>>4313892
>What do you believe in?

>A] Self-preservation. The theocracy has failed. As a rogue with a heart of gold, you're certain that if your leaders won't do anything for the people on the surface, you will.

>B] The Gods. As a scholar, you believe with all your heart that you have not been forsaken. It is your mission to understand why demons have turned from Their works, why you all are made to suffer, and what the Catalyst really entails.

>C] Your fellow man. As a common man, you've never once seen anyone attempt to save a soul down here. No one will convince you that their souls are worth less than any other. EVERY human life is worth protecting.

>D] Write-in.

>>4313893
Archive (Ruins Arc 1-6, Church of Flesh/Recovery 7-9, Investigation in Calunoth 10-15): http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Catalyst%20Quest
Discord (Art, an enormous music playlist, fan projects, etc.): https://discord.gg/24cmNWp
Father Anscham's Journal (High-res maps, Calendar, details on demons within the ruins, and a LOT more): https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1r-yFdCSj0VJi63LsD3Vl9T0DWw4us6wn?usp=sharing

(Just a head's up, it's not necessary in any way to be caught up with the previous threads of Catalyst Quest to participate in this one! We're kicking off in a big flashback, but with a new protagonist and a totally different perspective. The only real consideration is that I might engage in some discussion for write-ins, as always!

Got a lot of fun stuff in store for you guys, and not just the different protagonist. When it's relevant, I'll have an aid or two to help anyone catch up [that doesn't want to read through 15 beefy threads] for some setting information and context. Sexy, spicy, assistive aids. With pictures. A spreadsheet or two may have been involved. Don't worry about it right now.

In the meantime, and as usual, we'll be having sessions every weekend! Regular updates will be every day of the week, usually in the afternoon and evening. Times provided are always EST if there's a window posted for voting.

It's great to be back. Let's get this crazy show on the road!)

Yeet

>>4313893
>C] Your fellow man. As a common man, you've never once seen anyone attempt to save a soul down here. No one will convince you that their souls are worth less than any other. EVERY human life is worth protecting.

The only reason gods forsake us is because we forsake ourselves first.

>>4313892
>C] Your fellow man. As a common man, you've never once seen anyone attempt to save a soul down here. No one will convince you that their souls are worth less than any other. EVERY human life is worth protecting.

>>4313893
>>C] Your fellow man. As a common man, you've never once seen anyone attempt to save a soul down here. No one will convince you that their souls are worth less than any other. EVERY human life is worth protecting.

>>4313897
>>4313898
>>4313900
(Yeeee let's lock the vote here. Going to do 20 minute voting windows for the time being, unless we get ties/more people show up/etc. Writing!)

>>4313903
(Shit nearly missed you. I gotchu man.)

File: Interior of Ostedholm's L(...).jpg (789 KB, 1918x2009)

789 KB JPG

>>4313904
Your devotion is not to the Gods, yourself, or any petty material endeavor. Your creed, and mantra, is a prayer all its own.

Every human life is worth saving.

The hiding place you've carved out of a fallen bookshelf has been compromised. One of the lives you wish so desperately to save is in immediate danger, yet again. A young woman wanders, perilously, down the halls of Ostedholm's library. Her ratty hair and eerily pale skin is flecked with her own blood. Hunger gnaws at the sunken recesses of her face. Trickles of water from fallen stone leaks into the case above, as you carefully keep an eye out for danger. The moisture dampens the hems of your tattered and filthy cloak, from the stream running beside your feet. Its color and integrity should lost to time. The city of light still is a place of darkness.

At least, it should be. There's a golden light in your eyes. You blink several times, trying to be rid of it. There should be no sunlight below the earth. There should be no radiance coming from collapsed structures and decay. You're miles below ground, at best, but the hue is unmistakable.

It's expanding. The more you squint, the more certain you are. The sun is not merely in your eyes. Thin trails of golden thread are leading up from the woman's arms, legs, and the nape of her neck ahead. Her movement has been much more calm than what you're used to seeing down here— and if you weren't mistaken, you'd say that the strands were guiding her.

There's a delicate pull, along your shoulders. It's akin to having the hem of your sleeve pulled on, but you can see the beam of light clearly, now. It goes straight through the fabric upon your chest and arms.

Straight into your skin.

A book drops, from a shelf off in the distance. You're positive that one of the keepers of this place is the cause. Their carelessness does not stem from lack of motor control, or self-awareness. The demons that wander these halls feed off of your emotion.

Fear should be drenching the woman walking down the corridor up ahead, but you do not see her shoulders stiffen, nor her gait change in any way. The hem of her frayed skirt does not sway, as she moves to turn around the corner, and head towards the front of the building.

There's no fear on you, either. Why you're so close to the front of the building escapes you. It's hard to remember much of anything, but you're positive that you have yet to lose yourself. You're too sharp to let anything distract you.

>A] Create a distraction, to get the incoming demon's attention away from the woman. Run out of hiding the second you can, and urge her to get out of harm's way.

>B] Try to sneak behind her. If something is coming this way, you'd rather be between the monster and your charge. Quietly lead the woman to safety.

>C] You're unsettled to an extreme by the change in your vision. Risk hiding a moment longer. See if you can find the source.

>D] Write-in.

>>4313915
>>A] Create a distraction, to get the incoming demon's attention away from the woman. Run out of hiding the second you can, and urge her to get out of harm's way.

>>4313915
>A] Create a distraction, to get the incoming demon's attention away from the woman. Run out of hiding the second you can, and urge her to get out of harm's way

>>4313915
>>A] Create a distraction, to get the incoming demon's attention away from the woman. Run out of hiding the second you can, and urge her to get out of harm's way.

>>4313917
>>4313919
>>4313927
(Alright guys, unanimous vote for a distraction! Locked here, writing now.)

File: Imp.jpg (95 KB, 508x635)

95 KB JPG

>>4313928
A distraction is exactly what you need. Crouching down, hugging your damp robes against the adjacent bookcases, you creep from heel to toe amidst the shadows.

The radiance in your eyes cannot possibly be real. You're certain that there is no additional shadow cast from your frame, for all your years of stealth and subterfuge. With a steady hand, level breath, and not a sound from your cracked lips, you turn and look around the corner. Not a hair on your shrouded head should be visible, for the briefest second you hazard a glance into the winding and warped corridors beyond.

The passage is, blissfully, almost empty. The footsteps heard off in the distance must be from more people, as the imp in the passage beyond is flying. The creature must be seven feet tall, from end to end, and occupies most of the passage. From the tips of its leathery wings, to the grotesque protrusions from its head, upon entrails hanging from its distended gut, and onto the weapon in its hands, you can't stand to look another second. The scent of death is hot on the air. Resisting the gag in the back of your throat, and the urge to vomit, you put both hands to your nose and mouth. To engage it would mean certain death.

You pull three sodden books from a nearby shelf. As quickly as you can, you chuck one down the passage, as close to the floor as you can. In the opposite direction, you hurl one of the tomes as far behind you in the hall as humanly possible. The last book, for good measure, is rapped on several shelves, and then thrown down a far corridor. Before any one of the pages hits the stone floor, you're moving as fast as you can in the complete opposite direction.

Three thuds, flips, and thunks punctuate the relative silence behind you.

Peace never lasts for long. A nightmarish screech lances the air, as the confused demon peals down the hall towards the first book.

For all their size and violence, the creatures that plague your existence are utterly lacking in intelligence. The warped shelves all about you streak past, as you deftly wind around several corridors, and back into the shadows. Normally, you'd need to feel ahead, to navigate in the sparse lighting. It's almost a gift, that the unnatural sunlight in your vision is growing by the second.

You have to put a hand to your brow, to try and see the woman ahead. She's practically glowing. You take in a sharp breath. She had been heading for the exit, and to your dismay, there are countless others doing the same.

Stone steps, descending out from Ostedholm's libraries, stretch back into the ruins beyond. The area is incredibly difficult to navigate, and responsible for the weekly change in the building's structure. More so than any other man alive, you're confident in navigating the space. The dozens of men and women ahead are not. Even the sanest of them will likely fall to their deaths, if they're left unattended.

(1/2)

File: Outside the Library.jpg (226 KB, 1600x1190)

226 KB JPG

>>4313950
Outside of the library, the highest peaks of the ruins are shrouded in spider webs and decay. Darkness looms above, and below. Miles of the abyss, descending beneath Ostedholm's architecture, can only be glimpsed through the pits in the floor and ruin. While the library itself is magnificent, impossible, and seemingly endless, it does have a beginning and end. Myriad holes punctuating the dilapidated space beyond. Some are merely illusion. Others are death traps, and several dozen people are approaching them by the second.

You tear out of the library, and for once, are not eclipsed in night. There's a light in your eyes, and in those of every person around you. It seems that the beams are extending out, towards a singular point in the distance. In the flat expanse of darkness, between ruins and decay, there is a faint, pale light. At its center seems to be a few figures, but the radiance in your vision is becoming more blinding by the second, and it's impossible to make out the details.

A screech behind you promises chaos. There's already commotion, in the halls beyond. There must be more people coming.

Everyone left behind is already as good as dead.

>A] Look after yourself. Get to the source of this nightmare, and try to find out what the fuck is going on as quickly as possible.

>B] Linger only long enough to close off the passage behind you. There's nothing that can be done for those deeper in the library, but you might be able to help the people still here.

>C] Get ahead of the group. Do your best to lead as many as you can away from certain death, and hope against hope that too many lives won't be lost behind.

>D] Write-in.

>>4313953
>>C] Get ahead of the group. Do your best to lead as many as you can away from certain death, and hope against hope that too many lives won't be lost behind.

>>4313953
>>C] Get ahead of the group. Do your best to lead as many as you can away from certain death, and hope against hope that too many lives won't be lost behind.

>>4313956
>>4313963
(Be the leader. Alright. Locking the vote! Writing now.)

File: Congregation in Ostedholm(...).png (3.25 MB, 2671x1500)

3.25 MB PNG

>>4313964
You break into a run. There's a pit you're certain of that's opened this week. Surely enough, as the light in your eyes becomes utterly blinding, you find your purchase. Against the soles of your shoes is the edge of an abyss. The ground is open behind you. A breeze is coming up, from an endless fall. The crunch of your cloak and sweat-stained shirt is audible even over cries in the distance, as you have to put your arms out, to keep your balance, and avoid certain death.

Your heart stops for a moment, as you teeter, and right yourself. Your footing is firm once again. Light is all around you. It rises in streaks, ascending up towards the peak of the ruins. From the strands, you can see your fellow man.

Without care for your safety, you hold your ground, and shove three people aside from walking over the ledge. Their balance is suspended by the threads. They stay on their feet as well. In moments, they gently proceed towards an unseen force.

You're compelled to protect them. This is about more than your common man. Something has happened. There's no hesitation in your steps, as you flit from edge to edge, guiding each and every lost soul you can reach. With a shove, you keep another man from collapsing to his death. One drops from exhaustion completely. A voice rings out in the distance, over the sound of the collapse, and the wet thud of a skull cracking on stone.

https://youtu.be/FjG0ivBT4lQ

"I know you are lost."

It's a man. An ordinary man, who sounds like he's walked with death itself. You've never heard someone project their voice without fear, and sound so tired at the same time.

The light in your eyes clears, as you stagger over yet another ledge. It's perched just slightly to the edge of the stair. No fewer than fifty people have filtered out of the building. So many more are behind you. A cacophony of death can be heard from the library. Spears, spikes, instruments of death, and collapsing structures are in the halls beyond.

There's no question that each and every person that's left hiding will be killed on sight. From the top of the ledge, you feel rooted to the spot. There should be complete darkness in the ruins around you, but light is peaking off of every ledge. From strips of blood-stained cloth, to the tattered garments on the insane, up into the sky and back down onto a singular point, you can finally see.

"Do we not all stray," the priest of light asks. His voice is steady. Everything else about him is not. Blood slakes the entirety of his loose-hanging robes. He's dressed like a priest of Vengeance, yet carries with him the sign of a Goddess. There's a horrific tremor and twitch in his arms, as he clutches and fidgets with a holy symbol of Mercy.

(1/2)

File: father anscham.png (90 KB, 428x396)

90 KB PNG

>>4313979
You've heard of him before. An elf— an elven woman, of all things— is clearly keeping the church leader from collapsing to his feet. The immaculate creature in his arms is a sorceress, and providing the light you see so clearly with. It's a pale shroud, casting over the further support of a beast. The dog perched behind both figures is littered with scars, and ragged, but firmly guarding his charge.

It may be a diplomatic mission that Father Anscham is on, but that's impossible. He's invoked a Goddess, to lead you all back into the light. He can't stand on his own, and doesn't know a fraction of the danger ahead, but continues to speak out.

"Is it not human— to turn from one another? There is no need to wander. My children— you have been blessed. You have been embraced by Mercy. She has guided you away from your madness, and into Her light. You need not stray from Her path. You need only accept Her into your heart—"

The priest of restraint interjects the sermon, as wet coughing weaves into his speech. He's hacking up more blood, enough that you wonder how he's still possibly alive. It explains a lot. You're rooted to the spot, and people are dying by the second.

He's still talking. There's so many lives you have to save.

Desperation is clawing at the invoker. It feels like he's staring right at you. "You need not practice Her tenets to feel her this day. You need not fear Her. There is nothing to fear more than the absence of Her light. There is nothing— no greater suffering— than to stray from Her path."

He is staring.

"The Gods are Merciful," he lamely finishes, obviously too weak to continue.

The elf staggers through the crowd, with her charge in tow. Father Anscham waves an arm, and like a puppeteer, manipulates the bulk of every person helplessly standing about. The crowd parts gently, as the strands along their sleeves, and under their skin pulls them out of harm's way.

The young man is already in front of you, supported by the elf and his dog. Time is moving erratically. Something is wrong with your senses. There's an intense scent of stale blood, death, and mildew. It's coming from the priest. His head is hanging, eyes unfocused. The viscera of demons slaughtered is in every wrinkle of his battle-worn robes. There's not a shred of fat on the man's body, as the light emanating from his holy symbol sinks into the pits under his eyes. There's something terribly wrong with everything about him.

With a herculean amount of effort, he stops coughing up blood, and speaks directly to you. Both of you are wasting precious moments, yet he states only the obvious.

"You are not afraid."

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

Rolled 15 (1d100)

>>4313985

Rolled 92 (1d100)

>>4313985

Rolled 13 (1d100)

>>4313985

>>4313990
>>4313991
>>4313993
(Wew good thing it was bo3. That's a 92/100! Writing now.)

File: Elf.png (759 KB, 1500x1408)

759 KB PNG

>>4313994
It's getting increasingly difficult to focus. The light in your eyes is swimming. Anxiety is soaking into you.

You have a stutter. It's been excruciating to speak, for as long as you can remember, and this is too important for you to waste a single second. Every word you utter must be heard clearly. You still your breath. There's a pause, but only mentally. You won't dare to let it escape your lips.

Lives are on the line. There are footsteps, just off in the distance. The sermon was so loud, every demon on this level was bound to have heard it. Father Anscham must be dying, for how hard he's coughing. Wiping the blood from his chin, he painfully asks, "...what would you wish for yourself?"

He doesn't need to know your life story. You barely remember it yourself. He'll understand, you're sure of it. He wants to help others. He's trying to protect everyone down here, just like you are.

