File: Magic (Invocation) Guide.jpg (5.91 MB, 1965x7535)

5.91 MB JPG

>>4582898
Stranger to our fiction? Catalyst Quest is an original dark fantasy setting with an unreliable narrator. We work hard to incorporate all well considered input— even when it means trying to punch out an orc riding a giant centipede— to make sure player decisions matter as much as possible. The power you've earned is immense, and you are FAR from oblivious. The image attached here to the left is a concise reference for the abilities you've acquired, with a disclaimer about our unconventional protagonist. (It's optional reading!) Prompts presented will always be made for intelligent, in-character choices. That said, please feel free to ask questions at ANY time. In addition to the setting and character info available, I am VERY happy to aid in answering any questions about the world you inhabit, the characters you encounter, and the situations you face.

Timeline of Events (Concise summary of the quest's events so far, for reference and looking back. Totally optional! High-res versions are in our Google Drive.): https://m.imgur.com/a/zD6ywiQ
Google Drive (Meta infographics, character info, maps, calendar, and much more!): https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1LkahIC8EcwHBPbrkEODUMH9iwQhxkFvB?usp=sharing
Discord (Update notifications, art, music, fan projects, etc.): https://discord.gg/24cmNWp
Twitter (Thread announcements): https://twitter.com/Alaric50857350
Archive: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Catalyst%20Quest

Schedule?: 1-2+ updates Monday-Thursday. Full sessions Friday-Sunday, with updates as often as votes permit. All times listed are in EST.
Voting windows?: No faster than 30-60 minutes a pop mid-session, though we will likely keep the same slower pace as our last thread to better facilitate discussion.
Mechanics?: Typically we use 1d100, bo3. Situational modifiers, bonuses and maluses are based on the prompt selected and are applied before the roll. Percentage of success is most often used. Because of the narrative focus of this quest, and the unusual situations you all often find yourselves in, this is subject to change. Write-ins can make a huge difference!
What if I don't like what someone else is doing?: SPEAK UP! Even if a vote is listed as mutually exclusive, I take all votes and discussion into consideration. Vocal opposition is always strongly considered.
Setting and character info?: All of our supplemental material is optional reading. I aim to make the quest as accessible as possible, but feel free to ask questions at any time! If you're ever looking for more info, the Google Drive link is kept up-to-date with all supplemental information. The timelines and invocation guide stays on the front page. The in-character journal contains your character sheet, info on the pantheon, and all other aids. The old journal, fanart, and character art is purely saved for posterity.

File: Adwin Sebastian Anscham -(...).png (1.4 MB, 1710x1634)

1.4 MB PNG

>>4582899
https://youtu.be/G55GspnNkBo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(1/2)

File: Your Character Sheet.png (1.51 MB, 1280x810)

1.51 MB PNG

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

>C] Kick the door down.

>D] You're not taking ANY chances. (Write-in.)

>>4582902
>A] Bang on the door, and shout at anyone within to open up.

>>4582902
>A] Bang on the door, and shout at anyone within to open up.

>>4582902
>>A] Bang on the door, and shout at anyone within to open up.

>>4582902
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=4wX2xBOuzRg

>>4583020
(lol)
>>4582923
>>4582926
>>4582983
(Good afternoon, and merry Christmas everyone! Locking the unanimous vote here. I don't have a ton planned today, and should be able to crank out a few updates. Writing now!)

File: Church of Mercy Interior.png (1.62 MB, 960x1438)

1.62 MB PNG

>>4583080
For all your love of ripping doors off their hinges, weaponizing them, and blowing them to pieces, this is yours and Mercy's church. Violently banging on the wooden door with the side of your fist might as well be a roll of thunder. The echo can be heard from the high ceiling within, as you bellow, "FATHER ANSCHAM! LEADER OF THE CHURCH OF MERCY! OPEN UP!"

The surface underhand quietly vanishes.

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

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

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

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

"Kill me."

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

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

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

(1/2)

File: Center of the Choir.jpg (130 KB, 1000x252)

130 KB JPG

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

>D] Write-in.

>>4583109

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

I know old habits die hard but damn.

>>4583115
+1

>>4583109
B1-2; I'm not furious at him. I simply expected better from him.

