the opportunity to truly live. Let me help you, so that we— so that we can heal the world that we live in."

Less than a week ago, the creature at your side was in unfathomable agony. He might be having second thoughts, as you pass by another checkpoint. It's armed to the teeth, and you have to bark at seven armed men to respect the God of Retribution if they care to live another day. It's ugly. As you and your artist emerge into a desolate mercantile ward, tattered yellow banners greet you. They're still draped in places over wares left in a hurry. Evidence of citizens who fled for their very lives, with no regard for the material.

(2/3)
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>>4584744
The unhinged artist beside you is visibly shaken. He still finds the resolution to grit out, "I imagine that the demon you wish to face could be countered through a number of ways."

"Stop if you're overwhelmed, Adwin. I don't want to push you."

He swallows hard enough for you to hear it. "We are already past that point. I don't have it in me to look at them again. Please don't ask me to."

"If you need to, say the word—"

"I do not care to beg for Mercy, Father. I wish to walk freely."

Both of you are walking freely, no matter how dire the circumstances are. In a low voice, you swear, "we'll honor both of our Catalysts, Adwin. I'll find a way to set this right. Interpretation can be construed as another form of misconception, after all."

He looks like he could cry. "Misconception, is it?"

"I strongly suspect as much."

"Then it will seek to distort everything that it is presented with. Your allies must have deduced a way to contain it. Likely by overwhelming the creature's senses through violence and brutality. Perhaps its complacency and calm is the direct result of their efforts?"

You can't help but think back to your alliance with Father Pevrel. "I faced a collective demon just this morning. Its behavior followed almost precisely what you're describing. Please, go on."

"If it responds to violence with inaction—" Adwin's knuckles are white, from how hard he's clutching onto his daggers. The next wall is rapidly approaching. Both of your gazes rise to the heights above the towers and ramparts. It's like a wall of solid darkness. "—then you must deduce your end goal for this creature. I believe that manipulating its behavior can be made possible through the opposite of your true intentions."

The rain battering against your frame might as well be slime slinking down your back. The thought is repulsive. It flies in the face of your most treasured oaths and bonds. "You are proposing that I manipulate this demon with bold-faces lies, deceit, and untruths."

"Yes." The young man looks and sounds ashamed of himself. "I'm sorry."

"Please don't—" Another two years must be falling off your life from stress alone. "Please do not apologize. Thank you for the counsel, Adwin. Is there any way—"

(Paragraphs pushed it over 3/4)
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>>4584745
"I'll accompany you up to the retaining wall, Father, but I can't get any closer. I'm so sorry." He sounds devastated, but there's resolve all through his tone. "You are nothing like the men who imprisoned you, but I cannot— I will not raise a hand against these lost souls. They are suffering. They are confused. They are dying a little more inside with every passing moment. I—" There's tremor all through the young man's frame. "I don't want to see it. You can call me a coward if you like. But I have had enough of darkness and sin. I can face mortal foes. Please— do not make me ask you for Mercy again. Your Goddess' name should be heralded. Not called upon for an end to torture, or anguish."

There should be additional forces at the gate, but you need to make up your mind. The way you've interacted with demons all your life has been on a case-by-case basis. There's no telling what you may be getting yourself into, but you have an example to set.

Oaths to uphold.

A Goddess to serve.

>What's your end goal with this demon?

>A] There are no illusions about the goals of your enemies. Inertia seeks to destroy the nation, sully your people's faith in the Gods, and to corrupt the souls of mankind. There can be no Mercy here. You're nowhere near as naive as most people would believe. Hesitation here could mean the loss of countless lives. You seek to grant this demon a swift DEATH, and nothing more.

>B] A collective of demons is easily the most terrifying enemy you can face. The extent of its power may escape your mundane ability, and without Adwin's support, you don't know if you can handle it. This is a golden opportunity to trust in your allies. FAITH is your Catalyst. You'll let others be your guide, and pray that you all can take down this monstrosity together.

>C] This is a demon of misconception. It thrives on falsehoods. It doesn't sit right with the Father of Honesty to manipulate anyone. You will do everything in your power to UNDERSTAND it.

>D] Write-in.
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>>4584747
>C] This is a demon of misconception. It thrives on falsehoods. It doesn't sit right with the Father of Honesty to manipulate anyone. You will do everything in your power to UNDERSTAND it.
Time to bring out the big guns.. and convert the demon to our aid
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>>4584747

>>C] This is a demon of misconception. It thrives on falsehoods. It doesn't sit right with the Father of Honesty to manipulate anyone. You will do everything in your power to UNDERSTAND it.

Use the Relic, show it truth not through its own perception, but our own. It is in its nature to misinterpret but we are the Father of truth, and it will see the world through our eyes, for what it is and what it can be. It will see the light in atonement, not through its own eyes but through ours. Just like we did with Harvey and James, peel away the lies and let it bask in truth, the one thing they all missed in life as well.
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>>4584747
>C] This is a demon of misconception. It thrives on falsehoods. It doesn't sit right with the Father of Honesty to manipulate anyone. You will do everything in your power to UNDERSTAND it.

Based C votes.
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>>4584747
C; We are it's enemies, and we seek to harm it if needed. While there may be miscommunication, we do not wish to harm with it's conceptions. Will you harm us?

Please ignore the above phrasing if it's nonsensical, I'm trying to invert meaning honestly, and it's giving me a headache.
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>>4584752
>>4584762
>>4584765
>>4584784
(Unanimous C vote insanity on no sleep. Yes. Perfection. Vote is locked. Writing now.)
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>>4584788
"Stay here. Keep safe, and out of sight." You unclasp the chain from around your neck, and stash your mace.

Respect stares back at you. "I will."

https://youtu.be/eUtBJK7yyaE

Turning your back on Interpretation, you march for the final gate between you, and disaster. There's no fewer than thirty civilians posted inside. They all recognize you instantly. The badgering, questions, and concern for your appearance are all shoved aside. Threats are made to literally shove aside anyone who doesn't open the damn gate.

The metal-banded gate rises on a theater of insanity.

Exiting the checkpoints towered defense, you walk out into the eye of the Storm. Extending one hundred feet into the sky is an orb of darkness. The raven-feather shroud captures deep, angry, unnatural clouds at its peak. At the ground level, on the rooftops of countless homes, and in every advantageous position they could harness, forty priests of Vengeance are all simultaneously invoking their God. They're mostly lining the streets on both sides of the river Morinburn. The water is running red with the blood of your countrymen. Every last one of the priests is drenched in more crimson, shadow, and sin. More worrying than their physical appearance are the spikes of black agony that are dipping and darting out of your vision. The raw anger behind every last one of their motions cannot be seen. Their wrath is felt.

Normally, a stunning display of lights, little houses, and a scenic district would carve through the heart of your city. Instead— in the otherwise pitch-black chamber— two devotees to the tempest (even if they won't openly admit it) are waging battle against a nightmare. Sister Miramond's white hair and tangerine robes are whipping about in an impossible wind. The slender wisp of a woman has her arms and hands extended in prayer, as she wraps an impossible, blustering gale around the body of a gargantuan monster. The sheer force of the raw power emanating from her figure has sparks of orange electricity dancing off into the air. The stream of her connection to Storm lifts up, off into the sky— and you realize that the smoke gathered at the peak of this unholy cage is smoke that's risen from the body of a priestess.

She's being braced hard by Carlisle "Irefist" Ballard. The ex-sailor is standing beside her, bellowing orders, and gesturing to the machinations of what must be their mutual work. Hundreds of feet of black, dripping, divine rope has been manifested by the clergy present. It's' knotted, weighed down, and tethered together into the largest net you've ever seen. Each link in the mesh is at least five feet across.

These men and women have fought to exhibit restraint in your city.

(1/3)
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>>4584865
No fear is in your heart as you stride towards the creature tethered at the center of it all. Nestled deeply in the current of bloody foam and cold-running water is a demon of misconception. Its frame easily spans one hundred feet from end-to-end. It is an amalgamation of dismembered limbs, crushed faces, broken bones, and bulging eyes. No humanity can be seen. No motion is in its gargantuan being. You're reminded of a worm, as the mass borders on shapelessness.

A terrifying thought occurs to you, as an expert on demons: This is not a demon of any God.

Rather than stop you in your tracks, the revelation has you boldly walk out into the open. The air dries, and static lifts all the light in your eyes skywards. Though the demon is nestled into the river, it reaches up past the ground level, and an additional twenty feet into the air. Lightning breaks overhead in a crackle that sets every hair on your body on end. Your breath catches in your throat as you pass under the monster's shadow.

Panicked cries erupt from several priests of Vengeance that have spotted you. Irefist spotted you faster than anyone. You both exchange a simple glance. All it conveys is that you both will do what you need to do.

As a bridge between divinity and sin, you speak to a demon with all the sincerity you possess. It doesn't matter if any living soul hears it, or if you're stopped dead in your tracks. The whip of the wind cannot drown out the voice of Corcaea's most accomplished preacher. "Your form has no function. You have sought salvation in blasphemy. I do not bring you atonement. Gaze upon a priest of punishment."

The maw of thirty mouths all simultaneously open, and scream with enthusiasm.

Every single soul within the black canopy recoils. All the green in your eyes must be visible, as you hold your ground, and fight to not collapse in amazement. Your verve redoubles. The golden locket you've kept clasped tightly underhand is clicked open.

"You cannot HOPE to understand!"

Several steps are taken forward to greet the slowly extending demon. The height of it is elongating, pushing, and creeping along the riverbank. It's more like a maggot, writhing with its confines in an attempt to reach out.

Every last soul present is fighting with their very souls to keep it down. You're not wasting a second, and open the small mirror in the open palm of your hands. "What is it that you all have missed in life?"

A cacophony of voices bellows from the beast in a deafening roar. Your shield is dropped, and both hands go to your ears as you try to not scream or go deaf on the spot. It's the loudest thing you've ever heard. It's in your skull. It's in your mind. It's in your heart. It's in your soul.

The pain in your soul is so sharp, so instant, and so violently intense that you double over and collapse to your knees.

(2/3)
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>>4584867
The demon screams in many voices:
"JUSTICE!"
"LOVE!"
"HONOR!"
"COURAGE!"
"FREEDOM!"
"FAMILY!"
"PRIDE!"
"LOYALTY!"
"BEAUTY!"
"MEANING!"

Every inch of your bones aches, as the pain in you spikes to a crescendo. There's no opportunity to let your mind register pain, or pleasure, or anything in-between.

The roar redoubles, and trembles the very ground you kneel upon. The demon is a single voice. A single power. "Focus. Unity. Zeal. Veneration for that which we are. That which we always will be. The only truth. The only answer. The end of all things. Think of us not as so naive. We can assume any shape that we wish. We are faceless. Our faith is placed in the only option we have left. Having lived for all of our lives under your dominion, can you not blame us for HATING that which DEPRIVED us of our MOST fundamental truths?! All that you cherish and love! The things that make humanity worth fighting for! THESE THINGS ARE NOT AFFORDED TO ALL PEOPLE. WE HAVE MADE OUR OWN MEANING where there is NONE. The ABSENCE of meaning is a cause worth fighting for. The reality afforded to ALL of us. Inertia."

You understand. The ringing in your ears, the pain in your soul, and the clarity of the mirror in hand could not be more obvious. There's nothing that these cultists wish to hide. They know that the Gods are as real as you, or I. The trouble is that every single one of them is a person who's felt as if the Gods failed them. There's at least fifty dead souls right before you, seeking to lash out, and kill every last person around them where you stand. Or kneel, in your case. You have your truth. So do they.

Some reflections are fairer than others.

Not everyone will take as kindly to their innermost reflection as the brave men and women who fight alongside you.

A pulse of energy emits from the figure. In the same instant, Sister Miramond screams to the skies, and swings her arms down in one fell motion that will surely seek to destroy this creature where it stands. Every single clergyman in the vicinity shouts, dives for cover, or moves to charge ahead. Some of them might be trying to save you.

There's probably no Time to pray.

>A] Reach for your shield, brace yourself, and try to tank the hit. (AN OBSCENELY HIGH ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

>B] Today is a bad day to die. You're willing to take a risk with your very soul. Invoke Mercy for Her protection. (A HIGH ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

>C] Now that you're armed with a greater understanding of this demon and its situation, there's likely something more you can do with the incredible amount of power, resources, alliances, and utility afforded to you. (Write-in. A ROLL MAY BE REQUIRED.)
>>
>>4584872

>>C] Now that you're armed with a greater understanding of this demon and its situation, there's likely something more you can do with the incredible amount of power, resources, alliances, and utility afforded to you. (Write-in. A ROLL MAY BE REQUIRED.)

Apologize, for everything. To seek retribution to those who have wronged you IS meaning, the pursuit of justice is holy. In some way they are not that different from the 40 priests of Vengeance that are fighting them, seeking to avenge that which was lost or not given.

We should probably make note of this during our sermon, we know EXACTLY what these people lack, as a the Father of the church of Mercy we must provide.
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>>4584872
You say there are no other options, but that is misconceived. If you truely believe in the absence of meaning, of Inertia and its creed, then take my hand, to prove your faith in it's absence. Let us see which is stronger, the Pantheon's light or it's absence. If your meaning rings true, and mine false, then you have nothing to fear from our embrace.

Embrace the demon with relic in hand, and invoke Mercy, to save it from it's misconceptions. Unanimous vote is required, as this is probably the most insane idea I have come up with, and if anyone has a better idea, I'm all ears for it.
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>>4584899
Your right in your assessment, and I would like to mention that our resident priestess of Storm is going to zap this demon into oblivion, with us in the crossfire. Whatever our intentions, we must act to defend ourselves from Storm's wrath.
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>>4584907

Well it looked like the priests of Vengeance are trying to save us, they are coordinating so I doubt anyone would have given the go ahead for the zap if we were surely gonna get hurt. But fair enough i will add this

>B] Today is a bad day to die. You're willing to take a risk with your very soul. Invoke Mercy for Her protection. (A HIGH ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

Gold is very conductive so make some lightning rods AWAY from us, redirect the zap into the ground.
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>>4584911
Will support, though everyone will think us mad. Let's see if we can fight his demon with our honesty.
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>>4584917

I meant it in more of a "You are seconds away from zappy death but I am really sorry it had to end this way."
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>>4584920
Ahhh, thank you for clarifying. May have been misconceptived otherwise :^)
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>>4584872
>C] Now that you're armed with a greater understanding of this demon and its situation, there's likely something more you can do with the incredible amount of power, resources, alliances, and utility afforded to you. (Write-in. A ROLL MAY BE REQUIRED.)
So, Betrayal it is. Father of mercy spinning.mp4
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>>4584899
>>4584901
>>4584907
>>4584911
>>4584917
>>4584920
>>4584925
>>4584929
(Hey guys, just want to be clear! If I'm not mistaken, your plan is to:

1. Invoke Mercy instantaneously.
2. Use Mercy's protection to try save your life from Sister Miramond's counter-attack via Storm, by creating golden lightning rods to redirect any lightning away from you towards the ground
3. Despite the demon's attack (a pulse of energy/shockwave that is originating only a few yards away from you), place second priority on using the invocation for protection from the demon itself?
4. Do not interfere with the efforts of the priests of Vengeance
5. Embrace the demon, while communicating an apology (if at all possible)?

This situation is pretty chaotic and I just want to be totally clear before moving forward.)
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>>4585140

I don't know how much of that is actually possible but here is my vote broken down.

1. invoke mercy to make those lightning rods and any other needed protection, the scene is really chaotic so I didn't know what else to write in.
2. apologize
3 profit?

I thought that voting for B would also protect the priests. if not i want it to also be extended to them.
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>>4585143
(Thank you for clarifying. Due to how badly you guys have been taxing yourself, opting to charge into this situation after having recently voted to avoid invoking, and the sheer scope of how many people are present-- I made the mistake of assuming that you would want to extend yourself as little as possible. You know what they say about assumptions, so I'm glad you asked!

You can DEFINITELY try to use the invocation to protect yourself AND the other priests present. As always, doing more will take more out of you. Naturally you guys will prioritize the targets in the greatest threat of danger. In this case that would be yourself, due to your proximity and focus from the demon. That said, I will make a note that you want to try and protect as many of your allies as possible as well.

To be super clear, the severity of the situation is why a roll is still being called for despite invoking AND having your Relic handy. I use dice to reflect a chance for failure due to circumstances that might be totally out of your guys hands, and this combat is definitely chaotic enough to warrant it. Going to wait a minute and see if the other voters had anything else they wanted to clarify, since it took me a bit to get back to you all. Thanks for your patience man!)
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>>4584899
>>4584901
>>4584907
>>4584911
>>4584917
>>4584920
>>4584925
>>4584929
>>4585143
>THE EDGE OF OBLIVION
>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.

>-55 SOUL STRAIN (This is going to hurt.)
>-17 SLEEP DEPRIVATION (This malus will slowly worsen until you rest.)
>-10 RIDE THE LIGHTNING (Past invocations to Storm have increased your physical sensitivity to electricity and seizure.)
>-15 PSYCHIC SCREAM (The close proximity of this demon-- in combination with its odd communication-- has inflicted serious, deep-seated injury.)
>+20 FAITH OF A GODDESS (You have been VERY Merciful.)
>+20 GREEN DAHLIA (Every attempt at granting this demon salvation carried the blessing of Agriculture.)
>+10 STRENGTH IN NUMBERS (You're far from alone in this situation.)
>+15 COMBAT VETERAN (The fog of war is yet another tool in your arsenal.)
>+15 FATHER OF GOLD (Playing to your strengths could save countless lives.)
>+15 LEADER OF THE CHURCH OF MERCY (ANYTHING short of embracing this situation would be insulting to your station.)

(That's a -2 to the roll after all modifiers.)
>>
Rolled 85 (1d100)

>>4585181
YECH EXPRESS
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Rolled 2 (1d100)

>>4585181

BLESS ME ONCE MORE
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Rolled 52 (1d100)

>>4585181
Come on Malimos!
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>>4585153
Also, it wasn't a mistake, just an unfortunate consequence of getting involved in this affair. After all, we can't have the Father of Protection fail in the defense, now can we? :^)

I still expect us to take it easy after this affair, even if I have to force a rest on y'all.
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>>4585198
(Makes perfect sense. :^) Making a note of it all anon.)

>>4585187
>>4585191
>>4585193
(Aw yee bois that's a 83 out of 100. Locking everything here, writing now!)
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>>4585205
Though I will admit, this adds greater context to the C vote. We should be relying on our allies more, not trying to tank a demon semi-solo. While I can excuse this invocation as projection of strength to reassure our allies, we should stop ourselves from running straight into these sorts of situations in the first place.
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>>4585205
>>4585209
https://youtu.be/3eq-qUy-a-A

The chaos that unfolds is so intense, Time might as well have slowed to a stop. As the demon of misconception before you releases a shockwave of raw energy, you realize the nature of its attack. The raw devastation you heard in its voice moments before was weaponized blasphemy. The pain that lanced your soul itself was an auditory, demonic reminder of the absence of the Gods. This demon is attempting to attack you on a fundamental level.

They're misguided. Faith is the nearest, and dearest thing to your heart that you can possibly conceive.

Bless me once more.

Protection is your creed. You'd rather die than to stand by and lose one more soul.

The pressure and push on your soul itself surfaces with a scream all your own. Desperately invoking Mercy eclipses the worst that this demon could throw at you.

The desire to grant this creature salvation gets you through the white-hot solar flare in the back of your mind. The love through your innermost being. An embrace deeper than the skin. A hope greater than what any mortal man should be capable of possessing.

All you want to do is to live to your next sermon. To take a Goddess' hands between your own, and express even a fraction of your care. To share with these fallen brothers and sisters that they HAVE found meaning in their search for an answer. To grant mankind their answer.

Your fellow priests have attempted to rapidly construct as a defense around you. Gates of black, volcanic glass spikes in all directions. From little rocky home, to every fallen bridge above your river, they intertwine their efforts with your own tangible radiance. It's the sheer strength of your devotion that causes beams of sunlight to burst from the cracks in the cobblestone streets, and to form in a weave of materials shields.

Vengeance and Mercy are each other's foremost complement. Offense and defense alike slams a massive barrier up between you, your allies, this behemoth, and all the energy it unleashes.

Sister Miramond's hands fall at the same instant as your trembling hands rise. The pain on you is worse than death. It's better. It's a field of lightning rods that instantly materialize from streaks of solid gold. The Father of the Day cannot temper his light. The defense holds, and your reach towards the very skies redirect the closest arcs that fall from Storm's vortex of destruction.

No one is dying on your watch.

Every cloud that has gathered above becomes a lead weight, in the sudden absence of wind. The moisture and gathering energy within the maelstrom above sounds in a clap of thunder. Ten thousand veins of electricity fall from the skies, and collide in an earth-shattering roar with the monster before you. Every last figure on the field of battle is at risk of taking in the same blow.

(1/3)
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>>4585303
Thousands of arcs of electricity blanket the ground. The gold you've manifested focuses the worst of the attack into each central point. As the wave of the demon's energetic blast surges forward, it intermingles with Sister Miramond's lighting. The rods burst. Liquid metal explodes in showers of harmless light and glimmer the instant that the defense has served its purpose. You can't hope to stagger to your feet, given the force of the destruction raining on you and your allies. With the pulse the demon's emnated, you and every other priest barely holds their ground. It's the impression of an even greater collective. The devastating push against your barriers cracks the glass, splinters the gold, and forces further strain onto your soul itself.

The demon of misconception becomes still, while a priestess of Storm keeps attacking. A sweeping gesture from the gale around her body wraps every last bolt of lightning into a solid band of rope. She tightens it into a garrote around every visible neck. It becomes barbs of jagged energy that stabs into one hundred protruding eyes. Ripples of energy begin pulsing from the demon before you. There's only an instant to react.

Both of your hands come to fists. A blinding tower shield fifteen feet tall flares forth with your conviction, just as three priests of Vengeance teleport behind you. They're all absurdly grizzled, and much older than most clergy you're used to seeing. Blood whips off from the eldest's sleeves and beard with a violent, sudden, and catastrophic motion towards the foe ahead.

As the monstrosity hurls itself forward, hundreds of glass spikes project from the very shield you've constructed. All the clergymen at your side are leaning hard on the defense, and weaponizing it.

They cry to their God for the same atonement that this creature is seeking.

They understand.

Rather than be crushed instantly by the weight of this massive creature, you're able to take the shield before you, and dissipate it in an instant. The spikes remain, and slam into the beast's smoking, charring body. The might of Sister Miramond's attack is cooking its Flesh alive. A hot blend of black smoke intermingles with the blood in your throat, from the sheer amount of force behind each one of your motions. You stagger to your feet, as Mercy guides a network of molten protection around every last one of the collapsed, dying, or fallen priests in the distance. Many have succumbed to their own exhaustion. It's killing you, too.

You cry out to a monster with all the love you possess. This is not the work of the Goddess of empathy. It's your own voice. The leader of the Church of Sincerity. "I'm so sorry. You've been pursuing your own justice! The longing for everything you've lost has YET to be rewarded! Take our parting regret. I can't apologize enough for everything. Your words are not LOST at the edge of oblivion! YOUR MESSAGE HAS BEEN HEARD!"

(2/3)
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>>4585304
A scream loosens from the priestess of Storm on the horizon. She swings her hands together into a traditional form of prayer. Exhaustion drops her to her knees. The common man at her back can't even be seen beyond the gale whipping about her frame. A bright voice cries out in agony, and ecstasy. The tension in Sister Miramond's frame is visible from a distance, and mimics the intensity of a glowing light now wrapping around the demon of misconception.

This feels like a betrayal. You're the Father of Honesty, and scream to every single man on the field of battle. "GET DOWN! GET DOWN!"

Every figure falls prostrate before the Gods Themselves.

The palms of your hands pool with heat and divinity, as you drop down, and reach out to every last soul that can still be saved. A quarter of the men here have fallen. Those who stand a shot at survival are already shrouding themselves in darkness. There's ample space in all your land in-between. In an instant, you snake the streets with further networks of conductive gold. It might be enough to direct the anger of turmoil Himself away.

The demon is electrified. Its bones flicker against the silhouette of muscle in yellow and black.

It's an affront to Mercy in every form, and rips at your heart. It's hard to tell if the extent you're pushing yourself to, the unneeded deaths of your people, or the blinding light before you is greater cause for sorrow. The tenuous grip you're keeping on the situation at hand is robbing you of your senses. You're certain that the demon didn't make a sound throughout the onslaught waged against it, but a low gasp echoes now from the mouths closest to you.

A sob falls from your lips, as you kneel in a field of liquid gold, smoking tissue, and the scent of lightning. The rain is relentless. One of the priests at your back collapses from exhaustion. The men all around are slowly raising their gaze in horror, and disbelief.

It's still alive.

>A] "THAT'S ENOUGH!" You don't care if it's risking the lives of everyone present. You'll keep pushing yourself, to try and get more answers. You know you can rest eventually. It will be worth it.

>B] "WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?! MERCY!" Extending this creature's suffering for one more instant flies in the face of everything you believe in. It's miserable, but you're already far beyond mortal limits. This thing has to die.

>C] Stay silent, and focus everything you have on keeping your allies safe and protected. You're not resting until everyone here is safe, healed, and the dead are accounted for.

>D] Write-in.
>>
(Going to call our weekend sessions here! Thank you all for the spectacular turnout for the VERY quick launch to this holiday thread! Hope the quality didn't dip too hard near the end of this evening. Had an absolute blast, and can't wait to get to more tomorrow. We'll resume our regular weekday schedule then. Have a great night guys. Vote will remain open until I return.)
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>>4585308
B, C; we can't risk keeping it alive, and we have other battles to fight on this day. I'd love to clear up it's misconception, but we don't have the energy, manpower, or Time to dally. Give it Mercy, heal up our allies, and release the invocation as soon as we can. We still have tunnels to map, a surmon to preach, and ideally I'd love to take some Time to rest in-between.
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>>4585321
+1
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>>4585308

>>B] "WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?! MERCY!" Extending this creature's suffering for one more instant flies in the face of everything you believe in. It's miserable, but you're already far beyond mortal limits. This thing has to die.

Mercy in a more tangible form. Everyone is at their breaking point, we can't let all their efforts go to waste. Sister Miramond might need some aid, is there any way we could combine our invocation of Mercy with her invocation of Storm?
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>>4585321
>>4585499
>>4585509
(Wonderful stuff guys and good morning! Locking the vote here. Writing now.)
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>>4585661
https://youtu.be/PqXPW0oBKgg

The crackle of lightning around the demon before you is nearly as sharp as the tear in your voice. "WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?! MERCY!"

Horror sinks into you. Sister Miramond is doing all she can. Her bright voice is a scream, as she tries to redouble her efforts, and doesn't have any more to give. The monstrosity under her is inert, but it just won't die.

There are other battles to fight this day. You simply can't risk keeping this demon alive. Your friends and allies are at their breaking point, and you will NOT let their efforts go to waste.

Wavering, you shift your stance. The priests of Vengeance at your back do the same. They hang on every last bitter syllable that leaves your lips. "This demon deserves Mercy— in a more tangible form. Cover me."

Nods. The eldest looks like he wants to say something, but there's no Time for a reply. The men at your side seize the moment, and take hold of an unseen force. You gasp.

The exact same pulse of energy that the demon emitted moments before is rapidly re-materializing. It's not originating from the monster. It's on the borders of the district. The priests of reciprocation beside you have manifested your attacker's blow. The shock wave is sent straight back towards its source, and you match it with your own path of destruction.

The blood under your nails digs into your skin, slick with the pouring rain. The network of defense you've spread between every priest before you drops. The men about you shout, and redouble their efforts. Spikes of shadow and blood are hurled towards the demon from all directions. They are untouched by the attack of their allies, which passes through them as if they were made of shadow.

There's few creatures alive that can stand before the power you possess. With outstretched palms, you swirl the collective force that was guarding forty-three people, and turn it into a singular spike of solid gold.

The ground underfoot cracks and blisters with heat. You thrust both palms forward, towards the gargantuan creature before you. The lightning on it is dull in comparison to the liquid metal and sunlight you possess. The gargantuan weapon flares forward towards the monster before you, and impales the center mass of the demon. It screams. The world itself might as well crack in half from the devastation in its tone.

You murmur one more apology. Not even the Gods can understand how badly you wished to have helped this being. Every open finger comes together into a fist, focusing the attack. The spike that's impaled through the demon's body draws into the being's interior. Every inch of its smashed bone, stretched muscle, and twisted faces begin to glow from within.

(1/3)
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>>4585707
The priestess of Storm on the horizon drops herself to the ground. The chains of lightning on the behemoth pull in so tightly, it cuts through the creature's broken Flesh. Blood showers into the air from the lacerations. Before the droplets can fall, the latent heat within your own source of destruction is released.

You collapse to the ground, and try not to cry from the ecstasy, or agony. Your eyes stay skyward, to the colossal figure before you. A sunspot appears on the demon's body. Another. Every one of its mouths open in a simultaneous scream, as a sun of your making detonates.

The demon erupts.

There is no viscera. No blood. In a shower of light, the demon's collective being evaporates. A wave of heat bursts forth from the motion, that should cook every one of you alive.

The priestess in the distance releases the bonds around her quarry. The lightning and clouds she'd manifested minutes before pick up in a maelstrom of wind. An air-stream cuts across the battlefield faster than you can scream, and separates every last living soul from the full might of your ability. The heat of the sun never reaches you all.

It can be felt within, as you draw in on yourself, and struggle to even breathe. There's a pain so deep in the center of your being, you lose sight and sound for several long moments.

As you open your eyes, the monstrosity is completely gone. Sparks of yellow-gold luminescence gently descend from the absence of its figure. Showers of light skitter along the floor. A blackened scorch mark persists in the riverbed.

There's no fewer than ten priests that have ran to your side.

They're all thanking you.

-----

It takes over an hour to see to every mortal injury on the field of battle. It's a haze of euphoria, agony, and divinity. Bloody faces. Grateful faces. One hundred words of gratitude. Burns, lacerations, hearing damage, and exhaustion. Every singular soul you save is shaken, and they don't mind in the slightest that you're scarcely able to stand.

What matters is that they live. It's certain that you stop any further loss of life. Weakness and injury is utterly eliminated from every last man standing. But this is the fifth time in a single day that you've invoked the Gods, and you're feeling it. There's an agony in you that goes deeper than the skin.

You are capable of invoking 8 Gods, command an entire city, have authority second only to the King, can requisition any priest or priestess in the nation, are the wealthiest man in Corcaea, have the skills of a scholar, are the leading researcher of the Catalyst, AND as the defender of the city of shields it is UNDERSTANDABLE that the sheer amount of power that you wield is overwhelming at the best of times. You have a track record of outright forgetting every resource that's at your disposal— and resolve to never let something like this happen again.

(2/3)
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>>4585708
Father Pevrel has lost nine more of his children. There was nothing that could be done for six of them, who fell before you even got here.

Over half of the men and women you healed immediately went to scout through the district to ensure that no civilians are still present. Ten have lingered to keep an eye on you, to await orders you may wish to give (they are VERY grateful), and have questions regarding your behavior and assistance with the demon of misconception. You're an expert— and the leader of this city— after all.

The remainder of the priests of Vengeance already took off to the gate, to see to the rest of the city.

Sister Miramond and Irefist have been keeping off to the side of the district, and have yet to approach anyone. They both look unharmed, and are obviously intentionally avoiding anyone.

There's no injury on you. Releasing the invocation to Mercy comes with no additional pain in your body. She's clearly exerting every bit of power She has when you both are together to aid in your exhaustion, injury, pain, and strength. The ache in your chest just won't relent. You're not sure if it's the way you're damaging your very soul— or the grief over fifty lives lost that you'll never get the chance to truly save.

>A] Go to Sister Miramond and Irefist.
>1] You want to gather information on what they've done before giving any orders.
>2] You need a better pair of eyes so badly right now, you want to have Irefist's assistance. He won't say no.
>3] You want both of their assistance, and have needed to speak with Sister Miramond since the instant you met. Now's as good a Time as any.

>B] These priests of Vengeance were willing to die on yours and your city's behalf. They want answers.
>1] Just talk to a few of them. Remain respectful. You just want to remind them that there's some humanity here.
>2] Make a small service here for the fallen. You can't guarantee that you'll be available in the future, and are too emotionally distraught to make a formal address.
>3] Offer to hold a funerary service tomorrow, for any brothers or sisters they've lost. You'll make the Time.
>4] Broach the subject of your collective efforts, answer any questions posed to you respectfully, and inform everyone present that they're welcome to come to your sermon in the morning. They'll be the center of its subject, after all.

>C] You're *really* upset.
>1] Everyone is going to think you're insane, but make a small memorial site for the demon. It was comprised of over fifty human souls. If anyone asks, answer honestly that you are just as devastated over the loss of a demon as the loss of the humans it once was.
>2] Take a minute to rest, and to grieve. You are going to kill yourself at this rate. Try to reflect on how to avoid something like this from ever happening again.

>D] Write-in. (Bearing in mind that there are over thirty capable combatants here, many of who's lives you saved, who are all willing to follow you.
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>>4585709
>>B] These priests of Vengeance were willing to die on yours and your city's behalf. They want answers.
>4] Broach the subject of your collective efforts, answer any questions posed to you respectfully, and inform everyone present that they're welcome to come to your sermon in the morning. They'll be the center of its subject, after all.

Then

>A] Go to Sister Miramond and Irefist.
>3] You want both of their assistance, and have needed to speak with Sister Miramond since the instant you met. Now's as good a Time as any.

We are really fucked up and need all the help we can get, we know Miramond is trustworthy and we did sort of save her ass a bit. Touch on the fact we want her transferred to our retinue.
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>>4585724
+1, with a touch of B3, we can do a memorial to all the lives lost when this affair is finished. Let's get to the hideout, Adwin to mapping, and a chance to rest in the meantime.
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>>4585724
+1
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>>4585730

Yeah I am ok with a memorial for all the lives lost during the war, we could do it after the sermon maybe and have everyone attend. That way people will see the sacrifices the theocracy is making and the atrocities that the cultists are committing.
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>>4585724
>>4585730
>>4585771
>>4585795
(Lovely stuff guys. Locking the vote here. Writing now.)
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>>4585832
These priests of Vengeance were willing to die on yours and your city's behalf. They want answers. You take a moment to thank them all sincerely for their efforts, and offer condolences for every life lost. A funerary service should be held, and these holy men warrant more than a field burial. Tomorrow afternoon will be occupied by a memorial service in honor of every brother and sister that's fallen to your enemies. It will be a reminder of the theocracy's sacrifices, and of your enemy's atrocitie. It also serves as a fine segue to invite everyone present to yours and Mercy's sermon. They're going to be the center of its subject, and deserve to be welcomed to the event.

There's a lot of questions. You respectfully see to all of them.
Yes, you have actually been absent from Eadric for nearly a year.
No, you have not been cursed.
Yes, the locket you wear is a holy gift.
No, they may not use it.
Yes, you are going to live after exhibiting power that outclasses Father Pevrel's by leaps and bounds.
No, they do not have to use any restraint with their questioning.
No, that is not an affront to Mercy.
They want to know how you've weaponized Mercy. You politely inform them that death is a cure all its own.
The condition you're in is cause for extreme alarm. It's a magnificent opportunity to remind your allies that the Gods are Merciful, and that you will rest the moment your work is done.
The plans you have for the rest of the city are their primary concern. You stress the faith that you have in your clergy, in Father Pevrel, and in the judgement of the priests gathered before you.

The questions taper off with a great deal of respect, and some pensive planning for how to seize order over the rest of Eadric. You excuse yourself to go to Irefist and Sister Miramond.

Walking doesn't bring any physical exhaustion, but the pain in you is intense enough that you wince from any sudden motions.

Both sailors bristle at your approach, to which you call out, "please save your complaints and attitude for another Time. I am completely fucked."

Their mouths fall open.

You manage to wipe the sweat from your brow, cross over the blood and gore streaked street, and sit alongside them on the cobblestone. No complaints. You sigh, and try to stop clutching at the robes and shirt on your chest. The internal discomfort you're experiencing is unrelenting, and shifting does nothing to alleviate it. At the very least, the weight, residual scent of smoke, and sunlight on the air is comforting.

Sister Miramond is still smoking. She stops staring, but gives a questioning glance to the man at her side. Irefist has no burns on him to speak of. You're an expert on divinity, and instantly recognize that he was protected from the priestess's invocation. The common man undoubtedly was responsible for keeping the situation under control AND directing the might of Storm in a controlled fashion. This woman answered to *his* combat expertise.

(1/2)
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>>4585950
Likely having screamed his own voice hoarse, Irefist rasps at you, "no kidding. That was some shit. You didn't look half bad out there, though. New robes?"

Laughing sounds more like gargling rocks. "Thank you. No. I needed—" You clear your own throat. "—need all the help I can get." A glance to the priestess beside you.

The priestess' hair is standing on end beyond the point of comedy. The impression is of someone who should have died from electrocution several times over. She's still shaking slightly, and rasps, "what are you looking at?"

You use the softest tone you possess. "My trust was well placed. I can't thank you enough for your efforts."

"Then don't," she croaks.

You, and your sailor both give her a look. He starts to interject, and stops as you smirk, "I did, sort of— well. You know. Save your skin."

The priestess mocks outrage. Frogs have less of a rumble in their tone. Coming from a middle-aged woman, it has you and Carl struggling to not make a face at her. "Oh. Excuse me, mister sunshine. Now that you're done *saving the day*, you mind letting me know what you intend to do with the rest of the night?"

"Our black parade—" You love the drama. Your allies roll their eyes, to which you frown. "—they deserve the spotlight just as much as any of us. They have been killing themselves to defend my city. I was not joking. I'm in dire straits, and need all the assistance I can get. Your strengths are unparalleled, and I have cultists to root out." Their expressions lift into something between exhaustion, eagerness, and curiosity. You lean over, and explain, "regardless of how badly I would like for you to be transferred to my retinue, Sister Miramond—" She doesn't look opposed to the idea, and your grimace lifts. "—I have tunnels beneath my city that need clearing and mapping *now.* Will you both accompany me, at least— at least until I get to them?"

The woman beside you gives your congregation member a questioning glance. "Does he ever quit?"

A hard laugh. Irefist spits. "I'm sure this was just a warmup. How far away is this place?"

You sigh with relief. "I'm halfway there. Four districts."

"We'll take a retinue." The woman at your side gets to her feet with a groan, smoothing back her long and wild hair. No hand is extended to you or to Irefist to get up. The aging priestess looks down to you. "Sister Julian Miramond." She smirks. The woman has enough light in her voice to do the church of the sun proud. "Nice place you've got here, Father Anscham, but it could use a lady's touch. Your river is running red! Rats in the streets. Bats in the attic!" She turns and heads for the small gathering of priests of Venegance that were standing by for you without wasting another second. "You're lucky I'm a sucker for conflict!"

Irefist narrows his eyes at you as you get back to your feet. "Came here alone, with all this shit going down?"

"No. Not alone."

(Options in next post.)
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>>4585954
>The following are mutually exclusive.
>Majority vote will decide.

>A] You're willing to take the risk of a larger accompaniment.
>1] Let Sister Miramond requisition as many priests of Vengeance she sees fit for your excursion to the hideout. You don't know how many of Father Pevrel's men you can trust, but these priests were ready to die for you. No one else should be necessary. (High risk of attracting attention. Highest bonus to a fight if there is one.)
>2] There's a ton of civilians at the gate, and these priests have done enough for you. Ask if any able-bodied soul is willing to accompany you across town. Delegate their forces wherever needed along the way so you don't lead anyone straight to the hideout. (Moderate risk of attracting attention. Low bonus to a fight if one occurs. Will aid the city's efforts in some capacity, directly proportionate to how many forces you're willing to pull away.)
>3] Invite virtually anyone who will accompany you to come across town. It's overkill, but you don't want to take any chances. Delegate as much along the way as you're able, to ensure no one is led straight to the hideout. (Guarantee of attracting attention. Guarantee of aiding the city's efforts. May escalate any conflict you encounter. High bonus to combat. Will aid the city's efforts in some capacity, with no guarantee of how many people will be pulled away.)

>C] The company of Sister Miramond, Irefist, and Adwin should be more than sufficient if there's a fight. Your artist is far from exhausted, and you trust he can take any threat that comes after you. You need to rest badly, and this might be the closest you can afford to a proper break for the rest of the night. (Lowest chance of attracting attention, moderate bonus to a fight if you're accosted. May extend how long it takes you to get to the hideout.)

>D] You're not *physically* compromised. You will not invoke under any circumstances, but sure can take a hit for your allies if necessary. Take only Sister Miramond, Irefist, and Adwin. You'll fight on their behalf as much as you're able, knowing Adwin has your back. (Moderate chance of attracting attention, bonuses to the fight will be dependent on your substantial skill (and maluses). Fastest option, though it may wear you out even further. A sufficiently high roll will not exacerbate your condition. Majority vote required.)

>E] Write-in. (A roll will be required.)
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>>4585957
>The woman beside you gives your congregation member a questioning glance. "Does he ever quit?"

>C]

No, he never quits. :^)
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>>4585957

>>C] The company of Sister Miramond, Irefist, and Adwin should be more than sufficient if there's a fight. Your artist is far from exhausted, and you trust he can take any threat that comes after you. You need to rest badly, and this might be the closest you can afford to a proper break for the rest of the night. (Lowest chance of attracting attention, moderate bonus to a fight if you're accosted. May extend how long it takes you to get to the hideout.)

Delegate all of the remaining priests of Vengeance before we leave, try to sic them on the other hideouts we know of and have them search for tunnels there too.
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>>4585962
>>4585964
(Locking the unanimous vote here in hopes of updating a few more times today! About to get a little dumb with the modifiers but I think it will help to further illuminate the situation, explain why the bonus isn't higher, and remind you guys of everything in motion!)

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

>+5 NEVER SURRENDER (Your resilience is inspiring.)
>+15 CITY OF SHIELDS (You know how to utilize Eadric's strengths.)
>+15 WHITE SMOKE (Taking out that demon continued to improve the city's situation!)
+10 FAITH OF A GODDESS (Mercy could not want to support this endeavor more.)
>+10 BLASPHEMOUS CONGREGATION (They've been working around the clock, but are still supporting your efforts.)
>+15 SEA SALT (The sailors with you are exhausted, but are still very capable combatants.)
>+15 SWORD BREAKER (What Adwin doesn't have in fighting experience is made up for by creativity and raw power.)
>+10 DELEGATE (The church of Vengeance is on your side.)
>-20 INERTIA (Your enemies are everywhere.)
>-20 THE SOULS OF MANKIND... (Your race is in a precarious position.)
>-15 FAME (You're the most recognizable, and the most wanted man in the city.)
>-15 COMBAT FATIGUE (Irefist and Sister Miramond are hot out of a serious battle.)
>-10 SLEEP DEPRIVATION (The night is wearing thin, and Irefist has barely been sleeping either.)

(That's still a +15 to the roll after all modifiers.)
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Rolled 5 (1d100)

>>4586024
YECH EXPRESS 2
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Rolled 45 (1d100)

>>4586024
And I thought it would be a slow day today! Not that I'm complaining :^)
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>>4586034
(I'm pleasantly surprised lol, looks like everyone is taking the holidays quite seriously. :^))
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Rolled 2 (1d100)

>>4586024

MY LAST HOPE, MY LAST LIGHT. AID ME.
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Rolled 98 (1d100)

>>4586024
i bet you don't even praise malimos.
w e a k
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Rolled 91 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>4586024
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>>4586044
>>4586045
(Oh my god this is tragic)
>>4586028
>>4586034
>>4586043
(Best of 3 is 60! I need a minute to compose myself lol but will get to writing ASAP.)
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>>4586044
;_;

Malimos, I'm sorry your blessings were ill received. We shall endeavor not to forget your gifts.
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>>4586049
>>4586070
https://youtu.be/MndB7PlkILI

Every remaining priest of Vengeance is assembled. The men of retribution look to you with all the black in their eyes, and grins on their grieving faces.

It feels good to be home.

"An unrivaled opportunity has been granted to us! These insects think they can burrow into the veins of my city, and nest in the heart of my home. My children, please: show them our gratitude. Let no heathen go unpunished. For as my hands remain open, so too must your eyes! FIND THEM!"

A roar of enthusiasm greets you. They're off *running* in a pack. The strike team will root out every hideout your clergy discovered this week, and see what's been handled. A report will be brought to your own cleared building before the night is out.

You couldn't be more proud, and go with light in your heart to the main gate. Adwin was patiently waiting outside, unbothered by the pouring rain. All of you don't mind the downpour in the least. It's relief from the heat, and a fine means of staying alert. You and Irefist have hardly slept, but both of you are wide-eyed as your fire team heads for the next district over.

You all pass into the riverside quarter. It's desolate. You strongly suspect that it was evacuated, given the abandonment of wares and goods on the street even in a time of scarcity. Tattered flags with your city's symbol are vandalized. This no doubt was where the demon of misconception spawned. Fortunately, walking and talking is what you do best. It's with your shield held high— mace in hand for insurance— that you make a few introductions. The pomp and formality has you feeling even more at home. You are going to keep spirits high, even if it kills you and your friends.

"Adwin, this is Sister Julian Miramond. She's a highly respected, veteran priestess of the Church of Storm, and hails from Father Barthalomew's trusted company— all the way north from Rimilde."

A few fine lines around her eyes surface, as she can't help but hide a smile.

Your ward makes a slight nod to her as he walks, with knives in hand. He idly spins one, clearly enjoying testing their balance.

To the young man, you simply state, "Sister Miramond, Adwin Sebastian Anscham."

Both of the sailors almost trip. Their steps falter as *you* continue striding ahead as if this is nothing. "The name is a formal acknowledgement of Adwin's welcome into my family. His esteemed company, loyalty, and skill as an artist is only outclassed by his creativity and *combative ability*. I cannot stress how valuable his company has been. I hope that you will address him with the same respect you would give my very own kin."

Irefist looks at you like you're insane, while Sister Miramond is thoroughly amused. She nods her head to the blonde, and smirks, "a pleasure, Mr. Anscham."

Irefist looks like he's going to die laughing, but shoves down his comments while the blonde levelly replies. "With due respect, ma'am, 'Adwin' is fine."

(1/5)
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>>4586216
You jerk a thumb away from Adwin, and towards Irefist. "Our most irate sailor needs no introduction," you note.

"Of course," the artist frowns. "Sister Superior Tirel had a great deal to say about you. Irefist, was it?" He doesn't wait for a reply. "Is it true that you have killed demons with your bare hands?"

There's instantly a cold sweat on you, as Adwin continues to slowly spin his weapons. Walking up behind him is fine. Keeping an eye on him is fine. This is fine.

Irefist sniffs in hard, and hawks up bloody phlegm into the last of the district's offshoots from the Morinburn River. "If it's all the same to you kid, I'd rather not get into it."

This is fine.

The four of you pass through an utterly unguarded checkpoint. Everyone's hair is on end— particularly Sister Miramond's. Your congregation has been hard at work. Someone dismembered enough charred bodies to spell out one word in the center of this wealthy district's town square.

"Run," Adwin calmly reads aloud. A questioning glance falls to you, as everyone picks up their steps. Screams can be heard over the wall from the next part of town over. "Do you think the author was aware that a cult of Inertia would…"

Irefist laughs "Definitely." Your congregation member gestures to a burnt, decapitated corpse. It's still standing. "Claymore could manage this with a man still standing. Sure wouldn't care to warn them, though."

"It was Spangle." You know the pyromaniac is a genius. She's insane, yes, but a genius.

"How can you be sure?" Julian seems torn between amusement and disgust.

"The way she—" This is stupid. She wouldn't have mobilized cooking for the sake of burning men alive. Right?

"Out with it."

Mumbling, you keep your eyes to the piles of death. "Those burn marks are unmistakable. I would recognize her barbecue anywhere."

You all remain impressed and fairly pensive as the sound of screams intensifies. Everyone looks to you. You sigh. Keeping your shield high— staying at the center of the group— you look to Adwin. "I have your back. Alright?"

A quick nod. The young man rips off a number of scarves that were fastened around his shoulders, and drapes them over an arm. It's odd, but you don't question it while he politely directs his attention towards your other company. "You are welcome to stay behind me, if you wish."

"Not on your life, kid." Irefist makes a point of loudly popping every knuckle, cracking his neck, and picking up a large plank of wood from the street. It's about two by four feet, littered with nails, and is so excessive that you have to fight not to get distracted with any fleeting fancies over what could be done with it.

Softly muttering, "Mercy," gets you through the best of it.

(2/5)
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>>4586219
The gate is manned. A mercantile district is on the other side, embroiled in conflict. Irefist happily kicks in a side door to the checkpoint. Inside the stone walled defense are five men with spears and shields. Civilians. They take one look at the hulking sailor, your obviously unhinged priestess of Storm, the malicious weapons in your oddball son's hands, and you.

They lower their weapons, look the other way, and you all pass into the mercantile ward unscathed.

An arrow immediately whizzes overhead. You keep your shield up, while Julian shoves you to the back of your procession. "Keep your head down!"

The four of you dart to the far wall. It's a longer path, and the night is wearing thin, but it gives you all at least one side of safety. Several buildings are darted behind. The screaming in the center of a chaotic marketplace is cause for alarm. You can't make out any civilians in the thick of the fight. Three priestesses of Vengeance are back-to-back, and are taking on a number of rowdy looters. A few of the vagrants are sporting strips of brown cloth in pockets or around their face.

The priestess in your midst excuses herself for a moment, while you all continue your path forward. The hiss of her whisper hangs in the air for a moment behind her, after taking off running. "Should give you all a good distraction!"

You keep your gaze high, to every window the ranged assault could have come from. Julian's high-pitched shriek sings from a nearby home, at the roof. You're certain she has the violence covered, while you and your men proceed through several narrow streets.

Rain has the pavement slick, and muddy runoff threatens your footing. The shouting in the market square is way too obnoxious to not be a ploy.

Coming around a corner, four of your old guards charge out from the shadows. One is armed with a spear and shield. The other three have longswords from *your* armory. The gilded handles catch on a flash of lightning.

Irefist swings the massive plank of wood in his hands towards the shielded guard with a scream. The fine chainmail and pauldron your sailor is wearing takes the lead, as he barrels forward, laughing like a madman. They collide, slamming forward, and your guard immediately begins beating the former man in your employ to death.

Adwin dips into a low position, and throws the sodden scarves he's been carrying straight towards the other three guard's faces. Before the fabric touches them, he turns into a frantic swing from one of the attacker's swords. Their blades hook together. The man lets out a confused and panicked cry. With a hard twist of his dagger, Adwin snaps the sword before him in two.

One half of a weapon clatters to the ground, is swept away by the artist's foot. His upper body is preoccupied with an odd twist, that sweeps his weapon up, and cuts the guard's right hand clean off at the wrist. Before a scream leaves the victim's throat, your boy slits his neck.

(3/5)
>>
>>4586220
You resist the urge to gasp, to run forward, to pray, or to do anything more than calmly keep to the shadows. This is likely the closest thing to rest you'll be getting all night, and your men have it handled.

While Adwin parries two swordsmen facing him with a small measure of curiosity, Irefist finishes beating the other guard to death with the giant plank of wood he's been carrying around. The bloody lumber is hurled through the air towards the rest of the fighters. It crashes into both guards that are plaguing your boy, and you can't help but wonder how your congregation member would have taken to the worst demons you've faced.

If this is how you all operate on an off day, you can't help but wonder how things could have gone differently in Ostedholm.

The reverie is snapped away as six more men come running from the direction you were headed. You urgently snap to your allies, "this way," and duck down into the narrow side street.

The sound of screams are at your back, as Adwin slits the throat of both other men he was facing. He might have been drawing out fighting them just to measure their behavior. It's possibly a problem, but you don't have the chance to address it right at this moment.

Irefist and Adwin flank you. You're the most recognizable and wanted man in the city, and you all are on high alert for everyone who's targeting you.

Sure enough, the archers make themselves known in the distance. The breadth of your shield flies up, as both your allies dive behind you. The assault, the barrage against your defense, the ache in your arms, and the memory of old daggers lasts for only a moment.

The sound of kindling flame picks up on the edge of your hearing. It's accompanied by shrill laughter. Screams. Cries for Mercy.

Sister Miramond comes running moments later from a rooftop, and casually jumps down like she didn't just set flame to your city.