"Speak, my son." He's losing his patience, too. "There is little time for us here."

You know you can manage this much, even if you haven't spoken beyond a scream for your life in four years. Four words. One sentence. Deep breath. "I wish to learn."

"And what would you wish for another?"

He thinks you've lost your mind. Every man and woman around you may be insane, but you're not. There's no time to spare. You keep it together. He can know your ambition. "Mercy."

"Who are you?"

He's waxing philosophical. There's absolutely no time for this. You can't even say your name without stumbling over it. Algrith is a sadistic last name. You wince, picking each syllable carefully. "I do not recall."

"You seem to be far better off than many, here— do you know why?"

Your own patience runs out. "I hid." The footsteps are upon you all. You lean into the light, the hold on your soul, and manage to utter 'th' without complaint for the first time in your life. Panic won't drench you, but Father Anscham is about to know the meaning of fear. "They are coming."

It's not merely footsteps, now. You can hear the beat of wings. Spikes are being unsheathed, from bodies made of sin, concealed in the dark. The elf hears it as well, with her grotesquely extended ears. Panicked, she shoulders Father Anscham further. Nearly lifting the living corpse off the ground, an ethereal and blasphemous voice insists over the dog's vicious growling, "we don't have time for this, Father—"

Grief gnaws at the priest, as he hacks through the blood in his throat, "no—!"

The three struggle against one another. It's admirable, and one of the saddest things you've ever seen. He's desperate— as desperate as you are to save each and every life here.

(1/2)

>>4314015
Father Anscham's brow is furrowed, as he wins out the fight with the elf through sheer resolution. You're seized by a command. It's exactly what you intended, anyways, though some of it makes little sense. "Lead these people away from here. Seek the surface to safety. Look for the spiders with bells. Tell them that Father Anscham is guiding you—"

The freakishly tall elf is firmly pulling him away. She can't risk every life present. The two set to arguing, while you silently nod in recognition. It's the least you can do, as the hold on your soul slips. It's just in time.

You don't flinch, but spears begin to streak through the air. You've felt the breeze before. The wind, of impending death.

They're not directed at you. Not yet.

One spear, made of congealed blood and bone, collides with the skull of a woman five feet away from you. The moist crunch of her skull being lanced is nearly as deafening as her collision with the floor.

A singular moment stretches out into infinity. The woman's face was impaled clean through. The spear is protruding from the back of her head, propping the corpse up at a slight angle.

She's immediately slack, as time speeds back up. A streak of blood got on your face, and your beard is likely going to smell like death for days to come. You strongly suspect you won't have any rest, in the days to come. Father Anscham is clearly too weak to do anything to aid the dozens of men and women that are still under his sway. Countless projectiles are streaking through the air. Demons are upon you all.

The Father of Mercy is looking to you, to fulfill both of your missions.

>A] Lead as many people as you physically can through the pits ahead, without making a sound. The demons here are so unintelligent, you suspect you can kite all but those that can fly (with any luck). (A high roll will be required, with the greatest chance of sparing the most lives.)

>B] Try and maneuver a route deeper into the ruins beyond, only taking those who seem healthy enough for the venture. You're insanely adept at hiding, but know the limits of your own ability. (A moderate roll will be required, with the greatest chance of lengthier survival.)

>C] Take only those who seem sane and healthier than most, if they'll follow you. You're no fool. This is your chance at truly getting help for the men and women in the ruins, and you won't throw it away now. (A low roll will be required, with the lowest risk of harm coming to yourself.)

>D] Write-in. (A roll may be required.)

>>4314018
>C] Take only those who seem sane and healthier than most, if they'll follow you. You're no fool. This is your chance at truly getting help for the men and women in the ruins, and you won't throw it away now. (A low roll will be required, with the lowest risk of harm coming to yourself.)

>>4314018
>>A] Lead as many people as you physically can through the pits ahead, without making a sound. The demons here are so unintelligent, you suspect you can kite all but those that can fly (with any luck). (A high roll will be required, with the greatest chance of sparing the most lives.)

EVERY life matters.

(This vote is definitely mutually exclusive, so I'll be keeping it open for a few while I get some lunch! Be back soon.)

>>4314018
>>C] Take only those who seem sane and healthier than most, if they'll follow you. You're no fool. This is your chance at truly getting help for the men and women in the ruins, and you won't throw it away now. (A low roll will be required, with the lowest risk of harm coming to yourself.)

File: vote c.png (160 KB, 1920x1080)

160 KB PNG

>>4314023
>>4314033
>>4314131
(C it is!)

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

Rolled 68 (1d100)

>>4314137

Rolled 87 (1d100)

>>4314137
ERE WE GOO

Rolled 47 (1d100)

>>4314137

>>4314138
>>4314139
>>4314149
(87/100 definitely goes beyond a low roll. Okay! Almost re-situated. Will write shortly.)

>>4314155
(Totally back and ready for action for the evening. Let's do this shit. Writing now.)

>>4314186
https://youtu.be/f6QFfmwFT3k

With a single, merciful thought, the invocation leaves you: Every life matters.

Your pulse is immediately in your throat. Father Anscham starts screaming to the crowd to disperse, but it's as he said. They're lost. Restrained, subdued, and utterly insane at the best of times. They're dying rapidly. The sheer volume of people gathered outside has begged for slaughter from the moment you all emerged into the light.

Through the dark, a faint golden light has persisted in your vision. Though not everything is illuminated, from the impossible pits in the ground, to the tallest reaches of Ostedholm, you can clearly discern a number of demons from the interior of the library. The patrols are akin to cacti, and stick to the floor as their bladed legs puncture and scrape against stone. Serrated weapons protrude from their bodies, in all directions. With arms like swords, and faces obscured completely by knives, you know they are purely instruments of death.

The sheer organization of your captors has guaranteed no escape for any of you. Not for the common men and women all around. Spears and daggers are ripped clean from the demons by their own hand, from their own bodies. Their limbs, weapons, and lethal intent will not be tempered by any prayer to Mercy. More importantly, you just don't have the time to wait for anyone to save you.

You sprint through the crowd, and take every person by the hand who looks like they stand any chance at survival. One man, with a chest like a barrel, immediately responds as you turn him to face you. He's silent, but doesn't protest as you pull him and his companion aside. The wiry rogue adjacent, with a mop of auburn hair almost as red as your own, has somehow maintained his musculature through starvation. One man is practically hidden behind them, and to your joy, is tossing swords out to everyone in reach. Where he got so many you're unsure, but there's no time for questions.

Without the impending threat of being impaled or cut to ribbons, you all come to silent agreement to flee as quickly as you can. You gesture as clearly as possible to the closest, stable bridge you're aware of, while Father Anscham is baiting and screaming taunts to the demons beyond. You want to appreciate the insanity, or the elf that's launching a counter-attack without so much as a shield, but there's infinitely more important concerns.

You almost immediately skid to a stop, as a young woman, standing alone, is in horrific danger. Before you can lead her away, one of the demons recoils in on itself, in response to an unseen attacker. There's only a second to respond.

(1/2)

>>4314308
The creature stands upright, and shoots out every last pin and needle protruding from its body. You throw yourself to the floor, and watch with horror as a woman you were approaching screams. Throwing her arms up to her face, her limbs are skewered. The blades impale straight though her skin, pinning her arms into her face.

It takes a moment for her to fall dead to the floor. Three dozen spikes must stick out of her body, from every angle that was close to the assault.

Crawling on the floor beside you, about fifteen feet away, is a bulbous-nosed man. He's laughing. It might be from stress, as he risked his life to protect someone else. His lanky frame is barely covering another companion at his side. The bald, snake-like figure was smart enough to get them both down.

Quickly, you all get to your feet. You nod towards a bridge on the horizon. They immediately move to run, looking disturbingly amused by the entire situation.

Staying low to the ground, you sneak through the shadows, to catch two young women just beside the punctured corpse. Both of them are in extreme distress, wearing a symbol of Mercy. You show them your open hands, which they take gladly, abandoning those they cannot save to run for their own lives.

Ahead is a veritable labyrinth of sink holes, and a shifting landscape. Your expertise.

The five men and two women you've gathered are leading several more individuals away. There must still be thirty of you, by a quick estimate, and more coming.

You look on in horror as the priestesses pull a pair of young lovers away from the edge of one of the pits, saving them from their own attempts at jumping. The source of the couple's distress is immediately clear. The demons that were pursuing you are falling fast, but there's countless figures off in the distance. You're positive that every imp in the lair beyond has heard the noise caused by this fiasco.

You'll have to go through, or around, and both prospects are equally grim.

>A] Take the priestesses, and sword-wielding men to the front. The shortest path into the lair beyond will likely be the fastest. Fuck the risks. (A VERY HIGH ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED. Needless to say this may save an exorbitant amount of time.)

>B] You're using the environment like your life depends on it (because it does). Risk those in the rear losing their lives. You're making this work, and taking the most convoluted path out of here possible. (A MODERATE ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

>C] Hide. You're taking these men and women through the safest routes you know. Without supplies or equipment, every second here is precious— but you are willing to take the additional time to stick to the shadows. (A LOW ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED. Exhaustion, dehydration and hunger is a very real concern that will be accounted for in time.)

>D] Write-in.

>>4314309
>B] You're using the environment like your life depends on it (because it does). Risk those in the rear losing their lives. You're making this work, and taking the most convoluted path out of here possible. (A MODERATE ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

If they can't keep up now they won't be able to keep up after this either, they are doomed anyway.

>B] You're using the environment like your life depends on it (because it does). Risk those in the rear losing their lives. You're making this work, and taking the most convoluted path out of here possible. (A MODERATE ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

The last thing you want right now is to be a part of the fleeing masses. If you want to use the sword-wielding men, make sure they're fighting a fight they could win

>>4314309
>B] You're using the environment like your life depends on it (because it does). Risk those in the rear losing their lives. You're making this work, and taking the most convoluted path out of here possible. (A MODERATE ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

>>4314322
>>4314326
>>4314330
(ALRIGHT BOIS)

>MAKE THE SURROUNDINGS YOUR BITCH
>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.
>+15 IN YOUR ELEMENT
>-15 THAT'S A LOT OF IMPS

Rolled 92 (1d100)

>>4314339

Rolled 84 (1d100)

>>4314339

Rolled 80 (1d100)

>>4314339

>>4314343
>>4314345
>>4314347
(These rolls are soo laaaarge alright! Writing now!)

>>4314351
So many of the men and women with you are as good as dead.

That's not good enough.

A nearby pile of debris becomes a makeshift shield, for one of the men carrying swords. The priestesses of Mercy immediately catch onto your plan, and strip metal, wood, and demonic corpses from the ground littering the area. The cheap armor is rapidly outfitted onto your congregation, by everyone sane enough to lend a hand.

Meanwhile, you creep along the nearest bridge. It's still stable, though there's more blood slaking it than you last remember. You drag a few fingers into the stickiest portion of the viscera. A trail, for everyone to follow.

They're going to need it. The last of Father Anscham's torchlight fades from view. Darkness should shroud your vision entirely, as the priest and his unorthodox company is left completely behind.

The faint yellow-gold still persists in your vision. You have your own company to think of, and wave for everyone to follow your steps. Every convoluted motion taken into the shadow ahead is more confident than the last. The pattering of feet, and clang of metal, lingers just behind you.

You don't dare to take your eyes off of widening gaps in stone and ruin. Night looms immediately in front of you. You take an incredibly sharp turn, tossing aside a piece of shrapnel as the only indication of danger. Three men who have likely never bathed in their life are right on your heels. More quickly pick up the pace.

If they can't keep up now, they won't be able to keep up after this, either.

You're literally several steps ahead of everyone. With another weave, you keep your balance, from a sudden shift in the stone nearby. It indicates a stair, that's going to materialize beneath your feet. In seconds, under your rapid steps, it predictably drops you and the scoundrels at your back almost straight down.

A barrage of weaponry streaks overhead. Far more never hit their intended target.

There are screams in the dark.

You swallow, hard, and try to not think too much about the men and women bringing up the rear of the congregation. Your path becomes infinitely more erratic, as you break into a borderline sprint.

There's no telling exactly how long you moved through shadow and light, out of the shifting architecture. Thirst, hunger, and exhaustion on you puts your best estimates at several hours.

(1/2)

File: Nehliht's Lair.jpg (218 KB, 1920x1056)

218 KB JPG

>>4314481
The slums stretch outward. They're far outside the shifting architecture on your heels. Haphazard buildings, tattered cloth, piles of debris and waste loom ahead.

There's no movement in the buildings beyond.

You hazard a glimpse behind. The priestesses of Mercy relocated themselves at the back of your congregation. There's almost no blood on any swords, in every readied hand. Far more is on makeshift armor, and tattered cloth. You estimate having lost half a dozen people in the rear. It's infinitely fewer casualties than you expected. Everyone clearly is prioritizing your flight, but the needless death has the sweat on you turn cold.

There's no movement in the buildings up ahead.

Every last imp you spotted on the horizon is likely now in hiding. Whether they're in decayed buildings, or concealed by the sheer volume of trash littering the lair, you're unsure. It's unusual to an extreme.

(When the vote is closed, EVERY SINGLE PROMPT CHOSEN will call for a roll. EACH ROLL WILL CARRY WEIGHT, AS WELL.)

>A] Risk speaking out. (These options are not mutually exclusive. As you have a severe speech impediment, and most of your company's faculties are compromised, a roll may still be required. Write-ins may definitely help with situational modifiers.)
>1] Ask if anyone absolutely needs to rest.
>2] Ask if anyone is familiar with the area, or this behavior.
>3] Get someone to scout ahead. (Specify if you'd like to say how many, or leave it to the congregation's judgement.)
>4] Try and gather ANY supplies, as quietly as possible.

>The following options are mutually exclusive. They may still be combined with any option from A.

>B] Stick to the shadows. Head for the route you took to get here.

>C] Something is horribly wrong. Risk taking a new path.

>D] Seek shelter, as carefully as possible.

>E] Write-in.

>>4314486
>C] Something is horribly wrong. Risk taking a new path.

Signal with our hands for everyone to stick as close to us as possible and then blitz across, staying together means we can just trample any imp that gets in front of us and keep moving, people who can't keep up or dodge are gonna die anyway.

>>4314486
>A] Risk speaking out. (These options are not mutually exclusive. As you have a severe speech impediment, and most of your company's faculties are compromised, a roll may still be required. Write-ins may definitely help with situational modifiers.)
>2] Ask if anyone is familiar with the area, or this behavior.

>>4314501
>>4314536
>Roll 2d100. First three posts that roll will be used.

>First roll will be for blitzing!
>+5 TACTICS

>Second roll for information!

Rolled 33, 5 = 38 (2d100)

>>4314559

Rolled 39, 86 = 125 (2d100)

>>4314559

Rolled 44, 7 = 51 (2d100)

>>4314559
>:3c

>>4314572
>>4314725
>>4314759
>38, 44, and 49 to do the ballroom blitz
>5, 86, and 7 to risk gathering info
(That'll work. Alright! Writing now.)

>>4314772
https://youtu.be/zsdSAzYfUnk

The risk of your group being seen is 100%. With broad, unmistakable gestures, you try to get everyone to move in closer. About half seem to even recognize what you're doing, and a few men present simply don't care to obey your motion. You're certain they'll be the first to die. Your nerves betray every attempt to speak out, and you really don't have time to mince words. Thirst, and the rasp of your unused voice makes for an almost incomprehensible, "is-s anyone here familiar withh th-the area, or th-this b-behavior?"