While this may be an invaluable C moment, this is not the way we'll conducted our affairs within our's and Mercy's church.

>>4583109
C2

>>4583115
>>4583136
>>4583137
>>4583171
(Vote is locked here. Writing now.)

File: Coagulating Blood.jpg (56 KB, 753x502)

56 KB JPG

>>4583175
This is a damned nightmare. Getting any information out of this tormented man would come at the expense of everything you hold dear. You're the leader of the church of empathy, not punishment. Even if you could interrogate him, it likely wouldn't even render reliable information.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(1/2)

File: Candles.png (75 KB, 300x324)

75 KB PNG

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

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

"Damn it all."

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

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

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

>D] Write-in.

>>4583198
>C] The two of you have demonstrated nothing but mutual respect and support for one another. Ask Adwin if he can help you with plotting out the sprawling network of passages under Eadric. You want to know exactly what his limitations are.
>>1] While he explains, you're working together to clean up this mess. You'll give Adwin's victim a proper burial. Three funerals in a week is going to rip your heart to shreds, but you can take it.

>>4583198
C1; but make sure the Nye brothers are alright. I'm sorry they had to witness this, they certainly didn't deserve trauma as a gift for their kindness.

>>4583198

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

Give Adwin a crash course on the relevant tenets of Mercy, this is unacceptable. Let him know exactly how much this is hurting us, we don't hate him. But this needs to never happen again, Mercy is as much about how you treat your friends as it is about how you treat your enemies. This cultist deserved death, sure. But not torment, not like this.

>>4583199
>>4583211
>>4583213
(Oh fuck I thought I had locked the vote. Vote is locked! Proofreading the update now, should be out fairly soon.)

File: Church Interior.jpg (2.07 MB, 3865x2576)

2.07 MB JPG

>>4583277
https://youtu.be/8NK_OHt1NbI

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(1/5)

File: Blessed be the Night.png (888 KB, 1500x1000)

888 KB PNG

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

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

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

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

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

"The Gods are Merciful, Brothers."

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

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

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

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

(2/5)

File: hall at night.jpg (32 KB, 852x480)

32 KB JPG

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(3/5)

File: Garden at night.jpg (208 KB, 1280x720)

208 KB JPG

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(4/5)

File: Tenets of Mercy.png (1.53 MB, 1280x810)

1.53 MB PNG

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

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

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

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

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

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

>>4583298

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

You had the power to incapacitate him, the power to kill him quickly, but you chose to make him suffer. The people are there are using the means they have at their disposal, the power they wield is not on par with the one you have. There is only so much they can spare without succumbing to death themselves, because *they are only human*. No one is perfect, but an attempt should always be made. In this case the torture not only pointless it was actively detrimental to the mental well being of our clergy, you should do better because you CAN do so much better.

>>4583298
B1-2; You are right that the methods we use in practice may differ from our interpretation of our creed of compassion, much like how beauty lies in the eye of the beholder. Some tenents may take on more importance than others at times, for every person and situation conceived. In this crisis, our clergy interprets defense more liberally than they would otherwise, and Father Pevrel and his clergy have differing tenents to adhere to, though we shall address their respect of our creed at a later Time. But it is wise to keep in mind the limitations humans face when manifesting their interpretations into reality. Not all my clergy, or humanity, have such tools as yours at their disposal when putting their intent to a canvas, or sculpting reality to their desire. In a sense, the limitations that humans face, and the ways they devise to overcome them, can be an art in of itself. Innovation in the face of our limits is art given human form. You may learn more in Restraint than you may with excess, my child.

>>4583308
>>4583324
(Amazing stuff guys. Locking the vote here! Writing now.)

File: Rain on grave dirt.jpg (62 KB, 852x480)

62 KB JPG

>>4583362
https://youtu.be/sXvzp3YKJ1Q

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm sorry, Father."

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

A roll of thunder sounds much closer ahead.

"You don't believe me."

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

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

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

"Me?"

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

(1/3)

File: Your son's canvas.png (151 KB, 400x600)

151 KB PNG

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

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

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

"Don't you dare lie to me."

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

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

"No. I had no idea."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(2/3)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When facing hostile behaviour, a gentleman does his utmost in defusing the situation without violence. Only when violence is inevitable does a gentleman strike hard and decisively as to not prolong the predicament.

