>>4125648
FIRST POST AAAAA

>>4125648
First post for best goddess, Time!

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>>4125648
No longer does the responsibility of every church in the country fall on your broad shoulders. The woes of the weary and ailing are out of your hands. Your titles, lands, wealth and ceremony are gone.

For the last four months, you’ve been entrusted to the care of Father Friedrich, leader of the Church of Flesh. Under supervision of Brother Cyril Trebbeck and Sister Harriet Cardew, you have come to understand the full extent of your new and deserved deference. As you were officially brought into the clergy only six years ago, you are expected to answer to almost every single member of any church in Corcaea.

Your issues with the Church of Mercy are countless, and more pressing by the day.

The Church of Flesh knows you as a madman, an abuser, a healer of unprecedented skill, and a demon on the field of battle.

The Church of Spirit is led by a manipulator, and an old caretaker. Your companions have called him a psychopath, and worse things still, yet Father Sullivan guards the second greatest store of knowledge in the country.

The Church of Agriculture may blame you personally for the suicide of its last Mother, though your work there saved the country from famine and disaster. Your parents reside in its holy city, Wearmoor. You were promised their protection for the last 11 harvests they’ve resided there, and though you've confirmed their safety, it is impossible for you to visit their home without a guard.

Now that you have lost your title, it seems there is no reason for you to venture near Father Pevrel’s station within the Church of Vengeance. He has not contacted you in years, and you strongly suspect he will not do so now.

Your have at least attempted to contact the Church of Spirit, Time, and Storm. Any correspondence from them- and allegedly the Church of Dream- has been delayed for months, for all of your urgency to reach out to them.

Every holy city houses countless superiors, and though you once rated correspondence with their leaders, you don't care to worry about any of them. Not right now.

You take a few deep breaths.

Stilling your tremor, and the worst of your anxiety, you remind yourself that not a single one of these madhouses is your responsibility. Not anymore. You are to answer to their word, their guidance, and their order.

You may be at the beck and call of the theocracy, but no one has asked for you- save for one congregation.

Within the high walls of humanity’s final capital city, your unnamed order has struggled to survive.

From a sermon at the bottom of the world, on the steps of Ostedholm’s greatest works, you saved over fifty men and women from demons and despair. Fourteen made it to the surface. Twelve are confirmed to have continued fighting to defend your good name, from the original dozens, but many more still have answered their call.

(2/4)

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>>4125653
Civil war has been brewing in Calunoth for five months.

Your family, former captors and brothers in Mercy have worked tirelessly to exacerbate the conflict. Brother Adrian Morris and Brother Theobald Stace are competing for your former position, as Father of the Church of Mercy. Allegedly, they- and many others- have slandered your name beyond all comprehension. Both men have the assistance of Father Henry Sullivan, leader of the Church of Spirit.

Without leaving the church for four months, you've still been making enemies.

One of Father Sullivan’s priestesses travels among you, but she is only one of your allies. Four faithful companions are on the road beside you, readying to brave the Storm, in the name of sticking by your side.

You’ve been fidgeting, lost in thought, for several minutes now. Though you need their help now, more than ever, you don’t intend to let any of their hard work go to waste.

Looking to your hale hands, the muscle working to maintain control back over the reins of your riding horse, a faint smile works itself across your scarred face. You owe your recovery to more than your companions.

As a healer of renown, nothing could keep you from mending yourself.

Be it through hours of training, or days bent in prayer, there is weight behind your motions. No longer are you forsaken by Agriculture. Your connection to Flesh has not only been restored, but is stronger than ever. You have learned to fight, and to properly use every weapon promised to you. You have trained tirelessly with maces, shields, spears, slings, and beside the might of your faithful hound.

Beside allies who finally have trusted you with full transparency, you’ve been armed with more than combative prowess. Your work still does not yet meet the standards of the Church of Flesh, but you have been blessed with Time.

It will be many years before you can reach your full potential, and you have never been happier. A great deal of extremely important concerns still weigh on your broad shoulders.

The slight smile across your face threatens to broaden further. You almost want to laugh.

Surrendering your freedom, losing your title, and voluntarily giving up four months of your life might be the best decision you’ve ever made. The sun is shining, on a land beset by Gods and demons. A long road stretches before you, and running from responsibility is no longer an option.

(3/4)

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>>4125656
You are Brother Richard Anscham. As an unwitting leader of a blasphemous congregation, you are the true conqueror of the ruins, an unprecedented diplomat, and above all other things, a priest of the Church of Mercy.

Thanks to a forgiving King, a begrudgingly faithful guard, a devoted priestess, and the works of a righteous leader, you have never had less to worry about.

All you had to decide this morning was what to wear.

>(Please choose ONLY ONE option from A. Majority vote will decide.)

>A] Around a golden chain, bearing your symbol, is the Relic of Mercy. Fashioned after your symbol, you have yet to discern its full purpose or capabilities.
>1] You openly wear your Relic, knowing that it will be a point of contention and strife. You may be targeted in the capital for keeping the priceless artifact in plain sight, but you’re willing to take your chances. Your allies are sharp, and you are brutally strong. Only a fool would attempt to wrest it from you.
>2] Your Relic is infinitely more valuable than anything else in your possession. You wear it over your heart, out of plain sight, and guard it with your life. You’ve been through too much to create yet another source of conflict without due cause- and have been STRONGLY advised to keep the item hidden.

>(REMAINING PROMPTS IN NEXT POST, PLEASE HOLD YOUR VOTES UNTIL THE NEXT POST HAS BEEN MADE.)

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>>4125659
>(In ADDITION to A1 or A2, please choose ONLY ONE option from B. Majority vote will decide.)

>B] You're putting your best face forward, even if it may be permanently unhinged. Your broad shoulders, cutting jaw, and imposing height have always made up for your eccentric taste. It might be time for a change.

>1] In dedication to the Church of Vengeance, and against Father Friedrich's orders, you insist on dressing as you always have. Black robes, fine cloth, and high collars with no regard for the weather will be a point of contention and possible scrutiny. It’s unusual, but you won’t compromise.

>2] You're wearing robes of yellow-gold, out of love for Mercy, and devotion to your own tenets. It's been ordered by the King and Father Friedrich, but that’s irrelevant. The association with the King and your own clergymen will help your work in Calunoth, will garner more respect wherever you go, and you want to show devotion to the one constant source of love in your life.

>3] You're sick of pomp, order, clergy and country. You're dressed as a man who was born on a farm rightfully should, in plain-clothes and for the weather. You’ve been humbled to an extreme by your stay in the Church of Flesh, and after everything else you've been through. It feels like you need to earn the respect you’re given, and you may garner some through sheer humility and practicality.

>4] You're dressed as a prior church leader can afford, in clothes more befitting of a Lord than a farmer. Though you certainly risk being accosted by beggars and thieves, you're equipped for the weather, bribery, politics, intimidation and regalia. Even a succubus once told you that you look your best in finery, and you agree wholeheartedly.

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>>4125662
Archive: (Threads 1-5 contain the ruins arc. Threads 6-9 pertain to recovery and the Church of Flesh.) http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Catalyst%20Quest
Discord: (Update notifications, fanart, music playlists, fan projects, etc.): https://discord.gg/rruyWWE
Brother Anscham’s Journal: (Your second most closely guarded possession, four months out of date, with a wealth of information that could definitely get you killed.): https://drive.google.com/open?id=1r-yFdCSj0VJi63LsD3Vl9T0DWw4us6wn

(We will be running sessions Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Usually I'll begin in the early afternoon, EST. Minimum of one post per day Monday-Thursday!

It’s great to be back. Let’s kick off our 10th thread of Catalyst Quest!)

>>4125659
>A] Around a golden chain, bearing your symbol, is the Relic of Mercy. Fashioned after your symbol, you have yet to discern its full purpose or capabilities.
>2] Your Relic is infinitely more valuable than anything else in your possession. You wear it over your heart, out of plain sight, and guard it with your life. You’ve been through too much to create yet another source of conflict without due cause- and have been STRONGLY advised to keep the item hidden.
>>4125662
>B] You're putting your best face forward, even if it may be permanently unhinged. Your broad shoulders, cutting jaw, and imposing height have always made up for your eccentric taste. It might be time for a change.
>2] You're wearing robes of yellow-gold, out of love for Mercy, and devotion to your own tenets. It's been ordered by the King and Father Friedrich, but that’s irrelevant. The association with the King and your own clergymen will help your work in Calunoth, will garner more respect wherever you go, and you want to show devotion to the one constant source of love in your life.

>>4125663
>A] Around a golden chain, bearing your symbol, is the Relic of Mercy. Fashioned after your symbol, you have yet to discern its full purpose or capabilities.
>2] Your Relic is infinitely more valuable than anything else in your possession. You wear it over your heart, out of plain sight, and guard it with your life. You’ve been through too much to create yet another source of conflict without due cause- and have been STRONGLY advised to keep the item hidden.


>B] You're putting your best face forward, even if it may be permanently unhinged. Your broad shoulders, cutting jaw, and imposing height have always made up for your eccentric taste. It might be time for a change.
>2] You're wearing robes of yellow-gold, out of love for Mercy, and devotion to your own tenets. It's been ordered by the King and Father Friedrich, but that’s irrelevant. The association with the King and your own clergymen will help your work in Calunoth, will garner more respect wherever you go, and you want to show devotion to the one constant source of love in your life.


We have no use for pride, we should do everything we can to help our congregation.

>>4125659
>>A] Around a golden chain, bearing your symbol, is the Relic of Mercy. Fashioned after your symbol, you have yet to discern its full purpose or capabilities.
>>1] You openly wear your Relic, knowing that it will be a point of contention and strife. You may be targeted in the capital for keeping the priceless artifact in plain sight, but you’re willing to take your chances. Your allies are sharp, and you are brutally strong. Only a fool would attempt to wrest it from you.

>B] You're putting your best face forward, even if it may be permanently unhinged. Your broad shoulders, cutting jaw, and imposing height have always made up for your eccentric taste. It might be time for a change.
>1] In dedication to the Church of Vengeance, and against Father Friedrich's orders, you insist on dressing as you always have. Black robes, fine cloth, and high collars with no regard for the weather will be a point of contention and possible scrutiny. It’s unusual, but you won’t compromise.

DO AS THOU WILT

>>4125676
+1 penis

>>4125676
Changing to this, I tried playing nice but fuck them kids we still Daddy Dick

>>4125688
>>4125678
>>4125676
(Looks like A1 and B1 won out! Sticking to your guns, awesome. Vote is LOCKED. Writing now.)

>>4125701
A rap on your shoulder jolts you away from the reverie, and firmly back to the present. Though it's raining, and the thick wool of your black robes is doing less by the moment to stave off the cold, you scarcely feel the wind.

Though you have in your possession garments from your mother (lovingly stitched and several sizes too large when they were gifted), a nobleman's garb, and robes befitting of a Brother of the Church of Mercy, you have taste.

You're dressed in the part of a member of the Church of Vengeance. The weightier, baggier robes that Father Friedrich gifted to you many months ago must have been an exorbitant expense, and they are to your exact preferences. The matching, fitted, high-collared shirt is adorned with buttons up to the top of your neck. It's lovely, just as much as the trousers dyed in an impossibly deep hue. Concealing almost all of your scars from view, you're more than happy to put on a better face, and an infinitely more intimidating picture than the robes of Mercy might imply.

Though you still want for more strength, you've never felt more comfortable in your own skin.

Through the mop of hair on your head are strands of gold. More coats your irises, and entirely shrouds your pupils. The gaze is unhinged, wider than it should be, but you've seen things that would drive any man off the brink.

Around your neck, in plain sight, is a holy Relic. Gifted to you by an archdemon with her dying breaths, re-purposed into your symbol, it only seems fitting to wear it openly.

You've sacrificed so much for it, and yet, Cyril really doesn't care.

He's rapping you again on your shoulder. Without any respect for your sacrifices. The man might be an imbecile, for his flagrant and continued insolence towards virtually everyone around him.

Icy blue irises meet your gold and green. They narrow. He's smirking. "Hey. Anyone in there?"

His stupid, long, thin and insufferably blonde ponytail is drenched in the rain. His ridiculously exposed arms are slick with rain, uncovered by his cloak. Perched literally on his high horse, having moved his palfrey adjacent to you, the man is devastatingly smug. Leaning over, he moves to rap you again.

You wordlessly catch the fist in your long fingers.

A permanent slouch makes Brother Trebbeck appear deceptively shorter than he actually is- though there's no mistaking his strength. He shrugs you off, effortlessly, and fires back a proper grin. He seems unphased by your company's pause in the rain, allowing the weather to ruin what little there is of his wholesome demeanor.

Every inch of you wants to fire back something in return, to a bodyguard who has fought tooth and nail to do his duty. He's shown you virtually no respect, for the three months he watched you night and day, or for the hours it took to ride out of the city.

(Options in next post.)

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>>4125762
>A] You both got off to a terrible start, and you want to make it up to Brother Trebbeck. Try to be decent.
>1] If for no other reason, you want to set an example of how a priest SHOULD behave.
>2] You want to kill him with kindness. You're the Father of Compassion, and you're going to WEAPONIZE it.
>3] From the bottom of your heart, you actually want to have some friends in your life. Do more than try- BE decent.

>B] You're just as bitter and resentful towards Cyril as he's been to you. Be plain about your misgivings. Three months under his watch made your room feel like a cell.

>C] You're livid. It's not that you're ungrateful for the man's sacrifices- it's that his blatant disrespect has gotten on your last nerve.
>1] Stress your situation with Father Friedrich to him. Sure, it might come across as threatening his livelihood and daughter's security, but you're comfortable with emphasizing your leverage.
>2] Tactfully emphasize your discomfort. Make it clear that you are not friends, and don't have any reason to change that fact with his continued behavior.

>D] Write-in.

>>4125765
>>A] You both got off to a terrible start, and you want to make it up to Brother Trebbeck. Try to be decent.
>2] You want to kill him with kindness. You're the Father of Compassion, and you're going to WEAPONIZE it.

This is too fucking funny.

>>4125765
>A] You both got off to a terrible start, and you want to make it up to Brother Trebbeck. Try to be decent.
>3] From the bottom of your heart, you actually want to have some friends in your life. Do more than try- BE decent.

We should really try being nicer to an ACTUAL father.

>>4125767
+1 huggies

>>4125765
>A3

>>4125789
Cyril is just a brother, Fred is the father of the church.

>>4125809
(Pretty sure he meant that he's literally a father. Has his adopted daughter Elena and all.)

>>4125765
>A] You both got off to a terrible start, and you want to make it up to Brother Trebbeck. Try to be decent.
>3] From the bottom of your heart, you actually want to have some friends in your life. Do more than try- BE decent.

>>4125767
>>4125807
(Noted!)

>>4125789
>>4125808
>>4125815
(Locking here, with majority for A3. Writing now!)

>>4125818
Tapping a finger to the side of your temple, you offer an apologetic smile. "No need to remind me."

Cyril's smirk softens in return. His shoulders roll back, glancing over to the rest of your company. Sister Cardew is bustling with an absurd number of shawls and skirts, dismounting her horse with Father Friedrich's aid. They're making quick work of protecting her research material further from the rain.

Clearing his throat, the priest at your side leans over. In a thick and unbefitting accent of a clergyman, he mutters, "you sure?"

"Yes," you murmur, in an equally rustic accent. Neither of you were born into a church, but you at least take pains to be presentable. The clipped syllables, l's and oi's are all but indecipherable, for how soft your speech is in comparison. "Never better. I don't— we really haven't gotten off on the right foot, Cyril—"

He's leaning back, putting his hands up and waving them as if you're proposing a dinner date. The smile across the blonde's face completely betrays protests of, "oh, no—"

"Really. You never had to come with us."

"Yes, I did. Don't get me started, Richard—"

"You deserve more than has been given to you."

He's smirking, "I mean it—"

"Your care— your work—"

The ridiculous motions and protests become more dramatic, as Cyril puts a hand to the back of his head. Drawling, "how'll a delicate flower like me ever go on," he glances down, grinning more cheekily at you still.

You put the tips of your fingers together, pointing your hands at the blonde. "I appreciate it— you, I mean—"

Smoothly lowering his arms, Cyril grabs the reins of his palfrey, sidling up closer to you. Wrapping an arm fully around your shoulders, he leans in, and mutters again.

"This doesn't exactly make up for three months of your shit."

"I understand," you cough for air, not getting any. His grip is a vice, uncomfortable at best, and threatening at worst.

A finger pokes at your arm— not your chest, you note— and far away from your Relic. It's extremely satisfying, to have some muscle to tense under the motion.

"It's a start," Cyril pokes again. He's obviously pleased as well, and pulls back.

The man smiles over his shoulder, as you practically double over, breathing hard. You get a few welcome breaths of the First Sowing's flowers. It's the month of Mercy, in the season of Grace.

Lifting your rain-streaked gaze, you see a woman walking over to you who looks as if she needs all the Mercy she can get.

Sister Harriet Cardew, priestess of the Church of Spirit, seems to have put away her things, save for a book in hand. Father Friedrich is attending to her palfrey, while she walks on foot up to your own horse. She bends slightly, to say hello to your best friend.

(1/2)

>>4125892
Ray is valiantly waiting by your side. Outfitted in a weather-resistant harness, entrusted with your care, he does more than guard your secrets. The mastiff is eager to greet your companion. She's one of the few individuals in the country who can approach you without garnering his suspicion or provoking a further need for protection.

"Down, boy." Ray happily obliges, dropping himself unceremoniously into the mud. You cringe, while he looks up to you blissfully. Almost in apology, you begin, "Sister Cardew—"

"This is awkward." She says it plainly, practically straining her neck to look up to you. The woman is scarcely over 5 feet.

Atop your horse, your own height has the petite priestess sneering nearly straight upwards. The enormous lenses and strange straps affixed around her face do nothing to obscure her magnified eyes, which are squinting through the rain.

You dismount, alongside the stern woman, and do your best to not look straight down your nose at her.

She's made little in the way of making herself presentable, in the last few weeks. Formerly pin-straight hair has become bushy, a little unkempt, and is no longer fashionably arranged around her glasses. The straps seems excessive to you, especially considering your offer to mend the woman's sight, but she's adamantly remained attached to the item. More so than the numerous white shawls in her possession, colossal collection of more fabric in tow to the capital, or no fewer than three dozen books.

Having lost most of her family to an outbreak in Murgate, Harriet seems more willing than anyone to venture to a new city with you. Her previous eagerness to return to the Church of Spirit has been overshadowed by grief, and resentment towards a man she assumes is responsible.

Father Sullivan has become an enemy to you both, and Cyril is off of his horse, blissfully unaware. He punches you fully, while sneering, "Harriet."

She sneers back, not looking to him. "Brother Anscham, it's as I feared. Storm is going to significantly delay our travel."

The woman's white garments only serve to highlight how ill-equipped she is for the weather, as well. You keep your eyes just past her shoulder, to the gorgeous sunrise, the graying skies, and an absurd volume of thunderclouds. Between the hues of gold and orange, the blossoms of Mercy and the open sky, you can't help but mutter, "a blessing. It's beautiful, isn't it?"

A groan from Cyril, as he tosses up his hood, and looks between you both.

Sister Cardew actually offers him a slight smile. "This may be the first time you've admitted that I'm right."

The blonde happily sneers, "He's hopeless. I'm not. You'll never drag a confession out of me, Sister."

(Just over character limit, 2/3)

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>>4125894
Lolling her head to the side, you watch with mild amusement as a fair amount of rain drips from the woman's hood. "Is that so," she muses, slamming her book shut. "We need to speak. Privately. What do you suppose it would take, to drag you away from Brother Anscham's company?"

Cyril moves to open his mouth to say something very stupid, but you interject.

>A] Tease Sister Cardew, in good sport. She's been through a lot on your behalf, but she could stand to loosen up.

>B] Everyone in your company deserves respect, and no one more so than a woman who sacrificed nearly everything to help you. Treat Harriet just as amicably as you would Cyril.

>C] Rib Cyril right alongside Sister Cardew. He can take it, and she might appreciate you enabling her dour attitude.

>D] Write-in.

>>4125896
>>C] Rib Cyril right alongside Sister Cardew. He can take it, and she might appreciate you enabling her dour attitude.

