>>3967771
Stealing first post

>>3967771
It feels like an age passes by before Father Wilhelm's wrinkled robes, long night cap and tidy beard come back into your view. Though his hair is as dark as yours, it's mussed with sleep, kept so much longer, and hangs in his face from time to time as he seems to compulsively smoke. The smoke drifting around him is soothing, a welcome distraction from the anxiety that seems to running through his thin frame. This may be the first time you've properly looked at the Father of the Church of Dream, though you've traveled together for days.

Has it been days? Or is it weeks, now?

It's very hard to say with any certainty, as you've been in a Dream the entire time. It wasn't your choice, to be escorted so far away from the Church of Mercy, but here you are.

The blue peeking through the myriad cracks in Father Wilhelm's skin catch on the light of the summer home around you. The glow of Mercy's radiance filters in, through thick panes of glass, struggling to keep out the cold of snow in autumn.

You try to relax, to sink deeper into the blankets wrapped around you, as he slowly approaches. The smell of the tobacco and spice wafts towards you,

It's nothing like the blood, moss and stone you'd become so accustomed to.

As usual, you don't quite meet his gaze or eyes of blue. You settle your focus on the dirt caked under his worn house slippers. The man's frame is nowhere as thin as yours, but he seems physically fragile, practically shaking as he slides down into a chair across the hearth. There are dozens of chairs littered throughout the main hall of his retreat, nestled largely around the flame you're sitting next to. Ray is rather close to the heat, clearly enjoying himself even through his slumber.

Father Wilhelm whispers, so as to not wake anyone. You suspect the whisper is force of habit, given his position within the Church of Dream, but you don't want to make any assumptions. This man saved your life, and risked traveling so far from his home to meet you as you left the ruins. He even took along five of his children to aid you. There's something terribly morose in his voice, that reminds you of a grieving Father. There's warmth, and the promise of respite, but there's a familiar sadness as well.

You heard it the sadness and his words often, deep under the Aerth. From Celegwen, and Ofelia.

"You're awake."

Companions. Saviors. Those who would follow a holy man without question.

His children.

They haven't come back. One was screaming, for awhile, something about a demon. Your name was in there, in the horror. It's been some time since any of them showed their faces, from the rooms down the main hall. You pull your gaze away from Father Wilhelm's house slippers, his disheveled robes, to look for your other rescuers.

Why did they come for me?

(1/2)

>>3967780
The walls are bare, devoid of any decoration. The stone, the many rugs littering the floor, are almost as inviting as the smoke steadily building within the main hall, pushing up against the frost. You're so close to the Folorast mountains that the trees of amber and crimson outside are dusted with snow. You have been shivering since you arrived, but the blankets are helping.

Many long moments pass between you both before there's another whisper.

"How did you sleep?"

Your voice is soft, barely above a murmur. It's not for lack of trying, though your words are usually timid around others. You're simply so exhausted that you hardly have it in you, to speak with any volume.

So much has happened.

"I— I'm not entirely sure."

There's another long silence. A reprieve. The Father of Dream shifts in his chair, stands up, and slides down on the recliner alongside you. Reflexively, you pull away, trying to place some distance between you both, but your limbs are heavy with exhaustion and the blankets wrapped around you make any movement terribly awkward. It's hard to pull your gaze up, but you manage, needing to confirm the sensation of Father Wilhelm's eyes boring into you.

His clean mustache and beard, his ridiculous nightcap stained with extended travel, the cracks in his soul are all looking up to you. With you both sitting, you're still a good deal taller than him. There's no helping how tense and upright your posture is, even when your back and broad shoulders are ravaged by your ordeal.

The teeth staring out at you are just as tense, chewing on a cigar. There's softer eyes, full of so much concern and divinity that it makes you pull back.

"No, Father Anscham. How do you sleep? How can you sleep?"

The screams make a lot more sense now.

There's only one thing you can fathom eliciting so much terror in a man of the Gods, in what should be a house of rest.

Your journal.

There were things in there not meant for the eyes of another. Things you wish you could have said, and never did. Sketches of women from other lands who traveled with you to the bottom of the world. Observations of how all of the Gods had worked through you. Named demons, and how they had helped you.

I'm probably being paranoid, but what else could it have been?

>A) You have no need for pride, or for being known as neurotic.
>1) Ask Father Wilhelm what he intends to do. Try to show some respect to the men who saved your life.
>2) Make it known that the extreme invasion of your privacy isn't exactly appreciated.
>3) Ask plainly what he thinks. You could use some context for everything you've been through.

>B) You're so far past the point of caring that even the threat of someone knowing a fraction of your ordeal won't stop you.
>1) Inform Father Wilhelm that you sleep like the dead. Maybe he might know why?
>2) Ask him, plainly, why he even cares. You're probably mistaken for dead, anyways.

>C) Write-in.

>>3967785
>>B) You're so far past the point of caring that even the threat of someone knowing a fraction of your ordeal won't stop you.
>>1) Inform Father Wilhelm that you sleep like the dead. Maybe he might know why?

>>3967785
>>A) You have no need for pride, or for being known as neurotic.
>>1) Ask Father Wilhelm what he intends to do. Try to show some respect to the men who saved your life.
He has been nothing but a bro and the stuff we did was pretty fucked up, we should at least acknowledge it. Our kind have no use for pride

>>3967789
seconding

>>3967787
>>3967789
>>3967794
Locking the vote here! Not necessarily mutually exclusive so we'll see what we can do. Writing now.

>>3967860
With a very deep sigh, you try to recline. Looking up at the ceiling, the rafters suspiciously free of cobwebs, and avoiding what you assume to be a judgmental stare. It's vastly preferable to meeting Father Wilhelm's gaze.

You echo a sentiment that got you through the worst of your ordeal.

"Our kind have no use for pride."

The disheveled man next to you furrows his brows so deeply you almost hear it.

"...what?"

You bring your gaze back down to the man before you, and ask him a question in turn. He looks confused, and mildly alarmed, but you can't really care.

"I sleep like— like the dead— but it doesn't matter, does it?"

You cringe, forcing your gaze back onto your savior, to try and speak at greater length. Your volume scarcely increases, the church having distilled all traces of your childhood accent into something more serviceable. Something more respectable. Most people can't place your accent now, through the soft-speech and timidness. It's habit, after all these years. Your companions in the ruins never would have noticed, but you're acutely aware of it, next to another man. One who is no doubt aware of your lack of pride.

"There's so much I don't understand, Father. So much I need to know. Why— why am I— what's wrong with me? What do— what can you do? You must have heard—"

You look, wide-eyed, to the corridor beyond. The stone. You're intensely reminded of weeks of wandering, and there's a hand on your shoulder, pulling you out of the beginnings of another reverie.

"He confessed immediately, to everything. It's a good thing, isn't it?"

You tense, recoiling at the sensation on your shoulder, yet you can't help but inquire further.

"Isn't... what?"

"That men are not the Gods. That I can make my own judgement, and take a little time to interpret all of this? Isn't it swell—"

The hand on your shoulder loosens, apparently aware of how uncomfortable it's making you. Father Wilhelm's voice pulls your attention back to him, away from the cracks in the stone, and to the cracks in his own skin. To the blue, the Dream. He's smiling, very softly, and fishing for something in his robes. You suspect it's another cigar, though his is scarcely touched.

"That we have all of the Time here in the world?"

There's a cloying fear, still, in every fracture in your mind.

"I understand the severity of my actions—"

"I strongly suspect you don't, but please, go on."

(1/2)

>>3967892
You hesitate, the immediate reprimand acutely reminding you of several veteran clergymen that were always too quick to put you down.

"Father Anscham. I did not risk life and limb or Spirit you away from your home to make matters worse."

Those sad, sleepy eyes are back on you again, boring into you with the same intense divinity you suspect you carry with you, as well. It's hard not to squirm under the scrutiny, so you squirm deeper into the blankets around you, instead.

"You have been terribly kind to me. I never— I simply wish to acknowledge—"

Something is being extended towards you. It's not a peace offering, or a gift, but a simple gesture of hospitality. A box of cigars.

"I won't lie to you and say that this is fine, but there is no danger here, Father Anscham. Do you smoke? It might help, with your nerves. While we talk."

>A) You normally don't, but you'll make an exception.

>B) You usually do. It certainly hasn't helped, in the last few weeks, to go entirely without.

>C) Write-in.

>>3967895
>>A) You normally don't, but you'll make an exception.

>>3967895
>A) You normally don't, but you'll make an exception.

>>3967895
>>A) You normally don't, but you'll make an exception.

>>3967895
>>A) You normally don't, but you'll make an exception.

>>3967901
>>3967902
>>3967903
>>3967904
Hell yes, going to lock here with the unanimous vote. Writing now!

>>3967911
You deflate, slightly, worming your arms out of the blankets to accept the wooden box being extended towards you. The chill in the air isn't nearly as intense as it was when you first entered the retreat, your thin robes keeping out an additional layer of the cold.

You want to groan, seeing how loose the garment you've been fitted with hangs off your emaciated frame. The coarse fabric's utter lack of indication of your position, the secrecy you must have been escorted with, and how there's little of you but bone leads to your voice escaping as a stammer. You're not sure whether to be humiliated or simply ashamed of yourself.

"I— I normally don't, but I can make an exception, I suppose—"

You fumble a moment with one of the rolled bundles of tobacco, having absolutely no idea what to do with it. Something so mundane seems so alien to you that you wind up staring blankly at the box for what must be several minutes.

Patiently, Father Wilhelm fishes out a stick of cedar, methodically cutting, lighting and handing over the cigar you've unwittingly picked. Your tremor has improved so much as you go to take it that an ash safely gathers. You're also reminded how to drop it evenly, to maintain the shape of the gift. Your hands are almost steady, the movement methodical, and surprisingly soothing.

Your shaking almost entirely subsides as the heat of the hearth, and the warmth spreading through your body pulls the remains of the chill out of your skin and bones.

You both smoke quietly. It's hard to resist the urge to inhale, the earthiness, the spice. Your palate is untrained, and you gave your restraint to a demon.

There's no laughter or demeaning, as a fit of coughing takes you. You're left to your own devices until you catch your breath, the Father of Dream granting you as much respite as he's able. He doesn't seem to mind the silence, your neuroticism, or patiently reminding you of how to do such a simple task.

Both of you try to recline, to assume a semblance of normalcy. The smoke filling your senses really is a welcome distraction. Enough so that you must have visibly wound down, and for your host to try broaching the conversation properly again.

"It's very difficult to know what to make of all of this."

You don't reply, smoking silently, trying to remain respectful of the man who saved your life.

"It's abundantly clear to me that Dream blesses you with respite, because you do not know how to give it to yourself."

You cringe again. You could easily count on one hand the number of times you've voluntarily eaten or slept in weeks.

"...is that why?"

"He has only visited you once before, has He not?"

"Yes."

"You have never called upon Him, have you?"

"No. I scarcely knew how to interpret His blessing. There— there was nothing I could hope to do with His works, not— not with—"

You can't quite finish. It's not that you're ungrateful. You simply have no idea what to make of your ordeal, either.

(1/2)

>>3967978
"The ash, Father. Mind it."

Your eyes widen further, spilling the edge of the cigar onto a small container on the side of the hearth. They're littered throughout the main hall, another welcome distraction alongside the dozens of plain pillows and stacks of blankets.

"It would be best to try to understand this, one thing at a time. You've called upon almost every other God. You've abused Them, Father. I understand you've abused yourself, your vessel, as well. My son has shared much with me. Do you wish to confess, as well?"

You draw back. Every fiber of your being says to draw back, to take Ray, to run for your very life. You draw back on the cigar, instead, the tremor instantly back as you silently deliberate on whether you're capable of replying.

The panic written all over you must be immediately evident. Father Wilhelm's voice remains soft and utterly forgiving as he implores you.

"I would vastly prefer to hear your thoughts directly from you. To interpret, to rest, is to serve. Nothing you say in this house needs ever leave these walls. I cannot hope to understand who I am aiding or if I can trust you if I cannot understand your own thoughts on these matters. Will you do me this service, Father Anscham? So that I might better serve you?"

It's as if he's afraid of pausing, like you may actually turn and run, but Father Wilhelm's voice softens. The sadness that hasn't left his voice is clinging to every word.

"If for no other reason, will you confide in me, that I may reassure my children? They deserve to rest, more than anyone."

>A) You owe this man your life. Trust him, and confess, in full.
>1) Your actions in the ruins were abhorrent to an extreme, up until the very end. You prayed to every God for forgiveness, and still have no idea how to make amends.
>2) You truly do not regret anything. Everything was justified, even the worst of it. You've learned a lot, but you don't profess to understand how your Gods expect you to uphold their tenets in the face of some temptation.

>B) You're not ready for this. Try to offer Father Wilhelm some reassurance, but keep it brief.
>1) Expand on how the Gods work through you, and inform him that you have no intention of abusing them ever again.
>2) Respectfully decline the offer for a confession completely, and ask if you can discuss things more delicately. Your mind is not in the right place for this, not right now.

>C) Write-in.

>>3967980
>A) You owe this man your life. Trust him, and confess, in full.
>1) Your actions in the ruins were abhorrent to an extreme, up until the very end. You prayed to every God for forgiveness, and still have no idea how to make amends.

>>3967980
>>A) You owe this man your life. Trust him, and confess, in full.
>>1) Your actions in the ruins were abhorrent to an extreme, up until the very end. You prayed to every God for forgiveness, and still have no idea how to make amends.

>>3967980
>A1

>>3967984
>>3967986
>>3967990
Another rapid-fire unanimous vote, awesome. Let's keep this rolling. Vote is locked, writing now.

>>3968009
The panic, the building fear, reaches a fever pitch as you shakily set your cigar down, and stare straight at the church leader before you. You'd place him in his late 40's, but that's at least twice your age. The few lines around his eyes and soft smile, despite everything he's learned, are indicative of so much more time spent in this world that what you once knew.

You've known so much more, though. Hundreds of years of knowledge, of elves, of men.

You do something you've never had the chance to.

You confess, properly, to a man who wants to listen. Someone with context, and the kindness to actually welcome you into his arms as you almost immediately break down, sobbing hysterically.

"I wanted to die—"

It probably takes several hours to choke out the details. In between it all, he remains reassuring, and you could not be more grateful for trusting him. You're too ashamed of your actions to look at him directly, but you let out your insecurity, your doubt, and every little conflict in the million cracks of your soul.

It definitely takes hours. The sun, Mercy's radiance, begins to set for Storm. It's too close to the Folorast mountains for rain, but a slurry pelts against the windows, blending with your sobs and the retelling.

The night draws near, the blessing of Dream. The slurry continues, as your sobs subside. A horrific amount of self-awareness, crumbling insecurity and the slightest understanding of your own actions weighs on you with such intensity that you want to crumble.

You endure.

"I never stopped, not even once. I never— I couldn't turn back. I never knew how many answers I needed, how lost I really was, until an archdemon forced me to understand. I shed so much blood. It's still under my nails. I couldn't get it all off, not with boiling water, Father— I can't get it off. We spent our lives fighting, killing, trying to survive, haven't we? How could I have ever known what I was doing? We know nothing of their hierarchy, of what lies within the ruins. Or maybe we do, and I was kept in the dark before I ever entered. I never knew. I couldn't have known Ofelia or Celegwen, not even if I tried. I never asked. I never wanted to know, not— not truly— not if I hadn't been so obsessed."

The panic attack that's been waning in and out of your confession threatens to steal your composure from you again.

(1/3)

>>3968071
"I've been obsessed, and broken down so many times I can't even count them all. I've felt so weak, so lost, so confused and afraid, how could I have ever stopped to think about it all? I wasn't trying to sympathize with Offala when she came at me for blood. I never once thought of Tsilorm as a leader or anything but a monster when he tried to break me. I relished killing him, Father, I watched him burn and would do so again without any hesitation— I'd have avoided aiding Remigius, even knowing how far she pushed me. I never could trust a succubus, and she proved me right, didn't she? Beating her at her own game was one of the happiest moments of my life, even if I was tortured for it. Even if I was broken for it. I was already broken, Father, I kept telling myself that I could take it. I wanted to take it. Even the Gods want to grant me respite from pain, Father—"

You're altogether too distraught to take hold of the locket around your neck, but you clasp your hands around some of the chain, the old habit of fidgeting with your holy symbol far too hard to break. Not when you're this upset.

"I can't rest, even now— I don't even understand what it means to. I don't claim to understand the Gods. I was never really raised in the church, Father. Not in the way I was meant to. Every time I remember it is like a knife through my heart, Father. Nothing has ever been right for me. I couldn't have known how badly I was abusing Them. The way They work through me is no indication of how things ought to be—"

Your breath calms, stricken with so much reverence and devotion that you have to pull in, wrapping your arms around your frame, trying to remember the sensation.

"I love Them, Father, no matter how bad things have been. I've never hesitated to use Their works. I've never questioned why they hurt me the way that they do. Even at the very end, so much of me wanted— needed to know, what would happen— what He would have done— if I could have survived or if it would have been the blessing to finally take me away from the nightmare—"

You're slipping, the aura, the tremor, the sight of God pushing on the edges of your mind. You try to ground yourself, to focus. This opportunity, this blessing, to be able to actually speak your mind to someone who wants to understand is so important. You're rambling, but you don't care. There's no hitch in your breath, as your raw and red eyes blur, granting you relief from everything but the hearth before you.

(2/3)

>>3968073
"I want so desperately to be better, Father. I know I must sound insane. I have seen so much. I have endured. I needed the Gods to survive. I, ultimately, always wanted to survive. Mercy never would have seen fit to embrace me if I ever forsake Her. I've never forgotten what it's meant to serve Her. I've never forgotten my title, despite how much I've disgraced it. Despite how abhorrent my actions have been. I've lived to serve. Every immaculate wound, every scar, every step I took into and out of the ruins, was for more than just Her. The demons I killed, the demons I saved, the archdemon I guided to power— it's— Mercy, it's been so much— I don't know what to make of it, either. I never knew what to make of all of it. I have been wandering in the dark for so long. I still need guidance. It took Idonea a solid week, everything she had to give, and her very life to try and turn me from a path of slaughter and sin. I still failed her. I have no idea how to use My Relic. I don't have the faintest idea of how I can function back in the Church of Mercy. I was far worse than a demon towards Ofelia, and Celegwen. I abused Remigius, and I have to wonder how she ever found the strength to aid me. I risked my life to aid Yech, and still feel as if I never knew him."

You're definitely rambling, but you gave your restraint to a demon.