Silence.

The clown, with his over-sized nose, snickers.

You don't humor him with another word, and direct your attention towards the ruins ahead. There are burn marks all along the floor. Trails of decay snake off, into the distance. You're positive that some battle took place, strongly suspect that a suicidal priest and his weird company was to blame, and nearly jump out of your skin as a greasy young man taps you on the shoulder.

Long strands of unwashed hair wave towards the trail of scorch marks, with a nod. A nasally voice, with a rasp as intense as your own, wastes precious seconds on self-indulgence. He must be a scholar, to bother wasting your time in such a petty way. "Cause and effect."

A wordless demand for an explanation has the young man almost straighten upright. His nose is scrunching. You probably smell worse than you suspect, as he takes a step back, and quietly says, "something's died. Don't give me that look, not you. Someone was to blame. There's no greater demon here. Not literally! Listen—" you strongly suspect he's actually an idiot, "we follow the trail, we find the way they came from. The attacker. Whoever killed it had the force to get through here."

He clears his throat. You wince at the noise, and look frantically around to see if there's any movement. There isn't, as he quickly finishes, "the floors are hollow. They would have left path to the surface."

You nod. There's a cold sweat on you. You've lingered too long, already, and resume your long strides. Everyone around you has anything up on their person that can be used for defense. The majority of the women are shoved into the center of the mass. The grease-ball practically clings to your side, placing himself between one of the rogues that have been keeping on your heel.

He's shoved hard away by the largest of them, enough to stagger, but the scholar coughs out, "it's a terrible idea. We're all going to die, you know."

You're certain that anyone who can't keep up or dodge will die, regardless. The point is that you're making the attempt.

(1/2)

>>4314926
You break into a run. Exhaustion is already drenching you. Sweat follows it, under your ratty cloak, and all through the hunger gnawing at your frame. The fucking famine feels like it's followed you all the way into the ruins, but the thought of respite is left in the dust. The mob of sinners in your company keeps as close as they dare, and it's insufficient for your collectively starved company. Several women have already fallen far behind.

There's a wet, slick sound behind you. It's akin to meat being chewed on.

They didn't even have time to scream.

Your pace impossibly picks up, as you run for your life. Buildings and shrapnel streaks past your vision, and a fire is under your heels. The scorch marks underfoot are intensifying. Something was taken by an unnatural flame. You strongly suspect that a large demon was slain, as there's movement up ahead.

The buildings are swarming. Every single one of them.

Thought escapes you. Breath escapes you. The sight and sound of your flight is painfully intense, and all that matters. The soft, blood-soaked soil and pockets of decaying stone underfoot are kicked back in a thunder of footsteps. Mounds of discarded building material fly by. Corpses stacked in piles, their bones picked clean by age, barely register in the pale light upon every surface. Fabric billows on buildings in all directions, giving the faintest hint of the nightmare that's surely to come.

The projectiles start. You're terribly familiar with them.

Bodies fall, one by one.

There's screaming in all directions.

You've been called a coward before, but your flight is at the front of the pack. You don't stray for an instant.

The only person in your company lucid enough to speak— the cursed brunette— is happy to drawl, "what did I tell you—?" He's breathless, with disproportionately long legs that have kept up with the most athletic among you. There's certainly no humor in the statement. It might be that he's come to terms with his own death, as he's immediately cut himself short in fear.

A pack of imps is dead ahead. Even if you could reply, you don't particularly care to. Were it not for their weapons, they'd look borderline comical. Every single one of the four, squat demons down the row is dripping with decay. Adorned in cookware, scraps of metal, and disjointed armor from another age, they're not even up to your knees. The trouble is that they're each fixed to wield a singular bow. The weapon is made of human sinew, stretched taut over decaying wood. The fixtures are attached to their own limbs, in a morbid extension of their violent intent.

They're a single demon. It's focused on you, as an arrow is snapped off of its own body. It rips one of the squat demons legs clear off, dripping with rot, and points the tip of the weapon right between your eyes.

More demons can be heard off in the distance. They might be watching the spectacle.

(Options in next post.)

>>4314929
(A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED FOR ALL OF THE FOLLOWING.)

>A] Duck, and scream out to everyone else to get down.

>B] Trust in the hideously inept, makeshift armor on your congregation. Hope against hope that someone in the congregation has a better plan, but charge ahead.

>C] Change paths. This is suicide.
>1] Take a more convoluted route, but try to end where the trail of flame must have started.
>2] Go anywhere else.

>D] Write-in.

>>4314934
>A] Duck, and scream out to everyone else to get down.

>>4314934
>>A] Duck, and scream out to everyone else to get down.

>>4314943
>>4315075
(Vote is locked here! Writing now.)

>>4315114
https://youtu.be/CT14Bk9EdMA

You throw yourself to the floor. The breath leaves your lungs. It's a nightmare. You want to scream, and the words just won't come. "D-d—!"

By the second stutter, the twang of the colossal bow and arrow has soared through the air. It's over your head, faster and heavier than anything you could have expected. You can't see. There's shouts, and screams, as everyone with line of sight fails to realize what's happened. Two ducked of their own volition. Five more got down. You're hyperventilating, and hazard a glance over your shoulder.

Two men have been impaled straight through the chest. They're stuck together, and still alive. Neither one is screaming. They're too shocked to move.

The imps are coming.

>A] Run.
>1] Grab the scholar, and demand that he take you all to safety.
>2] Head anywhere but towards your original destination.

>B] Crawl towards a nearby building. You do not want to die.

>C] Take a second to register what the fuck is even happening.
>1] Put these men out of their misery. You're risking your life to do so, but you're certain no one else will have the guts to.
>2] CAREFULLY scream to everyone to get to cover. Barreling headfirst into demons might not be the brightest idea. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

>D] Write-in.

>>4314943
>>4315075
>>4315149
(I am so used to writing purely narrative threads that I forgot to call for a roll, jumped the gun, and made the post without even giving anyone a chance to reply. I fucked up, just want to own up to it. Let me know if you guys want to proceed differently, roll and see what happens and go from there, or anything else. My bad, seriously sorry.)

>>4315149
>A] Run.
>1] Grab the scholar, and demand that he take you all to safety.
>>4315176
I'm fine with the result, but try to remember for next one

>>4315259
+1

>>4315259
>>4315272
(Appreciate it guys, thanks for being so understanding. Getting some sleep, going to leave the vote open til morning. Awesome awesome session! Looking forward to running more tomorrow.)

>>4315259
+1

>>4315259
>>4315272
>>4315377
(Good afternoon guys! I slept in insanely late but I'm up and back in action. Let's do this shit. Unanimous vote, locking and writing now!)

>>4315856
Everything happens so quickly, you can still barely process what's going on.
The two men skewered together have no idea what to do with themselves.
The scholar is still directly next to you.
With as much strength as your burning arms can muster, you take hold of the unkempt man, and scramble to your feet.
You're running.
Everyone that's able to follow does.
The tightness in your chest is so absolute, you forget all about how to breathe.

More arrows.
More corpses.

You're screaming, right at the noncombatant at your side, who might actually know what to do, "AN EXIT! SAFET-TY! S-SOMETHING!"

Someone collapses behind you, falls forward, and hits your back. You don't dare to lose your balance, holding onto the man beside you even more tightly for support. He keeps you upright, and returns the tight hold you have on one arm. With a single hand, the brunette jerks you in a totally different direction than you were previously headed.

Back, behind a building. Thirty imps are in the alleyway. Your horror is so absolute, no one screams.

Back onto the main road, where you can at least see what's coming.

You all run for your lives, for longer than anyone in your condition should. There's no telling for how long, as more demons make themselves seen. It's still fewer than you expected. The bulk of their forces have been pulled away.

You've never felt so tired, but to stop is unthinkable.

The sound of bodies falling stopped quickly, despite the hot pursuit. Everyone that's survived is clearly capable enough to hold their own, and you have to worry about yourself.

The stone walls at the end of the slums finally come into view. They're pocketed with a thousand passages, many of which are well above ground. The networks of tunnels are there for the denizens of the ruins to traverse them freely. In a full sprint towards them, the ground underfoot is rapidly worsening. The decay and scorch marks intermingle with enormous volumes of blood. The liquid is no more than a day old, sticky, and threatens your stability with every step.

The brunette at your side points to the trail you've been following, and laughs like a madman. He's all smiles, and is so out of breath, he can't speak.

His gestures are towards a singular passage. It's enormous, at least thirty feet high, but shortens and narrows the deeper it goes. Streaks of blood are all along the walls from some creature barreling straight in. Shards of some insect's carapace cling to the edges of the stone, stuck fast with bits of blackened flesh. More pieces of the corpse litter the floor leading into the interior. Something absolutely died here, shredded to pieces by some unseen force, but the absence of any odor up ahead has your blood running cold.

You all barrel ahead, with your pursuers hot on your trail. To your utter horror, the man at your side breathlessly whispers, "we hide the second we're inside. The demons will fall in."

So will the people you're with.

(Options in next post.)

File: Catacombs Passage.png (1.13 MB, 1348x1700)

1.13 MB PNG

>>4315898
(A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED FOR ALL OF THE FOLLOWING.)

>A] Get ahead of everyone, and try to warn them. You are not leading anyone to their death. The scholar can hide himself.

>B] Veer off-course, and hope that at least some of the people you're with recognize the danger that they're in. There has to be another way.

>C] Trust in your guide, and heed his advice. You're past the point of taking blame for any further loss of life. Everyone here is just trying to survive.

>D] Write-in.

>>4315900
>>B] Veer off-course, and hope that at least some of the people you're with recognize the danger that they're in. There has to be another way.

We have to at least try to save them, if it is not enough we still did something at least.

>>4315900
>C] Trust in your guide, and heed his advice. You're past the point of taking blame for any further loss of life. Everyone here is just trying to survive.

>>4315900
>>B] Veer off-course, and hope that at least some of the people you're with recognize the danger that they're in. There has to be another way.

>>4315906
>>4315910
>>4315924
(Calling the vote here with the tie broken!)

>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.
>+10 YOUR ELEMENT IS TERRIFYING, AND THIS IS IT

Rolled 45 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>4315931

Rolled 36 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>4315931
Dabbin on demonlets

Rolled 98 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>4315931

>>4315961
>>4315995
>>4316096
(Wew that's a solid 108/100. Okay! Writing now.)

>>4316102
https://youtu.be/cfTLvQ9TZhg

There's still over twenty people in your company. No matter how tempting it is, you will not forsake them.

Pushing yourself past all limits, you sprint, HARD, to pull ahead of the group. In the same direction you gesture with both arms, you shout, "RIGHT!"

To the right, you turn, and keep sprinting. The wall ahead closed in almost too fast. You have to pivot, to avoid colliding straight with the edge of the rock. As you nearly lose your footing, and duck down, an arrow shoots directly above you. The fwip nicks the top of your robes, the nape of your neck, and despite having to scramble back to your feet, you keep moving.

No one from the congregation dares to approach. Every person in your company turns, and looks to the source of your pursuit, as they follow your charge. It seems you've been identified as a leader, or a threat. Your pursuers are closing in, fast, and that it exactly what you want.

Looking frantically down countless corridors, you can clearly see with eyes of gold. Arrows are lancing and plinking off the stone, in all directions, but you locate a tunnel that's unmistakably solid. It's certainly narrow enough to still be intact, and to minimize casualties. To the most lucid members, you scream, and keep gesturing up ahead, "HERE!"

They get it.

Five imps are closing in, fast.

You had forsaken yourself a long time ago.

As your congregation runs into the corridor you indicated, you look out to the pack of a dozen monsters leering from buildings beyond. The tattered structures are teeming with movement, and are no longer just in the distance. Imps are peeking their heads out from nearby buildings, readying their weapons for a colossal volley.

To linger is to die, so you run, and bait every attack.

"HERE! COME ON!"

Thirty projectiles must fire straight towards you.

The speed you're moving in carries your forward momentum, as you leap clear ahead. Rather than go arms first, you land on both knees, and skid. The wind is out of your lungs, but it's exhilarating.

For every attack that's stuck in the stone directly behind you, there's another demon who's failed to take your life.

You must slide for twenty feet, for the time you have to see the counter attack. They anticipated a prone position, for every barbed arrow that's headed straight for the lower space ahead.

Your positioning could not have been more perfect. You kick off, and leap clear over the attack. A breathless laugh escapes you.

Landing back in a full sprint, certain that you've bought everyone enough time, you don't even glance back over your shoulder. Weaving, erratically leaping, and jumping clear over every incoming assault, you make a clear path straight into the tunnel beyond.

(1/2)

>>4316170
There isn't a scratch on you.

Darkness should eclipse your sight fully, but there's no such hindrance. To your complete shock, the moment you enter the blackened corridor, three men streak past your sight. They're standing fast by the entrance, wielding swords, and shields. They show no indication of coming after you, as your breakneck pace lures several dozen demons into the chamber. What little light may filter in is closed off completely, by a human wall, the very moment you leave them all behind.

They're staying behind to fight. To buy everyone else moments to live. You're not a fighter, and have no weapon. Commanding them even from the shadows could compromise their sacrifice entirely. It's dangerous to have even glanced back to see their last stand.

>A] Risk your life, and stop for just a moment, to look for something identifying on one of these men. You won't forget them.

>B] Every second you leave the congregation up ahead could be their last. These soldiers know how much their actions will be appreciated, by at least one man among them. Let them go.

>C] Write-in.

>>4316172
>B] Every second you leave the congregation up ahead could be their last. These soldiers know how much their actions will be appreciated, by at least one man among them. Let them go.

>>4316181
Support.

>>4316181
>>4316214
(Sounds good guys, locking the vote here. Writing now!)

>>4316218
https://youtu.be/LsNinNA_O0I

You keep running, without ever looking back. The passages up ahead are a veritable labyrinth. Every second you leave your congregation up ahead may be their last. The clash of bone on steel resonates in the tunnel behind you. Cries from murderers, demons, and heroes fall on your listening ears.

Three more men have died, if only to buy you all more time.

Through the grit in your teeth, you struggle to breath, and press on. You will not waste their sacrifices.

Long after the sound of battle has faded, there is still no pursuit. The halls ahead are perilous. You strongly suspect the imps know of the danger beyond.

Your heavy footfalls come around another bend in the corridor. It must have taken an hour to catch up to the group, for how exhausted you are. Every weary face you see, staggering through the dark, turns to you with fear soaking into them. The slower pace of your steps, and a quiet call of, "no d-demons," is enough reassurance.

They're as good as blind, but they know you can see. You weave through the pack, unwilling to utter further words of reassurance, until you get to the front. It seems no one else had perished, thanks to your incredibly quick work outside of the catacombs.

Your work is far from over. As quickly as possible, (through a few miserable stutters,) you order everyone to get in a single file. The priestesses of Mercy take it upon themselves to enforce the command. The most exhausted of the men and women are shouldered or outright carried by those who can manage it.

The darkness about you is all encompassing. Only the faint sunlight that's persisted in your eyes dips into the various holes and traps littered about the floor. Ways to further ensnare prey litter the floor and walls, in all directions. Weaving a safe course is tedious to an extreme. Several more hours pass through the dark. Hunger and thirst eats away at your mind. With increasing frequency, you jolt back upright, or slap yourself clean across the face to stay alert.

