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

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

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

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https://youtu.be/hV2-zFh3tAU

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

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

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

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

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

(1/2)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Options in next post.)

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

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

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

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

>>4558301

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

It's our city dammit.

>>4558304
+1

>>4558301
A1; a popper welcome is warranted.

>>4558313
proper*

>>4558304
>>4558307
>>4558313
>>4558322
(Unanimous vote for A1 is locked! Phenomenal turnout. We'll keep to 30-60 minute voting windows if this keeps up! Writing now.)

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>>4558324
This is my city, dammit.

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

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

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

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

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

https://youtu.be/Ixdkqw-XmE8

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

(1/2)

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Options in next post.)

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

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

>>4558352

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

I would rather have a man on the outside if we get imprisoned or some dumb shit like that. We don't need to know, tell him to stay safe.

>>4558359
+1

>>4558359
+2

>>4558352
Remember to be kind, but firm. This is our city, and he is our guest, We have nothing to fear.

Also, when our legitimacy is verified, we can co-opt (conscript) their assistance in helping against the cult and to keep order in our city.

>>4558359
>>4558360
>>4558377
>>4558383
(Great dudes. Noting all the write-ins. Vote is locked. Writing now!)

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>>4558398
The two of you come to a stop. The light in hand is set aside. Your hands are clasped, and pointed towards your priest. "I cannot afford to lose you. If there is some idiocy— if there is anything that compromises my freedom, I will be counting on you. Stay outside of my reach. I do not need to know where you go."

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

"Stay safe, and travel swiftly."

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

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

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

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

https://youtu.be/i-fpuKQ0qf8

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

(1/3)

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

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

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

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

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

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

(2/3)

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

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

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

(Options in next post.)

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

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

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

>D] Write-in.

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

Mostly nice.

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

But don't fuck with our people.

>>4558492
>B] Mercy, he works quickly. GOOD.
>2

Reply that that’s a disproportionately negative view of us and that such thoughts will darken the soul as it has his eyes, his retribution is proportionate

>>4558591
Plus B1

>>4558501
>>4558505
>>4558591
>>4558594
>3 way tie
(Lovely. We can incorporate all of this. Vote is locked! Writing now.)

>>4558492
>B] Mercy, he works quickly. GOOD.
>2] Openly ask if he got your confession. A lot hinges on it.

>>4558672
(Appreciate you man! Nearly done with the update after several untimely interruptions. Will post shortly.)

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>>4558501
>>4558505
>>4558591
>>4558594
>>4558672
The sheer amount of sensitive information you need to discuss cannot be seen in the public eye. A little intimidation, and a whole lot of kindness can. You have to shoulder-check Irefist from outright leaping at Father Pevrel's throat. "That is a disproportionately—" A grunt from the sailor, as he struggles to right himself. He's brutally strong, but you could throw him like a rag if necessary. Another brief motion is made to keep him on his feet, while you drop your voice to a murmur. "—negative, Father Pevrel. You know as well as I do that our retribution must be proportionate." Absolute sincerity is all through your low tone. Demanding respect is nowhere near as efficient as earning it. "I've heard tell of how sharp your eyes are. You can see how much the matter of my family is weighing on me. Just so we are clear that we both are paying attention: What have you done with my clergy?"

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

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

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

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

(1/3)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(2/3)

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>>4558722
It took you hours to pen. Years to gather the courage to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shifting. "Why shouldn't I be?"

Fidgeting. "I mean you no harm."

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

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

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

He's not wrong.

(One paragraph over 3/4)

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

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

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

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

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

>D] Write-in.

>>4558734
>confess your feelings for him

>>4558734
>D] Write-in.

Start with the punishment we have already endured, all of it. No expense spared, all the times we felt the catalyst, the 300 years of Beltoro. Dump the entirety of our suffering on this man with no filter, THEN confess. We have been judged by greater being than him, he can second guess the gods themselves if he wants.

>>4558734
>A] Spill your guts, as the leader of the church of sincerity. Father Pevrel openly acknowledged that he doesn't care how long any of this takes.
We have lots of guts to spill :^)

>>4558738
>>4558743
>>4558750
(Just about all of this should work. Vote is locked! Writing now.)

(Thank you all for your patience. I'm having some delays IRL due to untimely washing machine repairs that are running on WAY longer than I was expecting, but will get back to writing ASAP. Just wanted to give you dudes a heads up. Will definitely be able to continue updating through the night once this is all done.)

>>4558879
(So relieved, washing machine is completely fixed. Shouldn't be a problem for the rest of the weekend. Writing now!)