"I don't know you, Father Wilhelm. I don't even know your first name. I don't know why you saved me. I don't know your sons. I know so little of the Church of Dream, of any of the world. I've been kept away in the dark for so long. I don't know what you should think of all of this, of me."

>A) But you want forgiveness, more than anything. Ask Father Wilhelm how you can start to make this right.
>B) You really, seriously need to hear from someone sane, without any ulterior motives, that you're still a good person.
>C) You have lived to serve. Remind yourself of all the good you've done.
>D) Write-in.

>>3968075
>>A) But you want forgiveness, more than anything. Ask Father Wilhelm how you can start to make this right.

>>3968075
>>A) But you want forgiveness, more than anything. Ask Father Wilhelm how you can start to make this right.

>>3968075
>C) You have lived to serve. Remind yourself of all the good you've done.

>>3968088
>>3968098
>>3968104
Conveniently, this also doesn't have to be mutually exclusive. Going to lock the vote here, writing now!

>>3968111
"There's little use— for all of this knowledge, if I can't do anything with it—"

Your breath is catching again, as you're so overwhelmed you can scarcely speak. You keep fighting, trying to let out everything while you have the chance. It feels like there's never enough time for anything. You're afraid that you might never be able to speak like this again.

"I did show Mercy, time and time again. I trusted Orgoth immediately. I never pursued him. I made every attempt to protect Ofelia and Celegwen, no matter how little they shared, no matter what their motives were for staying by my side. I trusted them, too, even after they held me at knife-point. Even when Celegwen's healing nearly killed me. Even when they insulted the Gods. I never judged them. I always strove to uphold Mercy's tenets. It may have cost me my restraint, my connection to Flesh, to Agriculture, but I never strayed from my mission to aid Idonea's children, in the end. I gave them everything I could. In the end, I did stay my hand. I held back an army, with as few casualties as I could muster. I shielded my friends. I was there for Idonea, for her daughters, for Yech. I stayed his hand after a battle that should have been our undoing. I showed Mercy to myself. I came home."

There's very little catch in your last few words. You try wiping your eyes, instantly regretting using your sleeve as the coarse fabric merely irritates them further. Regardless, you finally look to Father Wilhelm, wanting to ask for his aid, his guidance.

His eyes are dry, but his heart looks broken. It's abundantly clear that his cigar has been unlit for some time, the cool ash hanging as he keeps his hands clasped, looking to you with disbelief and so much pity you actually draw back.

He looks unbearably tired, as tired as you feel. His eyes are dry, but the blue is boring into you, with the stare of a man that's seen you before and understands.

With a few blinks, another poor attempt at wiping your eyes dry, you try to ask the question you've been meaning to for hours.

"Father, I want forgiveness. More than anything. I may have prayed to every God and Goddess, but we both know—"

There's so much understanding. He knows. A confession is for catharsis. For guidance. The Gods are not so forgiving.

"Please. How can I start to make this right?"

The heavy silence that hangs between you both is so nerve-wracking that you nearly start crying again, but Father Wilhelm finally replies.

"You already have. You're starting to."

That's enough, to send your shoulders shaking as you collapse back into yourself, wrapping your arms around your impossibly narrow abdomen for comfort you can tolerate. Your sides ache, your chest burns. You merely allow yourself to hold onto your ribs, your waist, trying to find some relief. Your silence is a blessing, as you can properly hear some real reassurance.

(1/2)

>>3968169
"Thank you for your confession, Father. I could never presume to understand everything you've been through, not in another age, but thank you. It may not be in my power to undo everything you've endured, but I will do everything in my power to interpret, and to grant you rest. You do deserve a reprieve. Please—"

There's a pause, as the cracks sitting across from you catch on the light of another cigar being lit. The swirls of painted glass and divinity keep their distance, with due respect, rather than fear.

"Try not to be so hard on yourself. It's a miracle you've come back as whole as you have."

You don't feel it whole, staring hard at the dozens of scars littering just your hands and the bits of exposed wrist under your robes.

"Father. Richard."

You lift your eyes, green laced with red. It's normally a terrible offense to refer to a church leader by anything but their family's name, but it helps. You were called almost nothing else, by anyone who's even pretended to care for you.

"Do you know why I traveled halfway across the country, to grant you my aid? Why I took my own sons from their home? Why I came straight back to your side, the moment I was able, to ensure that you are alright?"

"N-no."

"I respect you. Father Friedrich, Father Barthalomew, even Father Pevrel, to a degree— most of us do. I can't imagine what life has been like for you. It's not right, what's been done to you, and I'm tired, Richard. I'm tired of sitting idly by, while you're pushed to death. You deserve some rest, some reprieve."

There's a very, very slow motion, enough so that it doesn't send every nerve in your body on end. Father Wilhelm merely moves to drop some more ash into the container across from you both. You can't help but wonder how tense you must look, for him to try so hard to not catch you off-guard. It is helping, though. Your eyes are much drier, and you do feel a good deal better for it.

"I haven't been doing my job. Will you trust me enough to take some more time, to sleep, while I attend to a few matters of business?"

>A) Trust him completely, and without question. You legitimately don't want to know what damage control this man is going to have to go through to ensure you can stay here safely, even for a time. You aren't a liar, and any knowledge of what Father Wilhelm has to do from here on out may be a burden you're unable to bear.

>B) At least ask what he intends to do about his son, and what he'll tell anyone else. He swore that your confession wouldn't leave this house.

>C) Pry. Ask for answers. You want to learn. You need to know. You are far too upset to worry about appearances.

>D) Write-in.

>>3968174
>>A) Trust him completely, and without question. You legitimately don't want to know what damage control this man is going to have to go through to ensure you can stay here safely, even for a time. You aren't a liar, and any knowledge of what Father Wilhelm has to do from here on out may be a burden you're unable to bear.
>B) At least ask what he intends to do about his son, and what he'll tell anyone else. He swore that your confession wouldn't leave this house.

>>3968174
>B) At least ask what he intends to do about his son, and what he'll tell anyone else. He swore that your confession wouldn't leave this house.
>Write in: Ask if the king has been well

>>3968174
>>B) At least ask what he intends to do about his son, and what he'll tell anyone else. He swore that your confession wouldn't leave this house.

>>3968180
>>3968194
>>3968200
Awesome, you guys are keeping pace faster than I am! Had to step out for a bit, will try to give more notice if I have to again tonight. Vote is locked, writing now.

>>3968275
Had something urgent come up, delay on next update. I'll be back before the end of the night, thanks for your patience.

>>3968180
>>3968194
>>3968200
This man is trying as hard as he can to help me. The least I can do is extend the same courtesy to him.

As irritated as they are, your eyes are completely dry, as you try to sit up a little straighter.

"I'll trust you, Father Wilhelm, and— I have to be honest with you—"

Your hosts lips part slightly. He removes his cigar, glancing between it and you with no small measure of endearment.

"Yes?"

"I— I don't particularly care to hear the details."

The disheveled sleeves cross in mock offense, Father Wilhelm's amusement increasing.

"You don't say."

You try not to get too flustered, pulling the blankets back around you in defense, doing your best to relax as he clearly is enjoying your wholesome request.

"You're aware that I'm to uphold Mercy's tenets, to remain honest, to stand by my word."

"Of course!"

"It would be unbecoming of me, to have to hide whatever it is you need to do. What you may have to go through to grant me shelter here— in addition to what I can— what I imagine you've already endured. I understand, at least, that not everyone will be so understanding of everything that I've done."

"Certainly, Father."

The shift back to a more formal recognition of your title is suddenly a lot more encouraging. It gives you enough solace to dare to ask for more information. You may be naive, and learning your place in everything, but you are sharp. Sharp enough to know what questions to ask.

Your memory has always been impeccable.

A frown seems permanently etched on your face, unable to return Father Wilhelm's affability. You lean in, just enough to make yourself clear.

"You made an oath to me, Father Wilhelm. One that I hope you intend to keep. Nothing you say in this house needs ever leave these walls. What do you intend to do with your son? What will leave these walls?"

You're aware that this probably sounds like a threat, especially given everything you've just confessed to, but you're so taken aback by Father Wilhelm's reaction that you can't really care.

He's smiling, a slightly unhinged expression beaming back at you. There's shades of blue swimming in the priest's eyes, a divinity you're so familiar with.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"What has the Church of Mercy taught you, Father?"

"To read, to write, to serve— Her tenets, medicine, how to heal—"

"It was a rhetorical question."

The sadness creeps back in. The mania fades.

"You have no idea what you're doing. It's alright."

There's still a slight smile directed at you. One of patience and a lifetime of actual experience.

(1/2)

>>3968554
"Richard, the Church of Dream does more than grant respite to the weary. We do not merely interpret and rest. We help to forget. Why do you think we travel so often alongside the Church of Spirit? Why do you think we are stationed alongside convicts and killers, mercenaries and thieves in our outposts? Why do you suppose we grant asylum?"

This is the first confirmation you've ever had of most of these things. You feel like you should probably hold your tongue.

Then again, the thought of your memories being so scarring that Father Wilhelm would immediately elect to remove them from his children is disturbing to a degree you might not be fully equipped to even comprehend.

More importantly, you've had Dream work through you before. You know how fleeting the God's gifts are.

That you possess them, as well.

There's a current of excitement blending with your paranoia, residual fear, self-resentment, pride and disgust.

"...Mercy."

>A) You absolutely cannot abide by this. There has to be a way to guarantee that knowledge of your mission can remain with Father Wilhelm's son. Step over your boundaries. Insist that no one is forgetting anything, not if you can help it.

>B) Respect the Father of Dream enough to permit him to handle his own clergy as he sees fit.
>1) You genuinely don't understand the severity of what you've experienced, and don't want this burden on another man if you can help it. Ask Father Wilhelm why this is necessary.
>2) Don't question it at all. You know what you've done. You know what will happen if word gets out.

>C) The only thing that exceeds your neuroticism is your obsession with the Gods.
>1) Can you do this?
>2) Can you do this and learn as soon as possible?
>3) Can you do this, learn as soon as possible, and maybe watch Father Wilhelm? This could be an opportunity to apologize, even.

>D) Write-in.

>>3968558
>>B) Respect the Father of Dream enough to permit him to handle his own clergy as he sees fit.
>>1) You genuinely don't understand the severity of what you've experienced, and don't want this burden on another man if you can help it. Ask Father Wilhelm why this is necessary.

Going to pack it in for the night, but I'll be back with an update in the morning before work! Night all

>>3968558
>B) Respect the Father of Dream enough to permit him to handle his own clergy as he sees fit.
>1) You genuinely don't understand the severity of what you've experienced, and don't want this burden on another man if you can help it. Ask Father Wilhelm why this is necessary.

>>3968558
>B) Respect the Father of Dream enough to permit him to handle his own clergy as he sees fit.
>>1) You genuinely don't understand the severity of what you've experienced, and don't want this burden on another man if you can help it. Ask Father Wilhelm why this is necessary.

>>3968562
>>3968937
>>3968955
As promised, squeezing in some time before work to write! Vote is locked.

>>3969314
Above all other things, you're still confused. The desire to know, to understand, weighs out over the obsession, the fear. You try to grab Father Wilhelm's attention before he turns to leave, and to your relief, he immediately sits back down.

"Father Wilhelm—"

"Yes, Father Anscham?"

"After everything I've endured— I would never wish to— to impose this burden on another. I genuinely cannot comprehend the severity of it all, and I lived through it—"

You try not to reel again. The chain firmly clasped underneath your hand is enough to keep you grounded, to be better. To seek answers.

"I do not wish to forget myself, but, please, why is this necessary?"

A disjointed, fractured smile beams back at you. Father Wilhelm sets down his cigar completely, practically glowing with excitement.

To interpret is to serve Dream, isn't it?

The level, entirely mortal words of the man before you are utterly absent of divinity, but Father Wilhelm sincerely looks as if he's having a religious experience as he relays his characterization of your ordeal back to you.

"My son was willing to risk life and limb to come and rescue you, blessed by ignorance of the trials you endured. He and so many others have heard you preach, and know you to have served the Goddess of Mercy with more devotion and love than many men can ever hope to possess. My son saw you emerge from the ruins looking so battered and broken that we all easily could have mistaken you for a demon, yet he rushed to catch you as you fell. Farmer Jack may not understand the sincerity and depths of your service, but we do, Father."

A pit sinks deep into what little there is of your gut at his next words.

"Or at least, thought we did."

There's an uncontrollable jerk backwards as you draw into yourself, trying to be an open vessel to the church leader's perspective and wisdom.

"My boy— my son, does not need to know the way that the Gods work through you. Not to the extent that they do, not how often you abused them, and never that you turned from Their works. Your ability to invoke all of the Gods is terrifying to an extreme, Father. To be able to invoke two simultaneously is so unprecedented—"

There's a pause, of extreme excitement and no indication of fear from Father Wilhelm as he brushes his hair out of his face. He's been leaning slowly closer towards you, hands clasped, reverent.

He remembers himself, backing up slightly, still smiling.

"I believe there is much work for you to still do, Father. It would be an unparalleled privilege to be able to help guide you. But you cannot do this, not yet. Not as you are. Not after so much sin. Your willingness to invoke the Gods on a whim, despite the damage it has done to your vessel, is tantamount to sacrilege. Your voluntary abuse of your body and mind as you consorted with demons would have you exiled the very moment someone were to discover it."

(1/3)

>>3969405
You want to interject, already opening your lips, and you're cut off.

"No matter how deeply you allied yourself with a demon, Father, do try to remind yourself that it is their fault that Flesh and Agriculture have forsaken you. You may have sought death, but the opportunity was only granted to you so easily due to their inherent insanity. Their violence. Their inability to even speak of Their works. Those demons did everything in their power to weaken you, to make you unfit to wield your blessings, that you might not threaten them. Did they not succeed? Did you not, ultimately, bring a new leader to power? Did you not, ultimately, save the lives of demons?"

You can't help it, and are shaking with righteous anger. This man heard snippets of a journal second-hand. He might have read it in full, at best. He has no idea what you've been through.

"It was Mercy."

There's still that infuriating, manic smile beaming back at you. Though he seems incapable of stilling his excitement, Father Wilhelm at least tempers his speech.

"That you granted to the enemy destroying our country, our homes, our families and ourselves from within. The few individuals in this country that would be willing to learn of this will want to use it against you. You need to choose your confidants carefully, Father, if you wish to not be labeled further as a traitor to King and country. It is a miracle that I reached you before anyone else could."

The smile actually does wane slightly.

"I am not threatening you. I believe you've been through enough to warrant my absolute honesty. You carry with you physical evidence of Mercy's blessing. You have demonstrated devotion and deserving service to Her— well, possibly more than any other. That could be interpreted as very threatening to many people. Many people. Not only do you have the capacity to exert the will of the Gods, but you've shown yourself disturbingly capable of doing so."

The smile drops completely.

"Many would seek to undo it. I suspect they have been trying to for a very, very long time. Too long. I know you are very tired. I offered you my asylum to help get you back on your feet, Father Anscham. I could never have fathomed how badly you would truly need it. Your neglect of your vessel has been so absolute that I believe, sincerely, that nothing but absolute dedication you yourself will set you back on your path to righteousness."

The concept is so alien to you that you must be making a comical face, through your anger and frustration. Father Wilhelm tries to not laugh, but his smile is a little skewed as he beams back at you.

(2/3)

>>3969408
"You said you trust me. Permit me to safely gauge a few of our allies. Not manipulators or schemers, not back-stabbing lunatics so full of themselves they can't even invoke— and certainly not demons. Certainly not creatures who would destroy everything you've ever worked for to further their own selfish ends. I do not wish to see you abused any longer, Father. Permit me to seek out real allies to us both, while you take your rest. I will attend to my son, ensure his entire world does not crumble around him, and that he can go home with the same faith in us that he had when we first left Somerilde."

He doesn't want me to breathe word of my journey to anyone?

Your grimace is so intense that your face is starting to hurt, despite how familiar the expression is.

He legitimately thinks no one will follow me if I do. They'll label me as a heathen, a traitor. That I'll be executed without hesitation. He doubts if I'm deserving of Their blessings at all.

"Father Anscham. I am not asking you to gamble, to eat or drink to such excess that you destroy your vessel, to make a spectacle of your position as a priest, to use your blessings on a demon or even to abstain from using Their gifts. I'm asking you to sleep, and to trust me. You don't have to decide on anything right now. Take some time to rest. We've already talked for far longer than I intended for us to."

The Father of the Church of Dream extends a gesture of Mercy to you. A single one of his hands is outstretched, formally. It's custom to extend yours back, to accept his grasp and his compassion.

>A) He means well, but you're furious. Defend your allies. Your actions. Did he not hear your confession?!

>B) You're not sure how to feel anymore. You need some time to think. Don't commit to anything other than getting some rest.
>1) Ask Father Wilhelm to wake you when he's finished with his work.
>2) Ask to be left to rest until you naturally wake.
>3) Regardless of what else is going on, ask to be woken up before too much Time has passed you by. (Write-in the longest you're willing to sleep for.)

>C) You're extremely grateful for the honesty. It hurts, but you badly needed to know. Share in his display of Mercy, take his hand, and agree to get some rest. Leave it to the Father of Dream to decide for how long.

>D) Write-in.

>>3969411
>>C) You're extremely grateful for the honesty. It hurts, but you badly needed to know. Share in his display of Mercy, take his hand, and agree to get some rest. Leave it to the Father of Dream to decide for how long.
We don't have to agree with him, but we have to trust him. It is very helpful to know how fucked the situation is. He doesnt know what happened in the ruins,we dont know what happened on the surface but we still need to trust each other.

>>3969411
>D) You're extremely grateful for the honesty. It hurts, but you badly needed to know. Share in his display of Mercy, take his hand and agree to get some rest. Ask to be left to rest until you naturally wake.

>>3969427
>>3969411
Before he leaves maybe we can also add:
"They may be our enemies now, but they were once our brothers and sisters...we mustn't forget that. I won't forget that. Who else could show them the light of Mercy? "

>>3969411
>>C) You're extremely grateful for the honesty. It hurts, but you badly needed to know. Share in his display of Mercy, take his hand, and agree to get some rest. Leave it to the Father of Dream to decide for how long.

>>3969427
>>3969443
>>3969475
>>3969790
Back from work! Vote is locked, getting some food and will write shortly.

>>3970281
Your scars clasp over the cracks and fractures adorning the Father of Dream's own hand without hesitation. You almost pull back immediately, shocked by how soft his skin is. Though he's also littered with remnants of the God working through his vessel, it's as if he's never used his hands a day in his life.