After what feels like an eternity, you come across a break in the traps. There's something much more obvious, and nefarious.

You emerge from the winding passage, into the lair of something you thought was utter nonsense. Spiderwebs adorn the walls and floor in density and color that has your blood run cold.

The webs are all crimson, and are impossibly thick. It looks as though a tunnel was burned straight through the weakest points in the dense weave that works all throughout the lair. Though the narrow tunnel is tall enough for a man to walk through, it is occupied, and slowly being rebuilt.

(1/2)

File: Bell Spiders.jpg (137 KB, 990x852)

137 KB JPG

>>4316293
The workers within are spiders, with bodies like bells. The center most bell of each demon's body is easily three feet tall, to say nothing of their stony legs. Though their size and shape varies, they're all nimbly weaving new webs in their home.

The strands they're producing are certainly made of coagulated blood, though you can't fathom how. There are no corpses littered about. The only other objects in view come from an abandoned campsite, off in the distance. It looks as if several dozen passages let out into this chamber, and many more stretch out, off on every far wall.

None of your compatriots can see in the absolute darkness ahead, and you know that to hesitate may mean the end of you all. You count no fewer than ten demons ahead, before one notices you.

It chimes. It skitters straight towards you. The bell tolls for your death.

WHAT THE FUCK DID FATHER ANSCHAM TELL ME?!

>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.
>You can butcher your speak to minimize stuttering, for a +10 bonus. If anyone chooses to do so, their roll will take precedence in the event of a tie.
>If anyone can recall what you were instructed to relay to these spiders, a roll may not be required.

Rolled 19 (1d100)

>>4316298

Rolled 90 (1d100)

>>4316298
I'm using my good rolling hand for this one.

Rolled 81 (1d100)

>>4316298

>>4316304
>>4316320
>>4316334
(Hot damn you guys are on a roll :^). That 90, with the good hand, goes through! Writing now.)

>>4316348
You hold your ground, and put out a single hand. Your palms are upturned, in the symbol of the church of Mercy. No fear is on you. With complete confidence, you assert, "Father Anscham is guiding us."

The spider stops. You don't dare to breathe.

Fear immediately drenches it. The creature skitters a bit, in place. The noise its bell makes is almost pleasant. The fact that it's obviously meant to alert every single demon within earshot of your presence is nauseating, to an extreme. Your pulse is going a mile a minute, as you glance over your shoulder to your congregation.

The hulking scoundrel that tailed you earlier is compulsively laughing, from the sheer stress of your situation. The portly man next to him punches him in the arm hard enough to silence the outburst. There's no other sound. No other word.

Everyone looks to you, as you keep a single hand outstretched, and kneel down to the demon's level before you. There's a ringing in your ears, and it's not from the bells. The speed of your pulse borders on vibration. You take several deep breaths, and lock eyes with the creature.

There's about nine, black, glossy, reflective eyes on the front of its bell. The demon tilts its head inquisitively, intentionally ringing its bell far louder than before.

A woman behind you lets out a small shout, before breaking down into hysterical sobs. You don't have time to reassure anyone. Multiple people attempt to shush her, anyways.

As firmly as you can muster, you say to the demon before you, "we won't harm anyone. Let us pass. Fath-ther Anscham is still here. He'll b-be b-back. He won't b-be happy." You stand, lean around your congregation, and point to the tunnels beyond. "Our numb-bers were much g-greater b-before. Th-three in the corrid-dor alone."

You drop your arm. The spider is salivating strands of thick blood. You confidently walk past it, muttering, "leave us."

No further bells chime, as ten demons quickly filter out, into the corridor beyond. Their movement is surreal. They nearly glide along the surface of their lair. Suspended in their own webs, it isn't until they touch down behind your frantically moving congregation that any further sound is made.

The woman that was sobbing hysterically before is verging on complete panic, and is taken into the arms of a nobleman beside her. The pair are at the center mass of your congregation, who have crowded themselves into the entryway of the cavern. They're all otherwise stunned into complete silence.

Everyone keeps on your trail, as you make your way through the carved out, and now empty tunnel. The man who had been handing out swords earlier commands in a hoarse voice— to everyone able— to cut a path out of the thinnest webs that have been put up.

(1/2)

>>4316394
The strands are nearly as strong as metal. After a few feet of agonizing work, you all resolve to simply climb in and through the maze. It's exhausting work, for a group of men and women already on the verge of collapse. You move ahead of the pack as quickly as you can, hoping to save everyone some time.

You get to a decent vantage point, at the campsite, near the back of the chamber. There's evidence of days worth of fire. Blood is in dried pools along the floor. Paint in shades of white and blue is streaked through the viscera. A few flecks of some herbal remedy is in the nauseating blend, adjacent to several abandoned campfires.

Your heart lifts at the sight of the wood. The bald man you had seen nearest to the library is right on your tail, seeming incredibly adept at weaving between the webs behind you all. He begrudgingly goes along with your request to make use of the wood, without further supplies to make a fire. As everyone else you're with is bordering on blind in the meantime, your eyes scour the chamber for any more supplies.

The weirdest thing you've ever seen— and that's really saying something— is strung up in the webs ahead. It fills nearly the entire chamber, though you mistook the webs merely for a dense trap upon entry. From this angle you can clearly see a message. It's spun of the same bloody strands as all the rest, though chunks of rotten meat hang suspended in every word.

Dearest Richard,

Time trickles down my many webs, with the steady pace of ages long past. My children pass along them as well, bearing your word, conferring upon me this "blessing." Oh, Richard, as you have amused me once, you have done so again. I long to hear greater tales still of this naivete! This mission, this quest! To perceive your buxom complements, to be regaled once more of your daring! I thank you, Richard, for I laugh still. I titter not along my webs— but deeply, now, within my essence.

You have surely granted me another hundred ages. I grant you safe passage, in many thanks for this, my most mirthful diversion. Through the many ages, through the ruins, through laughter and tears,

Yours,
Malimos.

>A] "What the fuck?"

>B] No one needs to hear that Father Anscham is consorting with demons. Urge everyone to move, and conserve the firewood until you're somewhere safer.

>C] Speak up. Your company should know that the man who got you all out of the library is allied with the demons down here.
>1] This is extremely disturbing.
>2] This is extremely reassuring.

>D] Write-in.

>>4316398
>A] "What the fuck?"
as an initial reaction, stifled

then

compose self and >B] No one needs to hear that Father Anscham is consorting with demons. Urge everyone to move, and conserve the firewood until you're somewhere safer.

>>4316398
>>A] "What the fuck?"
>>B] No one needs to hear that Father Anscham is consorting with demons. Urge everyone to move, and conserve the firewood until you're somewhere safer.

>>4316398
>B] No one needs to hear that Father Anscham is consorting with demons. Urge everyone to move, and conserve the firewood until you're somewhere safer.

>>4316405
>>4316415
>>4316425
(We can definitely do all of this, noting those write-ins and comments for sure. Vote is locked! Writing now.)

>>4316434
Under your breath, a stifled, "what th-the fuck?" barely escapes you.

No one needs to know that Father Anscham is consorting with demons. It's grounds for execution. To shelter someone at risk of the Catalyst is insanity beyond insanity. Speaking with one is unheard of. Your actions just now— not killing a demon on sight— is treason. For a church leader to be allied with one? For the Father of the Church of Mercy to be friends with one that has a name?

It takes a good, long minute to compose yourself. You take a few deep breaths, and urge the bald man beside you to conserve the firewood. He's more than happy to stop working at the absolute lack of kindling, and pawns off the firewood on the clown in your midst. The bulbous-nosed man climbs over, and pockets literally every piece of broken glass and speck of herbs in your midst, while you walk ahead.

The few stragglers in the rear of the congregation are clearly dying from exhaustion, and you want to give them time to catch up. You have to find somewhere safer, and the corridors beyond are anything but. Taking a few steps down, into the most arid space you can detect, only leads to further evidence of insanity.

Mounds of dirt sit on the floor, in the center of the passage, from a crumbled barrier. It's made of the surrounding stone and rock that once comprised the walls. The piles are in disarray, though there's enough to have filled the entire expanse. More alarmingly, vines snake up and around the walls. They're pitch black, having rotted away.

Despite how strange the vines and crumbled rock are, the fallen defense is not your concern. You're worried about what it was keeping out. The passage beyond is streaked from floor to ceiling with the same blue paint that was near the campsite. The volume of it is obscene. Fumes of some toxic, white-blue substance lingers near the floor. It's sitting only at the base of the descent, no more than a foot high. The smoke must be heavy, and you can almost smell it from dozens of feet away.

Even the acrid, sharp, and sour smell doesn't worry you the most. What lies beneath, in the stagnant air, are streaks of ice on the floor.

It looks perilous to an extreme. You have to wonder what kind of demon would inhabit such a toxic lair, but don't dare to linger. You double back to your congregation, who have climbed through the last of the webs.

The prospect of being so close to so much danger is horrific. Your sunken stomach is aching from hunger, and sand is on your tongue from thirst. There's no resources here to speak of, save for what little firewood you've gathered, and that surely should wait until you're far and away from the fumes in the rooms beyond.

Someone collapses from exhaustion. It's probably the scholar, given how little anyone around you cares.

This may be the only shot at respite you'll have for a very long time. You have another tough call to make.

(Options in next post.)

>>4316484
>A] Stay put.
>1] Draw straw for who takes watch. The loser will decide how to proceed.
>2] Demand that whoever can stay up does so. Move before they need rest, and ensure they're looked after.
>3] Take the watch yourself. You'll make the call, for when it's time to go. (Write-in if you have any ideas off the bat.)

>B] There's no way you're resting in the lair of those spider demons.
>1] Press on, even if not everyone is fit to make it.
>2] Compromise your movement to accommodate anyone that's at their limit.

>C] Write-in.

>>4316484
>>A] Stay put.
>3] Take the watch yourself. You'll make the call, for when it's time to go.

Service Time properly and count one hour.

>>4316486
>A] Stay put.
>2] Demand that whoever can stay up does so. Move before they need rest, and ensure they're looked after.
Time to conserve energy so we may complete our task

>>4316486
>A3
comin in with the tie breaker ;^)

>>4316589
>>4316603
>>4316616
(Alright! Locking here with the tie broken. Serving Time duly noted as well! Writing ASAP.)

File: Hourglass.png (53 KB, 105x186)

53 KB PNG

>>4316617
While conserving your own energy is imperative, you're certain that there are those among you who can barely stand. Being the only individual in your company with the ability to discreetly take a watch, you make yet another sacrifice. The very moment you suggest everyone take a rest, the entire congregation gets to the floor.

Without supplies, bedding, or so much as a sack to lie on, the furthest back wall has to make due. The abandoned campsite is free of webs, and as good a spot as any. You drop as well, sit upright, and lean against the furthest stone wall. Keeping your back against a firm surface is more comfort than you can hope for.

The majority of your company is asleep from the moment they're certain you're watching out for any danger. The more paranoid and traumatized of the bunch at least have the wits to keep down, and quiet. The woman that was crying hysterically is kept in the arms of the gentleman that was with her before. You can't help but note how fair her skin and hair is, but it could easily be from the lack of sunlight, rather than nobility.

When you're certain everyone's nerves have wound down, and are taking the time to properly rest, you begin counting. An hourglass would be preferable. You haven't seen glass or sand in years, and are usually terrible at this sort of thing. It's not that you don't have any respect for the Goddess of Ages— your life is simply too chaotic to always pay Time due respect.

One minute. One of the rogues that was closely following you might be masturbating. You resist the urge to go beat him to death. He's promptly kicked in the head, by someone laying next to him. Over significant complaints and grumbling, he completely stops, and is given a wide berth.

Five minutes. Everyone has resumed trying to sleep. The blood in the webs around you has been slowly dripping to the floor. There's puddles of it on the ground, that you hadn't quite noticed at first. Amidst the liquid are chunks of viscera. It's likely a product of the spiders, but you're no expert, and haven't the faintest idea for what purpose the meat might serve.

Ten minutes. The scholar that collapsed from exhaustion snores in his sleep. Everyone is irritated, and he's jostled awake so no one else is bothered.

Fifteen minutes. The greasy young man is fully awake, comes over, and sits next to you. Through a yawn, he nasally introduces himself. "Name's Walter."

You sigh, heavily. He smells nearly as bad as he looks, and you speculate you're in the same boat. "Harvey."

At least your first name doesn't give you any complaints.

"Sorry about the, you know..."

Still unable to see his own movements, the brunette gestures much more broadly than he needs to. "The whole, hole, thing. Wasn't trying to get anyone killed." In a whisper, he insists, "on the contrary!"

Sixteen minutes? Seventeen?

(1/2)

File: Walter.png (145 KB, 595x511)

145 KB PNG

>>4316650
He's staring at you. "You're quiet." Scrutinizing your silhouette through the shade, his eyes narrow unnecessarily. Walter clearly enjoys the sound of his own voice. "I don't mind the stutter, you know. It's fascinating."

Probably eighteen minutes. You scoot a few inches away from the pseudo-intellectual.

"Whatever you find worth saying means more than most, I'm sure."

Possibly intellectual.

>A] "I'm trying to keep watch. Get some rest."

>B] Ask Walter a little bit about himself. It's freakish that he's kept so much of his faculties, but you don't trust that he has all of his marbles.

>C] He's being way too personal, and that suits you just fine. Be just as intrusive. See what he's willing to divulge, when you all could die at any moment.

>D] You're actually seriously bothered that he nearly got multiple people killed. Say as much.

>E] You do appreciate the attempt to save everyone's life, even if it was misguided. Express some gratitude.

>F] Write-in.

>>4316653
>B] Ask Walter a little bit about himself. It's freakish that he's kept so much of his faculties, but you don't trust that he has all of his marbles.

>>4316653
>>B] Ask Walter a little bit about himself. It's freakish that he's kept so much of his faculties, but you don't trust that he has all of his marbles.
>E] You do appreciate the attempt to save everyone's life, even if it was misguided. Express some gratitude.

>>4316657
>>4316667
(I think we can definitely do both of these. Vote is locked! Writing now.)

>>4316711
Just to be safe, you glance around the rear of the cavern you're all in. There's no movement, and no indication that anyone but the two of you are awake.

This man did try to save all your lives. It's worth saying at least a few things, even if thirst makes every word more painful than usual. "You d-did g-get us closer to an exit. No one was hurt b-by your actions. I appreciate it, even if no one else d-does."

"Yes." He's particularly pleased with himself. "I did. You're welcome."

"What are you d-doing d-down here, Walter?"

"Studying," the legitimate scholar immediately replies. "It's funny, isn't it?"

You silently give him the time to ramble— exactly how you're sure he wants to.

"Compelling, even," he muses, in a distant and haughty fashion. "The company we've all kept, I mean. I couldn't do much reading, Harvey. Not in all the time I've been down here. Not for all the screaming. You'd think it would have been enough to have men— such as yourself, and I mean no offense—" You grunt quietly. It's sufficient. "—to look after me. But no. It's been insufficient."

Something ugly slips into his tone. "I didn't want to leave. There was so much more to learn."