>>4583398
>>A] The issue you have is with violence for its own sake. If Adwin has to fight for his life, he needs to strike decisively. You're making a detour to the armory, and getting him something for offense AND defense. This IS a war, but you won't stand for anything like this ever happening again.
>>1] Pick up Piety, your mace, your shield, and your satchel along the way. Even if you can't fight nowhere near as effectively right now, and even if they don't get used, and even if it's a massive pain in the ass to carry even more weight around, you want to make a point.

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

Tell Adwin that his actions must ultimately lead to the betterment of mankind, it is like mending an injury, at first it will hurt but that is needed for the healing process. We are doing the same now, mending a broken country filled with lost people. Sometimes all we can do is end them before they willingly become demons, sometimes we can do more. Let him INTERPRET his actions in the scope of the greater good, how each stroke adds to a painting. No one movement is useless right? They are all important to make the full picture, let him paint a better vision of tomorrow through his ACTIONS. That is true art, making your vision manifest. Sometimes a painting is not enough to express yourself, sometimes the world itself must be changed.

>>4583457
>>4583473
(It is insanely late at night but you guys are so fucking based and this is so fucking good that I'm going to write before bed. Vote is locked here. Writing now!)

File: Dusty room.jpg (33 KB, 294x331)

33 KB JPG

>>4583475
"Walk with me, Adwin."

"Yes, Father."

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

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

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

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

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

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

(1/3)

File: Piety.png (75 KB, 930x416)

75 KB PNG

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(2/3)

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

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

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

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

There's a sound on the periphery of your vision that spikes your adrenaline so hard and fast, you can scarcely register what's happening

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

>>4583518

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

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

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

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

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

Strong enough to realize when we are hurt...

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

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

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

Pick them up. We have turned our own trauma into weapons before, do it again. They are just tools, wielded by madmen. Use them to protect our family against the cultists, conquer our fears for those we love.

>>4583518
>C] There's no shame in empathizing with your personal demons. Breaking down doesn't have to break you completely. [+15 FATHER OF COMPASSION (Kindness is your strength.)]

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

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

>>4583563
+1, I agree with it all. It's time they are used for Mercy than against her.

(Overslept so badly omg. Back in the saddle!)

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

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

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

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

>>4583868

DICE. FROM THE BOWELS OF OSTEDHOLM.

Rolled 94 (1d100)

>>4583873
>>4583868

THEY HAVE BEEN DELAYED BY VILE CULTISTS.

Rolled 52 (1d100)

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

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

My hero.

>>4583877

FEAR NOT CITIZEN. THE BONE LORD WATCHES OUT FOR ALL OF US.

Rolled 63 (1d100)

>>4583868
let this 1 ID lad get Malimos' blessing

>>4583880
Fear not. Mailmos' Time will come.

>>4583873
>>4583874
>>4583877
>>4583878
>>4583880
>>4583882
(Welcome to the fold, spider priest. Best of 3 from the bone zone is a mighty 114 out of 100. Everything is locked! Writing now.)

>>4583885
The sheer amount of strength you possess is more than enough to realize when you're hurt. That the sob rising from the back of your throat is not weakness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

https://youtu.be/YwmzXkhBUPs

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

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

(1/3)

File: Bloody Dagger.png (1.35 MB, 998x1500)

1.35 MB PNG

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

"Through adversity, we only grow stronger."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(2/3)

File: Bloody Flail.png (1.63 MB, 800x1200)

1.63 MB PNG

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

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

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

"Of course."

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

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

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

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

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

>>4584007
A2; as I'm interested in what he'll come up with.

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

C2 sounds lovely.

File: Spoiler Image (181 KB, 1178x882)

181 KB PNG

>>4584028
(Really appreciate ya anon. Spending some time with the missus tonight, planning on pulling an all-nighter to make up for my ruined sleep schedule lol I really goofed. If we get some votes rolling in I'll be up all early morning and should be able to get some good momentum! If we don't have any other participation in a bit we'll just plug on ahead, but I'd like to give peeps some extra time given the holiday season. Speaking of which, found some old Saint Yech fanart while I was cleaning out my desktop last night too lol. Hope you're having a great night.)