>>4125896
>A] Tease Sister Cardew, in good sport. She's been through a lot on your behalf, but she could stand to loosen up.

>>4125896
>C] Rib Cyril right alongside Sister Cardew. He can take it, and she might appreciate you enabling her dour attitude.

>>4125901
>>4125921
>>4125904
(Calling the vote here, locked, and writing now!)

>>4125925
"Careful, Cyril." Barely hiding the laughter in your voice, you leer, "not everyone can endure the way you run your mouth—"

"Richard," he leers back, looking like he could kill you, "that was not what I—"

Sister Cardew manages to snicker over the priest.

"It's quite fine," you reasonably assert, "if you both need a little privacy, I can look after myself—"

Both figures practically jump out of their skin at the suggestion, as you move to leave.

"Not so fast—!"
"Brother Anscham, wait, I—"

Looking sheepishly to one another, Cyril crosses his arms first. Sister Cardew huffs, while he fires back, "bullshit. You aren't getting rid of me that easily—"

"You were right," you interject again, smiling properly to Harriet, "it seems as if he can't get enough of me."

The blonde tenses a fist, waving it in caution. "I don't care if you'd enjoy it—"

Snickering further, Sister Cardew waves a hand, "it's irrelevant. Richard, I needed to speak with you."

You pat Cyril on the back, dropping all pretense of wandering out of his sight. "Don't beat yourself up, Cyril. It's quite alright. I'll keep enduring, for everyone's sake."

He pulls firmly out of your reach. "I get it," he's getting back on his high horse, sarcastically turning up his nose, "I'm a nuisance!"

"Nonsense," you immediately fire back.
"He admits it," Sister Cardew gasps.

With a look that says you'll make it up to him, you match Cyril's gaze for just another moment. He's looking ahead, leading your mount before riding ahead.

It looks as though he's going to assist Father Friedrich with the horses. The rain is unrelenting, and the sunrise is fading fast. Though the sun should be high, the sky is darker than ever. You kneel beside Ray for a moment, making sure he's alright. The mastiff has a dreadful fear of thunder and lightning, but he seems to be as stalwart as ever. You position yourself against the wind, blocking his hulking frame with your own tall figure from the worst of the rain.

In the face of the coming Storm, Harriet seems unphased as well. Despite her earlier complaints, she hesitates to speak.

"Yes?" You try after a few long moments, standing back upright.

Glancing around, surely to make sure that Cyril is out of earshot, the brunette replies, "we haven't had the chance to speak. Not since this morning. This is foul weather for it, and I want to be brief—"

"Go on, then."

She waves the book in her hands at you. It's the white-leather bound tome that was penned months back, regarding your full confession. The first chapters of your life, the expedition into the ruins. Two pages are opened, and upon them are the words "thirty Catalysts unobserved," along with a few other notes regarding the way the Gods have worked through you.

You grimace, "I am not abusing them."

She looks up to you, eyes wide, and moderately unhinged. "I suspect you won't need to."

(1/2)

>>4125979
You don't dignify the accusation with a further response.

Harriet continues, "do you know what you're getting into?"

"A city in turmoil."

"A disaster of your making, Brother Anscham."

Ardor and devotion burns in you, hotter than any frigid wind or biting rain. "I saved more than fifty lives within the ruins." You haven't been given the choice. This is your responsibility, and lives are at stake. "My work will not go unresolved."

"I'm more concerned with your work regarding yourself."

You remain silent. Grimacing seems appropriate, as always.

The priestess of Spirit closes the book again, looking to you with a cold burn in her own gaze. "You don't need to worry about it now, but— I wanted to mention it. My theory."

"You are being terribly obtuse."

She looks embarrassed. "It's insane. I don't mean any offense, but I worry you may have—"

"Don't."

I have not influenced anyone here, for better or worse.

Right?

A sincere, "sorry," is offered.

Your frown deepens, as you glance away. "Please, continue. Father Friedrich—" is walking over, taking broad strides, and is already next to you both.

The Father of Flesh lives up to his name, as always. Despite his graying hair and the ever-deepening creases around his eyes, the priest looks haler than ever. Easy twice as broad as you, it seems every one of his muscles is bristling to move. The modest cloak over his shoulders is doing nothing to keep out the rain, and a good deal practically splashes off of him as he comes to a stop right next to Sister Cardew.

The petite woman standing beside you looks irritated beyond all measure. "Father Friedrich. Whatever could be the problem?"

"You've both gone soft in the head." He fires a grin at you, obviously teasing. "It's raining! Isn't that glass supposed to help you see, Sister?"

Muttering, "yes, Father," she is making no motion to move. "This cannot wait."

"Open your eyes, both of you! Forget about getting sick, you're going to ruin my damn horses— did I stutter? Let's move! Come on!"

"We have significant matters—" Harriet tries, looking imploringly to you for support.

"I'm not hearing a word over the might of the Storm! Guess the rain is louder than your whining! Ha-ha!"

(Options in next post.)

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>>4125985
>A] Oblige Father Friedrich, defer to his wisdom, but keep moving for now.
>1] Stop at the first post you can find. It may be a few hours, but you're willing to risk some setbacks in the name of progress.
>2] Make camp the moment any thunder breaks out. It won't be as effective as a proper shelter, but you want to make SOME headway.

>B] You need to think of Ray, and the other animals in your care. Double back to the walls of Beorward, and hole up for a while. No matter how dire the situation in Calunoth may be, ensuring everyone's safety in your present company is worth a delay. Heavier conversation need to wait for fairer skies.

>C] Throw a cloak over Sister Cardew, grab one for yourself, and tell Father Friedrich you'll meet him back within city walls. Placating him will buy you both a few more minutes, surely, and you do not want to wait to discuss this matter for anything.

>D] You're resourceful, reckless, and probably insane. Suggest a way of traveling through a building thunderstorm on horseback that will not compromise the safety of everyone who's trying to protect you. (Write-in.)

>>4125987
>A] Oblige Father Friedrich, defer to his wisdom, but keep moving for now.
>1] Stop at the first post you can find. It may be a few hours, but you're willing to risk some setbacks in the name of progress.

>>4125987
>>C] Throw a cloak over Sister Cardew, grab one for yourself, and tell Father Friedrich you'll meet him back within city walls. Placating him will buy you both a few more minutes, surely, and you do not want to wait to discuss this matter for anything.

>>4125987
>>C] Throw a cloak over Sister Cardew, grab one for yourself, and tell Father Friedrich you'll meet him back within city walls. Placating him will buy you both a few more minutes, surely, and you do not want to wait to discuss this matter for anything.

>>4125987
>C] Throw a cloak over Sister Cardew, grab one for yourself, and tell Father Friedrich you'll meet him back within city walls. Placating him will buy you both a few more minutes, surely, and you do not want to wait to discuss this matter for anything.

>>4125991
(Appreciate the vote but since this directly contradicts the majority

>>4125995
>>4126000
>>4126026
Going to go with majority vote here. Vote is locked! Have to get something to eat but I'll write ASAP.)

>>4126033
(Back, writing now.)

File: Cast of Catalyst Quest 10.png (2.89 MB, 3752x1420)

2.89 MB PNG

>>4126104
The priest and priestess before you tense the instant you move without provocation.

"Just a moment," you mutter, harmlessly jogging up to Cyril and all of your equipment.

He immediately grins.

"Fucking ridiculous," he hollers after you and your quick work.

You produced three cloaks, completely befitting of the Church of Flesh. Jogging back to Sister Cardew, tossing one of the bundles of fabric about her shoulders, she wears a frown. It drapes along the edges of her face, while the fabric lays about the ground. It's infinitely too large for her small frame. Tossing the other cloak about your own shoulders, you frown back. The same size is at least five inches too short on you, and the damp wool of your robes is seeping into the underside.

Father Friedrich smiles at you both, "no."

"Back to the keep," you frown back, to his absolute astonishment.

The man looks to Sister Cardew, baffled. "Did I hear that correctly?"

She catches on instantly. "Of course you did."

A firm pat on Father Friedrich's back grants him a little further reassurance. You put as much force into the movement as you can. It's like striking stone, leading you to wince through the smile, but he respects any display of force more than mere speech. "The moment we wrap up our conversation," you insist.

He's back up in arms, "sure. I'll see you by Worship, then?"

"You won't deny him another means of worship, would you," Harriet smirks, unable to resist, "or question the man's respect towards Time?"

You don't have to feign offense, balking, "perish the thought, Sister—"

"No," she continues, to Father Friedrich's mutual amusement, "I see that he's already wasting it now." Her voice takes on a tilt, trailing, "as we stand here, talking in the rain, without a care in th—"

"Alright! Alright." The church leader is frowning properly, "don't come crying to me if you catch a cold."

You don't doubt for a second that he's actually concerned for your health. Glancing to the pallor adorning your wrists, the sodden cloak still in your hands, you glance back up quickly.

He's already moving to leave, calling out to Cyril, "they're being stupid!"

"News to who—?!" he hollers back, immediately moving to get the horses back towards the keep.

The two men communicate the actual commands they need wordlessly. Moving past you and Sister Cardew with everyone in tow seems to take a matter of seconds, for two men who have fought alongside each other for years. Cyril is practically racing past you, eager to get out of the Storm. Father Friedrich makes a few abrupt motions to get back atop his horse. It looks effortless, and before long, his palfrey is sauntering just ahead of you.

Jarring, completely red eyes crease, as Father Friedrich grins down at you for a change. "Don't make me come after you, now."

Stoically, you promise, "we will be right there."

(1/2)

>>4126203
A wave over his shoulder, and he's gone. Cyril's stupid ponytail waves behind him, for the speed that they both ride back to the keep.

Ray looks up to you, obviously loving the weather. You scratch him behind his ears, apologizing for interrupting his enjoyment. You only having to lean down slightly to wrap the bulk of the last cloak around him.

"Richard," the woman at your side begins, as you both ridiculously stand in the middle of the road.

"Yes?"

"I have— reason— to believe that you have been using your Catalyst."

You straighten fully back upright, looking down to the woman before you. "You've told me this before."

"I know you're actually listening." An apologetic smile. It's waning fast. "We've done a lot of good work, haven't we?"

She looks heart-broken. It's unnerving.

"Why—?"

"I don't know if I've been helping you."

"What do you— what could—"

"There are so many people who want to hurt you. They aren't going to be transparent, Richard. The work that Father Sullivan has done—"

She's having a hard time speaking.

"You don't need to worry about him—"

"I am not worried about him. Not for my sake."

A few more long moments pass. The downpour wears on the integrity of your raincoats, and your patience.

"You haven't hidden anything from me in months. Don't start now."

Her out pour easily eclipses the rain. "I think they were on to something. Your— Brothers. Pushing you as hard as they did. You are not the only soul that the Church of Mercy has had," she bites her thin lips, in visible pain, "in restraint."

You spit, "I know."

She continues, blanching, "you're the first that I'm aware of that has managed to make anything of it."

"You are insulting my intelligence once again, Sister Cardew—"

"Richard. You sell yourself short. To have accomplished so much, and from your— well, your former position. They are very unhappy with your accusations."

She drops her voice to a murmur, strain wearing on the bags under her eyes. They weren't there when you first met her. "Father Friedrich has sacrificed an incredible deal to protect you. He won't be able to leave Beorward. You'll need to protect yourself. They're going to push you—"

The woman still hasn't gotten to her point. This is all news you're completely aware of. Calmly, patiently, you try to let her proceed.

"I think that you won't break," she pauses, finally elaborating, "but I know that everyone has wanted you to. Your family— those women in the ruins— all of those demons and— ALWAYS, there's been something. Some way that you've beaten it."

With a deep breath, the priestess fails to maintain her composure. She's looking up to you, with religious devotion in her eyes.

It's probably insane.

"I want us to test it. To test you. Your Catalyst."

This is infinitely worse than any blasphemy or abuse.

This woman is insane.

(Options in next post.)

>>4126207
>A] So are you! Ask her what she has in mind, without any judgement. She's done nothing but help you since the first day you've met.

>B] This is outrageously abusive.
>1] It smacks exactly of the trauma you've been put through by your "caretakers" in the Church of Mercy.
>2] It was precisely what Father Sullivan neglected, and had been reported by the very woman standing in front of you.
>3] You swore up and down to not use the Gods in any way, be it a life or death situation.

>C] You might be willing to listen to what Sister Cardew has in mind, but only to better keep an eye on her. This is a flagrant break in your trust.
>1] Is this a test of some sort? Is she playing mind games?
>2] Be plain that you're extremely uncomfortable after she's said her piece, and don't let yourself be left alone with her again.

>D] Write-in.

>>4126211
>>B] This is outrageously abusive.
>1] It smacks exactly of the trauma you've been put through by your "caretakers" in the Church of Mercy.

(Love you guys, but I gotta wrap this up for the night. Thanks for the awesome start to the thread. I'll be back tomorrow morning! Vote is open until then!)

>>4126211
>>A] So are you! Ask her what she has in mind, without any judgement. She's done nothing but help you since the first day you've met.

Keep C1 in mind, though.

>>4126586
+1

>>4126211
>B1

>>4126211
>>A] So are you! Ask her what she has in mind, without any judgement. She's done nothing but help you since the first day you've met.

>>4126211
>A] So are you! Ask her what she has in mind, without any judgement. She's done nothing but help you since the first day you've met.

yes only ask, we don't agree to anything yet. cause boy does this sound suspect as all hell, or at least a bad idea.

>>4126586
yeah keep C1 in mind

>>4126268
>>4126586
>>4127142
>>4127240
>>4127252
>>4127369
(Seriously overslept today, thanks for your patience guys. Got the rest of my afternoon and evening cleared. Vote is locked, writing just as soon as my coffee is done!)

>>4127701
"What did you have in mind?"

The gaze directed back at you narrows. You fidget for a few seconds with the chain around your neck. Ray leans hard against you, looking perfectly adorable. You both exchange a few glances of reassurance, before Harriet finally relents.

"Nothing immediately, as I said before." She's still visibly distraught.

Too honest to entertain mind games, you can't help but politely note, "you are still masking your point, Sister."

Her shoulders drop, looking up to you with the same distraught expression as before. "Honesty isn't always the best policy— but I do sincerely want to help you. You've made so much progress, Richard." A pause. She's afraid of something. "Doesn't it bother you?"

The sun is still visible on the horizon, out under open skies. A fairer view than so much distress, as you muse, "if you could be more specific—"

"Everyone's reluctance to be frank. Our people's..." she searches for a tactful word, and fails.

"Restraint," you offer.

"It's ridiculous," she mutters, "and I think you already have something in the way of an answer. I want to observe it. Put this into context— give you context. Nothing immediately. I would never ask you to abuse them—"

Stilling the nervous laughter that wants to erupt, you're probably making an odd expression.

Sister Cardew raises an eyebrow at you. "What?"

"I was worried," you're avoiding eye contact at all costs, "that this was some sort of, well— you've done nothing but help me, Sister— but mind games are something of your—"

"It is," she says plainly.

The nervous laughter dissipates, as you sternly look down.

"I was curious," she winces, "if you could handle the pressure."

Grimacing is inadequate.

"Don't give me that face. They're going to eat you alive, if you can't deal with so much as me pushing you."

"I never agreed to doing anything— to help you with this—"

"Who ever said you need to help me?"

"You just—"

"I'm still entrusted with helping you. Isn't that right?"

Is she still under the Church of Spirit's orders? Yours? Father Friedrich's? Is she a rogue agent, or something else entirely?

"I have no idea," you admit, fidgeting more intensely.

"There's no trick here. The only thing Father Sullivan's said clearly to me—" Harriet's knuckles are white against the closed book in her hands, but her voice remains level, "in nearly half a year— was to continue my observations."

"This is about— for him, then? Ultimately?"

"No. He's as convenient an excuse as any." Her grip tightens. "I can still throw his name around, and Spirit only knows that he won't be asking me any direct questions."

"It's concerning that you're doing the same—"

She's horrified. "No."

A great deal of bitterness threatens to worm its way into your voice. "You cannot expect me to believe that you only wish to study me."

(1/2)

>>4127850
"Only?" She takes a step forward, clutching the tome in her hands against her chest.

"Yes."

"I don't care that you've lost your title." Her tone softens, as she knocks the spine of her book against your side.

Pulling back from the motion, stunned, you protest, "you're being indecent."

"Don't be stupid," she smirks, "you're an infinitely better teacher than any one of these imbeciles that seem to think themselves fit to lead."

"Well— thank you."

"We have a lot more work to do."

"You have yet to specifically say what you have in mind."

"You're relentless."

"I have learned from you, too."

"I merely wanted to gauge if you would shut down at the proposition."

The grimace is threatening to hurt. You don't relent.

Neither does she. "As much as I'd like to delve into my theory, I cannot compromise your safety or health. You shouldn't go thanking me just yet. I don't think we'll have to push you, but only because everyone else will."

"I don't—"

She offers you a terribly smug smile. "What do you say? Should we make the most of the Time we have? Before the rain washes Ray away."

He's not sodden, but your coats are threatening to lose all integrity. The sound of rolling Storm clouds in the distance is a fair enough warning, let alone your damp attire, but neither you nor your dog seem to feel it in the slightest. The woman before you, conversely, is clearly cold, her arms wrapped tightly around the book in her arms for protection.

Sister Cardew is guarding your secrets with everything she has, and she looks very fragile.

>A] This weather is terrible, and you both are probably going to get sick at this rate. Head back to the keep.
>1] You still don't trust her as far as you can throw her, and will keep the woman at arm's length.
>2] This all has you skeeved out so firmly that you'll bring the matter up with Father Friedrich as soon as possible.
>3] She's clearly struggling to balance her own interests with protecting you. Encourage her to improve on and continue her transparency in the future, and have faith that you'll get your answers in due Time.

>B] This doesn't sit right with you at all. Storm be damned, you're pressing her. (It's safe to assume that the longer you remain outside, the worse of a Time you'll have with the poor weather.)
>1] Insist that Sister Cardew plainly and clearly outline her thoughts on Brother Morris and Brother Stace's experimentation.
>2] Demand that the priestess divulge Father Sullivan's findings on your earliest years in the Church of Mercy.
>3] Even if it takes all afternoon, you're getting her to elaborate on why she's so convinced you're going to need to invoke any God in the near future, and why it's necessary.

>C] Write-in.

>>4127851
>write in
C

>>4127851
>>B] This doesn't sit right with you at all. Storm be damned, you're pressing her. (It's safe to assume that the longer you remain outside, the worse of a Time you'll have with the poor weather.)
>>1] Insist that Sister Cardew plainly and clearly outline her thoughts on Brother Morris and Brother Stace's experimentation.
>>2] Demand that the priestess divulge Father Sullivan's findings on your earliest years in the Church of Mercy.
>>3] Even if it takes all afternoon, you're getting her to elaborate on why she's so convinced you're going to need to invoke any God in the near future, and why it's necessary.

>>4127860
+1

>>4127855
>>4127860
>>4127872
(Kek alright, locking the vote here. Writing now!)

>>4127878
https://youtu.be/h7-TdaA9-uU

There's one deity you fear more than any other. "For all your desire to help me, you have done nothing but waste my Time."

Sister Cardew draws back, almost imperceptibly. "I shouldn't have mentioned it."

"You needed to. You wanted to." The rain is unrelenting, and beginning to drown out your soft speech. Pulling your hood further down, you insist, "I can't imagine us having another opportunity to speak freely— not— not where we're heading."

"No," she tries, "but that may be for the best."

"You'd deny yourself another opportunity for worship? Is— is that right?"

"I am trying to help you."

"I know that you are completely capable of doing so." At some point you balled your hands into fists. Ray whines under the incessant down pour, leaning against you. Continuing to shield him from the wind, you take on the worst of the rain. Your back is rapidly becoming soaked through, but you continue, "don't begin to act like the rest of them."

Drawing her cloak more tightly around her, the woman beside you insists, "I would never Dream of it."

"You are," you assert, frustrated beyond all measure. "What could you possibly need to hide from me?"

She's not budging.

Despite the rain and wind, you drop your voice. "I have never lied to you. After everything you have heard, you know me better than anyone—"

"That's what worries me," she murmurs.