He shifts, and turns to face you completely. The young man is definitely unaware of how twisted his facial features are, given the dark, and his immediate distress. You can clearly see that he's on the verge of tears, or screaming. His whisper is practically a hiss. "I take it you did."

"Yeah." You shift as well, another inch or two to the side. Likely twenty one minutes have passed. "Why would you want to stay?"

"I thought," he continues to seethe, "that my study would amount to something, given enough time. I realize now that it may be impossible. There's simply no way that I could have read it all."

Walter's eyes go wide. Wider than anyone's possibly should. "No one in their right mind could. Perhaps— yes. Definitely. Absolutely. This was the reason I was dragged away. I was to tell you—" he shifts, to get to his feet.

You put an arm to an emaciated shoulder, and slam the young man firmly back down to the floor. "Late. It is t-too late, W-Walt-ter." The name is an atrocity. You try to not let it get to you, but he's already talking again.

"This must be it. I'm certain. You were compelled too, weren't you? To leave? To do something?"

Your nerves are probably just as shot. Walter patiently waits for a reply, as you manage, "it w-was someth-thing I had alread-dy w-wanted t-to d-do. What were you att-tempt-ting?"

(1/2)

>>4316736
Anger and conviction worms its way into his sneer. "I seek to obtain the answers to the questions we all are asking. I know that it lies with our people, Harvey. Everyone can call me a lunatic all they want." He literally turns up his nose. "I'm no fool. I'm a teacher, Harvey. I'm a fucking professor. I'm the only asshole brave enough to say that this is all a farce. The Gods, and their preachers, and all of this bullshit has been the death of us all. They have forsaken us." His nose goes higher. "I thought that I would find answers here. From untouched cities. But I can see clearly, Harvey."

He gets to his feet. "Holy shit. Holy shit."

The strands of nearly-wet hair upon his head wave towards you, as you get to your feet, and resist the urge to shake the young man. Walter is shaking all on his own, and puts a hand to his head. "Literally. That's it. He's holy shit, you know that? The fucking asshole—"

"What are you t-talking ab-bout?"

"That's it. I have to go back. They wouldn't have sent him down here. He came on his own. I couldn't think, with everything going on. It's clear to me, now. It's all so clear—" he tries to muffle a laugh, and fails. "He came for us. Don't you see?"

Concern has contorted your face into a particularly painful expression. "N-no."

"He might look it, but he's not. He's not here to die." His volume is increasing. "None of us are!"

"Keep your voice d-down."

His fervor is legitimately dangerous. A few bodies up ahead move, from the increased noise. "We're here to learn, Harvey— he's going to learn." You're patted on the shoulder, blindly. "Thank you for your assistance. I would like to meet you again, under better circumstances. There's still hope!"

You've completely lost track of the time, and are about to lose one of your charges. He's not making any sense. The lunatic actually tears off, and moves to run back the way you came.

"There's another question, Harvey—!"

Blindly. He's actually very adept at navigating without sight, and seems to deduce where to head without even looking where he's going.

"Haha! Another answer!"

By himself. He's triumphantly weaving around the bodies on the floor, back towards the webs.

You take a very deep breath.

>A] At least make an attempt to stop Walter.
>1] Try to physically restrain the mad scholar. It's a colossal waste of your already limited energy, but he's definitely weaker than you.
>2] Wake everyone up. See if you can get some help. It'll be easier to keep him in line if you have extra hands.

>B] Just let him go. He's a danger to literally everyone in your company. You do not have the time, energy, or patience for any of his lunacy.

>C] Write-in.

>>4316739
>>A] At least make an attempt to stop Walter.
>>1] Try to physically restrain the mad scholar. It's a colossal waste of your already limited energy, but he's definitely weaker than you.

>>4316739
>>A] At least make an attempt to stop Walter.
>>1] Try to physically restrain the mad scholar. It's a colossal waste of your already limited energy, but he's definitely weaker than you.

>>4316739
>>A] At least make an attempt to stop Walter.
>>1] Try to physically restrain the mad scholar. It's a colossal waste of your already limited energy, but he's definitely weaker than you.

>>4316747
>>4316748
>>4316910
(Got some extra time off of work today! Can do an impromptu session for the next like 10 hours lol. Locking the vote here, will write shortly!)

>>4317293
(Coffee acquired! Writing now.)

>>4317320
Thanks to your ability to actually see where you're walking, it takes only a few confident steps to reach Walter. Ensuring that he's clear and away from anyone sleeping on the floor, you position yourself right behind him, and deftly grab both of his wrists.

"The fuck do you think you're doing—?!" is the only expletive he manages. By the time the last word has left his lips, you've already crossed his arms, wrapped them firmly against his chest, and effortlessly have the man pinned back against you.

He tries kicking up, and back, and you try to not sigh too much as you begin walking him back towards the far wall. "You are g-going to g-get us all k-killed," you levelly assert, watching your step and curving away from everyone that's attempting to rest.

He's making a point of shouting now. "We're already dead!"

Several people on the floor grumble, and get up. It can't have been more than twenty-five minutes of rest for any of them.

The barrel-chested man who was the first to follow you is irate beyond measure, and moves to stand the second he registers what's being said. "The FUCK is going on—"

A body adjacent to him— the auburn-haired man— is up to his feet in seconds. "I'll kill him myself." He blindly tries walking towards you both, fists tense, and nearly trips over someone getting to their feet.

Walter continues to make a fool of himself. "WE'RE ALREADY DE—"
You tighten his arms so firmly against his chest, the air is completely taken from his lungs. "K-keep your voice d-down, W-walt-ter."
"No," he wheezes, "I will not. No one is silencing me! Never again! This is too fucking important! Let me GO!"

At least ten people are awake, and on their feet. Those who have remained on the floor are clearly either too upset to move, or are comforting those who have had enough conflict to last a lifetime. You have easily made your way to the back wall, and reposition Walter's arms just enough that he doesn't have any difficulty breathing. He's still wheezing, from the sheer force you used to get him out of harm's way. Your own arms are already on fire, but it's absolutely worth the effort to ensure no one else dies on your watch.

The auburn-haired man finds a way to stride over. He's got his fists clenched, at eye-level, and waves his imminent attack right towards where Walter's face is. Eye twitching, he scowls, "just say where, boss."

(Options in next post.)

>>4317390
>A] Ask him to knock Walter out, so you all can get moving.
>1] You're pissed, and do NOT have time for any of this.
>2] This is sad, to say the least. You don't have the heart to endure one more person's suffering.

>B] Ask him to get something to gag Walter with. Have one of the priestesses of Mercy restrain him properly. Let everyone get back to sleep for the rest of the hour. Hopefully that will be enough time for the madman to calm down.

>C] You'll make the time for Walter to make his point heard. If nothing else, it should give everyone else who can speak the opportunity to vent to him. Keep an eye out for any danger, in the meantime, and demand that everyone keep their voices down.

>D] Write-in.

>>4317393
>>B] Ask him to get something to gag Walter with. Have one of the priestesses of Mercy restrain him properly. Let everyone get back to sleep for the rest of the hour. Hopefully that will be enough time for the madman to calm down.

>>4317396
>>B] Ask him to get something to gag Walter with. Have one of the priestesses of Mercy restrain him properly. Let everyone get back to sleep for the rest of the hour. Hopefully that will be enough time for the madman to calm down.

>>4317393
C

>>4317393
>C] You'll make the time for Walter to make his point heard. If nothing else, it should give everyone else who can speak the opportunity to vent to him. Keep an eye out for any danger, in the meantime, and demand that everyone keep their voices down.

>>4317396
>>4317393

Ill change to C

>>4317393
>C] You'll make the time for Walter to make his point heard. If nothing else, it should give everyone else who can speak the opportunity to vent to him. Keep an eye out for any danger, in the meantime, and demand that everyone keep their voices down.

>>4317396
>>4317408
>>4317416
>>4317436
>>4317460
>>4317462
(C it is! Locking the vote here, writing now!)

>>4317465
"W-wait." You shift your hold, to make sure Walter's kicking doesn't knock him out of your arms. "Hold on. W-Walter."

He's seething, and assumes a pompous tone. "What."

"You w-want to m-make yourself heard." A small crowd is forming, thanks to the sound of your discussion.

"No shit," he spits, turning up his nose again.

"G-go ahead," you offer.

He ignores it. "Let me go."

"N-no. You'll run."

He makes a point of kicking you. "Fuck you, Harvey."

"Fuck y-you t-too, W-Walt-ter." You tighten your hold, and promise, "I can have you g-gagged—"

"That isn't necessary," he wheezes.

You don't let up. "P-prove it, th-then."

The man standing before you keeps his fists up, but remains quiet. The small crowd that's formed is grumbling, but everyone seems too fed up with the situation to interject.

It's a miracle that so many of them look more alert than before.

You're all patience and discipline, but the sheer stress of the situation has your speech slipping. "D-don't w-waste y-your ener—" the g is too difficult to pronounce, you know it, and try, "sit d-down. All of y-you." You reassure them, "I'll b-be keeping an eye out."

To make a point, you get to the floor, Walter in tow. He huffs, despite the care you take to not injure either of you. Upon hearing the sound, "fuck you Harvey, they'd hear me better standing," the majority of the men and women around you begrudgingly do the same.

It's easier to get a vantage point of the cavern with so many heads down, and you can instantly tell two of the congregation are starting to nod off from sheer exhaustion. The auburn-haired man stays standing, seething.

You nudge your charge with the side of your leg. "Half an hour, W-Walt-ter. T-talk."

He clears his throat.

"Q-quiet-tly," you hiss.

He clears his throat as quietly as he can. He thinks he's hilarious. You elbow him in the side, hard.

"Alright!" He finally concedes. "Alright."

He seems nervous. There's a long pause. He actually, definitely is nervous. He's sweating, and you manage to murmur, "g-give a shit ab-bout n-nerves some oth-ther t-time."

There might be a smile, or a raised eyebrow in reply. He lets out a light laugh. You don't care what he thinks. Your eyes are fixed on the back of the cavern, the bloodied spiderwebs, the men and women shaking and fighting with exhaustion.

"Listen up," he finally snaps, in a whisper, to anyone that cares to listen. You can see about two people who actually give a shit. It's the priestesses of Mercy, who are holding hands, and definitely are holding back any any all desire to do harm. The rest are clearly looking for an excuse to beat him to death.

(1/2)

>>4317541
"We're all doomed. You know it. I know it. Our King and our clergy, present company included, have no fucking intention of doing a thing about the Catalyst. I've known for years that there is an answer. We are the answer—" several people write him off as utterly insane, get up, and go to lay back down. He's unperturbed, and continues, "and there is one fucker alive who's actually trying to do something for us! Don't lie to me. Don't tell me you'd all given up."

No one dares to reply. The two nobles both look at each other simultaneously— the lovers, in the dark— with stars in their eyes. They get it. You're pretty sure you get it, too, but Walter really likes to hear the sound of his own, nasally voice.

"That fucker back there hasn't given up on us. I didn't want to go, and I'm sure plenty of you thought you wanted to stay, too. But that's the thing, isn't it? We all went off running. Not just for our lives. We've got something! There's something here."

He jerks hard against your hold, but you keep your arms firm. "Daddy Asscum back there," the clown chuckles, and is punched, "has something going for him. He wouldn't have come down here for the King. Sure as shit not for just any of us. He's got an answer. I'm sure of it. He tried to save our skins, despite whatever the fuck is going on— and I'm going to get that answer if it kills me."

He kicks harder against you. He's too weak for it to do much. "Let me go. You're not helping anyone. They aren't going to follow me—" he kicks harder, with his long and bony legs, "and I'm going to run my fucking mouth every second I can if you won't. You're obstructing my work. I'll come back if I get an answer, Harvey—"

The portly rogue, with his awful mustache, makes a point of moaning indecently as he rolls over. Clearly having faked sleep, from his position on the floor just a few feet away, he groans, "just let him go. He's not much fun at all, is he?"

In the dark, you can actually make out the split tongue on the bald man you saw earlier. He's not laughing, as he yawns, "we're not much better than any demon, to hold a man against his will." Something disgusting weaves into his narrow eyes. "Not that I'm complaining. He does have a point, though."

A few of the men grumble in agreement. One of the priestesses of Mercy— she has an average chest, and is fairly short, but is definitely the curvier of the two— falls back to the floor in exhaustion. While blindly looking to the ceiling, she groans, "this is all fucked. She—" you're sure she's speaking of her Goddess, "—wouldn't want this. Not even to save our skin. He's gone." She's referring to her church leader, for sure. "We're done for. He's got a point, yes, but you're a fool if you think for a moment that Father Anscham did this for our sake." You can practically hear her nose wrinkle. "And your sense of humor is repugnant."

(Barely over, 2/3)

>>4317542
Several men agree wholeheartedly. The clown actually offers full criticism, fighting through a smile to not ruin his joke. "She's right." He loses it, exploding into giggles, fighting through it only to say, "Dick Asschum is much funnier."

He explodes into full-blown laughter. The bald man adjacent practically pins him to the floor, in a poor attempt to muffle his outburst. "Will you shut up—!"

There's still no movement in the cavern. The demons you sent out have been gone for a suspicious amount of time.

Walter turns up his nose further. "I do not have time to engage in petty insults with petty women" several men are outraged, "over the quality of my character! Let me go, Harvey." He's stopped kicking. He's furious. "Let me go."

>A] The gag and restraints would be good, now.

>B] The gag, restraints, and knocking him out would be preferable.

>C] You won't waste anymore of anyone's time, nor will you hold a man against his will. Let him go, but give him clear instructions on how to get back safely.

>D] Take the time to give Walter instructions on how to get back, and how to safely navigate the library. This lunatic is determined, and if you're going to release him, you want to give him a fighting chance at survival. You're not getting any rest, anyways.

>E] Write-in.

>E] Write-in. Try to convince him to stay, and give the group back some of it's morale.

Whatever we came here for, we already had our chance and we failed, we can't risk it.
Whatever Anscham came here for, it wasn't us, yes, but he decided to save us. You saw in what state he was after he did, and you can't let his effort go to waste.
We never had seen anyone attempt to save a sould down here. The father gave the example, and the three men that blocked the entrance followed in his steps. You're not afraid to butt heads with this dumbass if it means you might save him.
If you have any chance to leave this place, you need your fellow men, and they need you.

>>4317714
Support.

>>4317714
>>4317722
(Sick double dubs. Very, very nice write-in. Going to lock the vote here! Writing now.)

>>4317734
https://youtu.be/mDXWN5bAtCs

"W-we know w-what w-we came here for. W-we alread-dy had our chance, and we failed."

The twist in Walter's face is audible. He's so upset, he can't speak. You barely can, either, but this is too important to not say. "W-whatever Anscham came here for, it w-wasn't us, sure. B-but he d-decided to save us. You saw w-what state he was in, after w-what he d-did. You can't let his effort go to w-waste."

A number of the men and women in your congregation lift their heads, if only just slightly. One or two of them actually look back, over their shoulder. There's some muttering, asking if they think the priest is going to live. Walter's completely stopped struggling.

"W-we n-never—" you swallow hard. Speaking at such length is insanely uncomfortable, but you're a fighter. "I've never seen anyone even attempt t-to save a soul d-down here."

Everyone looks straight at you. They've seen someone who's tried.

You're still trying. "The Fath-ther g-gave us all an examp-ple. Th-three men," you take an arm off of Walter, to point to a corridor that should be lined with corpses, "that b-blocked th-that entrance, followed in his st-steps."