The warm digits only remain around yours for a moment. He actually pulls away from you after only a few seconds. You can imagine how unpleasant your myriad burns, callouses and blemishes must feel to someone unfamiliar with them. It's reassuring that Father Wilhelm has the decency to even extend so much hospitality, given everything he's said. You try to look up, to meet his gaze.

He's still smiling sadly.

You continue to frown.

"I don't— Father Wilhelm— I haven't the faintest idea what's been happening on the surface. I needed to know. I can't express my gratitude for your honesty. You've already been an enormous help."

"It's the least I can do. Really. You act as if..."

There's some hesitation, a scratch of his beard, as those blue eyes wince slightly at you. He's obviously forcing himself to be as frank as possible.

"Well, as if you've never had someone speak to you this way before."

Your grimace is on in full force.

"I have. You— with all due respect— you cannot possibly comprehend everything I experienced within the ruins. Those demons— they guided me. They once served the Gods. They may have not made their intentions clear. I may have been manipulated, tortured— abused— they may be our enemies now—"

It might as well still be day, for how much you still feel the presence of your Goddess. Through your scowl and your pain, there's warmth, and light. An embrace, a gentle weight on your chest. A blessing. Your grimace softens, if only slightly.

"But they were once our brothers and sisters. We mustn't forget that. I won't forget that. I won't forget everything they have done for me."

Either your tremor is back, or you're so driven by your conviction that you can't physically contain yourself. You stare as intently as a man can at the preacher before you, exceeding his capacity for compassion in every way.

"Who else could show them the light of Mercy?"

There's no hesitation, no pause, as Father Wilhelm gingerly places a hand on your shoulder.

"Father Edmund knew what he was doing. I can't imagine anyone doing a better job."

It's very hard to see, as your vision threatens to swim with tears again. The Father of Dream mercifully stands, moving to leave, to grant you the respite you need. You catch him, again, before he goes.

"I'll rest, Father. How long—"

He's being terribly respectful, giving you some space and not staring at you as you battle with yourself to not break down again.

"However long you need."

"Would you? I wasn't— it wasn't a joke, Father Wilhelm. I really do sleep like the dead."

(1/2)

>>3970549
"Good. You need it. Give me a few moments."

There's a motion on the edges of your blurred vision, as you wipe your eyes.

"Here."

You see clearly that the box of cigars has been left behind for you.

"I'll be back. We'll get you situated with a proper bed. Will you make me another promise, Father Anscham?"

You don't respond, looking anywhere but at the man who's showing you more compassion than any priest of Mercy ever has. He kneels down beside you, placing his hand on your knee and looking up to you with so much sadness that it forces your gaze elsewhere.

His nightcap is utterly ridiculous. It's adorned with an elegant embroidery of moons and stars, so long it nearly hangs down to his waist. The blue thread is far easier on the eyes, as the hand on your bones tightens.

"Eat something. Before you rest. Please. I'm writing to Father Friedrich before anyone else. You— to put it simply, Richard, I'm terribly worried. Our stores here can last the entire winter. You don't need to show any restraint. This isn't the Church of Mercy. I want to be sure you wake up."

Mercy, is it really that bad—

You realize that the hand on your knee really isn't grasping you firmly. There's no tension in his hands or wrist. There's simply so little of you to hold onto that Father Wilhelm must be actively trying to not hurt you.

Since your first prayer to Agriculture, you have not once felt proper hunger or thirst. You don't feel much of anything, but Father Wilhelm sounds as if he's imploring you to stop from starving to death.

I've made so many promises to take better care of myself.

I may have disgraced my connection to Agriculture and Flesh, but I can't imagine doing much more harm. Not with good intent. Surely, I can make up for further sin, if this is ultimately in the name of respecting Them.

>A) As tactfully as possible, explain to Father Wilhelm that you literally can't control yourself, and need him to portion out something reasonable for you. This is going to be a long road to recovery, and you don't want to suffer any more than you need to.

>B) The last thing you want right now is more questions or pity. Take whatever Father Wilhelm gives you, without complaint, and sleep it off. You can commit to how you want to heal when you have some proper guidance.

>C) No time like the present to make up for what you've lost. You're going to give yourself the same obsessive devotion you've given the Gods. Let Father Wilhelm know what's going on, and implore him to help you push yourself to rest and recover.

>D) Write-in.

>>3970556
>>A) As tactfully as possible, explain to Father Wilhelm that you literally can't control yourself, and need him to portion out something reasonable for you. This is going to be a long road to recovery, and you don't want to suffer any more than you need to.
Would vote C but maybe it's better if Richard gets an external opinion for this kind of things

>>3970556
>D) Just accept his proposal and eat a meat rich meal before going to slumber. Give your muscles respite, give them proteins.

>>3970556
>>A) As tactfully as possible, explain to Father Wilhelm that you literally can't control yourself, and need him to portion out something reasonable for you. This is going to be a long road to recovery, and you don't want to suffer any more than you need to.

>>3970566
>>3971295
>>3971303
Blessed votes and write-ins. These don't have to be mutually exclusive, too. Locking the vote here, writing now!

Aaaand just a head's up, I've got work this evening, but as usual I'll make sure we get our 1-2 updates minimum.

>>3971501
Articulating such a delicate subject to a fellow man of the cloth is beyond your soft speech. You settle on stumbling through it.

"Yes. I mean to say, I promise— but, Father Wilhelm, it's— it's as I told you before. I gave everything I had to Beltoro. Everything. I hadn't the faintest idea of how the Relic would have aided them. I— I can't restrain myself. Couldn't. I assume I still will be unable to."

The hand on your knee persists. You glance up from it, with absolute conviction to Father Wilhelm. It's unbearable how morose and exhausted he looks, but he remains silent, respectfully allowing you to continue.

"Agriculture— Her blessing— I don't want to suffer, Father. Not any more than I need to— if you could portion out something reasonable? I want to accept your proposal."

The hand on your knee does tighten, very slightly, possibly to try and reassure you. The mustache before you curls up alongside a slight smile.

"I'll keep an eye on you. You'll be alright. Have any preferences?"

Your wasted muscles and the utter lack of substance anywhere on your frame has you longing to do something before anyone asks the Father of Flesh for aid on your behalf.

"Can you set aside something— something rich? I don't wish to impose on you, but— I need the respite. Something to help me heal. I'll be sure to get as much rest as I need when we're finished."

"Of course. Sit tight, Richard. I'll be back."

You watch with no small measure of worry as Father Wilhelm casually walks away, out of the main hall and disappears around the corner. The stone of the building you reside in, devoid of all decor, is almost a welcome respite. It gives you some time, to watch the flame of the hearth, to listen to Ray's steady breathing. He's been sleeping for hours, and it's safe to assume that the Father of Dream put him under, as well. You don't mind, assuming that your boy needs his rest just as badly as you do.

There are no screams, only the faintest impression of blue in the back of your mind. In what seems like no time at all, Father Wilhelm reemerges with all five of his clergymen. They remain completely silent, lowering their eyes respectfully as they proceed through the main hall and head right back out into the woods.

They're traveling under the cover of night?

There's no explanation, no reassurance, as a ridiculous nightcap that's clearly blessed their journey vanishes again.

You look out, to what little silhouette you can see through a scarce window or two. The thick glass, frosted over with ice and darkness, makes it utterly impossible to determine how late the hour may be or where your saviors have gone off to.

I did ask, explicitly, to be kept in the dark. This may be for the best.

(1/3)

>>3971651
It likely takes less than another hour for Father Wilhelm to return. In his arms and rapidly placed before you is a tray of something that smells of meat, cheese, and something more that you don't even properly get to look at before tearing into like a man possessed.

As promised, the Father of Dream keeps a little distance and a close eye on you. He makes an attempt at conversation, maybe to distract you from the immediate agony of eating something of extreme substance.

"To spare you any further trouble, I've sent my sons back to the Church of Dream. We'll be alright, won't we? Good company is a commodity. Much more than a few stores I couldn't hope to get through by myself! You're doing me a favor, Father, really. Try not to worry yourself."

There's dried game, salted fish, two bowls of barley gruel thickened with something you don't even taste, and a number of things you really didn't get a proper look at before inhaling. Father Wilhelm makes a small prayer to Agriculture on your behalf. He seems to have been keeping a flagon of wine in hiding, and portions out a fair amount for you, in between your coughing and inability to moderate yourself.

It only took a matter of moments to feel excruciatingly full, and it felt like an eternity before the last of the fruit, cheese and preserved meats were out of your sight and sitting in your pained stomach. Despite the luxury, it's all something you'd rather forget. At some point you were led out of the main hall and taken to a small, almost entirely vacant room with a disproportionately large bed. Insisting that Ray be brought back to your room was a small matter, the discomfort of making any demands entirely outweighed by the persistent pain in your throat and the excess in your gut.

"I'll see to him just as soon as you sleep. Get some rest, Richard."

You suspected you wouldn't even be able to lay down comfortably, but mere moments after the Father of Dream steps out of your sight, you can't help but to sink deeply into the bed beneath you. One that isn't under a red moon, the canopy of a demon, or in the halls of your own home.

You sleep, comforted by the knowledge that only Ray and a priest of Dream will visit you in the darkness.

-----

Your green eyes drift open, of their own accord.

There are no windows in your small room, but even in the darkness, you're aware that the warmth at your side is coming from your faithful mastiff. He seems to be awake, and eagerly drops his head on your chest, demanding your attention before you even properly come to.

Your voice is groggy, hoarse from likely having not been used in several days.

"'Morning, boy. C'mere."

Scratching sleepily behind his ears, you give him a little deserved attention, sitting upright and looking properly around.

(2/3)

>>3971652
No one else seems to be in the room. There's an over-sized armchair shoved adjacent to the bed, obviously having been used by Father Wilhelm while you slept. There's nothing on it other than a little ash near the right armrest, a stack of parchment, and a few quills with ink. The rug beneath the bed, extending out nearly to the edges of the small room, seems to be the only other thing in the way of decor.

Your eyes are starting to adjust to the darkness, as sleep leaves you. Sitting upright, Ray is more than happy to continuously scoot more of himself onto you, acting more like a puppy than a fully grown dog. He weighs more than you do, even given your height, but you endure the discomfort to give him some love for a few more moments.

For the obscenely large meal you ate prior to sleeping, your stomach is back to feeling concave, and your limbs are as skeletal as ever. Despite your condition, you almost want to smile.

You genuinely feel well-rested. You try holding a hand out, the pallor visible even in the darkness. There's hardly any tremor. Ray licks at it, pressing his nose against the extended digits. It's hard not to comply, as you wrap your hand back under his chin, petting him with so much relief.

>A) Spend a little more time with Ray. He deserves it.

>B) Get up, and merely call out the door for Father Wilhelm. You can give Ray all the attention he needs if you have to wait.

>C) Go look for Father Wilhelm, and leave a note behind. Ray's coming with you.
>1) You both could probably do with stretching your legs. If nothing else, just walk around.
>2) Go straight back to the main hall, and write for a bit.
>3) Check and see what's outside. You could use some sun.

>D) Write-in.

>>3971653
>>C) Go look for Father Wilhelm, and leave a note behind. Ray's coming with you.
>>1) You both could probably do with stretching your legs. If nothing else, just walk around.

>>3971653
>>C) Go look for Father Wilhelm, and leave a note behind. Ray's coming with you.
>1) You both could probably do with stretching your legs. If nothing else, just walk around.
>3) Check and see what's outside. You could use some sun.
We have had enough of the dark.

>>3971653
>C) Go look for Father Wilhelm, and leave a note behind. Ray's coming with you.
>1) You both could probably do with stretching your legs. If nothing else, just walk around.

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Meeting at work tonight, not sure when it will be over but I'll have time for a minimum of one more update tonight, and all day off tomorrow.

Some fanart of the Catalyst crew, courtesy of one of our voters in the meantime.

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>>3971658
>>3971664
>>3971666
Finally home until Tuesday afternoon! Going to try and get in as many updates as possible between now and the next shift as I'm officially on break from school as well. Vote is locked, writing now.

>>3972774
"We've had enough of the dark, haven't we, boy?"

There's no lean, no nudge from your dog, no indication of you needing his comfort. It's almost like he can sense what you're about to say next, as you raise his face to yours.

You're smiling, even if it feels unnatural. It's been so long since you've been able to act normally around him.

"You want to go for a walk?"

The mastiff practically leaps off of the bed, his enormous frame struggling to deal with how cramped your room is. You beam at him, also stumbling slightly as you get out of bed. Your legs feel like they haven't been used in days, at least, and you reach out to the nearby wall for support. Ray nudges himself against your shins, your knees, helping to prop you up as you gain your bearings.

Your head is swimming, despite how well-rested you feel. There's no sensation of hunger or thirst, but you're aware that you need to do something about it.

Some part of you registers that you're in a new robe, not the one you've traveled in. It's clean, and far nicer, likely a spare of Father Wilhelm's. You can't really tell if it's a deep blue or black in the darkness, but it's easy enough to tell that it's short enough to not quite reach your ankles. More importantly, it's altogether too baggy. You feel a little ridiculous, pulling up on the neck to ensure your shoulders don't peek through.

Father Wilhelm had helped you to your room when you first entered, but you hadn't really considered if you still needed help to stand at the time or not. You fight through the awkwardness, at least aware that the exhaustion and pain in your limbs seems to have subsided, and swipe up a sheet of parchment and paper to write with once you find some light and get your bearings.

Getting through the heavy, wooden door of your room is a small embarrassment, but to your mixed relief, there's no one in the hall outside. A number of candles are lit throughout the hall, providing enough illumination for you to quickly pen a note to Father Wilhelm. You can't help but to keep it formal, taking enormous pleasure in having the time to use a proper script and a pen that hasn't been covered in blood or crushed at the bottom of a backpack for weeks on end. It's brief, merely an acknowledgement that you've stepped outside and will keep your eyes out for him.

It's as if Ray can read your thoughts, as you quickly make your bed and drop the letter atop the neatly folded sheets. He threatens to undo your work, moving to place his paws atop the mattress, but you firmly command him to stay down and to follow you outside. The genuine smile across your face is impossible to conceal, as you both head out towards the main hall.

A small prayer to Flesh and to Mercy escapes your lips, as you resume a normal stride within moments. It's so enjoyable to be able to stand again without assistance, without a cane or someone to lean on, that you detour from your path simply to stretch your legs and explore your surroundings.

(1/3)

>>3972935
There's four rooms attached to the wing your room was situated in. The doors to each one are cracked open, and the lack of locks or secrecy is unbelievably reassuring. You merely peek your head in to each one.

The door closest to yours, to the left, is merely another guest room, adorned with yet another colossal bed. It's far more spacious, likely intended for Father Wilhelm to share with a guest. You had heard rumors he was without a wife for several years prior to becoming the Father of Dream, and try not to make too many assumptions as you peek into the other side of the hall.

A pantry, stocked to the ceiling with barrels and casks glares back at you. Your host may have been being modest regarding his preparedness for your stay. He may also be overtly cautious, having spent most of his life in a famine. It's hard to say, but you pull back quickly.

The room adjacent is suspiciously devoid of any standard furnishings, though there are piles of art supplies. Many of them are mere silhouettes, hidden under blue sheets, but it's easy enough to tell at a glance. You don't quite understand why Father Wilhelm's put away most of his work from your sight, but you don't question it.

You start towards the room at the end of the hall, and realize its door is wedged shut. There seems to be a crack in the door, causing it to appear open from a distance. You try knocking, but don't get any response in reply.

I have far too much respect for this man to go snooping around in his things.

"Come on, Ray. Let's see what's outside."

There's a decided lightness in your heart as you reenter the main hall, and see light peeking through the few windows in the building. There's still no sign of Father Wilhelm, but there are stacks of letters atop several couches, a painting easel standing in the corner, and several half-eaten plates of dried fruit and cheese littered about the place. You get the decided impression that your host has no idea how to clean after himself, and try your best to ignore the mess as you head towards the front door.

The enormous, wooden defense takes more effort to force open than you're almost capable of, but you manage, your head swimming as you practically stumble out into the light of day. Your dog helpfully bounds right behind you, panting. Within moments he's sprinting ahead and doubling back again, all as your eyes adjust. You raise a hand above them, blocking out most of the rays as they catch on the snow.

It's bitterly cold, so much more so than you're used to, that you're almost immediately shivering again. You can't help but to wrap your arms around yourself, loving the sun, the blessing of your Goddess, as you look skyward.

(2/3)

File: Snow in Autumn.jpg (777 KB, 1920x1333)

777 KB JPG

>>3972939
"Th-the Gods are M-Merciful."

There's sparse trees, the edge of the woods beyond, and the mountains of Folorast just off on the horizon. Not a soul is in sight, the snow untouched before you. A clear sky, devoid of any incoming Storm, brings the promise of a calm afternoon and fair evening. The scattered leaves and full bloom of autumn is reassuring.

I couldn't have slept for much longer than a few more days, a week at the most.

>A) Go back inside.
>1) Snoop around the letters in the main hall. You don't have to open any of them, but you're too curious to not see what's in plain sight.
>2) Wait as patiently as you're able until Father Wilhelm returns. You can occupy yourself just fine. Keeping his trust is more important to you than sating your curiosity.

>B) Spend some more time walking around. Go back inside for some blankets first, so you can make a proper expedition.
>1) Keep close to the perimeter of the house, to better hear if Father Wilhelm returns. The front door is absurdly heavy.
>2) Head in a straight line, and see if you can get some decent exercise.

>C) Write-in.

>>3972943
>>B) Spend some more time walking around. Go back inside for some blankets first, so you can make a proper expedition.
>>1) Keep close to the perimeter of the house, to better hear if Father Wilhelm returns. The front door is absurdly heavy.

>>3972943
>B1

>>3972943
>B1

Going to bed pretty early tonight, only just saw that we got several votes but I'm beat! Going to be updating all day tomorrow though, probably starting around 9am EST. Be back soon.

>>3972946
>>3973104
>>3973129
Woke up absurdly early, so happy. Locking the vote here, writing now (and hopefully all day today!)

>>3973442
As the snow cuts through the thin soles of your worn shoes, precaution wins out over the desire to push on. You manage to get back inside, sweep up several blankets scattered around the main hall, and form yourself some makeshift protection from the elements before setting back off.

You frown, jokingly, once you're back outside.

"Don't give me that look."

Ray is looking up at you with mild alarm, unable to understand that your arms are still there. Drawing the heat and warmth closer into you, it's a challenge to maintain your scowl. It's entirely gone by the time you make your way around the easternmost side of Father Wilhelm's retreat.