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>>4558738
>>4558743
>>4558750
https://youtu.be/PlkxrGGNg10?t=39

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

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

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

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

Ah. To be a child again.

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

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

(1/4, enjoy)

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

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

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

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

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

(2/4)

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

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

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

The rain is unrelenting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Of what?"

(3/4)

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

A pause. "How?"

"Vengeance."

Silence.

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

"Look at me. Anscham."

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

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

(Options in next post.)

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

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

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

>C] Write-in. (Feel free to provide any thoughts, suggestions, feedback, hard limits you have on ever discussing this at length again, trauma that would lead you to kill nearly 30 innocent people, or virtually any other suggestion you have in regards to this unfiltered confession.)

>>4559017
B1,2; it's Time for our soul to be clean, to rip open the scars of our soul so that they may heal properly. There is no better Time than the present.

>>4559017
B1 2

>>4559017
B uno dos trés

>>4559017
>B] You remember.

>>4559049
>>4559154
>>4559310
>>4559332
(Good morning all! Unanimous vote for B with varying degrees! Excellent. Ready to rock and roll today for another session. Vote is locked here. Writing now.)

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>>4559427
https://youtu.be/cVypnZRO-tU

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Kill me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Almost always dark. Excuse me."

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

(1/2)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nearly collapse from relief.

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

(Barely over 2/3)

>>4559467
"I—"

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

"Thank y—"

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

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

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

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

>D] Write-in.

>>4559469

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

>>4559469
>C] Have some water, and try to get the taste of puke out of your mouth. If the Father of Judgement gives you shit, you'll (metaphorically) pile-drive him into the wall.
no homo

>>4559469
BC; both sound good.

>>4559470
>>4559475
>>4559481
(B and C it is! Vote is locked. Writing now.)

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>>4559493
"You're right. It can wait."

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you done? Can we move on?"

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

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

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

"Humbly bragging is a different kind of sin."

"...fair."

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

"The rest is not so easy to explain."

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

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

"Be specific."

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

(1/4)

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>>4559562
https://youtu.be/hTcBnxxuAls

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

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

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

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

"Then I am no better than a demon."

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

"I'm being honest—"

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

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

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

Fine.

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

(2/4)

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

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

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

"I'm not done."

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

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

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

"I've allied with more."

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

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

A swallow, and a stare. "You—"

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

"You're a demon—"

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

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

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

"You're in contact—"

(3/4)

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

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

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

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

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

He's speechless.

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

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

>C] Write-in.

>>4559574

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

"I do not want anything or anyone to suffer like I have. For all the pain I have felt, it thought me how to *prevent* it. The world seems to want to break me, it never will. My faith has been rewarded, but so has my sin. I seek to *truly* understand my foes and friends alike. I will extend myself to others without hesitation, the hands of Mercy can never be idle. I will take all of the hate and suffering I have been given and pay it back in full, but not with wrath. With kindness. With compassion. Retribution is MY repentance."

>>4559574
>B] Twist the knife, and keep going. You STILL have more to confess, and you are finishing this even if it kills Pevrel.
>1] Get into your mistreatment of the Gods.
I just want more pervel reactions desu

>>4559616

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

Strongly opposing this.

>>4559574
>>A] Shift gears, and try to de-escalate the situation. You do not want anyone mistaking you for a demon, and need this man on your side. (Write-ins may help.)

>>4559580
>>4559616
>>4559619
>>4559669
(Alright! Majority for A, opposition to B will nullify it. Fear not anon, I'm sure you'll still get plenty of reactions lol. Vote is locked! Writing now.)

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>>4559701
https://youtu.be/e7yhvf_zbSc

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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>>4559792
"I'm not a—"

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

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

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

"Irefist—"

A groan. "Out of everyone imaginable—"

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

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

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

"How...?"

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

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

"By all means."

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

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

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

(2/3)

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You intend to raise a hand against me?"

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

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

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

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

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

>C] Write-in.

>>4559800

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

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

He is no longer a demon and if he keeps saying that we aren't answering shit. He can say what he wants about us and shut the fuck up about everyone else. Drunk cunt. He has a few demons of his own that he's trying to drown.

>>4559800
>B] Take the risk, and openly acknowledge that Adwin is a new kind of being. Pevrel is clearly intelligent enough to deduce that your painter is the same individual.
>>1] Offer to introduce the two of them. Maybe Adwin could help you cut the scrutiny short. You'd rather be present to mediate the affair, than to risk Pevrel doing so on his own Time.
>>4559822
strongly oppose, this will just attract unwarranted intrigue rather be done with introductions if we want pevrel on our side.