You let Walter totally out of your arms, and get to your feet. "Y-you have a chance to leave th-this place. I'm n-not afraid to b-butt heads with you, W-walt-ter. Not if it st-stands a chance at saving your d-dumbass."

"Hey," he huffs, getting back to his feet just as quickly.

"Y-you n-need your f-fellow men." You pause, and look out to your congregation.

They're all awake. Their eyes are wide, in the dark, but they're trying to look at you. To your charge. To answers, and someone willing to fight for them.

"Th-they n-need you," you quietly assert, putting a hand firmly to the slender scholar's shoulder. A bell tolls, far off in the distance. "C-come on," you mutter.

Grief is distorting the man's otherwise fair features. "You don't know what you're asking. I've lost everything, and not just for this."

"N-no." You shake him, by only one shoulder, and grab firmly onto the other. "Y-you haven't."

He looks like he's going to cry, and wipes at the side of his face just for the show of it. He knows full well that he hasn't lost everything.

You all have each other.

The tolling is getting louder. There's no panic running through the men and women with you. They've taken heart, and get to their feet. Those that still have makeshift armor, shields, or swords immediately grab them, despite having almost no rest to speak of.

You shrug off your hands from Walter's shoulders. He rubs at them, while miserably muttering, "we can't see shit, Harvey. What's happening?"

Daring to raise your tone, you warn, "ev-veryone c-cov-ver your faces, w-with w-whatever y-you can. Th-there's ice up ahead."

(1/2)

>>4317815
The priestesses of Mercy immediately strip off swathes of the bottoms of their skirts, and blindly work towards covering as many faces as possible. Everyone else tries to do the same, with whatever cloaks or spare fabric they can find.

Two of the rogues that were tailing you earlier walk up to get your attention. It's the behemoth with the awful sense of humor, and the lecher. "We're going ahead," the fatter of the two whispers. "Came this way a few months back. I'm sure something's happened."

Looking with understandable fear back over his shoulder, the taller scoundrel snorts, "you think? These saps don't need to see whatever's causing it."

More apologetically, his compatriot nods to you, "we'll give you some fair warning, if we can."

"G-go," you quickly reply. "N-no flame. It's all p-paint. B-be careful."

(A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED FOR ALL OF THE FOLLOWING. Write-ins may provide situational modifiers, as always.)

>A] Proceed as quickly as possible, with everyone's weapons drawn. Balance is not nearly as important as speed. You trust everyone to look out for each other, if anyone slips.

>B] Ask everyone to prioritize keeping their footing, and proceed cautiously. Put anyone capable of fighting at the rear. Even if there's pursuit, you're more worried about the terrain than demons at this point.

>C] Write-in.

>>4317818
>B] Ask everyone to prioritize keeping their footing, and proceed cautiously. Put anyone capable of fighting at the rear. Even if there's pursuit, you're more worried about the terrain than demons at this point.

>4317818
>4317831
+1

>B] Ask everyone to prioritize keeping their footing, and proceed cautiously. Put anyone capable of fighting at the rear. Even if there's pursuit, you're more worried about the terrain than demons at this point.

>>4317831
>>4317832
>>4317866
(Alright guys, let's do this thing.)

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

Rolled 3 (1d100)

>>4317870
nat 100 incoming

Rolled 88 (1d100)

>>4317870

>>4317875
step aside

Rolled 84 (1d100)

>>4317870
TAKE MY ENERGY HARVEU

>>4317875
>>4317876
>>4317878
(That 3 had me sweating jfc lol. 88 does the trick! Writing now.)

File: Corridor.png (2.64 MB, 1773x1182)

2.64 MB PNG

>>4317882
A group of five men take the initiative to keep their swords at the ready. You stride over to them, and ask as quickly as you can, "c-can you hold the line?"

A choir of reassurance is music to your ears.

https://youtu.be/vteCosE9qnM

It takes another full minute to get everyone into the descending passage. The priestesses of Mercy insist that everyone holds at least one other hand, to prevent any falls from taking down the weakest members of the group. You sprint to the head of the pack, pull your cloak over your nose and mouth, shove aside as much of the fallen barrier as possible, and try to not hyperventilate.

The spiders are unquestionably back. Everyone's nerves are already fried enough, without the light tinkling of the demon's bells alerting you all to their presence. From your position at the bottom of the corridor, you can't see what's happening in the rear, as everyone is moving once again in single-file.

They're trusting you to feel out the safest path possible. With a ragged breath, you turn your attention forward, and begin a slow, careful procession. The slicks of ice upon the floor are almost entirely shrouded in mist. The clouds of paint can be smelled even through the fabric upon your face. After only a minute, you can practically taste the sharp and sour substance. More alarming are the streaks of paint upon the walls. They thicken, the further you walk along, but you keep your eyes open.

As you move through the corridor, to your pleasant surprise, there's a few markings upon the wall. It seems that the rogues who ran ahead tried to leave a trail for you. Your close observation of your surroundings and the terrain makes identifying the markers very simple. Of course, they're all buttocks, and crude representations of male ejaculate, but you don't particularly mind. It's enough to lighten your mood, as you wander deeper into catacombs and sin.

There's a few falls, but everyone's incredibly cautious pace minimizes any damage. No one sounds as if they're seriously hurt. You're far more concerned with the clash of swords at the rear, but it seems only a single demon had the gall to pursue you all. It's held at bay, for quite some time after having caught up.

You shove down every instinct to run, and your patience is seriously rewarded. At the rear of the group, there's rejoicing. It sounds as if there are swords being stashed. No one dares to call out, but you hear whispers. Your focus is still on the network of winding and descending corridors ahead, but it's hard to not listen.

(1/2)

>>4317954
A message passes down the line. It seems that someone at the back of your congregation wanted to send word, and had each person whisper it to the next. By the time it reaches the halfway point, between the two dozen of you, everyone seems in a slightly better mood. There's relieved mutters, and one of the women is softly crying from sheer relief. The last person to receive the message— Walter naturally stuck himself right behind you— is all smiles.

"Harvey," the lunatic whispers, "hey."

"Wh-what?"

"They ran. The demon. The guys in the back scared them off." He sniffs. "That's their message. I'm certain that the creatures didn't want to come any further, but don't tell them I said as much."

You won't. There's something much more pressing. The scrawl on the paint beside you is of a skull, as you turn yet another corner ahead. Your blood runs cold, and you stop dead in your tracks.

Everything is cold. The small room beyond is plastered with a forgotten flurry of ice. Flakes of the substance are upon the walls, and drift through the air in suspended animation. Crystallized paint is smeared in melted icicles upon the ceiling, all the way down in columns to the floor. At its center is a corpse. It's melted down, and is easily one of the most disturbing things you've ever laid eyes on. The figure's head is like a man's, wreathed with a crown of solidified paint. The orb of ice is swimming in a melted puddle of blue and black.

The issue, and source of what you suspect will be nightmares for many years to come, is that its body is glowing. The same strands of light that moved you earlier today are ensnared around the creature. It's nailed to the floor, punctured through its limbs in beams of solid gold. It's in a sterile, definitive way, that looks agonizing even in death.

The demon's blackened mouth is hanging open, its eyes having melted from its nonsensical, painted skull. It feels like it's staring at you. The scent of paint is sticking to the back of your throat, and your gag reflex is making itself known.

>A] Warn everyone to steer clear of the corpse. Vomit, get it out of your system, and take another route.

>B] Ask Walter if he can deduce if it's safe to proceed, and dry heave for a few moments. You can't remember the last time you ate, anyways.

>C] Boldly go where a psychopath likely went before. You'll move ahead, shove down your nausea, and try to steer as clear as possible from the body.

>D] Write-in.

>>4317955
>A] Warn everyone to steer clear of the corpse. Vomit, get it out of your system, and take another route.

>>4317955
>>B] Ask Walter if he can deduce if it's safe to proceed, and dry heave for a few moments. You can't remember the last time you ate, anyways.

>>4318058
+1

>>4317958
>>4318058
>>4318060
(Going to combine these slightly, leaning more towards B. Vote is locked! Writing now.)

>>4318067
"What th-the fuck," you mutter, before briskly pulling back the rag on your face. Staggering a few feet to the side— to vomit away from the group— is the least you can do.

Walter is happy to whisper, "what?!"

It takes a few moments. The smell of rot and paint intensifies every second your nose and mouth isn't covered. A few waves of dry-heaving end the miserable experience, as the taste of sickness persists on your mouth. It's additional insult to every word, as you painstakingly describe to Walter what you're seeing. By the end of it, everyone is shifting very uncomfortably.

The scholar seems even more nervous than before. "I see. You're certain it's dead, then?"

Those damn eyes. "Positive."

"I've never heard of a demon so powerful being killed by another," he muses, in the haughtiest voice imaginable. "There is no indication of any flame, is there not?"

"N-no smoke, n-no scorch m-marks. Lots of ice."

"Magic, or a priest, then. We bore witness to a sorceress, and the very Father of the Church of Mercy just a few hours ago. I'm certain they were the ones responsible." He grumbles, "we're lucky to have come through in their wake. Can you see to the passages beyond?"

"N-no." It curves away, though it's level rather than descending. The little bit of the corridor you can make out seems to be just as slick with paint and ice.

"Are there any other rooms? Exits? Anything?"

There's more indication of an abandoned campsite, though the wood is utterly ruined. Immediately to your left and right, unmarked by the rogues, and also brimming with lethal material are two passages. They both arch back upwards. You let Walter know.

"Back-tracking seems unwise. Moving forward may lead us into whatever Father Anscham and the elf left in their wake." His frown is audible, as he sighs heavily. "I suppose we would be better off being mauled to death, than starving down here in the dark. I don't know what you expected."

A man just behind Walter, with a particularly deep voice, interjects, "these tunnels are full of 'em. Demons. We'll die either way. Let's get it over with."

Everyone behind you is shifting, and seems eager to move. It may be that they're simply too anxious to stay in one place, but you're positive that something needs to be done.

>(A ROLL MAY BE REQUIRED FOR ALL OF THE FOLLOWING. Write-ins and strategy may help enormously.)

>A] Proceed as cautiously as humanly possible.
>1] Ask everyone present how they would like to proceed. Trust in their collective strengths.
>2] You have a pretty good idea of how to handle this. (Write-in.)

>B] Back-tracking is probably worth it. This demon has your blood running cold.
>1] Take the leftmost passage. It veers steeply upwards, and may provide relief from the paint fumes.
>2] Take the rightmost passage. It's more level, and may not be a huge delay.

>C] Write-in.

>>4318087
>>A] Proceed as cautiously as humanly possible.
>>1] Ask everyone present how they would like to proceed. Trust in their collective strengths.

>>4318091
+1

>>4318091
>>4318104
(Going to squeeze in one more update before bed! Should have a minimum of an update a day for the rest of the workweek after this, likely a lot more than that. Anyways. Vote is locked! Writing now.)

>>4318175
Quietly, you set about the monumental task of identifying everyone's strengths.

It turns out that Walter is the only academically inclined soul among you. He happily leans against a far wall, getting paint all over himself while everyone else discusses how to proceed.

Another cerebral gentleman is shockingly the bald-headed man with the split tongue. It seems he's survived in the ruins through sheer manipulation, even of demons.

Despite how sharp he is, he can't remember his name. Most of the people among you can't.

"He's a snake," Walter sarcastically offers.

Everyone is amused. You collectively agree upon nicknames, for simplicity's sake. The snake prefers being called a serpent, and that suits you just fine. He sets to discussing a plan of action with Walter (who now is only answering to Professor), once they've figured out who can perform any sort of combative task.

Serpent's only ally is the damn clown. He confesses to have a problem with compulsively stealing, and thrill-seeking, under the premise that he'll be trusted to keep watch once you all can provide some light. Klepto is to stay at the front of the pack, just behind your brainier associates.

The man who doled out multiple swords— Claymore— is immediately identified as the most skilled combatant. He's sharper than Serpent's tongue, and was responsible for holding the line against the spider pursuing you all. He takes up the rear guard.

He has two friends. The hulking man who you first met is aptly labeled "Chesty." It's less of a mouthful than Clarence Chester Connelly. He's shockingly fast for his size, is friends with Claymore, and offers to take up a position near the center of your group, alongside another one of their compatriots.

You offer to call the auburn-haired man Irefist. Not only because you can say it without stuttering, but for the threats he's constantly dealt since meeting him. He's stronger than Chesty, and just as capable with a blade as Claymore. The man's got no sense to speak of, otherwise, but that's fine by you.

There's about ten other men in the same boat, who were all following Irefist. Leadfoot, Steelhand, Coppertongue, Goldenrod, and all the rest set about arguing over who gets what ridiculous nickname, while you properly meet the priestesses of Mercy.

They're both wearing a single gold earring as their holy symbol, and are easy enough to spot among the few women in your company. Sister Corbon— the one that's more akin to a broomstick than a woman— has a dour attitude. She's a pyromaniac, and the absence of any torches has her nerves on end almost as much as her fellow priestess.

Sister Tirel— the shorter one, with better hips— is infatuated with the gold of her church. Like Klepto, she's familiar with trinkets and baubles. Both women promise they have the capacity to heal, if necessary, and set to looking after the most disturbed of your group.

(1/2, just over.)

>>4318205
Nobility. They're hopeless for each other, and came down to the ruins explicitly to die. They're still struggling to not turn back. They're both paler than you are. The woman— Lady Edith Douglas— has golden hair, and is objectively gorgeous. She thinks "Starlight" is poetic. Her lover, Sir Allan "Stardust" Douglas, is just as particular. He's dyed his hair black, though the roots of his yellow locks are peeking through thanks to weeks underground. Both are still wearing finery, that's tattered and filthy thanks to your present living conditions.

They're siblings.

>A] You are not judging anyone down here. Move on.

>B] You're judging.
>1] Keep it to yourself. (Write-in any complaints you may want to address, when you all aren't fleeing for your lives.)
>2] You really need to say something. (Write-in anything you wish to say to them, or anyone else.)

>>4318206
>>A] You are not judging anyone down here. Move on.

Wew lad,interesting stuff but it isn't that relevant at the moment.

>>4318206
>>A] You are not judging anyone down here. Move on.
Throwing stones in glass houses and all that

>>4318206
>A] You are not judging anyone down here. Move on

>>4318206
>A] You are not judging anyone down here. Move on.
I'll take Alabama over Ostedholm any day

>>4318206
>A] You are not judging anyone down here. Move on.

>>4318209
>>4318233
>>4318264
>>4318679
>>4318714
(Taking your wonderful comments and feedback into consideration! Vote is locked. Writing now.)

>>4318743
"Wew. This is seriously not the time to even remotely approach this issue," you think to yourself. "Those who live in glass houses should not throw stones", you immediately rationalize. "By all the Gods, I would rather house with incestuous nobility before spending a minute longer in Ostedholm," you firmly decide.

You remain silent, and stoic, as Stardust and Starlight inform you that they both spent most of their youth training in combat, horse riding, diplomacy, various exotic languages, myriad instruments, know how to read and write, and other countless other privileges afforded to the highest class in Corcaea.