Earnestness colors your every convicted word, permitting your tone to carry well above the Storm. "There is nothing you could say that could be worse than what I have told—"

"Richard," the priestess interrupts, "we're getting soaked. You really don't need to—"

Barking, "I can handle the truth," you don't care at all for the Storm. "Are you going to treat me as an equal, and a research partner—"

"Don't be absurd."

"I've spoken to demons with greater ease, Sister, and that only reflects poorly on our people's character."

A long silence weighs between you both. The shawls and scarves before you are absolutely getting drenched, as Sister Cardew pulls her cloak even more tightly about her. Shrouding her face in shadow, rolling thunder breaks out in the fields and forests beyond.

The brunette looks down to Ray. Your boy's wide, brown eyes are looking to you for comfort, as he whines at the coming Storm.

You sigh, dropping down in the mud beside him.

Sister Cardew looks down at you with complete respect, despite your surely miserable appearance. "What is it you want to know?"

The look she's giving you says this is going to take awhile. You try to get comfortable, but the subject has you squirming. "Brother Morris and Brother Stace— their testing. I know I could not have been the only child taken from their home—"

(1/4)

>>4127997
Apology furrows her brow. "Not in the slightest. There's a precedent. I don't mean any offense, but you're still something of an outlier. The Church of Vengeance, by all rights, should have had you killed."

"None taken," you murmur, wrapping an arm around your boy. He drops his head in your lap, letting you wrap your cloak around his frame as well. Assured that at least one person in your company will stay dry, you implore her, "go on."

"It's unbelievable. To have survived invoking at such a young age— these things happen, but not nearly often enough to warrant their study. Not for how many individuals seem to be involved. Word does not get around that slowly in Corcaea. The Church of Mercy is better equipped than any other to contain these cases— as I know you are unfortunately aware." She's struggling to speak, but chokes out, "the experimentation was not condoned by any church lead, and certainly not the King."

She deadpans, "there was an investigation into the matter."

"I see."

"It would seem that Father Sullivan was complicit with concealing your Brothers' works."

A fire is in you, and no small measure of nausea. "How would you know—"

"I know," she spits, "because he was happy to inform me of their 'success.' The bastard has been writing me in fucking riddles— pardon my language, Richard—"

"Please," your nausea fades slightly, relishing the slander, "go on."

"The letters were in regards to the work, and how it may aid my own study." She looks like she wants to vomit, her paling skin visible even under her hood. "It seems abundantly clear to me that these men have been seeking a means of studying the Catalyst. They never anticipated you being thrust under the spotlight— and were happy to write off your disappearance into the ruins. Further means of research, of course."

She drops her voice, sneering, "the reports you need to send back, to your colleagues in Calunoth, have not been forgotten. They all want to know where you've been, and what you've done. You're the only one who's lived well enough, and long enough, to even relay so much information."

Her eyes are on Ray, and the harness about his body. Your journal is fastened safely by your boy's side, and you're possessed by the urge to hold him tighter. The colossal mastiff nuzzles up against you, oblivious to how much he's protecting.

"Richard," Harriet snaps, grabbing your attention back. "You cannot trust these men."

"I never have."

"They've worked night and day to unseat your mind—"

You might make a show of a particularly insane grin. "For all the good it's done."

"I'm certain it's all been in a poor attempt to keep you under their thumb."

You both frown.

"You are still an enormous threat to their livelihood," she mutters, as if this makes the situation any better.

"I thought they had Father Sullivan's support? If he's still as much of a monster as you would lead me to believe—"

(2/4)

>>4128004
"He's claims to have been working to get you out from such an abusive environment."

You might vomit.

"Any inquiry has been shut down as quickly as it's started."

Is she cold, or furious? That much trembling can't be healthy—

"He's horrifically good at what he does, Richard. I'm having a hard enough Time telling you this much—"

"Please," you are practically begging, "go on."

A deep sigh escapes from Sister Cardew, as she pulls her arms in closer. You're both soaked to the bone, but it seems she is too involved with the discussion to care any longer. "It seems that your family's work— to enable your Catalyst, and study its effects, captured my own Father's attention. Enough for him to have turned a blind eye. He's perfectly aware of how unforgivable his behavior is— and has thrown every other individual he can into harm's way. Not only to unseat you from the Church of Mercy, and to get you away from your tormentors— but to protect his own interests."

"What might those be?"

A glance, off to the walls of Beorward. Father Friedrich and Brother Trebbeck were in a rush to get all of the books out of the Storm. "Over a decade of research, into your obstinance. He seems fixated on understanding the phenomenon, and wrote an absurd amount. In regards to his own observations."

You recognize the grin working its way across Sister Cardew's face. It's in respect to Vengeance, as she promises, "I don't want to help you purely out of the kindness of my heart, Richard. This is all of our life's work, and I'd hate to lie to you. I want to outdo him."

The mud beneath your robes is awful, clammy and in harsh contrast to the heat that is on you. Between Ray's hulking form, and the Relic about your neck, you might be taking on a fever. The band of solid gold at the base of your ring finger is searing, but as a more pleasant reminder. Thinking of actual love and devotion, righteously, you lift your gaze to the trembling woman before you.

Her coat is soaked through, and is probably sick as well, but you are desperate for answers. "Regardless of your motives, his work, or what we ride for— what makes you think I would call upon any God without due cause?"

To your dismay, Sister Cardew kneels down in the mud beside you and Ray. She lowers her voice, actually looking around before speaking.

It occurs to you, once again, that you are both in plain sight, on an open road, right on the outskirts of Beorward. There were many guards who ran past you, but their identities and motives entirely escape you. There's not a soul in sight now, but trees line the road on all sides. Ancient ruins are creating long shadows, creeping through the yellow flowers, and obscuring anyone who might be listening.

"You have a history," she says apologetically, "and for good reason."

"I will not repeat my mistakes," you insist.

(3/4)

>>4128008
"I'm not talking about your own abuse," a wince, as it plainly hurts her to speak so candidly, "but about how other people treat you. You're an honest man, Richard, and people— they're going to try and take advantage of you. You— Mercy, forgive me for this—"

She gestures to the scars littering your face, and your Relic.

"You're a weapon."

"I am not."

"No one is going to tell you so plainly, but they all want to use you."

"I would like to see them try."

"Father Friedrich intended to."

"I saved countless lives in the Church of Flesh."

"The King is going to demand an audience, eventually."

"We have been over this."

"No matter how frightened anyone is of your ability, or what you wield, they are going to work under your skin, Richard."

She stops her gesturing, apologizing lamely. "I'm sorry."

"There is more that you don't want to say—"

"It bothers me. No one has bothered to be so frank. If someone asked you to go to Baranfen tomorrow, it would probably kill you, and you'd—"

"I am a priest of Mercy. If I am needed—"

"This is exactly what I'm talking about. You are completely capable of defending yourself, but it's going to hurt you, Richard. I don't want it to be for nothing. I think, in some horrible way, your family and Father Sullivan felt the same way."

>A] You're talking in circles. As an intelligent man, with hundreds of years of experience regarding the Church of Spirit, you can handle the coming Storm. Settle this matter, here and now. (WRITE-IN your thoughts on this matter, or how you intend to handle your foes.)

>B] Vengeance was the first deity you invoked, and you are getting back to your roots.
>1] You're checking in with Father Friedrich on his campaign to undermine Father Sullivan's work, and informing Sister Cardew of the effort.
>2] You have a vendetta. Nothing can justify the way you've been treated. If the opportunity presents itself, you're getting even with your enemies. There's a place for compassion, and it's not here.

>C] As the Father of Compassion, you proved your right to wield the Relic of Mercy. You understand that your family's and peers motives may have come from a good place, but you won't condone their actions.
>1] Resolve to kill Father Sullivan, Brother Morris and Brother Stace— with the same kindness you always have. You won't stoop to their level. Upholding your tenets and being true to your allies may be a hard fought road, but it's the one you'll take.
>2] You can recognize when you're entirely out of your depth. You have less responsibility than ever, but your own history is coming back to haunt you. Ask Sister Cardew for her guidance.

>>4128014
>B]
>2]
*Pumped Up Kicks intensifies*

>>4128052
+1

>>4128014
>>B] Vengeance was the first deity you invoked, and you are getting back to your roots.
>1] You're checking in with Father Friedrich on his campaign to undermine Father Sullivan's work, and informing Sister Cardew of the effort.

>>4128052
>>4128058
>>4128549
(Locking the vote here to get an update in before bed! I can definitely incorporate all of these. Writing now.)

>>4128566
(For no good reason my IP changed and although formatting worked earlier today, is now busted. Please refresh/F5, will take just an additional moment to post while I strip the formatting from the update.)

>>4128566
https://youtu.be/SBdgk2LEQ1s

Getting back to your feet, you look down one more time to Sister Cardew.

"Nothing can justify the way that I have been treated. If— when the opportunity presents itself— I am showing my devotion to my enemies."

The petite woman at your side is paler than you've ever seen her. "I don't doubt it for a second."

Calling Ray to your side, tossing the cloak off of your boy's frame, you can barely hear that he's still whining. The encroaching thunder clouds are deafening, as another peal of thunder breaks out in the distance.

Sneering, you mutter, "there is a place for compassion— and it is not here."

The walk back to the interior of Beorward's walls is silent. Sister Cardew keeps a wide berth from your long strides. She begins to fall behind, after some Time, and you at least are enough of a gentleman to not get too far ahead.

High stone, re-purposed ruins, moss-covered foundations and the walls of a holy city are soon upon you both. Manned by a civilian force, protecting one of the final bastions of humanity, it comes as no surprise that you are met with difficulty rejoining civilization. No fewer than ten hooded guards bristle as you come within view, adorned in equally sodden raincoats.

Announcing yourself, rather than being introduced by another, is a rude awakening. The sorry state of the woman in your company doesn't help matters. There's muttering, and a few rude gestures your way. It keeps getting worse, as you nearly have to threaten the men before you to stand down, and to let you pass unhindered. There's spears, and halberds, and a few swords pointed towards you.

Some shouting, and a number of explanations later, it's clear that they don't want to let Ray pass by. For the peals of thunder and lightning behind you all, he might as well look to be a demon. Given his size, fur, your mutual scars and appearance on the road, you try to keep insisting, "he is harmless." It's everything you can do to restrain yourself, to not beat the men before you within an inch of their lives. The threat is clearly in your voice, as you continue, "it's pouring. Show some Mercy—"

The closest guard stands tall, coming just below your chin. Gesturing with a halberd to you, "mate," with the shield to your best friend, "I don't know what you think yer gettin' at, but you must be nutty to thi—"

A door slams open from the side of the keep, more deafening than the thunder and lightning behind you. Father Friedrich is all smiles, as he strides out into the rain beside you. The men standing about the checkpoint straighten upright immediately, moving to salute their commander in a swift motion. [b]He[/b] is announced, with all the pomp you'd expect.

"Gentlemen!" the priest happily roars in reply, striding right to your side, "back to your posts, if you value them! Ha-ha! Excuse me," he nods his head curtly to the guard that's been accosting you, "sir! You must have missed my order!"

(1/4)

>>4128728
"N-no, sir," the guard stammers, taking a step back from you, and pulling his halberd firmly back to his side.

"What other explanation could there be," you're being strong-armed into a dry cloak, though it's a mystery where Father Friedrich has immediately produced it, "for your reckless endangerment of my guests? It seems you're neglecting one of their own, as well?"

"No, Father Friedrich—"

You're being led past the guards, without further explanation. Ray tucks his ears and tail down, terrified of the Storm, keeping close behind you thanks to several wordless commands.

More pomp, excuses, and a blossoming headache guide you off of the bridge, out of the rain, and into quarters quite obviously seized for your impromptu shelter. It's within the side of the guard tower, with five beds. Low candles are barely attended to, poorly illuminating your piles of gear. The Storm shutters are drawn, Cyril is lounging stupidly along the wall, posed like a harlot against one of them.

He doesn't change poses even when Father Friedrich enters the room. Smirking, he somehow exaggerates himself further, leering, "back so soon?"

As Father Friedrich tosses one of the cloaks over Cyril's form, Sister Cardew lets out a weary sigh.

Another cloak is tossed over her head, as Father Friedrich's broad frame moves past. Slamming the door, and frowning to you both, "the moment you were done, was that right?"

Ignoring how soaked through you are, the dry cloak about your shoulders gets draped promptly over Ray. You work with him for a few minutes, making sure he's completely safe and dry before attending to anything else. The mastiff is trembling like a puppy. You drop alongside one of the beds, commanding him to join you, and letting him hide beneath a few stiff linen sheets from the peals of thunder in the distance.

No one in your company pays him any mind, arguing briefly among themselves.

"I told you, we had urgent business," Harriet tries.

"It could have waited! I can't get you both back to the keep. Waste of our fucking Time. I suppose you want the room to change into something drier—"

"Spirit forbid we have a moment of privacy! Cyril will you stop?"

"Is this better," he smirks, moving so indecently that you direct your full attention back towards Ray.

"Mercy," you plead, "can we have the room for just—"

Father Friedrich barks back, "you aren't listening to a word I'm saying, boy."

Standing back upright, ignoring the accusation, you politely ask, "Cyril?"

"Yeesss?"

"Perhaps you could take an extra afternoon with Elena? Until the rain clears, at least."

The blonde looks like he could kiss you, but instead sweeps up his coat, flips off Father Friedrich, and is out the door.

(2/4)

>>4128730
It's slammed shut so firmly that the church leader has to catch it, to prevent the hinges from breaking. Gritting his teeth, he closes the wood and iron softly. Walking up to you, stopping within an inch of your chest, it's poked once. "You shouldn't be ordering my men."

"I owed him a favor."

"What's going on?"

Sister Cardew sits, sodden, on the bed next to Ray. She makes no effort to dry herself off, looking to the both of you with an extreme amount of regret across her face. "I know I swore—"

You whip your head towards her, a fair amount of rain water coming off the gold in the process. "You both have been on speaking terms, then?"

The finger on your chest pulls back. Father Friedrich crosses his arms behind his back, looking up to you with no trace of his usual smile. He barks to the priestess, "you have one fucking job," and then properly smiles back to you.

It looks sincere enough.

In a low voice, you murmur, "better to simply tell me, then, and to not waste any more of my Time. Father. Did you have any intention of honoring our agreement?"

His smile is creased with exhaustion. A number of white hairs litter your host's beard and neatly slicked back hair, many more than when you first met him. He sits down on the bed, beside Sister Cardew and Ray.

Both figures bounce slightly, for his bulk and the obvious point he makes of patting the mattress beside them.

It's cramped, as you reluctantly sit back down. You're soaking wet, fidgeting is even more uncomfortable than usual, and the entire situation has you on edge. Father Friedrich makes no attempt to respect your space, punching you softly (by his standards) on the side of your arm.

It stings in all the right ways, and it takes you a moment to lose your composure. "Please—" a deep breath, "no more petty games." You avoid every urge to rub your arm, and scoot to the side, facing everyone in your company fully. "Sister Cardew has had enough of them. Made enough of them."

She's looking away sheepishly, only now drying off her hair.

You look straight to Father Friedrich, with some difficulty. "Answer me. What have you been doing about Father Sullivan?"

"Dream," he smiles back.

"...pardon?"

"Father Wilhelm let me call in a FAVOR! Fancy that, for looking after you. We've had something of a contest with Father Sullivan. The man's a fucking psychopath, trying to ruin your name—" He gets up, fishing around in a number of the bags and pouches of gear that's been piled up in the room. Producing a few sheets of parchment, he shouts, "ha!"

You look to a number of letters, in blue envelopes. They're all sealed, and have your name on them. Every single one is simply addressed, "Richard," without any pretense of title. Father Friedrich looks to you, and to Sister Cardew, as if he has done nothing wrong.

"You have been keeping my mail from me," you dead-pan.

(3/4)

>>4128732
"Yes." He waves the letters, no longer grinning as he glares at Sister Cardew. "I knew it was a terrible fucking idea to tell you about any of this, but here we are."

Your hands are clenched into fists, and Ray is whining. Muttering, "there would be no issue if I was treated decently," you raise your voice, to properly command, "you need to illuminate our work, Father Friedrich."

"My work," he immediately corrects, still waving the letters. "You think I haven't been paying off every assassin—"

"Assassin?"

"Spy and rogue from Henry and Adrian—"

"The Church of Spirit and Mercy would never—"

"For the last four Gods-forsaken months for you? You think I haven't bled my church dry trying to protect you? How many nights do you think you slept undisturbed thanks to my men's guard?"

You don't reply.

"While I'm not attending to our borders, and outbreaks in every city— never you mind that the Church of Flesh hasn't had Mercy's support in months— I've still made some fucking Time for you, Richard."

Biting your tongue, you glance to Sister Cardew. She's also silent, and looks like none of this is news to her.

The beast of a man pats your back, sitting back down. The air leaves your lungs, and your back sears, but you remain upright.

"Keep it together," he grins, "and don't fuck up my hard work."

A gnawing fear is on you. "There is no conceivable way that you can come to Calunoth with me—"

"Nope!"

"Yet you left the Church of Flesh—"

"That I did!"

"Your guards outside seemed well aware, and not of my passing through the area—"

"Who's to say anyone thinks you've left my keep?"

He's grinning very broadly.

"You expect me to travel in disguise."

"Nope!"

"You— you think no one will notice—"

"Calunoth is stuffier than Sister Cardew's nose—"
"I am sitting right here," she drawls, and is talked right over.
"and I'd hope we would have enough Time on the road to sort out this mess."

"We've been blessed with at least another afternoon," you muse, still irritated, looking to the stack of mail in the priest's hands. There's no fewer than twenty letters, from Father Wilhelm alone.

The man holding them is smiling to you, apologetically. "Can't make up for a lifetime of bullshit, but I'd hoped to have had a nice trip. The fresh air would do us all some good."

(Options in next post.)

>>4128735
>A] This is really taking the wind out of your sails. Thank Father Friedrich for his sacrifices, and see if he can extend himself a little further on your behalf. Revenge can wait.
>1] Ask to see the correspondence from the Father of the Church of Dream, now.
>2] Ask if he can do you the courtesy of sending off another letter for you, to your parents, before you embark.
>3] Write-in.

>B] He's really making matters worse by the second. You are going to have Vengeance.
>1] See if he can continue his campaign against Father Sullivan. It sounds unorthodox, and you can't fathom pulling off something similar given your loss of status.
>2] Inform the priest that you're going to take this matter into your own hands. (Write-in the continuation of your political career.)

>C] It's abundantly clear that this man has stretched himself thin. You want to thank him, without asking for anything in return. You are a Brother of Mercy.
>1] Not now— probably not for some Time— but at some point, you would like to produce enough gold to repay Father Friedrich. Invoking Mercy has never been an issue for you, but you don't want to be thought of as abusing Her now.
>2] Simply thank the man for all of his efforts, and see if he's still willing to accompany you on the road.

>D] Write-in.

>>4128736
>>A] This is really taking the wind out of your sails. Thank Father Friedrich for his sacrifices, and see if he can extend himself a little further on your behalf. Revenge can wait.
>>1] Ask to see the correspondence from the Father of the Church of Dream, now.

>B] He's really making matters worse by the second. You are going to have Vengeance.
>1] See if he can continue his campaign against Father Sullivan. It sounds unorthodox, and you can't fathom pulling off something similar given your loss of status.

>C] It's abundantly clear that this man has stretched himself thin. You want to thank him, without asking for anything in return. You are a Brother of Mercy.
>1] Not now— probably not for some Time— but at some point, you would like to produce enough gold to repay Father Friedrich. Invoking Mercy has never been an issue for you, but you don't want to be thought of as abusing Her now.
>2] Simply thank the man for all of his efforts, and see if he's still willing to accompany you on the road.

First C then A then B

>>4128942
+1

>>4128942
>>4129173
(Locking vote here, writing now! Might take me a minute as this is a hell of a lot but we'll get there.)

>>4130004
Muttering, "no. It won't make up for it," you're met with a few worried glances.

Ray manages to whine a little louder, from under his blankets. He scoots blindly right up against you, as a bundle of support even through his fear of Storm. Behind her broad glasses, Sister Cardew's eyes narrow, inscrutable. Father Friedrich keeps a hand to your back, frowning to you earnestly. "I can't blame you, Richard. I've done nearly everything that I can, and you should know."