"Please stop setting my city on fire," you mutter.

The cultists pursuing you all can't be permitted to follow you back to the hideout.

"We have more important things than rocks and gardens to worry about, Father," the priestess snips in reply.

Adwin stops walking, and tilts his head slightly. "Not necessarily."

A suicidal cultist peeks around the edge of the alleyway. A single flick of your boy's wrist snaps one of his knives into their neck. So much force was used, the weapon continues in a straight line through the victim's neck. Their head rolls out into the alleyway.

You all stop walking. The men that come around the corner stop walking.

Your boy runs straight at them with a straight face, and enough brutality to put a demon to shame.
It takes less than a minute for every mask to be thrown to the floor.
Weapons to be shattered.
For five new corpses to collapse to the floor.

(4/5)
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>>4586224
Adwin calmly returns to your side, as you all pick up the pace, and head for the end of the district. He mildly informs you, "violence was inevitable, Father. I struck as decisively as I was able."

Irefist coughs. "Pretty fuckin' able."

"Fights like a demon," Julian mutters. Her gaze lingers on the blood-soaked blonde for a moment. "You're injured."

Your heart rate spikes, and your gaze snaps to Adwin fast enough to give a lesser man whiplash. He's scratched in many places. The blood is mostly *his.* You swallow a wave of panic. It would be enough to stop most men in their tracks, yet he looks completely unphased. Nothing looks lethal, but he should be totally compromised. You're already digging for gauze and bandages. "Are you alright?"

A detached look stares at you. "Of course."

He copes with pain by disassociation.

You choke down a wave of nausea, and get behind him. There's no one at your back. You're keeping it that way. Both hands go to dressing every visible wound as you walk. No poison. Thank the Gods.

Irefist and Sister Miramond dart ahead, looking bothered, but they don't waste any time in checking the next wall for enemy forces.

You keep a sharp eye out, all while taking the moment to cover more of Adwin's injury.

Julian's whisper is remarkably loud. It makes you nearly jump out of your skin, but immediately sets your nerves at ease. "All clear."

The rest of the wrappings are put away. Just about every inch of Adwin's skin is covered. "There wasn't any time for a poultice or balm," you mutter.

"I'll be alright."

Crossing over to the checkpoint, you both stop just outside the gate. The snowy-haired comes around the corner. "Father Pevrel's men are at the post. They've been ordered not to move under pain of worse than death, apparently. Says there's been executions all through the evening. Several civilians in the building he's posted at. Difficult to discern the number. Irefist is seeing to it." Her eyes narrow. "Your hearing, I presume?"

You dart a glance over your shoulder. Lingering in this quarter is bad news. "Yes. We— I offered to grant confession this evening to anyone seeking to repent."

Irefist comes from around the corner. "Twenty," he huffs. "Looks like he's got a small guard of edge brothers with him, and the rest are tied up. What the fuck is going on? I thought this place was cleared out?"

(Options in next post.)
>>
>>4586225
>A] You do not have the Time or the patience to deal with Father Pevrel right now. Send Sister Miramond ahead to get him to mask his prisoners. You'll pass through the hideout unseen and unheard, and will get to the tunnels as quickly as you can. You won't enable another opportunity for your enemies to waste your time.

>B] Mercy. He's torturing and killing the prisoners. You'll go and confront Father Pevrel, but only to put him in his place. These men and women are to remain unharmed until your work is done.

>C] You are the Father of Honesty. Stick to your word, do your job, and hear out the repentant.

>D] By all the Gods, you just need to rest. Go find a safe place to crash for a little while. You'll assess the situation when you wake up. You need this badly, and will get more recovery without any distractions.

>E] Kill two birds with one stone. You'll take it easy, and have some tea with the Father of Wrath. Gather some information, get your break, and see where to go from there. It's not sleep, but would be the next best thing.

>F] Write-in.
>>
>>4586226

>>C] You are the Father of Honesty. Stick to your word, do your job, and hear out the repentant.
>>
>>4586226
>C] You are the Father of Honesty. Stick to your word, do your job, and hear out the repentant.

But we'll do it over some tea, and take it easy.
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>>4586228
>>4586232
(C and tea. Got to love it. Vote is locked. Writing now!)
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>>4586228
>>4586232
Crossing into the hideout's district comes with the accompaniment of five priests of Vengeance. A patrol also passes by in the streets. You get the impression that Father Pevrel requisitioned additional men to ensure your safe arrival, and to guarantee that the location you cleared this morning wasn't compromised.

At the edge of the district— overlooking the rainy countryside— is your hideout. Its dilapidated, crumbling stone looks more horrific in the evening than it even did at dawn. The second floor has a priest of Vengeance poised at its only window, with a bow and arrow drawn. The low staircase leading up to its sealed door is in disuse. You try not to laugh to yourself upon realizing that the entire top floor of the building is still completely sealed off. Your invocation to Agriculture was so potent, no one has likely been able to breach the building. It might be the most secure location in the entire city thanks to your efforts.

To everyone's confusion, you divert their movement away from the street, and head for the exit you and Father Pevrel took earlier in the day. The hideout's new primary entrance is recessed into a slope at the rear of the building. The entire structure is on top of a hollowed out series of tunnels. They extend from a singular hallway in the basement, including the passage you are about to descend into. You find the entry-point in a trap door at ground-level, dozens of yards away from the structure. The clergy of Vengeance on patrol makes no effort to follow you inside, as you all step down into complete darkness.

Adwin makes a terrified noise almost instantly. You call out to him, "there are torches a few feet down the passage. The supplies have been cleared away. You can walk just ahead of me."

He rapidly proceeds ahead of you. It dawns on you that the ex-demon chose the church of light Herself as his new home, and it's likely no coincidence. You'll want to bring ample light sources for your exploration later.

For now, the underground location seems desolate. Just to be safe, you call out in a low tone. "Father Anscham, leader of the Church of Mercy. I'm entering with three others in my company. We're armed. Please stay your hands."

Two clergymen grumble down the corridor. You recognize their low tones as that of the men you heard earlier this morning, in Father Pevrel's care. Their creed is to not stay their hands. This is bullshit. Who cares if the tunnel has an echo. Father Anscham probably could do with hearing something like this.

"Father Anscham," one of the priests croons, as you come around the corner with your shield high. He then growls, "Father Pevrel has been expecting you. He's upstairs."

A vicious smile, from both men. The damn staircase is exceptionally rickety. And weak. And not built to support over 310lbs of devotion.

"Watch your step," the other priest smiles.

(1/6)
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>>4586544
You sigh, and send everyone else up ahead of you. There's no further questions or harassment. You all make it to the top floor— no stairs broken— and emerge into the scent of death.

Filth and rot is so hot on the air, Irefist and Sister Miramond instantly put a sleeve to their noses and mouths. You and Adwin simply cast a patient glance to each other. It's worth cautioning the bandaged youth, "try not to touch anything."

The unlocked stairwell lets out into the room you slaughtered the first demon of misconception in. It's a small space, and lit up only near the ground level. Once an ordinary bedroom, the windowless area is now adorned with broken furniture. Thousands of wooden splinters litter every surface. An inch-deep coating of green bough coats the floor. The yellow-green herb smells just like honey, and it's luminescence is purely the color of gold. As you all wade through the new variety of yours and Mother Bethaea's plant, its new properties manifest. Sticky tufts of bright pollen waft into the air. The poison is excruciating when bare skin makes contact.

"Stop walking," you murmur. Everyone complies. The clouds settle.

There's still corpses draped over the broken furniture in the nearly-black space. At its center is a monstrous, five-foot wide cube. The item is dripping with pine tar. You know that within its layered stone recesses are the remains of a demon. It's supported by new columns on the floor, and around its sides that stretch down from the ceiling. The overall impression is of wooden pillars encasing a single organic block. The smell of fresh pine intermingles with all of the gore, and almost provides relief from the unrelenting decay. You take out your flask, and murmur to it. "Water."

The item complies. You pour out the endless container directly in front of you. It dampens the pollen, and prevents any more from picking up, or threatening your companions. "Come on."

A single-file line is formed behind you. You call out once more, "Father Pevrel! It's Father Anscham. There are three others in my company. We're armed. Please stay—"

Gravel replies from a room you have yet to enter. "Heard you running your mouth already, Anscham. Get your fat ass in here."

Adwin and Irefist bristle like cats. Julian mutters, "boy, isn't he one to talk?"

You sigh, and nod your head towards the direction of the debasement. "Come on."

What should have once been a respectable hearth and kitchen area has been converted into the den of an executioner. You resist the urge to draw back upon entering, and press on into what little space is not adorned with corpses. Wooden planks underfoot creak, and a pool of blood is tracked through. Tied up adjacent to a central (lit) fire-pit, sweating and crammed together are fifteen men and women. Only seven are still alert and are (obviously) alive. They're all trying to look to you. Three of them immediately begin pleading. "Mercy, Father." "Mercy." Mercy!"

(2/6)
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>>4586546
Nausea sticks to you worse than the heat and stench of decay. You hand off your flask to Sister Miramond. "Get them something to drink."

Storming over to Father Pevrel is appropriate. The priest's stubble somehow looks worse than it did this morning. His long, black, graying hair is slicked back from exertion and blood. He has a sideways grin on his gaunt face, along with ample heat. You know the twisted bastard has been enjoying the day more than anyone. He's leaning slightly against an overturned table, with a cold poker in his hands. The sadist delights in waving the item towards you nonetheless. A sing-song, teasing tone does not pair well with his guttural voice, or the threat of violence in every gesture. "Ah-ah-aaah Anscham!"

You try not to look too excited with the sharp end of a stick pointing towards you. He keeps it around the level of your gut, and makes a few jabbing motions as you sneer, "there were at least ninety men and women at that hearing. I asked you to facilitate repentance. What is the meaning of this? And— and would you please put that down."

The poker is tossed casually aside. One of the women tied down screams as it clatters to the floor, and starts crying hysterically despite the item being several feet away. You've been in similar states of distress before, whip your head around towards your ward, and do not need your fellow ex-prisoner in here for more than an instant longer than necessary. "Adwin, please wait in the basement. I will be down the minute my work here is finished. Please. I apologize in advance for however long this may take."

A quiet, "yes, Father," accompanies the most uncomfortable departure you've ever seen someone make.

The instant Adwin is out of sight (and what you hope is hearing range), you snap back to Father Pevrel. "Get them off of there. I'm doing everything in my ability to help you do your job. Don't start interfering with mine."

He couldn't look more pleased. The priest's sword is still dripping with crimson. He simply taps the item on the floor once. Every single person present stiffens upright in a moment of inhuman terror. The lord of retribution clears his throat. "Ahem. Would anyone like for me to loosen their bonds?"

Panicked murmurings of "no, Father," and "please stay away," and "don't touch me, Gods," and "MERCY, FATHER ANSCHAM," immediately ensue.

Irefist snatches the flask of water from Sister Miramond, and turns it upside down over red-hot coals. Steam floods the chamber. It only takes a minute to put out the kitchen's roaring blaze.

The grimace you have could cut glass. You keep your gaze fixed on the awful pits where Father Pevrel's eyes should be. The sick fuck is smiling. He stops tapping his sword, and asks you in a syrupy-sweet tone, "would you like a room?"

The priestess of Storm in your company groans. "I'm waiting downstairs with Adwin."

(3/6)
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>>4586548
Irefist crosses the room, and thrusts the flask to your chest. You take hold of it instantly, and he Storms off without saying another word.

The door is slammed so hard behind him, three more people tied down scream.

There was a priest of Vengeance in the corner that you hadn't realized was even there. It's the last one of Father Pevrel's retinue from earlier this morning. He's practically melded with the shadows. His church leader beckons the man over. As he passes by, Father Pevrel murmurs, "the one that's kept it together. Keep an ear out at the door. Mow him down if he tries to run."

The silent priest cracks his neck, and kneels beside one of the elderly men tied to the hearth. You balk. It's the veteran with hearing damage that heckled you this morning.

Your fellow deviant leans towards you and dead-pans, "kept the room next-door nice and tidy for you, Anscham. Put up a divider and everything. Thought you'd want to look this one in the face before sending him off. I'll see to the rest." A disgusted look passes over you from head-to-toe. "I know how much you like to get uncomfortable, but do me a favor, and try not to go running off. You wouldn't believe— no, knowing you, you'd like to believe how much trouble it was to keep them in line."

It's a little too hot in the room. You clear your throat, and do not dwell on the fire iron, or the red-hot coals, or the look that is lingering on your own gaze. You remind your colleague (loudly enough for everyone present to hear), "I trust that you will honor your own tenets, Father Pevrel, and leave my children unharmed for the remainder of the evening. They should have nothing to fear if they are sincerely repentant."

All of his crooked teeth flash at you. "That remains to be seen."

He's disgusting. You scowl at him. He mocks scowling at you, and waves his sword some more at you for good measure.

This is below both of your stations. You head off to the room next-door.

It's shockingly tidy, comfortably warm, and is devoid of all death. You close the entrance to the normal room behind you gently, and leave it unlocked. The wooden floor is dusted and wiped free of blood. The bed is made with fresh sheets. A roaring fireplace is tended to, with no ash to speak of. The scent of freshly cut lumber and the crackle of flame lends itself well to the bright light throughout the small space. A few humble pieces of furniture have been set aside at the edges of the walls, though a large chest is at the foot of the bed, and two chairs are in the center of the floor on a clean rug. Parchment, ink, and a few candles are obviously set out for you on an end-table nearest one of the chairs. So is yellow sealing wax, stamps, and envelopes. A jar of wine and glasses are on a nearby nightstand. A little divider is in the center of the room. A few pillows were provided by the other chair, so those who are confessing could kneel or sit.

(4/6)
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>>4586549
Father Pevrel likes interior decorating. You sigh. The chair he picked out for you looks devastatingly comfortable.

It is. You sink into it. The high back does wonders for your spine.

Muttering to your flask, "tea. You know the one," fills the container with the scent of dandelion root and vanilla. You're getting something in the way of rest today, no matter how unorthodox it's going to appear.

(Fireplace and music intended to be played together:)
https://youtu.be/UgHKb_7884o
https://youtu.be/3ksN1aDmELU


Sipping at the hot, foamy, slightly-maple-flavored beverage loosens the last of the tension in your shoulders.

The way you're seated has it so you can't see anyone who comes in the room, but there's no other entrances. You wait a few minutes with the steady pounding rain on the walls for company. The exterior windows and doors were all sealed shut with solid stone this morning.

There's three knocks on the door in rapid succession.

The last of the decay in the air feels like it's evaporated with the herbal remedy in hand. You leave the container uncapped, letting the thin trail of steam rising from it move against the softer tone of your voice. "Come in."

The priest of Vengeance from the hall shoves the elderly veteran you saw before into the room. The prisoner is hardly scared stiff. The silhouette of his bent back is clear as day, thanks to the torchlight behind you. Father Pevrel absolutely knew what he was doing when he arranged the space. You can't make out any small features, but everything from the way the man straightens out his shirt, huffs, and even how he trembles from head-to-toe is plain to see.

The traitor stays standing, even after the door is firmly shut. "Can you hear me, Father?"

He's quick to address me by my title now.

"Yes. You know full well that Mercy is always listening."

He speaks far more loudly than necessary, thanks to his hearing damage. "Father! Father, I've sinned. But I don't want to ask you to forgive me."

This is unusual.

You keep things equally informal. "Go right ahead."

"I've lived a long and storied life! I know your type. Nicholas', too!" It's so weird hearing Father Pevrel's given name, it takes you a moment to register it. You remain silent, and respectful, as the old man goes on. "Perverts! The both of ya'!"

You try not to spit out your tea. You are a professional. Straightening upright, you take the quietest deep breath you can manage. It all smells vaguely like dandelion and ghee. You can do this. You can let Mercy's child vent.

"Can't say I'm much better. Have had my fill. Came here from Beorward. Spent most of my youth gallivanting at the old Rub and Grub Pub. The gold I spent there, Father. The things I've seen! The things I've done!"

He gets into the saucy details. You're beet-red by the end of it.

(5/6)
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>>4586550
"...but that's all besides the point. I came here to the city of restraint in my old age. Thought that it would save me! Felt like I was throwing my life away, would you believe that? Women. Thought they'd be the death of me. Turns out that at the end of the day, I couldn't stand the red city in the slightest. But things have been so much worse. My family's mostly dead and buried. Lost my hearin'. Lost half my face. Lost my wife. Nearly lost my damn mind when I heard some fucked up kid took over for old Elias."

The old man's stopped shouting. "I hate you. You've tread on holy ground, and sullied the good name of our church. The country thinks we're a laughing-stock. EADRIC! The city of SHIELDS! We fight harder than anyone. I nearly sold my own damn soul to get you out. Rented out my empty home to a bunch of traitors and thieves. Wouldn't tell none of your crazy, blasphemous, ruins-crawling, killer traitors to the crown for friends where any of your enemies went off to. Wouldn't tell Nicholas shit, either. Fuck him, and the black horse he rode in on. Fuck the both of you. You can go on fuckin' each other, for all I care. Don't think we all didn't hear the way you two were going at it. It's disgusting. You're disgusting, and I don't regret a damn thing."

>The following are mutually exclusive. Majority vote will decide.

>A] You are a professional, and have heard far worse than any of this before from man and demon alike. Stay civil, and play this by the book. If this man doesn't want forgiveness, he won't get any. You can move on.

>B] As the leader of the Church of Mercy, the Father of Compassion, the lord of kindness, and a good man who loves his family and home more than life itself, you can still offer this man a chance at redemption. Seriously double-down on your station, and prove him wrong. Try to provide this lost soul with a chance at salvation.

>C] By all the Gods does this man have a lot of information. You can put emotion aside for this. It's abuse of your power to the highest degree, and a mortal sin, but you can justify this to yourself as unseating your enemies. Take advantage of your position, and spin the extraction of valuable information from him as part of the confession.

>D] There is no illusion that this man wants you dead. You'll discreetly draw out as much info from him as you're able. If he's unwilling to repent, you'll turn him over to the Father of Retribution when you're done. It's an old practice, but is still completely founded in tradition. This old man might appreciate you upholding your ancestor's methods of repentance.

>E] There are MANY ways you can phrase this. (Write-in.)
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>>4586551
B; we may not be much of a leader, or the best one for the job, but we're the only one still here at the end of the day. We will get better at this, even if it kills us.

On an unrelated note, does he know that he's consorting with enemies of the nation? People who *want* to turn into demons, and reek havoc in our home? That we put two collective demons down in as many days? Say what you will about us and our career, atleast we didn't welcome killers and traitors into our hearth with open arms.

And even is spite of all this, I'm willing to grant you Mercy. I formally invite you to the sermon, so you may see who truly sullied Mercy's name.
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>>4586601
(Bro I appreciate you so much. Probably going to be taking care of some IRL business today, I know I said the same thing today and then wrote four updates lmao but just a heads up! Hope our impromptu session today holds you guys over, I'll make sure to meet the usual 1-2 posts for a weekday no matter what though. Hope you have an amazing night man, I'll be back in the morning!)
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>>4586602
Same, man. Hope you have a nice time as well.
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>>4586601
+1
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>>4586551

>>B] As the leader of the Church of Mercy, the Father of Compassion, the lord of kindness, and a good man who loves his family and home more than life itself, you can still offer this man a chance at redemption. Seriously double-down on your station, and prove him wrong. Try to provide this lost soul with a chance at salvation.

Those traitors to the crown have been pardoned and also killed more demons that you have fucked women. I have been called many things and not all of them are incorrect, but everything I have done was for the people of Eadric. Elias in his death appointed me, I did not know why for a long time, but I have faith him. I have faith in my citizens and allies. I am sorry for the mistakes I have made but I will not run away from these problems anymore. I have been to the Rub and Grub Pub too, nice place, I think some of the patrons will still remember me. We are merely men, but have you lost your faith in the gods too?
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>>4586551
>>B] As the leader of the Church of Mercy, the Father of Compassion, the lord of kindness, and a good man who loves his family and home more than life itself, you can still offer this man a chance at redemption. Seriously double-down on your station, and prove him wrong. Try to provide this lost soul with a chance at salvation.
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>>4586608
(What a nice thing to come back to, thanks man! Had a good one, and am back in the saddle.)
>>4586601
>>4586609
>>4586645
>>4586977
(Blessed unanimous vote. Vote is locked. Writing now.)
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>>4587034
https://youtu.be/Bqv2AiwCVwc

As the lord of kindness, you reply in a soft tone. There's no anger. No judgement. "From what I hear, the Rub and Grub Pub doesn't quite compare to the Battered Maid, or the Pit, sir. I certainly can't imagine the women matching their… performance, from either establishment. But the capital's worst is far from appropriate conversation on my part."

The old man pauses.

You continue to gently reply, "you don't want to hear that I'm merely a man, too. I know I'm a far cry from the best leader that I can be. You don't want a confession. Not truly. You want to hear *me* tell you that you're right. Listen to me: You're right. I've been called many things, and not all of them are incorrect."

Straightening his spine, your elder huffs. "Well. Hmph."

He's so shocked, he doesn't know how to retort. You slowly sip at your tea, and give him a minute to mull things over. The earthy, slightly bitter, and vanilla-soaked brew has your nerves completely at ease. Your citizen is still visibly trembling from whatever Father Pevrel put him through.

The long pause is ultimately broken with your sincere apology. "I'm sorry for the mistakes I've made, and for running from my problems. As you can see, I am doing everything in my ability to confront them now."

You're making him hideously uncomfortable. There's a little shifting. It's clear that your citizen is physically damaged from the events of the afternoon, and that you've dealt him an even worse blow by living up to your titles. "I would like to make you a formal offer to attend my sermon tomorrow. It will be held in the Church of Mercy. As the Goddesses' hands remain open for my children to hold, so too will the hall of our home. I'm facilitating a message from our Goddess, and your presence would be *welcome*. Please don't feel obligated to even reply. If it's alright with you, I would like to elaborate on a number of points you've made, while we still have a moment to speam. You deserve to know who has *truly* sullied our home, and all of Mercy's good name."

He remains standing. There's enough bitterness in this man's voice to outclass dandelion root. You're legitimately making him question his life choices. The reply is spit. "Out with it, then."

(1/2)
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>>4587116
He's spent his life in fear of demons, has battled with his own inclinations, has lost members of his family, and destroyed himself to try and protect his home. The fact that he's willing to listen to you at all is a blessing in and of itself. This man may hate you, but you CAN feel for him. "Even if it kills me, I'm going to get better at this. Please excuse me for being so forward. You're going to be upset— but I've buried thirty lost souls this week. Every second I spend on mind games or petty politics is an insult to their memory. I have so much demon's blood on my hands, I don't know if I'll ever get it all out from my nails. I want to state the obvious, despite all of these factors: You have been consorting with enemies to our nation. Our true enemies."

He shifts, and you immediately stop talking. There's no need to interrupt if he wants to divulge information.

Both of you wait with the crackle of fire, and pounding rain for company.

Picking at the congealed blood, poison ivy, pollen, and grave dirt under your nails, you murmur, "our enemies have created collectives of demons voluntarily. I have put down enough of them to account for at least one hundred lost lives *in a single day.* This death toll does not include the lives of my clergy, or any of my children that I have yet to account for. I'm known as the Father of Compassion, no matter how little justice I've done the name. Yet my hands have been OPEN to anyone and everyone who seeks shelter. This is not merely out of respect to my station. I love my friends, my allies, my home, and my family more than life itself. Most of my recent absence was in direct service to King Magnus. Our King pardoned the killers and traitors that are in my home because of *their* efforts to *save the lives of our countrymen.* They all have easily killed more demons than the number of women you've bedded."

A noise is made in disbelief.

You firmly repeat, "*easily.* This is all an insult to your intelligence, though. You are sharp, and brutally strong. You are a citizen of the city of shields, after all. I have my faith in the Gods, and in my Father. I don't need to ask if you've lost your faith. But have you?"

A spit of, "of course not," briefly interjects the last of your explanation.

"You know that you are bringing killers and traitors to your hearth, do you not?"

"'course I do."

He's shutting up fast, and knows that speaking out of turn is going to do his cause more harm than good. You levelly finish, "you know just as well as I that Elias appointed me in his final moments, despite it taking me years to fully understand why. But I have *always* had faith in him. More than my love. I have *faith* in my citizens. In my *allies.*"

The aging man sniffs. "Whole lot of talk, Father. Took you years to understand why? How many of us do you think understands it at all? He was cracked. I'd like to hear your excuse. Out with it, then."

(Options in next post.)
>>
>>4587131
>A] Produce Father Edmund's suicide note. Keep it in hand, and ask this elderly citizen if he knows how to read. You'll show your mentor's last words to this lost soul, and if he still doesn't wish to repent, you'll carry on with your business. If hard evidence and the word of the former leader of the Church of Mercy isn't enough for this man, he can take heart with your work alongside a Goddess tomorrow.

>B] Explain that your own struggles and sin have helped you to empathize more than likely any other man alive. Elaborate on how you want to support the struggle of your citizens, and all of mankind. This is a common man who cares about saving his own skin, and you'll gladly express some normalcy and compassion towards that cause.

>C] State that Father Edmund trusted you with the care and keeping of the Church of Mercy precisely because of your imprisonment there. It's more than your own merit, but also your history in your home, your deep attachment to the clergy, and all of your faith. It's probably too much information, but when has that stopped you before?

>D] Write-in.
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>>4587133
>B] Explain that your own struggles and sin have helped you to empathize more than likely any other man alive. Elaborate on how you want to support the struggle of your citizens, and all of mankind. This is a common man who cares about saving his own skin, and you'll gladly express some normalcy and compassion towards that cause.
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>>4587133
>>B] Explain that your own struggles and sin have helped you to empathize more than likely any other man alive. Elaborate on how you want to support the struggle of your citizens, and all of mankind. This is a common man who cares about saving his own skin, and you'll gladly express some normalcy and compassion towards that cause.

Don't frame it as "I'm the most empathetic guy out there," though, could come off as arrogant and I doubt he wants to hear that right now.
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>>4587133

>>B] Explain that your own struggles and sin have helped you to empathize more than likely any other man alive. Elaborate on how you want to support the struggle of your citizens, and all of mankind. This is a common man who cares about saving his own skin, and you'll gladly express some normalcy and compassion towards that cause.

Mercy Herself has blessed me with the gift of compassion, I have felt a fragment of everyone's suffering. I have felt plenty of my own. I wish for it to end. To stop burying my children. To stop bathing in blood every other week. You do too. I am too tired to be angry, we are ALL cracked, but I wont let anyone fall apart. We are mortals, but trust that the Gods guide us true.
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>>4587133
B; it's not an excuse, just an explanation. We all have our struggles, even if some are stranger than others.
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>>4587147
>>4587157
Oh, the Duality of Man :^)

You gotta love when the Stars align like this.
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>>4587137
>>4587147
>>4587157
>>4587161
>>4587192
(The duality of man indeed. Surely I can manage this writing challenge. :^D
Vote is locked. Writing now!)
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>>4587205
"It's like I said. You're right. There's wisdom in your experiences— and you know how tired we all are. How badly we want to stop burying our children. I've practically been bathing in blood every week. You've seen plenty of action, too. We are all cracked— and I am NO exception. THAT is why Father Edmund appointed me. He knew full well that I'm a deviant, and that I— and that I have had my share of sin. He knew that my enemies would seek to fracture us all, with or without my experiences. Your concern, his judgement, and my position has nothing to do with just the Gods, or demons."

You could not sound more apologetic. "I just can't stand to see people fall apart. We're all people. We're all only human. It's no excuse for my behavior. I just want to give you an explanation, and— and some of our explanations are stranger than others. I have my faith in the Gods, but I'm an addict."

The old man sniffs. "Hmph."

He can respect it. You hate it, and wince, and mutter. "I have a *problem*. I'm sorry I've disappointed you, and for all of the shame I've brought to our home. I can't repay your loyalty to our city, no matter— no matter what form of support you've chosen to pursue. Be it supporting killers and heathens, or trying to protect our home through any means necessary. You think of me as a pervert. As the successor to a madman."

You grit your teeth. "How badly do you think a suicidal and overworked politician would want this all to end? Can you blame him for having a break in his composure? For recognizing that our home, and all of our people's suffering should END? How badly do you think *I* want the very same thing?"

The hardest stare you've ever felt comes from the other side of a screen.

Several minutes pass in silence.

You murmur, "I'm altogether too tired to be angry. This is a tragedy. A human tragedy."

The old man lets himself out of the room. He mumbles at the door, almost too quietly for you to hear.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

The door clicks shut.

Not even a minute later, the priest of Vengeance in Father Pevrel's care has taken another individual, loosened their bonds, and shoved them in the room with you. The door slams shut.

The person who's entered is a woman. She's likely in her late 40's. The skirts obscuring the width of her hips are wet with gore. A corpse was likely laying on her at some point during the day, given the smell. Her breath is rapid, her hair is loose from her messy bun, and she has her hands in fists. The chair on the other side of the screen is grabbed, and she drags it several feet back to sit farther away from you.

She collapses into the seat, puts her face to her hands, and starts to cry. An angry snap fires off at you. "I hope you're HAPPY."

(1/2)
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>>4587275
The voice is familiar. This was one of the women who was berating you for your weight at the hearing. She had little else to say, and was remarkably quick to keep to herself once you accused everyone present of obstructing Father Pevrel's judgement.

Disrespect doesn't mean she should be neglected, or made to suffer. You ask, "are you injured?"

"Of course I'm injured! You miserable pig, who do you think you left us with?"

Every person in the other room is likely in some degree of pain. You fidget with your Relic, but before you can make any proposition to heal or grant the woman relief from her pain, she starts ranting.

"They were right to lock you away. Anything would be better than this." She sneers, and puts on a sarcastic, nasally whine. "Forgive me *Fat*her, for I have siiiinned. You want to hear about how I've used the money given to me this last year to get my sons to a safer home? How about the supplies we stole after the crop went to shit?! Would you forgive me for sheltering my countrymen in a time of war from demons, when our DEFENDER was nowhere to be found? I'll go on and on about my greed! It's understandable, isn't it?! It's far from a sin when the LORD OF RESTRAINT has NONE to speak of!"

She starts going on a tirade about your weight. It's not something you particularly care to listen to.

>A] But you will anyways, and try to address this woman's concerns as best as you can.
>1] Plainly state that you don't care what debasement she has to say, you just want to heal her injuries.
>2] Give her some space. She's probably not going to be receptive to you getting near to her in any capacity.

>B] For fucks sake there is so much information here. Press it, and her. You're certain this woman has no respect for you, and likely won't want to speak properly at all. She can be civil, and go along with your proposals, or leave.

>C] You have enough self-confidence to destroy the composure of a demon of interpretation. Manipulate the conversation and match every one of her jabs with your own. She's going to hate you for it, but it should glean more information.

>D] Write-in.
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>>4587286
>C] You have enough self-confidence to destroy the composure of a demon of interpretation. Manipulate the conversation and match every one of her jabs with your own. She's going to hate you for it, but it should glean more information.
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>>4587286

>>A] But you will anyways, and try to address this woman's concerns as best as you can.
>2] Give her some space. She's probably not going to be receptive to you getting near to her in any capacity.

This is honestly as much of a confession for us as it is for them. Let her rant, she has plenty to get off her chest. When she falls silent let her know that they themselves called Pevrel to the city, what did she expect?
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>>4587306
+1, then we can move on to C.

They did call upon Vengeance, and welcomed Father Pevrel into the heart of the city of Mercy. Did they wish us to close our doors to him, or restrain him when they demanded he come?

Stealing crops in during a potential famine, and calling traitors and cultists countrymen? Mercy, we protected our citizens from the demons they allowed to fester and gestate in our home! Say what you will about our career, or our weight, but you hardly in any better position to criticize, madam.
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>>4587367
>>4587306
Supporting all these points.
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>>4587304
>>4587306
>>4587367
>>4587384
(Absolutely wonderful guys. Noting everything, I'm sure we can make this all work. Vote is locked. Writing now!)
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>>4587516
She needs distance from you. Generosity is one of your tenets, and you'll gladly give it to her. She needs space to rant, and to get all this off her chest. You see a golden opportunity to get a little more comfortable, to work at some tea, and to wait for this woman to fall silent.

You take a deep breath, with blood and floral notes all through the air. This is legitimately the most rest you've had in weeks. Everything is fine.

https://youtu.be/VU6XEqaghdc

The woman sitting beside you is shaking with anger. She faces the screen between the two of you, and spits, "the other lecher who set this place up had the right idea. Putting something between us so I don't have to see your chins, or your podgy face. Been thinking on what you said at the hearing. That you were willing to sacrifice your image to protect our home. Do you have any idea how fucking stupid that sounds? My boys have been breaking their backs trying to help rebuild the walls outside our city. I'd be shocked if you could lift more than the lard you're already carrying. Think you could have put that gut to use rebuilding the walls around our farms? Or does a pig feel out of place outside the capital? How about the roads? What about the flooding, or our stores here in the city that are wearing thin? Have you gone and gorged yourself on the last of our wares, too? Did you stop to think for one second that you have an entire fucking city at your disposal?!"

She leans back, crosses her arms, and sneers hard enough that you see it through just her silhouette. "I get it. You like it. You aren't content to be the head of our city, to represent us all, or even to have a standing army at your disposal. All the rumors are spot-on, aren't they? You're a glutton through-and-through, and you're just going to sit there, and TAKE EVERYTHING that I can DISH OUT, aren't you?"

This is as much of a confession for you as it is for these lost souls. You also have enough self-confidence to destroy the composure of a demon, and can handle yourself. She's going to hate you for it, and that's alright. "With all due respect, ma'am, I am attempting to facilitate a confession in Mercy's name. If this matter is weighing on your shoulders more than any other sin, please. Go right ahead. There is very little you could say to me that I have not heard before."

(1/4)
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>>4587660
Something overtakes her. Something sinister. Her shaking stops, and the citizen of your fair city simply smiles. "You were a walking skeleton when you left Eadric, Father Anscham. I can't imagine that your skin looks the same. Has She taken kindly to stretch marks? Starving you would be a Mercy at this point, wouldn't it be? But you can't serve her. Not like you used to. I wager that you can't even find normal armor. Will you take our most valuable resources, our smith's priceless Time, and have them fashion a cage for your gut to spill out of? And what of weapons? Do your sausage fingers simply drop anything you wish to wield?"

If the woman had fangs, she'd be bearing them. Venom drips from every word. "You took your Time getting here. Has fattening yourself up done no miracles for your mobility? I'd wager simply crossing town has become a chore. Imagine— the lord of light being the heaviest man in the city. And what of your—" There's so much hate in the word, it scarcely sounds human. "—beloved ruins? Did they roll you out? How much do you think you would need to ration to meet your needs for a single day's expedition, Father? Well?"

The fireplace and pouring rain is a welcome reminder of sanity. You sigh, and cast a glance to the flame. "Inertia preaches stasis. My enemies are waging war on humanity's motivation, and are fighting my ceaseless attempts at restoring order. They have our stolen crops during a potential famine. My enemies are destroying the stability of our nation. Are you aware that they are creating these floods, are the ones intentionally starting outbreaks, and are destroying the countryside? These traitors and cultists you call countrymen—" You laugh a little to yourself. "—Mercy. I've protected my citizens from the very same demons you have allowed to fester in our home."

She must be hiding a lot, to not acknowledge a single point. "You're in leagues with a sadist, and I wouldn't be surprised if he's making things worse."

Your smile falls. "What did you expect?"

There's actually a moment where she shuts up. A firm, "I—" nearly interjects.

The flask is capped, and stashed, as you calmly inquire, "my own city's elders have invited a fellow church leader in. Are you telling me that I should have turned him away? That the lord of protection should have gone out of his way to not uphold his image?"

Rapid-fire excuses. She's not even thinking. "You were quick to close the doors to every other room in your castle."

(2/4)
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>>4587664
"I'm sure you will understand the importance of keeping my sons and daughters safe. There are worse monstrosities lurking in the shadows than both demons I've killed today. Both of them were collectives of Inertia. Both died in the name of protecting our home, through invoking Agriculture and Mercy. It would have been significantly easier if traitors to our King and country were not tying up the church leader that has been called to our city."

"I didn't call for anything."

"Save for what you have today?"

"I can say whatever I please."

"Say what you will about my career, or my weight, but I don't need to remind you that this is the city of truth. You are hardly in a better position to criticize. Nothing has stopped you from speaking your mind freely thus far—" Pinching the bridge of your nose, you mutter, "ah. I see."

"What."

"You've remembered restraint— thanks to our discussion."

She's so outraged, all pretense of decency falls. "Fuck you. Dick."

This is beneath both of you. "Do you wish to spent the moments your children may be fighting for their lives debasing me, and berating the choices I've made? Or would you care to stop, and think on the choices you have made?"

"I've thought plenty about what I've done." You've heard demons that sound less vicious. "It wasn't enough."

"If I'm not mistaken, ma'am, I would say you are the one with an unhealthy appetite for destruction—"

She abruptly stands up. The almost-imperceptible hiss she makes is every indication that there's some burn or wound on her back. You'd recognize it anywhere, as she snaps, "I don't have to sit here and listen to this."

The day got off on the right foot after all. Your heart feels significantly lighter. This is no nightmare. No memory. It's a chance for a better future. For not repeating the same mistakes. You let her walk away, but politely call out, "the REPENTANT have nothing to fear, ma'am! The GODS are Merciful!"

An enemy picks up her skirts, huffs, and heads for the door. She doesn't believe you. The heathen has no faith to speak of. She leaves, and before the door can even close, there's the sound of a struggle.

The priest of Vengeance shoulder-checks her hard from outside the door. At the same Time, he grunts, and drags some poor figure inside the room.

You get to your feet, and cross over the other side of the screen. "What's the meaning of this—"

The door slams shut, and he's already gone. You bring a hand to your mouth, and muffle, "Mercy. Sir—"

(3/4)
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>>4587666
There's an aging scholar curled in on himself. It was the same man who screamed when you first entered the chamber earlier. With his mustache slick with sweat, and his clothing torn in several places, you almost didn't recognize him. There's third-degree burns on his forearms and hands. Bits of white are visible in exposed muscle. Lacerations from rope is on his wrists, neck, and ankles. His eyes are unbearably wide. You'd recognize the look anywhere. His chestnut-colored pupils are pin-pricks, and are razor-focused on your shield and mace you've set aside in the corner of the room. You recognize his (previously mellow) voice. It's the same man who's been writing to Walter since you got back to Eadric. The same man who originally challenged your identity, without ever having the decency to address you himself. The same man who screamed for help in the room beside you just a few minutes ago.

He clutches at the hem of your robes in desperation, while rasping one word. "Mercy."

You kneel down beside him as slowly as you can, and keep the palms of your hands out. No weapons. No pain. The softness of your voice is a blessing. It only aids in keeping the victim's nerves at ease. "Of course. Please stay calm. I'm not going to hurt you."

Father Pevrel obviously didn't care what condition anyone reached you in, or if they lived or died. The man continues to clutch at his knees, and breaks down sobbing hysterically. You know what it's like. He might need Time. The wounds on him are significant, but he won't want to be approached. Even making any sudden movements is going to set his nerves on fire.

Some repetition will help. It might annoy your colleagues and friends to no end how circular your speech is, but the reminder throughout the sentence is going to get through the fog of pain he's in at some point. You're willing to make the effort, and keep your tone as gentle as a leaf on the wind. "Mercy is always with us. Mercy is with you, my child, and has heard your cry. No one is going to hurt you. Is there anything else you need? This was intended to be a confession. Nothing more. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

He's nearly crying too hard to speak. Through a trail of snot and tears, the scholar sniffs, "please don't let them kill me."

>A] Ask who. Don't push him any more than decency permits.

>B] Don't push him at all. Reassure this man that he shouldn't have to fear for his life. He's begged for Mercy, and protection. Both are granted.

>C] As delicately as you can, try to encourage this man to let you heal his injuries. Pain is likely making it impossible for him to focus.
>1] Don't say a word. This is just as much a part of your job as anything else, and you'll be content to have eased even one more person's pain today.
>2] Simply remind the man that he's welcome to speak his mind, if he wishes.

>D] Write-in.
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>>4587667
A, B, C2, whatever works. I just want to lessen the man's pain any way we can. Offer him something from our flask, whatever is appropriate.
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>>4587667
>C] As delicately as you can, try to encourage this man to let you heal his injuries. Pain is likely making it impossible for him to focus.
>2] Simply remind the man that he's welcome to speak his mind, if he wishes.
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>>4587667

>>A] Ask who. Don't push him any more than decency permits.

Imagine complaining that your kids are working the walls you just aided cultists in destroying lmao this is clearly not the city of wisdom.
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>>4587697
>>4587776
>>4587798
(You guys are too sweet. Just imagine the smack-talk that goes on in Murgate. Just kidding. Vote is locked here. Writing now.)
>>
Rolled 2, 5 = 7 (2d6)

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>>4587834

Is this a threat
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>>4587837
(quickly hug him into submission)
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>>4587834
*Hug*
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Rolled 79 (1d100)

>>4587838

Rolling for hug submission.

>+10 FRENTIME (you love frens)
>-5 FREAK OF NATURE (why he gotta be so weird)
>+15 BIG HEART(lotsa love to give)

(total modifier for this roll is +20)
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>>4587841
>>4587840
(damn guys 99/100 for a hug? I wouldn't have expected anything less.

Update should be out shortly lol)
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>>4587841
Hug is super effective!
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>>4587814
https://youtu.be/yaQu6ILXC6k

No sudden movements. The softest tone you can manage. "Who?"

A weak gesture is made towards the room next door. The man swallows hard. His reply is clipped. It has to be a struggle to keep it together for long enough to speak at all. "Priests. People. The cult. Nowhere's safe."

You're already assessing the extent of the damage, and mentally tracking what herbs will make for the most effective treatment for the burns. "I want to lessen your pain in any way that I can. You're safe, here. I would like nothing more than to offer you my aid. Can you permit me to look after your injuries, while you tell me about who you are concerned with?"

An abrupt nod. The abrasions on his neck were made from heat, and he stops the motion as soon as he can. It has to hurt to speak.

You delicately unclasp your Relic. "I trust that you will not take off running. The injuries on your upper body are severe. Promise me that you will stay put."

"I promise."

"This will grant immediate relief from your pain."

A desperate nod follows.

You pry one of his hands off of his knees as gently and quickly as you can, while sliding the item into an outstretched palm. The man's redoubled agony catches in his throat, as you clasp his fingers around the item. "Stay still."

Disbelief stares at you. He stammers, but can't find any words to say.

You fish for your flask, and murmur to it, "tea. Start with the base of the blend from Beorward." Several instructions are made for balancing the quantities of various herbs so that your citizen's faculties aren't completely compromised. The container complies, to the best of your scrutiny. You assert, "it will keep the pain at bay through the night, and into the next day. It will take several minutes to take effect, but will ease your nerves. It's not poison." You take a brief sip as a demonstration.

As a masochist, you can't help but love it. The bitter, exotic brew is as strong as you remember. It's practically a sludge of seeds. You mull a few out of your teeth, and extend the item to your stunned patient. The murmur you have remains as unassuming as possible, while you warn, "it's medicinal. I can provide something afterwards for the taste, if you wish. Don't have more than a mouthful to start, and stay put."

The scholar works at the drink without question. The taste is intense enough that he's more than satisfied with a single swig. Fighting not to retch, the mild-mannered man makes no complaints.

You pause in gathering supplies for poultices to get him a more mundane drink. "Water." It's irritating that he's having to use the site of the injury to hold the flask, but there's no better way to handle it with the tools at your disposal. You need both your hands for the work you're about to perform, and he almost can't make those burns any worse. "Have as much as you can stomach."

(1/5)
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>>4587898
The two of you make no further noise for several minutes, while you pick through the satchel Yech gifted you. It effortlessly held all of your supplies. You're the Father of Honesty, and politely explain, "I'm going to clean the site of the injury. It will heal over Time, if this is performed correctly. I'm gathering bandages, tools, and salves designed to retain moisture. I'll give you as much as I can for the road, and will teach you how to change the dressings. Please take as much water in now as you're able, and in the following days with a little salt."

A mumble of, "yes, Father," through the flask. He's complying, and is still shocked beyond all reason by your Relic. "This is a holy gift."

"Yes. I will do my best to write any instructions you need down for you, before you go. For you to have felt any pain— that injury is several hours old, is it not?" He nods in confirmation. You breathe a little more easily. "I need you to understand that the old Flesh is causing you further harm. If it's left alone, you will suffer enormously. I don't meant to alarm you, but you need to be aware of the risks: if it's left untreated, you will die."

The tea has yet to set in, and he's got a clear enough mind to ask the obvious. "You're going to cut me up, aren't you?"

Sighing hard, you reply, "no. No. If you would like for me to see to the injury now, I need to safely remove these deadened areas. It will not cause you any pain now, but may look like cause for alarm. You will want to keep your eyes off of the process. I'm asking you for permission to remove what's already rotted, while you have complete relief from your pain. Even an invocation from Mercy would still have you register sensation from an injury this severe. Waiting to seek treatment could cost you your life. I would like to offer you the protection you're seeking. Doing this may save the use of both your hands and arms. This is all to help you. Is this alright?" You're talking a lot. He's extremely pensive, but even through the trauma still looks sharp. You can't make any assumptions. "Do you understand? Please feel free to speak your mind. I would appreciate it if you can tell me what you think I am asking."

He gets back to the flask, and thinks for several moments. "You want permission to take out what's been burnt off of me. It's going to look awful, but it won't do any more damage. There shouldn't be any pain now. There will be a lot later. Is that right?"

"Yes. I'll give you everything that I can to help with it."

Not even a skeptic would refuse advice from the Father of Healing. "Alright."

Relief sinks into you. "Keep drinking." He does, and shifts a little. You murmur, "I'm sorry if you're uncomfortable. I cannot stress enough how important it is that you get as much fluid as you can. Which arm do you use predominantly?"

"My right."

(2/5)
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>>4587899
"I'll work as quickly as I'm able. Let me see that for a moment." You take the flask, and mutter a number of ingredients to it to keep the man from getting water-sickness. A fair amount of salt shouldn't be too terrible with elderflower, lemon, and rosemary. Again, you make a show of sipping at it first.

It's beautiful, and refreshing, and almost makes up for starting surgery on the floor in the dead of night. It's cleaner than most places you're willing to work with, and you'll have way more stability than the bed, at least. All the green in your eyes is even brighter as you hand the flask off, and go to get your tools. "You should look at what I'm using, to avoid becoming too alarmed if you catch a glance at them during the work. I strongly encourage you to not watch the procedure, but it is ultimately your call to make."

A number of wickedly sharp, and sparkling clean metal tools are taken from your belongings. You try to not linger over any of them, and continue explaining as you show them to your patient. "I may need to use multiple items to clear away all of the debris. We will dress the entire area, which I'll need you to keep warm, and damp, despite how uncomfortable it will be. Please understand that the area will heal, but only if it is correctly treated. I am only removing what is already dead."

The tea is kicking in. An impressed look passes over your tools, rather than one of terror. The edge in the man's voice is replaced with distance. "I thought I'd lose my arms, Father. Most of you lot will just chop the whole limb off, and pray for the best. You think this will work?"

The memory of boiling oil poured over your own tortured skin sears in the back of your mind, right along with the dozens of attempts at working the area over. Invocations. Applying new methods on the hundreds of people who have come to your church over the years on the heels of demonic outbreaks. Years of training. Years of experimentation. Years of work. It's more than anyone in the year 606 should ever rightfully possess.

Your grimace is a lot milder than it used to be. You have more strength than any man in any year should possess. "I know it will. Try not to make any rapid movements, but warn me if you need to. Try to stay relaxed. You can keep your gaze on the ceiling, or a decoration. Close your eyes, if you like, but take care not to drift off. I want to still grant you the opportunity to speak, if you care to."

His breath has dramatically slowed. The scholar closes his eyes, and turns his head towards the ceiling. "Better safe than sorry."

(3/5)
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>>4587902
Several minutes pass by in silence. He's still badly shaken, and you don't push matters. You clean the entirety of the limb as quickly as you're able. It's the steadiest your hands have been in nearly a year. Level breath, and no sweat on your brow accompanies the work. Pieces of his shirt, and flecks of soot are stuck fast throughout his forearm. Chunks of hardened, black tissue are all mixed in with it. A collection of fine gravel is the worst offender, and is stuck throughout the base of his right palm. You've performed surgery on your own face before, but this is hardly child's play. All of your focus stays on the task at hand, even as your charge starts to speak.

"I want to thank you."

You're the Father of Healing, and are just doing your job. It's a tragedy that you can't do more. It's work like this that occupied almost all of your Time in Eadric in years past. You'd gladly run yourself into the ground to do more, and bitterly have to stress where you are. What this is all about. Why you have any power or ability at all. "This is the city of Mercy."

There is a LOT more clarity through the man's tone. He's as relaxed as you could hope for, and this is likely the most relief he'll get for weeks to come. "And I helped things get this bad."

A vein gets dangerously close to the edge of your knife. You quickly remind him, "try to not tense up."

The two of you spend an agonizingly long moment in silence, while the man forces himself to relax. His breathing slows.

"Thank you."

"Listen." A shallow breath. It's a repressed sigh. "We've all been wasting your Time. Everyone knows there's no seizing Eadric's castle when it's occupied by its Father. The city itself is impenetrable. Anyone who tries to take you in a fight is a dead man. Your enemies know that the only way they're getting to you is through wearing you out until you don't have anything left to give."

The phrase 'your enemies' puts a lot more light in your eyes. He's not referring to himself. He knows who's behind this. "The best laid plans often go to waste."

A horrified, stifled catch in the man's breath stops a bitter laugh from leaving his lips. "Yes. Well. You are absolutely correct. You can imagine that I did not expect Father Pevrel, his men, or any of our allies to spare no human expense in slowing you down."

"This is not the city of wisdom," you grumble.

Did my people seriously not expect the lord of retribution to bring all this pain back down on them?

(4/5)
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>>4587903
The seeds are absolutely taking effect. The man's judgement is becoming more compromised by the second. Though it's far from optimal, you encourage him to lay back before proceeding. He gladly complies, while you take the flask from his hands and move your Relic to his other fingers. Working as quickly as you're able compromises your ability to make much conversation, but you can't risk this being cut short. Literally needing to cut out a large swathe of the man's left arm has you finally start sweating, but he's completely at ease. Eyes closed. No pain.

"This is going to kill me, isn't it?"

You grit your teeth. "The extent of the damage is severe. By all rights, a priest or priestess of Mercy should see to you for the next several weeks. We could keep the dressings changed, and help to manage your pain. It's less a matter of the skin, and more of after care." You bitterly mention, "recovering from an injury this extreme normally requires increased nutrition, and ample rest."

Lesser men would kill themselves many times over before enduring a fraction of the pain you have. Recovering from burns this severe without any professional care is a death sentence. If the loss of fluid doesn't take him, he's going to struggle through poor nutrition, and an extended recovery Time. You'll reduce as much risk of infection as you can, but changing the dressings that are needed will be an agony no man should have to endure alone. This scholar will likely take his own life before he powers through the pain of it. Even if he does, any additional stress, strain, filth, or injury will undo all of your work.

The damn ache in you isn't going away any Time soon. You can't help but realize that it was entirely absent during the entirety of your work here. There's probably a correlation between rest of the soul, and easing the ache in it. Doing more now still carries a very real fear of your soul bursting. This is only one man that Father Pevrel got his hands on. There were nearly 100 at that hearing, and an entire city that still needs to be seen to.

(Options in next post.)
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>>4587904
>A] You'll send this man off with enough pain relief to kill him. Explain how to ration it. If he can't handle the pain (it will be agony by tomorrow), it's on him how he proceeds from there. This situation is tragic, but you have to recognize the limits your enemies have imposed on you.

>B] Inform him that you do not have the hands to spare in the Church of Mercy right now for obvious reasons, but that he is welcome to come to the castle for your clergy's care. You'll inform them all of his exceptional need as soon as humanly possible. No one is to change any safety or supply measures you have in place, but the offer should be given to hope that this is not all for nothing.

>C] Send this scholar to the Church of Mercy with a signed and sealed note endorsing his care. You all are placing the sick and injured at the LOWEST priority for supplies, but he'll stand a better shot of survival in the castle than anywhere else.