They stay firmly protected in the middle of the pack, alongside a skittish young man— Jitters— who's survived thanks to overwhelming paranoia. He's proficient with knives, and swears his aim is true enough to not threaten anyone's livelihood. Goldenrod, Bronzebeard, and Irefist all create a firm circle around them.

The flame-obsessed priestess wishes to be addressed as Spangle, and voices multiple complaints as everyone looks hopelessly in the dark. Further direction comes quickly.

Walter and Serpent are whispering to each other, in a heated argument, and the former declares himself the lead researcher of an echo chamber. Professor Echo continues to whisper, (now directly to you), "we'll move ahead, and keep the flame out. I don't give a rat's ass how much it bothers anyone. If they don't see us coming, we'll stand a much better chance at surviving."

"You're an imbecile,and a hypocrite," his compatriot hisses. Serpent continues, "but we've wasted more than enough time. At least you're willing to not put all of us at risk." He turns in the wrong direction, unable to even see you, and asks, "Harvey, was it?"

>A] Harvey is fine.

>B] You actually like your last name, and would like to be addressed as Algrith.

>C] This is a circus. You're amused, and would like to be called its ringleader.

>D] You're the damned master of ceremonies. For everything you're going through, you'd like some levity, too.

>E] Write-in.

>>4318766
>>C] This is a circus. You're amused, and would like to be called its ringleader.

>>4318766
>>C] This is a circus. You're amused, and would like to be called its ringleader.

>>4318766
>C] This is a circus. You're amused, and would like to be called its ringleader.

>ringleader
nah senpai

>E] Write-in. you'll see these people reach safety and guide them out of harm's way. You'll be called wrangler

>>4318770
>>4318772
>>4318781
(Sweet deal guys. Vote is locked! Writing now.)

>>4318766
>C] This is a circus. You're amused, and would like to be called its ringleader.

>>4318797
(Oh fuck I missed you man. I'll find a way to incorporate this. Really though, locking the vote here.)

>>4318802
(Missed several votes, just for the sake of clarity today I'll keep the voting window to half an hour to prevent future missed stuff. Thanks for bearing with me guys.)

>>4318806
"We're all a circus," you smirk. With a considerable amount of focus, you breathe out with each enunciation, and manage to almost clearly say, "call me th-the ringleader."

Echo and Serpent can't hide their grins in the dark. The greasier of the two bows with a flourish. "Your generous, gilded cage suits me poorly, Ringleader. May I offer my expertise, on our merry band of freaks?"

He's flicked on the side of his head.

"I'll fucking kill you if you touch me again," he immediately snaps, going for Serpent's neck.

You wrangle them both behind you, with much less effort than before.

"Lead the way, then," the bald sinner sneers, rubbing at his throat.

Everyone is beyond high alert, as you cut a wide and sweeping path around the corpse. The scent is atrocious, even through your mask. The sheer amount of caution you all take prevents any disastrous falls.

The ascent into the corridor beyond is very welcome relief. Paint and mist persist upon the walls and floor, long after you leave the demon's body behind, but the toxin gets thinner by the minute.

The markings upon the wall switch after a time from the crude caricatures to simple arrows. It's not merely because of the lack of paint to sketch in. The walls and floor move from smooth stone into a rockier, rougher, and more natural surface. It's a labyrinth, pocketed with countless spaces to harbor more demons.

You all must travel for another hour, two, or three. Exhaustion has your limbs aching in ways you didn't think possible. Every drip of moisture off of the honeycombed caverns sends another shock through your spine. You're twitching at every sound, wondering if you could collect enough moisture to have something to drink, or if the moss that's barely visible between the cracks in the walls are completely poisonous.

The procession is faltering, and nerves are at a fever pitch. It's been hours without sight or sound of another creature, and every shadow your gifted eyes touch upon feels like another threat towards your life.

Something uncanny casts an actual shadow ahead. Finally devoid of paint, and mist, you heed Walter's counsel to keep the group in the dark.

The rogues that left you all behind are in the chamber ahead. It's their shadow upob the walls, but once again, it's bizarre to an extreme.

There are everlasting candles lining the entire corridor ahead. A collective gasp and sighs of relief come from every single member of your congregation, as the light comes into view. Gently arching stone beams— at least twenty feet high— capture the bulk of the shadow.

The gentle, golden light mercifully gives you some relief from the intense pools of blood coating the entire floor. A single skeleton is at its center, in a death shroud. The demon is easily ten feet tall from end to end, though you can't tell where its limbs begin or end. The odor of paint is well behind you, but everyone keeps their faces covered.

(1/2)

File: Catacombs.jpg (87 KB, 900x1321)

87 KB JPG

>>4318947
Decay hangs hot and heavy in the air. It's sweet in all the wrong ways, and clings to every surface. The hulking man and his portly companion are giving it a huge distance, and run right up to you in the low light. "You made it," the taller of the two whispers, over the sound of multiple people retching.

"Th-the m-markings helped," you whisper in return. "Why d-did you come b-back…?"

Smoothing his mustache nervously, the other scoundrel admits, "didn't want to get too far ahead. There's a problem."

The chambers beyond are allegedly packed with demons. They are not in the corridors and passages themselves, throughout the central levels. The issue is that they are in the walls. 'Randy' (the lecher) and 'Mick' (the prick) are scared shitless of them jumping out of the walls, of course, and suspect some sort of trap.

The highest levels of the catacombs clearly lead back to the spider's chambers. The demons unquestionably know you're here, though they seem to have only tolerated your presence momentarily.

The lowest levels have open chambers. Mick was bold enough to scout one, which contained a colossal demon. He says it was larger than the one in your current location, and seemingly at rest. He's no expert though, and doesn't want accountability if it gets loose.

You ask around, to see if anyone knows how to proceed. The two priestesses of Mercy only have experience with treating injuries from within their home, but save for a few outbreaks resolved by others (Father Anscham disturbingly resolved several immediately, and Father Edmund with before him), they have little in the way of knowledge on the weakness of mankind.

It's at least a small comfort to know that the paths in the catacombs weave around each other. Climbing may tax you all heavily, given everyone's exhaustion, but it at least leaves your options open.

>A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED FOR ALL OF THE FOLLOWING. Options A, B and C are mutually exclusive.

>A] Start with the high route. You'll know what you're facing, even if it's likely going to get someone killed.

>B] Take the central paths. Try to give everyone some moral support, and head into the unknown.

>C] The lowest chambers may not be totally occupied. It's extremely dangerous, but you're too terrified of your other options to risk taking anything else.

>D] Strategy, in addition to your congregation's suggestions, could definitely help out with this situation. (Feel free to write in additional plans of attack or methods of approaching these routes, in addition to voting for A, B, or C.)

>>4318952
>>C] The lowest chambers may not be totally occupied. It's extremely dangerous, but you're too terrified of your other options to risk taking anything else.

Have the professor have a look and see if it is dangerous, if not everyone should move at a snail's pace past it to make sure it doesn't wake up.

>>4318952
>B] Take the central paths. Try to give everyone some moral support, and head into the unknown.

>>4318986
Support

>>4318986
>>4319033
>>4319563
(Sweet deal guys. Going to lock here with the tie broken for C but incorporate a little bit of B. Writing now!)

>>4319571
>>4318986
>>4319033
>>4319563
(Once again I am so used to not having so many rolls in the thread, I jumped the gun!)

>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.
>+10 THINK SMARTER, NOT HARDER
>+5 CONTINUING A SNAIL'S PACE

Rolled 60 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>4319654

Rolled 80 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>4319654
gonna be a good one

Rolled 52 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>4319654

>>4319663
>>4319667
>>4319709
(Hot damn that 95 wins out for the bo3. Okay! Writing now.)

>>4319716
Anxiety is drenching you, nearly as much as the prospect of encountering a single one of those spiders again. While larger demons, and the lowest levels of the catacombs are intimidating, it's at least more agreeable than confronting certain death in any other level of the ruins. Why demons are trapped within the walls and lower chambers still escapes your wildest imaginings, so you turn to the professor. "I t-trust you to invest-tig-gate th-these d-demons b-below."

"No," he smiles.

"You are th-the only one of us smart en-nough to n-not g-get killed right away."

He frowns, particularly to Leadfoot picking at something in his ear. Several more minutes pass, as one of the other men at the rear of your congregation start picking a the walls, and on each other, out of sheer nervous energy. "You have a point," he concedes, frown deepening. "Alone?"

"Alone." You promised you'd butt heads with him, if necessary. Klepto is all smiles, the moment he realizes that he's evaded the first bit of a watch. You make a point of stressing, "we are all count-ting on your wit-ts."

The gangly, greasy young man is given a sword, a makeshift shield, and ties back his hair. From the time he snakes ahead, down, into the caverns below, you immediately begin counting the seconds.

About fifteen minutes pass by. You use them to reassure your company. Not only would Walter's death give the majority of the congregation what they're already hoping for, but it would narrow down one passage as certainly lethal. Everyone is completely confident that this is a win-win situation, and are almost chipper, until rapid footsteps are heard down the hall.

Everyone tenses. Only Professor Echo reappears from around the corner.

No pursuit. No injury.

https://youtu.be/4KGM-jmJBDU

He's white as a ghost, sweating like a pig, and shakes his head. "It's safe."

"What d-do you m-mean," you start, with legitimate worry. Looking over his shoulder, you confirm that no one is following him, save for an unmistakable scent of white lilies. It's weird, and makes every hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

"They're cells," he breathlessly mutters. "The holes in the walls. Someone— or something— is keeping them here. The demons in the walls." He looks like he's going to be ill. "They're jailing demons. This one is too large to be kept in-between the corridors. It's all fucked, though. I think it was all white," he mutters, voice shaking nearly as badly as he is.

"You don't think," Serpent spits, whispering, "what did you actually see?"

"The demon kept gesturing for me to come over," the brunette sneers back. "I ran. Don't give me that fucking look. The cell was in ruin. Don't think I'm being cute. The floor was all fucked, like a mirror." He wraps his arms around himself. "I'm positive it can't escape, but the whole thing was fucked.."

(1/2)

>>4319804
"Th-then we had b-better b-be careful. Stay b-behind Serp-pent," you offer.

The scholar gets a good deal of his composure back at the very suggestion, and gladly keeps his slender frame almost entirely out of sight. Both men position themselves side-by-side, after some arguing, and that suits you just fine. It seems Walter's taken to the shield, but hands the sword with distaste off to Serpent.

Now that the lighting has improved, the majority of the congregation takes heart with at least one person beside them. Your terrified line of madmen begins to look more and more like a formation. There's miserable sobbing and screaming from the walls overhead, but it fades almost as soon as it came.

Proceeding through the passage in silence becomes increasingly difficult. The stone underfoot gradually deepens, until it becomes a steep decline. No one has rope, but the metal and corpses you scavenged make for better holds on the walls and floor than just your worn soles. The passage winds as it descends, and is ultimately so disorienting you have no idea which direction you're headed. The rogues among you are making a point to leave trails, in rocks, etchings on the wall, and are constantly muttering notes on where you're headed and how.

Echo pulls hard on the back of your shoulder, after what feels like an eternity of wandering through low candlelight and paranoia. You wave your arms as broadly as you can, and signal for everyone behind you to come to a full stop.

There's water on the floor, about a hundred feet ahead. The surface is reflective. With extreme caution, you're the first to approach it. Swiping a pebble off the floor, you toss it into the water. It doesn't sink. The rock stays on top of the liquid, as it ripples.

You continue, fearing staying another instant in these ruins more than anything that could lie ahead. Keeping as low to the ground as possible without crawling, you move with utter silence. The liquid has no temperature, and has no reflection to speak of. It feels as if reality shifts, the very second you step upon it.

There is no color to speak of, save for the sweat and heat on every inch of you. Your pulse is so loud, you're certain that the prison beyond will be alerted to your presence. There is only an expanse of white, and it feels as if you're pulled straight into it. The walls are lower than any other you've seen thus far in the ruins. Without crouching, you'd have knocked your head on the ceiling, which is flat, and lined with insect carapaces. The water upon the floor stops rippling, though it's speckled with rocks. If you didn't know any better, you'd say that the demon less than five feet away from you had been trying to escape.

(Underestimated, 2/3)

File: large demon.jpg (193 KB, 868x1828)

193 KB JPG

>>4319807
The wall in which the demon is perched stretches out, impossibly, to accommodate a beast that is no shorter than fifteen feet tall. It has no face. It has no body. It is immaterial, but you're certain that where a face should be is an endless void. Where its hands should be, at the end of nonexistent arms, is a shifting form.

It's unmistakably waving right at you, and is nearly in arm's distance. It laughs.

The demon starts to crawl out of the completely open window, that should be holding it at bay. You can't tell if anyone is behind you.

Everything smells like flowers. It's very quiet.

You've never felt so alone.

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

>A] RUN
>1] FORWARD, AND AWAY. You're panicking too much to see what lies ahead, and you DON'T care.
>2] BACK, BACK THE WAY YOU CAME. Surely you can backtrack?!

>B] Keep it together. Continue your slow movement. Motion for everyone to follow you. If you die, you at least won't be known as a coward.

>C] Stop entirely. Don't panic.
>1] Try to make out exactly what this chamber is.
>2] Stop long enough to look ahead.

>D] Write-in.

>>4319811
>B] Keep it together. Continue your slow movement. Motion for everyone to follow you. If you die, you at least won't be known as a coward.
The demon's probably trying to fuck with your head. Try and ignore how it's affecting your senses, and hold out your hand backwards to the person behind you, encouraging them to do the same (so you can at least keep going pulling foward when someone else starts feeling this dread and goes batshit insane)

>>4319811
>>B] Keep it together. Continue your slow movement. Motion for everyone to follow you. If you die, you at least won't be known as a coward.

>>4319831
>>4319836
>KEEP IT TOGETHER

>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.
>+5 NATURAL LEADER
>+5 STRENGTH IN NUMBERS
>+10 THIS ISN'T YOUR FIRST RODEO

Rolled 12 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>4319846
T A R D
W R A N G L I N '

Rolled 41 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>4319846

Rolled 85 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>4319846

>>4319847
>>4319869
>>4319923
(Mercy. That's 105/100. Writing now!)

>>4319927
https://youtu.be/4mPh9BY0Njo

Your breath is shallow, your eyes are wider than humanly possible, and there's so much sweat on you that your palms are slick. The demon rapidly crawls out of the window, on hands and feet, upon only three limbs. The movement is erratic. It's moving faster.

It's on you.

It's on you, and it's happened so fast that when you reach your hand backwards, you practically scream, "D-DO TH-THE SAME!"

There's a hold on you. Four holds on you. The demon is leering at you, with a face that's slowly pressing out from the interior of its once-concave face. Its features make no sense, as if the creature has forgotten what a human looks like.

It makes your face. The smooth expanse is shifting, as a scream is being loosed straight into the side of your left ear, from a face that looks exactly like yours. You can't hear, but you can see, as an impossible hand coils out. It comes from the depths of its immaterial arms. One is on your chin, lifting your head up and towards the nightmare's face. Its other hand is on your shoulder, pulling you towards the window across the chamber.

The third hand is on your eye. It's pressing. Deeper.

You cannot breathe, and half of you can't see. You want to vomit, from the scent of sickly sweet flowers that you will not forget for the rest of your life. You do not scream.