"Will you do me a smaller service, then?"

He raises an eyebrow at your milder request.

Your trip to Calunoth hasn't even begun, and you already feel exhausted. The hand on your back is actually reassuring. Quietly, you start, "if you will not continue your work against Father Sullivan—"

"Don't be ridiculous," he smirks.

Your grimace threatens to relax.

"I've got my own score to settle," the war strategist promises, "he's not getting a moment's peace."

More devotion comes into your voice. It seems fitting to clasp your hands together, speaking more clearly as you reply, "it would be far from prudent— now, I mean— but I will find a way to repay your kindness."

"I'd appreciate it!" He's trying not to let out a pained laugh. It comes out as more of a wheeze, knowing full well what you're capable of, as he leans in. "What do you actually want? Go on. Name it. We'll figure something out."

Looking to the letters in his hand, you patiently ask, "would you see fit to release my correspondence with Father Wilhelm?"

He pulls back on the envelopes, teasing, "well. Promise to not tear off running?"

Sister Cardew huffs, "he's fine," but you pay her no mind.

In fact, you hesitate. Looking down to the church leader, it would seem he's legitimately concerned. You try to relax, to assume a normal posture, pulling back from his hand. Trying to not look too hurt, brow furrowed, you murmur, "you know I will not— I— I have always meant well. Father Wilhelm knows that I have worked under your instruction for months— long before we ever properly met. I have been— I am still running towards my problems. Not away from them."

Shifting back an inch, putting a hand to Ray over his blankets, you still the tremor in your hands. They've been clenched into fists for the better part of an hour, but you relax them, attempting to appear collected and calm. "The campaign against my enemies— our enemies— will be organized. My allegiances need to be just as clear. Please."

Glancing back from your boy to the two clergy sitting beside you, you see a pair of pale and appropriately concerned faces. It doesn't stop you from finishing, "I would like to see what Father Wilhelm has been trying to tell me— if you would still have my company."

Sister Cardew sniffs, looking right to you. Tight-lipped, she simply nods, "of course."

The priest between you both thrusts the stack of parchment in your direction, frowning. "We'll see how you feel. Take a look."

(1/4)

>>4130256
Taking your hands off of Ray's trembling form, you realize that your own tremor is back in full. There's a little blood on the edges of the stack, in the middle of the envelopes. It would seem that they're arranged chronologically, as the paper is a little worn the further down. Every last letter is enclosed with varying waxes, but all are stamped with the seal of the Church of Dream. One after another, there's the impression of a ladder, climbing up to a crescent moon.

You fish for a small knife from your bag, slice open the first wax impression, and immediately hear a gasp. It's Sister Cardew, who leans over.

She's stunned by the blue ink, hissing, "his handwriting is nicer than I expected."

Father Friedrich nudges her firmly back, muttering, "let the man read."

In shades of cerulean, swirling calligraphy and a familiar tone are the writings of Father Atticus Wilhelm. He seems to have began his correspondence to you from the first day he left for Somerilde, his home, and location of the Church of Dream.

The first letter is incredibly brief, detailing the barricades around Calunoth. He claims that a festival was being held, as a surprise by King Magnus. It was intended to be a pleasant distraction from your trouble at the Church of Flesh, an extravagant means of celebrating a recent victory in Baranfen, and a way to help you celebrate your 25th birthday.

You slept through the week, try not to think too much about missed opportunities, and open the next four letters.

The second, third, fourth and fifth are all smeared with rain. Full of pleasantries, they talk of the temperamental nature of Storm, and how the priest longed to return to his boat, and the ice fishing in his vacation home. There's promise of finishing the painting he began, of your legendary catch while staying at the isolated residence.

"Fuck," Father Friedrich coughs, getting promptly to his feet. While he makes his way over to the supplies stacked throughout the small room you're occupying, you keep an eye on him, barely skimming the last letter. There's mention of a present, which is likely the item being held out to you now.

It's a fishing decoy. Hand-carved out of the woods native to central Corcaea, it's in the shape of a small mastiff.

You take it with a trembling hand, trying to maintain your composure. It's lighter than it looks, made to rest on top of the water, and is easily one of the most precious things you've ever held.

"How could you have kept this from me?"

An extremely apologetic look is given to you, as Father Friedrich sits back down by your side. He doesn't seem to want to elaborate, but merely gestures for you to keep reading.

The next letter is briefer still. Dread sinks into you. You've read every letter thus far internally, but this one you pull in close, keeping it from your companion's view entirely.

(2/4)

File: Tenets of Dream.png (2.91 MB, 1200x1600)

2.91 MB PNG

>>4130260
"You're wondering why I haven't used your title for the last few weeks. You won't awaken for some Time, but this is something I have seen before.

No visit with Dream should become a nightmare. If we meet again in the waking world, I pray that it will be under healthier circumstances.

Do not abuse Him again."

It's not even signed.

You pause.

The tremor running through you is unbearable. You flip the page over, trying to do something with your hands. Looking for something further, glancing to the envelope, a brighter shade catches your eye. Inside of the blue-dyed parchment is a slightly different hue, baby-blue rather than the deeper tone on all the other correspondence.

You scrape a long digit by the edge of the letter, and unstick something strange. "It's a lullaby," you mutter.

The melody feels as if it sticks in your head from the moment you look to the first line. It's simpler than any other tenets you've ever seen, and extremely unorthodox.

You might have started humming it, making use of your nervous energy.

"Hmmph," Sister Cardew interrupts.

"What problem could you fucking have," Father Friedrich elbows her again.

She jolts upright, insisting, "nothing." In a much quieter voice, she admits, "I didn't think that Richard would have had a decent voice. For singing, I mean."

Another, harder shove. You offer a grateful look to Father Friedrich, who does so again, harder, grinning to you.

The priestess huffs, "really," before quieting back down.

You're certain of the melody, though there's no indication of any music on the page. It's an impression, stuck in the back of your mind, that you've felt only a few times before. You're definitely flushing, don't bother replying to the teasing, and look back over the letter with wide eyes.

"It's the tenets of Dream.

'Dream of the moon,
Of stars in the sky,
Dream of this tune,
Wherever you lie

Dream to recall
His vision in full
Dream to forget
Of sin and its pull

Dream when you weep
Night's demons we slay
Dream, worship, sleep
To rest is to pray.'

From Father Wilhelm. He must have— surely he penned this himself."

A few deep breaths seem necessary. Not merely for the anxiety of having two people hear you hum, or sing, or for fear of misinterpreting the work before you, but there's still ten or so letters in the stack.

Sister Cardew pipes up, "really, Richard, that was lovely."

Nodding is the most you can do, while quelling the worst of your anxiety.

"Do you need a moment—"

"No," you mutter, having already taken one.

Without further hesitation, you open the remaining letters in rapid succession, put away the knife, and get back to reading.

They're all short and sweet, relaxing a little more of your nerves.

(3/4)

>>4130266
"You're not missing a thing with how awful the weather's been."
"Worst Worship in an age!"
"I did not mean the last letter literally. May Storm forgive me."
"Nearly to Somerilde— wishing I had a better travel companion! Think you can bust out of there a few weeks early?"
"You never had to reply to that, but just as a friendly reminder, I'm not trying to encourage anything of the sort. Get some rest!"
"I've sent a few dried meats for Ray," Father Friedrich hands you aforementioned goods, which you give to your boy gingerly, "take good care of him!"
"Back home at last. The painting traveled here nicely! I'd say it was the talk of the church, but we really whisper more here! (I'm not joking. You'd fit right in! Come visit when you can.)"
"Wishing your recovery all the best. Write when you can."

Your heart might give out.

Taking a few more minutes, you gingerly, finally look to the last envelope. It's damp.

"It came yesterday," Father Friedrich elaborates apologetically. "Dried it as well as I could. The bastard's worse than a noble, with all the ink! Gets everywhere." The priest wipes the sides of his hands on his cloak.

You don't pay him any mind, looking to the last of the parchment. The envelope is not addressed to you, though your host insists that "the messenger said it was from Father Wilhelm."

There's no signature, it's shorter than every other letter, and is infinitely vaguer. "Look for The Pit, and the enemies within." You look to your companions. "The Pit?"

"No idea," Father Friedrich shrugs.
"Sounds dreadful," Sister Cardew frowns.

Folding all of the parchment, you simply sit for a few long moments, trying to digest so much delayed correspondence.

>A] Write back to Father Wilhelm, thanking him for the fishing lure, his well wishes, and make no mention of yourself. Don't sign it, and pray that you can speak openly again one day soon. He stopped asking for you to write back, and you know it must have been for good reason.

>B] There's too much that needs to be said for you to show any restraint. Give a proper letter back to the Father of Dream.
>1] Apologize profusely for your treatment of his patron.
>2] Inform him of your improved condition, your proper devotion to Dream, and thank him for the tenets.
>3] It might take a while to pen, but write out a proper letter. In regards to your recovery, four months of Time in the Church of Flesh, and journey to Calunoth. Make it clear that you're working on yourself, and hope to have his continued support.

>C] You're too hesitant that your mail will be intercepted to write anything. (Write-in your thoughts or how you'd like to approach Father Friedrich regarding the situation, if you wish, in addition to or in place of the prompts below.)
>1] It's infuriating that you were delayed from writing back.
>2] You understand that your mentors have been trying to protect you, and are simply glad that you've had the opportunity to see this information now.

>D] Write-in.

>>4130269
>C) 2]

>>4130269
>>C] You're too hesitant that your mail will be intercepted to write anything. (Write-in your thoughts or how you'd like to approach Father Friedrich regarding the situation, if you wish, in addition to or in place of the prompts below.)
>2] You understand that your mentors have been trying to protect you, and are simply glad that you've had the opportunity to see this information now.

Also ask for their help in interpreting Wills last letter.

>>4130269
>C2

>>4130768
>>4130854
>>4131215
(Locking the vote here with the unanimous vote. Noting the write-in too. Writing now!)

>>4131945
Taking in another human's handwriting feels like an unrivaled privilege, after your months of seclusion. The pitter-patter of rain outside the storm shutters is the only sound among your company, for many more minutes as you reflect on everything you've been given. The fishing decoy is placed alongside the nightcap Father Wilhelm gave you, tucked beside the additional food for Ray. The letters are put away securely, and the tenets of Dream placed back in your journal.

Father Friedrich has trusted you to hold onto evidence of blasphemy and a pact with an archdemon, within the leather tome. You hold the item close to your chest. Treasuring the evidence of so many alliances, you relish taking out Father Wilhelm's last letter yet again.

Though Father Friedrich has guarded your life, your recovery, and your mail, you fear he's run out of resources. There's no telling if you'll be capable of writing a return message without implicating Father Wilhelm in your activities, or would drag him into the political turmoil you will surely soon have to face.

Something is wrong, between his brevity and the vague warning— yet the wrinkled parchment in your hand is a gift.

Glancing up to Father Friedrich's furrowed brow, you offer him a slight smile.

The moment he recognizes how grateful you are, he offers a pained smile back.

"I cannot fathom what lengths you went to—" you stress, knitting your hands around the short message, "to protect this. To— to protect me."

"You really don't want to know," he chuckles, gray hair and fine lines betraying the good-natured tone.

Clasping your hands tighter, fidgeting with the note, you promise, "I meant every word that I said."

"We know," Harriet smirks.

You start, "there will be Time—"

Cutting yourself short, smoothing out the parchment, you're met with two baffled expressions. The over-sized glasses across the bed sparked your impeccable memory, and your grin is probably worrying them.

Your suspicion is immediately confirmed. "I'm teasing," Harriet tries.

"Don't mention it," Father Friedrich offers as well. "We can worry about it another Time. I'll never forgive myself for forgetting about the damn dog—"

"It's a fishing decoy," you immediately correct, holding out the parchment to Sister Cardew. "I have nearly forgotten something, as well. Sister. You had mentioned before, that your glasses could detect unusual inks—"

"Oh." She coyly pauses, looking to the parchment for permission, "I couldn't."

"Would you both take a look at this— to help me better interpret the message? I have no idea what it could refer to—"

Reverent, Sister Cardew picks up the paper without further hesitation. Pouring over the fine writing, she puts a hand to the glass about her face several times, squinting, and flipping over the parchment repeatedly.

(1/2)

>>4132081
Over her shoulder, the Father of Flesh only glances at the paper once before going deep into thought. Pulling at his mustache several times, muttering, "hmmm," he's interrupted by a sigh.

"The meaning seems clear enough," Sister Cardew mutters, disappointed, "but there is nothing hidden that I can detect."

"He's got enemies damn near everywhere," Father Friedrich unhelpfully reminds you both. "It's no secret! No idea who it might be, but I know—"

"The location is capitalized," the priestess points, sneering, "and I assume it would house a number of foes. Building. Plural. Enem-IES."

The stress on the last syllable is so haughty, Father Friedrich snorts at her. "My boy would know a thing or two about this. We'll ask Cyril when he gets back," a smirk, to you, "who you so conveniently dismissed for the afternoon."

Not wanting to repeat yourself, you simply frown back to the two figures sitting beside you. Extending a hand to take back the letter, the item is immediately returned to you. It's secured promptly, with the rest of your gear.

Sidling up more comfortably beside Ray, you wrap an arm around the mastiff to try and reassure him. The peals of thunder and lightning in the distance are dulling, but his fear won't likely subside until Storm has passed.

Though the rain is relentless, it would seem you've granted Cyril an additional afternoon with his daughter. It would be tasteless to pull him away from his family, no matter how urgent your mission is.

There's no doubt in your mind that he'll return.

Listening to the rainfall, the steady drumming against wooden shutters and stone walls, a little more anxiety leaves your frame. You pull in Ray closer, scratching him as he hides beneath the blankets. You know how to look after your boy.

This is a rare opportunity for you to look after your other companions, too.

(Options in next post.)

>>4132083
>A] You barely know either of them, for all your common ground, and all the work you've done together.
>1] Make some light conversation. It's not your strong suit, but you're feeling a lot better than usual.
>2] Ask them what they know about Calunoth. It's a safe bet, as Sister Cardew is very well-read, and Father Friedrich is both well-traveled and wise.
>3] You're feeling well enough to unashamedly focus on the one thing you really care about: the Gods. Tactfully broach your religious obsession with two incredibly devout clergy members, and see what you can glean from their wisdom and experience.

>B] Propose that you all pass some Time together with a healthy, responsible, completely church-sanctioned game. (Write-in any additional suggestions!)
>1] Someone in the keep must have dice, or cards. It's not necessarily a sin to gamble, and you have a fondness for it.
>3] A verbal game of some sort would surely make Sister Cardew happy.
>3] Father Friedrich would never turn down arm-wrestling, or some other physical competition.

>C] Break out your flask, and ask your company if they'd like anything. It's endless, and you never have had the opportunity to take full advantage of its capabilities before.
>1] You're a renown herbalist. Not even a prude or a demon-hater could turn down tea offered from your hands.
>2] Offer drinks of their choosing, if they're comfortable with it.
>3] (Write-in literally anything else you can think of.)

>D] Write-in.

>>4132085
>A1

>>4132085
>A] You barely know either of them, for all your common ground, and all the work you've done together.
>1] Make some light conversation. It's not your strong suit, but you're feeling a lot better than usual.

>>4132085
>>A] You barely know either of them, for all your common ground, and all the work you've done together.
>>1] Make some light conversation. It's not your strong suit, but you're feeling a lot better than usual.

>C] Break out your flask, and ask your company if they'd like anything. It's endless, and you never have had the opportunity to take full advantage of its capabilities before.
>1] You're a renown herbalist. Not even a prude or a demon-hater could turn down tea offered from your hands.

>>4132460
>>4132517
>>4132712
(Mobile today and might be able to get a post in before later tonight. Going to lock the vote here and hope for the best! Will write just as soon as possible.)

>>4132847
For once in your life, a comfortable silence comes over you, and everyone else in your company. Father Friedrich gets back up, pacing and slicking back his hair. You tuck Ray in, who is beginning to drift off into a nap, before fishing for your flask.

Sister Cardew stops drying out her hair only to smirk at you. "Drinking at this hour, Richard?"

"Not necessarily."

A quick glance to the golden cap on the humble flask, the engraved check marks on it's base, and you uncap it with a quick motion. It's currently empty.

"Humility and devotion. Calm of Spirit, clear of heart, devoid of heat. Wait— not literally—"

The flask fills with a nondescript, lukewarm beverage.

"Lily tea," you clarify, "and nothing more."

A thin swirl of orange flower petals gathers at the top of the canister, concealed entirely from anyone else's view. Within moments, the gray liquid is replaced with a deep amber replacement. A floral, earthy and exotic aroma rises from a trail of steam, reaching the base of the cap before becoming still in your hands once more.

You fish for three cups, while Sister Cardew crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow to you.

Father Friedrich seems to have been watching, has stopped his pacing. "What's all this, then?"

"Fire lily," you reply, pausing a moment. As you pour out the beverage, it seems prudent to steady your hands. Resting your elbows and wrists is a little awkward, but the cups are small, wooden, and the tremor in your hands warrants the extra caution. The flask is almost scalding.

Harriet smiles sincerely, for once, as you offer her one of the cups. The petals sitting on the surface are objectively gorgeous. She still pauses, despite being greeted by her favorite flowers, waiting to take a sip. "Is it safe?"

You caution her with a dramatically stoic face, "you may want to let it cool first."

Her grin becomes infinitely more sheepish. She's still trembling, and makes a show cupping both hands around the mug while blowing on its steam.

Offering the drink to Father Friedrich as well, you ensure, "I am confident you can handle it." He takes the challenge without question, as you remind him, "what is fire lily, compared to magma and liquid flame?"

He raises the cup to you. "Not much at all, thanks to your help."

Being thanked properly for saving the man's life and home, you raise your cup in turn, offering him a slight smile.

It falters, as the priest puts back the scalding beverage in a single swing.

He grins immediately after, ensuring that Sister Cardew tries a sip. Steam clouds her glasses, obscuring her judgement. You take the moment to join both of them, relishing the restored ability to exercise restraint.

>>4133272
The tea is smooth, floral, mild and piping hot. Along with the sting in your tongue is a bitter aftertaste, of the medicinal, earthier components of the concoction. For the heat in your hands, the rest of your temperature drops in comparison. A sharp, lingering sensation clings to your throat, but you dismiss it, looking earnestly to your companions.

They're obviously impressed, glancing to each other with amusement. You refill Father Friedrich's mug, which he now politely extends to sip at more slowly.

"What do you think," you eventually ask.

"The aftertaste is shit," he happily replies, still sipping.

The brunette at your side hisses to him, "stop it." More clearly, to you, she earnestly gestures with the cup. "You know I love lilies. This is wonderful, Richard. Thank you."

"You're welcome." You wrap an arm around Ray, who is soundly sleeping. Over another clap of thunder, that practically shakes the walls, you muse, "we are a long way from Murgate. I had hoped my studies have been sound. Floral notes typically compensate for the taste," a quick glance to Father Friedrich, who is grimacing, and obviously loving it, "though that often is insufficient for more— well— would you care for some honey…?"

Sister Cardew practically giggles into her mug. "Your study is phenomenal. You have a sweet tooth?"

"Yes," you smirk, and glance to the priest frowning beside you, "though I suspect I am not the only one here who does—"

The wall of a man steps over, and drops back down on the bed beside you. With a firm slam on your back— which burns infinitely more than the tea, spilling some of it in the process— he is back to smirking. "You trying to get at something, Richard? I'll kick your ass."

Putting up your hands, wiping off the few drops of the orange beverage from the blankets, you manage, "looking to gauge my work, Father— and your tastes, possibly—"

Sister Cardew coughs into her mug, muffling a little light laughter. "Relax, Richard, it's alright. Father Friedrich, you really shouldn't tease him—"

"No," he beams to her, glancing to the woman only for a moment. She frowns, but doesn't protest further as he fires back to you, "don't be mistaken! I've conditioned myself! A few roots is nothing. Nothing! I'd care for something sweeter," he doesn't complain as you produce a new tea with honey in it, "thank you— but not even poison could make me falter! There's not a single toxin in Corcaea that could contend—" he puffs out his chest, "with the might of Flesh!"