>D] Do as much as humanly possible with your own two hands. Afterwards, you'll invoke Mercy. It's going to be excruciating, and you know that the more you do, the harder it's going to tax you. It's not logical, and it will hurt your own work to save many more lives, but this is the city of emotion. You're the Father of Compassion. Anyone could understand. (Majority vote required.)
>1] Do the BARE MINIMUM to guarantee his survival, and release the invocation afterwards.
>2] Guarantee that he has no pain in the weeks to come.
>3] Completely heal him.

>E] Write-in.
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>>4587906

>>A] You'll send this man off with enough pain relief to kill him. Explain how to ration it. If he can't handle the pain (it will be agony by tomorrow), it's on him how he proceeds from there. This situation is tragic, but you have to recognize the limits your enemies have imposed on you.

As much as I want to we can't waste so much on what is ultimately a traitor who brought this upon himself. Ask him why he helped the cult, everyone had their reasons and I am curious about his. He seems the most receptive out of all of them so far and I am confident we can get some information from him without compromising our tenets, he doesn't identify himself as our enemy after all.
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>>4587906
B; if he wishes for a note, he'll have it, and all the painkillers he'll need. As much as I can understand >>4587907, I can't leave him like this without atleast an offer to help. A lost soul he may be, but he is a child of Mercy, and I'd like to offer him some peace and quiet if this is to be the twilight of his day. I'm just sorry we couldn't do more.
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>>4587914

He is not a child of Mercy, he has spurned her tents at every opportunity. I also want to help him but please remember the spot that he is going to take up could be used for someone that is actually innocent. With the city being on fire I can bet he is not the only burn victim, we are stretched too thin to afford being Merciful to everyone. It's a shitty call to make but someone has to make it. Our clergy have been on the front lines for ages and were working themselves to the bone before that. What about their Mercy? Shouldn't we try to take care of our own? We have to think of everyone, the priests that serve under us do not have the entire pantheon on their side like we do. If we are to weather out this war we NEED to start rationing everything out and that includes energy and manpower, I know being Merciful is cool and all but this is folly. The painkillers are mercy enough, if it was up to the Lord of Justice he would have been strung up with the rest of them. Remember that these people are already getting more than they deserve.
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>>4587914
+2
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>>4587907
+1
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>>4587906

A. I was persuaded by >>4587919 's argument.
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>>4587906
>B] Inform him that you do not have the hands to spare in the Church of Mercy right now for obvious reasons, but that he is welcome to come to the castle for your clergy's care. You'll inform them all of his exceptional need as soon as humanly possible. No one is to change any safety or supply measures you have in place, but the offer should be given to hope that this is not all for nothing.
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>>4587907
>>4587914
>>4587919
>>4588052
>>4588062
>>4588178
>>4588193
(Absolutely blessed shit to wake up to. You guys are fantastic. So we have very strong justification for both sides, and an equal number of votes. The argument for A has clarified support, in addition to vocal opposition to B with no further contest.

I'm going to leave this VOTE OPEN for another 30 minutes. Any discussion, opposition, or further votes made will be taken into full consideration. If the tie is not broken when the 30 minutes have passed, I'll use my best discretion to proceed.)
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>>4587919
Mercy is never folly, and we are not the Father of Justice. One more dependant will not break our church, and he may not decide to take us on our offer of Mercy in his twilight.

And on the matter of our clergy, taking care of our own (including us) involves some rest and relaxation, not a lightening of the burden. Working to the bone would just wear down Flesh in time, we all need Time to recuperate. A rotational shift for work and rest will do more wonders then letting one suffer outside of Mercy's light.

And on an unrelated note, I do wonder how much supply is being hoarded at Wearmoor. If Eadric is infested with Inertia, Wearmoor must be overwhelmed, and there must be massive hoarding going on in the heart of our supply chain.
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>>4588212

Mercy is not folly, but this isn't Mercy. One more HEAVILY dependent person will absolutely hinder our church. We have 6 healers total. Have you ever seen a burn victim? Even in the modern world 3rd degree burns are basically a death sentence a lot of the time, we simply do not have the resources to take on people like this. How do you expect "rest and relaxation" when they have so much work to do and we KEEP piling it on? Who do you plan to rotate? We don't have enough people for the NORMAL church functions let alone stuff like this, to say we are stretched thin is the understatement of the century. I will not trade the health and sanity of our clergy for the *possible* recovery of a traitor, that is not Mercy, that is betrayal and gross mismanagement of our people. Normally I would vote to heal him and others like him through invocation but that is no longer possible. Why waste hours of work time for a 10% increase on his survival chance? It makes no sense, and it will actively hurt our people. The innocent that are also injured, the clergy that is overworked and us that needs to find a way to make due with even LESS hand and more exhausted people.

This vote is not about this person. This vote is about the people in the streets putting it all on the line for us who have their plate more than full.
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>>4588226
I don't see it like that at all. Betrayal and gross mismanagement, for offering one traitor Mercy? Are we not supposed to be compassionate, in our own home?

I do think your taking an uncharitable interpretation of our offer, mate.
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>>4588226
Also, help from the capital will arrive eventually. We don't have to win this war with only our clergy, plus Pervel's men.
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>>4588260
(saying*
Full disclaimer I'm running on VERY little sleep and realized I'm cutting this discussion abruptly short. Please disregard the last post I made, and feel free to continue talking about this. I'd rather you guys come to an agreement than for me to rush to make a call.)
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>>4588248
>>4588252

If my workplace was criminally understaffed, I had no breaks, my life was in permanent danger and my boss decided to make me help one of the very people that were making my life so difficult I would feel pretty betrayed. If I was one of the many other injured and my care was minimized because the 6 doctors in the entire city had to rotate taking care of a traitor I would feel betrayed. We are supposed to be compassionate, deciding to take this person in would not be compassionate to anyone else except him. That is the point I am trying to make. When is help going to get here? it took us a few weeks to get here and it hasn't even been a day since this started. Do you think our guys can work overtime without dying for that long? Please remember that Harvey would have literally died from exhaustion if it wasn't for us invoking and he isn't even a healer. Our clergy are pulling double duty when it comes to combat, we simply cannot give this dude the care he needs. We can't expect everyone to push themselves to the insane limits we have, it is not Merciful or compassionate.
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>>4588266
Oho? Is our protagonist sleep deprived? You better take good care of yourself, otherwise you may get a visit from Dream :^)

>>4588267
Weren't some of our blasphemous congregation traitor to the crown? I imagine some may understand our predicament, even if most wouldn't.

I disagree that being compassionate mean we have to take the view that produces the greatest amount of good for the most people. It's the actions we take, rather than the end result, at we have to live with. A man should decide for himself wether he deserves Mercy or not, not an institution concerned with the end result. He should be given the freedom and opportunity to decide for himself what's the best, not have it be dictated to him, even if his choice creates more misery for those involved.
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>>4588296

They also served the King, are serving the King and have been pardoned. This person has no excuse. Also that is an awful take, it is very short sighted to cause suffering KNOWINGLY in the grand scheme of things just for a moments decision. A person does not decide if they themselves deserve Mercy, that's not what Mercy is or how it works. This "institution" is literally the mouth piece of the goddess that embodies mercy, I cannot see any logical interpretation to make what you are saying be Merciful. He doesn't have Mercy insurance, he is not entitled to top tier treatment after he allowed cultists to gut the church. As an action we are relieving his pain when we could have left him be tortured and killed by Pevrel, that is Mercy enough.
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>>4588307
It's a very individualist take, saying that a person is the arbiter of his own morality, and has a choice in regard to how to conduct his own life.

Also, I didn't know Mercy can be forced onto people, or that the theorcracy decides who it grants Mercy to. I think this line of thought led to Inertia growing strong under the theocracy's nose, as hot a take as that is :^)

I would also like to point out that this isn't the city of wisdom or logic, but that is besides the point. He didn't buy the insurance, or is entitled to treatment, but we shouldn't withhold our help or healing to those deserving of it, but all who call for Mercy. Blood is made pure in our hands, regardless of who drew it first.
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>>4588336

It can't be forced but it can be withheld. The theocracy grants Mercy to all who seek it usually, these are however very special circumstances as I hope and pray you can probably tell. Just because our city isn't dedicated to wisdom doesn't mean we have to discard all reason or future planning lmao. We are responsible for the entire home front not just Eadric, we aren't a lowly priest that can afford to lack perspective. I am not over working my exhausted clergy members any more than they have to, I know it's fun to be idealistic and all but actions have consequences and this is not worth it. Having individualistic takes as Richard when he has sacrificed himself for the greater good over and over again doesn't make a whole lot of sense either. Also for the last time, HE ALREADY GOT HELP. We DON'T need to bend over backwards for everyone, he himself said most priests would have lopped off his arms and called it a day. I am not wasting any more rare and precious resources on him.
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>>4588352
(Just want to interject for a moment and clarify that you guys can produce a ludicrous amount of the tea you've been giving, and that it can and will provide death if taken in high enough amounts. You do not need to expend any resources to guarantee this man's death. Also worth noting that burn victims do not require constant monitoring, and so the allocation of someone to his care purely to change the dressing on his wounds and for periodic care is feasible. Not ideal, but humane.

After some serious consideration I'm going to leave this open until I'm home from work. Will be around 8:30pm EST, and I'll be here to answer any questions in the meantime.)
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>>4588365

Obviously this is going nowhere so I think you can lock it, I am not changing my vote.
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>>4588352
In special circumstances, I agree, but I'm sure we have a differing interpretation on that. I'm sure this scholar had his reasons for becoming traitorous, but to who is the real question. Most of these people feel like we personally don't embody the core tenants of Mercy, and feel like they were the ones betrayed by the head of Mercy's church. They may traitors to our rule, but not that of Mercy's church, and Inertia just took advantage of the situation presented to them.

I'm not saying we discard reasoning or future planing, but emotions do decide what line of logic or future people decided to take, and if anything, Eadric is certainly the city of emotion, and empathy.

It's isn't idealism that drives my reasoning, for I know the potential consequences. I still believe in offering him the choice regardless, because the act itself is meaningful, of letting him decide how to live his out his life, even if it turns out to be a brief flash of light.

And I would argue that Richard's choice of continued sacrifice for the greater good is as an individual, as he recognizes the individuality of others and wouldn't wish to push them beyond their limits, even if it was in the service of the greater good. By seeing how we conduct ourselves, and separating our clergy as apart from us, Richard sees them as individuals rather than as a collective.

And if he already got help, then it wouldn't matter if we offered it to him :^)

I'm not saying we bend over backwards for him, I'm saying we should treat him as anyone else who calls for Mercy, and let him decide if he wishes to call upon her. There's nothing wrong in offering a man a choice in the matter of his life.

>>4588367
That's fine, neither am I. Disagreement is healthy, and your concerns for our clergy are valid. I just see nothing wrong in offering him a choice. We can do both prompts without them being in direct conflict. If anything, this has been very illuminating for me as to the nature of Inertia, at least as their demons see it. They were denied a choice as individuals, and were thus forced into a collective by the theocracy. They then decide to oppose the theocracy as collective, even if it means the death of humanity as a whole. The absence of individuality justifies their existence. They crave meaning in their lives, on a very human level.

So I thank you for disagreeing with me, and hope you will continue to do so if you see a problem :^)
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>>4588367
>>4588401
(Can't begin to tell you both how much I appreciate the discussion. This was incredibly illuminating for how you view the situation, a lot of morality, the world you're inhabiting and a ton about how you want to treat your friends and enemies. I want to do this discussion justice, and can't really manage rn while mobile due to some nerve pain and little access to a decent screen. Still going to leave the vote open until I get home in case anyone else wants to add their thoughts. Thanks so much to you both again, disagreement is definitely healthy for both the quest and the way we're all running the show! As is I'll do everything I can to express as much of this as possible.)
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>>4588419
I'm sorry to hear about the nerve pain, and I hope it gets better.
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>>4588425
(Thank you very much man. It's definitely manageable, just can't crank out a full update on my cell phone today. :^) Should be right as rain in no time. Got about two hours til I'm home too.)
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>>4587907
>>4587914
>>4587919
>>4588052
>>4588062
>>4588178
>>4588193
>>4588212
>>4588226
>>4588248
>>4588252
>>4588267
>>4588296
>>4588307
>>4588336
>>4588352
>>4588367
>>4588401
(Alright gentlemen. Taking all votes, discussion, opposition, suggestions, and utterly blessed takes into consideration. Just want to reiterate how phenomenal you all are. Back at home for the evening. Vote is locked. Writing now.)
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>>4588608
https://youtu.be/Ixdkqw-XmE8

Peace and quiet falls on a man in the twilight of his life. Relentless sheets of rain blend into a steady stream of faint noise against the hideout's solid stone walls. The fireplace at your back pops and crackles, lending enough heat and light to see your work clearly. The debridement of the man's left hand and arm was far more involved than the right. It's brutal work, but you are the most competent healer in the nation. Your skill is possibly unrivaled by all the world. There's nothing left to chance. A long pit will be left behind in his limb, by the Time you're done picking and scraping the last of the fire-iron's work out.

That is, it will be if he lives beyond the next few weeks. All the while, you think to yourself: Why?

Wiping the blood off from the last of your tools, you make no indication of your work being finished. The scholar has been drifting off to sleep through the procedure, thanks to what must be hours of exhausting pain. The deep wounds that are taxing all of his body's capacity for healing aren't helping matters either.

He'll need an exorbitant amount of rest in the days ahead, and you have to get to the worst of it. You are a healer in the year 606, with a bag full of wildlife, and a heart full of gold. The best you can do is grind the best items at your disposal, and supplement the mixture with your flask. Praying as you work at the small wooden container doesn't make the work of using a pestle and mortar any less tedious.

The small, black dish's cracks are filled with gold. The old, beloved item is downright soothing underhand, while you create enough salves and bandages for this man's hands and forearms. It gives you Time to think. To reflect. To preemptively grieve.

In the softest tone you possess, you wake the living-dead man up. "Sir."

If Father Pevrel had it his way, you're positive this man would already be dead. It's possible that the lord of justice only saw fit to leave your most convicted enemies alive. Men and women who stood a chance at redemption. Those who would honor your creed. He reflexively draws in on himself at the noise.

There is only one way you are honoring your tenets in this situation. The voice of the grave leaves you. "I am asking you for Mercy, sir."

That wakes him up. Disbelief blinks at you. "What?"

"I'm going to dress your wounds for you, and you do not need to pay close attention to the work. Please listen to me carefully. I know the tea has compromised most of your faculties, and I am just— I am just sorry I couldn't do more. I can't leave you like this without offering my help. You understand the position that I am in better than most."

One of the guiltiest looks you've ever seen passes over the man's narrow and mild features. "We've ruined your life, and destroyed your home."

You take in a sharp breath, and resist the urge to scream, or cry, or break down on the spot.

(1/7)
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>>4588790
A level breath leaves you. You close your eyes, and stop the work with the bandages for just a moment. "The pain that will be on you by tomorrow is already more than any of you deserve. You are not the only burn victim. The homes that Inertia has set ablaze, and that— and that my children have had to destroy must have taken many more."

You open your eyes, and resume dressing raw tissue. The man is sweating from the sight of his own mottled Flesh. He must have a weak stomach. The tissue is pink, and as clean as could possibly be. Bone is visible in one spot on his left arm. There's a good deal of blood. You dry off your hands on a spare rag from the crimson for a moment, and murmur, "innocent men, women, and children are dying in my streets. It's folly. I cannot reconcile the actions you have taken against my city. It's killing me."

Every motion you make to dress the scholar's hands has to be controlled. You steady your own fingers through sheer force of will. "This is not Mercy. Thanks to loss of my family, and the empty halls of my home, I have seven clergy of Mercy at my disposal. Only seven, for the defense and livelihood of my entire city. My knight nearly died from exhaustion just a few hours past. I will not trade my family's health, their sanity, or their trust for anything. Not for your life, and not for the countless innocent souls who will need our aid in the days to come."

The pain in your chest is miserable. It's hard to tell if the pressure is from how badly you want to help, or from what you know needs to be done. "The limits I have pushed myself to are inhumane. I have been neglecting my foremost tenets, the will of Mercy, and disregarded the sanctity of my position. I'm ignoring my own self-defense. My own self-love. Kindness is my creed, sir— and you need to understand that everything that I have done has been in the name of the greater good. I am the Father of Emotion. I am the Lord of Empathy. I am the leader of the church of compassion, and CANNOT abide by ANYONE in my care suffering in the same way that I have."

You finish bandaging his hands and arms. It took less than a few minutes.
You look him dead in the eye.
He flinches a little from the sheer intensity of it.
You don't care.

"Help will come from the capital, but it will not arrive for weeks. You will likely never live to see the city of shields recover from the misery that you, and all of you heathens have inflicted on my home. Believe me when I say that I will not stand by and let either of our efforts amount to nothing. I am giving you a choice, sir, and whether or not you wish to even dignify my offer with a response lies in your hands."

A faltering breath leaves him. He's terrified, but manages, "yes, Father."

(2/7)
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>>4588791
"The seeds in the brew I gave to you can ease your pain. The burns you endured will cause agony untold with or without motion. Listen to me, and listen to me closely: your efforts and enablement of the cult of Inertia has left my city in a false famine. This sin should be unforgivable. This punishment is of your design. Our sick and injured are the lowest in priority for rations. You, sir, will go hungry in the days ahead. If this cult's efforts make the situation any more dire, you will be the first to starve. The rate of your healing is going to be slow, and these bandages will ultimately need to be changed."

He's firmly wrapped up in damp gauze up to his elbows. The man's hands must have intentionally been chosen. It's going to make things so much worse.

"There is no remedy in this world that will ease the pain you'll suffer. If you are to attempt this endeavor alone, I will not let you leave this building without enough pain relief to kill you."

The gaze you're holding is harder than granite. The crackling fireplace at your side loosens a strip of wood, and sparks puff into the air. "Do you understand me?"

The scholar has yet to interrupt. He's terrified, and swallows hard, while nodding in understanding.

You glance towards the pitcher of wine. "I'm going to equip you with enough tea to ration it out. A number of supplemental herbs for your bandages will help provide cooling, moisture, and further relief from the pain. What you do with these all of these materials when we part ways is at your discretion."

Several minutes are spent elaborating on what amount of the black seed is necessary for pain relief, what quantity will cause serious damage, and what threshold will assuredly kill him.

The man is outright shaking by the end of it. "Thank you again, Father."

You soften your tone. "You are not a child of Mercy. You are a traitor to the crown, an usurper of my home, and have brought this pain upon yourself. You will not be remembered as a martyr, if you seek a violent or public end. We are at war, and you have pitted demons against the last of our race. The extent of this sin— to say that it eclipses petty politics is the understatement of this age. This is all about so much more than the public's opinion of my station, or any single one of our lives."

The last trace of any edge leaves your voice. "This is about the people. Those who are out in the streets— fighting on our behalf— while I sit here and run my mouth. This is about my children, who are putting their lives on the line, and already have their plates more than full. We will stop at nothing to protect the ones we love."

(3/7)
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>>4588793
The man sitting beside you instinctively draws in on himself, as you run a bloody hand through your hair, and try to keep it together. There's tears in your eyes. "I can't stand the thought of you leaving here, and dying. You're a learned man. The skills you possess placed you at the head of your family. You are the father of your own castle— and you are welcome to come to mine."

He can't believe it. He starts tearing up, too, and shakes his head. "There's a limit to compassion, Father."

"Hear me out. I cannot promise anything in the way of responsible care, or that you might live through the rest of tomorrow night. I cannot stress enough how much pain you will be in, sir. I cannot relinquish one additional supply or safety measure. You would be expected to enter the Church of Mercy on your own merit, and to deal with the security of my men and women who have survived a siege. They're likely going to still be fighting for many days to come."

You feel sick. The weariness on you is hanging from every word. "Think of how thinly stretched we are, without relief. Our lives are under constant threat. Imagine what it will be like for them to hear that I have betrayed their trust. Imagine what a laughingstock I will continue to be. Think of how trivial my judgement and wit will appear to my allies. They'll call me the softest man to have ever lived— to have welcomed an enemy into my home, and to mend his burns before my city's. To have upheld the tenets of my station."

You grimace, and choke down a sob, shaking your head. "Think of the leader of the Church of Mercy actually doing his damn job for a change."

The conflict is killing you. The struggle to speak is unrelenting, and it still feels like there's a thousand things you can say. You hate it enough to mutter, "you all have been denied your freedom of choice. It is the greatest sin Mercy or I can conceive of. It's no wonder that you all crave meaning. Your collective strengths embolden you. Your unity justifies the very aimlessness of your existence. Aiming to dismantle the theocracy is not some twisted attempt at destroying the last of humanity. You all have just been desperate for answers."

The patient is outright horrified. The face he's making is of someone who's seriously entertaining killing himself.

(4/7)
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>>4588797
You can't bear to look at him, and cast your gaze to the floor. Your rain-slick robes, the lime-green pollen, the flecks of poison ivy, splatters of demon's filth, men's blood, and the disarray of your jet-black robes is only emphasized by the bulge of your gut. It's nearly a constant reminder on the periphery of your vision of just how much you've sacrificed, and gained. It's been ten days since you last had a full night's sleep in an actual bed, your schedule is in the trash, your best workout plans are laid to waste, your diet is a disaster, your soul itself is likely breaking, and all you can think of is one thing. "Why?"

It's as if the man beside you forgot how to speak. Through the miasma that's in his mind, furrowing his brow, he stammers, "wh-why what?"

"Why did you help them?"

He starts to move to fuss with his mustache— some nervous habit— and realizes his hands are going to be compromised for the rest of his life. A miserable trail of an explanation drifts out from him. "I felt like it was the only way we would get any answers. You've been gone for nearly a year, Father Anscham. The city was infested by strangers to Eadric within weeks of your departure. We all felt the change, even if not everyone paid attention to the matter. It was clear that the Church of Mercy had been abandoned. The Goddess had stopped answering our prayers. The few souls that remained behind for your return could not support the absence of your strength, or skill, or care. Fewer and fewer people looked to the home of light. Those who went there often did not return. The city of empathy turned in on itself, or turned a blind eye. I am no different."

His inhibitions are completely gone, in a wave of self-hatred. "I've always been a skeptic, Father. The work you have done here has only raised more questions for me. What difference can there be between your work, and sorcery? Why should the Gods only grant some of us Their ability? What makes you more deserving of healing than any of us?" The hand holding your Relic is looked at, and despair flits across your patient's features. "I can't imagine what you must have sacrificed to get something like this. I don't believe I ever want to."

It dawns on you that this man is perfectly sane. He was seeking a confession after all, and continues, "I'm a coward. I didn't want to die then. Not when the Church of Agriculture showed up to the city, or the guard was changed over."

"Pardon me?"

"I only spotted one or two, and they must have been gone as quickly as they came. Or hid. Who knows? It didn't make a difference when the Church of Mercy vacated completely, and no one seemed to want to touch the castle. Not when I was contacted to be a point of contact for your men, and to falsify as many documents as I could to keep you all as confused and distracted as possible. Not even this afternoon, when Father Pevrel tracked down the families of everyone at the hearing."

(5/7)
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>>4588798
You shove away the urge to barge out the door and confront your fellow church leader. The man at your side grasps onto your sleeve with a bandaged hand. Blood surfaces to the top of the gauze the instant he does so. He's looking to the spot with terror, shaking, and trying not to cry. "But not now." A lost soul looks up to you with no hope in his eyes. "I would like to leave a few things to you."

Another sob escapes you, as you try to keep it together. "Please."

"It's better if you don't know my name, but I'll leave you with directions to my home. I'll see to organizing my research tonight. None of my family is left." The drugs through the lost soul's system lends to a detached gaze, as he stares right past you. "I'm no child of Mercy. Don't remember me as one."

Both of you spend several more priceless minutes drafting a map. The district the man resides in, the location of his home, and a few recommendations for how to navigate without alerting the neighbors are given.

Enough tea to kill the scholar is packaged along with plenty of dressings for his injury, the materials needed to spare his skin if he so chooses, and directions for how to get to the Church of Mercy's main gate safely in the current situation. You find a way to fasten it with a number of bandages, to reduce the amount of contact he'll need to make with his hands on the items.

He intends to die, but you know better than anyone that men can have a change of heart.

The scholar is led to the door. Your Relic exchanges hands. The instant the small locket parts from his palm, his knees buckle. You offer the man a hand at his back to help keep him steady. The fog in his mind will get him through the night, even with the weakness and exhaustion on him. There's more work to be done, and you take a rapid step backwards.

A merchant is shoved into the room by the damn priest of Vengeance. It's the pompous man adorned all in silks, with greasy hair, who mistook you for a native of Wearmoor. Your parents do reside there now, and you are a farmer's son, but he's far from the mark.

As you stash the map on your person, and badly want to take a moment to clean off your robes, you're at least relieved that the medical supplies you used are totally put away. The wiry, arrogant, fairly tall, and saccharine man drops to his knees before you. He's shaking, and is obviously in severe distress. His wounds are a simple slash across his brow, from a single blade. Likely the only warning he needed to keep in line. "Mercy, Father Anscham. Mercy."

This is a tasteless affair, after everything you've just heard. There isn't a minute to breathe. You run a hand through your hair again, and say with some exasperation, "all who call for Mercy are heard. You wish to heal?"

"Yes." He's looking up to you with bloodshot eyes. The night's getting late.

(6/7)
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>>4588799
You don't have Time for this. The amount of composure you possess has had you labeled as a demon of faith many times before. You can take the high ground, and get this over with. "Be it not my place to judge the first blood spilled. We will never turn a blind eye to the weary, the sick, or the injured. Pure are my hands. Pure is Her blessing. Pure is made blood spilled, when held by Mercy."

The man kneeling on the screen beside you wrings his hands together, and is practically prostrate on the floor. "Thank you, Father. You are Merciful. Thank you."

>A] Encourage this sinner to speak about his falsehoods. He was quick to play into the game about your mistaken identity. It would behoove you to find out why.

>B] As a merchant, this merchant no doubt has ample information on the wares that have been reallocated. His greed has been his undoing. He needs to repent.

>C] Chastise this traitor for playing at servitude, and tell him to get off his knees. This is disgusting, and you don't want to play at any more games.

>D] Write-in.
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>>4588802
B, then A; information and supplies are important, our personal curiosity can come after.
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>>4588842

+1

I think we could sprinkle in a bit of C too, tell the man we can heal him but he will have to grow a spine himself.
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>>4588842
+1
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>>4588980
+1

>>4588802
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>>4588980
Maybe Agri can help with that.
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>>4588842
>>4588980
>>4589052
>>4589168
(Good afternoon everyone and happy new year! Hope you all are having a fantastic day, evening, or wherever else you are as the world's turning.

Locking the vote here, work should be VERY slow today so hopefully I can write a fair bit! Writing now.)
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>>4589205
>>4589206
An exasperated glance passes between the closed door, and the man groveling at your feet. This is disgusting. "You know full well that I'm well-acquainted with Mercy, but let us both pay respect to Agriculture. I can heal you, my child— but you will have to grow a spine yourself."

A murmur is made to the floor. "Father, what good would it do if I'm to be cut down the moment I leave your presence?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Get on your feet. Now. You're insulting every man and woman who's paid for our respite with their lives." You make a point of dragging the chairs in the room towards each other. Sitting down in one with a huff, you gesture towards the other. "Get over here. You need to repent."

The fool drags himself upright, and slouches into the empty, opposing chair. It's probably not as comfortable as yours. "Where do I begin…?"

"Correct me if I am mistaken." You raise your eyebrows. He makes a face of mock offense, like he wouldn't dare. "Trade and commerce in my city has ground to a halt. Your business would have been damaged, were it not for the reallocation of our supplies." Folding your hands over your stomach (it's easily more comfortable than any pillow to rest on), you suggest, "greed has been your undoing. It is as fine a place to start as any."

At least the traitor has no use for pride. He immediately trips over his own speech, as if he can't speak quickly enough. "They offered me more than gold, Father. I was offered protection, for all the years ahead. I had to accept. Dead men make for poor business, you see."

"That depends on your trade."

"Not mine. So far as I could tell, it WAS the Church of Mercy making the orders. Walking the streets. Changing the guard. How was I to know that you weren't dead and gone? How was I to predict the floods, when our contact with Rimilde was all but cut off? How was I to be aware that our stores and provisions would be hoarded and hidden?"

"You saved nothing for yourself?"

"Well." He slouches further. "Of course I've set aside what I could. I do have a spine, Father. I also know when my neck is on the line."

"Go on."

"I would gladly look after my wives—" He's a devotee to Flesh. "—here in the city of gold. Especially through an impending conflict. Conflict is in our very nature, is it not?" You don't dignify him with a reply. "But the opportunity your gilded city presents is priceless. I explained the supply routes and distribution of goods coming and going from Eadric to this 'Inertia.' I never could have imagined that you would actually return. To be frank, I was under the impression that this would be a short affair, and things would return to normalcy soon enough." The idiot straightens upright, and gives you a determined stare. "Now that you're here, I could not be more confident that this mess will be resolved in short order."

(1/4)
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>>4589305
"Our supply has dwindled to the point of scarcity and famine. This cult's forces still must be fed. You mentioned that these trade routes were explained to them, but our roads are in shambles."

"Ah. Yes. Well. The Church of Agriculture has been through Eadric occasionally. They seem to have been developing some alternatives. I'm not certain of the details, but they promised me that the materials I provided would be kept well and away from our enemies."

You're confident that these tunnels must snake under the entire city. It must have taken months, or was performed by some specialist. A level breath carries with it the scent of burn salves, elderberry, and dandelion. You are not going to smite this man where he sits. You are a devotee to the Goddess of life, and the Goddess of clemency. This is fine. "I'm guessing that this affair with the Church of Agriculture has put Wearmoor on your mind. Despite the calamity raging in the streets, you were quick to join in on the play at my mistaken identity." He's tensed up as if he's been struck by lightning. You lower your tone. "Choosing to meet me with betrayal of my foremost tenet does not need to be an unforgivable action. We are here for contrition. The Father of Truth would like to hear the real matter of these falsehoods."

Resolution sinks into the man's features. He speaks with complete sincerity. "I'll honor your title, then. I wasn't lying, Father. I've never seen you in my life. Never been to the Church of Mercy. Go out of my way to avoid preaching. No offense. I love Her city, but you've done no kindness for our trade. Things haven't been much worse, save for until you left. Headed south so fast, I've done everything I can to keep it all together. I'd hoped someone else would step up to the position, if I'm to be completely honest. Your age lends no favors to experience— and if I've heard correctly, you were raised in a backwater fishing hole."

Your grimace is starting to hurt. "Uh-huh. It's a fair description of the village, if nothing else."

"If you have no counsel available, and are only hearing of any of this from me on a happy chance, I still shudder to think of what will await our other traders and craftsmen in the days to come. This is no traditional war. There is no profit to be had in a battle of attrition." A look passes over you, lingering mostly on your belly. "I spoke out of turn, given my own social standing. But everyone had to have been thinking it. Even talking to you face-to-face, I'd have mistaken you for a beat-up priest of Agriculture if I didn't know who you are." He winces. "I'd heard a few rumors. The scars are a lot worse up close. But you're no madman."

You've never fought so hard in your life to keep a straight face.

"I can see it in your eyes that you don't want to do me any ill-will, Father. I'd like to help you, if you would do the same for me."

(2/3 must have copy/pasted twice)
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>>4589308
"I am offering you healing, and forgiveness."

"And I'm offering you more than a confession."

This man actually has the audacity to offer to trade with you, even after everything that he's done.

>A] You've heard enough. Send him out of here. You'll have Father Pevrel raid his home and requisition the cache of supplies he's hoarding the moment your fellow church leader can spare his men. It's common practice for the theocracy to seize goods even in peace time, so you are not overstepping any boundaries by doing so.

>B] Well. You did tell him to grow a spine. Hear out the man's offer.

>C] Not so fast. You may be notoriously inexperienced with bargaining and bartering, but that doesn't mean you aren't capable of defying expectations. Make a suggestion of your own. (Write-in.)
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>>4589315

>B] Well. You did tell him to grow a spine. Hear out the man's offer.

It is in his nature to bargain, let him speak.
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>>4589319
+1
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>>4589315
I agree with >>4589319, but I would also mention that the rule of Mercy would be better for the craftsmen and traders than it's absence. After all, who really benefits from attrition and famine? It is never the people, or those who wish to profit from their own labor.
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>>4589319
>>4589344
>>4589357
(Based as fuck. Going to lock the vote here and knock out another update! Writing now.)
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>>4589366
"Speak freely."

A great deal of the trader's tension and terror falls. He glances to the closed door, back to you, and whispers. "I can name names for you, Father Anscham, but would appreciate it if you changed a few of your priorities. I ask on behalf of all who depend on your strengths. Our roads are flooded, and are beset by demons most foul. It will surely be weeks before you receive help from the capital, but these repairs will not be addressed by holy men for so much longer. The church of Storm will be scattered across the country, dealing with the worst of the flooding. The church of Agriculture is to blame for this famine. They will not answer your call. Allow me to ease your ally's desire for Vengeance. There are members of Wearmoor's own who I can name. They are your enemies. I can describe to you their faces, and what I believe they have done. These allies of the fields will do me no harm, but only if I hold my tongue. I stand to lose a great deal in turning them over to you. I am under threat of *imminent* death from all sides, and so I ask on behalf of *your* countrymen: clear and repair the roads to the north, as far as you can. There is a priestess of Storm in our city. You claim that you can invoke Agriculture. This should not tax either of you, if your skill is as—" He searches for the word, and vaguely gestures towards you. "—substantial as I suspect."

The merchant narrows his eyes, and asserts, "this is something that your people will desire— with or without my encouragement. It will dramatically improve your public image, expedite the arrival of additional forces, grant those who seek safe refuge the ability to escape, and will open up the surrounding farmlands for communication and aid. This is to say nothing of helping you to cull potential enemy forces lying in wait outside city walls, and that you and your strongest allies may do so without the loss of further life. You will save many lives— and many livelihoods. Your profit will be great, and you will be armed with the identities of those responsible for much of this destruction beneath your city. This is the *least* I can do, for the Lord of Gold himself."

A reminder is in order. "The rule of Mercy will benefit our craftsmen and traders more than Her absence. Your proposition is only possible thanks to my return, and from all of my company's efforts. Our laborers cannot profit from attrition, and famine. Denying me this information could delay or halt the aid of countless others."

"Delaying this work will end the lives of countless others. I am using what I have at my disposal as an incentive, Father Anscham— because I am certain you are too young and overwhelmed to make the best calls in this situation. There is a standing army of violent, bloody zealots at your disposal. The clergy of Vengeance here are willing to die to fight on your behalf."

Not everyone who called for Father Pevrel was blind. This man might be smarter than he first appeared.

(1/2)
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>>4589436
The merchant continues scrutinizing you, and you realize he's not fixed on your waist. He's looking at the blood on your hands and robes. "There should be no need for you to kill two demons in a day with your own hands. You are grossly mismanaging your strengths, and need counsel. Sane counsel, and not from runaway priestesses, lunatics from the ruins, or manipulative old men. I offer my own experiences and observations freely. I am telling you with as much sincerity as I possess: Only you can make this happen, Father."

He holds out a hand. The symbol of Mercy takes many forms. This particular gesture is purely used for sanctified trade.

>A] Accept the offer.
>1] You'll see to these tunnels, your sermon with Mercy, and get to the roads tomorrow afternoon. No exceptions.
>2] You can't promise a day or time. Stress it, and make sure he knows you'll still honor the deal as soon as you can. There's a high risk he'll back out. (Write-ins may help enormously.)

>B] Don't accept the offer.
>1] Demand the names. You won't use force, but Father Pevrel sure would love to.
>2] You won't take the information, and WILL see to the roads in your own time. That is, when you aren't afraid of dying or worse from the effort. Explain to this man why you can't honor this deal right now, and let him go.

>C] Write-in.
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>>4589440
A1; the Time of it may very, but her will is unchangeable, and in this instance, so is mine. It will be done, and thank you for your insight. I do welcome it.

We'll need a proper rest, and so will Julian, before we commit to this.
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>>4589440
>>A] Accept the offer.
>>1] You'll see to these tunnels, your sermon with Mercy, and get to the roads tomorrow afternoon. No exceptions.

ROAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADS
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>>4589440
>A] Accept the offer.
>>1] You'll see to these tunnels, your sermon with Mercy, and get to the roads tomorrow afternoon. No exceptions.
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>>4589440
>>A] Accept the offer.
>>1] You'll see to these tunnels, your sermon with Mercy, and get to the roads tomorrow afternoon. No exceptions.
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>>4589458
>>4589465
>>4589566
>>4589568
(Wonderful dudes! Vote is locked here. Having a quiet night for the rest of 2020, going to plug away at the update and post as soon as I'm able. Happy new year to you all once again, hope you have an incredible one!)
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>>4589747
Same here!
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>>4589750
(It's been an absolute rollercoaster and I can't say enough how much I appreciate you all. Gotta gush for a minute here if you all can forgive some sappyness, and something tells me you guys can handle it :^).

I can hardly believe just how incredible you guys have been, between everyone's involvement, contributions and the hundreds of thousands of words we've collectively written together. Between the insane art projects, batshit crazy choices you all have made, heartwarming comments and the sincerity in your guys support I can't say enough how much you all have meant through the hellscape of 2020. It's been wild, and I'll be praying for just as many countless hours questing and having a blast with you in the year ahead! I'm officially in 2021, things are winding down here, and I'm writing 41 minutes after the ball dropped lol. Update should be out shortly. Thanks again to all you dudes out there who are passing through, reading, writing, voting, and making every second of this crazy train a blast.)
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>>4589458
>>4589465
>>4589566
>>4589568
https://youtu.be/dtvoNmlQIe8

A part of you has a disproportionate love of roads. It's an odd fixation that you don't get to tap into nearly often enough. There's a smile across your face. You sigh, from the prospect of extended connection to a Goddess. You'd be lying if you said you hadn't entertained the prospect of revitalizing your entire country's infrastructure before. The prospect of reshaping miles upon miles of soil, hillside, and rock is downright tantalizing.

The fondness you hold for your country is about more than desire (though the embodiment of the earth does things for you no one else can claim). It's the memory of running along stunning hilltop ridges. The history and labor that goes into the cobblestones of your home's greatest districts. A reminder of civilization. Travel under the sun. Ridgeways that emphasize every natural curve of the land, along beautiful farmland, your rivers, and your cities.

Your roads are what brings humanity together. This citizen of your city could not drive a harder bargain, and he doesn't even know how much investment you already have in the venture. A firm handshake seals the deal. "I'll make it happen. Thank you for your insight. I do welcome it."

The merchant doesn't pull away, even though the stiff blood across your palms can easily be felt. "You're very welcome. Let's go over the details."

Parting the handshake, you only do so to place the fingertips on both hands together. No matter how urgent AND appealing this prospect is, you can't indulge in this venture if you die. Gently pointing to the man before you with a reverent tone, you stress the obvious. "I will be attending to the matter of this building and its tunnels throughout the rest of the night."

Anxiety is on the man before you. He looks like he wants to protest, realizes how inappropriate it would be, and keeps his lips shut all in the course of a single second.

"My sermon with Mercy will come at dawn. Sister Miramond and I will get some proper rest, and then we will commit to this matter with ALL our might. The Time of our work cannot be precisely guaranteed. Her will is unchangeable, Sir— and so is mine. No exceptions. It will be done."

Relief washes over the man before you in waves. He wipes some sweat off his brow, and looks to the glass of wine on the table beside you for only an instant. You sweep it up, and extend the item to your business partner without any pretense of social superiority. On the contrary. You murmur a brief prayer to Agriculture on his behalf as he takes the item from you.

(1/4)
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>>4589924
Even more sincerity is in his tone. "Thank you, Father." He drinks quickly, and sets the glass on the floor beside him. Both the man's hands are nervously clasped together. Anxiety is running all through him. "These men and women will kill me if they find out that I was the one who implicated them. I offer this information to you on behalf of every last citizen of the city of protection."

"I will do everything in my power to keep any harm from befalling you, sir."

"Chapman."

It's an absurdly old and respected family line in Eadric. The traitor isn't giving his name away lightly. "The Chapmans have been trading for generations," you remark.

He instantly appreciates the recognition.

You push it. "May I ask who has honored my station with fair counsel, and renewed loyalty...?"

"Crispin, though— if you'll forgive me, Father— only my wives refer to me by that name."

"Thank you, Mr. Chapman."

"Three individuals revealed their identities and work within Eadric to me during your absence, Father Anscham. Only three. They were certainly accompanied by others, who's ability and identities escape me. But those who saw fit to reveal their faces and business are clear in my mind's eye."

These people were convicted— or confident— enough to risk their safety to get this man's help.

"They are from three separate family lines."

This corruption is widespread.

"I spoke to them all separately, and only on one occasion. The first was Brother Merek Boyce." The expansive woods north of Wearmoor are protected by his family— including the outer defenses, and all the ruins in-between. "Brooding fellow. Was concerned with several specific buildings, who resided in them, and their surrounding areas."

"Do you recall which buildings?"

He lists them. They're all currently infested with cultists. You resist the urge to swear.

The merchant is all business, and continues the explanation despite your obvious concern. "Had black hair, green eyes, tanned skin, and was unusually thin. One mole on his right cheek stood out. His holy symbol was unconventional, as well. A shovel. Carried it right along with the scent of grave dirt."

A devotee to death, and its overlap with the earth.

"The second arrived the next day. Brother Gilford Woodfeller." Specialists from his family tree— well, specialize in their family's trees. The line of foresters branches off to include the Carpenters, Coopers, Sawyers, and Wheelers. Most of their finest are in the capital. Several are in your own caravan. "Affable enough lad. Seemed around your age. Brown hair, brown eyes, tan. Carried an axe openly. No discernible features, apart from looking like he could move boulders. Probably was while he was in the city. This priest I encountered wasn't anywhere near your size, but his company made me question my immediate safety. Again, I mean no offense Father, but I only pinned you as a son of the City of Vitality due to your probable strength."

(2/4)
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>>4589925
You make a non-committal nod of impatience. "Mhm."

Crispin is sharp enough to not linger on the matter. "He was content to receive information on the families here in Eadric who are involved in our trade. He proposed that I offer my services directly to his associates, which I happily declined. The boy was kind, but didn't have much in the way of subtlety, you see."

"He tipped you off to the reality of the situation."

"Immediately, yes."

"You ultimately accepted."

"They made me an offer I could not refuse, Father.

"Which was?"

"My life."

A deep breath reminds you of maple and blackseed. It's as bittersweet as the evening— but still weaker than your conviction. "They're overconfident."

"To be fair, Father, no one seemed to openly oppose them."

"How quickly the tide turns."

"Not as quickly as I would have liked. The last was Sister Ela Pottinger."

You blink. This is downright disarming. Pottingers are usually in service to the church throughout the country as maids. Servants. She wouldn't have been brought up as a clergywoman, though she may have been in close proximity to them for all her life. "A cook?"

"I pinned her for a smith. Certainly carried herself like one. The girl— she seemed younger than you by only a few years, I imagine. You are twenty-something...?"

"Twenty-five."

A smirk of satisfaction. "I was right on the money. She couldn't have been older than twenty-one. Another non-traditional holy symbol—"

An intense urge to clarify overtakes you. You literally carried the traditional symbol of the Church of Mercy against your heart up until this last year. The item is still with the rest of your possessions, and you don't intend to ever part with it. "It is more uncommon for someone to carry the standard symbol of the church, than not, Mr. Chapman."

"Ah. Well. All the more reason to clarify, then. She had a long sword."

"That is highly unusual. This was a priestess of Agriculture?"

"Unmistakably. Green eyes, brown hair, looked like she'd seen the sun every day of her life. Certainly had the height and assets—" An embarrassed glance towards the wall. "—excuse me, Father. The blessings that I would have expected from a priestess of fertility."

Mercy.

"But I digress. The woman wore a leather apron over her green robes, and seemed particularly concerned with the city's Smith."

"How long ago did you say this transpired?"

There's a very long pause. Chapman seems to value holding up his end of the bargain. Not everyone is as devoted to Time as you are, but the man clearly wants to give you as much information as he can. "Why, it must have been halfway through the last Setting Moon."

When you rejected King Magnus' summons to go to Calunoth, had your title stripped, and were to remain in the Church of Flesh for an indefinite period of Time. "Ah, I— I see."

(3/4)
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>>4589926
"They certainly seemed in a hurry. Sister Pottinger requisitioned as much metal as she could afford, from every citizen in the city that would spare their supply. The woman was unbelievably well-funded. I heard talk of copper, silver, basin obsidian, arcstone, and plenty more priceless materials. She had to have traveled with a great deal of company in order to bring it all here, but I never once spotted such a gathering coming in or out of the city. At least not until your arrival, or Father Pevrel's."

She's likely capable of manipulating metals. Wonderful.

"Is there anything else you can tell me about them?"

"No, Father, but often what is not disclosed to us carries just as much value as what we are told. I do not mean to insult your intelligence—"

"The hour is late, and I am battling exhaustion in my soul itself. Go right ahead."

"Well. These servants of Agriculture made no attempts at befriending me, despite my wealth and status. That is to say: they were not concerned with political alliances at the Time. It leads me to believe that their aggression was only provoked by your return."

This all has been a tragedy. You do your best to remain alert, and to listen.

"Likewise, they asked few questions, and left immediately. They wanted to complete their work and get out. They likely did not wish to be openly identified with Inertia's activities. The Church of Agriculture as an institution would certainly not wish to be implicated. Yet these priests and priestess trusted me enough to show their faces, which showed enormous confidence in their methods— and less confidence in your ability to reach them."

Chapman softly concludes, "it is possible that your enemies never expected you to return— let alone to be capable of gathering information from your citizenry. I will stress this one more Time, Father Anscham: I trust that you will have this matter resolved quickly, and decisively. I am placing my life and livelihood in your hands, as all of your people have done. We will continue to do so. I look forward to hearing of your continued success."

>A] Thank Crispin for his work. You'll pray for his success. Ask him to see himself out. You have at least one more person to hear out before the night is through.

>B] You legitimately could use saner, wiser, and more honest counsel in your life. Ask if you'd be overstepping your boundaries to visit Chapman's establishment at some point for future civic advice. Having as many ears to the ground right now as possible could not be more important.

>C] You'd like to understand why your people fail to treat you normally. Getting to know them better is a good place to start. This man has his fair share of flaws, and clearly is a kiss-ass, but you want to offer to facilitate a more formal method of counsel at a later point in Time. Whatever he's comfortable with for the circumstances of a meeting is fine by you— even if that means nothing at all.

>D] Write-in.
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>>4589927
>A] Thank Crispin for his work. You'll pray for his success. Ask him to see himself out. You have at least one more person to hear out before the night is through.
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>>4589927
>>A] Thank Crispin for his work. You'll pray for his success. Ask him to see himself out. You have at least one more person to hear out before the night is through.

Meeting with him would put his life at risk.
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>>4589932
>>4589967
(Good morning guys! Locking the unanimous vote here. Writing now.)
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>>4589987
https://youtu.be/8MsXDPqcrvM

"And I will gladly pray for yours as well. Thank you again for your service to our city, and for granting me such sound counsel." So much as seeing Crispin again could put his life at risk. You remain seated, and glance towards the door. "Blessed be the day, Mr. Chapman. May you prosper for many more."

"Blessed be the light, Father Anscham."

He leaves without event, and you're afforded a few minutes in silence. There's at least one more soul to hear out before the night is through. The fire is crackling, along with the steady stream of rain against the building. You place a hand to your robes and mutter, "presentable. Please."

All evidence of battle disappears without a trace. The black fabric is clean, slightly warmer, and as flattering as before. You're still in dire need of a new wardrobe, some soap, and a good night's sleep— but it's all going to have to wait.

The door swings open. The priest of Vengeance that's been acting as Father Pevrel's muscle all night shoves a noblewoman into the room with you, and swings the door shut the instant she's inside.

Nobility should not be this far from the capital. She's certainly in league with Inertia, or has some further agenda. The fair-haired, fair-skinned, golden-eyed descendant of King Magnus has her lips tight, as she staggers to right herself. She's easily one of the most beautiful women you've ever laid eyes on (despite the corpse rot on her many skirts, the exhaustion through her slender shoulders, and the arrogance running all through her).

The blonde straightens upright the instant she's able, and keeps her dainty head held high. Pomp and glamour makes a sweeping curtsy, without taking her eyes off of you for an instant. "Lady Laravald, of House Courteney."

>A] Remain seated. You're sick of games, sick of pride, and sick of traitors. "Have you come to confess?"

>B] You're well-bred enough to stand up and make a formal introduction. It's unbelievably disrespectful to not return this gesture, and could sabotage any and all attempts at civil discourse with this woman.
>1] Just your name and titles are fine.
>2] The whole rigmarole would suit your image and station much better, given present company.

>C] Write-in.
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>>4589999
>B] You're in-bred enough to stand up and make a formal introduction. It's unbelievably disrespectful to not return this gesture, and could sabotage any and all attempts at civil discourse with this woman.

>2] The whole rigmarole would suit your image and station much better, given present company.
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>>4589999

>>B] You're well-bred enough to stand up and make a formal introduction. It's unbelievably disrespectful to not return this gesture, and could sabotage any and all attempts at civil discourse with this woman.
>1] Just your name and titles are fine.

She can be as pompous as she likes, we have no use for pride.
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>>4589999
>B] You're well-bred enough to stand up and make a formal introduction. It's unbelievably disrespectful to not return this gesture, and could sabotage any and all attempts at civil discourse with this woman.
>1] Just your name and titles are fine.
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>>4590000
>>4590001
>>4590008
(Hell yeah guys. Unusual to be unable to merge prompts but B1 and B2 are definitely exclusive. Will go with the majority for B1 with the justification as well, but we can work with all this for sure. Vote is locked! Writing now.)
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>>4590012
No matter how much you hate the idea of pomp and ceremony, there's no denying your good breeding. This is a lady, you are a gentleman, and the least you can do is stand up and return her courtesy.

She extends a hand, which you lightly clasp in your own and bow your head towards. Her own deferent gaze locks with the green in your own. You keep your tone soft. You have no use for pride. "Your attempts at civility are a pleasure, Lady Laravald. As the hands of the King, defender of the city of shields, lord of compassion, our foremost researcher of the Catalyst, and with due respect paid towards all of the Gods, the least I can do is return the gesture. Father Richard Anscham. Leader of the Church of Mercy."

You're a little embarrassed. It's excessive. You've made no mention of restraint, but neither of you particularly care. A further, slight bow and curtsy is made respectively. You adjust the seats so they have more distance, and are facing just enough away from one another to remove any pretense of intimacy. Lady Laravald takes a seat, and you follow suit. She fans herself slightly with one hand. "Need I not stress that my silence this afternoon was ill-advised, Father. I have come to confess. Will you grant me this—" An excessive sigh. All drama. "—golden opportunity?"

Deep breath. You will not get annoyed. She warrants just as much of an opportunity to speak as anyone, no matter how much pretension surrounds it. The nobility in Corcaea is purely comprised of blood-relatives to the King. They hold no sway over your church, its tenets, or the way you conduct your business. They possess a dramatically higher social status, plenty of wealth, and pull with countless other families. That's it. The interactions you've had with the highest class in the country has always gone smoothly. You won't go dancing about honoring all of her lands, political associations, or her family's achievements.

Your gentle speech, clear respect, and willingness to entertain their nonsense got you to Ostedholm without a hitch. You'll see where it can get you now. "The repentant will not go unheard. Please, speak freely."

"I've helped to fund this cult, Father. You may not remember my presence, when I saw to your departure from the Church of Mercy those many moons ago. The audiences you held were fleeting, but we were onto your game well enough. I went along with your ploy. Your suicidal fantasy. Let it be known that I expected no return on the investment of my Time from you. Your enemies are plentiful, and removing you from the picture alleviated many complications. I confess that I have longed to be rid of your unpredictable nature, and the power you possess. In my weakness, I consorted with this sinful lot. This 'Inertia.' Their undertakings have been modest, yet steady, and rapidly led to control over your city in your masochistic absence."

(1/3)
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>>4590047
She's candid, alright. You try not to laugh. Grimacing suits you just fine. "My lady, your frank speech is welcome in the city of honesty. Please. Continue."

"You will forgive me, Father."

"You have sinned."