You try to keep an ear out and as close to the perimeter of the building as you're able. It looks significantly more spacious from outside than it does within its thick stone walls. There are countless remnants of perennial bushes and trees, though the snow has curtailed the best of their efforts. You suspect that the Father of Dream tends to something akin to a garden in warmer months, or his clergy, at the bare minimum.

The fog gathering upon your breath and the source of such devotion to Agriculture is made all the more evident as you come around the back of the home. The edges of a frozen pond are visible, just off in the distance. Your eyes are fair enough in the broad daylight to see the remnants of some fishing equipment, and a distinct hole cut into the ice. It's a bit difficult to make out, as the light of day keeps catching on the snow and ice, but you assume it belongs to Father Wilhelm. The man himself is nowhere in sight.

There's a little evidence of his presence, or the work of his sons, directly behind the home. A colossal pile of firewood, covered from the elements, reassures you that heat will not be in short supply. Your makeshift protection is getting the job done, but it's hardly a fitted fur. You already start to pull away, back towards the entrance.

Out of curiosity, you peek your head around the leftmost side of the home. There is a wide expanse free of trees, snow covering a flat ground, and a small building that puts a light in your eyes. A small boat is sheltered inside. You head towards it, and catch a glimpse of Father Wilhelm emerging from the treeline.

An extremely amused voice calls out to you, though it somehow sounds more exhausted than when you last heard it.

"You're awake! Richard, you're going to catch your death out here, get back inside!"

The faint embers of a lit cigar catch your eye about as quickly as the proper furs and snow shoes Father Wilhelm is outfitted with. You sheepishly walk up alongside him, doing your best to reassure Ray that it's still the same man. He's never seen the lashed together wood adorning his feet, though you're at least familiar with their function as you see the priest easily make his way over a few banks. Your dog puts on a brave face as you all reconvene.

(1/2)

>>3973464
Father Wilhelm is scowling at you in a way that looks altogether unnatural. He's obviously still joking, but you can tell his concern and weariness is legitimate.

"I'm beginning to wonder what can keep you down!"

It's impossible to not give a legitimate reply.

"Do you— do you really want the answer to that question—?"

There's a slight laugh, as he obviously is fully aware of how loaded the question was. He might feel a little guilty for asking, as his scowl is replaced with a slight smile.

"How long have you been up and about for?"

"An hour, at the most. I couldn't— the dark— I wanted to get some sun. Stretch my legs."

"Well, mission accomplished. Come on. We've got some catching up to do. You slept for about a week."

>A) You're sick of sleeping your life away. Get back inside and try to address your erratic sleep with Father Wilhelm before anything else.

>B) But the lake! The boat! Surely there's some way you can fish while you're out here.
>1) Beg if you have to. There may be a time and a place, but you've been through so much you can't really care.
>2) At least acknowledge that Father Wilhelm's summer home is as nice as you've heard, and ask if you can possibly make use of it all later.

>C) Your immediate concerns can wait. Respectfully head back inside and see what the man has to say. You feel terribly silly with the way you're dressed, anyways.

>D) Write-in.

>>3973466
>>B) But the lake! The boat! Surely there's some way you can fish while you're out here.
>>1) Beg if you have to. There may be a time and a place, but you've been through so much you can't really care.
BUT DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD
Also talk about our weird sleep and how we can fix it.

>>3973474
ok

>>3973474
>>3973507
A little unconventional but to hell with it, we're going to roll with this to keep some momentum today.

Vote is locked, writing now.

>>3973512
"But— the lake— your boat— surely, there's some way we could fish? While we're still out here?"

You're aware that it's childish to protest, but you really can't care. After everything you've been through, you can't pass up the opportunity.

There's no disguising your disappointment as you're immediately denied your request.

"Absolutely not. You're going to get sick. The boat is stored for the season, and we'd have to go on the ice. You're wearing blankets, this is ridiculous."

The mustache before you is legitimately frowning, now. It's obvious how exhausted Father Wilhelm is, but you gave your restraint to a demon.

"But— Father Wilhelm, the ice— I've never— Eadric and Pontos are so much closer to the sea, we never—"

"We can make the time later. You need something to eat and a proper fire. Come on."

You hold your ground. Ray leans a little against you, immediately trying to reassure you. You're a lot more upset by this than you should be.

"Please."

"No, Richard."

"Please!"

There's a look directed at you that makes your skin crawl. It's not confusion or fear. You glance away immediately, intensely ashamed of yourself.

Father Wilhelm is still terribly concerned about you. You only caught an instant of it, but he was looking at you like you were ill.

You hear the crunch of snow as he closes the distance properly between you two, inviting you to lower your voice. You comply, keeping your gaze fixed firmly on the ice that's hardened significantly from the sun beating down on you both. Though you can feel the cold seeping into your ill-suited shoes, the frost nipping at your nose, you continue to murmur a plea.

"Please. I don't care. I would still like to talk, to hear what you have to say. I— I simply— I need something normal."

You lower your voice further, completely aware that you're behaving irrationally.

"As close to it as I'm able. Please."

There's a bristling, and a huff, and Father Wilhelm sets back off towards his summer home. You nearly call after him, holding your ground still, but he interjects.

"I'm getting you some furs and something hot to drink! You're not saying no!"

You start to head after him, and are met again with protest.

"I'll meet you out there! Take a look, just don't get out on the ice until I'm back!"

You don't need to be told twice, and set off for the lake without another protest.

(1/3)

>>3973570
https://youtu.be/1uMF4K4g-lA

There's a cloying worry in the back of your mind, but it vanishes as you cut through the field. The forest beyond is lush, regardless of the climate. Hues of amber and gold catch on the light of the sun, hitting hard off of the lake stretching further beyond. It appears that Father Wilhelm cracked the ice nearest to the center, and you have to wonder how he managed it given how thick the surface appears. A spear made of solid bone, sharpened to a fine point is adjacent to the opening, and you think you catch a glimpse of something sticking into the water. It's likely a decoy of some sort, but you respect Father Wilhelm's wishes to stay put until he returns.

There's no way to get as much sun as you want, given the cold, but you get to appreciate a few moments in the light of day as you wait. You don't bother scolding Ray for eating some of the clean snow at your feet, more than happy to let him explore as he sniffs through the untouched drifts.

Before the cold becomes unbearable, a fur-lined nightcap comes back into view. Father Wilhelm is trying to spring through the snow towards you, but it's slowing his progress substantially. You walk over briskly to meet him, taking care to not stumble yourself. He's calling out, unable to hide a cheeky grin.

"Richard! Get over here!"

"You really didn't have to, Father Wilhelm—"

His arms are full with a spare fur coat, a ridiculous fur-lined cap, a flagon of some sort of drink, and two cups. Draped over his shoulders is a large animal pelt, which gets dropped to the snow almost immediately.

"Don't give me that, you know I did. Hurry up and we'll get you sorted. Come on."

You're shivering again in an instant, changing out the sodden blankets you tossed around yourself in exchange for some proper warmth. Everything hangs on you as if it were several sizes too large, but is altogether too short. It's hard to not graciously accept the liquid being pressed back into your hands, embracing its warmth under your palms as you both head back towards the ice. Without looking or smelling the beverage, you seem to be able to at least hold off on partaking of anything just yet.

There's a huge smile, as Father Wilhelm gingerly takes the item back from you.

"Good! Good. We'll sort it out. Great. You'll be alright, Richard. Watch your step. Does the dog need to stay back?"

Ray seems eager to follow you, and takes a few steps forward onto the ice. You're terribly proud, as he keeps his footing without issue.

"His name is Ray. He'll be alright— won't you, boy— come on. Follow."

It's slow going, given how bogged down you all are, but before long you make it to the center of the lake. You command Ray to keep safe distance from any breaks, and set the huge pelt from your own shoulders for him to lay upon. He takes to it instantly, while you turn to watch Father Wilhelm pull a wooden decoy from the water.

There's nothing on it. You grin at him.

(2/3)

>>3973571
"Not much for bait, Father Wilhelm."

He balks, mocking offense.

"I suppose you have a better idea?"

You hold your criticism, making a mental note to stash some food later if you get the chance as a better lure. The two of you remain standing, keeping most of the cold off of your frame and safely in the heavy fabric wrapped around you. The decoy is dropped back into the water, both of you watching it intensely.

"Father Wilhelm."

"My bait is fine, Father Anscham—"

"No, I— I've missed so much."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

You really do.

"I don't want to miss any more than I need to. Something isn't right— I know that the Gods affect me differently, and I still don't understand so much. It—"

You look skyward, trying to enjoy the sun.

"It feels like I've been sleeping my life away. Do you have any idea why? What I might be able to do to make amends?"

There's a conflict next to you, as the Father of Dream is clearly struggling to remain respectful while not hiding his enthusiasm. He places a hand on your shoulder, pulling your attention to him fully.

"It's a blessing. You heard me before, but you need to learn to listen, Richard. You're so overwhelmed already— not that I can blame you."

There's a deep breath, as the hand on your shoulder tightens.

"Dream has blessed you time and time again with rest, with reprieve. There's no doubt in my mind that you only escaped from the ruins because He stayed your hand, your soul. You've recovered from so much pain, thanks to His works. I suspect that you only need to keep respecting His wishes."

"The Gods are Merciful."

"You aren't convinced."

"Of course I am. It— it's a blessing in disguise, isn't it? Yet I— I still don't understand—"

"I'm willing to bet it isn't all rest, is it? How many days did you go without reprieve down there? Back home? I know how hard you work. Most of us do, to some extent. We could do something about it, but— would you really want to? Don't you—"

The mania in the priest before you is inescapable. Though your gaze is off of the sky, there's an azure expanse boring into you, fractures of the Dream glancing through his cracked smile.

"Don't you want to know how He works through you? We could test it, of course, but I don't suspect you'd like it. Would you want to, though? We wouldn't have to start immediately..."

(Options in next post.)

>>3973574
>A) You do want to respect the Gods, more than anything, and Dream has done so much for you. Decline Father Wilhelm's offer. You want to take care of yourself, and if the Gods see fit to aid you, so be it.

>B) You really can't deny the Father of Dream this opportunity.
>1) Because you are tired of having such little control over yourself. Get his hopes up, at least. Listen to what he has to say, but don't commit to anything.
>2) You're just as excited as he is at the prospect. More than anything, you want more control and power through the Gods. Let him know you at least want to try some conditioning.

>C) Write-in.

>>3973575
>>B) You really can't deny the Father of Dream this opportunity.
>>1) Because you are tired of having such little control over yourself. Get his hopes up, at least. Listen to what he has to say, but don't commit to anything.
This sounds very interesting but i dont think we are ready for it quite yet.

>>3973584
ok

>>3973575
>B) You really can't deny the Father of Dream this opportunity.
>1) Because you are tired of having such little control over yourself. Get his hopes up, at least. Listen to what he has to say, but don't commit to anything
Guinea pig time

>>3973584
>>3973609
>>3973757
ok
Just kidding. Alright, locking the vote here! Writing now.

>>3973765
You want to match the priest's enthusiasm, and your interest certainly rivals his own. Fear for your station, for your connection to your Goddess, and a strong desire to wrest more control into your life raises your eyes and cements your determination to learn. Through it all, though, there's an undercurrent of anxiety. You think you can place why.

"This— this sounds sounds very interesting. What exactly did you have in mind?"

"Just a few simple tests, Richard. Shit—"

The intense fear written all over you is so immediate that you actually take a full step backwards. You're torn between nervously laughing at a fellow man of the cloth using an expletive, the absolute horror of being propositioned for more abuse, and the immediacy in which the Father of Dream is trying to test the waters of your ability. The nervous laughter wins out, as you take another step backwards.

"Don't panic, please."

Father Wilhelm gingerly raises his hands, trying to reassure you, but you recognize the fervor, the devotion, his love for his work.

"Nothing like invoking Him. A mere exploration of how He's seen fit to bless you. Getting a little extra sleep, or staying up awhile later if you have some business to attend to. Will you hold this a moment and sit down? I'm sorry, Richard. I should have realized—"

His words seem to be blurring together, but the flagon is being held in your direction clearly enough. You try to settle your gaze on it as Father Wilhelm drops a pelt from around his shoulders onto the ice below you. You're smiling nervously, trying to still the incredible unease as you take hold of the object, simply wanting him to stop reaching his arm out to you.

Dissatisfied by how much you enjoy the warmth spreading through your hands, you remain standing for a moment, trying to get your nerves to calm down.

"I believe I am— not entirely equipped for this, Father Wilhelm. N-not yet."

I'm not something to be poked and prodded at. I'm not a weapon. I'm not a curiosity. No matter how much he wants to know of Dream, this is still abuse.

Mercy, the possibilities, though—

A very apologetic look is being pointed at you.

"Of course. It was terribly presumptuous of me to have asked. Please forget I said anything— not literally— just drink some of the damn wine, Richard! I mulled it myself."

You hesitate again, sitting gingerly down on the fur stretched out beneath you both. The ice is so firm that you can't help but wonder if Ray is uncomfortable, but he's sprawled out just off behind you, clearly enjoying himself. Father Wilhelm has been muttering to himself, and you can't help but feel a little guilty for how much he's trying to aid you.

"To think I've been providing for the country and clergy when another Father needed my services more than anyone else in the Realms—"

(1/2)

>>3973838
The grimace that's been plastered on your face softens.

You'd probably do a lot worse, in his same position. He's at least had the decency to ask you at every turn how much you want him to share with you. He's kept his word, protected you, and you haven't the faintest idea where he's been for the last week.

"I want to understand, Father Wilhelm. You must be under tremendous strain to be doing all of this for me—"

"No, no. It's quite alright. Go on and have that drink, though. I'm trying to tease out something here."

There's a slight tension, as Father Wilhelm gets out the cups he's been carrying with him. He grins at you, broadly and sincerely.

"It's okay. We'll talk while we drink! I'll keep an eye on you. Don't forget. You're going to pour mine first, alright?"

With no small measure of unease, you unfasten the cork under your palms. It's so cold that the steam immediately catches in the air, flooding you with the scent of spice and honey. It's unbelievably decadent, but you manage to fill both cups before you without issue. There's no demon in you, your hands steady. Some reassurance blossoms alongside the steam gathering around each mug.

Father Wilhelm takes the flagon back out of your hands the moment you're done, capping it and shoving the item deeply in his coat with another broad smile. He places a hand as kindly as he can on top of both cups, covering them from sight as he beams at you.

"Wonderful. A toast? To allies! We have several, Father Anscham! More than I could have hoped for."

>A) Make a mental note that Father Wilhelm may be as unhinged as every other church leader, and try not to judge him for it. He's accepted the insanity of your own actions in full, after all. Share in his toast and what he has to say. It's abundantly clear that he's been working himself to the bone on your behalf.

>B) The toast can wait. You don't want to share a drink with a man who will only make matters worse.
>1) Ask Father Wilhelm, formally, to not acknowledge any discussion of the Gods with you during your stay with him.
>2) Ask plainly if these other allies will ask you to abuse the Gods as well.

>C) Decline the offer entirely. You're insanely uncomfortable being pressured into drinking after having had enough forced on you to last a lifetime.
>1) Have your flask conjure something. You're making a statement about allies you trust. (Write-in what you'd like.)
>2) Abstain entirely, for now. Just listen to what he has to say. You really aren't comfortable making any decisions at the moment, either.

>D) Write-in.

>>3973842
>>A) Make a mental note that Father Wilhelm may be as unhinged as every other church leader, and try not to judge him for it. He's accepted the insanity of your own actions in full, after all. Share in his toast and what he has to say. It's abundantly clear that he's been working himself to the bone on your behalf.
Being crazy is better with proper company.

>>3973850
>>3973850
>>A) Make a mental note that Father Wilhelm may be as unhinged as every other church leader, and try not to judge him for it. He's accepted the insanity of your own actions in full, after all. Share in his toast and what he has to say. It's abundantly clear that he's been working himself to the bone on your behalf.

>1) Ask Father Wilhelm, formally, to not acknowledge any discussion of the Gods with you during your stay with him.
We're both men of the cloth, yes, but we need some time apart from the gods to regain perspective and recover.

>>3973850
>C1
>mulled wine made on grape sugars and merlot

>>3973851
>>3973854
>>3973858
Damn that was fast. Great thing these aren't mutually exclusive! Locking the vote here, writing now.

>>3973867
The equally unhinged expression across your face looks back at Father Wilhelm with as little judgement as you can muster.

This man has listened to me without question. He hasn't ridiculed me, and to the best of my knowledge has protected me with everything he has. I might not agree with his methods, but we're both only human.

You try to roll your shoulders back a little, to loosen up as much as you're able. A smile escapes you, but it's purely your voice as you look sternly to the priest across from you.

"A toast. To proper company."

The smile that beams back at you is so genuinely relieved that you really don't mind as hands a cup over. You put the entire contents back in a matter of moments, trying your best to enjoy it. There's far more honey than you'd prefer, seemingly a poor attempt at masking all of the spice. You don't even recognize most of the herbs, suspecting it's either too exotic for your palate or that you drank it too quickly to tell.

Despite the discomfort, it's such a relief to have some warmth spreading through you. You begin fishing around in your robes, relieved to feel Yech's flask still situated comfortably in your shirt's chest pocket. Father Wilhelm looks extremely confused.

You're more than happy to explain.

"We're both men of the cloth, aren't we?"

"Yes...?"

You lean in a bit, fully occupying your companion's attention.

"You have performed a miracle, Father. I believe I need some time apart from the Gods, after everything I've endured."

Shock, legitimate disbelief, and so much pride fires back at you. You continue to attempt an explanation, the heat in your face intensifying.

"I understand th-that I was the one to broach the subject—"

The look of substantial pride beaming back at you is so overwhelming you have to look away.

"Will you please— understand, I never would wish to impose on your work— but if you could avoid—"

You tense your hands on the flask under your grasp, trying to manage the request as best as you're able. The concept is so alien to you that it's harder to choke out your words than it was to put back the wine.

"If you could please avoid acknowledging any discussion I try to make regarding the Gods. During my stay here, with you."

You take out the flask properly from your shirt and coat, looking apologetically to the man across from you.

"I need to regain perspective, and recover."

Father Wilhelm blanches slightly, but holds his complaints. You murmur a few words, your request, right next to the side of the flask.

"Something fruity. Mulled, with grape sugars."

Father Wilhelm crosses his arms, watching you with a blend of amusement and surprise as you knock back the flask without hesitation.