>A] This is news to you, and very exciting news at that. Agriculture typically staves off and heals poison. Compliment the priest's ability and ask if he can elaborate on how he managed such a feat?

>B] The man clearly has work on the mind, too. Compliment his ability, but veer the subject away from talk of assassins and enemies. Speaking about mundane subjects might be like pulling teeth for you, but you're determined to keep things light.

>C] Write-in.

>>4133278
>>A] This is news to you, and very exciting news at that. Agriculture typically staves off and heals poison. Compliment the priest's ability and ask if he can elaborate on how he managed such a feat?

Manifest some poison and ask him to prove it. For educational purposes ofc.

>>4133278
>B] The man clearly has work on the mind, too. Compliment his ability, but veer the subject away from talk of assassins and enemies. Speaking about mundane subjects might be like pulling teeth for you, but you're determined to keep things light.

>>4133278
>>B] The man clearly has work on the mind, too. Compliment his ability, but veer the subject away from talk of assassins and enemies. Speaking about mundane subjects might be like pulling teeth for you, but you're determined to keep things light.

>>4133291
>>4133297
>>4133318
(Locking the vote here. These are pretty directly contradictory, so we're going to go with majority. Writing now!

Just a head's up, I have an incredibly long appointment tomorrow, so I will either write again in the morning on mobile, or we'll update again tomorrow night.)

>>4133600
As a master of evasion, deflection, and running, you dodge the subject as quickly as you can. "There is nothing to endure here, Father Friedrich, unless you truly think my taste is poor—"

Sister Cardew chuckles at you both, completely aware of what you're attempting.

"Nonsense," he happily disagrees, taking the bait and burying his nose in the mug. "You're going to get some odd looks for your clothes," you frown, "and the hair isn't to my taste," your frown deepens further, "and while the tea could be better—"

Interrupting, fidgeting with a sleeve, you point out, "I had suspected you approved, given that you were the one who acquired the attire."

"You look pale enough as it is!" He says plainly, good-natured and probably oblivious to your dismay, "but I'm glad to see you filling them out!"

There's a rap on your shoulder, the equivalent of being bludgeoned with a rock. Wincing, heat coming back into your face, you ignore the urge to press on the limb and gesture politely towards your face. "The pallor will be amended just as quickly."

Harriet murmurs something into her mug, about you being a good sport and what an imbecile your host is. "You both are too concerned with appearances," she huffs.

"Right," Father Friedrich motions with a thumb a few times to the priestess of Spirit, smirking between you both, "as if she'd have any appreciation for all the work you've put in! Can't see anything past the edge of a book."

"I've seen a few in your study," she smirks back, removing her glasses to wipe off the steam. "You aren't fooling anyone," she glances up, emphasizing the man's given name with the silliest tone you've ever heard, "Galterius."

"That's it," he huffs, standing back upright, "I'm getting Cyril."

"Please," you start, stopping him in his tracks.

Pausing in refastening a cloak about his shoulders, the priest looks to you earnestly. "You want to come with? Miss him already?"

"No—" you frown, realize how quickly you disagreed. Glancing to the Storm shutters, fidgeting with the ring on your left hand, you mutter, "I— I had no idea that you had any books in your possession."

"Ah." He deflates almost imperceptibly, looking to the door, and to Harriet.

She glances away, with what little of her face is visible over the tea and shawls as straight as ever.

"You must have little in the way of free time," you continue to try, keeping your eyes away from anyone else's, "but— I cannot help but admit that I am curious—"

"Well!" He sits back down next to you, likely having never intended to leave, "it probably doesn't rival your own collection, or Sister Cardew's."

He throws his cloak over Harriet as if she was a coat rack. Huffing, she tosses off the fabric with a mockery of insult. "I never—!"

Your mentor speaks over her, "but I've picked up a few things! Mostly gifts, mind you. They, well," he pulls on his beard, looking between you both with a laugh, "are mostly children's stories."

(1/2)

>>4133706
His voice drops a little, as he finishes the motions with his hands. "Would be a shame to lose them."

You are the picture of politeness. "Generous gifts, for the Father of Flesh. They must be remarkable."

The next knock on your shoulder is much lighter. It's more akin to a rock being thrown underhand, and you effortlessly ignore the desire to irritate the spot further. You're more focused on the broad, sincere smile being directed back at you— by a man who has fathered nine sons, and more daughters than most men can count.

A milder laugh interlaces his words, but his tone picks up with every subsequent word. "You would think so! Elven storytelling is too long-winded for my tastes— and halfling tales are much too short."

Sister Cardew can't help but giggle, "stop."

"I've seen you sneaking around, trying to dig up 'Percival's Perfectly Potent Puns' out from my office—"

She looks pleased with herself, smirking, "if you would have read my request to obtain a copy on my own terms, I never would have needed to make a duplicate."

"Now who's being reckless?" He smirks, warning, "it's bad enough that you've let me know one of your weaknesses. You're going to give Richard ideas—"

"You have no idea how much I would prefer it to more talk of lifting, or fighting. Brother Anscham," she glances to you, "what do you think makes brewing tea so difficult?

There is a very silly grin spreading across the woman's face. If you weren't mistaken, you'd think she's attempting to make a joke. Struggling to not fire back something witty, you humor the attempt, and merely ask, "what?"

You've never seen Sister Cardew look so pleased.

"It has a steep learning curve."

>A] Groan.
>1] That was terrible, and you can out-do her. (Feel free to write-in anything you might find more amusing.)
>2] That was terrible— and you aren't really amused. Tactfully steer the conversation back to something light, while you pass the rest of the afternoon.

>B] You haven't (possibly ever) had pleasant, normal human company— let alone been given the chance to really enjoy it.
>1] Permit yourself to enjoy the joke, keep yourself restrained, and try to deliver something witty in return.
>2] You share a love of language, especially puns, and are happy to listen to your companions. Let yourself laugh a little.

>C] Write-in.

>>4133713
>>B] You haven't (possibly ever) had pleasant, normal human company— let alone been given the chance to really enjoy it.
>>1] Permit yourself to enjoy the joke, keep yourself restrained, and try to deliver something witty in return.
>>2] You share a love of language, especially puns, and are happy to listen to your companions. Let yourself laugh a little.

I see no reason why we can't do both! Engage in a pun war.

>>4133713
>>B] You haven't (possibly ever) had pleasant, normal human company— let alone been given the chance to really enjoy it.
>2] You share a love of language, especially puns, and are happy to listen to your companions. Let yourself laugh a little.

>>4133716
+1

>>4133716
yeah, lets see what witticisms our QM can come up with :^)

>>4133716
>>4133737
>>4134002
>>4134003
(Pun war and actually enjoying people's company? What bizarro Catalyst is this? Jk. Vote is locked. Writing as soon as possible!)

>>4134933
A laugh escapes you. Not a pained, forced attempt at normalcy. Nothing in the way of awkward fidgeting or coughing in disdain.

You actually laugh, bending slightly at the waist, grinning to Sister Cardew. It feels phenomenal, warm in all the right ways, and no one in your company seems to mind.

She's stunned, obviously pleased beyond measure, and folds her hands neatly.

While her guard is down, you make a counter-attack. "I must prof-fess, Sister. Though you have been a remarkable tea-cher—"

Father Friedrich is happy to groan, grinning through his mustache, "these are tea-rrible."

Another light laugh escapes you, through your scolding. "I fear that for all of your *teachings*, I am *straining* to not *leaf* at these jokes—"

Sister Cardew loses her composure, snorting and setting her mug down. "Stop, please. You will get a *lukewarm* reception to these, at best."

You bow your head, grinning and inviting her to out-do your amateur attempts.

"You're giving her an offer she can't *infuse*," Father Friedrich chuckles, leaning back and setting his own cup aside.

"I think you've infused me for someone else," she grins, "but this discussion is getting quite heated. For all of your flowery speech, Richard, I think you might need to cool down. It's a common miscon*sip*tion that you can milk these jokes for all they're worth—"

"M-Mercy," you beg, trying to contend with your face and sides aching. You're so unused to laughing in any capacity that the motion already has you in a little pain.

"*Loose*-en up a little, Richard," the priest next to you elbows you slightly, enough to get you back upright. Both of the clergy in your company are battling to not rival your own laughter, as he continues, "you need to learn to *blend* the rules a little!"

"You *are* cheating—!" You accuse through a little more laughter, "while you may be a righteous *reader*, Father Friedrich, you are surely only lifting puns you— ahah, know from other authors—!"

Feigning hurt, grinning ear to ear, the priest points to himself. "Those books have a lot of *sedimental* value to me! Besides— you think I wouldn't come out *writing*, with a contest like this?"

Sister Cardew has to fight through her giggles to fire back, "not your best work. What's the matter? Feeling your PAGE?"

There's a long pause. You gather yourself, only to hear the priest unleash the worst pun you've heard yet.

"That's on a READ to know basis!"

(1/2)

>>4135019
An hour, maybe more, passes by as the rain rages on outside. It's scarcely heard over everyone's collective laughter.

Cyril arrives at some point, alone, and alarmed beyond all reason. Father Friedrich is doubled over, an arm wrapped around your shoulders, trying and failing to prop you up. Sister Cardew has her back to you both, shoulders heaving with repressed giggles as she tries to regain her composure.

The blonde abruptly runs into the room, initially thinking you must be hurt. Still slick with rain, his uncovered arms are at your side, righting you and asking as you struggle to breathe, "what the fuck is going on—?!"

>A] "I was better getting to know my *aqua*intances. There is a real *fish*shue, though. *Watery* going to do about the Storm?"

>B] "Don't rain on our fun, Cyril. You're interrupting the *flow* of the conversation. After all the *wet*ting we've had to do, you *fish* you could join in!"

>C] "Your tena*sea*ty is commendable. I may have been irrespon*ship*ble to have asked you to leave, but I'm glad you got the o-perch-tuna-ty to see Elena!"

>D] Write-in.

>>4135028
>>C] "Your tena*sea*ty is commendable. I may have been irrespon*ship*ble to have asked you to leave, but I'm glad you got the o-perch-tuna-ty to see Elena!"

This gives me life, Alaric

>>4135082
+1 life

>>4135028
>>C] "Your tena*sea*ty is commendable. I may have been irrespon*ship*ble to have asked you to leave, but I'm glad you got the o-perch-tuna-ty to see Elena!"

>>4135082
>>4135577
>>4135644
(I am off of work for the rest of the weekend and can write like a machine if we get the votes rolling in! Barring an event Sunday night (EST) I'm totally free. Let's do this!

C gang rise up.

Vote is locked, writing now.)

>>4136592
Clutching at your sides, you manage to pull your hands away to clutch onto Cyril's shoulder. "Your tena*sea*ty is commendable," you reply, meeting the blonde's icy-blue eyes.

The orbs have a little more life in them than usual, though he remains stone-faced and silent.

"I may have been irrespon*ship*ble to have asked you to leave, but—" the edges of your lips quirk up. Fighting to regain your composure, you deliver the silliest joke you can muster.

"I'm glad you got the o-perch-tuna-ty to see Elena!"

Cyril remains still as stone. Sister Cardew doubles over, silently shaking with repressed laughter. Father Friedrich goes to her side, sniggering while glancing to the blonde in front of you. The rain-soaked priest pulls back, freeing your arms and allowing you to replace your hands and arms around your sides. Fighting a knot working against the embrace, through a tears of laughter, you seem to be the only person in your company with the capacity to openly laugh.

It takes a few minutes to calm down. A thin smirk makes its way over Cyril's face, by the time you're done.

"Thanks." The grin is in his voice, as he remains cool and collected. He's tactful for once, thumbing to the closed windows, "the rain is lettin' up— and I figured you'd come houndin' me."

It was impossible to hear over everyone's collective mirth, but as you listen more closely, it would seem that the rain has nearly stopped. It's a faint drizzle at most, pattering against the side of the Storm shutters. Righting yourself, breathing hard, you manage to straighten up and smooth out your robes. "Father Friedrich was all but ready to come after you—"

"You missed it," the church leader sighs, wiping a few tears away, "we needed to ask you something."

You manage your usual frown, glancing to Cyril. "Have you ever heard of 'The Pit'?"

The blonde is saddling a number of bags over his shoulder, already moving to leave. The slight smile that was working across his face is gone as soon as it came. "Thieves and bastards. Got a literal pit in the center of the place. Worst dive bar in the country," he explains, before pausing.

A pained, dry laugh escapes him. With a little madness in his eyes, the priest declares, "it's the only one I can think of with a worse reputation than you!"

You know he's dreading every second you'll be gone, and fought Father Friedrich tooth and nail to not accompany you at all.

The road to Calunoth is half a week away, in fair weather. You'll surely have Time to make things up to your companions.

(Options in next post.)

>>4136680
>(These are not mutually exclusive, but you can safely assume that the more Time you spend with one individual, the more results you'll get.)

>A] Try to get to know Father Friedrich. You won't be traveling with him in Calunoth proper, but his alliance and wisdom is invaluable. You want to try to study your Relic a little more as well, and he shared its ability with you in combat.

>B] Continue your work with Sister Cardew— in the healthiest way you can. She can educate you on worship of the Gods compared to your own studies, be it through her own experiences or through her books.

>C] Go out of your way to befriend Cyril. As a priest of Flesh, an outsider to the Church and a real father, he might have more to him than meets the eye. He might be able to reveal more information regarding Calunoth's underbelly to you, too.

>D] Write-in.

>>4136690
>A] Try to get to know Father Friedrich. You won't be traveling with him in Calunoth proper, but his alliance and wisdom is invaluable. You want to try to study your Relic a little more as well, and he shared its ability with you in combat.
We're traveling with Sister Cardfu, and learning about the underside of Calunoth doesn't seem too pertinent, considering we're leaving it. Father Chungus will be a good ally.

>>4136690
>>B] Continue your work with Sister Cardew— in the healthiest way you can. She can educate you on worship of the Gods compared to your own studies, be it through her own experiences or through her books.

>A] Try to get to know Father Friedrich. You won't be traveling with him in Calunoth proper, but his alliance and wisdom is invaluable. You want to try to study your Relic a little more as well, and he shared its ability with you in combat.

I would like to ask Cardew what her take on the relic is.

>>4136700
I second that question

>>4136697
>>4136700
>>4137412
(Killing me with these nicknames lol. Vote is locked here, can incorporate all of these for sure. Writing now!)

>>4138025
Assisting Cyril with everyone's equipment, reading the palfreys, and calming Ray's nerves takes the better part of the morning. Getting back on the road at midday, having escaped from any further watchful eyes, you and your company are greeted by suspiciously cloudy skies.

The road is muddied, and your horse's saunter is insufficient for the urgency of your mission. Storm's wrath appears to have flared up in full, for the charred trees you pass by on occasion, and the rumble of more devastation far off on the horizon.

You utter more prayers to the God of Tempest than usual. Asking such a temperamental deity for His calm is only to be expected, especially as a traveler, but your conviction is even more warranted.

The cloudy skies and dimmed sunlight continue, for all your hours on the road. The ill-maintained path takes you by countless ruins, of forgotten civilizations. Strange archtitecture appears infinitely more advanced than your own people's, but your untrained eye doesn't linger too long on the matter. Compared to your best point of reference— the incredible structures of Ostedholm— these are recent additions to the country, at best. The decaying, mossy stone is littered throughout dense forest on all sides, obscuring Beorward's high walls eventually from view.

The holy city of Flesh is now missing its Father, who has never looked happier to lead your company. Far behind him is Sister Cardew, who has somehow managed to read while riding side-saddle. It looks horrifically uncomfortable, though she appropriately remains in good spirits. Cyril is more than eager to tease her and offer constant distractions from his position at the rear of your group, finding ways to keep his mind occupied without belittling you any further. You ride to the front, Ray keeping a noble pace at your side. You try to not worry for your boy, who is well-rested, and obviously delighted by all the exercise.

Father Friedrich is riding high on his copper-colored steed, painting a gallant picture. He outfitted himself for further travel before your departure, with a longer, hooded cloak that billows with the slightest of motions. The other item about his neck, of a single needle upon red string, is being idly toyed with as he keeps the pace with only a single hand at the reins.

It's sufficient to merely have the man's company, as extended conversation seems ill-advised while on the road. He offers you a few smiles, obviously delighted to see you doing so well. You fire fewer frowns as the hours goes by.

The priest cheerfully breaks the silence, pointing, "see that archway over there?"

"Yes?" Its composition is horrific, almost as if it was pieced together out of rubble.

"I'm sure this was before you were born—"

"You would be surprised."

"Oh?" he smirks.

Relieved that he legitimately didn't know your date of birth, you remark, "I passed my twenty-fifth Worship under your watch. The last Setting Moon, on the second, actually—"

(1/3)

File: Forest Ruins.jpg (337 KB, 1920x1047)

337 KB JPG

>>4138112
"Is that so!" He predictably seems surprised. Apologetic, but he recovers quickly enough, smirking, "should be having a few sons of your own, at your age!"

You give him a look that stops the accusation in its tracks.

He sheepishly continues, "you're young enough to be my grandson."

Raising an eyebrow is the best you can manage, as you all navigate through a particularly rough patch of soil and rock.

"When I was your age," he muses, gesturing back towards the ruin you've already long passed, "a band of my men fought of two hundred imps on this fucking road."

You balk. "Incredible." A pause, as you recall, "you had mentioned your first invocation to Flesh was not— not until your first wife—"

A flex, and a hard laugh greets you in reply. "You're sharp! This was back in 571—"

Marveling at his health, your jaw practically drops. You make a mental note that he's at least 60 years of age, more likely 65.

Before you can comment, he puts up a finger. "Don't you dare tell a soul."

With a smirk, you tease, "do *not* ask me to make a promise I can't keep—"

He laughs, visibly threatening you, you frown, and there's a proper explanation. "We were together when I was sprier than *even you,* boy." Sincerely nodding to him, he laughs even harder. "You should have seen me! Us! My sweet Isouda— there was a terrible trend in names at the Time, but never you mind— she could cleave the head off of a demon with a single swing! Her sword— my shield— and everything I could get my hands on!"

"You are something of a shield yourself, Father Friedrich. Your skill in combat is legendary," you remind the man sincerely, as you both keep stride.

"Well. It's a long tale," he muses.

"I think I can make the Time," you grin.

A broad smile greets you back.

You're regaled with confirmation of a great number of myths that circulate around the Father of Flesh, over the rest of the afternoon. In addition to the story of an outbreak in the wilderness, through which several hundred demons beset Beorward, you hear the rest through your first rest.

Allegedly, the outbreak took place deep within the woods between Beorward and Wearmoor. In the midst of the famine, a great number of starving men and women had turned, and gathered under the banner of a greater demon. Father Friedrich, and his wife (a former priestess of Flesh), were working together under the prior Father of Flesh. Their band was sent out, to only deduce the severity of the outbreak, and were caught in the thick of things. Utilizing the ruins for cover, they launched a covert operation, to take advantage of their homeland to overwhelm their opponents through cunning more than brute force.

(2/3)

>>4138115
Into the evening, you're reassured with claims that the priest is a master of all known weapons. It matches the extensive training in rudimentary and more advanced weapons, granted to you over the last two months. He supervises your practice with mace and spears at each rest, promising that you are aching well into the last of the night.

You're informed, as you collapse onto the damp grass and soil for a few blessed moments, that your mentor is the leading researcher in the country regarding weapon *advancements*. Things such as "explosives," "liquid flame," and "cross-bows" are at the pinnacle of his interest. He refuses to elaborate on any of them, despite your suspected knowledge regarding similar weaponry.

Mention of your venture into the ruins, tasteless as it is over supper and camp, is greeted with his raised eyebrows. Almost more than his fascination with instruments of destruction, the war strategist has a penchant for maps and cartography. Though your expedition into the ruins clearly fascinates him, he refuses to discuss the matter further.

The subject is quickly changed, as he's seemingly been at work, trying to plot more of the countryside, and claims to have visited most of Corcaea's wilderness.

"It's been years since I've had an excuse to leave Beorward," he confesses.

The dishes are put away and cleaned, tents put up, the horses tied and ready to sleep.

"Good night, Richard," Cyril coos, firing you a ridiculous grin before firmly closing his tent.

"Blessed be the Night," you try to offer, to both him and Sister Cardew.