>>4584028
+1

>>4584028
>>4584464
(Let's rock and roll boys. I'm staying up all night. Vote is locked. Writing now!)

>>4584466
https://youtu.be/S_AzwJwy7Ns?t=17

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(1/2)

File: Adwin's Sword Breakers.jpg (319 KB, 768x960)

319 KB JPG

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Total modifiers come out to [-5] to the roll.)

Rolled 60 (1d100)

>>4584486

YECH, LETS PAINT THE TOWN RED.

Rolled 82 (1d100)

>>4584486
Dabbed dubs

Rolled 45 (1d100)

>>4584486

>>4584494
>>4584505
>>4584520
(Wonderful dudes, best of 3 is a 77 out of 100. Writing now!)

File: storm.jpg (52 KB, 800x390)

52 KB JPG

>>4584527
The best minds in your care are out of commission, or are halfway across the city. Communication can only do so much. You're hitting the streets, and sizing up the situation for yourself. There are eight districts between you, and the hideout that was cleared this morning. Father Pevrel should still be at the cleared building, guarding any surviving elders from the hearing this afternoon.

https://youtu.be/uJ7OOQ_Ny9U

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

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

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

"Mercy..."

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

(1/3)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(2/3)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

>E] Write-in.

>>4584557

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

This seems like a huge issue we know nothing about, get on that. Maybe Adwin can turn into a bird and take a look, he IS able to fly.

>>4584570
+1

File: B6C2BEAC-B091-46F4-8A51-0(...).jpg (366 KB, 1284x695)

366 KB JPG

Yes

>>4584570
>>4584578
>>4584586
(Bird's eye view. How can my voters be so based? Vote is locked. Writing now.)

File: Fireflies.jpg (23 KB, 640x360)

23 KB JPG

>>4584591
https://youtu.be/sobYJY7nHIA

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Irefist?"

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

(1/2)

File: Frayed Thread.png (20 KB, 390x257)

20 KB PNG

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

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

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

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

A demon of misconception.

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

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

>C] Write-in.

>>4584628

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

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

Interpretation is just another form of misconception, when you really think about it. Fight fire with fire, get Adwin in the right mindset, establish STRONG boundaries. Get a safe word in case things get too wild and he feels himself slipping or being overwhelmed. Brainstorm with our most creative ally a way of dealing with this demon.

>>4584637
+1

>>4584637
>>4584655
(Let's do this shit. Vote is locked. Writing now.)

File: Father Nicholas Pevrel.jpg (305 KB, 1466x820)

305 KB JPG

>>4584671
https://youtu.be/g3y6MEcOX7o

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Regarding the demon?"

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

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

(1/3)

File: Curtain Wall.jpg (438 KB, 2288x1712)

438 KB JPG

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(2/3)

File: Reflection.png (235 KB, 700x430)

235 KB PNG

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

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

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

"If you need to, say the word—"

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

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

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

"I strongly suspect as much."

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Paragraphs pushed it over 3/4)

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

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

Oaths to uphold.

A Goddess to serve.

>What's your end goal with this demon?

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

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

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

>D] Write-in.

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

>>4584747

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

Use the Relic, show it truth not through its own perception, but our own. It is in its nature to misinterpret but we are the Father of truth, and it will see the world through our eyes, for what it is and what it can be. It will see the light in atonement, not through its own eyes but through ours. Just like we did with Harvey and James, peel away the lies and let it bask in truth, the one thing they all missed in life as well.

>>4584747
>C] This is a demon of misconception. It thrives on falsehoods. It doesn't sit right with the Father of Honesty to manipulate anyone. You will do everything in your power to UNDERSTAND it.

Based C votes.

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

Please ignore the above phrasing if it's nonsensical, I'm trying to invert meaning honestly, and it's giving me a headache.

>>4584752
>>4584762
>>4584765
>>4584784
(Unanimous C vote insanity on no sleep. Yes. Perfection. Vote is locked. Writing now.)

>>4584788
"Stay here. Keep safe, and out of sight." You unclasp the chain from around your neck, and stash your mace.

Respect stares back at you. "I will."

https://youtu.be/eUtBJK7yyaE

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

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

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

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

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

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

(1/3)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You cannot HOPE to understand!"

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

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

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

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

(2/3)

File: Open Relic.png (29 KB, 149x138)

29 KB PNG

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

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

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

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

Some reflections are fairer than others.