"I should have known you'd have a sweet tooth. I'll use less spice, next time."

(1/2)

>>3973992
You're unbelievably grateful to not be given a hard time. Yech's sorcerery eclipses anything a mortal man could brew. You pull away for air after a few moments, head swimming from the weight and heat. You could hardly taste it, with how fast you were drinking, but the after-taste of the full-bodied wine clings to you.

It's almost as sweet as the memory of a friend who never once questioned you. You look down to the flask, to the gold and check marks on its underside, before placing it closely back against your heart.

Father Wilhelm raises his eyebrows, and tips very gingerly on the decoy in the water.

"You stopped."

It takes you a long while to reply. Enough that Father Wilhelm's fussing continues, uninterrupted, for some time.

You finally find the words you're looking for, your words laced with Yech's benevolence.

"It took a demon of generosity to teach me, but— I have to show myself Mercy, too."

Alongside the warmth of the sun, the frost beneath, there is an itch. There a claw, at the back of your mind, demanding that you take in more. You're aware that you're likely already inebriated, and your stomach is fit to burst, but you can't quite care. Your attention is pulled away, from the light, the compulsion.

Father Wilhelm dives for the spear alongside the water, and with more dexterity than you'd expect, he moves towards the crack in the ice before anything occurs.

There's a tug on the line in the water.

You look to him with no small measure of amazement as he smirks at you, and drives his weapon straight into a fish that's caught on his meager wooden decoy.

You have to leap up to help the relatively thin man stagger back from the edge of the ice.

"Careful—!"

"Easy, easy! This thing is sharper than it looks, I got it—"

"No, you don't, step back—!"

You pull hard on the back of his coat, keeping him from slipping cleanly into the frigid water. The Father of Dream staggers back on the ice, keeping his footing by driving the base of his spear beneath him. You slide back a few feet, maintaining yourself with a little difficulty. Ray is up on his feet as well, but you command him to stay back.

Your eyes go impossibly wide, their verdancy meeting an even deeper green. A striped perch, a little smaller than you were expecting, is skewered clean through on Father Wilhelm's spear.

You immediately recognize his weapon as the smoothed and sharpened remains of a colossal demon. It's likely one of the priest's most prized possessions.

Father Wilhelm is beaming, the slightest trace of divinity fading from his sight as he smiles broadly back at you. You're both still a little out of breath, keeping a safe distance from the crack in the ice, but everything seems stable enough to walk back to the spread of furs and fishing supplies.

(Options in next post)

>>3973997
>A) Call him out on having seen the catch prior. This is absolutely cheating.
>1) Be a good sport about it. You've caught bigger fish without the Gods!
>2) Give him a hard time, you really can't stand hypocrisy.

>B) Be a really good sport about it, and congratulate him on the catch.
>1) Insist that he show you how he managed it without any real bait.
>2) Compliment his spear and form. You probably couldn't have managed that, even back home in better shape.

>C) Reprimand the Father of Dream for being so gung-ho to put his safety in jeopardy. What if you weren't here to catch him?

>D) Write-in.

>>3973999
>>B) Be a really good sport about it, and congratulate him on the catch.
>>1) Insist that he show you how he managed it without any real bait.

>>3973999
>>B) Be a really good sport about it, and congratulate him on the catch.
>>1) Insist that he show you how he managed it without any real bait.

>>3974003
>>3974009
Nice, locking the vote here. Writing now.

>>3974104
https://youtu.be/2uB4WbQHjDA

There's steam in the air from your breath as you both look over the catch. You can't help but to pump a fist, grinning broadly and sincerely congratulating the fisherman responsible.

"Amazing. How did you manage it without any real bait? I can't believe it—"

You're genuinely impressed, watching intently as Father Wilhelm unfastens the perch. He looks with a wider smile than yours over to Ray.

"The Gods are Merciful! Think he'd like it?"

It's not exactly a gamble, but you try to bargain.

"Show me how you made the catch, and I'll show you how to safely feed him."

There's a moment of hesitation, as a droplet or two of blood comes off of the fish in Father Wilhelm's unscarred hands. His smile takes on a hint of nervous laughter, tossing the fish over to you.

"You probably should handle him. I'll show you, regardless! Catch!"

A lifetime of training with a shield and your nerves make it trivial to see the item coming towards you. You'd like have caught it even without prompting.

The satisfaction of grabbing the slippery and surprisingly warm item carries over into your grin. It's not hot to the touch, but you expected something beneath the ice to be frigid. Ray seems equally delighted by the catch as you call him over.

The two of you go through a number of commands, up to and including the mastiff balancing the fish on the tip of his nose before tossing it into the air and nearly eating it whole. His delight only seems to be eclipsed by Father Wilhelm's, as he whistles softly and waves you back over by the water the moment you seem to be finished.

It's a small matter to pat Ray on the head, get him to relative safety away from the cracks in the ice, and to settle back down next to the brunette. There's practically frost on the ends of his hair, tucked as the bulk of it is beneath his preposterous hat. He seems to have set down his cigar, sipping idly at his wine for a moment before replacing the item and taking up his fishing gear.

You can't help but wonder if you're equally frost-bitten, or look equally silly, but you really don't mind. All of your focus is directed towards the man's movements. He's slowly lowering the decoy, far lower than you thought it could reach.

"See, Richard, they like the dance. Little hops and jigs. You don't need to feed them, you just need to show them a good time!"

There's an elbow being nudged at your side. You frown back, shrugging it off but almost enjoying the teasing. You try to ask a few questions, encouraging him as his focus slips into silence.

"What is that, there—"

"Probably a trout."

"You're stopping?"

"They need rest, too! Watch."

A number of pauses proceed more of the gradual movements on the decoy. He alternates until the trout has its full attention on the lure. A gradual pull up on the line seems to lead it almost straight to the surface.

(1/2)

>>3974193
"They took the bait! Get back!"

As it nears the surface, Father Wilhelm sets everything aside to take up his spear.

You comply, tensing, confident that he's going to slip again. There's a blur of furs and fabrics, a splash as the bone strikes the water, and another fish is skewered from the lake.

You're both beaming at each other. There's no stagger, only your frigid forms quickly backing up and eyeing the speared trout with pride. It's significantly larger than the last catch, healthy and probably serviceable for a proper meal. Father Wilhelm tosses up one of the furs he'd brought with him, revealing a small basket. His prize is stashed away, before he turns to you, positively glowing.

"We'll get one more and head inside."

You practically jump at the opportunity, eagerly accepting the wooden decoy into your hands and entirely forgetting your earlier skepticism.

>A) Do exactly as Father Wilhelm showed you. (Roll 1d100. +10 for a childhood spent fishing alongside Eventide River, +10 for an adolescence spent fishing along Morinburn River. Best of 3 will be used for having an excellent teacher.)

>B) Ask Dream for His blessing. You don't want to directly invoke the God, but you're too curious to not try.

>C) Ask Father Wilhelm for permission to use his spear, while he makes the catch. This is a skill you could easily apply elsewhere, and you're looking for a chance to display some good-will. Maybe using a demon's body rather than imbibing from a gift from one would better show your appreciation.

>D) Write-in.

Rolled 82 (1d100)

>>3974196
>>A) Do exactly as Father Wilhelm showed you. (Roll 1d100. +10 for a childhood spent fishing alongside Eventide River, +10 for an adolescence spent fishing along Morinburn River. Best of 3 will be used for having an excellent teacher.)

Rolled 48 (1d100)

>>3974196
>>A) Do exactly as Father Wilhelm showed you. (Roll 1d100. +10 for a childhood spent fishing alongside Eventide River, +10 for an adolescence spent fishing along Morinburn River. Best of 3 will be used for having an excellent teacher.)

Rolled 83 (1d100)

>>3974196
>>A) Do exactly as Father Wilhelm showed you. (Roll 1d100. +10 for a childhood spent fishing alongside Eventide River, +10 for an adolescence spent fishing along Morinburn River. Best of 3 will be used for having an excellent teacher.)

Redheads are superior women.

>>3974347
>>3974239
>>3974202
Nice, unanimous! Best of the 3 was the 83+20 for a total of 103 out of 100. Mercy.

Locking the vote here, writing now!

>>3974598
You're determined beyond all human measure to prove your merit as a fisherman. You call upon not the Gods, but your own experience.

The years you spent with your own Father, along the Eventide River, with humble nets and baskets. The fast current and biting cold was always a welcome respite from trying to help on the farm, and you took to the water far better than a scythe or shovel. Your long fingers are still just as adept, your memory as sharp.

It's a simple matter to mimic the motions you were shown just minutes ago with absolute expertise. Nothing as difficult as stealing away in the dead of night. Not to the banks of the Morinburn River, using nothing but the fireflies and your knowledge of the current to find your purchase before sunrise. You don't have to hide or worry about distractions, allowing yourself to relax, to feel out what's biting.

You don't even have to squint to see a shadow, larger than any fish you've ever seen, pass near the deepest reaches of the lake. Your pulse picks up, your smile broader than it's likely ever been, as you gingerly lower the decoy. Father Wilhelm doesn't say a word, eagerly watching over your shoulder with his spear in hand. His instruction was excellent, but your own luck and skill seems to have rewarded you far more than his patience or even the blessing of his patron.

There's no bite, not yet. You dangle the decoy, letting it move through the water, tempting the shockingly intelligent beast below the surface. You almost want to laugh, having contended with so much more fearsome creatures that this trifle is nothing more than sport.

It's good sport, though, ducking away from you, darting into the shadows, making you work your arms and hands around the wooden lure. The game is more challenging than any other fish you've encountered by a wide margin. The two of you play for several long minutes, the last of the sun's ray peeking over the edges of the treetops. You don't mind, and never dare take your eyes off of the water, only catching a glimpse of pinks and reds against your purchase.

With a gentle pull, you start to drag the behemoth's attention to the surface. Father Wilhelm actually lets out a gasp, catching the shadow from the surface, but doesn't dare to interrupt as you begin to lean back, and finally stand upright, calling out with a huge grin as the fish is lured straight towards you both.

"Now!"

You keep a close eye on Father Wilhelm, as he plunges his spear into the water, and is nearly dragged under in an instant. You both cry out simultaneously, and Ray begins to leap over to aid you. Digging in your heels, shouting at Ray to stay back, you seek the best foothold possible against the unforgiving ice. Wrapping your arms around the man's waist before you is the best hold you can manage, as he's nearly dragged into the water.

(1/2)

>>3974718
There's a huge surge kicked up, violent splashing, a cacophony of shouts to coordinate wrestling the beast back, and a battle for what feels like an eternity against something that surely weighs half as much as you do. With a cry of success, every ounce of strength in your meager frame and a huge kick back from the priest under you, you both collapse backwards. The full weight of the catch and your teacher nearly lands on you, but you push away at the last moment. It's probably a good thing, given the groan elicited from Father Wilhelm, and the barbs littering his weapon. You both seem to avoid any injury, as you get to your feet and see that your fishing partner is utterly incapable of doing so.

With all due respect, you both laugh slightly, as he's pinned by the largest fish you've ever seen. You let out another cry of victory and way more physical exertion than you're meant for, as you heave the colossal purchase off of the man's chest with his assistance, and safely onto the ice. It's another trout, but so monstrously large that you'd pin it near four feet from end to end. You both can't help but simply stare at it in wonder for a few moments.

The moment Father Wilhelm is back on his feet, a hand is placed firmly on your shoulder. He pats it a few times, seemingly reluctant to let go. You can't get the smile off of your face, admiring the catch and soaking in the last few rays of the sun. Father Wilhelm sounds so proud of your work, unable to stop the out pour of praise once he catches his breath, that you almost want to ask him to stop.

"Incredible! Absolutely incredible! Must have been in the lake longer than I have! I can't believe it! May all the Gods be praised— but that was all you, wasn't it?! Simply incredible!"

Your face is beginning to hurt, for how unused it is to smiling so hard. You really don't know what to say.

"You've got a few things to teach me. Simply amazing. I'm going to need your help getting this inside. Let's get going, I'm going to catch my death out here after all that water kicked up."

The catch easily weighs a third as much as you do, and is over half as tall. It's a miracle you were able to get it out of the water at all. Your heart is still racing from the exertion of pulling Father Wilhelm out from the edge of the water, and the heat in your limbs and face has you feeling more alive than you have in a long time.

(Options in next post)

>>3974721
>A) Insist on carrying the catch yourself. You may have no use for pride, but the only thing you could use more than a workout is some more self-respect.

>B) Lend Father Wilhelm a hand, and share in the credit. It was a team effort, and you probably are going to have a hard time with the trout by yourself.

>C) Not only do you have no use for pride, you recognize that you've probably already pushed yourself a little too hard. Use one of the furs to drag the fish carefully back inside.
>1) Accept the praise graciously.
>2) Give some credit to Father Wilhelm, and thank him for the lesson.

>D) Write-in.

>>3974725
>>B) Lend Father Wilhelm a hand, and share in the credit. It was a team effort, and you probably are going to have a hard time with the trout by yourself.

>>3974725
>>B) Lend Father Wilhelm a hand, and share in the credit. It was a team effort, and you probably are going to have a hard time with the trout by yourself.

>>3974725
>>B) Lend Father Wilhelm a hand, and share in the credit. It was a team effort, and you probably are going to have a hard time with the trout by yourself.

>>3974725
>>B) Lend Father Wilhelm a hand, and share in the credit. It was a team effort, and you probably are going to have a hard time with the trout by yourself.

>>3974730
>>3974732
>>3974739
>>3974743
Man you guys were on the ball. Locking the vote here, writing now!

>>3974923
Staring down at the biggest fish you've ever seen, your face aching from smiling so hard, you can't help but give credit where it's due.

"I would be more than happy to help you with our catch, Father Wilhelm."

You think you might catch a legitimate tear of pride from your companion as you both toss the remainder of your supplies over one another's shoulders, and bear the weight of your victory together. Ray is more than happy to nudge you along, but you command him to get ahead to the house, slightly worried for how cold he must be getting.

The sun is rapidly setting, and by the time you both laboriously make it through the snow banks to the front door, night has fallen completely. You're exhausted beyond measure, but still steal a glimpse of the night sky, the woods beyond, and the trail of snow you've both left in your wake. It takes you both all the strength you have left in your wiry bodies to open the front door, get the fish inside, and slam down the wooden defense.

No words need to be spoken as you collapse into the closest armchair to the hearth, still smiling. A large part of you wants to help clean up, but every inch of your body is screaming for relief. You sink as deeply as you're able into the cushions, shaking off the snow-dusted furs and watching as Father Wilhelm tosses more wood onto the dwindling flame. He's more than happy to still praise you, despite being soaked to the bone and clearly more exhausted than ever.

"For what it's worth, I'm glad you made a fuss about staying out. Must be four feet long! Wish it would keep for long enough to take back home, I'd have the skin mounted. Should make for a good story, though, eh?"

The fire is properly roaring again in mere moments. Cracks of blue turn back to you, beaming and absolutely delighted to see you actually sitting down. You grin back, sheepishly, unable to hide your enjoyment from the excursion. Sure, your body is on fire, but the burn is a healthy one, and you suspect that you'll need a lot more where it came from. Father Wilhelm leaves you to the chair, his voice trailing out through the main hall as he peels away, waving with a free hand to reassure you he's coming right back.

"A tall tale for men who like to talk! And we do have some talking to do. Let me go get some more clothes for us both, and we can decide what to do with the fish. Can't have a cold coming on now. ...unbelievable!"

You try to appreciate the reprieve and your relative warmth, despite your venture out onto the ice. Cozying up more properly next to the flame, you're quickly joined by your dog. Ray is so well behaved that you only have to tell him once to mind the fish you've caught, before he sidles up next to you.

(1/2)

>>3974987
It feels like more time passes than it really should, to simply obtain a change of clothes. Surely enough, Father Wilhelm reemerges in a distinctive smoking jacket and trousers, looking almost like a new man with a freshly lit cigar between his teeth, his hair combed back and his old nightcap back atop his head. Within one arm is a bundle of far nicer looking clothes for you, and a cart full of cooking supplies is being pushed with the other. His wink is visible from a distance, the blue fabric in his grasp catching slightly on the light. An enormous cooking pot, a number of utensils and more vegetables than two men could eat in a week glare at you.

The silks, thankfully, are held out first.

"Should be warm enough to warrant it! A little more becoming of you than my old things. A good bit nicer than those robes you had to travel in, too. Sorry about that, by the way. You know how it is."

You get up with a groan, every inch of you screaming to sit back down, but you fight through it to walk over and accept the clean pajamas and robe. There's also a ludicrously stupid nightcap that you have no intention of wearing.

It's abundantly clear that you're expected to stay at least for another night.

"Thank you for the hospitality, again, Father Wilhelm."

"Not a problem. I was going to ask about the fish, until I remembered I hardly know how to cook! What a waste. Stew should be fine, right? It can cook while we discuss a few matters."

>A) Your mother taught you a number of excellent fishing recipes. You still know most of them by heart. Give Father Wilhelm a break. You can suffer through your own exhaustion for his sake.

>B) Accept the man's hospitality, and settle on something less than ideal. At least put on the nightcap, to show your appreciation, and lend him a hand if he'll permit you to.

>C) Ask if Father Wilhelm has any salt brine handy, and simply pickle the fish for now. You're too worn out for cooking, and he seems to have an ample supply of alternatives.

>D) Write-in.

>>3974993
>>A) Your mother taught you a number of excellent fishing recipes. You still know most of them by heart. Give Father Wilhelm a break. You can suffer through your own exhaustion for his sake.

>>3974993
>>A) Your mother taught you a number of excellent fishing recipes. You still know most of them by heart. Give Father Wilhelm a break. You can suffer through your own exhaustion for his sake.
Be a waste given the quality of the ingredients

>>3974993
>>A) Your mother taught you a number of excellent fishing recipes. You still know most of them by heart. Give Father Wilhelm a break. You can suffer through your own exhaustion for his sake.

Fishing is our only actual talent. Time to use it!

>>3974995
>>3974997
>>3975032
Even in the most wholesome of moments, Richard must be bullied by his very voters. Just kidding.

Vote is locked! Writing now.

>>3975050
"Don't—"

You almost trip over yourself, trying to stop your host from doing any harm to the fresh fish. He looks to you with a fair amount of amusement, a little impatience, and enough respect to not interrupt. You gather up the clothes he's trusted you with, but gesture to a few of the chairs littered about the main hall.

"Please, allow me. With all due respect, Father, you look exhausted. You should rest."