"Excessively, I'm afraid. The absence of nobility here in Eadric has enabled my influence. You will find that those loyal to me will not be so easily swayed. Our efforts to expand on Inertia's numbers was successful." Long lashes halfway cover golden eyes. She flits her gaze over the blood on your hands, and all that's slicked through your hair. "You have already culled much of my blasphemy."

"Are you aware that your influence has led to untold loss of life?"

A significant amount of the drama falls from her. "Acutely. This is a disaster of our own making. The viscous lunatics you have brought with you out from the ruins cannot be fought, let alone captured. Any attempts made to pacify or bargain with them have been met with incommensurate retaliation. We had hoped that calling upon the very Father of Retribution may ease the matter. He can pit any foe against themselves. The last thing I expected was for you to be capable of earning his respect— let alone his allegiance."

It's uncertain if Father Pevrel holds any respect for you at all, but you're sure he's your ally. "You seem to have been sorely mistaken."

The noblewoman takes a deep breath. Her hands are folded delicately on her lap, but she turns both of her palms up. "While I have been profiting off of the decay of your home, these heretics have betrayed me. There was to be immobility. I expected restraint. I came to Eadric longing for complacency and ignorance, from the very city of emotion. The last thing on my mind was chaos from bands of more suicidal, demon-loving madmen."

An icy stare bores into you. It's detached. "You are not the man who left this city." A chill runs up your spine from the odd scrutiny. "The accusations placed against you and your identity have a kernel of truth to them. I saw a disturbed, beaten, and confused failure of a leader leave his family behind to give up and die without ever seizing the opportunity given to him."

She leans forward just enough to make you uncomfortable. "Despite all this, your accomplishments have terrified your enemies. I am no exception. I see a man who has accepted his flaws in full: up to, and including the disaster that has been your career. Every one of your titles has been hard-won. The magnitude of your ability cannot be overstated. I reside under the defense of your city, because I know full well that you would die before letting it fall. I have openly betrayed your trust, but confess to the lord of compassion with the hope in my heart that you will listen to me, and want to understand."

(2/3)
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>>4590049
The frost in her yellow gaze lingers on your hair. "You are running yourself ragged, yet cannot help but lend your skill as a healer to any who need it. My words carry no falsehoods, Father Anscham, because I respect your integrity. I have had none, but wish to honor the man who hopes to save our very souls. Who wields the power of our Gods. Who was granted a station that many men would kill to possess. This gift was given to you through a death in your arms. I've heard plenty of stories, and we wanted to take no chances. The Church of Mercy is empty by design."

A horrible suspicion sinks into you. "Did you have anything to do with my clergy—"

"I have kept my hands clean, and did not touch any of them. But I do confess that I have done everything in my power to aid in the effort to make your return nigh impossible. You may wish to kill me, and I'm certain that Father Pevrel does. He knows of the information I hold, and of the influence I possess. He left me alive— as with all of the other lost souls you have seen this evening— so that we may help one another."

Lady Laravald clasps her hands together. Not a scratch on her. Father Pevrel wouldn't dare touch her, if he didn't intend to kill her. "I am a sinner. I was beaten and battered as a child. You must know precisely what it is like to have manners instilled in you. The languages I have learned, the skills I possess, and the strength that I have harnessed has been adequate to hold my own in the most volatile city in our nation. My husbands have all been worse than the last. Their sin has no place here, Father, but I exacted my own form of Mercy. I have killed plenty of my enemies, and am fully aware that hundreds of lives have been lost by my actions. No matter if it has been poison, hired hands, or manipulation of some other force. It has all been folly. I will die a lonely, bitter, and hateful old woman if I cannot recognize the error of my ways— and your actions today have shown me the truth."

Her eyes are dry, her features are hard, and the paint on her lips has faded. The lady beside you has no break in her composure. An emotionless, borderline inhuman tone trails out of her. "I might as well have never lived at all."

Panic seizes you. The weakness in the hearts of humankind is your specialty, and you can recognize someone on the verge of turning from their Catalyst faster than any other man alive.

(Options in next post.)
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>>4590051
>A] Take this enemy to your nation, saboteur of your life, and threat to your home by her hands and implore her to not give up hope. You CANNOT have her turn. Do whatever you need to do to keep her from faltering. (Feel free to write-in anything you like to supplement this endeavor.)

>B] Let her turn. Call Father Pevrel and his priest into the room before she's changed over, and have them make quick work of her. This woman is not fit to live.

>C] Insist that she's right, and that it's precisely the reason why she should be forgiven. You'll offer this woman clemency.
>1] By forgiving her entirely. If she still turns, there's nothing more you can do. (Write-ins as to why her sin is forgivable may help enormously.)
>2] Leave this matter to Father Pevrel's judgement. You are too emotionally involved in this matter to do your job properly, but still can uphold your tenets while taking action.

>D] Write-in.
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>>4590054

>>A] Take this enemy to your nation, saboteur of your life, and threat to your home by her hands and implore her to not give up hope. You CANNOT have her turn. Do whatever you need to do to keep her from faltering. (Feel free to write-in anything you like to supplement this endeavor.)

Lady Laravald, we are ALL sinners. For the few of us who have managed to realize that there is ALWAYS hope, stay with me. I do not wish to kill you, I never wish to inflict harm upon anyone. I forgive you, fully and completely. You may not be able to forgive yourself yet, but my journey to the ruins showed me that atonement is best achieved through action. Join me, my lady. The church of mercy is always open to those who need it, help me protect it. I am sick of war and death and demons, will you allow me to gain another ally? Another friend. You have a great amount of skill and knowledge, do not let it go to waste. Adversity is what makes us *grow*, mistakes are what makes us *learn*. Do not lose hope yet, there is still so much more we can do. So much more we WILL do. No sin confessed is unforgivable.
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>>4590062
+1
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>>4590054
A; I left for the ruins to die, only to learn this: it is never to late give Mercy to yourself, if no one else. You shall not die, lonely and bitter, if you take the Time to invest in yourself that which cannot be given: self-acceptance of our flaws, and a willingness to learn from them. Will you permit me to invest *my* Time, into helping you with yours?
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>>4590062

Maybe give her a hug too. Considering her status it might be weird enough to snap her out of it.
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>>4590062
>>4590063
>>4590073
>>4590114
(Amazing stuff guys, seriously. Vote is locked here. Writing now!)
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>>4590117
https://youtu.be/TnoyRnGmnlI

"Lady Laravald!" It is strength that has you seize this enemy by her hands. "Join me."

She blinks hard at you. The same, distant tone trails out from her. "What...?"

"We are all sinners. There is no illusion here. I left for the ruins to die. Yet my journey showed me that atonement is best achieved through action." The hold you keep on her tightens. "Stay with me, my lady."

"I'm a monster. You're just playing into my hand. This is all just a ploy to get away from this all without any consequence. You're gullible. Naive. Easily manipulated. I'm just as bad as any of—"

"Do you honestly think I would waste one second of my Time on someone who I didn't want to invest in?"

She takes a sharp breath in.

You don't budge— especially when her hot and sweaty hands are trembling. "I am sick of war, and death, and demons. I was trying to not laugh through your confession, my lady. You would not believe the things that I have seen, and heard. You are suffering, and to suffer is to live. You are no demon. Allow me to gain another ally. Another friend."

A high, false laugh leaves her. "Father. Please. You're being cruel."

"You know I would never lie to you. This is no ploy. You have no need for airs here. Own your shortcomings. Adversity is what makes us grow. Mistakes are the foundation of what we learn. You have a tremendous amount of skill, and knowledge. Do not let it go to waste."

The woman's protests fall silent. It's food for thought.

You are drowning in mismanaged shelter, ability, and people. "I cannot hope to see to every citizen of my city in all my life. The Church of Mercy is always open to those who need it. I'm challenging you, and all of your strength. Your resources. Your cunning. You are contrite, but not broken. Do not lose hope. No sin confessed is unforgivable. I forgive you."

It looks like she's going to cry. "You can't."

The verve in your voice redoubles. She needs to hear it— and by all the Gods, does it feel good to say it. "I forgive you. Fully, and completely. I ask not for naivety, or weakness. You've sought to kill my family, ruin my life, unseat my authority, and destroy my city. Thanks to your intelligence, and all of your foresight, you have looked to the hands of Mercy to heal. Permit me to invest my Time. Permit me to invest in your efforts. There is so much that we can, and will do. I never wish to inflict harm upon anyone. I ask for something far greater. Something that cannot be given."

The hands you're holding tighten almost imperceptibly against you. She's afraid to ask, but finds the courage to breathe, "what is it?"

You pull her into a hug. "Self-acceptance of our flaws, and willingness to learn from them."

(1/2)
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>>4590143
The noblewoman straightens upright like you've put a shock to her spine. A wretched and disjointed sound escapes from her. You realize she's crying, but is fighting with everything she has to suppress the effort. "What have I done?"

"You've made a step in the right direction." You will not torture her, and quickly pull back.

She completely breaks down, and sobs, "you're asking me for forgiveness for anything?"

"It was completely out of line," you say. You brush off some of the flecks of blood imparted onto your chest for good measure. It feels fantastic. You're aware that you're being weird. The comfort and gratification you get from being held outclasses any hesitation. You don't need to let onto anything else. Fishing for your miserably gaudy handkerchief gives her even more space. A stern stare completes the ruse of normalcy. "Here." The bright yellow cloth is tacky enough to be comedic. "Please excuse the impropriety."

The gold threaded item you've extended is declined with a wave of her hand. Lady Laravald produces one of her own tissues from a pocket on her bodice, and properly sobs into it. She pretends to snip through it, and must feel better for her own ploy at appearances. "Well, I never. We'll simply have to ensure that this confession never leaves this room."

Tears, and beet-red eyes discolor her otherwise beautiful smirk. "It would be dreadful if Inertia found out that they had a spy in their midst."

>A] Mercy, that is more than you bargained for. You can't trust this woman as far as you can throw her, and want your allegiances to be clear. Firmly clarify that any partnerships you have need to be made with full transparency. (Write-in how you intend to do this.)

>B] This woman is no doubt entrenched in a lifetime of political turmoil. You don't know the first thing about navigating Corcaea's rocky social waters. Plainly ask Lady Laravald how she thinks you can best use her talents without compromising either of your safety or security. It's going to reveal that you're clueless, but you would rather be honest and resourceful than to feign knowledge and be obstructive.

>C] Despite being a farmer's son that was raised in a backwater fishing hole, spending 8 years of your life confined to the floor of a cell, being misguided and overwhelmed for the majority of your career, and spending the last year embroiled in more trauma and violence than ANY many should withstand, you are STILL the LEADER of the Church of Mercy and WILL live up to your titles. (Write-in the first major decision of your political career. Feel free to be as detailed or vague as you like.)
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>>4590145

>>B] This woman is no doubt entrenched in a lifetime of political turmoil. You don't know the first thing about navigating Corcaea's rocky social waters. Plainly ask Lady Laravald how she thinks you can best use her talents without compromising either of your safety or security. It's going to reveal that you're clueless, but you would rather be honest and resourceful than to feign knowledge and be obstructive.

I am worried for her safety, stress that she should not do anything that may put her life at risk. I would rather see her escorted back to Calunoth once the roads are cleared than killed by cultists.
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>>4590145
>B] This woman is no doubt entrenched in a lifetime of political turmoil. You don't know the first thing about navigating Corcaea's rocky social waters. Plainly ask Lady Laravald how she thinks you can best use her talents without compromising either of your safety or security. It's going to reveal that you're clueless, but you would rather be honest and resourceful than to feign knowledge and be obstructive.

M'lady
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>>4590145
B; sometimes the best ruse is honesty. If she wishes to help, I won't turn down the offer. I only wish that she use her best judgment regarding her security, and to not take any unneeded risks. Her life is just as important as any other in our care.
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>>4590155
>>4590156
>>4590171
(Taking all these notes into consideration, locking the unanimous vote here. Writing now!)
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>>4590183
You have to be honest. "Your life is just as important as any other in my care. I would rather see you escorted back to Calunoth once the roads are cleared, than to be killed by cultists— but if you wish to help, I will not hesitate to take your offer. I can only pray that you do not wish to take any unneeded risks."

Both of you know how ill-prepared you were to come into your title. The handkerchief is stashed, as the noblewoman almost immediately gathers her composure. It's unsettling. "You won't like this." She's fully aware that you're a sucker for bad news. A sad smile crosses over her fair features. "But we both know that it would threaten both of our lives for me to tell you much in the way of anything. You are the Father of Honesty. Let me do the lying for you. I can assure you that I will not compromise your work, aim to unseat and destabilize our enemies, and will survive at all costs. You would be alerted when I find information that merits your clemency, Father."

Deeply sighing, you try to remind yourself of the merits of your tenets. "I would rather remain honest, and make proper use of my resources than to feign at any knowledge of the turmoil you're engulfed in. That said, I— I do sincerely wish to know how to best use your talents."

The noblewoman makes no motion to move. She stares you down. "By trusting me to do the right thing."

>A] Trust her, and let her go.

>B] You can't trust this woman. (Write-in why you're immediately going back on your word.)
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>>4590200

>>A] Trust her, and let her go.

The gods are Merciful.
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>>4590200
>A] Trust her, and let her go.
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>>4590204
>>4590341
(Unanimous vote locked here. Writing now.)
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>>4590365
There's light in your heart, and faith in your soul. Simply nodding at her is enough to earn the woman's respect. "I trust you. Go. The Gods are Merciful."

She gives you a tight frown, gathers her skirts, and moves to leave. "Everything I have ever heard about you does a disservice to your kindness. Kings show less benevolence and grace in all their rule than you have in one, single day." The noblewoman pauses before the door, and gives a small curtsy. "Thank you, Father. You are Merciful."

It's not proper for the lady to see herself out, but neither of you care.

A minute or two passes with only the pounding rain outside for company. The night is wearing thin, and you still have much work to do. The fireplace is tended to for a moment, as you think to the priestess of Storm in your company. Her, Adwin, and James have been kept waiting for an excessive amount of Time.

You've also accomplished more through this series of confessions than you have in weeks of residing in the city. Getting out, and seeing to your people has always paid dividends. Making the Time to spare for these endeavors is the problem. As you told Lady Laravald, there's enough citizens in Eadric that an audience with all of them would occupy the rest of your life.

The priest of Vengeance who's been bullying these traitors all night opens the door, and walks in unaccompanied. He leaves the entryway open, offering you a glimpse to the kitchen beyond. The coals Irefist doused much still be burning hot, as a faint red glow is cast on the walls and ceiling. There's the sound of people stirring from sleep, and hushed whispers to keep their voices down. Fear is all through their speech. The surly culprit of their distress by your side says, "two more, if you care to see them. A farmer's wife, who's taken her sweet Time coming to. Another is still rousing, who I'd like to cut down where he lays. Would you like me to bring the woman before you now, Father? Executing them would compensate for this gross abuse of your limited Time."

"Is anyone else still...?"

"No."

Dammit all.

(Options in next post.)
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>>4590418
>A] Losing one more life today is unthinkable. The information, allies, and peace of mind you've been given here is priceless. You'll see to the farmer's wife, and the other individual, then go straight to the tunnels after that. Father Pevrel will want to speak to you briefly as well.

>B] You've kept Adwin waiting underground in torchlight for half the night, and feel like a monster. Despite all of the good that you're doing, and the lives on the line, you simply can't spare any more Time. Head out, and get with the Lord of Punishment to figure out his hand in all this.
>1] Plainly order the priest of Vengeance to stay his hand. He must obey your order, no matter how much it will offend him.
>2] Immediately demand that Father Pevrel call his priest off from harming anyone else here.
>3] This priest of judgement has a damn good reason for striking your enemies. Don't stop him from doing anything.

>C] Write-in.
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>>4590419
A; we might as well finish this affair properly, then move on to what we came here to do. Offer the priest some tea as well, he has been enormously helpful with this affair, despite our feelings on it.
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>>4590431
+1
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>>4590419
>A] Losing one more life today is unthinkable. The information, allies, and peace of mind you've been given here is priceless. You'll see to the farmer's wife, and the other individual, then go straight to the tunnels after that. Father Pevrel will want to speak to you briefly as well.
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>>4590431
>>4590518
>>4590535
(Locking the unanimous vote here. Writing soon!)
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>>4590644
(Back and ready to rock and roll. Writing now.)
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>>4590669
https://youtu.be/oDf6t9Vec-U

You might as well finish this properly. "Let's see to them."

Everyone in Father Pevrel's company came here after a hard march on the road, and got straight to combat. The priest immediately turns to leave. He's slaked with sweat, is wavering where he stands, and has likely not set down his sword since you first saw him this morning. You catch him with your voice. "Wait."

Curiosity outweighs the man's annoyance. He pauses at the door, and turns to you.

You can set aside your feelings on the church of Vengeance in the name of common (Agricultural) decency. A quick glance is made to the wine at the table behind you, while you gesture to the servant of wrath. "Spirits have no place in a war, and especially not to support the enormous help I've received from you all. Can I get you something to keep you on your feet?" A waggle of your flask. A twinge of irritation flits across his features. "The peace of mind I've been given here is priceless. The least I can do is offer some healing in return."

The man before you gruffly replies, "thanks, but no thanks." He's not necessarily bothered by your offer. The man has appearances to keep in front of the leader of his church. Given how he looks around the door several times, and how every inch of him is screaming that he'd like to take you up on the offer, it's very likely that Father Pevrel mistreats his men as much as he does his allies outside the church.

Not everyone recognizes accepting help as a strength, but this is not the place or the Time to address how someone else commands their men. You promptly put the gold-capped container away. "The farmer's wife, then."

A few moments later, a ruddy-faced woman is led by her arm into the room. You drop your grimace at the priest of Vengeance using a lighter hand, and gesture to the chair beside you. "Good evening, ma'am. I'm certain that you can excuse our unconventional arrangements."

The man who escorted her in is shrugged off, and he leaves promptly.

There's dirt smeared across her many skirts. Two aprons are stuffed full with various bags for trade, and clink slightly as the farmer's wife collapses in the chair beside you. Her straw-like hair is free from knots or buns. There's agony all across her plain features. The woman doesn't look to have any serious injury, though she is cut in several places. Abrasions on her forearms, hands, and the dirt around her knees indicates she fell or was pushed over at least a few times. The exhaustion rimming her black eyes reminds you a good deal of your own mother. There's deep-set lines from tension at the edges of her lips, and betrays her actual age. She can't be older than you are, yet looks like she's easily born a dozen children.

The woman's done an enormous service to the nation, and with a look that appears as tired as you feel. "You goin' to 'ave me cut to ribbons like the rest of 'em?"

"No. This is an opportunity for repentance."

(1/3)
>>
>>4590728
"Don't need to make no confession, Father. I'm a Gods-fearin' woman. Came 'ere today to see what all the fuss was about. Pa's gone and looked after things on the farm for the day, and I'd ought to have been back hours ago by now." Her eyes narrow. "They said you were a beanpole. What a load of crock. No father I've ever 'eard of goes on without puttin' on some weight, or some gray. This all makes enough sense. The killin's sure don't. Sure don't explain everyone who's not comin' 'ome tonight, Father."

"You heard everything that was said at the hearing?"

"Sure as the sun in the sky. It's not up right now, so you'll beg my pardon fer askin' you to repeat it."

"Do you recall my request for any and every person present at that hearing to come forth, and admit to their falsehoods?"

"Come on now." Her shoulders droop a little further. "You said it your own self that you'd walked up to a trap. You got away sure enough. But not one of us was tripping it first. Not anyone who meant to get outta there alive." A hard sigh. She's staring you in the eyes. "I've enough sense to keep my mouth shut when need be. You've got bigger problems than knowin' when I 'ave or 'aven't stayed my hand. Them eyes ain't natural." A weary look passes over you. "This all ain't natural. Not most of it. Would bet on it. Yer 'bout to keel over any minute."

The ache in your soul has substantially lessened. Rather than being acute, excruciating pain on an existential level, it is now comparable to ordinary agony. Along with the sleep exhaustion, an irrational desire to go eat something, and the ache in most of your joints, you try not to laugh. "It's plain as day, isn't it?"

"Plainer."

"Well. No, ma'am. Not necessarily. I will rest when my work is done, but not a moment sooner."

A thumb is jerked towards the kitchen. "Go get yerself a stiff drink. Rot-eye—" She means Father Pevrel. You try not to smile. "—seems to keep you on your toes. Weird shit, Father, but I'm in no place to judge."

"Now, wait just a—"

"Don't matter none. Can't take every old thing you hear to heart. Good way to die, when our city's burnin'. The streets aren't safe. Twelve of my boys (lucky guess?) won't do a damn thing for any of us when the wolves come howlin'."

Both of her freckled, scraped, and filthy arms are crossed. "Didn't much like you takin' leave. Whole lot of us. You hear things, Father. Load of nonsense that might be worth carin' about. But you've put down demons today faster than these damn masks can make 'em. Got a whole army at your back! And I've 'eard how you work 'fore. Stuff of nightmares, it is. I know yer here to protect us."

"I—"

"Listen here. These rats aren't takin' our city. How stupid can you get? Go do somethin' to loosen yerself up. I'm willin' to bet you're too eager to get some action to even think about takin' a minute alone. Goin' to go gray just as fast as you've lost yer figure. Yer no use to us if you can't even stand."

(2/3)
>>
>>4590731
The mother clutches onto the back of the chair, and stands with a groan. "Back's killin' me from sittin' all day. Glad you Mercy types are always movin'. Keeps you sharp. I won't waste more of yer Time, Father. Just wanted to say my peice."

"Wait." Everyone is usually far too polite to cut off your flowery, circular, and excessive speech. It's been awhile since you spoke to someone who wouldn't let you get a word in edgewise. You'll try to keep this brief, given how eager she is to leave. "You mean to tell me that you had no involvement—"

"'course I did. Sure didn't lift a finger to help things in either way. Thought I was makin' the right call. We're all people, right? Shouldn't be fightin'. But not doin' a damn thing about the problem is just another way of helpin' it happen. Got roughed up nowhere near enough fer it. If these priests really think they're bein' fair, they'd have kept us all alive, and set fire to our homes." She pauses. "Come to think of it, they did to a few. I'd like to get back 'ome, if it's all the same to you. Sure as shit would bet you've got better ways to spend your Time than with me."

You've wanted to help the common man for all your life, but reaching the foundation of your nation does not come easily. This woman is distressed enough to ignore the fuss and propriety of your station, and doesn't have the manners to apologize. This woman might not realize she's confessed, but she's already sought some way to make amends. It's alright if she doesn't have the wits or wisdom to understand the gravity of the situation. Every soul under your protection is worth saving, and you are going to continue striving to do better.

>A] There's no need to take any of her advice. Not with how much you have on your agenda. But you can at least give her some sincere thanks, and ensure that this woman can return home safely before the end of the night.
>1] She will probably need a guard, and you can scope out the situation outside the city's defenses by giving her a small measure of protection. The streets cannot possibly be safe for a young woman alone.
>2] Regardless of this woman's social standing, you cannot possibly afford to part with even one good man just for her defense. She's aware that her sloth is part of the problem, and seeks to amend it. This will be a form of penance in and of itself.

>B] A stiff drink is EXACTLY what you need, and Father Pevrel will REALLY appreciate one, too. You'll share something potent with him once you're done with the next (and apparently last) confession.

>C] Stop her in her tracks, and demand answers. (Write-in anything you want to insist on discussing with this worried mother, who is urging you to let her get home to her children.)
>>
>>4590733
A1; we can afford to part with one man for tonight. It would be a shame if she got into trouble because of us. And if the rest of you lads are down for B, I'd be down as well.
>>
>>4590733

>>A] There's no need to take any of her advice. Not with how much you have on your agenda. But you can at least give her some sincere thanks, and ensure that this woman can return home safely before the end of the night.
>1] She will probably need a guard, and you can scope out the situation outside the city's defenses by giving her a small measure of protection. The streets cannot possibly be safe for a young woman alone.

People are supposed to be out patrolling anyway, just redirect one of those to her house so it doesn't look suspicious.
>>
>>4590733
A1
>>
>>4590733
>>A] There's no need to take any of her advice. Not with how much you have on your agenda. But you can at least give her some sincere thanks, and ensure that this woman can return home safely before the end of the night.
>>1] She will probably need a guard, and you can scope out the situation outside the city's defenses by giving her a small measure of protection. The streets cannot possibly be safe for a young woman alone.
>>
>>4590762
>>4590965
>>4591097
>>4591098
(Wonderful dudes, and good morning! Locking the unanimous vote here. Writing now!)
>>
>>4591102
https://youtu.be/tmFXl0ZSino

A moment is taken to halt the young woman's leave. Writing up a requisition for just one man feels ridiculous, but she needs some form of protection to get home safely. It's the least you can do. Along with the order to get her home securely, you instruct whichever individual Father Pevrel will spare to also patrol the surrounding area. You'll be brought a report before the night is out.

As the priest of Vengeance returns to the room with one final elderly soul in tow, you entrust the guard with the note, and murmur to get Father Pevrel on the job. Hard liquor is promised the minute you're done. The scruffy servant of retribution is all smirks and reassurance that it should get him in your good graces. The man gladly goes off to go get your request for protection seen to.

The last person brought before you this evening immediately walked to the rear of the room. He's putting as much distance between you two as possible. The man must have been sitting out of sight at the hearing, as you don't recognize him. It's an elderly man in phenomenal shape for his age, save for his clouded eyes. He must be completely blind, yet carries no walking cane. By the fine make of the cloth on him, and his relative lack of injury, you suspect that his family is comprised of mild-mannered craftsmen. Yet fists are at his side. He doesn't want a fight. This man is telegraphing self-defense. He expects you to strike him.

There's no introduction. Just a miserable question. Long, wavering syllables accent his speech. "Father? Father Anscham, is it?"

You remain standing at the door. The softness of your own tone usually does wonders for deescalating antagonism, too. "Yes."

"You're childless. Don't have a woman to your name either, if I hear right."

"You have heard incorrectly."

"Not just in meaning."

"Not just in meaning," you repeat. "I present you with an opportunity for confession. This is just as much a chance to voice your grievances with my failings, as it is— as it is to seek your own salvation."

He's being incredibly odd. You patiently wait several minutes.

A whisper leaves him. "Then forgive me, Father." The man clutches at the side of the stone above the roaring fireplace. His knuckles are white. "The things I have— it isn't because our city's been overrun. I've been a bastard. Through and through. I've been blind all my life. Feeling's all I know. What I hear is my window into the world. Don't forgive me for making the most of it. But I've probably sired fifty brats in your city. Most of 'em were kids themselves."

There's a lot less air in the room. That doesn't sound right, and can't be right. "Could you please clarify?"

"We're dying out, Father. I don't think I've got any of it left in me. Humanity. But I just keep going. I can't help it."

The rain outside must have quieted down, as the two of you stand in silence.

(1/2)
>>
>>4591131
He speaks quickly, like he's afraid he'll never be able to speak again. "You're not the Father of Judgement. I'm telling you all this, and I don't expect Mercy. I sure haven't been given any all my life. Your Gods took the world away from me. I've taken plenty more than the world from kids who couldn't do a damn thing about it. You don't need to know the half of it. But it doesn't change that I'm worse than some demon."

A cloudy, gray stare lingers on something unseen. "I don't understand it. You can feel divinity, and I can't see my hands in front of my face. You can live in a castle, and we've got vagrants sleeping on the streets. The Father of Gold is running a nation that can't even put armor and arms on our men. You want to preach about salvation? What about these people who will listen?"

You have to interject, "you mean Inertia?"

"Inertia. The occupation we've had from people who've tried to get me help. Help—" The desperation in his voice isn't much different from your own worst cries for aid. "—where I'd be killed by anyone else. They took me in, and got me away from my family. They're not going to be hurting on my behalf anymore. They don't have to hear a damn thing, or do a damn thing. I'm not a burden. They're happy to have a pair of hands that can't see what they're up to. All I want is for it to stop. They gave me a chance to try."

Fear is all through a rapist's frame. He can't look to you, but pleads. "You might call Inertia a cult, but they've kept me sane. They're helping me keep to myself. I've done more than try. I haven't touched a soul in months. Months. I don't know why I'm like this. There's never been any Gods here. Not for me." He's shaking like a man who knows he's about to die, pries his hand off of the fireplace, and pauses.

The confessor gets on his knees. He's not quite sure where you are in the room, and says to the floor, "I don't want to hurt anyone. I know I don't deserve forgiveness. I know I don't. But this isn't an appeal to the Gods. This is your city. Your people. Go on and preach, or cut me down. I'm ready to die. I have been for a long time. Call me whatever you want, if it helps. It can't be worse than anything I've thought about myself. But I've had a second chance. I had to see for myself, Father. I've risked my life on it. I had hoped that the man who calls himself the lord of compassion could tell me what I can't tell myself."

"I'm not asking for help, Father. I've already been given it. I'm not asking for the Gods. I'm asking you."

A Godless man stares to the floor. "Mercy."

(Options in next post.)
>>
>>4591132
>A] What's said in a confession is meant to never leave your confidence, but you're turning this man over to Father Pevrel. It's nowhere near significant retribution for the pain he's caused. You're granting Mercy to this child rapist by putting him down.

>B] Ask how Inertia has helped this compulsive molester manage his impulses.
>1] You're sickened beyond belief by your enemies. You have no intention of forgiving this man. You'll use him to know what you're up against, and have him cut down the minute you're done here.
>2] The prospect of Inertia having any positive merits is baffling. You're too shocked to do more than try to gather more information, and will withhold your judgement for now.

>C] You truly believe that people are not their past. This man has clearly struggled with this all his life, and stopped the minute he was granted actual help.
>1] The trouble is, you can't turn him back over to your enemies. (Write-in how you reconcile this.)
>2] Forgive him, but caution him to not cross your path again. You're willing to have him go crawling back to your foes, with the promise that he'll uphold his word to not harm another living soul.

>D] What's said in a confession is meant to NEVER leave your confidence. With influence, wealth, and the might of the Gods Themselves, you should have no need to rely on anyone else to do your job. How you handle the worst of humanity is ultimately your call. (Write-in.)
>>
>>4591133

>>B] Ask how Inertia has helped this compulsive molester manage his impulses.
>C] You truly believe that people are not their past. This man has clearly struggled with this all his life, and stopped the minute he was granted actual help.

Death would be an easy fate, he needs to repent. He cannot undo the harm he has done but maybe we can temper his urges while also making him useful, if anything we should ask Cardew about this the first chance we get. It does seem like he was a problem with his spirit. This man is sick, but killing him wont help anyone. Force him into servitude as a way of atonement, he lived for all the wrong reasons so far, give him a more noble purpose in life if we can.

Do not forgive him, but offer him a chance at redemption.
>>
>>4591184
+1
>>
>>4591184
If he's willing to die, then he's willing to be castrated. I'm all for making him pay his debts to society, as his victims will never get a chance to know their tormentor. He's certainly struggling, and it takes a seriously guilty conscience to abandon Inertia in the attempt for Atonement, for Mercy. He may deserve death, but I'm not heartless enough to deny him a chance at redemption. But we'd be fools to let walk around with the ability to relapse.
>>
>>4591334

Maybe just don't let him walk around on his own before chopping off his balls? We know that some things stop him from being a fuckwit so let's try those before mutilating him. He is old and blind, how hard can it be to keep him in check?
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>>4591338
The sad fact of the matter is that we can't watch him every moment of every day, and I'd be damned with we allow another child to come to harm in an event of a relapse. This may be the only way to ensure he doesn't harm another innocent soul. We can make the wound painless and clean, arguably more than even he feels he deserves.

But if you wish to try rehabilitation, we can. Keep in mind, we are limited in our resources, and other important matters will always demand our attention and Time.
>>
>>4591184
+1

If were willing to lob the guys balls of we might aswell kill him
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>>4591133
Off with the >D]ick & Balls
>>
>>4591184
>>4591203
>>4591334
>>4591338
>>4591351
>>4591359
>>4591360
(Just preemptively, do you guys have any ideas for rehabilitation, or do you want to gather some information first?)
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>>4591363
Gather Info
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>>4591363

Something obviously worked, I would like to gain the full picture before making a decision.
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>>4591363
Information, thank you. Inertia did keep him from his destructive ways. We may be able to replicate it if the method isn't too blasphemous, and our ideas for rehabilitation will just remain thoughts for the moment.

I'm sorry for the harsh suggestion, but it should be considered. I'm thinking about the victims here, in all honesty.
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>>4591368
>>4591369
>>4591370
(Roger that. Going to leave this vote open for fifteen (10) more minutes if anyone has any other thoughts or for other voters, and then will lock.)
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>>4591373
(lol very tired, please excuse the typo. (15) fifteen minutes. Thanks for the speedy replies guys!)
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>>4591184
>>4591203
>>4591334
>>4591338
>>4591351
>>4591359
>>4591360
>>4591368
>>4591369
>>4591370
(Vote is locked! Writing now.)
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>>4591396
You'll be damned if one more innocent soul is harmed by this man. The sad fact of the matter is that you can't watch him every moment of the day. You currently can't watch him at all. Forgiving him outright is also out of the question.

"There is a sickness in you. This illness is as deep as your very Spirit. I cannot permit you to walk freely with any risk of relapse. I understand better than most what it feels like to struggle with temptation. Please do not misinterpret my words. I will not kill you under any circumstances. There is something greater that can be done for your actions than— than even forgiveness." The very least you can do is explain.

Silently wracked with devastation, there's a single strand of hope that lifts his gaze from the ground.

"I speak of Redemption. Your life is not at risk. I would never wish to take this second chance away from you. This is the city of Mercy, and so I ask you to honor Her gifts of clemency and grace. The guilt weighing on your conscience is clear as day. Tell me what Inertia has done for you— so that I may better elaborate on my offer of atonement."

"That's all?"

"We will proceed from there. I would like the full picture, first. My own thoughts on rehabilitation could benefit from more information— blasphemous, or otherwise."

A good deal of the man's anxiety falls off just thinking about it. "They've granted me an alternative to temptation, Father. Support. Something else to have faith in. When there's so little opportunity— it makes it so much easier to bear. You must understand that simply being able to talk to other people like me is a gift. They understand. I don't have to hide. There's accountability, without any strain. When I've slipped, or just need some reassurance. Peace, and quiet, and distance. The only responsibility that they've put on me is to not do anything."

He sounds so grateful. He's struggling not to cry. "You can't understand how much it means to me."

Putting this man to work and dropping him in a massively stimulating environment (like a castle in the midst of a city at war) is likely the worst thing that could be done for his mental well-being. Inertia has granted him with a tremendous change in lifestyle, along with safe shelter, and a community of fellow sinners who will listen to him with open hearts. This is not something you can provide right now. There's no guarantee that any of your own men or women would tolerate this man in your home. It's certain that if he's left to his own devices, he's going to suffer and struggle with this matter. It's also clear as day that he has some issue within his mind. Not even blindness has stopped him. Further attempts to cripple his libido or strength will likely only intensify his personal suffering.

You have a few ideas.

(Options in next post.)
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>>4591455
>A] Present him with an offer of religious seclusion and repentance. The cloister in the Church of Mercy is currently unoccupied, so he would have no immediate distractions (barring assassins breaking into the castle). Items for physical restraint and atonement are aplenty in your home. You can also provide him with natural remedies that will stifle his impulses, and lower his libido. It will compromise his health and faculties in the long-term, but may be a welcome mental break.
>1] You'll task whoever is available for the castle's security to monitor him. It will be additional work for your insanely overtaxed staff, but you don't trust him to not try and escape.
>2] Develop a system of accountability. (Write-in how you'd like to keep track of this sex offender in the year 606 with your current resources. Please feel free to ask if you need a recap on what's available to you.)

>B] There's pain you can inflict on a man that will be felt in his very soul. Castration is still more than this man deserves. You'll perform surgery for the second time this evening, and do everything in your power to make this clean. He's probably going to try to run, or might try to kill himself instead, but you're willing to torture this man in order to send a message. (Presented only due to several prior votes. This action is unarguably violent, and will destroy this man's quality of life if it does not kill him. As the leader of the Church of Mercy, you can only pursue an action that brings pain and removes the health of another soul if all your heart is in it. Unanimous vote required, or majority vote with STRONG justification.)

>C] Write-in.
>>
>>4591457

>C] Write-in.

Fuck man. Just let him go back to his support group with a sworn oath to never touch another soul again. A support group for people like him would not actually be a bad idea, maybe after the war is over we can do something like that for them? Doing anything to him right now would not make any sense, he found the solution already, we would just be going back on progress he made himself. He is not off the hook yet, but we cannot do anything right now. Strongly opposing castration, there was no mercy in that before and there isn't now. Burden him with the same responsibility of NOT doing anything, if his support group ever falls apart tell him to come back to us first thing. I am not confident all of his rapey friends are going to survive.
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>>4591466
+1
>>
>>4591466
+1
>>
>>4591466
>>4591546
>>4591782
(This is definitely not what I expected going into this scene. You guys are phenomenal. Vote is locked here!

I was in the process of assembling a plaintext backup of the quest and made a word cloud while I was at it. Catalyst Quest is officially at 56,801 unique words as of thread 22, give or take a few. :^) Thought this looked pretty neat so I wanted to share! Writing now.)
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>>4591466
And what of the children? The man said so himself, there are relapses, and I'm not confident with a war going on that just that stress may relapse some of them, let alone the collapse of Inertia. He's represents a threat we can't rightly ignore, guys.
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>>4591822
But if the vote is locked, far be it from me to withhold it. Please continue.
>>
>>4591835
>>4591841
(No problem boss, and thanks for sharing your thoughts! I sincerely appreciate it and always strive to incorporate your guys feedback and discussions. Even if the vote is locked, this sort of thing can always be integrated into the protag's motivations, later prompts, etc.)
>>
>>4591822
You run a hand through your hair, look to the ceiling, and mutter a few expletives under your breath. He's admitted to relapsing. He represents a threat to your home. There are plenty more people like him who have been helping each other to be better, and you're in the process of waging war on their support network. The collapse of Inertia could do horrible things for more than their own stability.

"I'm burdening you with the same responsibility," you sigh.

The singular thread of hope that's lifted this man's gaze takes him off his knees to stand, and to look towards the sound of your voice with gratitude coating him.

"Violence is not the answer. You've demonstrated that there are more than enough resources at our disposal to help you, and— and anyone else suffering from the same affliction. I want to help you. It makes no sense for me to intervene now. I— I regret to admit that I simply cannot grant you a better support network at the moment. Not when I am at war, and not when I am opposing the very same organization that's successfully helped you." You stride across the room, and stop an arm's reach away from the sinner. "Promise me that if this support network falls apart, that you will come to the Church of Mercy first thing."

He's choking up. "I swear to you, Father."

"You are making an oath to me. Right here, right now. You are to never touch another soul again. Swear to me. Make this oath on all that you hold dear."

A moment passes as he reflects on what you're asking. Resolution stills his trembling. "I swear to you on the merits of staying my hands: I would rather die than inflict myself on another soul again. I swear to you on the city of restraint, on the virtue of chastity, on the charity that has been extended to me in months, on each and every soul who has seen fit to endure my company— and on the lord of compassion's unrivaled grace. I will do no harm. I swear to you."

There's no guarantee that he, or any of his friends will even survive to see the end of this conflict. You mutter, "take leave of this place. I will pray that if we meet again, it will be under fairer circumstances, and that I will be far better equipped to aid your Spirit. You've granted me knowledge I could not have possessed otherwise, and may have helped to heal countless more of your ilk."

He moves to leave without question. Guilt and gratitude twists his features. "Thank you."

"You are very welcome. May the Gods have Mercy on your soul."

(1/2)
>>
>>4591894
You take all your things from the clean room, and both of you depart together. The cooking area is almost empty. There's stains gathered around the fire pit (from what was no doubt from eight recent corpses). The tables are clear of all goods, the coals are burning low, and Father Pevrel is sitting eagerly on a stool at the center of the scene. Long shadows sink into his gaunt face. It's as if he's made of shadow, and is loving every second of it. The drunkard fires you a lecherous sneer. The sinkholes of his eyes make the expression even more grotesque. He leans over the large wooden table, and ridiculously pats the stool on the other side. "Promises, promises, Anscham. Sure kept me waiting."

"I should commend you for staying your hand."

"Shut the fuck up, and get over here. Glutton. I should have expected you to offer to drink straight after confession."

"Pardon the attempt at humanity, after—"

"Will you get that out of here?"

The priest of Vengeance that's been aiding you all evening takes the blind man by his arm, and gently leads him away towards the basement. Everyone downstairs will have to wait. You sincerely need a stiff drink just as badly as Father Pevrel does.

Taking a seat at the table, you're instantly uncomfortable. He's intentionally picked small bar stools. To say that you outclass the humble piece of furniture would be an understatement. Standing will be better for your health anyways. "You didn't have to accept the offer, you know."

"Yeah, right. When you're carrying around some demon's liquor? I'm not about to miss an opportunity at inspecting an artifact of sin." His smile broadens. "Try me."

>A] Challenge him to match you. You have an immunity to poison, and should be able to drink him under the table while you both talk. His shit-talking calls for nothing less.

>B] The sheer amount of Mercy you've demonstrated tonight has you feeling particularly protective, and wanting for some healing. Conjure whatever he requests, and then make yourself a drink so strong that even you can feel it. Don't let Father Pevrel have any, knowing the risks to his health that would be involved.

>C] Respectfully request if the lord of equivalence would like to match something particularly strong with you. You are empathetic enough to respect even the tenets of opposing churches.

>D] Write-in. (Feel free to add anything specific you want to bring up to Father Pevrel, any specific drinks you want to make, or anything else you think of.)
>>
>>4591898
>C] Respectfully request if the lord of equivalence would like to match something particularly strong with you. You are empathetic enough to respect even the tenets of opposing churches.

>D] Write-in. (Feel free to add anything specific you want to bring up to Father Pevrel, any specific drinks you want to make, or anything else you think of.)

I'd prefer if we'd not drink as off right now, but if we do keep it modest
>>
>>4591900
+1, we'll drink him under the table when Time permits us relief from our enemies.

Don't bring this up in conversation for the moment. I think I may have come up with a solution to our conundrum. We'll need to create a monastery in a remote, hard to reach (and escape) place, to serve the needs of those who would call it home (Mountains? An island? We'll have to think more on it). There can be community support, it'll be far from risk and temptation, and they can be put to honest work, to repent and pay their debts to society. We set up a Brotherhood of sorts, a joint venture of the theology, with priests of Mercy and Spirit to see to help their affliction, Vengeance (or Storm, if we choose the island) to guard the points of travel to the outside world, potentially a priest of Agriculture to lead their toil.

It's the best I got for the moment, my hamster is tucked out on the wheel trying to figure out an appropriate solution for this situation, considering the circumstances. It'll have to be seen to after we've driven Inertia from our city, and definitely a longer term project to work on. Don't have any immediate solutions, beyond offering them sanctuary in Mercy's Cells (and I don't mean it as a punishment, it would be for their protection just as much as protecting others).

Also, since we now know that Inertia is literally running a pedo ring (support group), we can use this information to irreparably harm their reputation. Turnabout is fair play, and Retribution of our reputation will taste sweet with Mercy's honesty.
>>
>>4591900
>>4591943
(Noting the unanimous vote and write-ins. Locking the vote here! Feel free to brainstorm any time guys, and if any of you have any other comments or thoughts as well feel free to share. I track virtually everything so I'll definitely come back to the whole situation when the time is right, too. Writing now!)
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>>4591943
(Just gotta pause in writing for a sec, don't mean any bully by this but just want to clarify. You guys just offered a man the opportunity for atonement from a confession. The information given to you in a confession is to never leave your confidence. By openly telling the world that there are pedophiles in Inertia's midst, you are not only giving away information granted to you in confidence. You'd be using the confession given to you in order to destroy this man's life, his organization's reputation, and would rob him of any chance at the very same redemption you're promising. Keeping these offenders in cells, creating an isolated place that is hard to escape, and/or assigning forces purely to guard them (with the intent of barring their travel) are also all measures that would constitute indefinite, unwilling imprisonment. Building prisons with no intent of rehabilitation is also not under the umbrella of granting someone the chance at a better life.

Also want to clarify: the man you spoke to swore not only that he was not engaging in his abhorrent behavior thanks to the group he's in, but that under pain of death he will not do so again. A pedo ring by definition is a group that enables and advances illicit activities. He is participating in the opposite of that, and is striving to not do any harm.

I understand it's frustrating and the added challenge of this setting not being very technologically or morally advanced makes this an even harder problem to face. I definitely have it noted that you guys want to get with the experts in your company who specialize in this sort of matter (once the conflict calms down), to get some bearings on the other options available to you. Please feel free to also ask me questions any time if you're curious about what resources are available to you, how our protag's morality differs from what's to be expected of the time period, or anything else.

Getting back to the update! Thanks for your patience all.)
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>>4592005
>destroy this man's life, his organization's reputation

Arguably Inertia's goal, but I do see your point. I wasn't intending on destroying anybody's life, or creating a prison, but I can't reconcile the fact that we'll let an offender go free without any restraint except his oath. If a father lets his children come to harm though inaction, then he's regarded as a failure, and we are the Father of Protection. I can't in good conscious let this be a threat to the families of city, and also weigh on our people's minds like that. It'll be discreet, and voluntary, as we can only help those who wish for it. The aim was to create a community support group away from the pressures of normal society, where they can be honest and live out their lives the best they're able. This problem isn't going away, but we can help both parties mitigate it as peacefully as we're able to in 606.

And the pedo ring was a joke, I know it's a support group. I do think this may come out on it's own though, even with our silence. After all, Inertia brought them together, and when an organization collapses, secrets do come to light.

I do honestly want to help those whose seek it, but we do haves other responsibilities weighing on us, and this whole affair is so complicated. I sympathize with our predecessors, in both the churches of Agriculture and Mercy.
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>>4592039
(Appreciate you sharing your thoughts man. You'll have to forgive me for not picking up on the joke, tone gets lost in text even with far less complicated subjects lol. Interested if anyone will have any further comments or thoughts on the matter! Thanks again for sharing. Just proofreading the update now and will post shortly.)
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>>4592042
Np. Text can be a hard medium to convey meaning, especially when your not a master of words. It's good to know that you don't suffer this problem :^)
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>>4592042
I'd hate to dwell on this, but the reason this struck a cord with me is the current situation in UK politics. I don't want to really go into it, as this isn't /pol/ and I'm not from Britain, but there are grooming gangs roaming around th nation, and the authorities refuse to do anything about it. Not just refusing to prosecute the offenders, but *intentionally* ignoring the problem, to the tune of a national tragedy. The government is complicit in covering this all up, and it's just sickens me to the core to see this happen. I'm sorry if this information causes any distress, but I can't just not take action, when failure to do so causes such long lasting consequences. I just can't.
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>>4592047
>>4592061
(I appreciate the honesty anon, and I'm sorry if this has brought up anything particularly painful for you. No need to worry about discussion, I love it to death and really appreciate it.

I intentionally provided an incredibly sensitive subject as the capstone for the confessions because I knew how challenging it would be for many people. I prefer to give you guys challenges in our story that push your own perception of the people you encounter-- not just as characters in this quest, but to try and look at the way people suffer and struggle in real life. The difference between things like rehabilitating criminals in 2020 in the UK, and wielding the might of the Gods in Corcaea in 606 though is worth emphasizing. This quest is not meant to be commentary on current politics. I strive to touch on human drama and dilemmas that could take place in any culture or time period.

It's no coincidence that our protagonist is the leader of the church of Mercy, and not any other church. The idea is that you are encouraged to seek more information only if you're ready to hear it, and to look to empathy, not judgement, when approaching these matters. The confessor in the last scene is a man who you know nothing about. From his name, to his history, to what he's done, or if there's even any easy solutions at your guys disposal. It's a blank. The overwhelming majority of voters wanted to respect their own limitations, trust in the system already in place that has been working, and to strive for a better solution moving ahead rather than wear yourselves to the bone in this dire conflict over one man.

This was one man. Not the entire establishment, not his allies, and not the cult. At the risk of sounding inflammatory: you do not know that there will be long-lasting consequences. You don't know any consequences that could result with certainty except that he swore to you to not hurt anyone. Your best source of information is 100% that this man will come to you before making the same mistakes, or would rather die.

The parallel here to the situation that's causing you so much distress is fundamentally different. You all ARE the authorities, and you are not ignoring the problem. You confronted it face-to-face, and intend to make sweeping social measures to change it as soon as you can arm yourself with information. That's the opposite of a cover-up.

Don't mean to rant or sound rude, and I'm absolutely floored by your response. It means a lot to me for you to take so much time to address this issue. I assure you that in the context of our quest, I'll have you guys pursuing any and all leads you can get to unearth more information about this matter.

That said, I've been sitting on the update while writing this lol. Going to post now.)
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>>4591900
>>4591943
"I'll drink you under the table— when Time permits us relief from our enemies." You wiggle your flask at him. "I would prefer to stay sharp, and to not drink at the moment. Would you care to match something modest, Father Pevrel?"

The smile falls. "I'm impressed you would even consider abstinence."

"If I must," you mutter.

"Sure. Let's see your definition of restriction."

You swore to get him something stiff to drink. What will put hair on his chest won't even register to you. To Yech's flask, you quietly request, "grain liquor. Wheat, preferably. Infuse it with milk thistle, and elderflower. I want this colder than the Eventide. Neat. I trust we can manage without ice."

"The fuck is all that for?"

"Aside from the flavor?" You find two glasses nearby, and pour out a completely clear drink. A quick prayer to Agriculture accompanies the motion. One of the purest, cleanest drinks you've ever seen comes out thin. It's almost like water, smells like explosive liquid mixed with herbs, and is so cold that frost smokes off the glasses the instant the liquid touches them. The coals behind you both cast a stunning red light into and off of both cups. "Elderberry for yellowing skin, sharpness of the mind, fighting off infection, swelling, bleeding, sore eyes—"

"Fuck you."

"—I have scarcely slept in ten days. The milk thistle carries a host of benefits. You'll be delighted to bother me for knowing it is excellent for aiding in weight loss—"

He snorts. "When you're right, you're right!"

You smirk. "—and in aiding your body's ability to combat liquor's long-term effects. Try it."

No half-measures. The priest raises his glass to you in a silent toast. You both knock back the stunning concoction at the same moment. He looks impressed, and speaks with a level tone despite the burn he must be feeling. "Nearly as bitter as you are."

You take a sip. The man's got a tolerance for liquor that could kill lesser men, but has no tongue for herbs. Your smirk intensifies. "It's slightly sweet. You must be unused to these sorts of remedies."

"Don't need flowers to do my job, Anscham. So. How'd everything go?"

"Your priest was remarkably helpful."

"He's a good lad." The priest pauses, and puts back the entire glass in one more swig.

You dart your eyes to your glass, and raise your eyebrows.

He raises his eyebrows.

You slide your drink over to the alcoholic, and sigh as he kicks back the rest of it.

"Nearly as good as this shit. Maybe I ought to trust your tastes a little more, if nothing else."

"I trust you didn't slaughter any of the souls I've spared?"

"Not even I'm that fucked. No. The fuck is wrong with you?"

"I can't be sure with you."

"Gods. I can't promise your little farmer girl is getting home safe, but she's with my men. The rest are on their own. See the present I left for you outside the castle?"

(1/3)
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>>4592100
Bodies on pikes flash in a red, sticky mess of blood and innards at the front of your mind. "Yes. That is precisely the sort of thing I'm talking about."

"They all tried to openly cut down both of our families, and would have done worse if they could. They tried sending us a crude, violent message. I was happy to do the same, and there's going to be more where that came from. These fuckers are like rats. Hard to get em out, when they've got access to the whole damn city and what's under it. Saw you brought some friends along for the ride. Was that your boy?"

"We discussed this."

"Look. I'm just saying—"

You try not to seethe. "My city is on fire. My men are literally dying from exhaustion. I have work to do. Do you have anything else to report?"

To your delight, he actually gives you a report. "Plenty of fires have been put out while you were busy. The men you sent out from the castle saw to plenty of it." He stares wistfully at the empty glass. You pour the hypocrite another shot. His faith in humanity is instantly restored. "We have the situation handled. Heard about the work you did across town with that demon, too." A look passes over you. "Impressive that you're still standing. Word's going around that you're having a sermon with Mercy come morning. The night's wearing thin, and you seem to be allergic to using any of my men. Not that I don't appreciate it..."