>>4559869

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

>>4559800
B3; because I don't want to get in the middle of this one.

I will say that Parvrel will be very curious of Adwin, and I bet that he would seek him our regardless of our ward's mental state. However, if we offer to introduce and mediate the two of them, we can lay the ground rules to Pevrel, such as being polite and non-abrasive, and should Adwin become destressed, the meeting is terminated, no questions, no excuses, it's over and Pevrel will just have to deal with it.

>>4559869
>>4559878
>>4560163
(Lovely guys. Got in a long nap and going to lock the vote here! I'll find a way to reconcile this. Should be up for a bit longer this evening, been doing some drawing too! Writing now.)

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>>4560279
"I'm sheltering a new kind of being."

"A what now?"

"I don't know."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Now wait just a—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You don't get to know."

"Excuse me?"

(1/2)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Options in next post.)

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

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

>C] You don't trust this asshole as far as you can throw him, and have a much better idea. (Write-in.)

>>4560347
A2; you already have my curiosity.

>>4560347
A2

>>4560347
>>A] Grant Father Pevrel permission to have his priestess of Storm see to the body. You're ordering Irefist to keep an eye on things.
>2] They can see to the body with you and Pevrel. It will frustrate him to not delegate, but it might expedite the process to have the very Father of Vengeance investigate (and you're curious what he's like in action).

>>4560347
A2

>>4560347
>A2

>>4560373
>>4560472
>>4560516
>>4560521
>>4560565
(Good afternoon gentlemen. I totally overslept. Making some coffee and will be right back in the saddle! Vote is locked. Writing now.)

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>>4560899
"You and your priestess of Storm have my permission to access the solar, and strictly— strictly for this affair." You stride away from Pevrel to calmly add, "in my company. I'll be ordering Irefist to keep an eye on things, as well."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is everything alright, Irefist?"

"What's it look like—"

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

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

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

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

(1/4)

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

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

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

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

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

(2/4)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(3/5 Paragraphs definitely pushed it over)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(4/5)

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

"Are you asking me—"

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

"Many."

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

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

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

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

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

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

>E] Write-in.

>>4561091

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

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

Send the Irefist and the priestess to look for Durville and to check up on Harvey. Two Fathers can handle themselves just fine, tell them to be QUICK and LOUD, potentially scaring any attacks off or a jailbreak attempt. This cannot be ignored.

>>4561095
+1 lets Dick Death again

>>4561095
>>4561140
(No life without death [and continue to flirt], send out the guard and make some NOISE. Alright! Vote is locked. Writing now!)

>>4561196
Irefist and Sister Miramond have been unofficially made partners in crime. You and Pevrel see to it that they go off to look for Brother Durville for further support. An attempt at freeing your prisoner is likely underway, but you trust your guards to handle it. Both of them make their way to the dungeons post-haste. They create a veritable hurricane of commotion, sliding down the banisters to the lowest levels, and shouting the entire way.

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

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

https://youtu.be/m81oUTPbPQo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(1/2)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Options in next post.)

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

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

>C] Write-in.

>>4561274

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

She *is* the goddess of over indulgence. This is going to be the most important information when it comes to protecting our city, the fools try to poison a master of the craft. They will come to regret it.

>>4561289
+1

>>4561289
>>4561302
(Unanimous vote is locked. Writing now!)

>>4561368
Over-indulgence Herself is working through you. "On the contrary. It couldn't hurt to try more."

https://youtu.be/bh66pGIhysQ

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

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

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

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

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

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

(1/4)

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

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

"Son of a BITCH—"

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

Rage keeps Father Pevrel from speaking out of turn again.

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

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

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

(2/4)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(3/4)

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

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

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

(Options in next post.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

>F] Write-in.

>>4561523
A1; Thank you, Agri.

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

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

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

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

On an unrelated note, we have a busy day ahead of us. A prayer of apology to Dream is necessary, and some sleep at the end of this day is vital.

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

You also did write to Father Barthalomew Bennett (leader of the Church of Storm) on the second day you returned to Eadric. That was nine days ago. It could take upwards of a month to receive a reply, even though you spared no expense to get the message to Rimilde. The request was for an accurate prediction and report of the weather, along with a request for any aid that could be sent, and any counsel that Father Barthalomew was willing to send. Further communication with the most far-flung church in the nation is a challenge!)