He absolutely can't protest, throwing himself onto a nearby chair with a smile. His hat droops comically over its back as he slumps, face-first, onto a long recliner. You continue, impressed that he's still somehow smoking his cigar.

"It would be a waste to not make something decent of our catch. My mother taught me quite a few fishing recipes. They— how should I put this— it may be too rustic for your tastes—"

"Go put on something clean and dry! I'm sure your mother's recipes are lovely. Can't wait."

A hand is waved at you, dismissively, as the Father of Dream obviously falls immediately into a nap. You frown a fair bit, stealing back to your room for more privacy.

The note you left for Father Wilhelm is still atop your bed. You move as quickly as your sore limbs will allow you to, out of your ill-fitting robes and into the cleaner, far nicer silks. The only thing that would make you feel more spoiled would be a proper bath, but you're already uncomfortable with the extremely fine garments. They do still hang very loosely off of you, but they're a good deal longer, terribly soft, and of high enough quality to rival a demon's tastes.

Folding the letter from the bed up neatly, you stash it in one of your pockets alongside Yech's flask, fasten your robe, and head back out to the main hall.

Father Wilhelm is awake, alert, and looking remarkably haler, despite only having slept for a few minutes. You try not to marvel as he tidies up a stack of letters across one of the armchairs. Taking an apron off of the cart he'd wheeled out, you kneel down beside the hearth to get better control over the flame. It's quick work, much quicker than getting the colossal, obviously rarely used pot back over in its usual position.

You can't help but groan at your host.

"Why move it to begin with—?"

A pair of blue eyes darts up from the stack of letters, and drops them immediately to rush over and give you a hand. You both make far quicker work of setting up the pot and filling it with a fair amount of water to boil. To your relief, Father Wilhelm makes no comment on your appearance or difficulty in moving about, merely patting you on the back before going back to the piles of letters.

You don't press the issue, keeping a close eye on the water, salting it as heavily as you're comfortable with. Having so much supply at your disposal feels unnatural. It's only been three years since your first prayer to Agriculture, and it's still hard to shake the habit of using as little as possible.

(1/2)

>>3975134
As you settle next to the hearth, picking stems off of a stockpile of suspiciously fresh herbs, you can't help but glance back again to Father Wilhelm. He's staring at you, rather intently, and still smoking. You pull back, slightly, and try to say something normal.

"Care to help...?"

A few blinks meet you in reply, before he seems to remember himself.

"I'd probably mess it up! You seem to have things under control. Don't mind me. Lost in thought. I think we've got everything sorted out. I don't mean to distract you—"

You frown, starting to chop a pile of parsley and ginger deftly.

"My mother isn't a talkative woman— but she was fond of reminding me: everything tastes better with good conversation. Go on. This will take some time."

Father Wilhelm's mustache curls up into a smile.

"This might be the best meal we've ever had, then! I've been busy, Father Anscham. Very busy. I don't want to get carried away, though. There's something very important I need to know, before I say another word!"

Your frown deepens, immediately skeptical. You don't prompt him for a reply, mincing the herbs as finely as you're able and setting to chopping up a loaf of coarse bread. The smile directed at you is audible enough to carry over your work.

"First and foremost, I set out to find you with the intent of granting you rest. A reprieve. Asylum is such a dramatic word, but you do need the break, Richard. More than anything. Before I dig into all of this, is there anything you have wanted to do? Anywhere you'd like to visit? This is a rare opportunity for you, I imagine— to be able to travel unfettered, without being accountable to anyone!"

You don't look up from the pestle and mortar, grinding out a green sauce into a blend of vinegar and cider with far more force than is likely necessary.

"You can speak candidly, Father Wilhelm. I am fully aware that the Church of Mercy will have mistaken me for dead by now."

There's a few puffs on the cigar across from you, that you can hear over the stone grinding underhand.

"Well, yes. Not to be so bold, but yes. Most of the country will have, in fact. This may be another blessing in disguise, though— an unparalleled chance, even!"

There's still a decided smile being directed towards you, despite how morose the subject matter is. Father Wilhelm's voice softens considerably.

"Richard. I can't imagine what it's been like for you, but I know you need a break. More than anything. I want to help you. We don't even have to talk about this, not right now. I didn't want to make any assumptions, and I don't mean to spoil the evening, but for how much you've slept, I'd hoped you'd want to get back out into the world sooner, rather than later. A lot has happened."

A lot has happened. There was so much I was looking forward to doing, in the lowest depths of the ruins. Did I ever sincerely think I would get the chance to live out any of it? Is this really a blessing?

>>3975138
>A) Nothing is ruining this night for you! You want to go fishing properly again, and may all the Gods have Mercy on anyone who tries to stand in your way. Every river you couldn't properly visit before is your oyster! You want to see the sea! You want to feel the wind in your hair! You want to catch something even bigger!

>B) You swore to Ray that you would get him all the steak he wanted back home. You're going to Calunoth, to the only human city with enough defense to raise livestock properly. You're keeping your promise, no matter the risks.

>C) You're actually banned from quite a few bars. It would be nice to try and relax, to visit a few cities incognito, and to see the state of affairs in Corcaea with your own eyes. It might be dangerous, and it might be difficult, but you need to know.

>D) If nothing else, you'd like to see your own parents again. You haven't visited them in nearly a decade, and have heard very little word beyond what you could glean regarding their land still being protected by the Church of Mercy.

>E) It's too hard to think about this right now. You sincerely need more respite, from everything. Ask Father Wilhelm if you can pass the evening in a little more quiet, some light conversation, or even a few more drinks. Even if you have to pretend like the world's stopped for you, you need this right now.

>F) Write-in.

>>3975142
>>D) If nothing else, you'd like to see your own parents again. You haven't visited them in nearly a decade, and have heard very little word beyond what you could glean regarding their land still being protected by the Church of Mercy.
The rest can be done in time I think

>>3975154
(Yeah just to be totally clear, it's been heavily implied time and time again that either responsibility or some other constraint at the Church of Mercy has made it nigh impossible for Richard to get out normally for most of his life. Of course, you can make time for whatever you want, but Father Wilhelm is asking you if there's anything you'd like to do in the immediate future, without any accountability.)

>>3975154
>>3975158
ok

>>3975154
>>3975315
Going to lock the vote here, while I still have time to write before work. Fewer updates today but I'll still do my best to get a couple out for you all!

>>3975158
>You're going to Calunoth, to the only human city with enough defense to raise livestock properly.
Would you mind elaborating on this?

>>3975510
(Certainly, only just saw your post as I finished this update. Going to post, and then I'll answer in full.)

>>3975408
There's enough movement in the water behind you, the soft bubbling, to need to start tending to the fish. You postpone a direct answer to Father Wilhelm's question for a few minutes, ensuring that the behemoth you caught is properly cared for before sliding it whole into the water. Your arms are practically screaming for relief by the time it's safely set at the bottom of the pot, but you're so proud of the catch that you can't really care.

I know Mother would at least be delighted to know one of her recipes was being served to a church leader. She's always been such a pious woman.

You keep a steady eye on the fish, in between making a few minor adjustments to the sauce and trying to decide how to handle the vast quantity of vegetables still staring you down.

Father would be livid if he knew how much better our crops looked than this, even in the worst of times. He'd have broken his back over a second harvest before anything sub-par came to the table.

Mercy, I miss them.

"If nothing else, I would like to see my parents again. ...it's been eleven years since I saw them last."

The cigar across from you puffs away, without judgement, but the question directed at you is loaded.

"How old did you say you were?"

"I never did, but I've seen twenty-four winters."

There's no judgement, none of the obvious questions, only a nod and a cursory glance back down to all of the letters before him.

"I see."

You're relieved beyond measure to not have to get into any of it, and try to continue.

"I know they were moved outside of Pontos, closer to Eventide, to better soil—"

There's such a long moment that passes, you realize Father Wilhelm doesn't even recognize the name of such a small farming town. He dodges the subject entirely.

"Outside or inside the defenses?"

"Outside, closest to Wearmoor. They were gifted a very generous plot of land."

"They survived on the outskirts for at least 13 years? With how many other children?"

"...none. No other children. That is— they did more than survive, Father Wilhelm. My own father is a hard working man. My mother is wiser than many clergymen I've met— present company excluded, of course—"

You can tell that Father Wilhelm is struggling to comprehend the situation, but he dismisses his questions, clasping his hands together and looking at you with legitimate enthusiasm.

"Family is so important, Richard. I'll do everything in my power to get you to see them again, safely and soundly. Is there really nothing else?"

"Anything— anything else could be done in time."

You're patiently tending the the flame below the fish, keeping it as low as you're able as the water tosses and turns against your catch.

"This really will take some time, Father Wilhelm."

A very slight smile crosses over you, as you muse aloud. It's gone in an instant, but you're still delighted.

(1/3)

>>3975513
"Our fish must be ten times more substantial than anything I've ever cooked. What was it you really wanted to discuss?"

"That is precisely what I wanted to discuss! How to get you home, and keep you safe and sound. You don't need the details, but I've been asking around, and, well— it might be easier to just show you."

Hesitantly, you steal a good look at the pot beside you, double-checking that the flame is stable before pulling up a chair alongside Father Wilhelm. He's covered the vast majority of the letters on the table, turned the envelopes upside down, and blatantly scratched out or torn up a huge quantity of names and information.

The only legible thing that catches your eye are three letters from Father Friedrich.

"Go on, take a look. This is all for you."

Father Wilhelm beams at you with such a cheeky grin you almost give one back.

"Father Friedrich? I— he's been occupied with the Dark Fen. He couldn't have possibly made the Time—"

It's abundantly clear the Father Wilhelm wrote to the Father of Flesh asking for advice. Not on warfare, defense or military strategy, but purely on how to get you back into shape. The Father of Dream had to have been vague enough to omit all mention of you directly, as the first two letters are Father Friedrich furiously demanding more clarity, how many stones you're capable of lifting, how far you can run, why Father Wilhelm is so irritating, if he's taken his prior advice to stop sleeping so excessively, and why he didn't send any cigars with his correspondence.

A handsome and formal acknowledgement accompanies the last letter, of how fine the recent shipment of cigars were. The majority of the writing is a meal and fitness plan brimming with excitement at the prospect of training a man with ample time and resources to spare. There's a number of demands that you be sent back for service as soon as you're able to meet his standards, but you strongly suspect that may not be possible.

The regime looks like it would probably kill you. Running, jumping, weapons practice, stone tossing, lifting, throwing and two additional pages of recommendations for diet. You realize, after a moment, that it isn't recommendations, but an outline of what to have each day. Father Wilhelm beams at you as you look back to the first two letters, which are significantly tamer.

The oldest seems to assume that you were actually invalid, with heavy emphasis on recovery, rest and no mention of strength training. It's by far the most vague, but seems much more in line with your current limits.

There's a note at the bottom that you suspect are Father Friedrich's honest feelings on the matter.

"Get him off death's door and just feed the poor bastard. Get your charity case over here if he's in such a bad way. If he can't make the trip, he's not worth the effort."

(2/3)

>>3975517
The second appears to make a few more compromises, recognizing that you have ample time and resources, and assumes you're a man of the cloth. There's recommendations for weapons and endurance training, and at least double the dietary recommendations. It's all very simplistic, and likely made under the assumption that you were a refugee taken in by the church and still in recovery.

The last either was made with the complete awareness of your identity, or Father Friedrich is just as unhinged as the rest of the church leaders. The intensity of the regimen would no doubt sculpt you into a form befitting of Flesh, but your limbs are currently struggling to cope with a casual fishing trip. You doubt you could enact the plan in full anytime soon.

A hand moves past you, as Father Wilhelm drops a fair amount of cigar ash into a tray across from all of his work spread out over the table. It looks like the correspondence before you has been in the works for several weeks, at least, with no small measure of bribery, secrecy and coercion. There are stacks just on the table before you of much, much more, and you really don't know what to say. The first thing that crosses your mind escapes your lips.

"You said I had allies?"

"They all might not necessarily know it's you! Father Friedrich, however, is devastatingly intelligent. I wouldn't trust anyone more with our defense, or your care. I suspect he realized it was you when I sent him the best cigars in my supply— it's a miracle that they weren't intercepted— but I don't want to make any assumptions. Not yet! It's far more important to me to know what you think of all of this."

Father Friedrich hasn't seen me in at least a few years. I saw his name often enough, for how often he asks to requisition supplies and forces— but he has no idea how bad things really are. Can I even trust any of this advice?

You take another long, hard look at the letters splayed out before you.

I'm not committing to any more time away from home than I need to, but I would be a fool to ignore so many attempts to help me. If nothing else, I don't want my parents to see me like this. I need to do something.

(Options in next post)

>>3975519
>A) Take the footnote on Father Friedrich's first letter to heart. You'll head for the Church of Flesh as soon as you're done seeing your parents.
>1) Simply eat as much as you can in the meantime. He has no context for your situation. You aren't making any assumptions.
>2) Follow the first letter's guidelines. You're not exactly a man of moderation, but you can try.
>3) Follow the second letter, as best as you're able on the road.
>4) Follow the third letter, even if it delays the trip or causes great expense. Father Wilhelm swore he'd aid you as best as he was able, and you're committing to this.

>B) Though you've gotten a significant amount of sleep, you still need a lot more time to recover. Hold off on seeing Father Friedrich, but commit to traveling to see your parents in Wearmoor as soon as you're able.
>1) Still listen to the footnote, and eat as much as you can in the meantime. The excursion will work off some of it, and you could stand to gain some weight.
>2) Follow the first letter, and try to take it easy on yourself.
>3) Follow the second, as best as you're able.
>4) Follow the third, knowing full well that it will likely be a burden on your host and an ordeal for you.

>C) Write-in.

>>3975523
>>A) Take the footnote on Father Friedrich's first letter to heart. You'll head for the Church of Flesh as soon as you're done seeing your parents.
>4) Follow the third letter, even if it delays the trip or causes great expense. Father Wilhelm swore he'd aid you as best as he was able, and you're committing to this.
WE GAVE OUR RESTRAINT TO A DEMON.
NO BRAKES ON THE GAINZ TRAIN.

>>3975528
I’m wondering, does our restraint return at some point?

>>3975528
ok

>>3975523
>>A) Take the footnote on Father Friedrich's first letter to heart. You'll head for the Church of Flesh as soon as you're done seeing your parents.
>4) Follow the third letter, even if it delays the trip or causes great expense. Father Wilhelm swore he'd aid you as best as he was able, and you're committing to this.

>>3975510
(As you all are aware, Corcaea is infested with demons. Outbreaks within cities are common enough to wear on the population, but there is also the ever-imposing threat of demons trickling in towards civilization from the countryside and the ruins. The famine that had plagued the country for all of Richard's life ensured that raising livestock was already a difficult endeavor, but the threat of encroaching demons ensured that only the most well-fortified and spacious region had the capacity to properly protect and care for them. Keeping a very small supply of chickens isn't unheard of out in the country, but cattle, pigs and sheep are simply too much of a liability for most citizens.

To the best of Richard's knowledge, only Calunoth's imposing borders and natural defenses allow for the presence of substantial amounts of livestock to be raised in the very heart of the country. Not so coincidentally, the churches of Mercy, Vengeance, Flesh and Spirit form a perimeter around its walls, as well.)

>>3975530
(You guys never so much as took a look at Your Relic until Yech explicitly told you to. Your intentions were good, and you did an incredible thing for Beltoro, but you still really have no idea what happened or why.

Having said that, Father Wilhelm has been, respectfully, trying to test your boundaries a little and seems to have already established some hope for recovery.

I have to go to work for a few hours, but I'll be back tonight!)

>>3975528
GET BIG, STAY HUGE

>>3975523
>A2

(Back from work! Free tonight and all day tomorrow.)
>>3975798
(Sincerely appreciate the vote!)
>>3975528
>>3975531
>>3975541
>>3975533
(Overwhelming majority wants NO BRAKES!)

(Vote is locked, writing now.)

File: Father Anscham's Map of C(...).jpg (2.36 MB, 2402x3200)

2.36 MB JPG

(Attaching your most recent map for reference.)

>>3975965
You pick up the most recent letter, your skeletal arm burning from the movement after the scarcest exertion earlier in the day. Every inch of you is screaming for rest, for recovery.

You've never wanted to push yourself harder.

There's a part of you that's also screaming to do something reasonable, to moderate yourself, but you can't listen to it. The utter lack of any substance to your limbs, the hollows of your cheekbones, the way that your bone is practically poking through the silks hanging loosely on your frame is more than you can stand.

All four pages in your hand depict a regimen that is truly befitting of a man of the Gods. Outlined in excruciating detail are Father Friedrich's recommendations for endurance, strength, combative prowess, and a diet that could sustain three men with ease. There is no expense spared, no consideration for anything other than complete devotion to sculpting the human form. It's clear that he assumed the subject would have unlimited access to resources, rest, and time to the craft.

You set down the letter, with so much conviction you can't help but smile.

My devotion will be His strength.

"Father Wilhelm. You— you swore to aid me, as best as you're able."

"I did! I've spared no expense in caring for you, have I not?"

"You have. Thank you, again. I'd like to follow this regimen to the letter— and to go to the Church of Flesh as soon as I'm able. Father Friedrich never had to write, but it's clear that I need his aid. I've lost so much—"

You bring one of your scarred hands to the side of your arm, holding onto it, able to completely wrap your digits around the absence of muscle. The sensation borders on the surreal. You try to not pay too much attention to your body, but you want to change, to grow. You tighten your grasp, holding onto yourself, as a reminder of what you never want to feel again.

"I need to gain. I know it will take time—"

Father Wilhelm finally interrupts you, properly, sighing with so much relief that he has to set down his cigar. He takes the letters gingerly from your grasp, and places his opposite hand firmly on your shoulder. You dare to glance up to him, and see that he's wearing the same sad smile you're becoming so familiar with. To your relief, it's at least laced with pride.

"You have Time. Everything will be fine. We have more than enough supplies here to maintain this sort of routine, even on the road. I'll set a course! For Wearmoor, for Beorward, and for the Church of Flesh!"

Looking down at the letters in his hand, Father Wilhelm laughs with extreme nervousness.

"You do understand that Father Friedrich is crazier than both of us, don't you?"

You fire back an extremely unhinged laugh, legitimately enjoying the prospect of what's to come.

"He's a genius, not a madman. This is exactly what I need. I'm sincerely looking forward to seeing him again—"

(1/3)

>>3976112
You tighten your grip on your arm further.

"I'll have to do more than pray. I'll work. I'll run. I'll fight— I'll eat as much as I need to— I want to be fit enough to be deserving of his aid, Father."