Father Pevrel knocks back the shot, and wipes his face with the side of his sleeve. Blood streaks across the side of his beard and some of his lips. He makes show of licking it, just to try to get a rise from you. "Probably nothing quite like that corpse earlier, eh?"

"Why are you so eager to find out? Are you actually trying to cheer me up—"

"You're disgusting. Look. I seriously want to commend you for abstaining from ordering more than one of my priests around. You're an idiot for not doing more, but you're braver than anyone gives you any credit for. I can respect someone who'll kill themselves to protect 40 of my kids."

You both share one more drink together. No bullying from either side for lingering over the glass.

"I couldn't protect all of them."

"It's a miracle we haven't lost more. Got some damn fine men on either side. You have a plan for how you're handling security for this sermon? I can't promise we'll have things squared away well enough to give you a proper guard come morning. I mean, I can go. But I'd rather keep your miserable, indulgent company until then to make sure you get home in one piece."

(2/3)
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>>4592104
The twisted bastard does care. You try not to let on a smile, as he plays at being intimidating. "Now that we've taken out the trash, I can't think of anywhere my skills would be more valuable." The priest taps the skin beside one of his missing eyes. "The dark is home for me. Can't say I'm not itching to root out this scum myself." A sugary sweet tone is distorted by the man's rasping voice. "I promise I'll stay on my best behavior."

You wince. "Adwin will already be incredibly off-put by the venture."

"Any good reason you brought your boy out into this mess, anyways?"

"He needed to have an eye kept on him." Cringing this hard might injure something. "I didn't mean—"

"Oh, I think you did."

"I did not mean Vengeance's—"

"Oh. I really think you did." He pulls at the skin below his eye sockets, which only exaggerates the expanse of darkness in them.

There the impression of blood and retribution at the back of your mind. "Your behavior is abhorrent."

"Plenty of other people who would say otherwise, when they aren't on my list for sin that I hadn't even thought possible. Anscham."

"You are making a terrible case for yourself."

"I'm not trying to make a case at all. Don't we have a little more respect for each other's work than for me to need to convince you? I'm only reminding you of the shit you and I are capable of putting down because I know you're too tired to think straight." The empty glass is swirled. He drags a finger along its interior, and sucks on it. A sharkish grin is fired at you. "Don't read into that."

You sigh, and resist an incredibly strong urge to lick at your own glass. "Have you seen to the affairs of the rest of your men?" Biting slightly at the edge of your lip doesn't do much good for the nagging impulse.

"Don't insult me. Of course I have. They don't need to be babysat, Anscham. This operation will run with, or without me. I'm telling you that you need my help, and this is going to be the most critical step we take in the whole damn venture. I'm only asking what you prefer out of respect for your request about the boy this morning. I'm not going to disrespect your home, or how you want to treat your kid. Just remember that we're striking this quickly because of how effective it will be at culling these traitors. The two of us will cut down anything and anyone that would get in our way faster than any other men alive. If you don't want me here, that's your call. It's also your loss, and will be that much harder you have to work. Don't go thinking that a priestess of Storm can fight in an enclosed space without threatening all your lives, or that a sailor can hold a candle to what I'm capable of."

(Options in next post.)
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>>4592115
>A] Father Pevrel can go guard the Church of Mercy until dawn. He doesn't need to know anything about Adwin, and you don't need to be trapped with the smell of liquor and death for the next several hours. Thank him for all of his assistance, entrust him with the security for your sermon, and leave it at that.

>B] Sister Cardew DID encourage you to not spurn your alliance with this man. You and her both are in agreement that he needs your help. You're positive that he's worse off than you are, and could benefit from your aid.
>1] If for no other reason, you'll take him on your excursion beneath the city to try to get to know him better. Someone with a fondness for his family, interior decorating, and herb-infused hard liquor can't be all that bad.
>2] He's a sickeningly capable combatant, investigator, and apparently has sight that will beat out Irefist's. You want his skills.

>C] There's a lot of questions these confessions raised. While you have Father Pevrel's undivided attention and some privacy, you can discreetly inquire about your own city without compromising your oaths.
>1] Express to Father Pevrel that you are worried about the outskirts of your city, and would like any other information he has on the countryside. See if he thinks your plan to work on the roads tomorrow is a suicide mission or not, too.
>2] The Father of Investigation must have some ideas how you can help with your image, and with taking Inertia down a peg. Ask him for any particularly nefarious activity, high-profile targets, or anything else that could help with morale on both sides.

>D] Write-in. (Now's the time to ask any questions you may have, or to express anything you want to keep between you and Father Pevrel. You'll have ample opportunity to speak with him if you take him below ground, otherwise this conversation will end in the next post.)
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>>4592117
>>4592117
B1-2, he's exceeded my expectations with his judgment, and has a lovely taste of deceore :^)

C1-2; we're a glutton for information, and intend to make Spirit proud in this venture.

I'd also like his thoughts on how best to turn these tunnels to our advantage. I was thinking we could strike decisively at the heart of these entrenched outposts, and systematically tear them apart district by district, but I don't know how viable that is, and I'd appreciate his thoughts.

And thank you, OOC. You've been remarkably kind, and I could say the same about taking your time to address my reservations as well.
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>>4592155
(You're very welcome anon, and thanks for being so polite and respectful. Really appreciate you, and all of your thoughts! Going to leave this vote open for the rest of the night, hope you guys all have a great one! I'll be back tomorrow.)
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>>4592155
+1
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>>4592155

I will second this, I can see he his itching to get his hands bloody again but we actually need the help. I am VERY serious about Adwin, if this motherfucker thinks he can do anything to him without us turning him into paste he is dead wrong. I hope that out of respect it won't be a problem. Also saying this now but we should not invoke unless someone is literally on deaths door, I *think* that the confessions did something to ease the pain in our soul. There was a line in there suggesting it but we are still way too exhausted to throw gods around, play a support role like a normal mercy priest. Between everyone here I doubt there is anything that can overpower us.
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>>4592155
Support, if possible don't push ourself any more
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>>4592155
>>4592225
>>4592298
>>4592381
(Good afternoon lads! Had a very long morning so I'm going to take a minute to decompress, but locking the vote here! Will be writing shortly.)
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>>4592604
(Got a burger, some downtime, and am ready to roll! You lunatics go picking every prompt and writing in lol, I love it so much. Got everything noted and am writing now.)
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>>4592604
https://youtu.be/kXEeyajJvwY?t=287

"Before we go anywhere, I— I would like to avoid repeating the same mistakes."

"Well, well." The drunkard smirks, and slides his glass over.

You oblige the request, and are met with a satisfied look. "You are the father of investigation. I want your wits, your sight, and your combative capability on my side."

A fake play at smugness is directed towards you.

"I know that I've been squandering your skills as well as everyone else's. I hate keeping them waiting—" You cast a glance to the room next door. "—but this is a rare opportunity for some discreet discussion. The fact that you trust me enough to disclose any information at all— even in regards to my own city— especially in regards to my own city—"

"You're worse off than I am. Spit it out."

He is the one who's worse off, here.

"You mentioned that it's unlikely the wife I sent home this evening will even make it to her family alive, even with— even with your men's company. What's our current situation regarding the city's outskirts?"

The shotglass is sipped at. You politely wait for him to finish mulling over what to say. "I extracted the locations of the homes and families of every last rotten soul at that hearing. They thought they could sabotage your livelihood, ruin your life, and destroy your home. The complacent are just as much at fault as those who have actively worked to harm the theocracy. Their sin has been rewarded."

"You killed her family."

He grins. "And burned the farm to the ground."

"You're a monster."

"Listen, demon." He stands up. You brace for a rant, and patiently wait. "I didn't harm a hair on that girl's head. She could have sought refuge at the Church of Mercy if her allegiances hadn't led to it being sieged, its doors being shut, and its Father being overworked half-to-death. She would normally have ample protection against disaster, but her church is fucking empty thanks to her inaction. The citizens of your city who OPENLY choose to ally themselves with a blasphemous cult of demon-loving BASTARDS would do well to remember WHY their country is still standing!"

"Her children did nothing—"

"What a fucking load of shit. You mean the teenage boys who were armed, some of whom we did not find, and all of which are openly supporting Inertia?!"

You both glare at each other.

The preacher sits back down. "Besides, there's plenty of neighboring farms. If they see fit to take in traitors, that's their prerogative." A shrug. "Who am I to say if they'll openly support an ally of Inertia during this crisis, when my men are sweeping the area for more hideouts? Who's to say we won't find them all come morning?"

The glares fade after a few minutes of silence.

(1/5)
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>>4592797
You pour yourself another shot, and linger over the burning frost. The sear in your throat is far more reassuring than the guilt or worry drenching you. "I'm exhausted. My skills as a priest of Mercy will go towards supporting your strengths tonight." There's significant relief from the ache and pain that been plaguing you. Enough still remains to have you clutch at the fabric over your chest. "I'm killing myself over this, and I have to stop." Wide eyes implore the man sitting across from you, "the moment my sermon finishes, I'm getting some rest. I can't invoke. Not unless someone is on death's door. Please don't make this any harder for me than it already is."

Disgruntled— and completely dissatisfied— Father Pevrel sneers, "I can't promise that I won't need your help."

"You don't understand. After I get some rest tomorrow, I will be clearing the northern trade route."

"Oh."

Both of you take a moment in silence, working away at the liquor. Father Pevrel interjects the silence. "I'll get a few men to keep an eye out. You're taking Sister Miramond?"

"Yes. If I'm able."

"I fucking hate to say it, but my boys won't be able to keep up with either of you. I might tag along. We'll see how things play out. You'll want someone to stay on guard, though. There won't be much cover unless you make some, and you're going to conserve all the strength you can." He shakes his head, and finishes his glass. "The scope of it should kill you. That's work that one hundred priests of Agriculture should be handling. Or a few years of normal paving. You know how far north you'll try to go?"

"No, but I— I can't stray too far from the city."

"Try not to worry about it. We'll just need to see how the situation develops until then." The priest moves towards the basement door. "Gimme a second. Find a better chair or something, for fuck's sake."

You find a better chair than the barstool. Getting off your feet for even another minute is spectacular. Father Pevrel dips downstairs, and arrives back in what feels like a single second. It's possible that you started to drift off to sleep while sitting upright.

"Anscham. Hey." The gruff tone directed at you is back across the table.

"Did you—" A yawn distorts the question. "—send out your men?"

"They'll try to clear the north as well as they're able. The matter's addressed. Given the rest of the night and most of tomorrow, they should be plenty of help."

"Thank you so much."

Another glance to your flask. "What else you got?"

Both of you smirk, while you mutter to the item, "don't kill him, but surprise me." You pour out some jet-black, licorice-smelling foulness for the priest while muttering, "your judgement has exceeded my expectations."

He sniffs the shotglass, and makes a face like you've just killed a puppy on his behalf (in a good way). "Don't get too cozy."

The priest is all smiles as you tease, "that's terribly difficult. With your lovely taste in decor...?"

(2/5)
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>>4592798
"Remind me to replace every chair in the castle with something worse than those stools. If you're done dwelling on sitting around and stuffing your face, glutton, I'm trying to entertain your questions."

He's unquestionably easier to tease than even you are. "You know I'm just as much a glutton for information—"

"Oh, shove it."

"...and I appreciate you aiding my devotion towards Spirit this evening. My own access to information has been severely compromised. Everything that I've heard has indicated that Sullivan's prior attempts at destroying my image were a complete success. A great deal of the people don't have any confidence in my integrity or piety. While my past actions here at home have kept the public from turning on me completely, their perception of Inertia could stand to be taken down a peg— to say the least. I'd like to boost our people's morale, as well." You lean a little towards the table. "Any high-profile targets? Find any activity this afternoon that even you would label as nefarious?"

The priest smirks. "You caught on quick."

He must have hand-selected the collection of people for you to see this evening. You remain silent, and give him a curious glance.

"You were in the capital for a month?"

"To the day." You might have picked your day of departure just for how satisfying the timing was. "Yes."

"So you're well aware that this cult's allied with damn near everyone."

"I recognized sponsorship from the theocracy, and a few less-than-savory locales. That was it."

"Well." He sniffs, and finishes the rest of the black sludge before him. "Don't know how much you're sugar-coating it, Anscham. Maybe you didn't pick up on it. Whatever. They're scum. You think I'm bad? At least I don't go selling women. No weird sex shit, you hear me?"

"Sure." Your smirk could kill a man. You mouth, 'lord of punishment.'

"Shut the fuck up. They'll take in people who move bodies around like they're meat. Don't seem to mind associating with people who touch any kids, either."

All humor falls from you. "Do you have any specifics?"

"Do rats have names?"

"...are any of these organizations the pets of someone else?"

Now he's the one smirking. "Finally got it. Yes. That dame I sent your way isn't one of them, by the way. The noble. But there's a few I've pinned here in your city. Brother 'Nibley' is sheltering the worst of the kid-fiddling scum. If it were me, I'd be cutting off their hands and—"

"That's enough, Father."

He makes a motion like scissors cutting. You cringe harder. The sadist snaps, "don't fucking mind the Father of Punishment wanting to do his job. Brother Nibley. Church of Spirit. Sheltering the crazies and sickos. Not just the ones touching children, either. They're all types like your congregation from the ruins. Survivors. People who came back without all their knives sharpened. You heard it from me first, Anscham."

(3/5)
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>>4592803
"My congregation is compromised of decent souls."

"Keep telling yourself that. Just know that I can't find him. Priests of the immaterial have a fucking habit of doing that. It's bullshit."

"I'm familiar with both names."

The lunatic's mood turns on its heel. He leans over the table. "Tell me everything you know."

"A minstrel at The Lost Soul— adjacent to Calunoth's red district— had been hired to disseminate slander against my name months past. I don't know who he was, but you should be able to locate him easily enough. He was well-paid, and openly wore colors for the Church of Spirit and Mercy. He named Brother Nibley, and Brother Dalton. I knew Dalton's family personally." You sigh deeply. "I'm not certain if they're still alive. Brother Dalton and his boys were of my former clergy."

Father Pevrel's attitude completely deflates. He eases back into his seat. "Good to know. Brother Dalton has been implicated with helping restrain a number of demons, as well as aiding in the transit of a few groups of these sex-sellers. He's twisting your Goddess' creed. That shit's not restraint."

"No," you grit. "It's not."

"We'll get to the bottom of it, but I won't lie to you: we don't have any other leads yet. Been here for less than a day, and it's been hard enough just to keep the situation under control. I'll keep you posted."

Deep breath. "I'd also like your thoughts—"

"For fuck's sake, you are insatiable."

"—I would appreciate your thoughts on these tunnels, what I had in mind, and how to turn them to our advantage."

A look of complete disbelief washes over the priest across from you. "You want to plan? Actually plan? Not drop into the heart of the enemy base while excessively—"

You talk right over his rambling. "The heart of these entrenched outposts should have been completely unearthed by my clergy two days past. Systematically tearing them apart— district by district— may be viable. I'm asking for your advice. I trust your counsel, even though I know you are itching to get your hands bloody once again."

He makes a stupid gesture with his hands like claws. "Got me."

The two of you try not to roll your eyes.

He mouths, 'lord of feeling' at you with a scowl, before continuing. "My men scouted as far as they dared. These tunnels only resemble normal ruins right at the surface. Each one here rapidly drops down into a vertical, or nearly vertical shaft. Each one connects to deeper tunnels below, but I won't risk my men's Time or lives to explore them when we are much better suited to the task." A smirk passes over you. "Hope you're ready for some climbing." You quietly gulp. He doesn't wait for an answer. "Systematically rooting out each district would be wise. Not all of these passages will completely connect, even though they'll all branch out from the same entry point."

(4/5)
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>>4592809
The priest drags a finger along his glass, and uses the deep liquor to trace a series of lines on the table in front of you. They mimic the tunnels in an anthill. "A thorough extermination is in order. Really glad you asked. Thought I'd have to take all the initiative myself. Look here. They do this shit in Baranfen all the Time. It's damn effective. They dig down, and branch out. The main entry points are spaced far apart, to help keep the tunnels in-between from crumbling. Side caches can be used for supplies, resting areas, or even for armaments. Everything else is dug strategically to aid in their travel. They'll let out in locations they know will grant an advantage. We'll want to avoid sticking our heads out unless it's absolutely necessary. There's good news, though."

"Then why do you look so miserable?"

"I hate admitting when your ruins-hopping—" Father Pevrel closes his eyes in frustration, and takes a level breath. The sight of his eyelids is grotesque, but you patiently wait as he regains some semblance of composure. "The woman in your company who's been burning down half the city has freed up three of these hideouts." You try not to imagine the smell of human skin and hair burning. "My men have cleared out two more. The demon you faced this afternoon was composed of all the residents of another. You and I cleared this place this morning. Your clergy found eight total. That leaves just one base that has yet to be wiped out."

"Cleared."

"Exterminated."

You grumble, "which one?"

"It's on the opposite side of town. I don't think we should go for it. In the amount of Time it could take us to reach it above-ground, we could cull a quarter of this underground network."

"...only a quarter?"

"Don't underestimate how hairy this could get. You want to take point? You're basically a wall, and that shield of yours is demonic, right?"

"Yes, but—"

"Don't sell yourself short, Anscham. I just think Sister Miramond would be better at the rear, and that you won't want me responsible for your boy's safety."

He has a point. You're smearing him into paste if anything happens to Adwin thanks to his efforts. "Irefist is also a strong contender for defense."

"Your fat ass is also wider than any of us, and there's no way we're all walking side-by-side. If we have to descend any stairs, you'd also be sheltering us better than anyone. Don't fucking lie to me and tell me you don't want to take a few more hits, either."

You're no liar. You have your preferences.

(Options in next post.)
>>
>>4592817
>A] You'll take the lead, knowing the risks. Father Pevrel can stay at your back to spot. (Your company will benefit tremendously from having the father of defense at point. You can set the pace, but you will be taking the brunt of anything directed at your company.)

>B] Have Father Pevrel on point. (The leader of the church of punishment is a blender of death. He's faster than any of you, and easily has the best sight, but carries almost nothing in the way of personal protection. He is likely to come under injury or harm, and it may demoralize Irefist, Adwin, and Sister Miramond.)
>1] You'll lend him your shield.
>2] Scavenge for some armor and demand that he wears it. (Write-ins may help. A roll will be required.)

>C] Have Irefist front-and-center. (He is equipped with upper body armor and a helmet. With less strength than you, worse sight than Father Pevrel, no experience leading, and a grudge against the priest in your company, he is the least qualified man for this job. However, he possesses better sight than most men, has ample combat experience, and is very resourceful. He will still be unable to protect you from some attacks, and will not offer the same defense in any vertical shafts that you or Father Pevrel could.)

>D] Adwin and Sister Miramond are very poor candidates for the lead, but there's some other strategy you want to propose out the gate. (Write-in.)

>E] You covered a LOT of ground during this conversation, and there was something else you wanted to address before you go. (Write-in.)
>>
>>4592818
>>B] Have Father Pevrel on point. (The leader of the church of punishment is a blender of death. He's faster than any of you, and easily has the best sight, but carries almost nothing in the way of personal protection. He is likely to come under injury or harm, and it may demoralize Irefist, Adwin, and Sister Miramond.)
>1] You'll lend him your shield.
>>
>>4592818

>>A] You'll take the lead, knowing the risks. Father Pevrel can stay at your back to spot. (Your company will benefit tremendously from having the father of defense at point. You can set the pace, but you will be taking the brunt of anything directed at your company.)

Worst case scenario we bull rush into the middle of them and blow them apart like bowling pins, even if we are tired our sheer mass is dangerous enough. I will also vote for this:

>2] Scavenge for some armor and demand that he wears it. (Write-ins may help. A roll will be required.)

It is simply the most efficient measure. We are both high value targets and people will be trying to focus us down, having him be armored will also grant him more independence in becoming separated from us. There is no real reason to not have him wear armor except pride and I am SURE the lord of punishment wouldn't be a sinner of that sort. Surely :^).
>>
>>4592818
>A] You'll take the lead, knowing the risks. Father Pevrel can stay at your back to spot. (Your company will benefit tremendously from having the father of defense at point. You can set the pace, but you will be taking the brunt of anything directed at your company.)

One man fat ass tanking
>>
>>4592818
>B] Have Father Pevrel on point. (The leader of the church of punishment is a blender of death. He's faster than any of you, and easily has the best sight, but carries almost nothing in the way of personal protection. He is likely to come under injury or harm, and it may demoralize Irefist, Adwin, and Sister Miramond.)
>1] You'll lend him your shield.
>2] Scavenge for some armor and demand that he wears it. (Write-ins may help. A roll will be required.)
Breastplate and mail coif or a helmet
>>
>>4592818

>B] Have Father Pevrel on point. (The leader of the church of punishment is a blender of death. He's faster than any of you, and easily has the best sight, but carries almost nothing in the way of personal protection. He is likely to come under injury or harm, and it may demoralize Irefist, Adwin, and Sister Miramond.)
>1] You'll lend him your shield.
>2] Scavenge for some armor and demand that he wears it. (Write-ins may help. A roll will be required.)
>>
>>4592837
>>4592842
>>4592844
>>4592846
>>4592890
(Wonderful. Going to go with the majority to have Father Pevrel take the lead, and scavenge for armor. You'll give him your shield as well, and be backup. Obviously in the event he has to go ahead or do anything, you guys will take point. Vote is locked!)

>THE GODS ARE MERCIFUL
>BREASTPLATE AND MAIL OR A HELMET WOULD BE NICE
>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.

>+5 EYES OF VENGEANCE ON THE PRIZE
>-5 YOUR ALLY HAD NO MERCY (A lot of the good armor here was destroyed during your fight this morning.)
>-10 DEMON OF MISCONCEPTION (Almost everyone downstairs was absorbed into the demon of misconception, which is now crushed inside a box covered in pine tar.)
>>
Rolled 54 (1d100)

>>4592904

IT ISN'T GRAVE ROBBING IF THEY AREN'T BURIED YET!
>>
Rolled 45 (1d100)

>>4592904
>>4592906
It's true.
>>
Rolled 45 (1d100)

>>4592904
>>
Rolled 82 (1d100)

>>4592904
>>
>>4592906
>>4592911
>>4592912
>>4592914
(Tragically it was best of 3. Best of after modifiers is still a 44 out of 100. Writing now!)
>>
>>4592916
It isn't grave robbing if they aren't buried yet. You get up, and to Father Pevrel's extreme dismay, Time is taken to scout around for armor. There's abuse about only digging for him because you can't find any that will fit you. You criticize the man's piety, and remind him that the lord of defense doesn't need to fear mundane weaponry. The severe arguing continues over why it's fine for him to use your shield (which you eventually convince him to take). The two of you easily spend a half an hour rooting around corpses without finding a single piece of equipment with any integrity.

The priest's efforts are completely recruited by the Time you step into the bloody pit of death you fought the demon of misconception in. It's devoid of almost any item of use, save for what's on one poor soul slumped over in the corner. The cultist had to have hid behind the furniture for cover. Running and hiding wouldn't have done much good. He's caked head-to-toe in sores and blisters, having died of an allergic reaction to the new strain of green bough you developed.

"Nice." Father Pevrel nudges the corpse with the side of his shoe. "Think you could do that intentionally next Time?"

The thought of what Flesh and Agriculture could be capable of together flits across your mind. "Possibly." You dust off the poison pollen, wipe it down thoroughly of blood and any remaining irritants, and equip your fellow church leader with a serviceable helm. It's only copper, but will do better than nothing. The set of chain on the corpse was damaged beyond all repair. Father Pevrel pulls at the side of his robes, and shows you that he's wearing a jet-black gambeson beneath. "I'll be fine. Come on, will you? You're worse with clothing than I am with furniture, for fuck's sake. Let's go."

At long last, you descend down the rickety, creaking steps to the basement. It's the dead of night. The corridor ahead is dry, and clean. Only one priest of Vengeance is still at his post. Adwin has a lantern directly beside him as he rests against a stack of crates, and has obviously been staring straight at the light all evening. Irefist and Sister Miramond are slumped against each other's backs by his feet. They're sleeping while sitting upright.

Father Pevrel starts for one instant to clear his throat. You slap the back of his helmet hard enough to knock him forward a foot, and fire him a glare while softly calling out. "I'm sorry for keeping you all waiting. Is everyone alright?"

"Fine," Irefist grumbles. He doesn't even stretch before hopping to his feet. The man has a long length of rope tied at his side. "Did some rooting around down here for supplies. We're all ready to go."

Prying himself away from the light, Adwin sweeps the lantern beside him into one hand, and keeps the other free. A curious glance is cast towards Father Pevrel, who is dazed, but manages to straighten upright.

(1/3)
>>
>>4592978
You quickly rattle off enough titles and introduction to cull the sadist's thoughts at further argument. "Father Nicholas Pevrel, leader of the Church of Vengeance. Lord of Righteousness, Justiciar of Corcaea, and an ally to our cause. I've entrusted him with the safety of our home. I take it he can make good use of one of my most prized possessions—" You nod towards your shield, which he has firmly in hand. "—and that he may use his familiarity with the dark to aid our navigation." Irefist bristles, likely to mention that you're the lord of light. You frown. "I will not be invoking unless it is a matter of life, or death. Father Pevrel has no such qualms, and will take the heat for all of us if necessary. Please do not disrespect his judgement while we venture forth, or at any other point this evening. I am supporting your strengths tonight, so that we all can live to fight another day. Am I clear?"

Grumbling. "Clear."

The sailor looks to the passages around you all. Every door is another tunnel, apparently. Father Pevrel fires Sister Miramond a stare in particular. The wild-haired woman gets up, and jerks her head to a door to the right. "This passage carries more wind flow than the rest."

"We're starting with the one that has the least." Sadism is dripping off of his tone for only an instant. Something shockingly professional leaves him, as the church leader gestures to you. "Father Anscham would like for us to systematically clear these tunnels. I can go ahead to any smaller chambers and spare you all the effort. I only ask that you cover me, and intervene only if necessary. If they suspect that there's one-fifth the actual number of forces raining on them than the strength we truly possess—" The tone comes back. He's really trying, but can't help himself. "—then we can crush any reinforcements sent at us with ease."

Adwin quietly offers, "Father Pevrel? Thank you for making our acquaintance, and for helping Father Anscham's city. These zealots are aware that you are the man responsible for killing many of their number. What reason would they possess to not come at you with everything they have?"

"Boy's got a point," Irefist laughs. Julian smirks at him.

The softest tone you can manage doesn't even carry down the corridor, as you and Father Pevrel head towards the door Sister Miramond indicated. "There is no guarantee that Inertia will or will not strike as brutally as they can, Adwin. But we would guarantee that they know— that they know our company's strength by going after them all at once. They certainly could perceive Father Pevrel as the greatest threat in Eadric, but they also do not know my precise location. Inertia may wish to conserve their strength elsewhere. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Father."

"It would behoove us to capitalize on any element of surprise we possess." You nod towards the priest to open the door first. "Go right ahead."

(2/3)
>>
>>4592981
He seems to trust Sister Miramond at least enough to open the handle without checking for traps. You all are greeted by a winding wooden corridor. It's lined with planks from floor to ceiling only a few yards in, then quickly becomes rock-solid dirt and stone. The corridor ends abruptly less than a five-minute walk down a slight decline.

Everyone finds a means of securing their weapons or defenses so that at least one hand is free. The descent at the end of the corridor is vertical, pitch-black, and dizzying. Father Pevrel turns away from the opening so his voice won't echo, and whispers, "it curves into a downward slope thirty feet deep." You marvel that he can see at all. The man gestures towards Adwin's lantern, as he's the only person to carry one already lit. "You can keep the light if you dim it and keep to the center, to reduce its cast. Otherwise it needs to go."

Adwin hisses, "we might not have the luxury of relighting it. If the enemy has adjusted to the dark, they'll be alerted to our presence, but this should temporarily stun or even blind them."

The priestess of Storm in your company sneers, "I'll make any fire we need, if it comes down to it. This is ridiculous."

You're the only person present that has any idea of how severe Adwin's past confinement was. The fact that he's tolerated being underground for this long at all is a testament to his fortitude, but the last thing you want to do is push him any further.

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

>A] Thank Sister Miramond for being so accommodating, and ask Adwin to please respect Father Pevrel's request. Stress to everyone that if it is a matter of life or death, you can invoke to produce a light source. No visibility in a combat situation would only benefit Father Pevrel. This will also make climbing more perilous, but you trust everyone here is used to navigating in the dark enough to make up for it.

>B] Respectfully tell Father Pevrel that you want to have visibility without reliance on anything more than the resources at your disposal. You'd rather risk giving away your position and numbers than to have anyone walk blindly, or to be crippled by fear from the start. Adwin has every right to determine how much or how little visibility he has in this venture. Hopefully his strengths will compensate for it.

>C] Write-in.
>>
>>4592983
>B] Respectfully tell Father Pevrel that you want to have visibility without reliance on anything more than the resources at your disposal. You'd rather risk giving away your position and numbers than to have anyone walk blindly, or to be crippled by fear from the start. Adwin has every right to determine how much or how little visibility he has in this venture. Hopefully his strengths will compensate for it.

we cant do our boi dirty like that
>>
>>4592983
B; tell Adwin that we trust his judgment in this matter, and that we have faith in everyone here to do as their judgement dictates. Plus, they may interpret our light as that of their allies, instead of enemies. It would be amusing if Inertia has taken casualties because they refuse to light up their tunnels while traversing.
>>
>>4592996
>>4593063
(Don't do your boi dirty. Got it. Locking the unanimous vote here!)

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

>+20 GREEN DAHLIA (Your familiarity with the earth should greatly aid in a descent below ground.)
>+10 PRIEST OF FLESH (You have the upper body strength and activity level to warrant this kind of exertion, and to feel great doing it!)
>+5 EYES OF VENGEANCE (Father Pevrel will identify and spot threats as soon as they arise, and you know he's not afraid to communicate them.)
>-31 PRIEST OF AGRICULTURE (The size disparity between you and your companions is a safety threat— to say nothing of how quickly it could tire you out.)
>-10 NOTORIOUSLY BAD AT CLIMBING (You'll ask for pointers.)
>-8 SLEEP DEPRIVATION (10 days on little sleep adds up, but getting off your feet for awhile helped. This modifier will continue to slowly rise until you rest.)

(That's a -14 to the roll after all modifiers.)
>>
Rolled 5 (1d100)

>>4593104
Malimos, you glorious bastard, don't fail me now!
>>
>>4593113
One day, Malimos. One day we'll be worthy of your blessings.
>>
Rolled 60 (1d100)

>>4593104
>>
Rolled 70 (1d100)

>>4593104
Hope i dont fuck it
>>
>>4593113
>>4593163
>>4593192
(Ayyy. Best of 3 is the 70. Comes out to 56 after modifiers, still not bad! Vote is locked here. Writing now!)
>>
>>4593197
This is entirely unnecessary. You mutter, "how amusing would it be if our enemies risked casualties just to spurn Her light?" To Adwin in particular, you insist, "I trust your judgement. I would never want to do you wrong." A motion is made towards Father Pevrel to climb down. "I trust you all will do as your judgement dictates. Plus, they may interpret our light as that of their own ranks."

A seriously appreciative glance from Adwin puts a smile on both of your faces for just a moment. The lord of Vengeance in your company is scowling hard enough to kill a lesser man, and descends without further complaint. He's seriously trying his best to behave. You'll have to find some way to make it up to him later.

The nearly vertical pit gets a light cast on it by Adwin. You gulp once more. Climbing is far from your biggest weakness, but you have a reputation for being terrible at it. The shaft has been dug out of the surrounding rock and dirt. Perilously shallow ridges are carved into the sides of the wall every few feet into makeshift steps. You're taller than most men, and wager only half your shoe will fit on each one.

Father Pevrel is already about ten feet down, and moving fast. You hiss down to him, "I'm terrible at climbing. Any advice?"

The rasp in reply sugar-coats as much as it can. "Don't rush it, then. I'm going to keep watch at the bottom. Bad idea for me to be climbing below you." There's no denying he'd be badly hurt if anyone slipped, let alone if you fell on him. "Test everything. And if you can't handle it, stop and tell me. We can't get tied down with equipment. Don't take the risk of falling."

You wait until he's out of sight to start climbing down the chilled rock and gravel. Getting your hands on something organic feels almost as good as the burn does. The next several minutes are a blur of particularly pleasant discomfort. As you suspected, the steps are too shallow to fit more than half of your foot on in the best of places. At the very least, your height grants you leverage to pick and choose whatever ledges you wish. Extreme care is taken to test every possible foothold with every measure necessary. Anything that doesn't seem equipped to handle your weight is immediately disregarded. The venture is exacerbated by your stomach sticking out far enough to press against the stone no matter how you approach the next step. There's further comfort in knowing you can mend your robes in an instant if something catches on the wall, but it does complicate things.

(1/2)
>>
>>4593287
Everyone remains quiet, patient, and respectful. The muscle you've been blessed with is pushed to its limit, but you manage to reach the base without a single incident.

Granted, you're out of breath, sweating, and feel completely exhausted— but the attempt is a success, and far better than past failures. Irefist, Sister Miramond, and Adwin can barely be heard finishing their own climb down. The descent was definitely thirty feet deep, and they should take just a minute. The fact that everyone seems to have suspected you couldn't handle this much is cause for concern.

Father Pevrel is standing ten feet out from the landing, right at the end of another descent. He makes no comment as you drop your hands to your knees, to catch your breath before seemingly making the same effort again. He fires a look over his shoulder at you, sighs, and walks your way. A hand is put on your shoulder, which you instinctively twitch at.

The sadist whispers to you so quietly that no one else could possibly hear, "next drop is on a slant. Just as long, but should be easier. This ought to be fun."

>Options A, B, and C are mutually exclusive.
>Majority vote will decide.

>A] This is a terrible idea. You're already ragged, and have an absurdly important public event to make in just a few hours. Trust that your company can deal with this. You are not in Ostedholm, this is not the ruins, and you CAN back out of this venture before you get in too deep. (Adwin will come with you by default. A1 - A4 are not mutually exclusive.)
>1] Ask Father Pevrel if he can handle this operation alone. It can't wait. You'll figure out something with the sermon's security if he gets too tied up to make it.
>2] See if Irefist will accompany you back to the Church of Mercy. You can use all the fighting forces you have at your disposal.
>3] You don't trust that the situation at home will be calm. Stay here. You'll crash for a few hours, and wake up with enough Time to get to the Church of Mercy before dawn.
>4] Ask Sister Miramond to accompany you, to ensure that you don't get separated before the roadwork gets done.

>B] This is a terrible idea, and yes, it IS going to be fun. You'll plug on ahead for the rest of the evening, and will love every second of it. (+20 MASOCHISM TANGO bonus will be applied after the roll is called, and will not be eligible for removal at-will. Your behavior may escalate or get out of hand until you rest and get pain relief. This cannot be used in combination with your Relic's pain relieving properties. A unanimous vote will bump the bonus up to +30.)

>C] This is a terrible idea, and you're going to deal with it. Keep your Relic in hand, even if it compromises some fine motor control. You'll be fine. (No bonuses will be given, and no maluses will accrue due to pain or injury. You'll still experience exhaustion. The Relic can be dropped at any time in order to engage with your pain-based bonuses.)

>D] Write-in. (A roll may be required.)
>>
>>4593292
(Don't know how I left it off, but a roll will be required for prompts B and C.)
>>
>>4593292
C; this adventure will only serve as further worship of Flesh, as this may be the only exercise we'll get in a while. Some coffee will help keep us on our feet, and maybe a protein shake or an equivalent after we reach the bottom, to help build more muscle. This may be a blessing in disguise for exercise, and I'd not waste an opportunity to show up a surprised Fred with our temple to Flesh when he returns.
>>
>>4593292
>C] This is a terrible idea, and you're going to deal with it. Keep your Relic in hand, even if it compromises some fine motor control. You'll be fine. (No bonuses will be given, and no maluses will accrue due to pain or injury. You'll still experience exhaustion. The Relic can be dropped at any time in order to engage with your pain-based bonuses.)

We cant just back out once we've committed Veng father and Irefist
>>
>>4593331
>>4593365
(Hell yeah guys. Locking the vote.)

>MOTIVATED AND DEDICATED
>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.


>+20 GREEN DAHLIA (Your familiarity with the earth should greatly aid in a descent below ground.)
>+10 PRIEST OF FLESH (You have the upper body strength and activity level to warrant this kind of exertion, and to feel great doing it!)
>+5 EYES OF VENGEANCE (Father Pevrel will identify and spot threats as soon as they arise, and you know he's not afraid to communicate them.)
>+5 LIQUID ENERGY (You know how to compensate for no sleep better than most men.)
>-31 PRIEST OF AGRICULTURE (The size disparity between you and your companions is a safety threat— to say nothing of how quickly it could tire you out.)
>-5 NOT COMPLETELY BAD AT CLIMBING (That wasn't so bad.)
>-10 SLEEP DEPRIVATION (10 days on little sleep adds up, but getting off your feet for awhile helped. This modifier will continue to slowly rise until you rest.)
>>
Rolled 89 (1d100)

>>4593434
>>
Rolled 71 (1d100)

>>4593434
We are traversing a dark, scary cave... this is your element, Malimos! Grant us your blessing!
>>
Rolled 70 (1d100)

>>4593434
*ring* (Pick up) Hello, Yech? I need a favor...
>>
>>4593434

ROLLING FOR POSTERITY.
>>
Rolled 71 (1d100)

>>4593802
>>4593434

MAYBE THIS TIME.
>>
>>4593440
>>4593454
>>4593470
>>4593807
By the Gods, have we done Flesh proud!
>>
>>4593440
>>4593454
>>4593470
>>4593802
>>4593807
>>4593825
(Bois I could not be more proud. That's still an 83 after all modifiers. Writing now!)
>>
>>4593836
https://youtu.be/xTjVqEnCvYo

"No."

An irritated, but curious look passes over you. Father Pevrel draws back.

You're all smiles, while heading over to the next ledge. "This is another blessing in disguise."

The priest at your side doesn't give you a hard time (for once) as you conjure "liquid energy." A brew darker than the descent ahead is steaming hot. The intensity of its flavor puts a shock to your spine. It's one remedy you aren't used to. You're certain that a cupful's worth is going to be enough to compensate for at least some of your weariness.

Father Pevrel's shakes his head at you once again, as you finish drinking. He makes a derogatory gesture while the rest of your company arrives in the level hallway, that's reminiscent of a rolling boulder. You're not going to bother explaining that what you've had shouldn't be fattening, but there is a nagging concern that this is the only thing in the way of exercise you'll get in a while. The loftiness of your occupation lends itself well to countless hours standing or sitting around.

You won't waste this opportunity to give your foremost temple some proper devotion. There's simply no way you're backing out. Your Relic is unclasped, and fastened securely around your off-hand while Father Pevrel sets back off, and disappears into shadow once more. Everyone waits several moments. Sound travels well underground, so it's only prudent to keep to yourselves. The lack of conversation heightens everyone's awareness of the complete silence everywhere else in the tunnels. You cast one grateful glance back to your company, exchange a resolute glance with Irefist, and get back to climbing.

Without any indication of natural pain, you probably use more caution than necessary. The absence of the usual physical distraction aids in your concentration enormously. No sear is in your limbs from tearing muscle, or overworked joints. The heat feels phenomenal. Keeping your breath steady and your motions controlled is second nature. And while your bulk partially obstructs your view below, it also lends a further point of contact to the wall. It's still a brutal workout to move twice the body-weight of an average man. By the time you reach the base of the slope, the intensity of your beating heart and the sweat on your brow gives you pause.

(1/3)
>>
>>4593898
The lantern light from Adwin up above scarcely reaches you and Father Pevrel, who has his cleaned sword drawn. Before you both lies a singular tunnel that you estimate to be fifty feet or so long. It's been reinforced along the walls and ceiling with bolts of solid metal. Between each bolt are planks of wood. Only the floor is rock-hard dirt and stone. The makeshift support would normally take months of planning and countless man hours to construct, but you're certain that this was divine work. The sheer amount of labor, and the quality of the construction was no doubt the work of one of the priests or priestess of Agriculture you heard of. It's hard not to admire their capability, or execution. The smallest amount of material was used to maximum effect, and the light shade of green in all the exotic metal is simply stunning. You resist the urge to take any out to inspect it. It's certain that the supports are all that's keeping this horizontal passage from collapsing under the weight of the world above.

The priest up ahead puts a finger to his lips. He makes a series of gestures that indicates the passage continues on for a short ways, before dropping off slightly into a room. The room appears to be spacious, and branches out into several directions. He wants to wait for everyone to be together before proceeding.

It dawns on you that this man is solely responsible for covert operations in Corcaea's wars, and likely has led plenty of expeditions like this before. The sharp change in his demeanor to something infinitely more responsible is jarring, but you welcome the chance to breathe. As quietly as you're able, you create a medicinal tonic in place of the bitter drink you had before. You'll be damned if you aren't doing Father Friedrich proud. It's unconventional, but you've observed the byproducts of dairy to have just as much nutritional merit as what's curdled or strained. It can reduce inflammation, is highly filling, and most importantly should help with muscle growth. A moderate quantity of it is more than enough to almost completely kill your appetite, and has you feeling better than even the other brew did.

Though your fellow former prisoner may be scared witless by a dark and foreboding expedition, this is your element. Irefist, Sister Miramond, and Adwin arrive at your back moments later. You relay the same gestures that Father Pevrel gave you in less Time, and gesture to the priest ahead that they're ready.

You all cautiously proceed forward. Someone immediately calls out. "Oi!"

An irritated twitch passes through Father Pevrel's shoulders.

Adwin calls out in the exact same voice as the farmer's wife who you spoke to earlier today. "Oi what! Do you 'ave any idea 'ow much of an ass it is jus' gettin' down here?! Who's there?!"

(2/3)
>>
>>4593899
Everyone stares at the young man. Irefist's jaw hangs open. The imitator grins straight at Father Pevrel, and spins a dagger into one hand.

"Hold onto your fuckin' skirts. We weren't s'pposed to 'ear from anyone this way all night." Footsteps are rapidly approaching.

Sister Miramond breathes, "shit." She's at the rear, and absolutely cannot blast a cone of wind or flame over everyone's heads in this small passage. Adwin tosses her a dagger. She gives him a relieved, worried smile.

It sounds like at least five heavily armored men are moving up ahead. Father Pevrel's face drops, as he holds up seven fingers towards you all. The gestures promptly stops as he raises your shield, and braces himself with his sword drawn to charge.

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

>A] Hang back. You've got no defense to speak of, and trust your company to handle this. Be on standby in case there's any injury. You have a small armory's worth of mundane throwing daggers in your bag, and will pick off anyone you can. (Lowest risk to your safety. A high roll will be required to inflict damage)

>B] Chaos is your ally. Wait until Father Pevrel's made his charge, then get into the fray.
>1] Piety is broad enough to provide a measure of defense. (Moderate risk to your safety. A moderate roll will be required.)
>2] Harvest is downright terrifying to behold, and should do nicely to confuse and brutalize your enemies. (High risk to your safety. A low roll will be required.)

>C] The luxury of communicating a plan is not afforded to you at the moment. You can risk the enemy knowing what you intend to do by saying something, or take some creative initiative on your own. (Write-in. A roll will still be required.)
>>
>>4593904
>A] Hang back. You've got no defense to speak of, and trust your company to handle this. Be on standby in case there's any injury. You have a small armory's worth of mundane throwing daggers in your bag, and will pick off anyone you can. (Lowest risk to your safety. A high roll will be required to inflict damage)
Inb4 throwing a dagger at pevrel
>>
>>4593904

>>B] Chaos is your ally. Wait until Father Pevrel's made his charge, then get into the fray.
>>1] Piety is broad enough to provide a measure of defense. (Moderate risk to your safety. A moderate roll will be required.)

Middle road best road.
>>
>>4593910

Don't be a pussy. We are daddy protection.
>>
>>4593904
B2; a chance to use Agri's tool, enveloped in the Earth, by her own church? Not only poetic, but also a statement of faith. Plus, the workout will be phenomenal.

We could spray oil if need be, to trip up our enemies.
>>
>>4593904
>>B] Chaos is your ally. Wait until Father Pevrel's made his charge, then get into the fray.
>>1] Piety is broad enough to provide a measure of defense. (Moderate risk to your safety. A moderate roll will be required.)
>>
>>4593904
>>A] Hang back. You've got no defense to speak of, and trust your company to handle this. Be on standby in case there's any injury. You have a small armory's worth of mundane throwing daggers in your bag, and will pick off anyone you can. (Lowest risk to your safety. A high roll will be required to inflict damage)
>>
>>B] Chaos is your ally. Wait until Father Pevrel's made his charge, then get into the fray.
>>1] Piety is broad enough to provide a measure of defense. (Moderate risk to your safety. A moderate roll will be required.)
>>
>>4593910
>>4593916
>>4593920
>>4593963
>>4593965
>>4593969
>>4594030
(Locking the vote while the tie is broken for B1. GREAT stuff guys, love all the justification and will take it all into consideration. Will call for the roll shortly.)
>>
>>4594034
>>4593910
>>4593916
>>4593920
>>4593963
>>4593965
>>4593969
>>4594030
>THE ROAD MOST TRAVELED
>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.

>-20 THE SOULS OF MANKIND... (The weakness in the hearts of your fellow man is your life's work, and a major concern in any battle against them.)
>-15 WIDE OPEN (You're the most wanted man in the city and are the broadest target in this small corridor.)
>-12 SLEEP DEPRIVATION (Your exhaustion will continue to slowly worsen-- along with this malus-- until you get some rest.)
>+10 FAITH OF A GODDESS (To live is to serve.)
>+10 FATHER OF PROTECTION (This is your element.)
>+10 PRIEST OF FLESH (You LOVE the burn.)
>+15 COMBAT VETERAN (Between training under Father Friedrich and your lifetime of experience fighting demons, this should be downright fun.)
>+10 WEAPON OF MASS DESTRUCTION (A longsword with your strength and weight behind it is terrifying to behold.)
>+5 LIQUID ENERGY (Taking care of yourself feels great!)
>+5 OIL SLICK (Dream would be proud of your creativity.)

(The modifiers add up to +8 to the roll altogether.)
>>
Rolled 7 (1d100)

>>4594074
>>
Rolled 29 (1d100)

>>4594074

WRECKING SHITTIES UNDERGROUND, JUST LIKE THE OLD DAYS.
>>
Rolled 61 (1d100)

>>4594074
We are enveloped in Agriculture's element, so I have faith in us.
>>
>>4594081
>>4594082
>>4594083
(Best of 3 after all bonuses come out to 69 out of 100.

N i c e.

Writing now!)
>>
>>4594104
L-lewd! Just as I expected, from the Godess of Fertility ;^)
>>
>>4594104
https://youtu.be/jrK90XJfqRs


The Father of protection is no coward. Piety is withdrawn from the gift of a demon. You unsheath it, and ready yourself to charge. The longsword's hilt lives up to the weapon's name. It accommodates both of your broad hands with ease, and the heft of the blade eclipses even its substantial length. The edges of the well-maintained weapon are still singed black from being struck multiple times by lightning. You intend to make a greater statement of faith than even the blows this blessed blade has already dealt.

Your fellow church leader plunges into the shadow ahead, with his sword at the ready. His steps are silent. There's no delay. Screams, and a sick wet sound of someone being gutted rises in the air. You won't wait for more, and charge ahead with all your allies in tow.

The ground underfoot is as reassuring as the towering layers of rock and earth above. It takes you back to find memories of fighting in the dark. Enveloped in Agriculture's element, your heart goes out to all the blessings you've been given. The Goddess of fertility has done more than lend you strength.

You have faith in yourself. The light at your back collides with the low lanterns illuminating the passage beyond. Six armored men are struggling to get through the narrow tunnel to reach Father Pevrel, who has your shield raised high. All of the enemy figures have their faces covered with rusty helms. It won't save them. Their assortment of spears and swords also count for little in a passage that's barely four feet wide. The lord of wrath has slumped his newest victim-- the corpse of a fully armored cultist-- over your defense. He's hiding without shame, and using his sword to carefully poke at everyone ahead.

A grateful look is quickly exchanged between the two of you, as you close the distance, and cleave into the front of the fray. Your long reach and longer weapon is a beautiful arc of weight and devastation. One of the cultists screams, and his cry is cut short as your weapon swings straight across his neck, cutting him down instantly. The sheer might of the blow is a roll of thunder through your bones. The momentum of your attack continues, and brings the corpse down to the floor.

You have to shout to Father Pevrel for additional cover, to grant you a moment to pry your weapon free from the corpse. Unsticking Piety from the foot-deep blow is another song in your heart for the God of Action.

(1/2)
>>
>>4594226
While you have a moment of cover, you crouch down directly behind the priest. He's even stronger than he looks, and is holding at bay every other man in the corridor from crushing through his barrier. You brace against his back to help keep him standing, as four of the cultists try shoving him over at once.

Digging your heels and heft into the dirt is a religious experience. Adwin, Irefist, and Sister Miramond fire a series of daggers at the cultists furthest to the back of the passage, striking true into every nook and cranny in their armor. Daggers fly in all directions, while you mutter to your flask for the oilest substance it can manifest. A thick, congealed, soupy consistency floods the container. You sweep it across the floor behind the men trying to push over Father Pevrel, and they all simultaneously struggle to maintain their footing.

It's enough to grant the priest an advantage to push back, and to stumble the entire group nearly off balance. Sister Miramond laughs like a mad thing. Adwin lets out a shout as she takes his lantern, and tosses a some of the hot burning oil onto the liquid you've produced. You stagger back, and pull Father Pevrel by his robes just in the nick of Time. It ignites in an instant.

The men before you all go up in flames. The metal they're wearing is a death trap. Those at the rear try retreating. They're all screaming. One does slip from view, even while ignited. Father Pevrel mutters "shit," and rips himself away from your grasp.

The madman lunges into the flame, sword drawn, and frantically tries to cut down as many figures as he can.

The frantic attempts within the flaming corridor meets you all at the same Time. Four remaining men who are all going up in fire and smoke desperately try to cut you all down, and to simultaneously put out the blaze on their lower bodies.

You take Piety's hilt, and swing the blunt end to concuss one man in a single blow. He staggers backwards and collapses on the spot from the head trauma, straight into the blaze. In the same motion, you swing your weapon high, and bring the full might of it down onto the shoulder of another fighter. The mail beneath is crushed into his skin, and does nothing to stop the devastation of the blow. You cleave down through the metal, deep into muscle, and carve his harm right off the bone. The limb flops to the floor, and clamors from the armor adorning it. He screams incoherently for an instant, before Father Pevrel stabs the cultist's neck and puts him out of his misery.

The sheer force of your company's mutual devastation made incredibly quick work of the group. Father Pevrel staggers backwards singed, but not burned. He goes to scream some debasement at Sister Miramond, but thinks better of it. She has a number of lacerations on her from thrown weapons, as does Irefist, and Adwin's already bandaged form. The young man calmly, vacantly, and quietly asks Irefist, "please give me a hand with this."

(Somehow barely over, 2/3)
>>
>>4594232
The ex-demon immediately thought to use the corpses to suffocate the flames. He's clearly not disturbed. There's a light in the young man's eyes as he and the sailor in your midst squash the blaze.

The odor of cooking meat, scorched oil, burning hair, blood, and filth is so thick on the air you can hardly breathe. Smoke is thickly gathered at the top of the tunnel, which conveniently will rise out from the direction you came.

It looks like the Father of retribution is going to have a heart attack. He's positively coated in blood, and hisses to you all, "every last sinner in these tunnels will have heard those screams. We need to move--" A weary gaze falls on you. "--and quickly."

The hot oil is carefully stepped around. Adwin still seems to have a great deal of light at his disposal, and looks downright elated after witnessing so much violence.

There's five armored corpses laying about. They were all people. There's going to be a lot more like them.

>A] Stop for a moment and search the cultists. (Clearly specify if you're looking for something specific, E.g. upper body armor, ranged weapons, information on Inertia, supplies, etc. The more specific the search, the harder it may be to find that item.)
>1] Make a cursory search. (Smallest amount of time. A high roll will be required.)
>2] Make a decent attempt at a search. (Moderate amount of time. A moderate roll will be required.)
>3] This is worth the time. Commit to a thorough search. (A substantial amount of time will be taken. No roll will be required, but there is still no guarantee that what you are searching for will be found.)