"Blessed be the Dream," she yawns, making no motion to sleep.

There are more questions on your mind than ever. As everyone winds down for the night, you pray that in the coming days, you'll have the opportunity to address them all.

>A] You're happy to have Father Friedrich's company, and will ensure that you get more Time to speak tomorrow. Your questions regarding the Relic, and your work with Sister Cardew can absolutely wait an extra day, while you enjoy the countryside with your mentor.

>B] You're comfortable broaching more discussion with the man in the coming days. You'll give Harriet some of your Time tomorrow, and make sure she's doing alright.

>C] Father Friedrich will surely be irritated, as you need to keep your strength up, but stay up awhile anyways. He'll never agree to losing sleep in front of anyone...
>1] So sneak by Father Friedrich's tent when Sister Cardew, Ray and Brother Trebbeck have fallen asleep. (A roll will be required.)
>2] Discreetly try to stay up with Sister Cardew, for some late-night reading and writing. (A roll will be required.)

>D] Write-in.

>>4138117
>>A] You're happy to have Father Friedrich's company, and will ensure that you get more Time to speak tomorrow. Your questions regarding the Relic, and your work with Sister Cardew can absolutely wait an extra day, while you enjoy the countryside with your mentor.

>>4138117
>B] You're comfortable broaching more discussion with the man in the coming days. You'll give Harriet some of your Time tomorrow, and make sure she's doing alright.

>>4138117
>>B] You're comfortable broaching more discussion with the man in the coming days. You'll give Harriet some of your Time tomorrow, and make sure she's doing alright.

>>4138128
(Appreciate the vote mate, these are pretty mutually exclusive though so)
>>4138140
>>4138146
(Locking here with the majority vote for B! Writing now.)

File: Early morning.jpg (492 KB, 1920x974)

492 KB JPG

>>4138154
"It's a blessing, Father Friedrich—"

"Oh?"

"For us to share in even more freedom. Outside of the city, no less."

"Get some rest," he smirks.

"Thank you. You do the same."

You sleep soundly, beneath the canopy of your own tent.

No one visited you, in the darkness, and it doesn't last for long.

Ray makes a point to drop himself on your feet, in the middle of the night, waking up next to you like a puppy the following morning. With your legs numb, confused and bleary, you look to Cyril. "Cyril, why are you in here—?"

"Good mornin' to you too, Dick."

You're awake enough to frown, yawning, "good morning—"

"Thought I'd get you up first. Sure does take long enough."

A groan, sitting upright, and a few commands to get Ray up and to the side. Working some blood back into your calves and feet, you mutter, "I do appreciate it."

The blonde looks to you, amused beyond all reason. "Nice nightcap."

It's the one Father Wilhelm gave you, with gold-work and a number of assorted animals. You adjust it, smirking to the blonde, "kind of you to notice."

He moves to sweep it off your head, while you dodge the motion effortlessly. A quick match breaks out between the two of you, to knock off each other's hats (his is stupider), before the priest relents.

"Alright! You're up, then?"

"Yes. Thank you, again—"

He's already out the tent, with a wave over his shoulder.

You emerge into a beautiful sunrise. Dew clings to overgrown grass in every direction, for the discreet campsite you all made the night before. You scan the treeline, delighted to see Cyril has yet to wake anyone else in your company. "Fred's out running," he hisses to you, while you move to dip away from the tents.

You pause, merely nodding in reply. "Would you help Ray with breakfast, then?"

A roll of his eyes, a wave of his hand. "Sure. Go on!"

Light picks up in your step, the sunrise, and the edges of camp. It leaves your view rapidly, as you jog towards a clearing with a better view of the morning sun. Dew seeps into the edges of your robes, while you kneel down, looking to the horizon.

You utter a prayer to Mercy before all other Gods. Heat, light, compassion and mutual love encompasses you.

It takes the rest of the sunrise to quietly pray to all of Them. It's a trifle, as these last four months, you've found a way *every single morning, afternoon and evening* to show your devotion.

The Relic about your neck is searing, possibly from basking in the sun, but most likely as a reflection of the fire in you as you look to the start of the morning. The sky is clearing, and a beautiful day greets you.

Bowing your head, through the last of your reverence, you return to camp and mortal affairs.

Breakfast and training. The former is more painful, and you're grateful to work it off through the latter.
Taking down camp and dealing with Cyril. The latter is more painful, but you're grateful for the distraction from the former.
Animals attended to.
Back on the road.

(1/2)

>>4138242
Sister Cardew is still reading. In high spirits, you steer your palfrey adjacent to her own horse. It's difficult to make out what she's reading, but you catch a few glimpses at an old tome. Hand-written in a script unfamiliar to you, you say politely, "good morning. Hard at work, as always?"

Closing her book with equal consideration for manners, the brunette glances up to you. "Yes. Good morning, Richard. I didn't see you coming."

Looking to the road on every side, utterly devoid of anyone other than your present company, you lower your voice. Leaning over slightly, you murmur, "are you— is everything alright?"

She pulls back in alarm.

You blink, baffled. "I— what is it—?"

The woman gathers her composure, staring at you hard before resuming her horse's pace. "This is the first Time—"

"Don't," you try.

"Really," she continues, "it's sweet of you to ask. Thank you."

The priestess remains stoic, looking to the road ahead. Silent for several long minutes, she finally answers, "I've been trying to keep myself busy. Keep my mind off of it."

It doesn't seem as though she holds you personally accountable for losing so much family in Murgate.

The woman is certainly listening for your thoughts on the matter.

>A] Offer your condolences formally, tastefully, and with personal views aside. You barely know Sister Cardew, let alone her family, but you want to extend your support regardless.

>B] Ask Harriet plainly what her views are. She's stern, but to the best of your knowledge, could use someone to talk to. It might make her feel better, and you're willing to risk upsetting her further.

>C] Grief is a huge part of life in Corcaea. You want to remind Sister Cardew of your more practical views, especially given everything you've both been through.
>1] Death is nothing to be feared, especially given the piety of her family. Remind her of your personal views, as compassionately as you're able.
>2] Death is nothing to dwell on, given your current situation. Encourage the priestess to take her mind off of the matter, and redouble your efforts to keep her attention.

>D] Write-in.

>>4138244
>B] Ask Harriet plainly what her views are. She's stern, but to the best of your knowledge, could use someone to talk to. It might make her feel better, and you're willing to risk upsetting her further.
She knows that we can always make a new family, right?

>>4138244
>>B] Ask Harriet plainly what her views are. She's stern, but to the best of your knowledge, could use someone to talk to. It might make her feel better, and you're willing to risk upsetting her further.

>>4138244
>>B] Ask Harriet plainly what her views are. She's stern, but to the best of your knowledge, could use someone to talk to. It might make her feel better, and you're willing to risk upsetting her further.

>>4138252
>>4138254
>>4138262
(Locking the unanimous vote, writing now!)

>>4138331
https://youtu.be/ePXIsI1I1ds

It's fairly awkward riding alongside the significantly shorter woman, but you persevere. "If I may, Sister?"

"Sure."

"Would you wish to share your thoughts?" Determination colors your words. Alongside compassion, and a legitimate desire to understand, there's so much verve in your voice that it elicits a laugh.from your companion.

"How could I refuse?" You catch a little light on her eyes. It might be the sunrise cast over her over-sized lenses, a tint on the glass, but Harriet continues, "I don't really know where to begin."

"Do you have any— what might your views be? Everyone has a different interpretation," you politely remark, "and it may help to elaborate on your own."

"It's easy to forget," her lips thin a little, glancing up to you properly, "but I need to remind myself of your position more often."

Patiently, you take a deep breath, and offer her a weary frown. "I am not asking for you to confess, Sister—"

"I know," she quickly interrupts. "Sorry. It's— I just wanted to thank you. You don't have to do this."

"You have no issue speaking openly," you point out, "about anyone other than yourself."

She snorts, picking up the pace on her palfrey's reins. You ride adjacent with ease, waiting for the woman to elaborate.

After several long minutes, she finally manages, "I hardly knew any of them."

As the canopy overhead drapes over the road, she looks to the sky, and to the clouds on the distant horizon. You don't follow her gaze, keeping your eyes to the road, and ensuring you both travel safely.

"It's not that I feared for what might happen to them," she remarks, her voice distant.

"What did you— do you have any ideas?"

"We all came from the church. Not like you or Cyril— no offense—"

"None taken."

"But they dedicated their lives to Her. I know they're with Spirit," she sniffs. "They must be."

There's a hard line to the woman's voice, enough that you're tempted to push it. "Your conviction is unmistakable. No one could doubt their service, I'm sure."

"It's not that I don't have faith in them," she flatly states, all emotion dropping from her tone. Her face is inscrutable, as she continues, "and you know that I have complete devotion to Her. I know I'll join her, one day. Though—"

"Not any Time soon."

"Not under your watch, is that right?"

"You are attempting to change the subject once again, Sister."

"Sorry. Old habits. That's the issue, really." The priestess manages to get your attention, raising her tone enough that you take your eyes off the road. "Richard."

Her eyes are red. It doesn't look like she's been crying through the conversation, but the evidence of past outbursts is all over her face. "I need to get back at him. For what he's done. To all of us."

You grit your teeth, through a sincere and vicious smile. "Of course."

(1/2)

>>4138419
Offering a small smile back, the woman continues, "I don't know if the entire Church of Spirit has been compromised. There's been something horribly wrong. Even before the outbreak."

"What— what exactly do you mean?"

"It's felt like he's been leading us astray, and I have no idea why, Richard. It's dreadful."

Grimacing, thinking to the myriad locks the priestess brought with her to the Church of Flesh, you try to let her continue.

"It's uncertain if I have anything to go back home to," she sneers, "I've gathered a little information on the outbreak. Murgate was devastated, and only two of my brothers are still there. *Two*," she stresses.

Remembering distinctly that she had five, you are almost afraid to ask, "your sisters? Parents?"

Brow furrowing, with a quirk of her lips, she chokes out, "I don't know."

Every second you ride, everyone in your company is moving further away from their homes and families. Looking earnestly down to Sister Cardew, you can't help but ask, "why have you stayed?"

"I just told you," the trembling continues, through an otherwise straight expression.

There's an extreme urge to launch into a sermon on Vengeance, but you stop yourself. "Sister, is this— was there anything else you wished to say?"

"I'd like to stop a little earlier to rest."

You all do, less than an hour later. Cyril is irate. "This is HORSESHIT—"

"Watch your fucking language," Father Friedrich happily reminds him.

"Absolutely ridiculous, it's goin' to take us a week at this rate!"

"Imagine, an entire week of fresh air—"

"I'd rather be in a grave than to smell horses and moss for one more fu—"

"C'mere, Cyril."

"Mercy, Fred!"

"How about a little respect for Richard— what did you call me, boy?!"

You manage to steal away, to the side of camp, as the two men engage in an impromptu sparring match.

Muttering a few prayers is no mere excuse to get a little space. You implore the Gods to guide the men and women among you, for all the sacrifices they've made, not forgetting your own for an instant.

(Options in next post.)

>>4138427
>A] Give Sister Cardew a break. She's not handling her loss well, and some Time to reflect might do her a little good.
>1] Offer her a few words of sympathy, but leave it at that. You have other business to attend to.
>2] Make a concerted effort to support the grieving woman. (Write-in any suggestions, otherwise your QM will be as accommodating as possible.)

>B] Keep things brief. While you're all stopped, broach the subject of your Relic with her and Father Friedrich. You'll leave the priestess to her own devices when you're finished.

>C] You're sticking to your studies, and spinning this in her favor. Maybe encouraging your research partner of your own knowledge and ability will be a better distraction, if nothing else?
>1] Start off with your devotion to Vengeance, and save your discussion of the Relic.
>2] You're talking about all of the Gods, and no one is slowing you down. The Relic will have to wait for tomorrow.
>3] Make a point of only briefly touching on your study, and make Time for the Relic. If Sister Cardew can't keep up with you now, she's going to be a liability in the future.

>D] Write-in.

>>4138429
>>C] You're sticking to your studies, and spinning this in her favor. Maybe encouraging your research partner of your own knowledge and ability will be a better distraction, if nothing else?
>3] Make a point of only briefly touching on your study, and make Time for the Relic. If Sister Cardew can't keep up with you now, she's going to be a liability in the future.

It's less about her being a liability and more about her being so engrossed with her work, maybe this will help ground her a bit more. We all want Vengeance on Sulli and this research is what's gonna get us there. We should try to make her suffering work for her rather than against her, hate is a great motivator.

>>4138449
+1

>>4138449
>>4138457
(Going to take a brief break after this post is out but I'll still be around tonight. Probably will be able to get at least one more update out, with any luck. Thanks for the awesome session guys! Locking the vote here, writing now!)

>>4138479
Reconvening with your allies, you settle down next to Sister Cardew. She thrusts an absurd volume of stewed greens at you, which you accept without complaint. Accepting her stoic whisper, "thank you for listening to me earlier this morning," is nowhere near as easy.

"There— there is no need to thank me," you manage, making every effort to exhibit proper manners while eating in the field.

It's proving difficult. Within minutes, Cyril attempts to throw an entire dried ration of meat at you. You dodge masterfully, and catch the item behind your back. Tossing it to Ray while Father Friedrich politely applauds, he chuckles, "not bad," while you continue your own mutterings.

"Sister, is there any way that we could continue our discussion while on the road? I would never wish to jeopardize our study—"

"I don't mind the nonsense. Is something wrong?" She looks up, adjusting her glasses.

"It— I am concerned for your health. I know— I understand exactly how it feels, to become so engrossed in ones work— to lose sight of everything else. Our research," you drop your voice further, grimacing to her, "and our mutual *devotion* to Vengeance— is all in the same service."

Your grimace deepens. "You will see results— given your *righteous* motivation."

She nods back, a little more light in her eyes. They dart down to the dish in your hands, morphing her expression into a warning sneer.

Without complaint, you manage through the rest of the food, the break, more exercise, tending to the animals, and getting back on the road.

Back on your horse, who is a respectable size to match your height, you almost feel ungrateful. Though you've taken good care of the palfrey's coat, fed the beast regularly, ensured that the animal has gotten along well with Ray and is given ample rest— you simply wish you could lie down. Riding for two days back to back is something you haven't done in years. Trying to stretch, to loosen a little tension in your shoulders and sides, you find that motion is a horrific mistake.

It feels like every inch of you will never stop aching. Ray looks up, to you groaning, and lets out a helpful whine.

You go back and forth for a moment, making small sounds to each other. Your mastiff is overjoyed, whining with increasing enthusiasm at the extra attention, before Sister Cardew rides up alongside your palfrey.

She looks unbearably amused. "What exactly are you doing?"

With a straight face, you reply, "playing with my dog. Is that a problem?"

"No," she smirks. "You wanted us to attend to some business?"

"Briefly," you promise. "You've seen my journal—"

"Not recently," your counselor admits.

(1/2)

>>4138594
"It has scarcely been touched," you note, "and for the better. It— I might as well have hung myself with its pages, Sister, for all the good they have been—"

"Richard," the wave of a pen, tsk-tsk'ing, and a nod of open, empty-pages towards you.

"When did—"

"I always keep spare paper on me. We can draft something more appropriate another Time. You should mind yourself. Talk like *that* is not going to do you any good, either."

"I meant to ask you," you digress, "how my study of the Gods has corresponded to your own observations. Particularly Vengeance— though I presume your experience lies mostly with Spirit."

Calmly, patiently, and with a fair amount of bitterness in her voice, Harriet manages, "yes."

"I— I meant nothing by it, Sister. You are well-read—"

"It's fine, Richard." She's jealous, and obviously shoves down the emotion. "May I see the entry again?"

You dismount. Fetching your blood-stained, liquor-soaked, fire-tinged, wrinkled leather journal from Ray's harness takes only a moment. By the Time you get back on your palfrey, she's already paged through the entire tome, looking paler than ever. You ride ahead, catching back up to the woman and trying to quell your own worry.

"It's all wrong," she mutters.

"Please," you implore, "can we touch on— on anything? I need answers. So many people have told me that I should never have survived a single invocation—"

"You shouldn't have," a cough, as the priestess tries to maintain her composure, scrutinizing the entries more closely. "I have heard of unusual methods of invocation. There is precedent," she nods, to your bag, "such as with Dream."

It takes a moment, to register that she's referring to another one of your allies, and all of Father Wilhelm's letters on your person. "Can you— what? Please elaborate—"

"Father Wilhelm's work with Dream is what garnered him the position he now holds in Somerilde. Utilizing Dream to do the work of Spirit. Enabling his enemies to forget. It's closely guarded information," she smirks, regaining a little color in her face, "but it's not unheard of. Father Friedrich is rumored to have accomplished something similar, to heal scar tissue— but I suspect it's simply his combative prowess—"

"Wait," you stop her. She pauses, though you both continue to ride ahead. "Are you implying that my ability—"

"The way you call upon the Gods is typical," the interruption continues, as you're desperate to hear the explanation, "in most cases. The stories of your work with Mercy is anything but, of course."

The band around your finger is searing. Holding your hand tightly together, letting the heat sink into you, adoration embraces each syllable of your anxious reply. "She is Merciful."

An entirely skeptical look fires back to you. "The Gods have taken a lot from you, Richard."

"I have asked everything of Them."

"That's the issue, isn't it?"

"Pardon me?"

(Underestimated, a little over. 2/3)

>>4138598
"You know full well that no one— *no one* in their right mind would invoke Time outside of Her church—"

"Yes."

"Yet you seem to have called upon Vengeance as a young boy, and survived."

"His judgement was sorely needed." There's no remorse. Your need was dire.

"Not even Father Pevrel calls upon Him."

"Why?"

"The Church of Vengeance typically invokes against imps. There is legend of asking for His gifts against anything greater, but they're only that. Legends. Not for fear of retribution— but from what I understand— for fear of *understanding.* Do you understand?"

>A] Is this why you couldn't invoke Vengeance against Malimos?
>1] Was his experience too vast for you, a mortal, to withstand?
>2] Were the depths of his depravity too horrific for your young soul, too full of good-intentions, to endure?

>B] There is no reason why you should be incapable of wielding Vengeance properly. You've suffered through more invocations of Him than any other. Furthermore...
>1] You're no stranger to pain, suffering, death and slaughter— be it directed towards you, or by your own hand. Even if you don't always intend to harm others, or understand the full consequences, you have endured more evil than most men.
>2] You're a priest, a killer, and many other less glamorous things. You're not as naive as everyone wants to think you may be. Nothing here adds up, for all your experience.

>C] Write-in.

>>4138601
>>A] Is this why you couldn't invoke Vengeance against Malimos?
>>1] Was his experience too vast for you, a mortal, to withstand?

>>4138601
>>A] Is this why you couldn't invoke Vengeance against Malimos?
>>1] Was his experience too vast for you, a mortal, to withstand?

>>4138604
>>4138620
(Aaaaalright guys, locking here for one more update for the session! I'll still be around tonight so if we get enough votes I'll try to get at least one more update out. Writing now, though!)

>>4138697
"No," you look down to the priestess with extreme concern. "Is this why— why I couldn't invoke Vengeance against Malimos? He had lived for centuries. Was his experience too vast for— for me, a— a mortal— to withstand?"

"I believe there were a number of causes." Her brow is knit, barely visible behind broad lenses. The edges of her glasses are pushed up, as she elaborates, "that being the foremost. Yet you endured the life of Beltoro—"

"A fraction of it," you immediately correct, "which I still cannot recall in full."

"Celegwen's—"

"It was nothing," you murmur, almost too quiet to be heard, "and I still failed to know her. Spirit's work through me, alone, has *almost* always been insufficient."

"I believe that is the underlying problem," Sister Cardew replies, apologetically. "You sought to take Vengeance on this 'Malimos' without understanding him—"

"I have never needed—"

"It's unusual," she explains, interrupting without apology. "In your *training,* did you not comprehend the scope of Vengeance you gave?"

Murmuring, "I did," you don't particularly care to get into the extent of the sinners and demons you've been asked to kill. For eight years in a cell, restrained, not given a choice—

A soft, incredibly apologetic voice snaps your thoughts back to the present. "Richard."

Sister Cardew looks as if she's mortally wounded you.