A smile shines back at you.

"You're right, of course. We'll start tomorrow. I'll do everything in my power to ensure we can requisition enough supplies for the journey along the way."

You can't help but grin back.

"We don't need to stop for anything, Father Wilhelm."

The absurd nightcap before you shakes slightly, as the priest takes his hand off your shoulder and replaces his cigar.

"I don't doubt your conviction for an instant, Father Anscham. We can start tonight, can't we?"

He gestures to the entirely forgotten cooking utensils and poached fish you've been tending to. You get back to it, frantically dropping the flame you'd left forgotten. Father Wilhelm seems a little bothered, and you can't help but look over to him.

He's still looking through the piles of letters, his smile waning. It perks back up the moment he realizes you're looking at him.

"Richard, you're a very honest man. I would never forgive myself if I did anything to change that."

He sighs, deeply, and looks to you with absolute seriousness.

"If we're going to cross the country while you train, we are bound to attract attention. It's inevitable that someone will recognize us if we aren't unbelievably careful. I'd like to enjoy your cooking, and not discuss anything so unpleasant after all of your hard work, so— will you come over here, just for a moment? Before we start. I can't afford for you to be distracted when it comes to this."

With a frown, you set aside another dish of sauce and greens, nearly ready to be plated, and sit back next to Father Wilhelm. Ray peeks his head up from the side of the hearth, obviously sleepy. He's still attentive enough to your needs to notice when you're bothered, and keeps an eye on you.

Father Wilhelm is using a tone you're entirely unfamiliar with from him, but have heard many times before from other clergy members. He's not just demanding your full attention. He's practically begging for you to defer to his judgement.

"I apologize, once again, for placing you under a Dream while we traveled before. I simply could not fathom any other way to escort you safely and discreetly— but this is another matter, entirely. I want you to enjoy the sun, our rivers, the countryside. There's so much to see, so much to do— but we need to be careful, Richard. You need to promise me that you'll do everything you can to keep yourself safe."

He puffs on his cigar, looking up to you intensely with so much blue.

(2/3)

>>3976116
"I would never ask for you to abandon your tenets. We could avoid the cities almost entirely! We can go by foot, and circumvent any need for you to lie or to disguise yourself. It may be harder to get adequate supplies for our venture, but it would be substantially safer than to take the rivers. I don't know how long you wish to remain away from the Church of Mercy, but I strongly suspect that you wish to return on your own terms. It would be a terrible shame to have you discovered without any ability to defend yourself."

You really can't help but bristle. You've traveled in disguise before, and are entirely capable of fighting if need be.

"I can defend myself."

"I mean to say that it will reflect very poorly on you to be found traveling for leisure, rather than immediately returning to your station, reporting the discovery of Your Relic to the King, or any number of other responsibilities that we politely agreed to not discuss."

With a nod and a frown, you acknowledge your own request, and let him continue.

"So! A proper recovery, as only the Father of Mercy could only accomplish— with absolutely no rest! This is going to be phenomenal, Richard. I'm certain you'll feel better in no time at all. It's simply a matter of how we're getting there, isn't it?"

>A) Despite the risk, you still want to take the rivers. It's the safest means of transit, the fastest, and you really want to still go fishing.
>1) You'll simply pretend to be mute if you're approached. It may still be a sin, but it will avoid the most complications.
>2) You'll pretend to be someone else entirely. You may be a terrible liar, but you trust Father Wilhelm's guidance enough to aid you in traveling incognito.

>B) There's way too much complication and risk getting near civilization. Go on foot.
>1) Avoid being seen at all costs. Have Father Wilhelm venture to farmsteads or villages if necessary, but you'll keep yourself and Ray out of sight.
>2) Hope beyond hope that no one will recognize either of you out in the most rural reaches of Corcaea. Stick to the furthest outskirts of civilization. If anyone recognizes you, it's unlikely they would have incentive to even notify the Church of Mercy.

>C) You legitimately can't be bothered to hide. You'd rather travel unfettered, take your time, and let come what may. It may cut your vacation off before it began, but you are willing to deal with the consequences of the world knowing you're alive again.

>D) Write-in.

>>3976118
>>B) There's way too much complication and risk getting near civilization. Go on foot.
>>1) Avoid being seen at all costs. Have Father Wilhelm venture to farmsteads or villages if necessary, but you'll keep yourself and Ray out of sight.
At worst we get some fighting practice in.

>>3976118
>>B) There's way too much complication and risk getting near civilization. Go on foot.
>>1) Avoid being seen at all costs. Have Father Wilhelm venture to farmsteads or villages if necessary, but you'll keep yourself and Ray out of sight.

>>3976118
>>B) There's way too much complication and risk getting near civilization. Go on foot.
>>1) Avoid being seen at all costs. Have Father Wilhelm venture to farmsteads or villages if necessary, but you'll keep yourself and Ray out of sight.

Better safe than sorry.

>>3976123
>>3976131
>>3976162
(Got it guys! Locking the vote here, writing now.)

>>3976304
Better safe than sorry.

"I promise. It would be a terrible waste of all of your efforts to act so carelessly now. I can keep myself and Ray out of sight, if you would accompany me—"

"Of course!"

"Surely, if we stick to the wild or the very outskirts of civilization, it would raise very little alarm for you to obtain any supplies we may need. There are still farmsteads, and a few smaller villages, even this far to the south—"

"It would be a trifle, Father Anscham."

"At worst— keeping so far from the cities— I could get a little practice in."

There's a deep urge to flex, to do something as any indication of what an absolute monster you are on the field of battle, but you merely hold more tightly onto your emaciated arm.

I could really use a healthy fight.

A chuckle is directed at you, one of endearment and absolutely no judgement.

"We can only pray for safe travel, but I'll do everything in my power to ensure we have a smooth journey."

Father Wilhelm's voice lowers, still full of respect and pride for your decision.

"If it comes to it, you know I would want you to protect yourself."

You both smile slightly at each other, as you move to tend to the fire again. It's taking an absurdly long amount of time to correctly poach the fish, but you'd rather give your catch the attention it deserves than to make any half-measures. A few long moments pass in silence as you coax the flame, before realizing that Father Wilhelm doesn't seem to have anything more to say. He's tidying up the papers scattered about, making room on the table for you in a small gesture of appreciation for all of your work. His voice does eventually clear the air, as heavy as it is with the scent of your cooking and the roaring fire.

"Smells great! I bet your mother would be proud."

There's no repressing your smile. You keep your back turned, hiding it as best as you're able, as you fetch everything to be served. You're entirely out of your depth, trying your best to not make any careless mistakes, and seem to have actually done Mrs. Anscham proud. The sheer volume of supplies reminds you more of a feast for a lord than a simple meal between two priests and a dog, but you diligently work through it, as always.

It's impossible to not sincerely appreciate the compliment, his words still hanging in the air as you turn to show your smile.

"Thank you, Father Wilhelm. Was there anything more—"

"Nope. No more business. You asked me to keep my lips sealed, and I won't say another word unless you absolutely need to hear it. Let me get you some plates..."

The rest of the letters are filed away, excluding the notes from Father Friedrich. Your host and budding coach is happy to start assisting you with getting everything sorted out for supper. He seems mildly confused, but earnest enough as you both attempt to look over your new diet and exercise plan.

(1/2)

>>3976527
Figuring out an equivalent volume of the meal you've prepared is a simple matter, making a few assumptions that the fish and greens are a fine stand-in for whole milk, cereals or animal fats. You try not to grimace, neatly laying out all of your hard work, as it completely covers the table before you. Your servings are easily triple that of Father Wilhelm's, but you're reassured repeatedly that you'll space it out more in the coming weeks.

There's a scratch, a claw, a pull, but you keep the urge back. It's far easier to keep your hands steady, portioning out the poached fish, numerous sauces, roasted vegetables, all of your painstakingly prepared herbs, and the drink Father Wilhelm had carted out at the start of the evening. Your hands are twitching, not with tremor, but the need to take in everything before you.

The compulsion subsides, as the priest beside you is kind enough to toss a cloth over the table. As it vanishes from your sight, you almost immediately regain your composure. There's little discourse as you both move to clean up the remains of the cooking utensils. It's a short matter, and before long you both slide next to each other, readying to pray. You've got your hands clasped together, whereas his eyes are merely lowered in deference.

He's more than happy to elbow your side, smiling.

"I had suspected you'd be able to take care of the cooking, but now we know! Phenomenal. Simply phenomenal. Thank you. I know it couldn't have been easy."

He's been testing my limits with restraint almost since the moment I've woken up. I can't even imagine how difficult this would be without any distractions, or all of his help. I asked him explicitly to not discuss anything with me regarding the Gods, but Father Wilhelm is still trying to guide me into serving them, isn't he?

I've done so much good. I don't regret any of it. There's Time, more than enough, to show my respect and devotion to the Gods. I know Agriculture hasn't forsaken me. I know I have the favor of Mercy and Spirit. All of this has happened for a reason.

>A) Thank Father Wilhelm briefly, and share a short prayer to Agriculture before you both eat. You don't mind putting him in a slightly uncomfortable position, not when he's so determined to help you.
>1) Try to make some light conversation. Ask him what you assume are a few normal questions.
>2) After your confession, you're fairly confident you could ask this man anything without him taking offense. (Write-in anything you might want to say.)

>B) Go back on your earlier request to not talk about the Gods. Lead a prayer to Agriculture, and dig into some questions.
>1) Ask plainly what hope he thinks there is for recovery from your use of the Relic.
>2) See if he has any thoughts on your work with Mother Bethaea and the Church of Agriculture.

>C) Write-in.

>>3976533
>>A) Thank Father Wilhelm briefly, and share a short prayer to Agriculture before you both eat. You don't mind putting him in a slightly uncomfortable position, not when he's so determined to help you.
>>1) Try to make some light conversation. Ask him what you assume are a few normal questions.

>>3976533
>>A) Thank Father Wilhelm briefly, and share a short prayer to Agriculture before you both eat. You don't mind putting him in a slightly uncomfortable position, not when he's so determined to help you.
>>1) Try to make some light conversation. Ask him what you assume are a few normal questions.

>>3976550
Ok

>>3976550
>>3976574
>>3976591
Based, locking the vote here. Writing now!

>>3976682
"I— I couldn't possibly have done so well without your help."

The elbow pulls away from your side, as you both smile, uttering a small prayer to Agriculture without prompting. It's custom before any meal, but you both clearly feel it's warranted to make a more formal effort with the bounty placed before you. The knowledge that you were able to handle so much food without any issue is enormously reassuring, enough to dispel your discomfort as Father Wilhelm gingerly pulls back on the cloth to expose a fraction of your serving.

You tear into it immediately, completely unable to hold yourself back. There's more reassurance, still, that you really don't have to show any restraint here. With the amount of effort you'll be putting into your body, the miles you're certain to soon be running, the hours you'll be pouring into weapons training, you find it far easier to fight through the agony of eating any volume of food. There's always a disproportionate discomfort when anything of proper substance is involved, and you truly outdid yourself. You can still tell that the fish is second to none, and your work over even Father Wilhelm's old vegetables made them befitting of two men of your station.

I'm no stranger to pain— I might even be able to enjoy this. I need to give myself all of the respect and devotion I've been preaching since I entered the ruins. This has to be worth it. Father Friedrich must know what he's doing. Father Wilhelm is trying so hard to help me. Flesh has always answered my prayers. I'm going to make them all proud.

You made such quick work of everything spread out before you that Father Wilhelm has scarcely touched his own fish by the time you're done. He's obviously far more concerned with helping you slow down, looking to you with concern and some more reassurance. You clear your throat, accepting a modest amount of wine, appreciating his efforts more than you can say.

It's easier to say something resembling a normal conversation. Though you have all of the charisma of a farmer's son, and the social experience of a man who's spent most of his life in the dark, your conviction is endearing enough to carry you through a few questions.

"You know— I never did properly ask for your first name—"

"Don't worry, no one is keeping some terrible secret from you. I really just don't like it."

"You don't have to tell me—"

"Oh, no, it's quite alright. Atticus does have an awful ring to it, though, doesn't it?"

Father Wilhelm— Atticus Wilhelm— laughs awkwardly, looking to you almost as if he wants you to argue with him on the matter.

You cough a little harder, with absolutely no judgement.

"I don't— there isn't anything wrong with it. I would be more comfortable referring to you by your title, still—"

There's a firm pat on your back. It's not to help aid you with breathing, through the sensation of food caught in your lungs. He's clearly relieved.

(1/3)

>>3976803
"Great! Great. I haven't meant any offense, calling you by your given name so often, but— well, I can't help it, Richard. You seem much more comfortable when I do."

You wave away the hand patting you, automatically moving to get more wine and realizing that the cup has intentionally been left empty. Your stomach is already complaining, and you try to relax, to take a moment to breathe.

"None taken, Father. Do you visit— often, or— do many clergymen visit you, like this? You had so much correspondence— I don't need to know the details, but Father Friedrich at least seemed to be aware that you enjoyed smoking—"

As Father Wilhelm merely picks at his own plate, he pulls back on another portion of the food laid out before you both. Suspecting he's using his conversation to take your mind off of things, you don't complain, listening intently to his speech rather than to your body's insistence that you've had enough.

"There's very little he doesn't know, and the man is a fiend for a good smoke— but I do try to make the time to rest. To give everyone a reprieve, when I can. You know how busy things get! Everyone needs respite, Richard. Not just you, or Father Friedrich— everyone! I don't often get away from Somerilde during the winter, but most of the warmer months I like to take my work here. You would be surprised how many people need a vacation. You can talk with your mouth full, it's alright—"

You had started to ask something else, and stumbled immediately into silencing yourself. Years of conditioning into proper table manners feel like they're being undone in moments, but a hand goes back to your shoulder, trying to reassure you.

"This isn't a church— there's no one to impress here! You're quite alright. Really."

As if to make a point, Father Wilhelm slides his elbows onto the table alongside you, making a show of pulling on his cigar and sliding his own plate behind his extremely fine smoking jacket. You trail after it for a moment, but manage to pull back, swallowing hard and upholding some semblance of appearances.

"Why— why cigars? The Church of Mercy scarcely discusses any form of smoking— drinking, yes, but..."

You trail off, trying to focus more on the scent of tobacco and spice than the tenderness in your gut and the increasing desire to go lay down for another week.

"We'd better get this over with— stop me if you feel like you're actually hurting yourself, alright?"

The last of the fish, vegetables and sauce gets slid over to you, the rest of the cloth neatly folded aside. You're able to at least stop yourself for a moment to complain.

"Mercy— I'll do it for Flesh, but there has to be a better way—"

Father Wilhelm gives you an extremely apologetic look, properly answering your question as you suffer through the rest of the meal.

(2/3)

>>3976805
"King Magnus goes through far too much trouble to not make the most of our new connections. You're familiar enough with herbs and medicine, aren't you, Father Anscham?"

"V-very."

"I'm willing to bet— my, that's insensitive, isn't it? I'd hazard a guess that you couldn't place most of what you smoked, could you?"

There's a long pause, and some very welcome respite from the present moment, as you try to recall what the cigar you had was like. You really couldn't tell at all. There isn't a window in between mouthfuls to convey your meaning, but the priest beside you is entirely understanding of the situation.

"It's not a trick question. You would have been able to tell! From what I understand, you're something of an expert, but that's neither here nor there. I've made a bit of a hobby, experimenting with what comes in from our pointy-eared friends to the east. Nothing like what we have here at home. Opens the mind! Don't worry yourself— Father Friedrich and I have been more than happy to confirm that no poison or anything more harmful than a brief distraction comes into the country. Peace offerings are a wonderful thing. Let's get this away from you— toss this to Ray for me, alright?"

"Th-thank you—"

You remove yourself from the start of political discourse and the questionable nature of what your host has been occupying his time with, taking a half-eaten portion of fish and calling Ray over from the hearth. He's more than happy to sit, to curl up beside you, and to politely take the food from you without begging for more. You're in far too much pain to give him any further attention, but he's more than understanding. Your boy settles down next to your chair, giving you plenty of space but something to keep your attention on for long enough. You give him as much praise as you can manage, while Father Wilhelm quickly clears the rest of the table.

He keeps mostly out of your sight, and reappears properly after a few minutes with a huge smile.

You try to offer one back, as best as you're able.

"If Father Friedrich thinks I can do this every day—"

"I told you, he's insane. We made a lot of substitutions, too, but it doesn't need to be all at once— I really was more concerned about getting something in you before we set out tomorrow. We'll break it up. You'll be alright!"

You do properly smile, leaning hard over the table before you for support. It's entirely too difficult to sit upright, between your earlier exertion and everything you've consumed, but you do feel better than you have in a very long time. Enough to poke some fun at the situation, of an equally ill-suited man of the cloth trying to help you fix the damage done to your body.

"You seem to be more comfortable with prayer than this sort of exertion, Father Wilhelm."

(Slightly over, 3/4)

>>3976808
The mock offense and bristling of a mustache is accompanied by a few muffled footsteps. Clean house slippers kick up on the table next to you, giving you yet another welcome distraction. You try to scrutinize the embroidery, the moons and stars, as their owner pretends to be upset with you.

"Oh? You think that tired old Father Wilhelm can't keep up? I'll have you know I was harder than anyone! Five sons don't go making themselves, you know—"

You can't help but laugh. Sure, you immediately regret it, battling another spike of pain in your gut, but it's well worth it. Father Wilhelm leans over, pats you on the back, and gives you another wide grin.

"You'll be alright, Richard."

>A) This was far too pleasant and you're way too full to be bothered with anything else for the night. You'll need all the rest you can get before tomorrow. Retire for the evening, and ask Father Wilhelm to wake you when he's able.

>B) You can stay up awhile longer. In fact, you know you can stay up remarkably longer. What a blessing.
>1) You're so starved for normalcy that you really just want to keep making small talk.
>2) Having questions answered candidly by someone other than a demon is beyond reassuring. (Write-in anything you wish to ask.)
>3) Don't keep him all night, but ask Father Wilhelm if there's any way he'd like to pass the time.

>C) Write-in.

>>3976810
>B3

>>3976810
>>B) You can stay up awhile longer. In fact, you know you can stay up remarkably longer. What a blessing.
reassuring. (Write-in anything you wish to ask.)
>>3) Don't keep him all night, but ask Father Wilhelm if there's any way he'd like to pass the time.

(Getting some brunch and will be back to update in just a bit!)

>>3976810
>Bo3

>>3976822
>>3976836
>>3977296
Locking the vote here! Almost good to saddle up for a full session today. Might be an extra minute for this update but I'll start writing now.