The last hand is clutching onto yours with such an intense grip, its nails have dug straight into your skin. It's the most beautiful thing you've felt in your entire life. You do not scream, as you hyperventilate, and take the most fearless steps forward you've ever mustered. You're not a coward, as you drag Serpent fully into the chamber, and mutter to him over and over again to keep moving forward.

It's licking your eye. The fucking demon has invented a tongue, explicitly for licking your eye, while you try and ignore it. It doesn't feel like anything, but you can see it, in your mind's eye. It's somehow worse than feeling it.

It's like it's wrapped its tongue inside the socket, up, into your brain.

"Forward," you choke out, unable to breathe, or to look back. "K-keep hold-ding on. All of you!"

You can't see your congregation, but you can feel them. That has to be enough.

It's impossible to stand fully upright in the chamber, and as hard as you can, you pull Serpent with you. He's not screaming. The man is absolutely in shock of some sort, but you don't care. The demon isn't screaming. It's whispering incoherently to you, as it remembers language, and begins to mimic your tone. The laughter was so thin, you couldn't decipher a tone from it, but here one is. The demon picks up on the distress in your voice, shaping mere words into something obscene.

(1/2)

>>4319997
"Ah, ah— ah-ah— ah— aaaa— aaaaaahhhh—"

This time you do scream, as you heave your ally forward with every last ounce of strength left in your exhausted limbs. You wrench yourself away from the demon's grasp on your shoulders, and taking every bit of care you can to not let anyone slip out of another's grasp, you make it out of the other side of the chamber.

Serpent is holding onto Walter, who is holding onto Klepto, who in turn was leading the rest of the chain of your congregation. There's over twenty of you, and it seems any one person touching the room affects the rest. When you finally stagger out of the lair, there's still no light in your eyes. There's no color. The twenty odd men and women behind you remain connected, and most of them are panicking. You can see clearly into the room, now, and bark for them to stay together, as all the life leaves you.

Up ahead is another chamber. It's connected by a thin tunnel, which is no more than ten feet long. The passage you're currently in is barely wide enough for you to stretch an arm out in, let alone for someone else to comfortably stand beside you. It's clearly a bottleneck— to keep the demons imprisoned here from leaking out— while giving their jailers room to move.

You try to not hyperventilate.

Their jailers are somewhere down here, too.

The path ahead curves hard to the right, and almost straight up. It's sadistic, but you're positive it will lead you all closer to the surface.

>(A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED FOR ALL OF THE FOLLOWING.)
>(Your remarkable leadership will grant a +10 flat bonus to future endeavors you bring your congregation on, if you take the point.)

>A] Press on. Ostedholm hasn't done wonders for your sanity, and these people are counting on you.

>B] Back the fuck up. There were other routes you could take, and you're no maniac.

>C] Order someone specific to move up to the front with you. (Specify who, or what function you need filled if the particular individual doesn't matter! e.g. any man with combat proficiency other than Claymore, one of the priestesses of Mercy, Irefist, etc.)

>D] Write-in.

>>4320001
>>A] Press on. Ostedholm hasn't done wonders for your sanity, and these people are counting on you.

Fortune favors the bold, if this entire section is a jail it means we can afford to hurry it the fuck up, maintain the human chain and fucking run out of here as fast as possible.

>>4320005
+1

>>4320001
>A] Press on. Ostedholm hasn't done wonders for your sanity, and these people are counting on you.

>>4320001
>>A] Press on. Ostedholm hasn't done wonders for your sanity, and these people are counting on you.

>>4320005
>>4320017
>>4320088
>>4320091
>FORTUNE FAVORS THE BOLD

>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.
>+10 INSPIRING LEADER

Rolled 93 (1d100)

>>4320301

Rolled 82 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>4320301
Yeet

Rolled 9 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>4320301

These rolls

>>4320305

I told you fortune favors the bold :^)

>>4320302
>>4320303
>>4320304
>>4320305
>>4320308
(hahaha oh wow. Nice 103/100. will write ASAP.)

>>4320323
https://youtu.be/5LP_Ww5BdVk

Ostedholm hasn't done wonders for your sanity. It's not madness that's wormed its way into your speech, however.

It's bravery.

"FORTUNE FAV-VORS THE B-BOLD! RUN! ST-TICK T-TOGETH-THER! N-NO MATTER TH-THE ODDS!"

It's not necessary to drag anyone, as you all collectively make a mad dash through a living nightmare. Those at the rear can be heard screaming. You and Serpent dig in blades and heels, to scale up the highest slope ahead of you. Every man and woman behind follows suit, as fast as they're able. They've taken heart, but are surely fighting with everything they have to not lose their minds.

You are the first to emerge in the next cell, which is comprised entirely of canine teeth. Immediately, your hands are shredded to pieces on the ledge up.

Recoiling is not an option. You fight through the instinct. Despite the grotesque lacerations, there's no pain. It may be adrenaline, or an illusion, but you CANNOT linger.

The small, rounded room houses a singular, razor-sharp cage at its center. Within the cage unfolds a behemoth, pressed so tightly up against the bars that it's bursting out from every space. Its face is made of mouths. Its eyes are teeth. It has no limbs, no nose, no ears. The entire creature is a mass of cuspids and decaying molars, shaped into orifices. They all are screaming hysterically.

The demons sobs in such a human fashion, you wonder if it may have retained thought or coherency.

The thought leaves as soon as it came. As it screams, the demon's mouth opens, and another face rapidly exits, more decayed than the first. It's as if there are multiple monsters housed within the maw of the first one, and they keep coming. The pasty, pale, plaque-encrusted teeth keep gnashing, as you drag yourself up with only a single arm into the chamber.

Hoisting Serpent up with a grunt, you fire him a look that says he'll have worse things than demons to worry about if he turns back. Walter is deathly silent behind him, gasping as he shreds his unscarred palms.

You boldly sprint ahead, teeth flying out underfoot, and practically drag everyone after you. The screams behind you are growing, and you bellow over it, sprinting as hard as you can dead ahead.

"WE'RE HEAD-DING OUT! KEEP M-MOVING! ALL OF YOU!"

Walter hands off the useless piece of metal for a shield to Serpent, screaming, "HE'LL NEED IT!"

The item is thrust to you, before you even exit the chamber. "Don't stop," Serpent demands, "even if the whole thing collapses."

Everyone just behind you can see that the narrow corridor beyond is lined floor-to-ceiling with pressure plates.

Behind you, there's definitely someone in the last room who's lost their mind, or has been eaten, or suffered a fate worse than death. Those entering the canine prison with you can't afford to linger, as the demon within is expanding by the second. There's so much screaming.

You grit your teeth, and charge.

(Options in next post.)

>>4320440
>(A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED FOR ALL OF THE FOLLOWING.)

>A] Dive, shield first, and try to not activate a single trap for as far as you can leap. Even if no one else makes it out of here alive, you're living to tell this story.

>B] Intentionally activate a straight line of traps, to grant your congregation a clear path ahead. Prioritize protecting your face, if nothing else.

>C] You're praying to Flesh for some fucking strength, and barreling straight in. Look after the people behind you, if you can. The time for caution is over.

>D] Write-in.

>>4320443
>C] You're praying to Flesh for some fucking strength, and barreling straight in. Look after the people behind you, if you can. The time for caution is over.

>>4320443
>>C] You're praying to Flesh for some fucking strength, and barreling straight in. Look after the people behind you, if you can. The time for caution is over.

>>4320443
>C] You're praying to Flesh for some fucking strength, and barreling straight in. Look after the people behind you, if you can. The time for caution is over.

>>4320443
>>C] You're praying to Flesh for some fucking strength, and barreling straight in. Look after the people behind you, if you can. The time for caution is over.

Also pray to mercy for protection, maybe she is more likely to grant us favor after me met the father of her church.

>>4320443
i wanted b but fuck it
>C] You're praying to Flesh for some fucking strength, and barreling straight in. Look after the people behind you, if you can. The time for caution is over.
tho i don't think a god would set foot on this cursed passage

>>4320445
>>4320449
>>4320455
>>4320456
>>4320457
>FLESH AND MERCY MIGHT HEAR YOU DOWN HERE
>CHARGE

>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.
>+10 INSPIRING LEADER
>+10 THE GODS ARE MERCIFUL

Rolled 17 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>4320458

Rolled 41 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>4320458
THIS ONE'S FOR TIME

Rolled 63 (1d100)

>>4320458

THE GODS ARE MERCIFUL, FATHER HEAR MY PRAYER

>>4320459
>>4320460
>>4320461
(ALRIGHT BOIS that 83 does it. Writing now!)

>>4320490
https://youtu.be/pN5gw2DYqwk

You're not normally a religious man. Skepticism has you wondering what God would enter this cursed passage, but there's no time for questions.

In fact, you're scared shitless of wasting another second. Keeping the bulk of your makeshift shield over Serpent and Echo, you charge straight into certain death. Leaving screams behind, you bellow over the gnashing of teeth, "F-Flesh! Lend m-me your strength!"

The prayer is bungled by your speech impediment, but you seriously can't care.
The first series of steps sets off a barrage of projectiles. It happens so fast, all you register is
THUNK
PLINK
"HARVEY?!"
THUNK
THUNKPLINKTHUNKTHUNK

As your shield eats and deflects at least thirty missiles, you're pushed back a full foot from the sheer force of the impact. Serpent and Walter continue to shout, right behind you, and keep you on your feet by leaning into you with the limited strength they have. Some of the projectiles are harmless as fast-moving pebbles. Others are barbed, and stick straight through your defense. One pierces straight into your arm, pinning your Flesh to your shield as you scream, "FUCK!"

The corridor is hopelessly narrow, but you don't stop for an instant. Likely due to the agonizing pain and blood dripping straight from your forearm, your left foot catches on one of the dozens of plates.

"T-Time!" It practically stops. Something in the wall clicks. "F-For T-TIME!"

The device within the walls is so ancient, only a mist of sand and dust ejects from what should have been arrows straight into your face.

No breath is in your lungs to cough with.

There's an opening ahead.

Something impossibly heavy is moving overhead. The grating of stone is unmistakable. Desperation soaks into you. You charge down the passage, screaming, "FOR TH-THE M-MOTHER! M-MERCY! G-GRANT US YOUR P-PROT-TECTION!"

A colossal shift in the rock overhead cna be heard, closest to the exit. Suspecting that it's meant to seal the entire passage, your own scream joins that of everyone behind you. You are heard, over them all, "FOR TH-THE F-FATH-THER! HEAR MY PRAYER—! SH-SHIT!"

Emerging onto the other side of the rock and stone is less of a sprint, and more if a squeeze. The chamber is impossibly narrow. Your sprinting might as well be suspended in a single moment. Your eyes go so wide, you should take in every speck of light in the room, but you've ascended and turned into a pitch-black passage. Devoid of all candle light, only the persistent sun in your vision grants you view of two behemoths.

The first freely persists within the walls. In that singular instant, you understand that it *is* the walls. The grating sound, closing in on your congregation, is of the jailer. It's a demon composed of stone, and lips. They're all female, and quivering with such extreme fear that you have to question everything you know. They're painted with blood, slick with decay, speckled with dirt.

She's screaming.

(1/2)

>>4320579
In that one moment, the screams behind you are seemingly endless, while the monster before you falls completely silent. Its lips creep from within the walls, without shape or function. It is clearly hiding in the shadow of a larger demon, that it was in the process of releasing.

Everything should be black as night about you. The jailer is releasing a form akin to a human. The second demon's upper body is shaped like a scale. Each arm is balanced in tandem, and its mouthless head comes to an inanimate point. You're reminded of a blade. A fountain of endless, blackened blood is pooling from the tip of the imprisoned demon's face. The substance is swirling along its body. Upon the flat surface of its outstretched hands is a void.

One is reflecting your shadow, in an unmistakably human form.

The other is intertwining with the demon comprised of mouths.

They look like they're embracing. Possibly comforting one another. They are devoid of eyes or faces, but you know these monsters have stopped whatever they were doing, and are looking straight at you.

Your sanity is threatening to slip, as the moment passes, with unstoppable momentum. Every surviving soul behind you is being dragged into horror upon literal horror.

>A] Keep running, as hard and as fast as you can. Go straight around the spectacle.
>1] Keep quiet. Pray to Spirit that everyone does the same.
>2] Scream at the top of your lungs to everyone what's happening, and try to guide them around both demons.

>B] What the FUCK (Write-in any way you might wish to engage this scene, or to cope with what's happening.)

>>4320584
>>A] Keep running, as hard and as fast as you can. Go straight around the spectacle.
>>1] Keep quiet. Pray to Spirit that everyone does the same.

Scream inside our head, if at all possible. Death grip whoever is touching us into complete silence.

>>4320597
+1

>>4320597
+1 also

>>4320597
Support

(May be too swamped at work to update again until I'm home. Will likely be 2-3 hours, vote is open until then!)

>>4320770
(False alarm. No brakes on the crazy train.)

>>4320597
>>4320605
>>4320656
>>4320708
(Unanimous vote and a dope write-in! Got it. Vote is locked. Writing now!)

>>4320826
https://youtu.be/iJtVDEx2HSk

The prison has become so narrow, you have to turn sideways to continue moving forward. Behind you is a choir of terror. There are clearly members of your congregation being skewered alive, in the steep and narrow passage you've exited. The squish and squelch of meat being chewed on is unmistakable. Bones crack. Further behind them is hysterical sobbing, of someone who's completely lost their grip on reality.

You can't blame them. You're a quiet man, so as you run, you scream internally, and pray to Spirit with every last fiber of your soul that they will do the same.

The Mother and Father of Mercy truly listed to your prayers, to have shrouded this cell in darkness. Only you can see the room itself moving. Coated as it is in orifices, lips, mouths, and teeth, it is no jail. You are inside of a demon, who is housing many others. Tendrils of the stony monster undulate from the walls, stretching out into makeshift limbs. Only you can tell that the demon in the center of the chamber is being unshackled from its restraints.

You have been screaming internally, and bite down on your tongue hard enough to draw blood. Only you can witness a pair of manacles, bearing the weight of some unknown sin. They are opened from the demon's impossible wrists. The leaden cuffs collapse to the floor with such weight that it crushes the stone beneath.

Everyone collectively jumps out of their skin. Someone's going through an experience worse than a panic attack, at the entrance to the chamber, unable to identify what's happening. Your prayer intensifies, though you're rapidly losing the ability to think.

The freed demon rolls its shoulders stiffly back. It has no face, so the demon of mouths wraps itself with one of the tendrils onto the face of its prisoner. One of the mouths parts from the main mass. The tendril draws back. Upon the sharpened, eyeless visage is now a pair of lips.

It smiles at you. It knows you can see, as you run for your life. You're screaming to yourself, still. The teeth upon the creature are white, and piercing. The grip you keep on Serpent's hand is that of death itself. You might be breaking his fingers. You are gritting your teeth hard enough to make them crack.

You are a quiet man. A brave man. You haven't lost yourself.

Not yet. You can only keep praying that everyone follows suit. Out of the chamber, up a flight of winding stairs, you ascend out of the opposite side of the chamber. It is not carved out of the ruins. You have to remember how to breathe. Your head is light from exhaustion, and nausea is hot on you from the prolonged stress of your situation. The stair levels. The walls are so narrow, you can no longer run. You turn sideways, suffocating, and try to not scream out loud. You think of a Goddess, and Her blessing, and it takes every last ounce of strength left in you.

(Barely over, 1/2)