Fidgeting with the ring about your finger, looking to the road ahead, you mutter, "I believe I understand."

"We don't have to talk about this."

"There is nothing more important—" you immediately fire back, still keeping your gaze distant, "than to use our experiences. To ground our study. I *know* that this all can be put to the service of something better, Sister."

There's a worried smile in her voice, as she chokes out, "right."

You continue, "I was capable of witnessing Beltoro's experiences, with their guidance. I could not withstand Celegwen's mind— yet I doubt she ever wished for me to know her. Malimos evidently bore me no ill-will— and I could not strike him down. Not with everything I had. I have enacted Vengeance against countless others— and once before, even with Flesh—"

The priestess beside you makes a sound, like she wants to interrupt. You permit her to, and immediately regret it. "I believe it was not because your actions were incomprehensible to a mortal, Richard. I think you could not strike down such a powerful demon *because he did nothing to you.*"

"That makes no sense," you immediately fire back.

"Does it," she muses, "when every other one of your targets wronged you in some way?"

Trying to quell your anger, you seethe, "the men and women brought to me in the Church of Mercy never personally wronged me. Not— not initially."

"I see."

(1/2)

>>4138791
The priestess beside you looks like she's regretting ever speaking. With an extremely deep sigh, you try to not press the issue. "I want to understand, Sister. I know we cannot hope to unravel all of this in a day—"

She snorts, and immediately looks horrified. "Mercy, I am so sorry. I didn't mean to laugh."

You give her a stony grimace, looking to the thread about her neck. The woman's holy symbol is literally thread, which she gestures to for a moment. "This all must be getting to me, too. I'm really sorry, Richard."

"It— it is fine. Please. Can we— I would appreciate it if we could move on."

A number of extremely alarming developments are revealed to you, over the course of the afternoon, through another break, and into the evening.

No clergy, any circumstances, has exhibited the drawbacks of invocation you experience without dying from the effect.
There are cases of forcing individuals to invoke the Gods, particularly in the Church of Mercy, but also with (almost always) lethal results.
The few individuals who appear to be capable of calling upon any deity without proper education, devotion and diligence tend to exhibit severe breaks in their sanity. It is not a Catalyst, but a separation from their own identity. The Church of Spirit has been largely tasked with these developments, and your congregation in Calunoth has been accused many times of being in a worse state than even these unusual individuals.

You're reminded of how you've felt after spending an extreme period of Time invoking any of the Gods. It would seem that you are either extraordinarily tolerant to the effects of invocation, or that some other phenomenon is at work. Most priests and priestesses can only call upon the Gods for a few moments at a Time. It is not uncommon for clergy who can invoke to need to do so many Times, often in rapid succession.

You're also reminded of your observations of Father Friedrich's and Father Wilhelm's invocations. Their connection to their patrons must be stronger than almost any other, yet you can't recall ever seeing them invoking for more than a few seconds.

With one exception: when you united them, through your Relic.

Late that night, Father Friedrich ducks inside of your tent with a yawn. Sister Cardew is still in her shawls, robes and glasses, wide awake despite the late hour. You take off your nightcap, glance away from Ray's sleeping form, the low candlelight and all of the papers strewn around the small space.

"Is Cyril asleep?" you whisper.

A grin, from the priest across from you. "Like a baby. What's all this?"

He closes the tent, dropping down beside you. For the first Time since the item was trusted to your possession, you've taken off your Relic, and have it set beside you for proper observation.

(Slightly over, 2/3)

>>4138792
"I attempted to look it over with Father Wilhelm, months ago," you mutter, "and with Yech before that. I don't understand it. I was hoping— praying— that we might try to understand its ability better."

The priest puts on a brave face, but hesitation creeps into the hulking figure's voice for the first Time. He looks to you with a smile, and says, "where did you want to start?"

Brow furrowed, you glance to the golden locket. Its bent swords, clasped hands, and reflective interior are still as immaculate as the first day you reformed it. The chain is still attached, the very same one you've worn for six years without fail. It used to hold the holy symbol of Mercy, and without the familiar object about your neck, you're fidgeting far worse than usual.

Sister Cardew speaks up, likely picking up on your nerves. "You wanted me to look it over, isn't that right?"

"I— I would sincerely appreciate your thoughts on the item, Sister."

"May I hold it," she asks, "by the chain?"

"Of course." you immediately reply.

"Would you object to me inspecting it more closely, then? May I hold it?"

>A] Of course, so long as she doesn't do anything to damage it.
>1] Let the priestess of Spirit scrutinize your Relic, as thoroughly as she likes.
>2] Father Friedrich is welcome to inspect it, as well.

>B] You need infinitely better justification. Your word and descriptions should be sufficient.
>1] You've done a number of (objectively) horrific things through use of this item. Tactfully explain that while you trust the people in your company, you don't want anyone accidentally getting hurt.
>2] You're seriously frightened for the item's unknown capabilities, and just don't want to risk anything. You don't care if you don't have an immediate explanation. Take the Relic, and politely explain that you just want to be careful.

>C] Write-in.

>>4138794
(Minor thing but just for clarification, last sentence should read:)

"Would you object to me inspecting it more closely, then? May I touch it?"

>>4138794
>A] Of course, so long as she doesn't do anything to damage it.
>1] Let the priestess of Spirit scrutinize your Relic, as thoroughly as she likes.
>2] Father Friedrich is welcome to inspect it, as well.

>>4139564
+1

>>4139564
>>4139691
(Got me some coffee, had a rough night's sleep so updates might be a little slower today. Can still get a couple out for sure though. Vote is locked here, writing now.)

>>4139873
"Of course." You pause, immediately clarifying, "so long as you take care to not damage it. Father Friedrich, if you wish, I would sincerely appreciate it if you could look my Relic over, as well."

Looking to each other as they simultaneously move to inspect it, there's another pause. Being a gentleman (contrary to popular belief), the priest sitting before you permits Harriet to take the item first.

With your most treasured possession in hand, absolutely no change seems to wash over the priestess. Not until she opens her lips, at least. "Father Friedrich. Would you please attempt to strike me?"

"No," he happily replies, looking between you both as if the woman is possessed. Furthermore, he snatches the item instantly out from her hands.

Sister Cardew is obviously irritated. "How am I to test its capabilities, if I have no way of confirming—"

"N-o," he repeats, though his grin is gone. Looking down to the item in hand, his brow knits with extreme concern. Glancing back up to you, he immediately asks, "it cures pain?"

"In a sense," you try to explain. "The relief is temporary."

Immediately, the priest goes through a number of motions:

Fastening the locket around his neck.
Wrapping the chain around his wrist and hand.
Securing the entire item to a ring on his left hand.
Changing the jewelry to every finger on the right.
Wearing it like a bracelet.
Draping it from his belt.
Fastening it to the clasp on his cloak.
Taking it off completely— while looking with caution towards Sister Cardew— waiting several minutes, then replacing it once again in his hand.

You look to him, curious. "Yes? Well?"

"What's wrong with you, boy?"

Your frown is extreme.

"You could have been using this, the entire Time I've been beating on you— I'm joking. Mercy, Richard, you look like I've gone and killed Ray."

Your boy is sleeping soundly next to you, still. You look up from the sleeping mastiff, back to Father Friedrich.

He's all apology. "You definitely have to hold it. That's beside the point. There's been plenty of need to use it, right?"

"I need solutions to my problems. This is not a cure for new ailments, nor is it a replacement for unseating any cause of pain."

"Is it?" Sister Cardew looks to you, a glint in her eye.

"Pardon me?"

"What's the longest period of Time you've gone while holding it?"

"Six days," you murmur, "though I was asleep. After—" your wide eyes go much wider, "after my last moments with Beltoro—"

Father Friedrich pauses, from his close inspection of the locket's faces, to look to you for an explanation.

"I came extremely close to death. It was no Catalyst— my body was at its limit, and my mind had been pushed infinitely further. I— I slept for nearly a week."

Both of the clergy in your company look to each other, dismayed and concerned. "Did it help?" Father Friedrich offers, glancing back down to your Relic. He's squinting, looking at the symbols adorning its exterior much more closely.

(1/2)

>>4139934
"I haven't the faintest idea," you honestly reply. "I have endured so much, I— it is difficult to say where my limits end and its ability began." In a quieter voice still, you finish, "the last few weeks in the ruins— Mercy— they are a bit of a blur."

Sister Cardew has not stopped the manic look in her eye. She is beginning to smile, and it's unnerving you to an extreme. Twitching your hands along each other, fussing with the ring still on one hand, you probably look like a nervous wreck in return. The priestess relents her gaze, at least, glancing to your hands before looking back to the Relic in question. "I have a suspicion. I don't suppose either of you would wish to hear my thoughts—"

"Just a minute," Father Friedrich puts up a finger. The woman frowns, but patiently waits. Scrutinizing the locket so closely, it nearly touches the tip of his nose, Father Friedrich glances over to you. "You made it like this?"

Baffled, you start, "how did you—?"

He does something strange.

The priest puts a clasped hand firmly to his chest, beaming back at you. "I had a feeling. What you did for Atticus and I—" he laughs briefly, "left a lasting impression. I suppose I would have recognized this thing, even if you didn't tell me what it was!"

Unable to conceal your need for answers, you choke out, "why— then why did you ask?"

"Did you get anything from my end?"

"What?"

The priest sheepishly continues grinning. "I felt a lot from you! So I'm curious. You're not so bad—"

Sister Cardew clears her throat. The priest sitting beside you fires her a smile that could kill. "*Sister* Cardew. You seem to be forgetting yourself. Is something the matter?"

"We can discuss what he has done all day."

You wince, intensely aware that you have done so many times before, and try to not interrupt.

"I don't think he's a fucking mind-reader—"

"We can discuss what he knows for much longer, still. He's smarter than you give him credit for."

"If you'd hold your tongue, you'd have heard me say just as much," he continues smirking.

You offer them both an appreciative glance, before averting your eyes back to the floor. For how eager both clergy are to help you, they seem almost incapable of working together.

(Options in next post.)

>>4139937
>A] Ask Sister Cardew what her bright idea is, and respectfully ask her to hold her comments until Father Friedrich is done with his scrutiny. No matter how frustrating it is for your company to tolerate each other, you're determined to make this work.

>B] Tactfully ask the priestess to excuse herself from the tent. She's interfering with your ability to work well, and your Time with Father Friedrich is being wasted. You'll reconvene...
>1] Tomorrow, separately.
>2] When you've had some Time to think over what she's suggested.
>3] ...if she's lucky. You're consulting with Father Friedrich regarding her inappropriate behavior.

>C] Plainly tell the woman to know her place. The year is 606, and you are usually a gentleman, but your mentor is absolutely in the right.

>D] Write-in.

>>4139939
>>A] Ask Sister Cardew what her bright idea is, and respectfully ask her to hold her comments until Father Friedrich is done with his scrutiny. No matter how frustrating it is for your company to tolerate each other, you're determined to make this work.

We all want to kill Sullivan remember? Get a hold of yourselves.

>>4139939
>>A] Ask Sister Cardew what her bright idea is, and respectfully ask her to hold her comments until Father Friedrich is done with his scrutiny. No matter how frustrating it is for your company to tolerate each other, you're determined to make this work.

>>4139937
>>A] Ask Sister Cardew what her bright idea is, and respectfully ask her to hold her comments until Father Friedrich is done with his scrutiny. No matter how frustrating it is for your company to tolerate each other, you're determined to make this work.

>>4139948
>>4139953
>>4140030
(Alright alright, unanimous! Locking the vote here while I have lunch, will write ASAP.)

>>4140172
Keeping your gaze fixed firmly on the floor, you firmly mutter, "get a hold of yourselves."

No one interrupts one another, for several long moments. Lifting your eyes, you see two clergy looking decidedly uncomfortable. If you weren't mistaken, you'd say they look ashamed of themselves.

They're avoiding even looking at each other. They're absolutely embarrassed.

Clearing the air, grasping the chain around your neck, you explicitly state, "this is not an instrument of war. Conflict between you two seems inevitable. I had hoped you both respected our mutual needs enough to demonstrate a little restraint—"

Father Friedrich actually starts, "really, Richard, I shouldn't have."

"There is no need. Please, save your apologies." You quickly clarify, "Though I appreciate the sentiment. Will you both— for all of our sake— for *my* sake— will you *please* make every attempt to be civil?" Dropping your voice, you reassure them both, "for the sake of Vengeance, and everything that He stands for— I need to know who I can trust. I need to know that you both are committed to our cause."

Sister Cardew looks as if she's going to say something spiteful, but manages, "yes. Of course."

Crossing his arms, Father Friedrich smirks, "is your Relic for show, then?"

Tightening your grasp on the golden chain with a frown, you ask, "excuse me?"

"I get it." He's grinning properly, now. "Go on, Sister."

With the deference to her judgement, the priestess of Spirit looks legitimately surprised. Spite shifts into a look, to you, for permission to continue speaking.

You almost groan, impatiently muttering, "go on."

"It augments your ability." She says it plainly.

You blink a few times. "You believe that it— that this is merely—"

"What you can already do. To an extent."

Glancing down, to the bent swords, the skull and heart and all other forms that seem to take shape on the surface of the item, something seems plain for you to see. "I cannot unite anyone. Not in the way that this item possesses. I— everyone leaves me. I have incited violence, and brought about—"

"Mercy," Sister Cardew happily reminds you. She's smiling. "Even if you took this from a demon. Didn't you?"

"It was given to me."

"What did she tell you?"

Despite its enormous significance, and all of your sacrifices, Idonea's last words were the only ones you ever exchanged regarding the Relic. You're certain that the priestess is trying to make a point. She's heard the archdemon's last words before, through your work with her, but your voice still falters.

(Options in next post.)

>>4140273
>A] You barely knew Idonea, but you're still grieving. She was, without question, the most influential figure that's ever come into your life.
>1] You wish you understood her better, and being reminded of the fact is like a slap in the face.
>2] You're afraid of Father Friedrich besmirching her good name, despite everything she did for you. You simply don't have the patience for another argument right now, especially not in regards to the archdemon.

>B] Your venture into the ruins was extremely traumatic.
>1] Make it clear that you want to try and stay detached. You're risking getting side-tracked, again, and don't want your emotions to get the better of your research. Respectfully insist on not repeating Idonea's dying words verbatim.
>2] Everyone in your company knows how affected you were by your foray into ruins, and you have no shame in the matter. Get into it, let yourself get choked up, and move on as soon as possible.

>C] Write-in.

>>4140276
>>B] Your venture into the ruins was extremely traumatic.
>2] Everyone in your company knows how affected you were by your foray into ruins, and you have no shame in the matter. Get into it, let yourself get choked up, and move on as soon as possible.

>>4140276
>B] Your venture into the ruins was extremely traumatic.
>2] Everyone in your company knows how affected you were by your foray into ruins, and you have no shame in the matter. Get into it, let yourself get choked up, and move on as soon as possible.

>>4140310
>>4140412
(Locking the vote to get one more update out tonight! Writing now.)

>>4140907
You might as well still be at the bottom of the world, clasping hands with a dying Mother. "Take it. Use it."

You haven't seen Yech in almost half a year. "Grow."

Even Remigius had something to teach you, for all of her insanity. "Feel."

Giving Beltoro your restraint came without hesitation. "Know."

It cost you more than your mind, and it still shows, to this day. Your breath hitches, brow furrowed, "show the world everything that— that we have worked for. Heal their pain—" you choke out, with the last of your composure, "*Father*. Heal *yourself*. Show them— show them— *Mercy*—"

Ray wakes up just for long enough to sit alongside you, and to let you bury your face in his fur. In the darkness, you don't need to see the waning candlelight, or the extreme concern written over Father Friedrich's face.

Less than six months ago, you were tied down, at the hands of a succubus, declaring that people like you had no need for pride. It doesn't really matter that the clergy in your company see. The priest beside you does, eventually, put a hand to your shoulder.

Sniffing, without any shame, you wipe off your face and look red-eyed to everyone sitting in the small, uncomfortably hot tent. No one has made a single move to leave your side. Almost in a whisper, voice hoarse, you manage, "I have lived up to Idonea's dying words in every conceivable way. I have *earned* the right to wield my Relic. It does not merely possess my own ability. It never has."

Father Friedrich looks down to you, until you straighten back upright in full. Your voice is tilting into disarray, as you rant, "there is no way for us to know what ability she carried— but I will *not* sit idly by and listen while you trivialize our sacrifices. Mercy entrusted me— She has *always* come to me—" your voice is threatening to break again, "and She would not subject me to so much suffering merely to make a POINT."

No one immediately replies. The hand on your shoulder simply tightens. It seems inappropriate to look down to the Father of Flesh, but he's offering you a sad smile without another word.

Unfolding her hands, offering you a white handkerchief, Sister Cardew finally clears her throat again.

You are entirely too exhausted to care, and simply glance down to her, feeling the bags under your eyes. "What," you drag, not caring if you sound like a mess.

"You're right," she frowns, tucking away the item, apology written all over her face. She seems to be honoring your prior request to save apologies as well, and holds her tongue.

A proper scowl works its way back over your face. It's a lot more comfortable than losing your composure, and you start to sink back into your own closest approximation to normalcy. "I am fully aware that none of this is news to you, Sister. What was your point?"

"You're right that we have no way of knowing Idonea's ability. Not from her— but we know with certainty that she kept the Relic from your gaze before."

(1/2)

>>4141066
Its initial appearance was so devastatingly radiant, you could not look upon it without having invoked Mercy for protection. The Goddess saved your sight— and your symbol has never looked the same way since.

"What is your point?"

The priestess adjusts her glasses as she looks between you, Father Friedrich, and Ray. "You've always asked me to be transparent, but I believe this crosses well over—"

Father Friedrich interrupts, agreeing, "that you already have!"

He motions, very gently (by normal standards) along your shoulder. It's obviously to get a better look at you, but he also helps you straighten your posture back upright. "Do you really want to listen to this?"

Exhaustion laces every syllable. "I have endured far more Spirit than this before."

Harriet speaks to you softly, as if it will weaken the blow. "Idonea kept the Relic from your sight, and seems to have intentionally obscured as much of your work as possible. My behavior this evening has been appalling. Father Friedrich clearly was not himself. I don't want to make any wild accusations, but I believe—" she dodges the obvious, insisting, "I still have a great deal of research to conduct. You're right, Richard. There's something more here. Mercy would never have sent you into that Abyss without good reason."

A little more life comes into your voice, with the weight of Yech's flask against your chest. "There was more than my Relic, at the end of the world— Mercy, Father Friedrich, is that necessary—"

Father Friedrich pats on your shoulder, much more firmly now. "They've been waiting for you."

He's referring to your congregation. The hour is weighing on you more heavily by the second. Reminded of long ride ahead of you tomorrow, and still fairly upset, you can't resist the urge to press against the ache on your shoulder.

Relief immediately blossoms, through the dull pressure. It winds through your silence and restraint—

You're snapped back to the present.

"Richard," the priest at your side firmly states.

"Yes?"

"Are you going to be alright? I can stay up a bit longer. Get you a drink. Share one. Whatever! Something to get your head on straight."

Sister Cardew gives you a look that says it wouldn't be a bad idea, apology still written all over her.

(Options in next post.)

>>4141075
>A] You need to get some rest. You have a long ride ahead of you tomorrow.
>1] You're doing better than you ever have. You're fine. Really!
>2] It will take more than a few months of rest and exercise to mend your wounds, and you won't start lying about it now. Still, you'd rather try to sleep than to push yourself any further.

>B] You'd sincerely appreciate the offer, and can live with a little weariness. A drink won't kill you.

>C] You'd appreciate the offer, and would like to not broach the subject of your Relic again anytime in the near future. There's good reason you've barely examined the item, let alone given it proper thought.

>D] You'd appreciate Father Friedrich's support, no more scrutiny over the Relic for some Time, and would like to ask Sister Cardew if she could stay up for a short while longer with you both. You all need each other.

>E] Write-in.

>>4141080
>>D] You'd appreciate Father Friedrich's support, no more scrutiny over the Relic for some Time, and would like to ask Sister Cardew if she could stay up for a short while longer with you both. You all need each other.

We all need to get along dammit.