>>4561696
Ah, thanks for the clarification. I remember when someone mentioned that different types of invocations produce differing reactions, and I remember the mentioning of Storm visiting us during both of our innovations with him (along with him gifting us with life-threatening spasms, of course). I figure, potentially wrongly, that we may be able invoke him during this Storm-fall, with less threat to our health, since we are in his element and such. Foolish though it may be, but if the flooding is a manmade disaster, then this isn't Storm's work, but that of another, potentially abusing Storm's gifts, and he may shed some light if one of his children has been swept away from him.

Certainly a mad, impulsive decision; as befitting of Storm himself. Of course, it would have to be put to a majority vote, but I'm curious if it'll work.

>>4561523
>>A] You'd be lying if you said you weren't tempted to do more with Agriculture. It's also worth repeating that the frequency, length, and intensity of your invocations is becoming unmanageable.
>2] Release the invocation, and thank Her for everything.

Job done, time to get to work ourselves.

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

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

>>4561733
>Pevrel and the Vengeance

Sounds like an epic band name.

>>4561736

I need a Vengeance heavy metal band now.

>>4561717
(Happy to help! Just for complete clarity, the Gods have kind of a three-tiered means of interacting with you:

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

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

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

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

>>4561733
(Because you guys are tied on A1 and A2 I'm going to leave this open a bit longer until there's a tie breaker. Seriously appreciate you both and all of the thoughtful discussion!)

>>4561740
(As an addendum to this I omitted the rare, weird ways they've interacted with you such as the visions you've had of Storm/Spirit/Dream, the physical impressions they leave on you, etc. since that's still completely not understood and not really relevant for two-way interaction.)

>>4561740
Oh, I'm sorry, I meant A2. Thank you for pointing that out.

And thank for further clarification :^)

We should probably consult with before we decide to do anything else, and a prayer for a lightening of his temper, at the very least.

>>4561749
(Oh hell yeah. Thank YOU for clarifying! In that case...)

>>4561561
>>4561717
>>4561736
>>4561739
>>4561749
(Gonna merge all this as best as I can and lock the vote here. Writing now!)

>>4561749
>>4561741
>>4561740
>>4561739
>>4561736
>>4561733
>>4561717
>>4561696
>>4561561
>>4561523
A2
B?+

Ought to hit the right vote with this..

>>4561761
(Seriously appreciate you man, thanks for voting! You got it lol)

>>4561749
Damn, didn't realize how badly I wrote here. I apologize for my writing ability, it's barely understandable.

>>4561774
(lol no worries bud, I think I got your meaning! You want to consult with Storm before making further decisions, and to pray to Him for the same "lightning of his temper" if nothing else. Yeah?)

>>4561775
Lessening, but I believe you caught the drift of it, yes :^)

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

File: Heavy Metal Aesthetic.jpg (184 KB, 1080x1348)

184 KB JPG

https://youtu.be/0vC1KTCgaME

"Thank you, Aaagri— aahn—"

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

Several long minutes after.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(1/2)

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

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

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

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

"Anscham!"

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

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

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

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

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

Turbulence is His reply. A renewed roll of thunder.

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

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

(Options in next post.)

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

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

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

>D] Write-in.

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

>>4561793

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

Stay not your hand. Become the Storm on *their* doorstep.

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

It shall be a tribute to Storm himself, in his very element. It shall be glorious.

>>4561804
I should also add that we will gather the elders after our business with Inertia is concluded on this day, and sweep them up in out tempest. On this day, our lightning shall strike twice!

And I must add, the music choice really got me pumped up!

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

Two priests walk into a bar, the bar bends.

>>4561797
>>4561804
>>4561809
>>4561810
(Aw hell yeah guys. Unanimous vote is locked here! Writing now.)

>>4561948
The mad plan is relayed to Father Pevrel. "On this day, our lightning shall strike twice."

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

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

A look that could curdle milk replies.

"The bar will bend."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Pathetic."

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

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

(Options in next post.)

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

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

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

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

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

>>4561973
>C] FISTS should do just fine on the street, and you'll TACKLE any other situations as they arise. With your luck? You'd like to see someone try to take you down in a fight. (A VERY HIGH ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED. Write-ins may help for how to cross the city unarmed and undetected.)

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

>>4561973

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

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

>>4561982

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

>>4561971

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

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

>>4561989

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

Also wearing that Inertia mask is a horrible idea, what cultist would be walking with Father Pevrel?

>>4561979
(This is fucking genius.)