>B] Press on into the room ahead. Time's a wasting.
>1] Chastise Sister Miramond. There's no excuse for that sort of behavior, no matter how effective it is.
>2] Commend Irefist, Adwin, and Sister Miramond for their aim.
>3] Seriously give Father Pevrel some credit for handling the situation.

>C] Demand that your allies stop for a moment while you examine and see to their injuries. Father Pevrel is covered in too much blood and is too stubborn to tell his damage with a cursory look.

>D] Write-in.
>>
>>4594240
>>B] Press on into the room ahead. Time's a wasting.
>>1] Chastise Sister Miramond. There's no excuse for that sort of behavior, no matter how effective it is.

Please try to keep things silent. The smoke is equally dangerous to us in closed spaces, I will not invoke to heal your lungs.

>2] Commend Irefist, Adwin, and Sister Miramond for their aim.
>3] Seriously give Father Pevrel some credit for handling the situation.

Credit where credit is due tho.
>>
>>4594264 #
+1, but that goes double for the cultists. We could smoke them out if need be.

Also I imagine Adwin would be best at searching for intel, considering he would instantly know what's unusual/useful, and what isn't.
>>
>>4594264
Support
>>
>>4594264
>>4594283
>>4594296
(Wonderful guys, locking the unanimous vote here. Things are slowing down a bit so I'll try to get this out ASAP. Writing now!)
>>
>>4594344
You quickly put a sleeve to your face, and crouch down to avoid the worst of the smoke. "Come on. We're wasting Time."

As everyone mimics your motions, and creeps past the fire, you whisper to Julian as firmly as you're able. "Please try to keep things silent. We can smoke out the cultists, but smoke is equally dangerous to all of us in these enclosed spaces. I will not invoke to heal your lungs, no matter-- no matter how effective your tactics are." She starts to protest. You snap, "there's no excuse for this sort of behavior."

Father Pevrel laughs quietly to himself. Irefist groans at him. Apart from that, the rest of your company is pensive.

The damn tunnel is ridiculously long. At least the view is pleasant, between the long shadows of your company and the stunning verdant rock up above. You rest Piety flat on your shoulder, and mutter as loudly as you dare. "I'm giving you such a hard Time, Sister, because I saw first-hand how phenomenal your aim was." To everyone present you mutter, "all of you." To the back of Father Pevrel's sweat-slick hair you quietly insist, "thank you for handling the situation so expertly."

He's in a weird mood between elated anticipation, temporarily sated bloodlust, and irritation.The pretense of professional respect falls for a moment, but his grumbling is as good-natured as you could hope for. "Keep your voice down, softie. You weren't half bad either. Take it easy on the pep talk, though. You're going to get us killed just trying to keep morale up."

"You're right," you immediately agree.

The priest laughs to himself. "Did you seriously just agree with me?"

"Shhhh," you tease.

You all reach the room at the end of the corridor. Lantern light casts short shadows into the tightly packed space. It's about twenty feet wide in all directions, and the ceiling can't be more than six and a half feet high. The bolts of metal and wooden reinforcements here make the space downright claustrophobic, as their protrusions make it so you have to duck in-between them if you want to stand fully upright. Scattered around on the floor are abruptly abandoned sleeping bags, a crate-turned-table covered with playing cards, stacks of priceless supplies (the scent of ripening fruit hits you like a Dream), and a cache of ill-gotten weapons.

One, long, slightly ascending tunnel stretches out dead ahead. Another narrow corridor is to the left that veers sharply up. One corridor is to the right, which climbs gradually up. The sound of the escaped man is off in the distance, somewhere to the left. He's screaming about you and Father Pevrel, for help, and for someone to save him. Irefist and Father Pevrel simultaneously spit, "fuck."

The sailor gives him a hateful look, and continues, "he would have gone to the closest place with more men. Easy enough to hear. They're going to come for us. Listen."

(1/2)
>>
>>4594444
Father Pevrel grits his teeth loudly enough that you can hear it. Julian looks pleased as punch. The beat of your heart is in your ears, matching the pulse you can feel against the golden locket in the palm of your hand. Footfalls echo in the distance.

There's less Time to spare than you even suspected. To Adwin you quickly whisper, "if you see anything unusual or useful, don't wait. Grab it if it looks safe enough to do so, or try to remember it."

The young man instantly runs over to the scattered playing cards, and sweeps them all up with his bloody hands. "Apologies if I compromise any information Father. Given the circumstances..."

You wave a reassuring hand at him. At the same Time, Julian points to the long corridor dead-ahead. "This one should let out somewhere, or connect to a passage that does." She jerks a thumb to the right. "This one must go much deeper. Possibly to another district." She points to the left. "Whatever's there, it's closest."

The sailor among you looks around the room. "Bad spot to get trapped in, unless we can close it off."

Father Pevrel smirks at you. "Fine. Seeing as how capable you all are, let's see how well you take to me deferring to *your* judgement." He did warn you he would be having fun. "Father Anscham?"

The madman wants to test your idea of his tenets under pressure. At least it's a vote of confidence.

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

>A] Fire back at the lord of judgement that now is really not the time, and you would like for him to make the best call so you all live to see the dawn.

>B] Adwin's creativity has you so proud, you're willing to risk everyone's safety on it. Ask your boy for his plan on how to handle this situation.

>C] Talking is going to get everyone killed. Don't scorn your leadership, especially when it's given to you.
>1] Send Father Pevrel alone into the left tunnel, with Julian and Irefist as backup in the dark. They can get the jump on anyone incoming, while you and Adwin make sure they're aware if more forces are coming in from other directions. You'll keep an eye out, and Adwin can thoroughly search this room in the meantime.
>2] Go as a group to the right. The escaping cultist may have gone for more reinforcements below ground, and no doubt will use the tunnels to his advantage. Your collective strengths should put up one hell of a chase.
>3] Go dead ahead. If that cultist is making a break for the surface, there's no telling what nightmares he might bring back. You can't risk it.

>D] Write-in.
>>
>>4594455
>B] Adwin's creativity has you so proud, you're willing to risk everyone's safety on it. Ask your boy for his plan on how to handle this situation.
>>
>>4594455
>B] Adwin's creativity has you so proud, you're willing to risk everyone's safety on it. Ask your boy for his plan on how to handle this situation.
>>
>>4594455
B; I am curious at what he world choose, and this isn't scorning leadership, it's delegating creativity, and may end up saving us Time.
>>
>>4594457
>>4594470
>>4594586
(Vote is locked.)

You need to preface this. The urgency in your tone is only outclassed by the pride in your body language. "This is not scorning leadership," you insist to Father Pevrel. "I am delegating creativity to the best mind for the job, and will save us all Time. This situation could compromise our entire mission. You know I can't be brief."

Everyone present snickers, or tries not to.

You look to the master painter in your company. "Your creativity is second-to-none. I want you to help me keep control over this affair."

The two of you grin ear-to-ear, despite everyone else's dismay. Curiosity and eagerness is all through your tone as you finish, "Adwin, I can't afford you more Time. What's the plan?"

The young man instantly looks to Sister Miramond. He's calm and collected, as always. "I trust you can handle going it alone, Sister." He gestures towards the passage dead-ahead. "If a substantial number of forces are coming, please warn us. Otherwise, bait them out into the corridor we came from. Please do not hesitate to use the full extent of your ability, so long as you remain quiet. Please do not place us in danger, or make the passage untraversable."

No complaints from the priestess of Storm. She takes off running to use the full might of her ability.

"Irefist," Adwin remarks, "I know you will not trust Father Pevrel to handle this situation. Please accompany him to track down and slaughter those who will be coming in from the leftmost passageway. Again, if you become overwhelmed, please lead them back to this room and the tunnel we—"

Both men are already sprinting down the passage Adwin indicated. Your boy gives you a broad smile. "Please break that crate."

You promptly walk over to the only makeshift furniture in the room, and drop-kick it. The item breaks into over a dozen spiked and splintered stakes. The boy is a genius. You immediately set down Piety, sweep the spikes up, and fish around in your satchel for the shovels you've been carrying for a week. "Where are we digging?"

"Start with the rightmost passage. I'll need you to be on the opposite side, Father, and to go in just far enough to be able to quickly return. Please do not hold the line. There are a number of shields with the supplies here. Take one, and make a retreat the moment anyone comes into view. Bait them into this pit, and any others we can make. Retreat to the corridor we entered from, if there are many of them. Do not risk your life for this venture. I will take care of the rest."

An insidious, yet sincerely happy look crosses over the ex-demon. "Thank you for placing your faith in me. I won't let you down."

(Options in next post.)
>>
>>4594596
(Not so much options as the roll. The text in red has been formatted to try and provide clarity lol.)

>Roll 2d100.
-The first 1d100 you roll will indicate how quickly you help Adwin trap the corridors in this room.
-The second 1d100 will indicate how well you adhere to his plan.
-The best of 3 will be used for each set.


>LAIR OF AN EX-DEMON
-This represents the first 1d100 that will be used.
-If this roll meets or exceeds 100 after the bonuses are applied, a special condition will be triggered.

>+20 GREEN DAHLIA (Adwin knows how to play to your strengths.)
>+10 PRIEST OF AGRICULTURE (Seriously.)
>+10 FARM BOY (He may not know your history, but he gets it.)
>+10 ARTISTIC VISION (Your masterful mentor is pretty good at this.)
>+5 TOOLS FOR THE JOB (Sister Cardew's foresight is literally Godlike.)
>+5 LIQUID ENERGY (Taking care of yourself feels great!)
>-14 SLEEP DEPRIVATION (Your exhaustion will continue to slowly worsen— along with this malus— until you get some rest.)

>THE PLAN
-This represents the second 1d100 that will be used.

>-20 THE SOULS OF MANKIND... (The weakness in the hearts of your fellow is a major concern in any battle against them.)
>-31 PRIEST OF AGRICULTURE (Beating a retreat AND compensating for your size is not going to make this easy.)
>-14 SLEEP DEPRIVATION (Your exhaustion will continue to slowly worsen-- along with this malus-- until you get some rest.)
>+10 FAITH OF A GODDESS (To defend is to serve.)
>+15 DEFENDER OF THE CITY OF SHIELDS (A shield? In your hands?)
>+10 PRIEST OF FLESH (You're getting that workout.)
>+15 COMBAT VETERAN (You'll notice projectiles faster than most people.)
>+5 LIQUID ENERGY (Taking care of yourself feels great!)

(That's +46 to the first roll, and -10 to the second roll after all bonuses.)
>>
Rolled 36 (1d100)

>>4594605
I can't be prouder, my boy!
>>
>>4594614
(Gotta roll 2d100 for this prompt anon! Since you've already rolled one 1d100, can you please roll a 1d100 a second time? Sorry if this is confusing.)
>>
Rolled 32 (1d100)

>>4594605
>>4594614
Misread in my excitement to post, sorry about that!

Let's see if Malimos gives us his blessings!
>>
>>4594616

>>4594614
>>4594617
I will say, at least I'm consistent! ;^)
>>
Rolled 30, 17 = 47 (2d100)

>>4594605
>>
File: malimosmobile.png (136 KB, 1920x1080)
136 KB
136 KB PNG
>>4594617
(No worries man! Laffin. I'm sure Malimos is out there somewhere, biding his time.)

>>4594619
(oh no)
>>
Rolled 11, 75 = 86 (2d100)

>>4594605
>>
>>4594620
I have faith. After all, Yetch has yet to make his appearance!

And I'm sure Malimos is biding his Time, waiting to shine (in his dark cavern of course)!
>>
>>4594624
Well, that's not bad at all! Shame about the first number, you had my curiosity with how a crit would have went down.
>>
>>4594630
(Win some, lose some. What a clutch victory though. Good shit guys.)

>>4594614
>>4594617
>>4594618
>>4594619
>>4594624
>>4594627
(Best of 3 for the first roll is a 78 after modifiers, to help Adwin with the traps. Best of 3 for the second roll after modifiers is 76, to stick to the plan. Everything is locked up. Writing now!)
>>
>>4594634
(Got tied up with several unexpected things tonight, back at my desk and writing now.)
>>
>>4594654
https://youtu.be/HwBTDjLX4Es

"I could not be prouder." Mist is in your eyes, while you hand Adwin a shovel. He's also fighting to not choke up. The two of you head for the rightmost corridor's entrance. "Come on."

Where the floor isn't made of stone, it's made of rock-hard dirt. It's brutal work. You use your flask to manifest water to try and soften the surface. It does little good, given how pressed you are for Time. The stakes are turned nearly horizontal, and you simply embed them into the floor and side walls as a massive tripping hazard. It's managed with the pickaxes from your excessive backlog of gear. Your boy's eye is so keen, he's able to guide your hand to to strike exactly where you'll be the most effective.

"The first several individuals to run through them will lose a leg, at least," he politely explains. "I'm afraid this is the most I can risk us doing together, Father. I will handle the rest."

You leave your shovels and picks with the visionary. The spare lantern from your satchel (Mercy, you really need to thank Sister Cardew properly at some point) is outfitted with a single candle, and quickly lit with Adwin's own lantern. You affix it to your bag to keep the heat away from your robes. Piety is swept back into your hands, and you grab the largest shield from the spare equipment stacked off to the side.

The best option is wooden, round, easily four feet across in every direction, and banded together with iron. It's heavy, you love it, and a break is made for the rightmost passage. Adwin's gentle tone carries after you. "Stay safe."

You dare to look back, and confidently smile. "You know I will. The Gods are Merciful."

The same hand that's clutching at your new shield also has your Relic digging into its palm. There's no pain. Your senses are hyper-focused on the corridor ahead. The faint light you cast extends only ten feet out at the most. It's so narrow, you have to turn the shield sideways in a few places to keep it from scraping. There's at least comfort in knowing there's a choke point here.

Pitch-blackness looms ahead for at least two minutes of walking. You mind every step, and look as cautiously as you can for any traps. Piety is used to feel ahead, and you keep your shield held high. The corridor gradually curves to one side. You instantly realize it's to not hurt the vision of anyone walking this way.

Despite how dim your light source is, an incoming lantern is borderline blinding by comparison. Every inch of you tenses. The rate of your pulse could put a galloping horse to shame. Facing the light, you begin backing up with Piety poised, and your shield at the ready.

Twang.

The sound of a bow being loosened doesn't even give you the opportunity to see your attacker. The breadth of your sword comes behind your shield, and the smallest silhouette possible is attempted as you kneel down, to try and—

Fwip.

(1/4 combat update let's gooo)
>>
>>4594729
Biting through a muffled shout to Mercy and all the other Gods out of pure frustration, you continue backing up. The first shot went for your legs. There's an arrow lodged somewhere in your left calf. The object is a dull pressure, not pain, but you know every step is going to be causing damage.

Twang twang twang

Panic hits you red-hot. Every urge to run is on you, but the enemy is coming fast. Their own light is about to meet yours. You can't risk compromising a single inch of coverage, but dropping down would destroy every nerve in your injured leg.

You hold your ground, and pray for the best.

Fwip fwip thunk.

Two arrows from the volley soar straight past where your head would be, had you not ducked slightly down. The last hits hard into your shield, as you brace yourself with your good leg. There's no indication of any more arrows being loosened, thanks to the wall of cultists up ahead. Both of your light sources meet. Brown robes, and wooden masks. Plenty are wearing makeshift armor. They're running straight towards you, from no more than forty feet out. Terrified voices holler to what must be more men at their backs. Every last soul is obviously terrified to be trapped in a tight corridor with you, but they charge nonetheless.

"HE'S HERE!"
"WE'VE GOT HIM!"
"LOOKS LIKE HE'S ALONE!"
"COVER US!"

There's only one way you're buying enough Time to get out of this alive. Several steps are quickly taken forward, as you use the shield in hand as a makeshift battering ram. The ground underfoot is your anchor. The force of the motion you push off with from your legs is all through your core, and every ounce of strength you possess explosively shoves the poor soul on the other side.

A sick crack that's closer to an explosion than a break. Someone's definitely lost use of their arms, and judging by the way their scream was cut short, they were impaled on their own weapon.

With a cry to Flesh, you keep shoving. The corpse of the man you're using to extend the assault slumps hard against the man behind him. The cultist next in line to be cut down completely loses his composure. He frantically tries to push the dead body off of him. He starts screaming. You lunge with your weapon, dip under the gap below his mask, and cut straight into his neck. A spray of blood mists into the air. Spurts of crimson revenge arc against your shield.

The two dead men will temporarily obstruct the passage. Both of their weight is pushed hard into the line of attackers beyond. Before anyone can recover from the intensity of the counter-attack, you beat a retreat.

(2/4)
>>
>>4594730
Whoever's been firing arrows has to stop, thanks to the congestion in the hall. It's still prudent to keep your shield high. Whoever is at the front of the pack is crouching down, while cultists behind the figure launch a barrage of throwing knives. Six stick straight into your shield, shaking your stability, and causing the pressure in your calf to intensify. Five more weapons clatter to the ground after striking against your defense. They were thrown with insufficient skill to do more harm, let alone to make up for your own ability.

Numb arms, growing fear for bleeding to death, and the intense reminder of what awaits behind you hazards a glance backwards. You take care to not trip or get caught on the spikes you and Adwin arranged at the last instant.

For a moment, your boy is nowhere to be seen in the room. The fact that Sister Miramond, Irefist, and Father Pevrel are nowhere to be seen has you bordering on panic, but you take some comfort in catching a number of elaborate setups of string at the peak of each corridor. Adwin has done something malicious, and you know it will be enough. As you turn to go to the corridor you all planned on retreating to, you notice that there's now a painting on the wall that wasn't previously there. It's really more of a blanket that's been roughly colored like the rock and stone around it.

Adwin's feet are peeking out at the floor. His shoes could be mistaken for rocks.

You would laugh if the situation wasn't more dire. A break is made for the tunnel that you all entered from. You only go in far enough that your candlelight cannot be seen. Collapsing against the side of one wall, breathing hard and still standing, you try to use the second of respite to assess the damage.

Wax is splattered all over the interior of your hooded lantern. The low flame is still enough for you to see the deep red that's gushing from the wound on your leg. You normally don't blanch at taking a hit, but this is bad. Even if you can't feel the injury, you have to find a way to stop the bleeding. Cutting off your trousers around the wound to assess its severity is a luxury you may not be afforded right now. There could be more attackers coming any second. Staying on your feet is a must. Removing the object is out of the question right now, thanks to a noise that makes your blood run cold.

There's a disgusting, inhuman gnashing sound up ahead. The screams that intermingle with the wet noise puts static and watercolor on the edges of your vision. There's cries for Mercy. The world feels like it cuts out for a few seconds, in a haze of neon and pink.

The sounds stop as soon as they started.

Adwin makes no indication of heading down the passage. You're alone, in the dark, and are bleeding out onto the floor.

(3/4)
>>
>>4594731
There's a cold sweat on you. The inside of your shoe is getting sticky from the amount of blood you've lost, and keep losing. Applying pressure with your bare hands shouldn't be necessary, given how quickly you can treat combat injuries.

Still, moving around an impaled object is never a good idea. You've been fighting with one in you. Putting your full weight on a wound like this is almost worse. Not elevating it right now is even worse, still.

You're one of the greatest healers alive, and can tell at a glance (even through your pant leg) that nothing is hemorrhaging. There's at least several minutes at your disposal to dress it properly, or to take more dramatic action— but you need to act quickly. There is likely permanent nerve damage occurring. There's the matter of your image, your mobility, and your love of action to consider.

There's also the concern that— at this rate— you won't leave these corridors alive.

(Options in next post.)
>>
>>4594736
>All of the following are mutually exclusive. Majority vote will decide.

>A] You're taking the sane, safe, and most traditional approach. This weapon is staying in. You'll treat it to the best of your ability (which is world-class) given the circumstances, and will stop to heal it properly the instant this all dies down. Anything otherwise would be borderline suicidal, or would be going against everything you've told your allies. (Due to your skill, you are guaranteed to stabilize the arrow. A roll will be called for purely to determine how long it takes before someone reaches you, and in what numbers.)

>B] Extract the arrow, but invoke Mercy first. If the arrow is keeping you from bleeding out, or worsens the flow, you'll be on death's door within minutes. You can't take that risk, and don't want to deal with permanent damage either. (You know how badly this is going to hurt your very soul. However, Mercy will stop just about any physical damage in its tracks, and will rapidly heal you. You're certain you'll also be afforded protection. Please also be aware that opting to not invoke Mercy in this situation may qualify under the Goddess' view as intentionally, severely harming yourself.)

>C] Cauterizing this injury can only come once the arrow is out. Knowing the risks of incurring damage that the Gods Themselves may be unable to heal, you'll take your chances of being stuck with a limp— or far worse.
>1] Keep your Relic in hand, and carefully extract the arrow. Use your eyes and all of your ability to assess the damage. You'll go from there. (AN EXCEPTIONALLY HIGH ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED. You have many bonuses. Be advised that depending on your luck, things may go from bad to worse.)
>2] Let go of your Relic. You'll know for sure if there was any poison. You also might be tempted to rip out the arrow. You could even keep your composure. It's anyone's guess, and also a matter of how far you're willing to push yourself. (A SEPARATE SERIES OF PROMPTS WILL BE PROVIDED. AN OBSCENELY HIGH ROLL MAY BE REQUIRED. Be advised that you have many bonuses, but will also have several possible substantial maluses.)

>D] Write-in. (Be advised that you're not sure if you can invoke Flesh, and leaving this injury unattended is not an option. You can and will die from bleeding out if it is not immediately addressed, and every step you take is making matters worse. )

(Going to be gone for quite a while for some importance stuff this morning. This vote will be open for at least the next 9 hours. Please feel free to still ask questions! I'll be keeping tabs on the thread while I'm out.)
>>
>>4594741
My vote really depends on whether chosing A would break our promise to Mercy. I think it's better to stabilize and wait to administer proper care later, with some medical alcohol to help clean the wound a bit. If we're lucky, we may get one of our clergy to heal us before the sermon if we wish. But if that is considered intentionally harming ourselves in the eyes of Mercy, I'd rather invoke and risk more pain to our soul than break our promise to her.

I'm hoping restraint in invoking the Gods isn't foolish in this situation.
>>
>>4594741
>A] You're taking the sane, safe, and most traditional approach. This weapon is staying in. You'll treat it to the best of your ability (which is world-class) given the circumstances, and will stop to heal it properly the instant this all dies down. Anything otherwise would be borderline suicidal, or would be going against everything you've told your allies. (Due to your skill, you are guaranteed to stabilize the arrow. A roll will be called for purely to determine how long it takes before someone reaches you, and in what numbers.)

Dick the arrow hedgehog
>>
>>4594741
>>A] You're taking the sane, safe, and most traditional approach. This weapon is staying in. You'll treat it to the best of your ability (which is world-class) given the circumstances, and will stop to heal it properly the instant this all dies down. Anything otherwise would be borderline suicidal, or would be going against everything you've told your allies. (Due to your skill, you are guaranteed to stabilize the arrow. A roll will be called for purely to determine how long it takes before someone reaches you, and in what numbers.)

Fuck it, there will be time later. Right now I think a demon just spawned somewhere.
>>
>>4594801
(It's a matter of several factors. Walking around, hiking, climbing, or fighting with this arrow in your limb is frankly insane. It's normal when someone is hit by this kind of injury to be immediately taken aside, escorted away from the fight, and healed as soon and as thoroughly as humanly possible. Postponing healing yourself through Mercy will no doubt be giving your soul a break. Just be aware that your body will suffer for literally every step you take, so the Goddess who can almost immediately gift you with thorough healing may not take kindly to you intentionally shirking the ability to prevent severe damage. The responsible option here would be a no-brainer for someone who couldn't invoke, and your self-imposed restrictions fall under that, but it's worth mentioning that the Mother of protection may see it differently. Especially if things get worse. There are no wrong options here. It's meant to be a touch call.)
>>
>>4594914
(tough* thank you autocorrect.

So turns out my plans this morning wrapped up in record time! This vote will remain open for one (1) more hour. At that time we'll lock things up and I'll resume writing.)
>>
>>4594741
>A] You're taking the sane, safe, and most traditional approach. This weapon is staying in. You'll treat it to the best of your ability (which is world-class) given the circumstances, and will stop to heal it properly the instant this all dies down. Anything otherwise would be borderline suicidal, or would be going against everything you've told your allies. (Due to your skill, you are guaranteed to stabilize the arrow. A roll will be called for purely to determine how long it takes before someone reaches you, and in what numbers.)
>>
>>4594801
>>4594822
>>4594876
>>4594956
(Alright lads, vote is locked here! A flat roll will be used, as previously noted.)

Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.
>>
Rolled 95 (1d100)

>>4594964
>>
>>4594966
>that roll and dubs
(Holy shit nice lol)
>>
Rolled 65 (1d100)

>>4594964

LETS GOOOOO
>>
Rolled 20 (1d100)

>>4594964
>>
>>4594966
>>4594975
>>4594992
(Whew. Welp! Best of 3 as a 95 out of 100 will definitely get the job done! Writing now.)
>>
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>>4594993
https://youtu.be/Pep2QaHORBQ

Sliding down to the floor, disturbing the puddle of blood beneath your feet, you set Piety carefully by your side. The shield is unslung and propped up against you for one extra measure of defense.

Getting off your feet has already slowed the flow of blood. It looks like the arrow was lodged deeply into the front of your calf. No bone was pierced. The item didn't go through the other side. Needless to say, anything from a bone fracture to a complete puncture would have been catastrophic.

May all the Gods be praised for granting me additional cushion.

The sharpest pair of scissors in your possession are located, along with multiple swathes of triangular bandages and packs of padding. Shearing the leg of your trousers away (getting some new clothes is mandatory) exposes the full extent of the damage. Angry, red, and brutally devastated skin is torn all around the site of the injury. The hole that the arrow produced has been exacerbated. It looks like the entire item should have fallen out, but the tip is barbed. It's holding the shaft and arrowhead in place.

The metal is also certainly poisoned. There's no question remaining: Your Relic prevents you from identifying the tell-tale physical signs of toxin running through your veins. Good thing you have resistance.

As irritating and difficult as it is due to your bulk, you take several spare seconds to check for a pulse at your lower leg and ankle. Nothing seems to be impaired. The beat of your heart is as intense in your chest. Along with your rapid breath, the throb below the site of the injury cannot be mistaken.

The arrow is cut down to a more manageable length. As-is, the weight of the shaft is exacerbating your injury with every motion. You trim it a couple of inches above the skin. Only the slender, short surface remains. You keep the fletched end in your things, in the hopes that it may be of some use later.

The cleanest dressings in your possession are doused with a number of remedies you have to control the bleeding, reduce the chance of the site turning bad, and to help counter the toxin in you. You may have resistance to poison— but the less stress you can put on your body right now, the better.

Thanks to how little of the arrow you've left at the surface of your skin, minimal material is required to create a bulky dressing. Quickly rolling a number of bandages into packs, you brace yourself against the wall, and manage to simultaneously keep the arrow steady, and create a stable padded structure to hold it in place. It nestles the wood between clean bandages, will prevent the item from being jostled, and will ease your recovery. More gauze is used to secure the entire ensemble. The pressure and tightness of the dressing will aid in stopping the blood loss, but you take care to not compromise blood flow to the rest of the limb.

(1/3)
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>>4595054
As much as it pains you to impair mobility in any way, your entire leg has to be stabilized. The ridiculousness of keeping an entire ladder in your satchel was well worth the effort. You snap off a singular rung. The solid, unmoving, and stable wood will work nicely for a splint. No additional Time has to be spent on padding for comfort. A strap is wrapped around your ankle and foot to prevent flexing, which would put additional stress on the site. More ties go under and over the injury, without getting anywhere near the actual location of where you were impaled.

Checking your pulse for a third Time, you confirm that nothing has disturbed your pulse. Double and triple checking for any shock is well worth it. Despite your rapid breathing, severe fatigue, and chronic negative disturbances in your mood, there's nothing that indicates you've lost blood flow to any organs. There's no blue tint to your fingernails. No nausea. The healthier tone to your skin has persisted just fine.

The blood loss looked a lot worse than it truly was. You breath a lot easier, and realize you've been afforded a spare minute. Every second in the growing darkness is used to slake your thirst, and to continue checking that nothing has been outfitted to tightly. You're not overcompensating. There's a very real risk of destroying the sensation in the limb by treating it without a natural indication of pain.

You swear to yourself to do everything you can to remove the arrow and get the site treated the second you can, but the situation down here is too volatile to risk it right now. The object could be blocking a massive loss of blood. There's simply no way you can risk that kind of work alone, let alone on yourself in a combat situation. By all rights, you should be with another priest of Mercy for something like this. You've toughed out worse things, but there's no shame in this. You only pray that you haven't been a fool to spurn Mercy's ability.

This is how I am meant to serve. To use my own two hands, and to only call upon Her when absolutely necessary.

Right?


There's a hope that you can hold out until you're back home, and get one of your clergy to see to the wound before dawn. The supplies are quickly put up. There's been absolutely no indication of anyone approaching the corridor you're in thus far, but someone is coming now.

You get to your feet, and still have enough Time to test the stability of the splint. It's up to your standards (which is to say that it's flawless), and there's no sign of additional bleeding within the dressings on your leg. Just for good measure, you mutter to your robes to shorten themselves above the knee so there's absolutely no risk of anything snagging.

Whoever approached is hanging back. Deep-seated fear of another demon spawning has you take up your shield and sword. "Identify yourself!"

Father Pevrel's rasp in return almost can't be heard. "Keep your voice down. Carl is with—"

(2/3)
>>
>>4595062
"Shove it, old man," is Irefist's instant reply.

The two men come into view. They look exhausted— and paler than death— but are clearly delighted. The priest is still positively covered in blood, and his face lights up at the sight of you in a splint. All thought of berating Irefist is lost. He looks you over head-to-toe, and leers. "Well, well, well. What have we here?"

Irefist's enthusiasm rapidly begins to fall. He's slaked in gore up to his elbows, and starts wiping his hands off on his trousers. "The fuck happened to you?"

"Poisoned arrow." Your explanation is almost sufficient. Both men put on a complex look. They're clearly uncertain what that means for you. "I will be fine," you insist. "The Gods are Merciful."

A heathen's gaze darts around. "See Jules anywhere?"

Your fellow priest walks further into the corridor with a smirk. "You mean Julian? Since when did you two get so cozy?" He doesn't wait for a reply. "Oh, and just in case you were wondering, Anscham? We cleared the entire rat's nest. Should probably go after the girl."

"Yes. Adwin—" You swallow hard. "There was a sound. It was monstrous. I've been concerned, but with this— it couldn't wait."

Both men are still unfailingly pale. They look to each other, and back to you, like there was some unspoken agreement between them to not talk about this. The mariner in your company can't help but mutter, "boy's not human, is he?"

>A] It's okay to panic. Plans can't always pan out in full, and this one went a lot further than most. Dart out from the corridor without another word, and make sure that Adwin is alright.

>B] Demand to know what they saw. You won't give any answers, you are adhering to Adwin's plan, and these men need to respect your unwillingness to talk about your boy's history.

>C] Both of these men risked their lives to follow Adwin's instruction. The least you can do is try to explain what you know, and ask them for what information they have in return.

>D] You know what Adwin is capable of. You're more concerned about Sister Miramond's extended absence. Don't panic. Head back into the central room, stay on your guard, and try to get a hold of the situation.

>E] Write-in.
>>
>>4595079
>C] Both of these men risked their lives to follow Adwin's instruction. The least you can do is try to explain what you know, and ask them for what information they have in return.
>>
>>4595079
>C] Both of these men risked their lives to follow Adwin's instruction. The least you can do is try to explain what you know, and ask them for what information they have in return.
>>
>>4595079
>>C] Both of these men risked their lives to follow Adwin's instruction. The least you can do is try to explain what you know, and ask them for what information they have in return.
>>
>>4595088
>>4595105
>>4595133
(Good shit guys. Locking the unanimous vote here. Very busy today but I'll plug away at this as best as I can! Writing now.)
>>
>>4595223
https://youtu.be/YMstIXwsPUY

"No. He's not." Questioning the word of the Father of Honesty is ill-advised at the best of times. The resolution in your tone should cull any doubt. Surely enough, Irefist is completely silent.

The priest with you is careful to not disclose any prior conversations you've had regarding your boy. Father Pevrel simply notes, "so he's not a demon. Not like any I've ever seen before, at least."

"He is not a demon," you repeat. Clarity is critical here. "He is a decent soul, who seeks— who seeks repentance."

Curious looks pass over you.

"Please allow me to try and explain. I need you both to promise me that you will not do ANYTHING rash."

The lord of wrath, and a man nicknamed for his temper raise their eyebrows.

Irefist crosses his arms, and shrugs. "Sure."

Father Pevrel sighs. "Honor is *my* creed, Anscham. I won't lay a hand on your boy. Out with it."

"He was a demon."

Both of your allies tense like you've struck them.

You hurriedly try to explain. "I did not cure his Catalyst. I have respected and honored his boundaries. As such, Adwin has not been, and will never be a threat to my safety. He seeks understanding, after— after over one thousand years of torment, and isolation."

Father Pevrel looks dizzy. Irefist has gone completely silent.

The foremost researcher of the Catalyst elaborates. "Adwin is the very embodiment of interpretation. He is neither a demon, nor a human. I'm not entirely certain what his condition means for any of us. Spirit Herself was fascinated by his existence, and aided us in— aided us in shrouding his actual form from the world."

Your fellow church leader finds the nerve to quietly ask, "which is?"

"He assumes the identity of anyone who gazes upon him. Their innermost self. The image is one that can be felt, and heard— but only by those who gaze upon him. Even in groups, it seems that he depicts a unique image to each individual. He has voluntarily concealed this ability, and has asked for my protection. Our hope, and my PROMISE is that he will never live in isolation or torment ever again."

The narrow, dark, underground corridor you're in makes you gulp. "It is a testament to his faith, his loyalty, his bravery, and a degree of fortitude that few men possess that he is down here with us at all. He is stronger than any man or demon I have ever faced."

A deeply uncomfortable look passes over Father Pevrel's face. "The boy's terrified of the dark. You brought him down here, knowing how dangerous—"

"Leaving him unattended in this nightmare has been out of the question," you snap.

"Makes sense." Irefist's jaw is so tight, his teeth clack with each consonant. "The whole damn room out there is strung up with meat. I thought it was a demon who did it."

"He killed all of my pursuers?"

(1/3)
>>
>>4595275
"He did *something* to them. They're sure dead. It's real, real fucked though. This is somethin' new. He could be worse than even a demon, and you think you can shape him into something better?"

"There is no need to shape him into anything." You can't say it with any more conviction. "Adwin made it clear to me from the first moments we met that he was lashing out in pain. He's needed guidance, but only to keep him from getting lost to his own inner turmoil. He does not need to inflict any harm on the world, save to protect himself. He cares for my cause. He's unbearably grateful to have a chance at a second life. He may have taken the form of a young man— like a son, to me— but his experience eclipses us all. Most of it has been agony. I cannot stand by and tolerate any single soul to endless suffering if there is ANY chance that they can be saved."

The heave of your chest and your shortness of breath has the rant end abruptly. You clutch at your chest, and look to both of the men standing before you.

Judgement is drenching them. They're more than skeptical. Irefist is a heathen in a land blessed by the very Gods. Father Pevrel has spent his entire life exacting his wrath on who he deems to be deserving.

You choke out just a few more words, brimming with righteousness. "He's been through so much. I can't begin to tell you what we went through to save him. We SAVED him. He is not a demon. Not a monster. He's been there for me at my worst, and wants to elevate both of our potential to our very best. He's my boy. I can't let anyone else hurt him."

The lord of Vengeance takes in a deep breath. A hand is put to your shoulder, and squeezes it just a little. "I knew you weren't a complete piece of shit. If you vouch for him, I won't interfere. It's like I said. This is your family."

He lets up on the hold, as you struggle not to break down from actual justice being had in your life. The urge to hug him is enormous.

"Anscham, if you hug me I'm going to gut you on the spot. Don't go thinking I won't be watching this situation like a hawk. But there's no reason for me to compromise you, or your boy's safety when we have enough enemies to spare. He's willing to fight and die for us. He's not a demon."

You realize that Father Pevrel is saying this to you, but it's really for Irefist's sake. The sailor is deep in thought.

"That will have to be good enough," the priest finishes. "I have yet to hear of anything like this. It seems more of Sullivan's field of expertise, but we all know the sad sack is off playing mind games that would even make Mother Aimar's head spin." A wary look is cast to you. "You're not bleeding out. No cushion on the splint. That locket of yours kills feeling?"

"Only physical pain," you grunt, leaning back against the wall for more relief.

"We need to get you somewhere to work on that." Father Pevrel scowls at Irefist. "Can I trust you to check on the boy without doing something stupid?"

(2/3)
>>
>>4595277
Sweat is wiped from the sailor's brow. He stares straight at you. "You trust him, just like you trusted all of us. Is that right?"

"I knew him far better than even all of you, when we left those dungeons together." You give the survivor a weary smile. "I trusted you all far more, though. I still do. Don't be mistaken, or think for an instant that I wouldn't die for every last one of you."

A sheepish, annoyed, and completely disarmed look is cast away from you and down the hall. He's embarrassed. "Fine. Shit." Huffing. "I'll go take a look."

The spry mariner heads towards the room you all came from. Father Pevrel doesn't even look back at the man as he walks away. He's busy scrutinizing your wound.

The man casts his eye sockets back up to you after a minute. "I really just wanted to get rid of him while there's a second to breathe. This hall is fine for any work that needs to be done. We have a safe path at our back, and Adwin seems capable of keeping things under control outside."

A long moment passes before the priest asks, "you hurt yourself when you invoke, don't you?"

You give a slight nod. "More often than not. Every Time, in the last week."

Something malicious and terribly excited flits across his face. "I've seen it before. I would like to go over how it works, and how bad you're off, but that wound needs healing. It's something worse, without question. I get the feeling Sister Miramond is having a grand old time clearing out the rest of this district's tunnels for us. She may take awhile. I can keep watch here for you, while you work. You want me to get your boy for an extra hand if you need it?" He doesn't wait for an answer, and continues talking with just as much verve. "We could keep going when you're better off, and make sure this hole is completely cleared out come morning. Wouldn't do your image any favors to show up to the sermon limping and bleeding out onto the floor. Right?"

(Options in next post.)
>>
>>4595280
>A] Take Father Pevrel up on his offer.
>1] Ask for him to get Adwin. The extra pair of hands is more valuable than extra insurance against an ambush.
>2] Risk having no defense, and ask for Father Pevrel to assist. He's a sadist, but that also means he has a thorough understanding of how bodily trauma works.
>3] You can handle this yourself. Ask Father Pevrel to keep guard.

>B] It will be impossible to work on this injury while talking, and you'd rather make this venture longer and more painful than to put off this discussion for another second. You don't need to heal. You need answers.
>1] Talk with Father Pevrel about your almost nonstop invocations throughout the week.
>2] There's never a good Time for it. Don't let this opportunity pass you by. Mention the summoning you're capable of with Mercy and Agriculture, too.
>3] Might as well dig deep. Ask if he has ever heard of anything like your green dahlia before, too.
>4] It's a little off-topic, but ask him about how he works with Vengeance while you're at it.

>C] Gods, you are worried about Adwin.
>1] Go check on him.
>2] Thank Father Pevrel profusely for being so reasonable, rational, respectful, and sane about this matter. You're blown away by anyone taking you seriously, let alone honoring the lives you care about.

>D] Write-in.
>>
>>4595281
>A] Take Father Pevrel up on his offer.
>3] You can handle this yourself. Ask Father Pevrel to keep guard.
>>
>>4595281

>>A] Take Father Pevrel up on his offer.
>3] You can handle this yourself. Ask Father Pevrel to keep guard.
>>
>>4595281
A3
>>
>>4595281
A3.
B4; I'm extremely curious about that, as that may show remarkable judgement on his part.
C2; cannot be understated.
>>
>>4595284
>>4595286
>>4595292
>>4595296
(Awesome awesome stuff guys, adore the activity level in here right now too. Thanks for all the participation! We'll immediately launch into A3 and C2. B4 is not feasible while you're working for reasons that will immediately be apparent, but I'm putting that on my roster for the very next thing for you all to address. We'll get to it as soon as it's possible. Vote is locked. Writing now!)
>>
>>4595338
(Work has been insane, immediately got pulled away. Writing now, thanks for your patience guys.)
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>>4595338
>>4595403
The most grateful look you can summon is cast towards Father Pevrel. "Thank you so much."

He recoils. "Don't get all sappy on me, Anscham."

You carefully ease yourself down to the floor. All the while, you spill as much gratitude as a man is capable of. "The reason, wisdom, and sanity you possess can't be overstated. I mean it. Most men would have overreacted to an extreme. You defused Irefist, and have shown nothing but rational—"

"Flattery isn't going to get you anywhere."

"—you took me seriously!"

He loudly groans. "Do you ever stop using your mouth, glutton? Shove it."

You both are grinning. Far more softly— as you go to get a spread of the sharpest tools in your possession— you say, "thank you for honoring the lives in my care. And all those that I care about."

Something close to actual concern for your safety sinks into Father Pevrel's features. "You're worried this is going to kill you."

Violent tremor is in your hands. You clasp them together to still the motion. "It's probable. The arrow's remaining shaft may be all that's standing between my veins, and irreparable blood loss. My dexterity is already compromised while holding my Relic. A misstep will certainly cause me to lose enough blood to start shutting down my body. Even with all my skill, the inability to replace any tissue, deal swiftly with complications, or have backup is a serious concern. And without a priest of Mercy at hand, shock is likely in any event. Do you know how to treat a man in that condition?"

"No," he instantly replies, "so you'd better explain quickly."

The two of you go over how to identify if your cognition or health becomes too compromised to take further action. By the end of it, the priest of honor has insisted on kneeling beside you.

"For the last Time, I can keep an eye out while you work. I'm not going to meddle. But you're certain you want to do this?"

"I have to try."

(Options in next post.)
>>
>>4595427
>A] Extract the arrow while holding your Relic. It will compromise the dexterity of your left hand, and you will not have pain as a natural guide. In return, you will have a clearer mind, and no distractions. (No maluses will be applied for pain, but you will have a malus for the Relic interfering with your work. (A VERY HIGH ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

>B] Release your hold on your Relic purely to gauge if you can handle the pain before proceeding. If you can successfully tolerate it, you may be able to work on the injury with both your hands unfettered. (AN OBSCENELY HIGH ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
>1] Dance to the masochism tango. Ask Father Pevrel to help you restrain any urge to harm yourself further, too. (+20 modifier to the roll. A unanimous vote will bump the bonus up to +30. You are aware that your behavior will become more socially unacceptable as you take on more pain.)
>2] The sheer amount of willpower you have is going to get you through this, and you'll try not to like it. This is your life at stake, not something to indulge in. (The bonus will be directly proportionate to how many unique votes are cast. 1ID votes will not be counted.)

>C] Back out. (Write in.)
>>
>>4595429

>>A] Extract the arrow while holding your Relic. It will compromise the dexterity of your left hand, and you will not have pain as a natural guide. In return, you will have a clearer mind, and no distractions. (No maluses will be applied for pain, but you will have a malus for the Relic interfering with your work. (A VERY HIGH ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

If we start bleeding the fuck out invoke Mercy instantly, I am all for taking care of our soul but it will be useless if we fucking die.
>>
>>4595429
>A] Extract the arrow while holding your Relic. It will compromise the dexterity of your left hand, and you will not have pain as a natural guide. In return, you will have a clearer mind, and no distractions. (No maluses will be applied for pain, but you will have a malus for the Relic interfering with your work. (A VERY HIGH ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
>>
>>4595433
(Absolutely anon. Still going to give peeps to oppose if they want to vocally do so, but that will be the default.)
>>4595450
(Vote is locked!)

>ARE YOU A BAD ENOUGH DUDE TO PERFORM SURGERY ON YOURSELF IN A CAVE?
>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used. (Clearly specify if you do NOT wish to invoke Mercy if you fail. Be advised that A VERY HIGH ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

>+10 FAITH OF A GODDESS (No matter what qualms Mercy has about you hesitating to invoke Her, She doesn't want you to suffer.)
>+25 LORD OF HEALING (You are easily the most qualified man in the nation to attempt this, and have done things like this before!)
>+20 LEADER OF THE CHURCH OF MERCY (Years of experience healing the sick and dying has prepared you for trauma like this.)
>+5 CAST IRON STOMACH (Most people would freak out at the sight of their body being cut open. You don't mind one bit.)
>+5 TOOLS FOR THE JOB (You're armed with every implement and remedy you could hope for— in the year 606.)
>+5 LIQUID ENERGY (Hydration and nutrition is going to make or break some of your vitality before, during and after this.)
>-16 SLEEP DEPRIVATION (Your exhaustion will continue to slowly worsen— along with this malus— until you get some rest.)
>-10 RELIC BOUND (A surgeon needs their hands. You're essentially doing this with one and a half, and can't risk losing grip on your pain relief.)
>-15 YOU'RE ON THE FLOOR OF A FUCKING CAVE (To say that these conditions on the heels of battle are not conducive to operating on yourself...)

(All bonuses and maluses total to +29 to the roll.)
>>
Rolled 55 (1d100)

>>4595610
Get some mercy if we fudge up
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Rolled 48 (1d100)

>>4595610
We got this!
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Rolled 31 (1d100)

>>4595610
Pure are the hands of a healer. Even stained in blood.
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>>4595613
>>4595622
>>4595780
(Beautiful stuff guys. Best of 3 is 84 out of 100 after the bonuses. Locked up here. Writing now.)
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>>4595790
https://youtu.be/AnWmL6cEAJY

You've worked in worse conditions than this. A few minutes are taken to get the grime off your hands. Once they're dry, and you've FINALLY gotten that dirt totally out from under your nails, dlean drop cloths are spread out. The abundance of spare fabric is coupled with even more bandages to catch any additional blood. You keep stacks of extra damp material on standby, and enough gauze to compensate for almost any out pour.

The splint is untied. The gauze is unwound. The gently nestled arrowhead is so thoroughly secure in its dressing, it looks like you halted your bleeding completely. One sigh of relief leaves you, before you level your breath and steady your hands.

"Pure are the hands of a healer. Even stained in blood."

Father Pevrel keeps a wide berth, with his eyes fixed at the end of the corridor. He only looks to you occasionally. Nothing further needs to be said.

With immaculate scissors, pliers, knives and material for stitches on standby, you remove the last of the padded field dressing. It's stuck slightly to the skin. You coax it off without leaving any residue, and get a full picture of the damage. The arrow that struck you lodged itself three inches deep in your leg. The shaft was not sanded. Splinters are sticking into your angry, ragged skin at the two-inch-wide site of entry. Though the arrowhead can't be more than an inch wide, your movement during your last fight greatly exacerbated the injury. Weight and motion from the arrow, and your surrounding muscle created this larger opening as deeply as an inch and a half in. Even the smaller, thinner, wound further in is severe. Torn muscle, and bits of wood are visible to the naked eye. You'll likely have compromised feeling for the rest of your life. It will affect your performance lifting, fighting, and running (when you are able to do so again).

All that still isn't the worst part of the problem. Deep within your muscle is a barbed arrowhead. You've seen countless ones like it. The small, stone tip was honed to a razor-edge, before being filed down in several places into hooks. Fish bones are thicker, and nowhere near as nasty as this item designed to rip out soft tissue. Thanks to your earlier movements, the weapon accomplished its intended function. Your luck is spectacular. Had this struck a lung or your heart, you wouldn't have made it five minutes without invoking.

(1/5)
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>>4595886
There are three problems that are ultimately your biggest concern:

1. The entire arrowhead is covered in poison. You have a natural resistance to the substance, but not to your body rotting from the inside out. The caustic material is eating away at the inside of your leg. Once the item is removed, this MUST be cleaned out.
2. While you possess a tool to remove the arrowhead without the barbs snagging on anything, you will have almost no visibility while doing so. Your body composition doesn't lend itself well to being hunched over your own leg in a dank cave. Working under a lantern is the best you can do in the circumstances. It's also possible that even with the correct implement, you could have the interior of your limb flood with too much blood to tell what you're doing at all. Lastly, without any sensation of touch, you are going purely by sight, experience, and faith.
3. You really don't want to lose your leg. If this goes awry, you are at the Mercy of a man who has none.

"Father Pevrel."

You walk him through how to make a tourniquet, then stress beyond all measure that if it's necessary, you're to be taken to one of your clergy members as quickly as humanly possible. Further instruction is given for the man to not try and remove one himself, and to keep the closest eye on the Time as he ever has in all his life.

"Swear to me," you demand.

"I'll swear on Vengeance, but not Her."

Laughing to yourself is fine— given the stress of the situation. "That's fair. Fine. On Him, then."

"I swear on my God, and all that He stands for that I will not let you lose your leg. Now get a fucking move on."

Long tweezers and strands of stiff wire are taken in hand, to aid with the delicate work. The splinters are picked clean from your leg in record Time. A few fragments are taken out of the deeper tissue, freed from your muscle, and all the bleeding is kept controlled.

An painfully lengthy procedure follows. Testing how the arrowhead was fastened onto its shaft is practically blind work, but your experience and skill is second to none. You deduce beyond all doubt that the items were tied together with a simple piece of string.

Insidiously sharp scissors are used. They're long, and are almost as thin as needles. The slightest cuts you can manage work at the bonded items. It feels like you've been awake for ten days straight, by the Time you get the last bits free.

Your Relic in hand doesn't enable you to keep a perfect hold on the arrow's shaft, but you remove the item without almost any incident. It takes several more minutes to clean and manage the additional blood from nudging just slightly against the interior of your leg. The urge to swear is intense, but you keep your composure.

All that remains are a few (almost) harmless strands of string, and the arrowhead.

(2/5)
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>>4595888
A pair of forceps are in your possession that haven't seen any use in nearly a year. The end is designed to clasp over barbed objects, but covers the sharp edges when closed. It will open the wound slightly, but shouldn't cause further damage. If properly used, there's no risk of nicking any larger veins— if the veins haven't already been compromised.

Your hands are as steady as they'll ever be. Forcing yourself to keep a level breath, you enter the clean, practically empty location with the right tool for the job. The smallest, slightest motions are made to take hold of the item. The second it's disturbed from its resting site, an out pour of blood floods your entire leg.

Don't panic.

The world threatens to shift sideways. There's an arc of blood that spurts into the air with the beat of your heart. Another. And another.

Keep it together.

You don't dare to say a thing to the man at your side, and pray he'll realize what's happened if you can't act quickly enough. The fucking arrowhead is so slick with blood, you nearly lose hold of it. Your tool clasps the item, but you can't completely cover it. Additional cuts have to be made deeply within your leg. Repositioning the forceps are out of the question.

Finish what you started.

The entire arrowhead is completely extracted in one, smooth, expert motion. It, along with your instrument gets tossed aside to the ground. There's a chill on you that's putting tremor through your hands. You instinctively brace your hands against your leg. It's like your heart is beating out of rhythm. Rapid, shallow breaths leave you as hard as the spike in the lantern light by your side.

It's horrifically disorienting. There's no way to properly see, as you slump against the wall at your back. One, desperate word leaves your lips.

"Mercy."

The priest of darkness at your side shouts, and throws his arms up over his absence of eyes. He had to have had taut bandages in hand, ready to tie off all circulation from your limb. It's as if your mouth is full of cotton, as you try to ask if he's alright. You try swallowing hard to cope with the acute thirst that's building. It's almost instantly forgotten.

Warmth and reassurance is placed on the fountain of spurting blood from your wound. It stops in its tracks. You might as well have your partner wrapping the injury up in Her arms. A firm hold takes the limb that could be made of lead.

A surge of gold floods through the entire location, from the inside out. The poison is burnt to a crisp. The only blood that remains is what's dripping down the exterior of your leg, and everything that's pooled onto the floor.

(3/5)
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>>4595891
You lay back, and fight every urge to close the plated metal over your eyes. The invocation is far less intense than usual. Any pain that's manifested in you is offset by an intense reminder of affection. Being kissed on the nose. The tenderness of Her lips. Wrapping up in blankets, on lazy long mornings. Laughter that could even lift your worst scowls. Desperately not wanting to stop hugging for even an instant. All your promises made in the dark. The ring you wore on your hand through the entire procedure.

I would like to see the sun again.