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

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

There's probably no Time to pray.

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

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

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

>>4584872

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

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

We should probably make note of this during our sermon, we know EXACTLY what these people lack, as a the Father of the church of Mercy we must provide.

>>4584872
You say there are no other options, but that is misconceived. If you truely believe in the absence of meaning, of Inertia and its creed, then take my hand, to prove your faith in it's absence. Let us see which is stronger, the Pantheon's light or it's absence. If your meaning rings true, and mine false, then you have nothing to fear from our embrace.

Embrace the demon with relic in hand, and invoke Mercy, to save it from it's misconceptions. Unanimous vote is required, as this is probably the most insane idea I have come up with, and if anyone has a better idea, I'm all ears for it.

>>4584899
Your right in your assessment, and I would like to mention that our resident priestess of Storm is going to zap this demon into oblivion, with us in the crossfire. Whatever our intentions, we must act to defend ourselves from Storm's wrath.

>>4584907

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

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

Gold is very conductive so make some lightning rods AWAY from us, redirect the zap into the ground.

>>4584911
Will support, though everyone will think us mad. Let's see if we can fight his demon with our honesty.

>>4584917

I meant it in more of a "You are seconds away from zappy death but I am really sorry it had to end this way."

>>4584920
Ahhh, thank you for clarifying. May have been misconceptived otherwise :^)

>>4584872
>C] Now that you're armed with a greater understanding of this demon and its situation, there's likely something more you can do with the incredible amount of power, resources, alliances, and utility afforded to you. (Write-in. A ROLL MAY BE REQUIRED.)
So, Betrayal it is. Father of mercy spinning.mp4

>>4584899
>>4584901
>>4584907
>>4584911
>>4584917
>>4584920
>>4584925
>>4584929
(Hey guys, just want to be clear! If I'm not mistaken, your plan is to:

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

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

>>4585140

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

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

I thought that voting for B would also protect the priests. if not i want it to also be extended to them.

>>4585143
(Thank you for clarifying. Due to how badly you guys have been taxing yourself, opting to charge into this situation after having recently voted to avoid invoking, and the sheer scope of how many people are present-- I made the mistake of assuming that you would want to extend yourself as little as possible. You know what they say about assumptions, so I'm glad you asked!

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

To be super clear, the severity of the situation is why a roll is still being called for despite invoking AND having your Relic handy. I use dice to reflect a chance for failure due to circumstances that might be totally out of your guys hands, and this combat is definitely chaotic enough to warrant it. Going to wait a minute and see if the other voters had anything else they wanted to clarify, since it took me a bit to get back to you all. Thanks for your patience man!)

>>4584899
>>4584901
>>4584907
>>4584911
>>4584917
>>4584920
>>4584925
>>4584929
>>4585143
>THE EDGE OF OBLIVION
>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.

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

(That's a -2 to the roll after all modifiers.)

Rolled 85 (1d100)

>>4585181
YECH EXPRESS

Rolled 2 (1d100)

>>4585181

BLESS ME ONCE MORE

Rolled 52 (1d100)

>>4585181
Come on Malimos!

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

I still expect us to take it easy after this affair, even if I have to force a rest on y'all.

>>4585198
(Makes perfect sense. :^) Making a note of it all anon.)

>>4585187
>>4585191
>>4585193
(Aw yee bois that's a 83 out of 100. Locking everything here, writing now!)

>>4585205
Though I will admit, this adds greater context to the C vote. We should be relying on our allies more, not trying to tank a demon semi-solo. While I can excuse this invocation as projection of strength to reassure our allies, we should stop ourselves from running straight into these sorts of situations in the first place.

File: Solar Flare.jpg (199 KB, 648x627)

199 KB JPG

>>4585205
>>4585209
https://youtu.be/3eq-qUy-a-A

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

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

Bless me once more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No one is dying on your watch.

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

(1/3)

File: Severes-Storm-Lightning.jpg (120 KB, 850x478)

120 KB JPG

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

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

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

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

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

They understand.

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

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

(2/3)

File: Electrical Arc.jpg (84 KB, 852x480)

84 KB JPG

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

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

Every figure falls prostrate before the Gods Themselves.