>>4141080
>D] You'd appreciate Father Friedrich's support, no more scrutiny over the Relic for some Time, and would like to ask Sister Cardew if she could stay up for a short while longer with you both. You all need each other.

>>4141108
>>4141120
(Hey guys, I've had an unbelievably rough week and barely slept last night. I am leaving the vote open, and will likely be able to update tomorrow after getting some rest. Thanks for being the best, all of you!)

File: Richard and Ray v Orgoth (...).jpg (478 KB, 2856x2240)

478 KB JPG

(Consolation prize for no update yesterday. Hearkening back to the ruins, and the fight against Orgoth! Lost a bet so it's traditional art, hope you guys enjoy.)

>>4141108
>>4141120
(Locking the vote here. Had some connection issues with 4chan, but update should be out shortly. Writing now!)

>>4142613
"No— I— I would appreciate it. Would— Sister Cardew, would you mind joining us, just for a few more minutes?"

"Of course."

The priest at your side squeezes on your shoulder one more Time, before promising, "I will be RIGHT back."

As he ducks out of the tent, letting the cool evening air in, you make every effort to relax. A weary smile is all Sister Cardew offers you.

Only a few moments pass before the Father of Flesh returns. He has an exotic flagon, decorated with ornate designs. The paint is in hues of burgundy and brown, matching the three wooden mugs he's effortlessly carrying in the opposite arm. Uncorking the colossal bottle of liquor, you're greeted with a pungent, smokey scent even from several feet away. The man settles down with a broad grin, offering you the drink first.

"Mercy, Father Friedrich," you mutter, accepting the cup of unusually potent beer, "you really didn't have to."

"Of course I did," he's already drinking, raising his eyebrows over the top of his mug back to Sister Cardew. "Wouldn't want it to go to waste. Here," the third cup is handed over.

The priestess doesn't hesitate to take it, visibly impressed.

Raising your mug, raising your voice, you garner your company's full attention.

"To progress— and to camaraderie."

Harriet's eyebrows disappear for a moment, while she raises her mug in return.

Father Friedrich knocks his own mug against the side to yours, and even to hers, laughing. "I can drink to that."

To your delight, it seems that the drink is some mixture of whiskey and beer. Heady, with a thick foam and lingering feeling of smoke, you have no pain to speak of beyond a slight burn in the back of your throat. "This must have originated outside of Corcaea."

"It's other-worldly," Harriet distantly smiles.

The drink is devastatingly luxurious, seemingly better over Time. Not a single complaint is raised, as you all silently enjoy each other's company, and while away the better part of an hour.

Father Friedrich refuses to let your cup go empty, topping off the beverage several times. With a moderate buzz in the back of your mind, you're infinitely too warm for the high collar, wool and linen adorning you. Neither of your companions seem bothered by the flush in your face, or to you unfastening a top button.

Father Friedrich is now intensely smirking, and breaks the silence. "Feeling any better?"

The world is a lot softer, your hands have stilled, and it seems that you haven't fidgeted in at least a few minutes. "I believe so." He moves to refill your mug, and you politely wave him away, tugging again on your collar. The gold chain feels heavier than usual, and much hotter. "I— I would deeply appreciate it— if we could abstain from discussing my Relic. At— at least in the near future."

Shifting the edge of a shawl, obviously warm as well, Sister Cardew offers a smile. "I'm really sorry, Richard. I need to be more mindful—"

(1/2)

>>4142628
"No," you softly interrupt, "Sister. My only complaint is— to be frank, your inability to cooperate with Father Friedrich is absurd. *I* will be fine— but I need you both to get along. We all *need* to get along."

Looking to you with equally sheepish expressions, your companions then glance to each other.

The man at your side raises his mug, reluctantly grinning. "It's the yeast I can do."

You bury your face in your mug.

Nearly spitting out her drink, the brunette jokingly sneers back, "really? Is that the best you can do?"

"I am trying," the priest happily reminds her, "but I need your cooperation."

Raising her cup to both of you with a straight face, Sister Cardew swears, "very well. We'll come back to it. When you're ready, Richard." In a much quieter voice, speaking into her drink, she finishes, "I don't want to let either of you down again."

Whiling away the rest of the evening is quieter and more peaceful than you could hope for. Word play aside, there's no bickering or banter to speak of.

You nestle next to Ray in a battle against sleep. Not even a periodic twitch can outdo the potency of a good drink, and significantly mellower company. Father Friedrich politely excuses himself, asking Sister Cardew if she'd speak with him tomorrow afternoon. They tactfully avoid any explicit mention of (what you're sure) is further business discussion.

You're too at ease to care. They bow out of the tent after no more than an hour, with the priest sweeping up everyone's mugs and bidding you good night.

A gold threaded nightcap gets good use, as you settle in for much less sleep than you likely need.

No one visits you in the darkness. It's a good thing, as you've got all the company in the waking world that you could hope for.

-----

>A] You still have business to attend to while on the road.
>1] Given your limited social skills, a few days is grossly insufficient to get to know Father Friedrich— but you're determined to try.
>2] You'll continue your work with Sister Cardew, in regards to studying the pantheon. Stress that you want to keep things light.

>B] Your allies are invaluable, but you're deeply introverted and need some quiet reflection. Spend the rest of the trip keeping mostly to yourself. Gather your mental fortitude before plunging into Calunoth.

>C] Write-in.

>>4142630
>>A] You still have business to attend to while on the road.
>2] You'll continue your work with Sister Cardew, in regards to studying the pantheon. Stress that you want to keep things light.

>>4142630
>A] You still have business to attend to while on the road.
>1] Given your limited social skills, a few days is grossly insufficient to get to know Father Friedrich— but you're determined to try.

>>4142630
>A] You still have business to attend to while on the road.
>2] You'll continue your work with Sister Cardew, in regards to studying the pantheon. Stress that you want to keep things light.

>>4142635
>>4142644
>>4142834
(I think we can work with all of this, vote is locked. Writing now!)

>>4143689
https://youtu.be/xYUJ0LjRpm0

The next morning, after a short battle against Cyril (your nightcap remains untouched), having washed your face off in a nearby stream and taken care of Ray, you arrive bright-eyed in front of Sister Cardew's tent.

The priestess' hair is even more untamed, first thing in the day. She makes no show of fussing with it, blearily looking to you without her glasses. "Prayer?"

"Yes," you explain. "I was hoping— I would like to express myself properly. You are extremely well-read—"

She yawns, rubbing her eyes as you continue.

Gesturing to the sunrise, you grin, "there is no need for invocation, not— not when They can hear of our devotion. I want to *know*, Sister." Your grin falters, as you earnestly murmur, "I need to know. We have all day. I have Time— for once in my life. I want to make the most of it."

Fitting her spectacles on quickly, smoothing out her hair, the priestess firmly promises, "alright."

Your smile is back in full. It feels foreign, and you probably look a little silly.

It's hard to care, when you're reassured, "give me just a few minutes. I'll get what we need."

Taking an extra minute to attend to Ray, "you've been a very good boy, and I need you to behave yourself—" while seeing to Cyril looking after him, "please ensure that he gets plenty of attention," you are waved away by the blonde.

"He'll be fine!" Cyril swears, fully aware that you'll kill him if he missteps.

You casually wave back, over your shoulder.

Sister Cardew emerges from the tent, with several armfuls of supplies. You take them immediately, making no attempt to hide your enthusiasm. A stack of kindling, ample cooking material, parchment, pens, an ornate knife and several candles are easily cradled in your long limbs.

A short walk away from camp, you're asked to set everything at the clearing beside a nearby stream. Over the trickle of water and smell of amber flowers, Sister Cardew politely asks if you'd like to learn about Storm.

The God of Tempest has personally visited you twice. There's lightning in your soul, for how earnestly you accept a handful of kindling from the priestess.

"We stoke the flame in our hearts," she slowly states, as if struggling to remember the words. Orange embers lick and dance before your deft administrations, letting the fire rise. Neatly arranged sticks join the tinder, while Sister Cardew continues, "neither wind nor rain will snuff out—"

She sneezes, as a cloud of pollen seems to undo her composure.

"Bless you," you politely murmur, bringing the fire to a roar.

"Thank you," congestion muffles her syllables, but she perseveres, stating, "Storm may be a patron of travelers, but anyone can show Him their devotion. Help me with this," the priestess gestures, getting together a large collection of cooking supplies.

(1/3)

>>4144037
The next hour or so is spent keeping the flame stoked to a roar, while you ready a small meal. Herbs and grains waft away from the crackling wood, and the chirping of birds in the treeline. Through the preparation, you both work silently.

"You do not need to dig into the soil, your soul or your home to show Her your respect," Harriet reminds you, finishing stirring a pot. "Agriculture is respected by the humblest of our people. She asks for very little, Richard, and can give everything in return."

Eating breakfast together, over mutual prayer, you're asked to plant a few remaining seeds before clearing out the fire and dishes. Kneeling in the soil, with a little dirt under your nails, a piece of parchment is being presented to you.

Glancing up, it's hard not to remark, "you don't want to waste a moment, do you?"

"We serve Time at every hour of the day. I have spent my *life* in service to Spirit, " she actually smiles down to you, "so don't think I won't play favorites. You might want to sit down."

Along with the parchment, a quill (she insists that the white feathers are necessary) and a firm surface to write against, the priestess happily instructs you. The morning whiles away, as you repeatedly scratch out archaic renditions of Spirit's word. Sister Cardew is delighted to show you a more comfortable way to hold the quill, a few techniques to steady your trembling hand, and gives you ample breaks to avoid any soreness.

Ten or more sheets of parchment later, feeling stiff from sitting for so long, you're delighted to hear, "that is more than enough. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes," you stretch, rising, and take a quick breath in.

A hand goes to your back. To your dismay, it's accompanied by more uncertainty. "I have no idea if Father Friedrich has made any changes to the routine. Follow after me, alright?"

Pulling instinctively away, a nervous laugh follows after your intense movement.

"Sorry. Richard. I'm over here."

Pulling your gaze away from the dirt, it's obvious that Harriet is dismayed as well. "You should ask Father Friedrich about this, the next chance you're able." The priestess is making a ridiculous pose, bending slightly at the knees and elbows. Her hands are stiff, it's unnatural, and reminds you vaguely of the movements you've been instructed in while training in unarmed combat with the Father of Flesh.

"I intend to," you murmur, duplicating her motions regardless.

You both nervously work through a number of slow, controlled motions. Standing only a few feet apart, your hands are tight, moving through the air in the closest approximation to Sister Cardew's. She's fastened some of her robes in a knot, trying to make her motions more visible. "The order and motion isn't as important," she explains, "as the effort. Devotion to the body—"

"Is devotion to the soul," you finish.

(2/3)

>>4144038
With the afternoon sun climbing high, you eventually are permitted to collapse onto the dirt and grass. The scent of overgrown life, still clinging with dew, is welcome respite from so much tense motion.

"Go ahead and stay down," Sister Cardew huffs, catching her breath. "I'm getting us some water."

Eyes closed, it seems as if only a moment passes. A throat clears above you. "Richard."

Exhausted, you look to the woman perched above you. She drops down beside you, plainly stating, "I didn't want to startle you. Here."

A water skin is thrust at you, as she mutters, "I spoke with Cyril and Father Friedrich. They don't mind us taking a little more Time."

It's difficult to believe. The doubt must be plain across your face, for the laugh it elicits.

"Alright. Cyril was a little irritated. This is too important to not give our due diligence to, though."

"Thank you."

"Go ahead and sit up. Get comfortable. I want you to do a little quiet interpretation with me, alright?"

Shifting your robes, avoiding as many grass stains as you can, you get situated in a vastly more comfortable position.

"Close your eyes."

The world vanishes, as a few flecks of gold remain in your vision. The afternoon sun bakes down on your all-black attire, but you don't mind the heat in the slightest.

"We don't need to get into the way you sleep. I want you to think of what it means to rest. To *really* rest."

The afternoon sun is practically a blanket, creeping into the fine cloth covering nearly every inch of you. Longing to fidget with something, you're promptly instructed, "I would like you to take a few deep breaths."

You do. The pollen and nearby stream is light, refreshing, and you don't even sneeze.

"Tighten your hands, just a little. Start from the ends of your fingers." It's unusual, but you do. "Relax them. Do the same with your arms..."

It likely takes the rest of the afternoon, but you work together, silently contemplating and relaxing. Your breath is steady, and as you open your eyes, it seems that the sun is setting in the distance.

Sister Cardew is holding a knife out to you. "We're almost done. How do you feel?"

Looking to the object with a raised eyebrow, you honestly reply, "better."

"You serve more than Mercy. Vengeance has always been dear to you, hasn't he?"

It's a rhetorical question, but you're compelled to answer regardless. "Yes."

The priestess has a very small bowl in her opposite hand. Both the knife and the container are made of a glossy substance, that reminds you of glass. It's black as night, and unbearably beautiful. "Stay not your hand," the priestess quotes, from what you expect to be more unheard tenets.

"What exactly," you look to the items, getting back to your feet, "am I expected to do?"

(Slightly over, 3/4)

>>4144040
"An offering," she politely explains. "The God of Retribution is aware of our sin. Few seek to honor His judgement. His will is always proportionate, regardless. It's the least we can do in return."

"Vengeance."

"I understand if you're uncomfortable. There's another side to His works," Sister Cardew reminds you, looking to your symbol.

Recalling an ancient priestess' writings, you murmur, "pure is made blood spilled, when held in the hands of Mercy."

Harriet looks impressed. "That is a very old interpretation."

"I understand," you state, looking to the wickedly sharp blade before you.

>A] Take the knife, and make a small offering to Vengeance.
>1] A few drops of blood should be sufficient, from the end of a finger.
>2] Make a proper cut across the palm of your hand.

>B] This really doesn't sit right with you.
>1] Respectfully tell Sister Cardew that you will research Vengeance in your own Time.
>2] Ask Father Friedrich if he'll get a letter to Father Pevrel on your behalf, later tonight. You want to ask the Father of Vengeance yourself about this matter.

>C] Write-in.

>>4144044
>>A] Take the knife, and make a small offering to Vengeance.
>2] Make a proper cut across the palm of your hand.

Try not to moan.

>>4144121
+1

>>4144121
+1

>>4144121
>>4144171
>>4144530
(Locking the vote here. Writing now!)

>>4144935
It's difficult to not admire the knife, as you accept it in both hands. The blade is straighter than an arrow, light, and catches on the last of the setting sun. Engraved at the center of its hilt is an eye. Within the iris is a snake, consuming its own tail. You follow its fangs, to a drop of blood in the center of the image. The entire object is so dark, it blends into the cloth adorning your arms. It rapidly encompasses your full attention.

You pull back on your left sleeve, exposing countless faded scars over your trembling, pallid skin. Gritting your teeth, flexing your fingers and palm, you try to not let on how much you're looking forward to the ritual.

"Are you sure you're alright," you're asked, while Sister Cardew holds the small bowl out before you.

Extending your entire left hand above the dish, you murmur back, "absolutely."

"I'm keeping an eye on you. You'll be alright. Take it slow. I'll lead the prayer." The priestess drops her voice, not taking her eyes off of your hazy irises or the knife for an instant. "Know thine enemy..."

Pulse climbing, you take a deep, hot, and ragged breath in. Spreading your fingers, hand upturned, you drag Vengeance's symbol over the network of preexisting scars. Your skin parts with almost no pressure. The metal is sharp enough that you don't feel the initial contact— but the sting comes.

Muffling each and every sound that wants to arise, you quickly slice to the end of your hand. The faster satisfaction is almost too much to bear. Pulling the knife away to your side, resisting the urge to keep cutting with every fiber of your being, you try to focus. You breathe, hard and heavy, while Sister Cardew utters, "...will be saved through punishment. Divine is our wrath..."

You can't focus on the words. Every thrum in your chest spreads to the heat in your hand. Crimson collects up and out of the incision. A small pool forms in your palm, searing into the cut. Breath hitching, fighting every urge to draw out more pain, you turn your palm down. The blessing flows.

"...proportionate is our enemies' ruin..."

The connection between the object of devotion and your very blood has your head swimming. It's rapidly gathering more liquid. More than from what you're rapidly losing, an entire day spent in prayer, everything you've gained and the fervor threatening to overtake you—

"Richard— *are you alright*?"

It's taking an extreme effort, but you manage to not make a sound. Several want to arise, but biting down on your lip, and closing your eyes, you manage to simply nod in reply. The sting is growing more intense by the second, your blood hot and slick against the sides of your palm. Biting was a serious mistake, as your breath hitches again.

The additional stimulus threatens to destroy the last of your composure.

(1/2)

>>4145095
You let up, opening your eyes, and daring to part your lips. Breathing hard, hand still outstretched, you look to the unsteady stream. Between your tremor and the slowing flow, it would be worrying that you cut much deeper than you likely needed to.

It feels *right*.

The bowl held beneath your hand is not even halfway full, but the sensation coursing through your hand has every last nerve in your body alight. When Sister Cardew looks up to you, asking politely, "will you kneel down with me," you don't hesitate.

Your legs were threatening to give out. Kneeling immediately, struggling to keep your arm aloft, the soil and grass might as well not be there. Focusing everything you have on the priestess' last few words does much more to keep you grounded.

"Stay not your hand. Strike without hesitation. Retribution is our repentance. Hear us, Vengeance..."

The blood before you begins to turn. Though the liquid trickling from your wound is hot, deep red and certainly unspoiled, it swirls into a pool of ever-darkening black.

You haven't asked for anything of the God, or said so much as a word. Every passing second is another unanswered question. Torn between opening your mouth, and wanting to save yourself any embarrassment, Sister Cardew spares you from needing to speak.

"It's a sign," she smiles to you. There's a familiar viciousness in her face, the exposed teeth, and her eagerness to state, "He is poorly understood, Father—"

You forget the pain for the briefest of moments.

The priestess looks mortified, immediately correcting herself, "*Brother* Anscham. The Gods know of your work. I'm certain that He has looked kindly on your efforts."

Her train of thought seems to have immediately been lost.

Your blood trickles, dropping into the completely black dish. The pool that's gathered is unmistakably touched by the God Himself.

Looking to the blood, and back to you, Sister Cardew manages to continue, "with all due respect, Richard, I didn't think it would be right to tell you how to serve Them." She nods, to the open wound in your hand, and murmurs, "the way that injury affects you is— well— I am entirely aware that you are uncomfortable. I didn't mean to compromise the day, or all the good work you've done. I was hoping we might find a way to make something more of it. To ask *you* how you wish to serve Mercy."

(Options in next post.)

>>4145097
>A] No matter what you were put through in the Church of Mercy, you still are ultimately a priest of Her church. You'll serve your Goddess in the way you were taught, through candle light and prayer. You can discuss this all another Time.

>B] You were the Father of Compassion, and hope that one day, you will be again. Show yourself some sympathy. Patch up the cut on your hand, with all of the medicinal skill at your employ.
>1] Quietly go enjoy the rest of the evening.
>2] Alone, in your tent.
>3] With the rest of the candles.

>C] Vengeance and Mercy have always been dear to you. You want to find a way to serve Them both, even if it is extremely unusual. (Write-in.)

>D] You're in an extremely compromising position, and speaking at length right now is likely a poor idea. Sister Cardew's address to you is strange enough that you figure it warrants complaint, anyways. (Write-in.)

>>4145098
>>A] No matter what you were put through in the Church of Mercy, you still are ultimately a priest of Her church. You'll serve your Goddess in the way you were taught, through candle light and prayer. You can discuss this all another Time.

Thank her for accompanying us through this.

>>4145098
>B] You were the Father of Compassion, and hope that one day, you will be again. Show yourself some sympathy. Patch up the cut on your hand, with all of the medicinal skill at your employ.
>1] Quietly go enjoy the rest of the evening.
I was going to say something about reclaiming our birthright, but then The Dragonborn Comes started in my head.

>>4145358
+1

File: What is Catalyst Quest.jpg (4.41 MB, 2400x5680)

4.41 MB JPG

>>4145117
>>4145358
>>4145966
(Thanks so much for your patience guys, had a really rough night/week. Managed to work out a WIP of a reference pic for our thread in between phone calls and work regardless! Going to leave the vote open for a few while I get some food and coffee, expect at least one update today.

If any of you have any suggestions or feedback you'd like to provide on improving on this let me know, too!)