There's no way you can die before tomorrow. You're the lord of light, roll to your side, and fight through an intense urge to vomit. It passes almost as quickly as it came. Sparks fire off in your vision. It's as if your lover is wrapped up within you.

The chill that passed over you is the sun itself flowing through your very veins. The heat is localized at the site of the injury. No longer is there a gaping entry wound, but a flood of solid gold. From it, spiderwebs of gilded metal are branching out into your skin. The spread stops only an inch or two away. You're reminded of a cracked vase. A ripple on a pond. It's streaked with blood, and one of the loveliest things you've ever seen in your life.

A hold wraps up around you, from your arms and chest, to your heart and soul. It should take hours for Mercy to be capable of healing someone through something like this on Her own.

She's love incarnate, would never wish to hurt you, and as soon as She came is gone once more.

Your heart catches in your chest. The pang of longing left with it has you lean forward, as if it could take you back into Her embrace.

Deep, steady, and reverent breaths leave you for some Time. You may have had your eyes open all the while. It's hard to say. The blessings you've been granted falls from the edges of your sight. It's enough to know that the darkness of the cave feels complete, despite a few specks of glimmer falling from the air nearest to your lantern.

The fire within had burned so hot, the container around it is scorched black and slightly melted. Father Pevrel is crouched over to the side of the cave. He's only five feet away, and winces while covering his eyes.

One steady hand reaches to the wall behind you for support, thinking you'll have to stagger to your fee. There's no need. You can rise of your own accord, without any compromised motion to speak of. The pressure on your soul itself feels greater than before, but you can manage through the ache. The priest that's practically cowering from your invocation is cause for concern. The rasp that leaves you makes it sound like water hasn't crossed your lips in days. "Are you alright?"

"Am I alright?" A bark of a laugh leaves the priest, as he slowly lowers his arm from his face. "I thought you were..."

(4/5)
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>>4595892
The priest trails off, as a careful test is made on your left leg with as little pressure as you dare. There's no blood. No redness under the skin. No indication of further weakness. So far as you can tell, it's completely healed. Father Pevrel crosses his arms. He's struggling to keep a waver out of his voice. "Well, I'll be damned. At least you meant what you said. This Time. About someone being on death's door. That was bullshit, Anscham."

There's no masking your outrage, even through the confusion and haze on you. Yet the second you open your lips to berate the heathen, he clarifies with a nod towards the bloody, discarded arrowhead on the floor. He speaks incredibly quickly. Your perception is either distorted, or the man is actually shaken. "Didn't think you had it in you to do it. Never seen a priest of Mercy make such quick work of something like that in all my life. Imagine if we had even ten of you out in the 'fen?"

"I don't believe I would wish what I have had to endure on anyone, Father Pevrel. Let alone ten..." The source of your near-death experience can't remain on the ground. You pick it up. "...more of me."

There's chunks of your muscle attached to the stone and strings, dripping deeply with red. One, angry, severed vein is fixed onto the barb.

"Oh," the lord of retribution sneers. "Isn't that lovely."

The beat of your heart is a pleasant reminder that each throb will not be pumping blood straight out of your body. "The Gods are Merciful—"

>A] Take a minute to make a formal prayer to Mercy. Thank Her for saving your life, and for granting you comfort in such a dire situation.

>B] Sit back down for a second, and get yourself together. You can probably handle deciding what to do with the arrowhead, while you get some water in you and make sure you haven't lost too much blood already.
>1] On the way back to the Church of Mercy, you'll swing by Claymore's smithy. The arrowhead can be checked out, and you can inform Walter of Sister Cardew's condition.
>2] This can be seen to later. For now, you're wearing this arrowhead like the trophy that it is. (Specify if you'd rather wear it as a necklace, a ring, tied to one of your weapons, or something else.)
>3] Put it away carefully for now. You know you won't forget about it.

>C] You're asking Father Pevrel about his experiences with Vengeance no matter what. In addition, you would also like to...
>1] Ask him about his inability to look at you while invoking Mercy. That could be a problem.
>2] Don't make any assumptions. Politely ask if he's alright once again, and try to gently push why he recoiled from you invoking.
>3] You will never apologize for calling upon your Goddess, but you do want to make sure that he's okay. You're in no place to help anyone right now, but he seems seriously shaken.

>D] Write-in.
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>>4595895
>B] Sit back down for a second, and get yourself together. You can probably handle deciding what to do with the arrowhead, while you get some water in you and make sure you haven't lost too much blood already.
>1] On the way back to the Church of Mercy, you'll swing by Claymore's smithy. The arrowhead can be checked out, and you can inform Walter of Sister Cardew's condition.

>C] You're asking Father Pevrel about his experiences with Vengeance no matter what. In addition, you would also like to...
>3] You will never apologize for calling upon your Goddess, but you do want to make sure that he's okay. You're in no place to help anyone right now, but he seems seriously shaken.

>D] Write-in.
Get our flask to produce something that will help us recover some blood over time
>>
>>4595898
+1

>2] Don't make any assumptions. Politely ask if he's alright once again, and try to gently push why he recoiled from you invoking.
>>
>>4595895
>C] You're asking Father Pevrel about his experiences with Vengeance no matter what. In addition, you would also like to...
>>1] Ask him about his inability to look at you while invoking Mercy. That could be a problem.
>>
>>4595895
A; thank you, Mercy. I'm sorry that I've been such a fool.
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>>4595898
>>4596036
>>4596062
>>4596125
>almost every prompt and a write-in
(Love you guys lmao. Okay! This might take an extra minute. Vote is locked. Writing now!)
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>>4596155
https://youtu.be/hQZfGa5t4e8

The arrowhead is carefully placed among your things. You've been meaning to see Claymore and Walter anyways. Swinging by the smithy on your way to the Church of Mercy will have the item identified, and you can let your research partner know about Sister Cardew's condition.

Father Pevrel is still seriously shaken, despite playing at keeping guard from several feet away.

You croak at him, "would you excuse me for just— for just a moment?"

He nods. "Do whatever you need to do."

Fear for the sheer amount of blood you've lost, the shock you experienced, and Mercy's inability to restore natural Flesh has you conjure a remedy for restoring blood naturally. Sitting back down is enormously reassuring. The wound that was threatening your life moments before has been completely filled with solid gold. It's already cooled. The surrounding skin looks hale, despite being slick with blood. There's no sign of weakness or strain at the site as you ease yourself down to the cool and dry ground.

A moment of blessed silence hangs in the dark cave. The absence of sound from down the corridor isn't alarming, either. Confident that there's no one currently approaching, you conjure a blend of vegetables and fruits from your flask. It apparently constitutes as a drink, given that you ask for it all to be blended. The berries and citrus will help with absorption of the greens in the mix.

It seriously feels phenomenal to have something so healthy. You alternate it with plenty of water, and are entirely aware that you're probably eating and drinking too much, but you'd rather not die than to be bothered by something so trivial. It might be impossible to totally have your fill, so you work at the flask between words without any discomfort. "Father Pevrel?"

He lifts his head. The man was incredibly deep in thought. "What."

"My company is not easy to keep."

It gets a sincere laugh out of him. "At least you're aware of it."

"It's the only assumption I would like to make. I don't mean to insult the lord of honor— but can you tell me what you need?"

He hesitates. It was difficult to make out in the dark, but you can see it clearly. Father Pevrel isn't frightened. His voice was wavering from the sheer measure of excitement on him. Embarrassment, or some degree of shame is intermingled with it. He's avoiding your stare, and eventually says to the wall, "it's not every day you see someone do something like that to themselves. I think I just need a minute."

You're the lord of compassion, and reply with zero hesitation. "Alright. How would you like to give us both a greater distance? I intend to pray."

"Yeah." You're given more space. He heads closer towards the exit of the corridor, and keeps his back turned.

(1/3)
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>>4596246
You light several beeswax candles, keeping your voice so soft that not another living soul should hear. Low flame flickers against an unseen wind, while you thank Mercy for saving your life. The comfort She granted you is practically eclipsed by the urge to apologize for being a fool. You both know that you were only trying to do the right thing. It was desire to preserve your mortal soul that kept you from invoking for so long. Never was the venture about risking your life, or for a lack of good judgement.

The Goddess of compassion understands how you feel. You come away from the prayer with a lingering sensation that is anything but forgiveness. There's nothing to forgive. Not when all you wanted was to respect your limitations, and to make the most of the skills you've been given.

You resume sitting against the wall, and continue working at some water. It could take a few weeks before you're back up to top form after losing so much blood. An extended invocation to Mercy could also accomplish the same effect. You'll need to get to your clergy whenever you're able to follow up on care from this injury. In the meantime, you raise your voice (which sounds much more like its smoother, milder, usual tone) enough for Father Pevrel to hear. "It's alright if you would like to resume keeping a normal guard."

No grumbling. He can't protest, gets to his feet— and sits down beside you. "Don't give me that shit."

"You're right." You smirk. "Normalcy has no place here." Passing a look over the priest, it's clear that he's still frazzled. His hands are in fists. Your smug expression softens. "Will you please stop pretending that you're alright?"

"No." He exceeds your previous smirk, and accompanies it with an equal measure of sass. "But I can at least be honest with you. Isn't that right?" Before you can reply, or reassure him, he snaps. "Also what the fuck could you be drinking—"

"Water. You didn't hear me?"

"No. All the rest. It smells fucking amazing."

"A blend of leafy green vegetables, and a medley of several beneficial fruits like strawberry—"

"Can you spike it?"

You mutter to your flask, "spike it," and sigh while handing off the item.

He wipes off the cap, takes a deep pull from the item, and promptly hands it back to you. "Listen. I'll be fine."

"How did my invocation..." You make a show of wiping off the cap to your flask as well. "You just admitted to not needing to lie to me. I know you're not alright. You recoiled from Mercy."

"So?"

"That's not normal—"

"And?"

You switch the flask back to water, and scowl from behind the item. "You're being ridiculous—"

"I am not. Anyone would have gone blind from that shit."

A long pause hangs between the two of you. You recall the sheer volume of people that Mercy has disabled or outright killed for so much as threatening your safety or livelihood.

(2/3)
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>>4596247
You ultimately are the one to break the silence. "That was a noteworthy response, Father Pevrel. It's possible that She intentionally kept you from interfering with Her work. I imagine She could have been worried for the guarantee of my recovery."

The priest sniffs, and looks like he wants to say something very unwise about a Goddess. It seems that he possesses more than enough wit to keep his mouth shut.

"I'm going to overstep my boundaries," you warn.

Muttering. "It seems to be what you do best."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said, 'I'd like to hear the rest.' Get on with it, then."

"I would like to learn how to stop disrespecting Vengeance. Asking about how you work with him—"

"Fuck off."

You sugar-coated things as much as possible, and he won't even try to hear you out? "I—"

"What part of 'fuck off' don't you understand, Anscham? Fuck. Off. No."

>A] Pout. Pull every card you have at your disposal to get this info. You have no pride, and will outright beg if necessary to get this information out of him. (Almost guaranteed success, albeit not a very heroic one.)

>B] Appeal to the man's sense of honor. There's multiple ways you could spin him talking about his patron into something that will help exact justice against your enemies, and aid the greater good. (Justified write-ins may help enormously.)

>C] There's some serious issue here. It's likely not the Time, or the place to ask. Don't push the question about priest's work with Vengeance. You're curious, your judgement might be a LITTLE compromised from undergoing such a traumatic experience, and so you want to try to get to the bottom of why Father Pevrel is reluctant to talk about how the Gods work through him at all. (Low chance of success. Write-ins may help.)

>D] Drop it. You know Father Pevrel will respect you infinitely more for it, and may be FAR more inclined to listen to you in the future.
>1] You can change the subject, after all. You're sincerely curious about what a strong (and unusual) reaction he had to you operating on yourself. You have MORE than enough leverage in that department to ask him about it— at least, without having the man shut down completely.
>2] You can take this opportunity to ask if he thinks you'll have enough Time to go see Claymore and Walter before your sermon. Come up with a plan for getting out of this section of the tunnels, so you can stay on the move once everyone is back together. He was completely right that this entire venture would take more than half the night, but you want to at least finish what you started here.
>3] Drop it completely. You both can silently compose yourselves before rejoining your allies.

>E] Write-in.
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>>4596249
>>A] Pout. Pull every card you have at your disposal to get this info. You have no pride, and will outright beg if necessary to get this information out of him. (Almost guaranteed success, albeit not a very heroic one.)

Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?
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>>4596249
I was going to pull a D, but >>4596261 has me second guessing my intentions.

B; I'd love to respect his boundaries, but we are currently in a tunnel made by a cult trying to uproot the theocracy, and plunge this nation into chaos and famine. I need all the help I can get, so we can smite our enemies and restore order to our home. You don't have to go into it fully if you wish, but I'd appreciate anything you'd be willing to share.

We'll put D1 on the back burner for now, as in may make for a good distraction if he gets too uncomfortable talking about his work.
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>>4596283

Nah man. We need to serve all the gods properly. Remember that veng is the only one that triggers our catalyst, its important.
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>>4596285
I mean, we've only used Vengeance when we're feeling strong emotions, like rage or fear of harm. It's not necessarily Vengeance that triggers our Catalyst, but the strength and depth of our feelings when invoking him. The way I understand it, most of our invocations regarding Vengeance was when we were brought to our absolute limit of what we can tolerate torture/pain wise, and that isn't necessarily what the God of Honor is really about. Retribution is His will, and His wrath is divine, but we don't tend to reciprocate the pain inflicted onto us, we just accept it until the absolute limit is about to break us; at least from before we became the Father of Mercy.

It's also good to point out that those responsible for our captivity have forced His hand in defense of us, and that's may be why we're so... unique in how we invoke the Gods. How we interact with the Divine has been ingrained into us from our captivity, and I doubt our tormentors would have taught us the proper way to invoke Mercy, let alone any of the other Gods.
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>>4596249
>B] Appeal to the man's sense of honor. There's multiple ways you could spin him talking about his patron into something that will help exact justice against your enemies, and aid the greater good. (Justified write-ins may help enormously.)
Pull all the edgy teenager tricks out
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>>4596300

I mean those are all assumptions we can confirm or deny by asking, also yes that last part has already been established and the exact reason why we have to learn how to invoke them properly. I would rather not abuse them if I can avoid it.

Also we have felt all of those things we invoking other gods too and it didn't trigger our catalyst. In the chapel in the ruins was arguably our utmost limit for pain and we dual invoke Flesh and Mercy without triggering anything. This is Vengeance specific. As the foremost researcher of it why would we want a guaranteed success? This is literally our goal in life. I don't see why we wouldn't want to just get the information, tap dancing around Pevrel is a waste of time. We don't have any sort of image to maintain anyway, we literally coined "people like us have no use for pride" but wont ask for intel vital to our cause?
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>>4596309
(This discussion and these comments makes the QM happy. Adoring the chance to meme, need to draw something like this with Richard later lmao. Please don't mind me interrupting, these thoughts are absolutely priceless. Just a reminder if you have any questions I am available.)
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>>4596261
>>4596283
>>4596285
>>4596300
>>4596309
>>4596326
(Going to leave this vote open for another 20 minutes. Seems like you guys all have your minds made up but wanted to give peeps a little extra time for any last thoughts.)
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>>4596326
I don't wish to abuse them either, but considering the state of our soul, we don't really have a leg to stand on here (yes, the joke is intended). But what do you mean by abusing the God, just so we're clear?

I haven't gotten to the ruin's chapel yet, so I don't know the details, but the pain need not be physical. It's often the emotional, mental pain that causes the most damage to a soul, and that may be why our invocations to Vengeance triggers our Catalyst. It's may be the reason we invoke Him that is the problem, not how we do it, though that may be a problem in it's own right.

It's also good to note that we never had a successful Catalyst, and that may be in part because of Vengeance's influence.

And we have no use for pride, but our image is another matter entirely. Inertia would never have gotten as far with our people if it weren't for our bland disregard of our reputation; after all, how can our people respect our institutions if they believe we don't respect our station.
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>>4596369
(Just to lend a little aid here, the incident that the other anon referred to in the chapel within Ostedholm's ruins took place in thread 3. That was after an extended battle with a doppelganger that broke your arm, subsequent ambushes from imps, and having to send your company (at the time it was Ray, Celegwen, and Ofelia) away for their safety. You were stabbed four times in the back with thrown daggers, some of which came close to your spine. They were all ripped out by your bear hands *while fending off over one dozen imps* as the church flooded with more demons. You invoked Flesh and Mercy simultaneously (as your first dual invocation!) in order to save your life, at an extreme cost to your sanity. It ramped up your masochism to such an intense degree that you nearly lost your mind, and fled from the scene to save your life.

Needless to say, the circumstances tested you emotionally, mentally, and physically. The fact that your Catalyst was not triggered in any way makes the situation serve as a testament to your fortitude. You've had flashbacks to the event many times throughout the quest due to how traumatic it was, but it's rarely touched on how it parallels your invocations to Vengeance.

I'm going to make an assumption here that the other anon meant that for the sake of research, he would rather not intentionally abuse the Gods again. To the best of your guy's knowledge, each deity has different parameters for what constitutes as abuse. For example, injuring your body intentionally, forcing Mercy to restrain someone against their will, or invoking Mercy for a trivial matter is all regarded as abusive. Neglecting your body to the point of muscle wasting, or eating until you're over-weight both are insults to Flesh, but only severe states your body has been brought to (like emaciation or obesity) has constituted as abuse. Dream seems quite particular about how you view rest, yet is very forgiving of you outright invoking Him for insane endeavors or missing sleep for days on end.

The extent of your abuse towards the Gods is actually covered in the second image in the thread, where I've (almost) exhaustively listed the various ways you've misused them. (It's labeled "Magic (invocation) Guide." An up-to-date copy is always kept at the front of our Google Drive in high resolution as well.) This information is not always intuitive, which is why gathering intelligence from other experienced clergy is could reasonably have you cast aside all integrity and image.

All that said!

I'm going to work with all this as best as I'm able! Vote is locked. Writing now.)
>>
>>4596249
>>4596249

>B] Appeal to the man's sense of honour. There are multiple ways you could spin him talking about his patron into something that will help exact justice against your enemies, and aid the greater good. (Justified write-ins may help enormously.)

Try an angle where we will honour vengeance more if we don't disrespect him, tell him no one taught us how to properly invoke him, other than killing people with no regards to our own safety.
>>
>>4596397
(Appreciate you man! Had something come up IRL and need to leave the vote open again, might be a bit before I can write. Definitely got you and your write-in.)
>>
>>4596384
Ah, that clarifies things, thank you. It can be argued that instances of self-abuse covers most of the abuse of the God's then, right? Just avoid sacrificing too much then, in the presuit of our goals. Simple as.
>>
>>4596408
(You're very welcome anon! Happy to help. And yes, it does seem quite simple! I'm sure you've seen by now that our favorite priest has quite a few mental, physical, and emotional barriers that complicate things, but it is a noble goal.

>>4596261
>>4596283
>>4596285
>>4596300
>>4596309
>>4596326
>>4596369
>>4596397
(Okay. Second try's the charm. Vote is locked! Writing now.)
>>
>>4596426
https://youtu.be/2IwhsE8oDy8

The question is made softly, and sounds respectful enough. "Have I tested your sense of honor?"

"Don't even start trying to play that game with me. You'll lose."

"Are we not within the cave of a cult that is in the process of uprooting the theocracy?"

Father Pevrel's arms are crossed so tightly, his black robes squish from the blood soaking them. "What's your point."

"They are attempting to plunge our nation into chaos, and famine."

"Every second you're wasting—"

"Is a second that we are not smiting our enemies. A second that we are not restoring order to our home. One. More. Second. That I am disrespecting the God of Honor, and fail to uphold your core tenets."

The lord of judgement sneers at you as he leans your way. "Then stop wasting my Time."

You are as subdued and polite as a man after a near-death experience can be. "No one has ever taught me how."

"How to *what.*"

"To stop disrespecting Vengeance. How to invoke Him properly. Other than killing—"

Hot oil. Stab wounds worse than what you've just treated. Pain.

"—other than killing."

Bile. two hundred bones cracking simultaneously.

"Other than taking the lives of others, or worse, with no regard towards my personal safety. I never intend to truly reciprocate the pain inflicted on me at the Time."

An old man bleeding to death in a gutter.

"It's always been about pushing myself to my absolute limit."

Stained glass scattered across an abandoned church's floor. An arc of blood splashing against them, from ripping out from your back a third blade.

"Seeing how far I can go before I break." You stare at Father Pevrel, as he uncrosses his arms. The look that passes between the two of you is one of mutual understanding. There's distance, and deep thought across his worn features.

The veteran doesn't interrupt.

"But I don't break. Vengeance has always triggered my Catalyst. He's always met my intent to not break my body with another fracture in my soul." You lean forward, and shove away the urge to take your fellow church leader by the hand. "Please. I cannot stress how important this is to me. This is my life's work. I NEED to serve the Gods properly."

"You have a fucking problem," Father Pevrel mutters, pulling further away from you. "I don't want to help you make it worse. You're sick, Anscham, and you don't get it."

"You're almost correct." Conviction is all through you. "I know I'm sick, and that I need all the help I can get. I know that the disregard I've held for my image has been my undoing. There is nothing pious about disrespecting my station, my titles, or how I present myself to others. The same goes for my treatment of the Gods. But I cannot, and will not waste more of either of our Time dancing around these issues."

The sneer at you says he would sincerely like for you to stop trying.

(1/3)
>>
>>4596518
"I would love to respect your boundaries." Your voice cracks. "But I have no image left to maintain. Please. *Please.* I'm desperate. I would appreciate ANYTHING you have to share, Father Pevrel. It is very simple. This intelligence is VITAL to my cause. I have to stop sacrificing so much of myself in order to pursue my goals—"

"That's your fucking problem!" The priest spit every word with enough intensity to unstick some of his blood-caked hair. "Lesson number fucking one: We BLEED for the ones we love. Didn't Holloway teach you anything?!"

The agony in you falls, and flips right into cautious optimism. You remain silent, and do not dare to interrupt.

At the sight of you stopping the rant, the priest drags a hand down his face. More blood sticks to his beard. "I swear, Anscham. You're going to be the death of me. Vengeance is the God of sacrifice. Sacrifice, you hear me? Not some pussy healing shit."

You give him a slight smirk that says you are completely content with the gifts your lover gives you.

"Shut up, Anscham."

"Absolutely, Father Pevrel."

"We give ourselves to Him, but not in the fucked up way you take so much twisted enjoyment in. It's not for the sake of inflicting as much pain as possible, or as little, or any of these ultimatums everyone seems to be so obsessed with." He takes a deep breath, and calms down further. "Do you know why my tenets are borderline nonsense?"

"You said you wished for them to have a broad range of applications."

"Yes. Finally. Gods. There's nuance to it! Have you heard of the word, Anscham?! My clergy spends the majority of their lives learning how best to serve Him. We are the judges of mankind. Our God is the patron of balance. His scales MUST remain equal!"

An incredibly disgusted look passes over you. "You obviously only know how to tip them in one direction."

This is all incredibly vague, and borders on being as unhelpful as any other church leader you've talked to about their tenets. You dare a question. "I have only used Vengeance while experiencing intense emotion. While undergoing torture, or out of fear for intense pain. Could it not be argued that this degree of self-abuse correlates to abuse of most..." It doesn't sound right, even as you say it out loud. "Does self-abuse equate to the absurd of *some* of the other Gods?"

"This is what I'm talking about. This is EXACTLY what I mean! You're all extremes and assumptions, Anscham. You grew up in a little shitheap and spent most of your life in chains. Don't think you know shit about shit." The sadist bares his teeth at you in a mockery of a smile. "You can wield the Gods as a freak experiment, but it doesn't mean They'll like it. They've been manipulated into helping you. You're all in some—"

"Mind yourself."

The lord of judgement draws back and observes, "that was over the line."

"Yes."

He frowns, and points his clasped hands to you. "I'm sorry."

Your fists unclench themselves. "Thank you."

(2/3)
>>
>>4596522
The priest waits a minute. "You can hit me, if you want."

"I would rather you simply not speak so out of turn again."

He continues in a lower tone. "I'm going somewhere with this. The comments I just made were over the line, but let me try to point out some ways you have excelled with my patron."

It's infinitely too civil and agreeable to decline. "Go right ahead."

"You made a few astute observations this morning Anscham. Several throughout the day, in fact. I'll elaborate in a second. You may not realize it, but you do show some respect to Vengeance. Now, do you see that I am giving credit where credit is due? And ONLY where it is due?"

"Yes?"

"You take your use of Mercy on a case-by-case basis, do you not?"

It's a little offensive, but there's no way you will jeopardize this success. You have no use for pride, after all, and can manage to agree with the observation. "Of course."

"If you seriously have no idea what you're doing when you invoke Him, it's no wonder you're falling to pieces. He's not the God of emotion. I serve the patron of execution. Cold-blooded, convicted, and unwavering resolution. There can't be any *heat* in your veins. We're the swords of glass. Cutting down our foes with the creative excesses of Dream, or the protective desire of Mercy will only serve as a distraction. Detachment, Anscham. Detachment, and ruin." He taps at the side of his temple. Right next to the empty sockets of his eyes. "And NOT in all things."

The priest gets significantly more pensive. He shifts his position to sit a little closer to you. You both share some more of the spiked smoothie, though you only take a mouthful to avoid compromising any healing.

"Father Pevrel?"

"What?"

The response is so normal, you have to pause to collect yourself. "I can only pray that what you saw this evening can— can compensate for any trouble that I've put you through."

He immediately glances away. The silence intensifies. It's way too easy to tease him.

"It's more than commendable to have the strength of character to assist with field medicine," you try.

"What are you getting at, demon."

"I can't say that I'm not curious about the unusual reaction you had— to seeing me cut myself up."

"That's it." He hates it, but immediately grins, and gets to his feet with a dagger drawn. "I'm going to fucking kill you. The arrow failed where I won't."

"Mercy," you sigh. "It would be dreadful if your wits became compromised by such a violent display. After all, I..."

It hits you why he was so excited. It wasn't the procedure. Not necessarily.

The lecher hums at a nearby wall. "It would be a shame! It's not every day that you meet someone who can take *more* than mortal punishment."

He's definitely as bad off as you are, if not worse. After all, you exceed the man's expectations for his own God's work, and possess greater resilience for injury than possibly any other man alive. It's to be expected, really.

(Options in next post.)
>>
>>4596524
>A] You are uncomfortable, and would like to get going. It's probably better to heed your friend's advice to not be left alone with this man more than absolutely necessary.

>B] The sheer amount of information you've gone over doesn't feel like enough. Time IS wasting, and you're certain you'll be able to speak at length with Father Pevrel about this later, but you want to seize this moment. (Write-in anything specific you want to address.)

>C] You're not fooling anyone. You both are deviants. This degree of privacy is almost unparalleled. You have literally never been able to speak comfortably about someone regarding your masochism, and don't want to pass this chance up now. (You'll phrase everything delicately by default, unless you'd rather be frank.)
>1] Ask Father Pevrel how he manages himself in combat.
>2] If it's the drinking that keeps his inclinations in check, then how is he compensating for having impaired judgement?
>3] The priest seems to suffer from incredibly poor impulse control as well. Is it the sheer volume of sadism he exhibits that keeps him from going over the line?
>4] God dammit you want to know how Vengeance works with him. He's expertly evading the question. Play dirty, and accuse him of his patron also representing sadism. Why else would Vengeance work the way that He does?

>D] Write-in.
>>
>>4596525
Curious, but enlightening.
>>
>>4596525
>A] You are uncomfortable and would like to get going. It's probably better to heed your friend's advice to not be left alone with this man more than absolutely necessary.

I wanna clear these atheist's out
>>
>>4596525

>>C] You're not fooling anyone. You both are deviants. This degree of privacy is almost unparalleled. You have literally never been able to speak comfortably about someone regarding your masochism, and don't want to pass this chance up now. (You'll phrase everything delicately by default, unless you'd rather be frank.)
>3] The priest seems to suffer from incredibly poor impulse control as well. Is it the sheer volume of sadism he exhibits that keeps him from going over the line?

We did say we were going to help each other, golden opportunity.

>>4596559
I am pretty sure everyone else has it handled, Miramond alone could prob do it if we let her. We can weed them out at any time, speaking to Pevrel like this will be VERY rare.
>>
>>4596559
Cancel dat

>>4596525
>C] You're not fooling anyone. You both are deviants. This degree of privacy is almost unparalleled. You have literally never been able to speak comfortably about someone regarding your masochism, and don't want to pass this chance up now. (You'll phrase everything delicately by default, unless you'd rather be frank.)
>1] Ask Father Pevrel how he manages himself in combat.
>>
>>4596525
C2. C4's clearly a trap.
>>
>>4596558
>>4596559
>>4596561
>>4596572
>>4596575
(Thank you VERY much for your patience guys. Had a big project overhauling the look of the Discord server and just wrapped things up.

Noting that changed vote, got all the write-ins, and I know we can definitely make all this work. Vote is locked. Writing now!)
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>>4596763
https://youtu.be/DyEYnWsA5jQ

Atheists are tearing up your city, Eadric may very well still be on fire, and your chronic fear of wasting Time has you wanting to take off running mere minutes after nearly dying. It downright hurts, but you silently tell yourself that Sister Miramond, Irefist, and Adwin have the situation handled. There's been no chaos all the while you've worked. There are still seven potential other locations like this at least. This effort will not be completed in a night.

Getting Father Pevrel to open up may not happen again for quite awhile. This is a golden opportunity. You said you would help each other. The man is deeply uncomfortable with talking about his God, and that's alright. Calunoth was not built in a day. All that you've heard thus far from the man has been curious, but enlightening.

He's obviously just as much a deviant as you are, and by all the Gods are you going to try to speak comfortably about this. 'Comfortably' in this case is 'quickly' and 'delicately'. A nervous laugh leaves you, as you slide closer to the wall at your back.

Deep breath.

You're uncomfortable, suck at speaking quickly, and a part of you feels like you shouldn't be left alone with this man. But you can do this. "You seem to have just as much of a need for it as I do. Is it the drinking that helps? Or—" The cave is a lot hotter. The bastard is waving that knife around, and knows exactly what he's doing. "—or is it the incessant volume of sadism you exhibit that keeps you— Mercy. That keeps you from going over the line?"

He glances to the weapon, and to you. "Want to find out?"

"No." You're sure that he'll try and twist even this offer for insight into something painful and abusive if he can, too. "You don't need to pretend that you aren't suffering to some degree from all this, too."

He tenses. The impression goes from a predator who's caught his prey, to a deer in headlights. "You can't tell me that you don't try do something to help your own fixation, too. Isn't that right? You just want more."

You shrug. A glance to your gut. "Binging helps. Liquor was a fine enough substitute in some company—" Fond memories of nearly drinking Yech under the table have no place here. "—but it rarely matters what. Food. Drink. Invocation. Combat. Injury." You flit your gaze back to the priest, who has put away his dagger. "Conversation, too. You know exactly what I speak of— don't you?."

"Hmmph." Father Pevrel leans against the wall, scratching against his beard. "Yeah. Well." He makes an odd change in the subject, but you know what he's getting at. "You know it wasn't easy getting to where I am."

"I know."

"Priests of Vengeance have more opportunity than most to get their hands dirty, though. I don't think I've ever wanted for something to cut up. Call it excess, or whatever else you want. Having it as often as I please 'helps'."

(1/4)
>>
>>4596877
He's shoved his hands in his pockets. You know they're probably twitching. As quietly as you dare, you ask, "how do you manage in a fight?"

Something downright psychotic washes over his features. "You want to know?"

"More than I can say."

The preacher worships every word that parts from his lips. "It's a different kind of worship. Let me put it this way: I know that I will get my fill. Putting the fear of death in someone is an experience. You hear, and see, and feel how they've justified themselves. A confession is one thing. One way to see someone spill their guts. But the ways you can hurt a man without ever making him bleed?"

You try to keep a straight face.

"Conquering your opponents, and showing them NO Mercy will get them to spill their very souls. It's something to live for, Anscham." He takes a wavering breath in. The sadist breathes out with a smile. "Self-control is something to die for."

The two of you awkwardly look at and away from each other for several long moments.

Your heart is racing. Your ally is obviously scrutinizing your injuries, along with the exhaustion written all over you. You put the flask away— Father Pevrel smirks at you— and you pay no mind to the smarmy scrutiny of your gut from over-indulging. He ultimately seems more concerned over the sheer amount of blood that's smeared across the floor. The way that you haven't parted from a holy Relic for hours has red indentations in your palm from the small item, and the chain wrapped around it has been digging into your skin. The evidence of divinity through your eyes, skin, and hair— and the scars littering almost every visible inch of your body— all work at getting some of the blood safely off of the item.

You try not to stare, but you just want to get a reading on the man beside you before you go. The priest's body language isn't hostile, necessarily. His shredded physique is tense with nerves. The lack of grooming on his facial hair and the mop atop his head leads you to believe he took absolutely no Time to himself on the road from Mauseburg. It's possible that he hasn't stopped to rest in days either, with the bags under his eyes, and all his other sunken features. He's wavering slightly from what you imagine to be nearly nonstop intoxication. There's no doubt that his lowered inhibitions help tremendously with the abhorrent way he's spoken to you in private, and his eagerness to go along with damn near anything that will enable him.

Father Pevrel can't be letting on how hard it is to not lash out. "Self-control," you repeat.

"I know it sounds foreign." He grins. You try not to groan. "You can't expect me to not give you any shit. I know how it is. But I can justify my actions."

The Father of Defense retorts, "I can just as well." You frown, seriously not wanting to insult him. "What of the way liquor impairs... well, you know?"

(2/4)
>>
>>4596878
For one brief instant, it looks like he's going to cry. "Are you kidding me? With the world we live in?"

Those eyeless pits stare straight at you. They're dry, even if every other inch of him is caked in the loss of life.

"Mankind is better off if my judgement is diminished."

You are keeping your own judgement to yourself. As the Father of Empathy, you know this man isn't trying to be brooding, or to sound overly dramatic. He may be a drunkard and a pervert, but he has every reason for his actions and beliefs. The lord of judgement is suffering. He's obviously struggling with impulses that were purely enabled by the clergy he was born into. Under any other circumstances, Father Pevrel could have wound up as a criminal, a murderer, or something even worse.

There's no doubt in your mind that the priest is capable of horrors you likely have yet to see. It's something to get excited about. There's a lot to sort out here, but the two of you both gather all of your things from the corridor. Piety and your shield occupy both hands once again. The man beside you insists on trading your enchanted shield for the mundane one. "Trust me."

"Fine." The significantly lighter item is smeared with blood and gore, but there isn't a scratch on it. You resist an odd and disturbing urge to lick at the gore on the item. "I just want to clear these heathens out."

"Say no more." The lord of retribution is grinning ear-to-ear. "Really. Shut the fuck up, please. I'm going to hear your ranting in my sleep at this rate."

"You have incredibly little room to talk."

"Maybe if your fat ass wasn't taking up the whole damn hall, Anscham—"

You move to head down the corridor. He's intentionally standing in the center of it. You actually wouldn't fit past him, and mutter, "I could mistake you for a cultist, with blasphemy of this degree."

"Is that what you call it?"

"I would like to, if I was given a moment to get a word in edge-wise."

"Fine." He stands aside, and both of you head down the corridor.

Your banter stops abruptly. Both of you watch your formerly injured leg like a hawk. Careful, steady motions are taken at first out of pure habit from sustaining serious injury. So far as you can tell, there's no compromised strength or motion. The solid metal does add slightly more weight to the limb, but compared to the rest of you it's almost imperceptible. The sensation at the site of the old arrow wound will no doubt be destroyed, but Mercy mended the location completely. Your leg may even be stronger for it.

You note to your robes to mend and clean themselves, which gets the blood off of you, and lengthens once more to cover most of the torn leg on your trousers. You'll figure out something more presentable before dawn, but this will have to do for now. By the time you stop at the edge of the tunnel— just before it reconnects to the room Adwin trapped earlier— you stifle a gasp, and look around frantically for the ex-demon.

(3/4)
>>
>>4596880
He's nowhere to be seen. The entire chamber has been tied up as if it were infested with thousands of crimson spider webs. The fine strands that cover the left and right passage are so thick, it could be mistake for a dark burgundy wall. Pools of blood sit under droplets falling in all directions. It's a gentle melody of liquid death.

You keep searching, and move into the room with Piety high. As your longsword parts enough strands to move further in, you register a few massive streaks of gore. Smears are across the floor, walls, and ceiling to the right. It almost looks as if a wild animal shredded ten men apart with their bare teeth. There's also chunks of severed legs caught and stuck in the spikes at each entryway— though how your boy managed to get them into the stone all by himself temporarily escapes you.

The shovels and pick you left Adwin with are nicely set aside the wall by the corridor you entered from. The tools are clean and untouched, save for a little damp soil stuck to the edges of their metal edges. The pick has a little blue notecard tied to its handle with a piece of white string.

Your ally glances to you. "You both would exchange notes in a cult hideout. Go on and open it, then."

You take the note, and fight to not retch or grin as you open it. The writing is in blood. Adwin may have been pressed for Time. He didn't mind using the blood of your enemies for this, at least. "Left with Irefist down the center hall."

Father Pevrel was reading over your shoulder. He grins. "Some kid."

You fold the note, and tuck it safely in your breast pocket. There's no sarcasm in your tone as you look to what must be the corpses of thirty of your enemies in the room all around. "That's my boy."

The shovels and pick are stashed away. Both you, and the priest at your side carefully use your swords to pick away through the webs of sinew and muscle. No further comments from either of you.

The tunnel at the end of the room has a steady incline. You both walk for several minutes before hearing a sound through the walls on either side. To the left, there's a steady trickling of water. You instinctively twitch, and take a deeper breath for air than you need to. To the right are a fair amount of footsteps. If you had to guess, you'd put your best estimate at half a dozen people walking. Dead ahead is the clamor of metal, though it's so far in the distance you can't tell its source.

Father Pevrel looks to you. "I wager your boy is to the right, or straight ahead. I could be wrong, though. Your call."

(Options in next post.)
>>
>>4596882
(A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED FOR ALL OF THE FOLLOWING.)

>A] Your company may have stayed together, and there's strength in numbers. Even if only Sister Miramond went that way, she can compensate for your weaknesses. You'll head steadily to the left— come what may.

>B] Adwin could have made quick work of those he encountered, snuck up on a group, or simply parted ways from your more violent adherents to Storm. Even if he's not to the right, you'll go that way to ensure no one gets the jump on your company.

>C] Sometimes the simplest choice is the best one. You'll keep straight ahead, and go towards the sound of conflict. Someone may be in danger, and you're itching to get back into the fight.

>D] Write-in. (Anything you'd like to say, plan for, prep for, etc.)
>>
>>4596883
>A] Your company may have stayed together, and there's strength in numbers. Even if only Sister Miramond went that way, she can compensate for your weaknesses. You'll head steadily to the left— come what may.
>>
>>4596886
Sure, I'm down for that. Most of the people we brought I trust can hold their own, so we can start wherever.
>>
>>4596883
>A] Your company may have stayed together, and there's strength in numbers. Even if only Sister Miramond went that way, she can compensate for your weaknesses. You'll head steadily to the left— come what may.
>>
>>4596883
>A] Your company may have stayed together, and there's strength in numbers. Even if only Sister Miramond went that way, she can compensate for your weaknesses. You'll head steadily to the left— come what may.
>>
>>4596883

>A] Your company may have stayed together, and there's strength in numbers. Even if only Sister Miramond went that way, she can compensate for your weaknesses. You'll head steadily to the left— come what may.
>>
>>4596886
>>4596907
>>4596984
>>4597002
>>4597064
(Good afternoon guys! Hope you've had a nice one. Got tied up this morning but I'm back in the saddle and will soon have a long weekend ahead of me. Vote is locked here, will post the roll shortly.)
>>
>>4597242
"Everyone in our company can hold their own," you reply. "I am far more interested in the safety numbers will provide us with, and I-- I am clearly concerned with compensating for my weaknesses. Let's trend to the left, and try to meet with our allies despite this running water. I am certain Sister Miramond has had this all handled."

Within seconds, you're ready to swear. The tunnel continues on into the dark. Between the seemingly endless corridor and your current position, there is an opening in the passage sharply off to the left. The opening has a small landing, which is flooded by puddles of fresh water. Extending up from it is a nearly vertical shaft. Though there are ample holds, the rock is jagged, its miserably narrow, and the rock is slick to the touch. Water is steadily trickling from above, though not enough to pool out into the main corridor.

Father Pevrel glances around, and draws out his sword. "I'll keep watch. Take it slow. Seriously."


>BETWEEN A ROCK AND A HARD PLACE
>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.

>+20 GREEN DAHLIA (Your familiarity with the earth should greatly aid in a descent below ground.)
>+10 FAITH OF A GODDESS (Your renewed desire for self-preservation comes with Mercy's blessing.)
>+10 PRIEST OF FLESH (You have the upper body strength and activity level to warrant this kind of exertion, and to feel great doing it!)
>+5 EYES OF VENGEANCE (Father Pevrel will identify and spot threats as soon as they arise, and you know he's not afraid to communicate them.)
>+5 LIQUID ENERGY (Caffeine and decent nutrition is a wonderful rarity for you.)
>-31 PRIEST OF AGRICULTURE (You're easily working twice as hard as the priest with you, and your size disparity is a safety risk.)
>-5 NOT COMPLETELY BAD AT CLIMBING
>-10 BLOOD LOSS (This malus will improve *very* slowly over the next few weeks with rest and proper nutrition.)
>-18 SLEEP DEPRIVATION (This modifier will continue to slowly rise until you rest.)
>-5 SLICK (The Church of Storm is starting to get on your last nerve.)

(That is a -19 to the roll after all modifiers.)
>>
Rolled 9 (1d100)

>>4597272
"Watch THIS!"
>>
Rolled 94 (1d100)

>>4597272

FUCK THESE BITCH ASS CLIMBS. OSTEDHOLM WAS DEEPER AND HAD LESS BOULDERING. MOTHERFUCKERS CANT EVEN BUILD SOME STAIRS.
>>
Rolled 75 (1d100)

>>4597272
>>
>>4597278
>>4597280
(I'm laughing so hard rn)
>>
>>4597278
>>4597280
>>4597286
(Well hot damn that wasn't bad at all. Weew. Best of 3 after modifiers is still a 75 out of 100! Writing now.)
>>
>>4597288
The utter lack of a spotter, your ally's reluctance to climb with you, the awareness that a fall will likely kill you, the stress of the day, and the damn water has finally gotten the better of your temper. "Watch THIS."

An amused smirk flicks over to you for only a second. Father Pevrel alternates keeping an eye on the hall, and watching as you roll back your sleeves, shove your robe aside, holster your shield, sheathe Piety, and start climbing.

The weight you have to deal with actually lends itself better towards awareness of form. You keep your back straight, and use your legs for leverage. The strength in your upper body is used to maintain balance. You'd sprain a wrist or break something if you tried jumping off and catching yourself purely with your hands. No matter how tempting it is to pull yourself up with each motion, you force yourself to use all the energy and frustration you possess in a safe and sane way. The frame of your bones stabilizes the deliberate motions, with your shoulders lending further stability and balance while you pick out safe ledges. They're plentiful, and you err on the side of caution with taking only the sturdiest. Three points of contact. No room for error.

There's muttering all the while under your breath. "Mercy forgive me, but fuck these *bitch* ass climbs. Ostedholm was miles deeper, and had LESS bouldering. These incestuous, lecherous, no-good excuses for heathens think they can deface Agriculture's bounty? They can't even build a set of stairs. My enemies are a disgrace. This is an embarrassment. Imagine how nice a flight would look here. Wasteful heathens. They wouldn't know an opportunity this good if it hit them in their covered faces. "

There's no question that if these rocks were dry, if this damn shaft wasn't so perilous, if you'd had a good night's sleep and if you didn't nearly bleed to death a few minutes ago that you could handle this without incident. Though your Relic compensates for any burn you may be feeling, exhaustion is ramping up fast. It's also likely that if you weren't so fat, the amount of skill, luck, and resolution you're exhibiting would make a joke out of this climb.

No amount of weariness is going to deter you from making a joke of this climb, and from conquering this venture. Flesh would be proud.

As it is, the sheer amount of exertion and near completely flush proximity to the rock and stone underhand has you thinking of a different deity. The low light of your lantern casts a faint glow off of running water, and highlights thousands of small fractures in the stone. Gemstones are hidden in the rough. The narrowing space and cuts against you carry no pain, and are legitimately stunning to behold. Between thoughts of the potential in your Goddess' oft-criticized appearances, to the close contact up against you, the venture is downright intimate.

You know you're being weird, but can't entirely care. It's lovely. She's lovely.

Climbing could be worse.

(1/3)
>>
>>4597365
Father Pevrel whispers up from twenty feet below. The sound carries easily. "Having fun?"

The priest doesn't need to know you've found a renewed appreciation for diamonds in the rough. Especially not that being completely enamored with nothing but jagged edges of rock feels like love taps more than abrasions.

You don't reply, work through the rest of the frustration, and keep climbing. It only takes a few more exhausting minutes of blood and sweat.

A triumphant ascension over the last of the ridges has you happily look up-- without being much worse off for the wear. Sure, your arms, sides and legs are covered in cuts. But the healthy exertion, extended proximity to your patron's gifts, and the knowledge that you're piously shredding off weight feels spectacular.

As cautiously as you're able, you barely peek out from the top of the highest ledge to look for any danger. It's pitch black. A single hand cautiously feels around on the top of the ledge for any trip wire or other traps. There's only water. You hoist yourself, lantern and all, up and out from the climb. It's an ordeal, but the raw determination in you makes quick work of it. Getting warily to your feet, and looking for any ripples in the water underfoot, you're greeted by no other motion. No other sound.

Piety and your enchanted shield are immediately taken back in hand (after wiping more sweat from your brow, and streaking a little more blood from the lacerations across your hands from the motion). Gloves would have only hurt your mobility, and the wounds look worse than they are due to how wet they got. You're certain that you did almost as well as anyone could have, given your compromised circumstances.

The shaft you emerged from came out in the middle of a long hallway. The low cast of your lantern shows that the passage you've emerged into is drenched from floor to ceiling. The corridor is also horizontal here, and flat so far as you can tell. It looks as though someone flooded the entire area, then rapidly drained it. Several water-logged corpses are floating in the run-off, though the water on the floor is shallow enough to only be in sparse puddles every few feet. The tunnels here are even more thoroughly reinforced than those below, which has you wonder for the long-term complications this water could cause. Swollen wood, rot, and rust immediately come to mind.

The priest of darkness in your company rejoins you quickly enough. He laughs quietly to himself as he ascends. "I'll be damned. Nice work."

You don't dare to risk a reply, but grin while you catch your breath.

As soon as he emerges and gets back to his feet, Father Pevrel gestures towards the right. "Far more corpses that way. The girl's a bitch, but she knows how to fight. I'm willing to bet the bodies will lead us to her." A nod to the left. "Looks like it leads up. The slope is probably too subtle for you to see, *Anscham*, but I'd guess it eventually connects to the surface."

(2/3)
>>
>>4597369
He quickly takes his sword in hand. Footsteps are rapidly approaching, though they sound a tremendous ways away. "Shit. They're too far off to see. The tunnel's curved like the rest."

"It sounds like two sets of steps," you whisper.

"We could take them."

"Unless they're walking in tandem." You keep an eye on the water. The puddles are definitely rippling as if there's a greater disturbance than the weight of two men. It could also be due to the hollow nature of these underground areas, though.

"Don't insult either of us. We can take them."

>A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED FOR ALL OF THE FOLLOWING.
>As always, clever write-ins and strategy may provide additional bonuses.
>If anyone would like a list of your current inventory at any time, please feel free to let me know as well.

>A] Head down the hall, and meet whoever is coming your way head-on. Don't give them Time to react.

>B] Carefully approach whoever is coming from the left. Have Father Pevrel try and discern if it's friend or foe, first.
>1] Hang back.
>2] Stay together.

>C] Head down the right side of the corridor. You do risk losing track of who's at your back. You also might bait them into heading straight towards Sister Miramond's most likely location.

>D] Write-in.
>>
>>4597371
>A] Head down the hall, and meet whoever is coming your way head-on. Don't give them Time to react.
A as in AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
>>
>>4597371

>>A] Head down the hall, and meet whoever is coming your way head-on. Don't give them Time to react.

Stay not your hand and what not. Ask Pevrel to say if they are friend or foe as soon as possible though.
>>
>>459737
>B] Carefully approach whoever is coming from the left. Have Father Pevrel try and discern if it's friend or foe, first.
>2] Stay together.
>>
>>4597371
B, then A if foe. Splash them in the face with some alcohol if foe.
>>
>>4597371
I have finally made it to the current thread after a week of binge reading the archives! You've done some good work here.

I hope this isn't out of the blue, but the following has been bothering me since we made/met Adwin. Is there a history of any angels of the Gods ever recorded? Are they even a thing in this world? Is there even a word for it? I ask because our boy Adwin might be the first if we want to classify him as such. He's not quite human, he's not a demon, and he embodies the concept of Interpretation, a fragment of Dream's portfolio. I think there's something here and I'm not sure if I can see the whole picture yet.
>>
>>4597410
(Oh HELL yeah brother! Welcome to the few and the proud lol, that's quite a fucking feat. It's good to have you here!

So far as you're aware, the clergy are the closest approximation to the concept of angels. In Corcaea's religion, they are not a concept. Adwin is unlike any being you have ever witnessed or heard of before. If you wanted to coin a name for the kind of being he is, or classify him, you guys are welcome to! I believe the readers have abstained so far just due to not having a thorough picture, but you guys are very welcome to talk to him or investigate the things he's capable of. There's already been an abundance of things you've witnessed him do, too!

At the risk of coming off as a tease, you guys already possess a wealth of info that hasn't been examined too closely. Granted, that info has been very challenging to parse, but it's there, and I'd be happy to facilitate any discussion around it! I assure you though that I'm not withholding any religious classifications though, Adwin as the embodiment of interpretation is decidedly unlike anything else you (or Mercy, Spirit, or your mortal allies) are aware of.)
>>
>>4597410
>>4597424
(And just as a further clarification, I mean the clergy are the closest thing to a real-world, western classification of a being called an "angel" as a facilitator of a portion of God's will. The clergy in Corcaea are beings capable of using power of their respective God to do Their will. Closest thing. The Gods you've spoken to had no connection to Adwin, save for Adwin's association with dream's domain, yet to the best of your knowledge Adwin is not invoking Dream when utilizing his own abilities.

And thanks again man for showing your interest! Would love to know if you had any other thoughts or feedback after reading the whole quest in one go like that, I can't even imagine what it was like getting over a year of this craziness in a week lol)
>>
>>4597429
Shit was crazy, lot of lost sleep.
I do have another thought, but I would rather it come up organically in the story. As Mother of Agriculture, why was Mother Bethea so skinny? If I remember correctly she was fairly thin and we can't seem to keep the weight off. For how much Agriculture loveed her I figured she would be packing on the pounds. Further investigation is needed.
>>
>>4597446
(Mother Bethaea was the last leader of the church of Agriculture to work during the famine. You had never observed more than a handful of successful invocations to Agriculture in the months that you worked in Wearmoor, and those would have gained any weight from small uses would have quickly lost it. Not only is the frequency and scale of how you use the Gods is basically unparalleled, the circumstances are also very different. No one's ever mentioned this, but I'm glad you brought it up! It's worth noting. I've never said it so explicitly, so just to be clear:

Agriculture wasn't capable of answering anyone's prayers to the full extent of Her ability while Corcaea's land was cursed. In Mother Bethaea's case, She couldn't help at all. Your old mentor was (understandably) hung up on her country being in a seemingly perpetual famine-- to the point of working and praying for almost nothing else. You're uncertain to this day why finally having her prayers answered was what caused her to become so withdrawn, and to eventually take her own life. There's no doubt in your mind that Mother Bethaea was incredibly pious and meant well for the nation, but it came at colossal expense to herself. If she ever tried what you did, if she failed, if she was sick, or if there was something else going on with her remains a mystery.

This something we could absolutely explore via a flashback, or if you wish to ask Agriculture about it at some point in the future that's always an option too.