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

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

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

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

It's still alive.

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

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

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

>D] Write-in.

(Going to call our weekend sessions here! Thank you all for the spectacular turnout for the VERY quick launch to this holiday thread! Hope the quality didn't dip too hard near the end of this evening. Had an absolute blast, and can't wait to get to more tomorrow. We'll resume our regular weekday schedule then. Have a great night guys. Vote will remain open until I return.)

>>4585308
B, C; we can't risk keeping it alive, and we have other battles to fight on this day. I'd love to clear up it's misconception, but we don't have the energy, manpower, or Time to dally. Give it Mercy, heal up our allies, and release the invocation as soon as we can. We still have tunnels to map, a surmon to preach, and ideally I'd love to take some Time to rest in-between.

>>4585321
+1

>>4585308

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

Mercy in a more tangible form. Everyone is at their breaking point, we can't let all their efforts go to waste. Sister Miramond might need some aid, is there any way we could combine our invocation of Mercy with her invocation of Storm?

>>4585321
>>4585499
>>4585509
(Wonderful stuff guys and good morning! Locking the vote here. Writing now.)

>>4585661
https://youtu.be/PqXPW0oBKgg

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(1/3)

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

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

The demon erupts.

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

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

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

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

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

They're all thanking you.

-----

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

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

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

(2/3)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

>D] Write-in. (Bearing in mind that there are over thirty capable combatants here, many of who's lives you saved, who are all willing to follow you.

>>4585709
>>B] These priests of Vengeance were willing to die on yours and your city's behalf. They want answers.
>4] Broach the subject of your collective efforts, answer any questions posed to you respectfully, and inform everyone present that they're welcome to come to your sermon in the morning. They'll be the center of its subject, after all.

Then

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

We are really fucked up and need all the help we can get, we know Miramond is trustworthy and we did sort of save her ass a bit. Touch on the fact we want her transferred to our retinue.

>>4585724
+1, with a touch of B3, we can do a memorial to all the lives lost when this affair is finished. Let's get to the hideout, Adwin to mapping, and a chance to rest in the meantime.

>>4585724
+1

>>4585730

Yeah I am ok with a memorial for all the lives lost during the war, we could do it after the sermon maybe and have everyone attend. That way people will see the sacrifices the theocracy is making and the atrocities that the cultists are committing.

>>4585724
>>4585730
>>4585771
>>4585795
(Lovely stuff guys. Locking the vote here. Writing now.)

>>4585832
These priests of Vengeance were willing to die on yours and your city's behalf. They want answers. You take a moment to thank them all sincerely for their efforts, and offer condolences for every life lost. A funerary service should be held, and these holy men warrant more than a field burial. Tomorrow afternoon will be occupied by a memorial service in honor of every brother and sister that's fallen to your enemies. It will be a reminder of the theocracy's sacrifices, and of your enemy's atrocitie. It also serves as a fine segue to invite everyone present to yours and Mercy's sermon. They're going to be the center of its subject, and deserve to be welcomed to the event.

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

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

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

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

Their mouths fall open.

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

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

(1/2)

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

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

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

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

"Then don't," she croaks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No. Not alone."

(Options in next post.)

>>4585954
>The following are mutually exclusive.
>Majority vote will decide.

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

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

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

>E] Write-in. (A roll will be required.)

>>4585957
>The woman beside you gives your congregation member a questioning glance. "Does he ever quit?"

>C]

No, he never quits. :^)

>>4585957

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

Delegate all of the remaining priests of Vengeance before we leave, try to sic them on the other hideouts we know of and have them search for tunnels there too.

>>4585962
>>4585964
(Locking the unanimous vote here in hopes of updating a few more times today! About to get a little dumb with the modifiers but I think it will help to further illuminate the situation, explain why the bonus isn't higher, and remind you guys of everything in motion!)

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

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

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

Rolled 5 (1d100)

>>4586024
YECH EXPRESS 2

Rolled 45 (1d100)

>>4586024
And I thought it would be a slow day today! Not that I'm complaining :^)

>>4586034
(I'm pleasantly surprised lol, looks like everyone is taking the holidays quite seriously. :^))

Rolled 2 (1d100)

>>4586024

MY LAST HOPE, MY LAST LIGHT. AID ME.