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

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>>4561979
>>4561982
>>4561987
>>4561989
>>4561991
>UNARMED AND UNDETECTED

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

Rolled 93 (1d100)

>>4562003

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

>>4562004

I am become Rick, destroyer of bussy.

Rolled 5 (1d100)

>>4562003
Di C)e

Rolled 8 (1d100)

>>4562003
>>4562004

Watch Yech bless me with a nat 100!

>>4562010
>>4562011

My prayer has absorbed all of your luck. I am sorry, but it must be done.

>>4562004
>>4562007
>>4562010
>>4562011
>>4562012
(I'm actually crying laughing. Good thing we use bo3. lmao. That'll do it! Writing now!)

>>4562014
https://youtu.be/bOUYAsWhZZY

"My fists."

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

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

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

Pevrel whistles. "Holy shit."

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

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

(1/4)

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

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

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

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

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

(2/4)

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

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

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

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

"What's the meaning of this?"

"Who goes there?"

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

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

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

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

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

(3/4)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

>F] Write-in.

>>4562070

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

>>4562070
>B] You could possibly fit in a window. It would be an easier and quieter breach, but you've got a lot working against you. (AN EXTREMELY HIGH ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
This, i have to see this.

>>4562091
>>4562094
agri creating an opening for us for smoothly slinking through, like an expanding window?

>>4562091
>>4562094
>>4562096
>WINDOW FROM THE WORLD

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

Rolled 96 (1d100)

>>4562146

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

>>4562150

THY WILL BE DONE, I BOW BEFORE YOUR MIGHT.

Rolled 37 (1d100)

>>4562150
Based
>>4562146
Watch me fail

>>4562157

You must say the prayer, brother.

Rolled 64 (1d100)

>>4562146

>>4562150
>>4562153
>>4562157
>>4562159
>>4562214
(Oh hell yeah that's an 86 for bo3 after all modifiers! I am beyond swamped at work today and will have to update when I get home. Thank you very much for your patience dudes! ETA 3-4 hours.)

(Home at last. Writing now!)

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>>4562474
Skirting away from the main streets, and moving towards the perimeter of the district comes with nonstop prayer. Good fortune is your creed. Not another soul is in sight. All of the patrols must have been pulled away by the chaos in the streets. You're certain that someone is going to spot you both creeping by progressively sparser homes, but your luck holds out. At the end of a winding stone road, perched over the edge of the district, is what should be an utterly abandoned home.

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

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

"Anscham. What are you doing?"

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

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

https://youtu.be/ntUbHKenZpI

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

(1/3)

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

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

"We would."

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

"Silence."

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

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

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

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

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

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

(2/3)

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Options in next post.)

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

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

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

>D] Write-in. (A ROLL MAY BE REQUIRED.)

>>4562622
B2; don't want to scare the man too much, and it would be inappropriate to kick down the door while he's coughing up soil. Offer him some water to help.

>>4562622
B2, while eating an apple. Can't miss out on starting a healthy diet

>>4562622
>>B] Give Father Pevrel a moment to gather himself, and help him expel any soil he's inhaled. Quietly ask the leader of the Church of Vengeance how he'd like to proceed.
>2] You want to hear him out before agreeing to anything.

That's a taste of the ruins right there, Father.

>>4562638
>>4562765
>>4562769
(Love it guys. Unanimous vote is locked here! Writing now.)

File: apple.jpg (189 KB, 900x800)

189 KB JPG

https://youtu.be/XZKDSSBmeG8

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You have got to be fucking kidding m—"

(1/2)

File: volcanic glass.jpg (64 KB, 540x360)

64 KB JPG

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

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

"This is a mission of restraint."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Options in next post.)

>>4563026
>Choose ONE option from A, B, AND C.
>Majority vote will decide for all three.

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

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

>C] Father Pevrel is a man with a plan, and clearly trusts you with his life.
>1] Agree to the plan in its entirety. It's very similar to what you had in mind, too.
>2] You have a better idea, or want to share additional strategy. (Write-in.)

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

>>4563028

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

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

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

Dont kill ourselves over taking prisoners, but do try to be merciful.

>>4563033
B1 and A1

>>4563033

You need to vote for all 3 prompts. Still need an A and B vote.

>>4563038
(He's got it! Ty though anon.

Just a head's up dudes, I've got work in a few and it has been SWAMPED this week. As stated at the top of the thread, some workdays Monday-Thursday I can do 1-2+ updates. Going to do my best to clear out some time this afternoon. If nothing else, I will update when I'm off of work. Until then, the vote is open.)