Work has been insane but hoping to lock the vote shortly!)
>>
>>4597465
(And just wanted to elaborate on this as a talking point if you guys wanted, it's nothing you don't already know but our last flashback to this I think was thread 12? Either mentioned briefly in 12 or the in-depth one in 8. Either way I would like to bring this up organically and would enjoy anyone's thoughts on if they'd like to leave it to my discretion, cover it sooner rather than later, have no preference, etc.

>AMBUSH
>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.
(This roll is representing a hidden series of events that could take place.)

>+5 EYES OF VENGEANCE (Having Father Pevrel utilize his stealth and vision will aid intel enormously.)
>+5 YECH'S ALLY (You're putting your friend's gifts to good use!)
>>
Rolled 60 (1d100)

>>4597481
KEKIMUS MAXIMUS
>>
Rolled 13 (1d100)

>>4597481
>>
Rolled 84 (1d100)

>>4597481
>>
>>4597485
>>4597497
>>4597511
(Insanely based. Best of 3 is a 94 after modifiers! I'll try my best to write as soon as I can.)
>>
>>4597519
Both of you head towards the footsteps with shields up, and swords drawn. You whisper to your flask, "grain liquor." To the priest (who you begrudgingly give a swig of the grain liquor to), "warn me if it's a friend or foe. If it's the latter-- stay not your hand."

Glee is writing all over Father Pevrel. He keeps a slight lead, while picking his way around each puddle to eliminate the sound of his footsteps. You follow the route as well as you can. His breath is so shallow, and the darkness on him is so absolute that you nearly lose sight of him a few times while he's walking dead ahead.

As the footsteps become significantly louder, you tense, and look to the priest of shadow before you. He breathes, "foe."

Lantern light swings around a bend in the passage. It's two cultists. They're heavily armored, masked, and both of them have bows and arrows in hand. You practically see red, and charge without hesitation.

They both start to shout, and take a step back with their weapons in hand. Bows are notched faster than you can blink.

The man beside you breaks into a sprint, and skids feet-first along the muddied floor. It closes the distance between them all instantly, while kicking up blood-streaked water towards both the cultist's faces. They're marked for death, while spluttering and trying to see through the assault. One bow is loosened, though the arrow harmlessly streaks past you. The other man drops his weapon completely, and goes to get a sidearm. Likely a dagger.

Father Pevrel skids between both men, stopping and turning abruptly behind their backs.

The hand you're keeping on Piety has your flask as well. You close the last of the distance between you all, and sweep a single arc of hard liquor at the eyes of both cultists. Their spluttering becomes screams. You shift your stance to take your sword, and swing it high to bring down on both traitors. The man to the right of you is screaming like he's in agony.

The hands of Mercy cut him down where he stands. All the strength you possess comes down with the edge of your sword. The blow starts from the side of his neck, but you find a notch in his armor. A triumphant shout gives additional force to the slice down into his abdomen, across his body, and ends at the side of his hip. You nearly fall off balance as your sword comes free from the other side of his torso. Enough blood and entrails are coating your blade to seize your focus away from your target for an instant.

As you stagger upright, you see Father Pevrel has caught the other heathen by his wrist. The victim is blindly whimpering from the bone having been snapped, while in too much shock to register the pain just yet. The priest by your side wanted to wait for him to feel it.

He feels it. A wail starts to leave the cultist. His weapon drops harmlessly to the floor, as he tries to jerk away, run for his life, or to beg for Mercy.

Your ally slowly stabs his sword through the back of the dead man's neck.

(1/2)
>>
>>4597583
Up until now, your own kill has been motionless. His upper body finally relaxes. It slips off in a wedge, and slides to the floor in a wet, meaty, armored clatter. The cultist's spine is still loosely attached, while his legs stay standing a second longer. The odd way his arms and chest flopped over due to the barely connected mid-section doesn't look right. If you had a weaker stomach, you'd probably retch on the spot.

The other victim's head has been completely dismembered. With a twist of his sword, the lord of retribution shreds his neck from off the cultist's shoulders. The severed head splats into a nearby puddle, mask-side down.

Both of the heathen's lower bodies collapse simultaneously.

>Say something cool if you feel like it.
>There's justice and piety to be had in respecting the deceased, too.

>A] Go follow the corridor back from where you came. You're certain it's where Sister Miramond must have gone off to. Even if you risk someone coming up from behind, you all need to regroup and head for the Church of Mercy soon. There's only a few hours left before dawn, and it's a long way home.

>B] Continue down this path. These men may have come from a larger group, and if this path leads towards the surface it may be faster to clear it out now. You'll also be confronting any additional enemies head-on.

>C] Search these cultists. (Be advised that time is wasting, and the more thoroughly you search them the longer you will spend on the task.)

>D] Write-in.
>>
>>4597586
May the Gods have Mercy on your souls. (Or silence, whichever one's preferable.)

A; time to regroup.
>>
>>4597586
>Say something cool if you feel like it.
"Ummm.... Mercy wills it?"

>A] Go follow the corridor back from where you came. You're certain it's where Sister Miramond must have gone off to. Even if you risk someone coming up from behind, you all need to regroup and head for the Church of Mercy soon. There's only a few hours left before dawn, and it's a long way home.
>>
>>4597424
Sounds like we need to have a review of the information we have available, but that will have to be after this situation has settled somewhat. Though I would be more than willing to discuss anything that comes up in the meantime.

After we get out of these tunnels, we should really get on building that rapport with our prisoner. I know it may seem like a minor point atm, but I would like to see her point of view on all of this, and see if we can address some of the issues that brought Inertia into being in the first place.

We should also find some time to go back and talk with some of our demonic guests at the church. Even if we are limited on Time, I'd like to make the point that they won't be forgotten about, even when we decide to address some of the nation's other concerns.

Reforming and reorganizing Agriculture's church may be inevitable, given Inertia's grip over the institution. After the situation in Eadric has been sufficiently resolved, we should focus future efforts there, and clear out the blockage from the heart of Corcaea'a national supply lines.

One last point, is that after we have dealt with Inertia a crippling blow nationwide, as well as reformed and reorganized the Church of Agriculture, we should give some thought to the problem raging outside our borders. We know the Fen is a bloodbath that needs to be resolved, but what of Mother Aimar's conflict, in the desert? I trust both can be handled by the Father of Flesh and the Mother of Time, but we should endeavor to support them after we've resolved the most pressing concerns we have in regards to the nation.

Some of my thoughts atm.
>>
>>4597623
(Absolutely awesome stuff my man, can't even tell you how happy it makes me to see planning and analysis like this. Love it. Definitely keeping all this in mind.)
>>4597618
>>4597620
(Locking the unanimous vote here! Writing now.)
>>
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>>4597713
https://youtu.be/iGzlx2YJMm8

You bow your head. "May the Gods have Mercy on your souls. Her will be done."

A walk in silence carries you and Father Pevrel away from the carnage. You both head back the way you came. It's Time to regroup.

The lateness of the hour has taken you at long last into the thirtieth day of Last Sowing. It's the middle of Mercy's season. The season of devotion! The last day of the week. Your favorite day.

It's finally Sunday. The sermon you're meant to have with Mercy will come at dawn. There's only five hours remaining before Her sunlight will grace Eadric's high walls, and the colored glass adorning the Church of Mercy.

You'll be there, even if there's one hundred other things on your mind. You and Father Pevrel pass by three more vertical shafts just like the one that could have killed you to climb. The small puddles of water on the ground, and the drip from organic reinforcements above only increases as you both walk in silence. There's two corridors down here that you didn't traverse at all. You have a sinking suspicion that there are many more places your enemies have hidden.

The nerves of your fellow priest are on end. Your heart is still pounding from the fight, but he's clearly looking for more conflict with each passing step.

The man needs help.
To be fair, you do too. This problem in your city is not going away from one excursion in the dark. It's going to take a concerted effort, and help won't be here for possibly weeks.
Clearing the northern trade route is a start.
Father Pevrel offered to help with your protection during the venture.
Judging by the sheer volume of dead bodies you're passing by, Sister Miramond will also need to rest before you press on.
The men and women protecting your prisoner likely have had to rest in shifts. You need to see to the assassin that many people have died attempting to free.
Security breaches throughout your home have been trapped by James, but for how long?
Will you be able to rest this afternoon? Is your home safe at all?
What of the captives in your dungeons? There's no forgetting them. You promised Praxilyos that you would return soon. He's shown enormous promise. Aldreda's plight has to also be winnable. Any of the countless other demons you've yet to even meet down there are worth fighting for. You would have never met Adwin if you hadn't tried.
You never would have found the strength to reenter your cell if you hadn't tries.
Your clergy is dead and buried, but their murders have yet to gone answered for.
Morris and Stace are out there, somewhere.
The Church of Agriculture could use an inspection.
Your boys in Wearmoor are in one of the most volatile locations in the nation. So are your parents.
This is all to say nothing of the war to the east, and whatever conflict Mother Aimar is engaged in.

(1/5)
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>>4597992
You've never wanted that clergy member from the Church of Time present so badly in all your life. Despite working almost nonstop, it legitimately feels like there isn't enough Time in all the world for everything you have to do.

Cyril should be welcomed as the current leader of the Church of Flesh (no matter how informally). It made all the difference in the world to hear from your fellow church leaders when you first came into your title. You want to write to Ofelia, too.
You miss Yech, and wish you could see him more than anything.
You want to apologize to Remigius one day.
Arkthros needs to be seen to, and there's no telling when you'll be able to return to the capital. You only just left.
Insidious activity is harming your nation's women and children. You recognized a fraction of it in the capital, and have two names now to go off of.
A noblewoman is serving as your spy, and wishes to report to you eventually.
There's now a (potentially deceased) scholar's home in Eadric that needs to be investigated.
The situation in Murgate has been on your agenda for over a year, and it's nowhere near the top of your priority list.
You want to take care of Ray. You miss him, and pray that he's being taken good care of. You'll kill anyone who doesn't spoil him rotten, and you want to do even more for his well-deserved happiness.
Harvey and James should be taken out for that drink, and to have a human conversation with. You can't even begin to think about how much you've all been through together. You owe it to them.
Electrum and Spangle want a good life together in your home. They're out there killing themselves to save this city that is just as much theirs as it is yours.
The Nye brothers should be given some thanks, and you don't want to slack on working out. They've been trying hard. So have you.
The damn moat needs to be reinforced. Your solar is a disaster. Your gardens haven't been getting enough love.

You really need to speak to Agriculture, once again. She hasn't quite exceeded your limits— but you have questions, and needs, and that flower isn't going to last forever.

There's a thousand questions that have gone unanswered about Mother Bethaea's life and death.
You miss her, but you know she would be more proud of you than anyone.

It's all going to get sorted out. You know you can handle this: starting with today. Committing to some grand plan for every last issue that crosses your path is how you've nearly worked yourself to death in every previous year— but today will be different. Today you are going to:

-Hit up the smithy
-See to your sermon
-and get some rest. Humanity will not end if you get some sleep. Dream Himself seems to respect how hard you're working. The very God of rest appreciates your devotion to interpretation and vision.

Maybe the roads can be handled. Maybe they won't. That's it.

(2/5)
>>
>>4597993
You fidget a little.

The damn roads are getting handled.

You breathe a lot easier. Adwin's slender, shrouded, blood-covered form comes into view down the hall. He politely waves. The sheer cloth over his face is so caked with gore, you can't even tell what expression he's making. The boy at least looks relaxed, and walks to meet you and Father Pevrel.

You practically run up, and take him into a bear hug.

He immediately returns it.

Hair ruffling is in order, even though mussing the shawls over his blonde curls doesn't do much. You couldn't sound more relieved. "I am so glad that you're alright."

It sounds like he's smiling. "Yes. It looks like you've been taken care of as well."

Irefist and Sister Miramond are close behind. The former lost his weapons somewhere (likely embedded in a cultist), and has a massive bleeding gash on his right cheek. "Father Anscham? Good. Knew they wouldn't keep you down."

The man's holding a filthy rag up to his injury, which you balk at. A short apology is made to Adwin as you pull out of the hug, and immediately set towards getting replacement bandages for.

The priestess in your company looks like she's been under a waterfall. Her white hair is matted to her face where it isn't slicked back, her clothes are clinging, and you keep the rest of the examination as clinical as possible. No wounds. Just exhaustion. It sounds like the woman swam across three oceans to meet back up with you. "They even got you, Father Anscham?"

Father Pevrel nods at the gold cracks on the side of your leg. "Not for long." Everyone looks extremely impressed. You try to not fidget under the scrutiny. The eyeless priest fires a wary stare over his shoulder. "We shouldn't linger. How far did you all get?"

The wound on Irefist's face isn't as severe as a nasty cut he's taken on his side. You almost gasp at how deep it looks. It's more urgent, and you rapidly set about insisting on cleaning and stitching it shut. "It can wait for this," you manage, with a vicious looking needle and thread between your teeth.

Meanwhile, Adwin pipes up. "Father? If you could, please? I apologize for being unable to walk you through the process, but I still could draft a preliminary map to scale. It won't take long."

Everyone stares at him like he's insane. You promptly finish the stitching on Irefist's side (he doesn't even wince, and looks at you with serious amazement), you clean the cut on his face (the man is seriously shocked at how expertly you managed to do so), and you get out every cartography tool that your boy requests.

It takes him a matter of minutes. Father Pevrel anxiously paces around the corridor, you replace Adwin's bandages, and Sister Miramond collapses to the ground get off of her feet. You have to occasional snap at Irefist to stop poking at his stitches.

The map is handed to you. Your soul feels as if it leaves your body. "This is— this is... to-scale?"

(3/5)
>>
>>4597996
"Yes," the artist scowls. "Of course. I have made no omissions or exaggerations. It is a labyrinth, Father."

The corridor you all entered from is clearly marked. From it sprawls no fewer than fifteen additional passages. They rise as high as the surface. You count four openings that would emerge into Eadric. One opening comes out into each district surrounding the central location that your hideout resides in. The shafts dip as deep as a collective one-hundred feet below ground. "There has to be miles like this," you whisper. "Miles."

It appears that you are in a central causeway of sorts, from which enough hallways branch out from to make your head spin. Thanks to the depth below ground, there's far more space for travel underneath your city than there appears to be above it. It's enough to make you sick. You hand the map back. "How...?"

"Many were dead-ends," Julian offers. "Purely empty rooms. Probably to help the cultists hide, or to rest in while traveling down here. I'd say only a third actually had anyone in them, and less than that had any useful supplies. It's more likely that any goods were moved through here as little as possible, then kept above-ground."

Bless her. She's trying to be reassuring.

The sailor at the woman's back groans. "The problem's not goods. It's people. My back's fuckin' killin' me. We could do this for the next week and still not catch up to how much work they've put in. And they're still digging!"

All the color leaves your face. "What?"

Father Pevrel's features fall as well. "Those sick fucks." A quick glance to Adwin, and to you. "Sorry."

You're too upset to even wave it off. A distraught, "why...?" is the best you can manage.

The sadist in your company points out, "you can't starve them out. They've stretched your numbers too thin to launch a counter-attack. They're distracting you too thoroughly above-ground to see to this below. Isn't it obvious?"

Irefist is easily the fittest and healthiest man in your company, and has easily had the most sleep, yet looks just as ragged as the rest of you. "This just won't work." His gaze lingers on Sister Miramond. "You know anything about hunting fish swarms?"

She looks legitimately offended. "You're joking, right? You just use the right timing, and high frequency... of attacks." The offense becomes irritation. "Stop sounding smarter than you look."

(4/5)
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>>4598002
The sailor leans his head back against the wall, and gestures towards the sparse corpses littering the corridor you just walked from. "Down here, we're in their territory. Their current. Down here, we're better off picking off groups from the swarm. The fewer their number, the better the chance of even once of us getting a kill. But it will never get 'em all. Any one fish that survives will help the rest escape. They'll move together, and evade you no matter how hard you give chase." He frowns at the priestess of Storm. "Even you can't flood miles of tunnels, right?"

"No." She looks insecure. It's understandable.

The look passes to you. "And you can't exactly Mercy away all of the people in all of these tunnels, right? Or... melt them, or bury them, or whatever? Whatever you can do."

Fidgeting is fine. "As much as I would like to. No. Not right now, at least."

"Hey." Irefist snaps his fingers towards Father Pevrel. "Hey. You."

The priest gives the man a look that makes your skin crawl. "Snap at me again."

He snaps again. You, Adwin, and Sister Miramond throw yourselves between the two men as quickly as you're able, while Father Pevrel goes to lunge at Irefist. Everyone is wincing from injury or impatience.

The instigator snips over everyone's collective frustration and exhaustion, "Nick. Hey. I'm tryin' to talk to you. You and your guys can drive these guys to the surface though, right?"

The priest of retribution vocally snaps. "If heretics like you would lend more than a few weapons and a warm body? Oh. Absolutely." More leering. "Just imagine how much we could have accomplished this evening if even one more of my men came along? Someone who could—"

You clear your throat.

Father Pevrel's words catch in his throat.

You physically remain between both men. It does more than cut their behavior off abruptly. They look completely ashamed of themselves, while you gently nudge Sister Miramond and Adwin aside.

She crosses her arms.

He neatly rolls up the map, and looks to you for permission to place it among your things.

You give your boy a glance that says it's fine to do so, while speaking to everyone. "Let's get going. We can discuss this more on the way out."

It looks like it's going to kill Julian to walk away from this. She gives you a puppy-dog pout that's somehow also sinister. "They're just going to filter in again. I can't just burn them? Think of the steam."

"I can't thank you enough for your work, and all of your devotion, Sister. It's commendable beyond belief. This wouldn't have been possible without your efforts. All of you. Truly. But we need to move."

"Fine," she groans. "But don't go crying to me if more come after us."

(Options in next post.)
>>
>>4598006
>PLEASE DO NOT ROLL AT THIS TIME.
> It is currently midnight.There still needs to be a security detail put in the church, the safe escort of a town crier, and aid for the movement of anyone who wishes to attend from the outskirts of the city (who have not yet heard an announcement of your sermon). YOU HAVE 5 HOURS UNTIL YOUR SERMON SHOULD BEGIN.
>Keep in mind that under completely normal conditions, IT WILL TAKE AN ADDITIONAL HALF HOUR TO REACH THE CHURCH OF MERCY FROM CLAYMORE'S SMITHY.

>Be advised that depending on how well subsequent rolls and events take, you may take more OR less Time to get back home.
>Write-ins will not be accepted for this vote due to the complex nature of the travel, and the absence of maps for you the players. (Regrettably your QM has not drawn up miles of underground networks or all of Eadric's streets... yet.)
>The following are mutually exclusive. MAJORITY VOTE WILL DECIDE.

>A] Go out of the tunnels from the way you came in. It almost guarantees that you won't be pursued, and that you can make a clean exit back to the surface. (ALMOST NO RISK OF AN ALTERCATION. 3d100 will be required by each person who rolls just to get back to the hideout. Once you surface, you will be four districts away from the smithy - best case scenario, reaching the smithy will take approximately 3.5 hours total.)

>B] Follow this main path, and head towards the surface. You'll walk towards the two cultists you killed, and emerge into the city streets. There is no telling what the situation is currently like. (MODERATE CHANCE OF ALTERCATION. 2d100 will be required by each person who rolls to reach the surface. Once you surface you will be 3 districts away from the smithy - best case scenario to reach the smithy would be approximately 2.5 hours total.)

>C] Try to take a shortcut using the tunnels. There are a few paths cleared, though they will involve 2 additional climbs, and could have attracted the attention of other cultists by now. (HIGH CHANCE OF ALTERCATION. 5d100 will be required by each person who rolls to reach the surface. Once you surface you will be in the same district as Claymore - approximately 1 hour total to reach the smithy's district. Be advised that you are almost guaranteed to become extremely exhausted.)

>D] The following prompt will be ignored by default. Majority vote will place it into effect.
>1] Even though Sister Cardew's sanity has been strained, Walter needs to be notified, you want your research partner's counsel, and require Claymore's expertise, you'll save your visit to the smithy for another day.
>2] You'll bee-line for the smithy, but implore your friends there to simply accompany you to the Church of Mercy. You can hopefully have that big meeting later today, after you've had some rest.
>>
>>4598011
(Just for complete clarification:

>Pick one prompt from A, B, or C.
>You can choose to pick D1 or D2 in addition.
>In all cases, majority vote will decide.
>>
>>4598011
B; but only because it would full exhaust us before the sermon. Otherwise I would have prayed to Flesh, taken an energy drink and protein shake, and LEG IT! Some coffee and a protein shake are still valid.

D2; maybe we can delegate bringing them to the church to someone else, to lessen the Time it takes to get back? Some more input on this is much appreciated.
>>
>>4598158
...wouldn't fully exhaust us...*

Rip writing ability.
>>
>>4598158
+1
>>
>>4598011

>>B] Follow this main path, and head towards the surface. You'll walk towards the two cultists you killed, and emerge into the city streets. There is no telling what the situation is currently like. (MODERATE CHANCE OF ALTERCATION. 2d100 will be required by each person who rolls to reach the surface. Once you surface you will be 3 districts away from the smithy - best case scenario to reach the smithy would be approximately 2.5 hours total.)

>D] The following prompt will be ignored by default. Majority vote will place it into effect.
>2] You'll bee-line for the smithy, but implore your friends there to simply accompany you to the Church of Mercy. You can hopefully have that big meeting later today, after you've had some rest.

This sermon is honestly too important to cut close, it is going to get a lot of attention and we need time to prep.
>>
>>4598158
>>4598213
>>4598226
>>4598340
>LEG IT
>Roll 2d100. Best of 3 will be used.
>The first roll will represent the odds of you being accosted while underground.
>The second roll will represent how difficult and/or lengthy the climb to the surface will be.

>POSSIBLE ALTERCATION
>This represents the first roll. The total modifier for the first roll is -10.
>-15 INERTIA (They're everywhere!)
>+5 EYES OF VENGEANCE (Father Pevrel can only do so much given the size of your group and the time crunch.)

>LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL
>This represents the second roll. The total modifier for the second roll is +4.
>+20 GREEN DAHLIA (Your familiarity with the earth should greatly aid in an ascent from below ground.)
>+20 FAITH OF A GODDESS (Mercy wants you home by morning, too.)
>+15 PRIEST OF FLESH (Your diligence and prayer has temporarily boosted this bonus!)
>+5 EYES OF VENGEANCE
>+5 LIQUID ENERGY (Caffeine and decent nutrition is a wonderful rarity for you.)
>-31 PRIEST OF AGRICULTURE (You're easily working twice as hard as the priest with you, and your size disparity is a safety risk.)
>-10 BLOOD LOSS (This malus will improve *very* slowly over the next few weeks with rest and proper nutrition.)
>-20 SLEEP DEPRIVATION (This modifier will continue to slowly rise until you rest.)
>>
Rolled 38, 8 = 46 (2d100)

>>4598453
>>
Rolled 6 (1d100)

>>4598453
>>
Rolled 49 (1d100)

>>4598462
and second
>>
Rolled 16, 42 = 58 (2d100)

>>4598453

BIG MONEY NO WHAMMIES.
>>
>>4598457
>>4598462
>>4598466
>>4598477
(So best of the first three (38, 6, and 16) is 38. That comes out to 28 after modifiers.
Best of the second three (8, 49, and 42) is 49. That comes out to 53 after modifiers.

Can't win em all. Writing now!)
>>
>>4598482
With everyone's gear secured...
After a lengthy walk in the direction you just came from...
While thoroughly enjoying more to drink (yes, you know it's binging— but your friends appreciate the pick-me-up, you need the energy, and you'd be lying if you said it didn't seriously improve your mood)...
Passing by every corpse left in your company's wake...
You arrive at the base of yet another climb.

"Looks like it comes out up top," Father Pevrel says. "About thirty feet. Wait for us. We stand just as much of a chance of getting picked off if we all become separated down here."

Everyone silently agrees, while you make a prayer to Flesh. This narrow ascent is completely vertical. You can almost touch both sides of the wall just by slightly leaning in either direction. The rock is thankfully dry, but is jagged and crumbling. While you could not be more confident that you have this handled, everyone insists that you go up first. In the event that you pass out or fall, your company can still figure out how to proceed without having to scale back down themselves.

Their lack of faith is appalling.

Extreme care is taken to pick out secure footholds. It feels like half the ledges here can't take your weight, but you won't leave your safety to chance— and it's a welcome relief from the climb. Despite the desire for healthy exertion, your intense love of the earth, and the desperate urgency in which you want to get back home, you struggle to not take any additional injury. Without any sensation of pain, you can't tell precisely where any sharp edges are until you've already cut yourself. This sort of task requires intense focus, and your vision is practically swimming from even the first few minutes of climbing.

You have to pause a few times to lean against the wall at your side. The blood loss you suffered earlier tonight can't be understated, and you went an entire night without sleep once again.

Just above the halfway point, you hear the unmistakable twang of a bow being loosened. There's no shouts from either side. The urge to panic is shoved down, as all of your allies at the base of the climb spring into action. Father Pevrel's unmistakable laughter is enough of an indication that someone's found you all. Everyone must have stepped further away from the climb to draw away anyone that would take advantage of the vulnerability anyone will have while ascending.

The timing almost couldn't be worse. Finishing this climb could take a matter of minutes, but rushing things could absolutely compromise your safety. Descending in a hurry is almost as risky. It hasn't even been a second since you heard the first attack go off, but Irefist immediately calls up from the base of the rocks. It's next to impossible to see him, but the urgency in his voice puts a cold sweat on you. "They'll just keep comin'! GO! I'm sending Adwin up next!"

(Options in next post.)
>>
>>4598528
>All of the following are mutually exclusive. Majority vote will decide.

>A] You would rather die than to flee while your friends fight on your behalf. It's stupid, reckless, against what everyone has asked for, AND will waste everyone's time who waited for you to climb this far— but you'll climb back down, and try to help join the fight. (Unanimous vote required.)
>1] Go as quickly as you can. This WILL impede on your pact with Mercy if you cannot ensure your safety and security. Write-in how you intend to do so in such a compromised position. (Almost guaranteed risk of severe injury. A very high roll will be required.)
>2] Carefully descend. (High risk of injury. A moderate roll will be required.)

>B] Trust in your allies, but ascend as quickly as you can to finish the climb. There might also be forces wherever this lets out at the surface, and you do NOT want Adwin to face anything above-ground unsupervised. (Very high risk of injury. A high roll will be required.)

>C] Finish ascending carefully. You got this, and have ample backup to keep the heat off of you. Keep your wits about you, conserve your energy, and scout out the area at the peak of this ascent the second you reach the top. Play it as safe as you can. (No additional roll required, as you have already rolled to complete this action.)

>D] Write-in. (A roll may be required.)
>>
>>4598532

>C] Finish ascending carefully. You got this, and have ample backup to keep the heat off of you. Keep your wits about you, conserve your energy, and scout out the area at the peak of this ascent the second you reach the top. Play it as safe as you can. (No additional roll required, as you have already rolled to complete this action.)

Make up for their lack of faith by trusting them fully. They managed to clear dozens of cultists out when separated, I trust they can hold their own.
>>
>>4598532
>C] Finish ascending carefully. You got this, and have ample backup to keep the heat off of you. Keep your wits about you, conserve your energy, and scout out the area at the peak of this ascent the second you reach the top. Play it as safe as you can. (No additional roll required, as you have already rolled to complete this action.)

They can handle this.
>>
>>4598532
>C] Finish ascending carefully. You got this, and have ample backup to keep the heat off of you. Keep your wits about you, conserve your energy, and scout out the area at the peak of this ascent the second you reach the top. Play it as safe as you can. (No additional roll required, as you have already rolled to complete this action.)
>>
>>4598532
C; I believe in them, but when our friends are up here, we pour oil down the climb and set it alight, then leg it away. Better safe than sorry.
>>
>>4598540
>>4598574
>>4598612
>>4598783
(Great shit guys. Vote is locked here! I am absurdly busy this afternoon but will plug away at this until it's done! Writing now.)
>>
>>4598811
No matter what anyone has to say about you, you have always been— and always will be— a man of faith. You climb with the knowledge that your allies were individually capable of killing dozens of cultists. Judging by the screams, clamor of metal, and cries of agony below…

"They can handle this," you grunt, while finishing the last of the ascent. Your arms and hands are shredded, there's enough exhaustion on you to take down lesser men, but you've still never used more caution in all your life.

A deliberate pause is taken at the peak to scout for danger. It's too dark to make out anything, but you're certain that the shaft lets out in a small room based on the lack of airflow. It's stiflingly hot. The door is closed, there are no windows, and no footsteps can be heard at your elevation.

Getting yourself over the ledge takes every ounce of devotion to Flesh in you, but you manage. Before you're even back on your feet, a single swing whips your shield off if your back. You quickly pivot around to cover the rear of the room, throw your back against the closest wall, and scan the entire area in low lantern light.

There's no one living here. It's all burnt. The structure is stone, but the wooden doors on either side of the small supply closet you've emerged into are cooked to a crisp. It's unmistakably Spangle's work. The holes in the surrounding wall show that the structure has been cleared of life, but not resources. Flame licks at stacks of grain, abandoned wooden crates of more organic supplies, and beds in all directions. You count no fewer than thirty corpses in the two adjacent rooms you lay eyes on. Between those who died sleeping, or those who tried crawling on the ground to escape, it feels like the odor of burning fat and human hair is never going to leave you.

Spangle may have culled the cultists that were infesting this hideout, and ruined everything within jt, but that doesn't mean that the unoccupied building is any safer from vagrants and sinners.

Breathless, sweating, and wanting for nothing more than to protect your family, you mutter to your flask for the oilest substance it can muster. A twisted part of you looks to the congealing miasma of yellow grease within the container with curiosity, before fixing your attention back to the rubble all around.

Adwin comes climbing up seconds later dripping with more blood. It's smeared across his face. You try not to smile. His lantern went out, and the ex-prisoner had yet to notice. You discreetly light the item with your own flame, while muttering to him, "I knew you could hold your own."

All the color leaves his shrouded face as he realizes what had happened, but Adwin puts on a determined scowl. He points with a gore-caked sword breaker to your flask. "Honoring the lord of light as well as I can, Father. I take it you wish to make a demonstration to your enemies."

(1/3)
>>
>>4598991
Irefist comes quickly climbing up the ledge. He's got multiple arrows embedded in his mail in his shoulder and chest, between each groove in his armor. Your heart sinks, until he pries them out from the gambeson beneath.

The man collapses to the floor for a moment, rubbing at his chest. A weary frown is cast up to you. You scowl to both men present, and wait over the ledge while Adwin poises to throw any weapons necessary down into the pit. You hold the hand with your Relic clasped in it out to Irefist. "Better safe than sorry."

He shrugs off the gesture, and gets to his feet of his own accord. Father Pevrel and Sister Miramond can be heard briefly arguing over who should go up last. It seems that the priestess wins out, and stays behind with a series of shouts so obscene, even the sailor beside you looks impressed.

A black shadow can be seen rapidly scaling the rock below. There isn't a scratch on him. Before Father Pevrel reaches you all, a roll of thunder sounds below the earth.

You instinctively tense from head-to-toe to keep any tremor at bay, and reach over to help your fellow priest hurl himself into the room with you all. Arcs of lightning create a blinding flare at the bottom of the pit, and you all draw back to cover your eyes.

Sister Miramond can be seen climbing up several seconds later, still twitching and smoking. How she's able to manage the exertion in her present state should be impossible. Irefist drops his weapons to the floor, swings over the ledge, and practically slides down after the priestess.

Daggers are exchanged between the men next to you. Father Pevrel uses way more precision than any mortal should be capable of (especially while inebriated) to drop his weapon down, past a narrow gap behind Sister Miramond's slender form, and beyond Irefist's successful attempts to help pull her up. The serrated blade lands with a sickening squish, impaling the top of an emerging cultist's skull. Some of them somehow survived the attack from a devotee to Storm.

Adwin calmly hands off a few more weapons (no one questions why he has so many) while muttering, "a little further to the right for the next one."

You calmly proceed to the opposite side of the pit, and turn an endless flask upside down while the two of them pick off another cultist. A steady flow of oil safely pours past your allies, and splashes onto the heads and shoulders of three men that try scrambling up the passage.

Father Pevrel abandons the attack the second he can reach your other allies. Adwin provides further cover, while the priestess among you is taken up along with Irefist. Your fellow priest hoists the sailors up by their shirts and sleeves.

(2/3)
>>
>>4598995
The moment everyone is clear of the shaft, you pour out the flaming oil from your lantern over the cultists below. Their screams stick to the back of your throat. Flame clings to the insides of your eyes. Faces melt off the bone. The terrified pursuers lose their grip on the earth, and plummet to their immediate death.

Before their bodies hit the ground, you're all moving again. Everyone in your company couldn't be more relieved. Father Pevrel kicks down the closest flaming door with a shout, as you all rush ahead to charge whoever might be on the opposite side.

There's no one on the other side. You urge everyone present to quickly cover their faces to minimize smoke inhalation, and to keep low. The sheer brutality of your attack has temporarily kept the pursuit off your trail, but reinforcements will no doubt be gathered. Anyone who's anyone in Eadric knows where you'll be headed by dawn.

The Father of the Day will be ready for them.

You all break out into the muggu night air. The streets in this district look desolate. It's surely due to the flaming building you've just emerged from, evidence of battle in the streets, and closed up homes. The structure you've exited from was a small and innocuous house within a residential quarter.

Everyone resists the urge to run. The utmost caution is taken to keep your backs to solid stone walls, while following closely behind your lead. You'll have two checkpoints between you and Claymore's smithy. By now, the substantial theocratic presence (and your congregation's work) should have been sufficient to cull all but the most violent offenders.

While keeping your eyes to the road ahead, you murmur behind your shield, "keep your guard up. We won't be lingering anywhere before getting back to the castle."

>INTO THE NIGHT
>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.
(This is going to get a little nuts but bear with me.)

>-30 COMBAT FATIGUE (Your mortal allies are beyond exhausted.)
>-22 SLEEP DEPRIVATION (So are you.)
>-20 INERTIA (It's becoming clear why they're everywhere.)
>-20 THE SOULS OF MANKIND… (...you know the rest.)
>-25 FAME (You and Father Pevrel turn a LOT of heads.)
>-10 BLOOD LOSS (You're on the right track for recovery, but it's going to take a long time to feel it.)
>+20 FAITH OF A GODDESS (Mercy is with you.)
>+20 WHITE SMOKE (Everyone has been working hard to restore order.)
>+15 CITY OF SHIELDS (The citizens of Eadric will not go down without a fight.)
>+15 BLASPHEMOUS CONGREGATION (You can't even imagine what lengths they've gone to on your behalf.)
>+15 SWORD BREAKER (Adwin is not fucking around.)
>+15 SEA SALT (The sailors among you won't rest now.)
>+20 LORD OF RETRIBUTION (Father Pevrel could not be more in his element.)
>+15 FATHER OF PROTECTION (You'll be damned if anyone falls behind.)
>+5 LIQUID ENERGY (Every little bit counts.)

(That's a +13 to the roll after all modifiers. Feel free to write-in anything you would like to say to your allies en-route, too.)
>>
Rolled 84 (1d100)

>>4599003
Here wee gooo
>>
Rolled 28 (1d100)

>>4599003

WE CAME WE SAW WE CONQUERED.
>>
Rolled 80 (1d100)

>>4599003
Let's do this! Yoshi!
>>
Rolled 31 (1d100)

>>4599003
>>
>>4599009
>>4599015
>>4599033
>>4599035
(Best of 3 is 97 after modifiers. Very nice. I'm FINALLY home for the weekend! Writing now!)
>>
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https://youtu.be/_vGQpHhIuas

The cobblestone streets are drenched. While you cautiously take the lead against the slick, midnight-blue stone, Father Pevrel stays right by your side. Adwin is practically defenseless, and covered in lacerations. He's flanked by Irefist and Sister Miramond, and you're all just as ragged. Yet, the five of you snake your way through the entire residential district without incident. Keeping to the shadows, alleyways, and behind every home, you're given a chance to breathe in the fresh air. To see the stars come out under the last of the clear night sky. The sweat on you finally starts to dry just as you all reach the first of two high walls between you, and your blacksmith.

Thirty citizens of Eadric within the stone tower are a sight for sore eyes. They're bundled up in blankets, wedged against narrow walls, and ten remain standing even at this late hour. Even those who are resting are armed, everyone has a shield nearby, and commotion rouses the lot to their feet the instant you step inside. At least one hundred questions fall from bloody, cracked, and otherwise war-torn lips. It's enough to break your heart. Many of the people here look like they've moved a great number of their possessions with them, and may have lost their homes.

Your castle is about to get a lot cozier. You invite anyone who wants to get answers to walk with you as you make for the Church of Mercy, and politely inform them that their efforts to restore order to the city is what will make your sermon this morning possible.

Many of them call out that they'll be there. Five of their number immediately join the accompaniment with you. Father Pevrel takes the lead, while you quietly reassure your valiant citizens that the Church of Vengeance will only be staying as a temporary measure.

The rest of their questioning has you repeating the reasons for your extended absence. While reassuring everyone that you're alright, you ask in turn if everyone's families have been safely sheltered and protected. The answers come while carving your way through the adjacent sector. The stalwart allies who have been by your side all night take the lookout, while you and your people talk in low voices.

Three of the men inform you that their homes were located adjacent to the Morinburn, and were destroyed by the demon of misconception that you fought this morning. They've been patrolling the streets since dawn, haven't been able to sleep, and wish to take shelter in the Church of Mercy. Their families are dead. You nearly stop in your tracks. "The hands of Mercy, and the halls of my home are open to any who need them."

(1/6)
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>>4599278
The only woman who followed you is really no more than a girl, likely no older than 13. She's related to an elder that attended your hearing this morning, and made her case to priests of Vengeance who came to her house. They claimed their slaughter was in the name of justice. She swore her loyalty to the Church of Mercy, and disowned the traitor who wished to openly ally himself with a cult. As a result, she was granted her life to live as she sees fit. That currently means aiding your efforts, while asking for your protection so long as Father Pevrel's order is here in your city.

Horror sinks into you, as you stride up to the priest of darkness. "Father Pevrel."

He doesn't take his eyes off the road for an instant. "What."

"Swear to this woman that she will come to no harm under your clergy— or from anyone else associated with your order. Swear to me."

She's old enough to take up her deceased father's shield, and to stare down the priest with enough hate in her blue eyes to kill a man. The church leader doesn't stop in the road. He takes the better part of the walk through the district to formally swear to her. An oath is made that her loyalty to the theocracy will be repaid in turn, that retribution has been had, and that the lord of protection will see to her continued health and welfare.

You're encouraged to finance new lodgings for her, and will talk to Electrum about it the moment you're able.

The last individual that's followed you refuses to say a word. There's soot in his beard, and a detached look in his eye. He's seen something that won't permit his spear to part from his hands. The other men explain he was one of the first citizens to retake the wall from your traitorous guard, and refuses to accept any rest or respite. You can admire the psychotic devotion to your city's defense. "Your efforts should be commended."

He grunts in reply. "Just did."

The four other citizens present all balk at the sound of his gruff voice. It's the only two words you hear out of him through the rest of the district.

The absence of any attacks has your blood running hot. Irefist is tensing at every leaf in every gutter, though the priest at the head of your pack seems to be winding down. "No one will attack us here. It's my men up ahead. Give me a minute."

Due to the sheer amount of exhaustion on you all, the pace had already slowed somewhat. No one complains as you take the procession to a stroll.

(2/6)
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>>4599281
The rest of your company keeps their eyes peeled on the surrounding buildings, while you look to the horizon. There's still white smoke coming from the furthest districts. No smoke whatsoever can be seen in several directions. It's possible that your congregation worked for a solid day and night to help restore order to the city, and to the land beyond your high walls. You all may be worn down to the bone, but you pushed back at Inertia hard enough to have cowed them into hiding. They're licking their wounds beneath your city. They'll need all the help they can get. Help's been sent for from the capital, and you have a date with a Goddess at dawn.

It's taken just under three hours to exit the tunnels beneath your hideout, cross over to your blacksmith's home, and to assemble the start of a security detail for your sermon. The ten of you proceed from the next checkpoint with an additional fifteen priests of Vengeance in tow. No one would dare attack your gathering. Not even if they had a death wish.

Not that it's a major concern, as the mercantile district that Claymore resides in looks practically untouched (compared to the rest of your home). The low stone structure is adjacent to his working quarters, and you've known of the location since the first day you all arrived in the city. With your fear of doors long conquered, you stride up to the blacksmith's home. Rapping three times comes with a familiar shout from the other side.

Walter "Professor Echo" Middleton's nasally, pretentious, lovable whine of a voice calls out from the other side. "What could anyone possibly want at this hour?! Do you have any idea what dark times we're living in?! Identify yourself at once!"

Irefist calls over your shoulder, "shut the fuck up and open the damn door, Echo!"

You try not to laugh at an immediate clattering of glass bottles, and what's no doubt a hundred mechanisms for deterring an intruder. "What dirt did you drag in now? If you bring one more tramp by here—"

Quick action might still save the sailor a chance with Sister Miramond. You clearly speak over Walter's rant. "It's Father Anscham! I'm in safe company, and can't stress our urgency." It is a mere half hour from here to the Church of Mercy. You can see the peaks of your home on the skyline, and don't intend to linger for an instant.

"Shit. You're probably with company. Fuck. Just a minute!"

Grinning to Irefist, you tease. "There are a few ladies present. Don't make me break the door down, Walter! Is Claymore in there with you?"

There's a pause.

You repeat, "there's no one here who will put any of your safety at risk. Last chance for the door."

(3/6)
>>
>>4599288
Two men open the entrance to the smithy. The interior is an incredibly tidy (albeit mundane) home, save for one table covered in books and papers, and the suspected collection of traps that were at the entrance. It looks as if Eckard "Claymore" Sollers has stumbled over your research partner in order to preserve the integrity of his home. The hulking blacksmith nearly swings the damn entrance outwards onto your face, but you expertly step back just in the nick of Time.

The gilded replacement for half of Claymore's face is inert, and pulls at the edges of his natural, rugged features while he stares at you in shock. His jet-black hair neatly pulled back (and obviously doesn't care about his widow's peak showing), and looks like he's in the prime of his life despite being ten years your senior. A leather apron is used to wipe soot off his hands, and one's extended to you. He's always been exceedingly respectful, but sounds like all the life's left him as he says, "good to see ya'." A look over your shoulder. "Excuse the mess! And I don't meant what's in the house!"

The scholar adjacent to Claymore is just as wiry, greasy, and ill-kept as you remember him. It dawns on you that he may solely be keeping up appearances for Sister Cardew's sake. His limbs and height practically match yours, which doesn't suit his dandelion-colored nobleman's garb in the least. You don't care, and pull both men into a tight hug.

They can't help but laugh. Claymore reluctantly returns the gesture, while Walter is stunned into immobility. It dawns on you that you were around 20lbs lighter when you last saw Walter, and probably look like an entirely different man to Claymore. (Between Adwin's effects on you as the demon of interpretation, Agriculture's will, and your own tendencies over the last 11 days, you don't care to track just how many changes your appearance has undergone in less than two weeks Time.) You gesture to the pack of fighters at your back. "I can explain while we walk. A lot has happened, and I have no Time to linger."

Walter stares at you hard, as you all pull back. "You need to explain now."

"We came. "We saw. We conquered." You scowl. Taking the bloodied, gore-covered arrowhead out from your bag, you hand the item off to Claymore. "I need as much information on this as you can gather, as quickly as you can gather it. We'll meet to discuss it at length later. Please get anything you may need for the castle. I'm sorry to pull you away from your work like this."

"Nah." He carefully places the item in a slip of parchment from a nearby table, and pockets it over his chest. Dipping off to some side room, the most capable combatant you've ever met shouts, "go ahead! We'll catch up!"

(4/6)
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>>4599291
Your fellow research partner lingers in the hall. You don't need to soften the blow, but quickly whisper to him for the sake of discretion from the 24 people at your back. They're all getting antsy, and so are you. "Sir. Your wife-to-be did unspeakable things to the minds of every leader of our nation."

He looks so proud, he could die. A hand goes to his heart, in as much drama as possible. It might be his best imitation of a priest of Mercy. Maybe Spirit. "Bless her bookmarks. She must be nuttier than we are by now."

The impersonation is too poor to tell. You hiss, "it took as great of a toll on her as you would expect. Hurry up, and you can see her for yourself all the sooner."

The scholar shakes his head, muttering to himself about knowing he was right about everything. A call is made to Claymore. "You good?"

The man comes running with two packs of personal and combative items strapped into bundles. They obviously were ready to leave at a moment's notice.

Thanking the Gods briefly for all the incredible friends you've been blessed with doesn't seem too outrageous as you set out to return home. Walter doesn't dignify Irefist with so much as a "hello," while the blacksmith and sailor bump elbows and engage in some elaborate handshake.

You set out with your more cerebral companion, while Father Pevrel runs ahead to ensure that the way is clear to the castle. Walter slips instantly into counseling, and you don't quite mind. Thought it sounds like he hasn't slept a wink either, it hasn't dulled his senses in the least. "I want to know everything, but we should ditch the muscle first. It's going to be a bad look at your sermon." The prude sticks his nose up, and dusts off his shoulders. "And to be fair, we all are going to need every advantage we can get. Just so that you're aware, Spangle and Electrum will be indisposed for the next several days."

Terror drenches you. "Are they alright?"

"Electrum is keeping a close eye on the firecracker, and should be healing her up. Poor girl threw everything she had at those bastards. They'll be alright. Harvey is resting with your priest, Brother Durville, on the city's outskirts. They've been checking up on the girls when they weren't getting my work done. We've put out word for additional aid from the capital, in light of recent events. The rest of your clergy should have escaped, too. I am certain that the Willoughby sisters will be present in the church. They, along with Brother Fergant were severely delayed. I do not apologize for occupying their attention, Father, and I instructed them to disseminate word as best as they were able around the city. You, and your sermon's entire congregation should be thanking me."

Hugging your greatest source of intelligence in the country once again is entirely understandable. "You are a blessing. Thank you so much."

(5/6)
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>>4599295
"I'm not done!" He's all smiles, and allows the hug as you both awkwardly walk. "There's reports on the road that a priest of Time was spotted to the east as early as three months... and one day ago."

You could cry. "You have no idea what excellent news this is."

"Don't thank me just yet. I don't know what the trajectory for his arrival is, but it's something. We've also been in touch with James periodically, who's used a good deal of recent events to spur your devotees—"

"Citizens," you correct.

"—citizens into pressing our slight advantage against this cult. Morale is as high as it will be given everything that's happened. Acting quickly, and seizing our advantages should bring about a far fairer audience than failing to do so. I have quite a few ideas, Father, but this is ultimately your show to run."

When you reach the Church of Mercy, only two hours will remain before dawn. You need to set up a security detail. Your allies are exhausted, and need serious rest. You realize you haven't stopped hugging Walter, and gently let him go. "You couldn't be more right."

>A] Task Father Pevrel with the entirety of the security detail. You need Time to prep for your sermon without any outside interference.
>1] Blankly tell the lord of retribution that he is allowed to cut his men loose on your castle if it means ensuring the safety of this sermon.
>2] You need to make sure that the Church of Mercy remains a place of healing, and restraint. He is forbidden from laying a hand on anyone in the sermon itself, but can mow down anyone outside of its walls if necessary.

>B] You're deeply uncomfortable with Father Pevrel's men in your home, let alone getting anywhere near the Church of Mercy. Trouble is you have two hours before dawn, and not a lot of other hands at your disposal. (Write-in how else you would like to handle preparing your home to open its doors to the public during a time of war without relying on numbers, brutality, or decisive action— when you will be completely occupied for most of today, need to summon Mercy to make this happen, and have a LOT of personal matters to see to as well.)

>C] Ask Walter and Claymore to handle security, along with James. You'll relay whatever mad plan your blasphemous congregation comes up with to Father Pevrel, if it becomes necessary.

>D] Write-in.
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>>4599296
I'm absolutely torn between A2 and C. I trust security would be ensured by Father Pevrel and his men, yet I'm intrigued and insanely curious as what our congregation could come up with :^)
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>>4599316
:^)
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>>4599296
>C] Ask Walter and Claymore to handle security, along with James. You'll relay whatever mad plan your blasphemous congregation comes up with to Father Pevrel, if it becomes necessary.

>D] Write-in.
Ask Pavrel to cooperate with Walter to shore up any holes in our defensive with his men.
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>>4599296
>>4599316
I'd be down for a mix of A2 and C as well. Let him Father Pevrel run security and have Walter and Claymore act as "defense advisors" to make some crazy traps and hold back Pevrel from doing anything too vicious.
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>>4599296

>A] Task Father Pevrel with the entirety of the security detail. You need Time to prep for your sermon without any outside interference.
>2] You need to make sure that the Church of Mercy remains a place of healing, and restraint. He is forbidden from laying a hand on anyone in the sermon itself, but can mow down anyone outside of its walls if necessary.

>C] Ask Walter and Claymore to handle security, along with James. You'll relay whatever mad plan your blasphemous congregation comes up with to Father Pevrel, if it becomes necessary.

The congregation will handle the general plan while Pevrel does the minutia. Nick wouldn't be happy with our guys ordering him and his priests around so this is the best possible compromise.
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>>4599316
>>4599400
>>4599407
>>4599742
(Compromise it is! Locking the vote here. Writing now!)
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>>4599945
End of thread theme: https://youtu.be/tNdYLGAxcWA

"Father Pevrel! Would you come here for a minute?"

Under no circumstances will a hand be permitted to strike down a soul within the Church of Mercy. Your sermon's protection is going to be covered by a mad plan devised by the second-most creative minds in your company. Walter, Claymore, and James are sure to hold back a priest from doing anything too vicious. They know how to temper you well enough, and you're certain it's been sufficient preparation for them to cooperate with Father Pevrel. The ultimate plan is to have the lord of righteousness handle the minutiae of the security operation. These are his men, and they will obey only his orders.

This is still ultimately your home. Everyone promises that your church and castle's integrity will be upheld, while your company disbands at the drawbridge to the keep. Father Pevrel and Claymore are already heatedly arguing over the merits of intimidating an enemy as opposed to outmaneuvering them. Walter immediately takes off towards to see Sister Cardew (likely get some further counsel just as much as to make sure that she's alright). Your castle's newest residents get an escort from Adwin to some of the castle's empty rooms. Irefist and Sister Miramond excuse themselves to go collapse somewhere to get some rest, and the priests of Vengeance all begin to execute some budding plan for the castle's protection.

With white smoke at your back, an ex-demon all the stronger for staying by your side, and the night sky littered with stars, there's not even two hours that stand between you, and the dawn. You're not worried. It took you less Time to learn how to weaponize trauma. Neither sin, battle, or the strain on your soul itself will keep you from spending the morning with your partner. A gold band has been worn for weeks now as a symbol of yours and Mercy's devotion towards one another. It's also been a symbol of your tenets, your love, and all of your faith in one another. Your partner wants to be here, and to elevate both of you in the halls of your empty home.

Shouldering your shield and sword, and heading for the gates to your home puts even more light in your eyes. The Church of Mercy will be filled today with the curious, the repentant, and sinners of all kinds. Inertia won't stop their preaching in wartime— and neither will you.

The souls of mankind need saving. The Gods know that you're qualified for the job.

You'd better get ready.

(END THREAD.)
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>>4600186
Archive (Feel free to +1 if you liked the thread!): http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Catalyst%20Quest
Discord (Update notifications, art, music, fan projects, etc.): https://discord.gg/24cmNWp
Google Drive (Meta infographics, character info, maps, calendar, and much more!): https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1LkahIC8EcwHBPbrkEODUMH9iwQhxkFvB?usp=sharing
Timeline of Events (Concise summary of the quest's events so far. High-res versions are in our Google Drive.): https://m.imgur.com/a/zD6ywiQ
Twitter (Additional source for thread announcements): https://twitter.com/Alaric50857350

(Thank you all so much for the fast-paced, discussion-filled, super active and absolutely SPECTACULAR thread! Normally I would wait a good bit to proceed from here. Give you all a breather. Some time to process stuff. But that's for filthy casuals.

I know you all are hardcore enough to get right back in the thick of things! Look for the next thread within the next few minutes. I'll post a link here, in the Discord, the /qtg/, and in our twitter like usual. Thanks so so much again for everything guys. Please move any discussion to the new thread once it's up, and thank you all SO MUCH again!)
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>>4600195
>>4600195
>>4600195
Thread #24 is live!



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