Rolled 98 (1d100)

>>4586024
i bet you don't even praise malimos.
w e a k

Rolled 91 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>4586024

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

>>4586044
;_;

Malimos, I'm sorry your blessings were ill received. We shall endeavor not to forget your gifts.

>>4586049
>>4586070
https://youtu.be/MndB7PlkILI

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

It feels good to be home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(1/5)

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

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

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

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

This is fine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Out with it."

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

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

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

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

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

(2/5)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(3/5)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(4/5)

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

Irefist coughs. "Pretty fuckin' able."

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

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

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

He copes with pain by disassociation.

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll be alright."

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

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

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

(Options in next post.)

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

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

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

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

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

>F] Write-in.

>>4586226

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

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

But we'll do it over some tea, and take it easy.

>>4586228
>>4586232
(C and tea. Got to love it. Vote is locked. Writing now!)

File: Hideout.jpg (127 KB, 800x912)

127 KB JPG

>>4586228
>>4586232
Crossing into the hideout's district comes with the accompaniment of five priests of Vengeance. A patrol also passes by in the streets. You get the impression that Father Pevrel requisitioned additional men to ensure your safe arrival, and to guarantee that the location you cleared this morning wasn't compromised.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Watch your step," the other priest smiles.

(1/6)

File: Rickety stairs.jpg (61 KB, 498x663)

61 KB JPG

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(2/6)

File: Burning coals.jpg (750 KB, 2904x1944)

750 KB JPG

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(3/6)

File: Fire iron.jpg (18 KB, 173x800)

18 KB JPG

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(4/6)

File: Interior Decorating.png (220 KB, 552x433)

220 KB PNG

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is unusual.

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

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

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

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

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

(5/6)

File: Home.png (1.16 MB, 1080x718)

1.16 MB PNG

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

>E] There are MANY ways you can phrase this. (Write-in.)

>>4586551
B; we may not be much of a leader, or the best one for the job, but we're the only one still here at the end of the day. We will get better at this, even if it kills us.

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

And even is spite of all this, I'm willing to grant you Mercy. I formally invite you to the sermon, so you may see who truly sullied Mercy's name.

>>4586601
(Bro I appreciate you so much. Probably going to be taking care of some IRL business today, I know I said the same thing today and then wrote four updates lmao but just a heads up! Hope our impromptu session today holds you guys over, I'll make sure to meet the usual 1-2 posts for a weekday no matter what though. Hope you have an amazing night man, I'll be back in the morning!)

>>4586602
Same, man. Hope you have a nice time as well.

>>4586601
+1

>>4586551

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

Those traitors to the crown have been pardoned and also killed more demons that you have fucked women. I have been called many things and not all of them are incorrect, but everything I have done was for the people of Eadric. Elias in his death appointed me, I did not know why for a long time, but I have faith him. I have faith in my citizens and allies. I am sorry for the mistakes I have made but I will not run away from these problems anymore. I have been to the Rub and Grub Pub too, nice place, I think some of the patrons will still remember me. We are merely men, but have you lost your faith in the gods too?

>>4586551
>>B] As the leader of the Church of Mercy, the Father of Compassion, the lord of kindness, and a good man who loves his family and home more than life itself, you can still offer this man a chance at redemption. Seriously double-down on your station, and prove him wrong. Try to provide this lost soul with a chance at salvation.

>>4586608
(What a nice thing to come back to, thanks man! Had a good one, and am back in the saddle.)
>>4586601
>>4586609
>>4586645
>>4586977
(Blessed unanimous vote. Vote is locked. Writing now.)

>>4587034
https://youtu.be/Bqv2AiwCVwc

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

The old man pauses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

(1/2)

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

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

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

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

A noise is made in disbelief.

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

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

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

"'course I do."

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

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

(Options in next post.)

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

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

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

>D] Write-in.

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

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

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

>>4587133

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

Mercy Herself has blessed me with the gift of compassion, I have felt a fragment of everyone's suffering. I have felt plenty of my own. I wish for it to end. To stop burying my children. To stop bathing in blood every other week. You do too. I am too tired to be angry, we are ALL cracked, but I wont let anyone fall apart. We are mortals, but trust that the Gods guide us true.

>>4587133
B; it's not an excuse, just an explanation. We all have our struggles, even if some are stranger than others.