>>4563033
>>4563035
>>4563037
(Hehe. Fuck it. I'm going to sneak in an update. Vote is locked, will merge everything since you guys are on almost the exact same page. Writing now.)

>>4563102
"The plan is phenomenal, but this house and its denizens— they have *enjoyed* the corruption, and suffering of honest citizens. The bad apple that it is will spoil our harvest, Father. I will not get either of us killed in any attempt to take a prisoner, but— well. Who am I to deny anyone the other half of Agriculture?"

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

"Please make every attempt at Mercy, Father."

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

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

https://youtu.be/lPVBrRd9wCo

"Three!"

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

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

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

(1/2)

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

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

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

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

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

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

>D] Write-in. (Further strategy will be taken into consideration, but does not guarantee a bonus or malus.)

>>4563167
Utilize the earth bonus. If everyone is pinned down it doesn't matter how slowly we follow, Father Pevrel is a big boy and can handle himself.

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

>>4563167
>A] Restrain the three women going after Pevrel. (This carries the highest risk of damage inflicted on you.)
'Git back 'ere

>>4563167
>A] Restrain the three women going after Pevrel. (This carries the highest risk of damage inflicted on you.)

Pevrel is not a fighter, we are. We can take it

>>4563171
>>4563218
>>4563250
>WE CAN TAKE IT

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

Rolled 68 (1d100)

>>4563259
Yech pass the bottle!

>>4563259

Rolled 29 (1d100)

>>4563330
These dice are shit. Shit!
>>4563259

>>4563260
>>4563331
(STAY STRONG DUDES I BELIEVE

JUST NEED ONE MORE)

Rolled 14 (1d100)

>>4563259
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hQlPzrX8u0A

>>4563441
(Absolutely lovely, ty. For the record our Catalyst Quest playlist is now at a whopping 995 songs (not counting music posted in the quest itself). I'm shook lol.)
>>4563330
>>4563260
>>4563331
(Gonna need a drink after this one. That's a 53 after all bonuses and maluses! Locked here. Still afk but I'll be home soon, ETA about 30 minutes and I'll get to writing!)

>>4563449
(Had to take a VERY important phone call, all good though! Writing now.)

>>4563526
https://youtu.be/PRTl31uJ1vY

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

"Get BACK HERE—!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart drops. The remaining four charge.

(1/2)

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

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

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

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

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

The other spear stabs straight in your left forearm.

"—SHIT!"

"GOT YOU NOW—"

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

(Options in next post.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(For clarity: In your post, specify how you'd like to approach your pain, your Relic, and what action to take via invocation. At minimum, select one (1) prompt.)

>>4563616
B4, C; I'm curious, and at least our blood shall fertilize the ground and this garden we're creating all the more beautiful.

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

Whether we commit to the MASOCHISM TANGO or not shall be for the other anons to decide, though I do wish to be more careful in to causing further unnecessary damage to our body.

>>4563744
(...and make this garden...)*

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

This is why I can't write for a living...

>>4563744
+1

>>4563616

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

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

>>4563744

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

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

Grab the polearm that stabbed us, use the attackers INERTIA against her and pull her in front of us. If she gets murked by her own guy that is no Mercy off our back right? If it is disregard this.

>>4563790
(For absolute clarity, pulling someone close to you via their weapon so they'll be killed by their own men is not exactly merciful. By the tenets of Mercy's church, you're meant to protect life, and heal at all costs. Intentionally having someone die, even if it's done by someone else's hand, is more of the hallmark of Vengeance. You're a priest of all the Gods, and have a LOT more leeway than most as the leader of the Church of Mercy, but we'll omit this action for now!
>>4563744
>>4563749
>>4563778
(All that said, locking the vote here! Almost a completely unanimous vote. All bonuses and maluses elected will be included, along with the cumulative bonuses and maluses relevant to the situation. Tried to provide as much transparency as possible here, but please ask if you have ANY questions.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

>GROWTH] The Goddesses' foremost domain will grant a guaranteed +55 to the roll. You know the effects.

>>4563851
(Just for clarity, that's a +10 total for your existing bonuses and maluses (with all the math done). That's BEFORE favoring any domains. Forgot to tack on the grand total.)

>>4563851

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

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

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

We should put the fear of god into them anyway.


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

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

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

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

Rolled 46 (1d100)

>>4563851
>All

Though you can't go wrong with Growth, with that effect! And Death may not be that of the whole, only of their courage and intent.

Rolled 11 (1d100)

>>4563855
>>4563851

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

>>4563862
(strongly opposing using growth, death and poison)