>>4587147
>>4587157
Oh, the Duality of Man :^)

You gotta love when the Stars align like this.

>>4587137
>>4587147
>>4587157
>>4587161
>>4587192
(The duality of man indeed. Surely I can manage this writing challenge. :^D
Vote is locked. Writing now!)

>>4587205
"It's like I said. You're right. There's wisdom in your experiences— and you know how tired we all are. How badly we want to stop burying our children. I've practically been bathing in blood every week. You've seen plenty of action, too. We are all cracked— and I am NO exception. THAT is why Father Edmund appointed me. He knew full well that I'm a deviant, and that I— and that I have had my share of sin. He knew that my enemies would seek to fracture us all, with or without my experiences. Your concern, his judgement, and my position has nothing to do with just the Gods, or demons."

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

The old man sniffs. "Hmph."

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

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

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

Several minutes pass in silence.

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

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

"I'll see you tomorrow."

The door clicks shut.

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

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

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

(1/2)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

>D] Write-in.

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

>>4587286

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

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

>>4587306
+1, then we can move on to C.

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

Stealing crops in during a potential famine, and calling traitors and cultists countrymen? Mercy, we protected our citizens from the demons they allowed to fester and gestate in our home! Say what you will about our career, or our weight, but you hardly in any better position to criticize, madam.

>>4587367
>>4587306
Supporting all these points.

>>4587304
>>4587306
>>4587367
>>4587384
(Absolutely wonderful guys. Noting everything, I'm sure we can make this all work. Vote is locked. Writing now!)

File: Countryside.png (559 KB, 1024x517)

559 KB PNG

>>4587516
She needs distance from you. Generosity is one of your tenets, and you'll gladly give it to her. She needs space to rant, and to get all this off her chest. You see a golden opportunity to get a little more comfortable, to work at some tea, and to wait for this woman to fall silent.

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

https://youtu.be/VU6XEqaghdc

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

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

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

(1/4)

File: Corcaean Countryside.png (2.26 MB, 1580x1975)

2.26 MB PNG

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

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

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

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

Your smile falls. "What did you expect?"

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

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

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

(2/4)

File: A perfectly fine door tha(...).jpg (236 KB, 1000x627)

236 KB JPG

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

"I didn't call for anything."

"Save for what you have today?"

"I can say whatever I please."

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

"What."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(3/4)

File: Faded Parchment.jpg (95 KB, 474x372)

95 KB JPG

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

>D] Write-in.

>>4587667
A, B, C2, whatever works. I just want to lessen the man's pain any way we can. Offer him something from our flask, whatever is appropriate.

>>4587667
>C] As delicately as you can, try to encourage this man to let you heal his injuries. Pain is likely making it impossible for him to focus.
>2] Simply remind the man that he's welcome to speak his mind, if he wishes.

>>4587667

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

Imagine complaining that your kids are working the walls you just aided cultists in destroying lmao this is clearly not the city of wisdom.

>>4587697
>>4587776
>>4587798
(You guys are too sweet. Just imagine the smack-talk that goes on in Murgate. Just kidding. Vote is locked here. Writing now.)

Rolled 2, 5 = 7 (2d6)

>>4587834

Is this a threat

>>4587837
(quickly hug him into submission)

>>4587834
*Hug*

Rolled 79 (1d100)

>>4587838

Rolling for hug submission.

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

(total modifier for this roll is +20)

>>4587841
>>4587840
(damn guys 99/100 for a hug? I wouldn't have expected anything less.

Update should be out shortly lol)

>>4587841
Hug is super effective!

File: Your Relic.png (138 KB, 500x429)

138 KB PNG

>>4587814
https://youtu.be/yaQu6ILXC6k

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

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

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

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

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

"I promise."

"This will grant immediate relief from your pain."

A desperate nod follows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

(1/5)

File: Seed Tea.jpg (90 KB, 700x525)

90 KB JPG

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"My right."

(2/5)

File: Elderflower and Lemon.jpg (99 KB, 540x392)

99 KB JPG

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(3/5)

File: Tools.png (184 KB, 676x225)

184 KB PNG

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

"I want to thank you."

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

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

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

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

"Thank you."

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

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

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

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

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

(4/5)