>>3977330
https://youtu.be/rJ90ljliEzU

A groan is the most you can offer in reply as you manage to sit back upright, looking around the extremely sparse main hall. It's readily apparent that Father Wilhelm had been hiding objects of devotion or anything else that might disturb your rest. Though it's a struggle to move in any capacity, you try to recline a little in your chair, to get a little more comfortable and to turn back to your host.

He meets your pained smile with a grin of his own, his teeth masterfully keeping hold of his cigar regardless of his expression or speech. There's all the time you need to speak without interruption. He doesn't interject your prayers for relief.

"I have— Mercy, grant me strength— I have no doubt that you can keep up with me, Father Wilhelm. Is there anything— any way you'd care to pass the time?"

You have to close your eyes for a moment, trying to contend with the discomfort, entirely unable to express how severe it is.

"I doubt I could make it across the hall right now."

A genteel laugh meets you in reply.

"How kind of you to ask, Father Anscham! It would be my pleasure. I must confess, my idea of an exciting evening probably pales in comparison to a demon—"

You don't know whether to grimace or laugh, as a cheeky grin is flashed back at you. Father Wilhelm is obviously teasing you, as he moves to stand and fetch something from across the main hall. He calls out to you with so much amusement in his voice that you decide to fight off your frown.

"I'd love to do something to commemorate our catch today! You don't have to go anywhere. I'll bring everything over!"

Leaning back is providing no measure of relief, so you slump back onto the table before you, watching out of the corner of your eye as Father Wilhelm gathers up the painting easel from the corner. A small trail of smoke hangs behind him, as he moves rapidly back over to your side.

He pats you gently on the back, eliciting another groan from the unwanted movement.

"Sit tight. I'm going to get some things from my room."

You couldn't follow him if you wanted to. Even speculating for several long minutes, next to Ray and the fire, is almost more than your dizziness permits. All of the blood and heat in your body has unquestionably relocated to your stomach. It's enough to nearly fall asleep, resting as you are against the hard wooden table beneath your arms, before an equally worn voice greets you.

(1/2)

>>3977408
"Richard."

You can't bolt upright, but manage to at least look, wide-eyed, at a hilariously stained smock that's replaced Father Wilhelm's smoking jacket. It's clearly necessary, as his arms are full with a number of pigments, brushes, powders, containers with metals you're entirely unfamiliar with, and several eggs. In addition to the garment plastered with paint, he's wearing an even more ridiculous nightcap than before. The embroidery is in a contrasting thread of yellows and golds, depicting a number of animals.

"...nice hat."

Before you can protest, it's dropped atop your own scruffy hair.

"Keep it safe for me while I paint."

"The fish?"

"I was thinking of something a little more spectacular! What do you say? I'd keep it here, of course, but a proper portrait of our catch seems much more fitting!"

(Please choose one prompt from A. These are mutually exclusive.)
>A) This hat is extremely stupid.
>1) You know you love it. Keep it on.
>2) You feel ridiculous, but keep it on just to make Father Wilhelm happy.
>2) Take it off, but keep it safely out of Ray's reach.

(Please choose one prompt from B. These may not necessarily be mutually exclusive.)
>B) This is technically your first painting, though you aren't commissioning it.
>1) Request that Father Wilhelm only depict the fish. You're too humble for something more.
>2) Ask for a modest depiction of yourself, and whatever else Father Wilhelm wants to do for the rest. The scale of the beast would be lost without something to properly contrast it, anyways.
>3) Let him make the painting as fantastic as he wants. Your catch is the stuff of legend, after all.
>4) Write-in.

>>3977410
>>A) This hat is extremely stupid.
>>1) You know you love it. Keep it on.
>B) This is technically your first painting, though you aren't commissioning it.
>3) Let him make the painting as fantastic as he wants. Your catch is the stuff of legend, after all.
We called enough shots down in the ruins, lets let someone else take the lead.

>>3977410
>A) This hat is extremely stupid.
>1) You know you love it. Keep it on.

>C)
>4) Let him paint it like a tapestry of legends and worship with overcoursed details.

>>3977414
+1

>>3977415
seconding

>>3977414
>>3977415
>>3977428
>>3977477
Locking vote here, can definitely make this work. Writing now!

>>3977533
"Spectacular? Father Wilhelm— I've— I've had enough responsibility placed on me, after these last few weeks— more than enough to last a lifetime. You could make this a tapestry of legend, or worship— but I'll leave it to your better judgement."

An entirely sincere and slightly concerned grin is directed at you.

"A dangerous gamble, Father Anscham. Very well! Nothing short of my very best will suffice!"

The table is rapidly covered with gold leaf, containers full of metallic powder, deep pigments that you suspect came straight from nobility, and countless dishes full of strange liquids that smell as if it would kill you if you consumed them. Over your scrutiny, you still catch that the grin facing you has turned into a smirk.

"You seem to have decided to like the hat, at least."

Not only have you made no indication of taking it off, you've adjusted it to sit properly atop your scruffy hair. Making a mental note to get a trim as soon as you're able, you shyly smile back.

"It would be dishonest of me, if I were to deny that I love it, Father. This— this is real goldwork, isn't it?"

"Of course."

You sweep the nightcap off for a moment, to look it over again properly. You've only seen such skill employed on proper church vestments, offered to you countless times due to your position in the Church of Mercy. You usually rejected the regalia, preferring simpler garments. It seems tasteless, to use something so valuable on a sleeping cap, but the absurdity of it is tugging at your heart strings. The yellow-gold brocade paints a number of fantastic creatures, and you've always been fond of animals.

"Keep it."

You dart your eyes up, the green catching on Father Wilhelm's blue. He's smiling at you so hard you can barely see his eyes, though he's positioned the canvas he's painting on so you can easily see both him and his work. You put your hands up to protest, immediately.

"I couldn't possibly—"

"I insist! I'll be offended if you don't take it. It's been collecting dust for ages. I've got far too many to make use of them all. You'll be doing me another favor."

There's no disguising your delight as you slip the silk and gold back atop your head. It's long enough for the end of the cap to hang past your shoulders. You feel ridiculous, but the simple pleasure is more than you could ask for.

"Thank you."

"You're very welcome. Now, do you think we should be wearing suits of armor, or glow with divinity in this? I'm thinking both."

"It would be a sin to exaggerate so—"

"This creature was a beast of legend, Richard! I warned you! I'll be putting a border with the tale! The combined might of only the Fathers of Dream and Mercy could tame the ferocious— oh, we do need a name for it, don't we? It's alright, I'll save it for the end. Pass me that dish, I need to make this quite thin..."

(1/2)

>>3977729
You watch with the utmost amusement, handing off supplies as best as you're able, as Father Wilhelm begins to apply the framework of the painting. Within the hour, there's proper form. You're entirely too bloated to get up and tend to the fire, and simply watch it occasionally as time dwindles on.

Eventually, Father Wilhelm seems satisfied enough with his progress to step away, to bring the hearth back up to a roar. You get a complete look at the painting, and can't stop smiling.

A muted blue sheen adorns a priest in full regalia, wielding a spear that would strike terror into the Gods themselves. The cracks in his frame are littered with the deepest hues you've ever seen, but they almost pale in comparison to his weapon. The massive barbs are skewering a fish that's easily the size of the two men in the painting, its ferocity only eclipsed by the orc-like face on the creature of ice beneath it. The cracks within the lake stretch up to the sky, a pink and red sunset, but it's all utterly encompassed by the gold reaching out from the heroic figure at its side.

You can't help but laugh, as Father Wilhelm has painted you as a hulking, glowing God. You're using nothing but your bare hands to wrestle away the monstrous fish, slick with blood and gold as you guarantee the catch. The fish still eclipses you both, but you all form such a gallant scene that you don't want to look away. The entire painting is largely unfinished, a spot on the side left for Ray, the borders left unadorned for further additions to the tale.

The painter returns, eyeing his work as the first few coats of egg yolk, pigment, resin and water rapidly dries. It's all so polished and skilled that you don't feel guilty in the slightest for staring. The entire thing smells fairly pleasant, thanks to the myrrh that's been added to the mixture. You recognized the warm spice and woody components of the herb instantly. It's difficult to obtain, but your expertise with it for medicine makes it catch your notice, even when used as a perfume. The medicinal association is hard to break, but you're more than grateful, certain that any new bloom of nausea would be your undoing.

You try to recline a little further, taking a deep breath and battling as best as you're able with the strain in your gut. The near constant distraction Father Wilhelm has been providing has subsided entirely as he focuses again on his work. The paintbrush he's produced only has a few hairs on the end, and to your amazement, he's begun to work on adding individual leaves to the forest canopy in the background of the painting.

(Options in next post)

>>3977732
>A) Make a little discourse about Father Wilhelm's use of herbs and medicine. It's unbelievably uncommon to be able to share your talents with someone who has the means to fully appreciate it.

>B) Compliment the painting, and ask about it as Father Wilhelm works. The skill is far more uncommon than healing, at least between clergy, and you're curious as to how a man of the cloth became such an expert.

>C) Let him focus. Take another good look at Father Friedrich's letter, and come up with a plan of action for your journey to Wearmoor, to Beorward, and to the Church of Flesh.
>1) There's no way you're going to be able to follow his plan to the letter, not like this. Come up with a way to ease yourself into his training.
>2) You're more determined than ever, and want to ensure that you can guarantee as much exercise as possible while on the road. It's going to be terrible, but you've never shied away from pushing yourself.

>D) Write-in.

>>3977738
>>A) Make a little discourse about Father Wilhelm's use of herbs and medicine. It's unbelievably uncommon to be able to share your talents with someone who has the means to fully appreciate it.
>>B) Compliment the painting, and ask about it as Father Wilhelm works. The skill is far more uncommon than healing, at least between clergy, and you're curious as to how a man of the cloth became such an expert.
>>C) Let him focus. Take another good look at Father Friedrich's letter, and come up with a plan of action for your journey to Wearmoor, to Beorward, and to the Church of Flesh.
>2) You're more determined than ever, and want to ensure that you can guarantee as much exercise as possible while on the road. It's going to be terrible, but you've never shied away from pushing yourself.
All of these sound great, can we do a little bit of all?

>>3977770
(Well, shit, yeah, you absolutely could. I'll leave this open for a bit in case anyone has any write-ins or objections.)

>>3977770
>>3977778
Supporting

>>3977778
Maybe we could ask Wilhelm about the mysterious church of time and what he knows about it too.

>>3977770
Sounds good

>>3977770
>>3977821
>>3977823
>>3977886
(Awesome guys, going to lock the vote here. Going to be a long one with all the prompts! Writing now.)

>>3977911
While Father Wilhelm seems completely focused on such delicate brushwork, you pick up the letter once more from Father Friedrich. Suspecting that the pages will become terribly worn in the coming weeks, you try your best to commit the contents to memory as you pour over them.

It will simply be impossible to stick to the routine to the letter without massive adjustments to your travel. With a grimace, holding back another groan, you manage to get to your feet. Father Wilhelm doesn't even glance up, entirely occupied with his painting as you grab the parchment and quills you set aside earlier in the day.

Collapsing back in your chair as soon as you're able, you set to a series of addendums and additions to the routine. You've traveled Corcaea far more extensively than most, thanks to your work with the Church of Mercy. There's at least some certainty as to where you'll be able to make the most of the natural terrain. Accounting for carrying all of the supplies you'll be taking on the venture, the hiking involved, and all of the natural resources that will be at your disposal seems to make the most physical portions of the regimen much more manageable. There's no telling how you'll be able to requisition enough supplies along the way, but you trust completely in Father Wilhelm to attend to it. You even factor in potential times of hiding or recovery along the most rural reaches of the Eventide River, hoping your travel will be much faster when you inevitably reach proper civilization.

While you don't know what you'll find in Wearmoor, its close proximity to Beorward is extremely reassuring. The two locales are only a few days travel apart, at worst. The prospect of having to cross Eventide River multiple times to avoid any scrutiny would usually be a headache, but your determination to incorporate as much exercise as possible into the trip makes it exciting. There was no mention of swimming in Father Friedrich's notes, but you take it into consideration as well.

I've pushed myself to far greater limits before. This will all be worth the effort.

Folding up your modified notes, you tuck all of the parchment aside in a shirt pocket. Your grimace is back in full force, at how tightly the fabric is resting against you, but your attention is called back to Father Wilhelm in seconds. He clears his throat, making it immediately evident that he's been watching you without wanting to interrupt your planning.

"What do you think?"

He gestures with a slick brush to the painting beside him. You're awe-struck, and entirely unable to reply for a few moments.

Hundreds of leaves have been meticulously painted onto the background of amber and gold. Little blue flowers litter the forest floor in the distance, dusted with snow. The only portion of the image that seems to be missing is Ray, the border, and what you imagine will be additional layers of paint and detail.

"It's— it's lovely, Father Wilhelm."

(1/3)

>>3978062
He's beaming, looking it over the canvas with ample pride, and goes straight back to the project.

"It is, isn't it?"

"I never could have conceived— not to say anything of your skill— but for a man of the cloth to be such an expert at the craft..."

There's no interruption, only a bemused smile as the painter makes a terrible rendition of your dog. It's immediately evident that he's never had to portray one before, and you almost laugh.

"Are you self-taught, Father?"

He does laugh, shaking his head and a hand at the terrible depiction.

"What gave me away? Wait. Don't answer that!"

"I appreciate the effort, Father Wilhelm. The rest of the portrait is stunning. Is this— your work, is it something more of a hobby for you, then?"

The brushes in hand are quick to get back to the portions of the image he's more comfortable with.

"A hobby, a gift for my guests, a little extra aid for the Church of Dream, for any patrons in Calunoth. These powders didn't make themselves, you know!"

"The herbs, as well?"

"I do garden, but the soil isn't the best, this close to the mountains. Most of them were gifts as well, yes."

"I recognized your myrrh, at the very least. It was a welcome surprise."

"Not too medicinal for you, eh? I was a little worried, but it's much better than eggs and vinegar—"

"M-Mercy, Father Wilhelm."

"Sorry, Richard. You need some mint, or something?"

"No— no, thank you—"

"I'm joking. You'd probably know better than I would about these things, wouldn't you?"

"There— there are plenty of herbalists in Corcaea, Father Wilhelm, it's— it's nothing special. Not like this."

You gesture to the painting before you, still marveling at it. You could probably count the number you've seen intact on one hand. You've heard stories of the Church of Dream being a patron to artists, but you hadn't fully understood the implications until now. Art, in any form that you know of it, is considered such an exorbitant waste of resources that it's typically reserved for nobility. Even then, men who have the time and resources to devote themselves to the craft are rarer still.

"To be entirely honest with you, Father Anscham, I reserve most of my supplies for Dream. Put up as much as I was able before you came in, and you did ask me to not discuss anything of the sort. I'd be happy to share them with you, another time, if you ever feel up to it. Besides—!"

You almost groan at the ham-fisted attempt to change the subject, but maintain your composure and respect.

"Your skill is something to be applauded! Not everyone is sharp enough to learn as much as you have, let alone know how to apply all your teachings. I've heard the stories!"

"Mercy, Father Wilhelm—"

"No, no, you need to hear some proper praise. You don't need Mercy to heal, do you?"

"If it weren't for Her, I would have never been taken in by the church to begin with—"

(2/3)

>>3978064
"I bet you could pin every plant in and around this building, couldn't you?"

"I— I mean— if it grew in Corcaea—"

"Didn't you tell me all about saving poor Ray here, with just a few herbs?"

"Celegwen did, really—"

"Don't be ridiculous, she was a butcher. You did even more for her, too! Haven't you taken men back from the brink of death with even less?"

"Yes— I mean, th-the quantity isn't as important as the potency, Father—"

"Absolutely. You're absolutely right. You must be turning your nose up at all my dried up and dusty supplies here. It's a blessing, really, that we're taking a more rustic path to see your parents! Imagine what we might discover in the coming days, and with your skill, no less?"

You're starting to reel from so many compliments. The only thing that may rival your fishing or healing ability is your mastery at deflecting from a proper conversation. It's a stretch, but you try broaching a subject you've never been able to get a straight answer for.

"We— we won't be passing anywhere near Eanlac, will we?"

"Eh? Mercy, no. It would be another few weeks out of the way, at best, this time of year. Why do you ask?"

"I've never been anywhere near the Church of Time. You reminded me of how little of the country I've explored, not just to the east, but— but our other churches, too."

"Astrid hasn't said a word to you, has she?"

"...Mother Aimar?"

"I'm forgetting myself. Yes, our lovely Mother Aimar."

"I received a single letter from her— the— the day I took up Father Edmund's title. Nothing since."

There's a very sad smile directed straight at you, as Father Wilhelm puts up his hair in a loose knot with a nearby paintbrush. He steps back from his painting, eyeing it briefly before sitting back down beside you.

"You have a serious problem, Father Anscham."

Your frown is so deep that you feel like your old self again. It's met with a slight laugh.

"Please, don't give me that face. I'm joking. You really can't help yourself, can you? I know you have so many questions— it's alright. It's quite alright. Do you actually want to talk about this? I told you I'd keep my lips sealed about any church business, but I really don't care to."

The look being directed at you is tinged with mania. It's obvious that Father Wilhelm is struggling to not launch into discussion regarding the Gods. The cracks along his skin, the shades of blue, are a constant reminder that his devotion at least rivals your own.

(Options in next post.)

>>3978067
>A) Ask Father Wilhelm to forget your earlier request. You want answers.

>B) Make an exception for tonight, but double-down on keeping any talk of the Gods out of the rest of your vacation.

>C) Stay firm, thank Father Wilhelm for being so patient, and change the subject. You can learn about all of this in due Time.
>1) You'd better head off to bed. This wasn't an appropriate line of conversation, and you could do with some reflection.
>2) Inquire as to his utter lack of experience painting animals. The fish in the painting is ridiculous, too.
>3) Ask for the story behind your new nightcap.

>D) Write-in.

>>3978070
>>A) Ask Father Wilhelm to forget your earlier request. You want answers.

>>3978070
>>A) Ask Father Wilhelm to forget your earlier request. You want answers.

>>3978070
>A) Ask Father Wilhelm to forget your earlier request. You want answers.

File: Catalyst Quest End of Fir(...).jpg (2.02 MB, 4500x3100)

2.02 MB JPG

>>3978093
>>3978228
>>3978536
(Thanks for your patience guys, spent half the night drawing a party pic for the last thread and absolutely lost track of the time! Full resolution in the discord, 4chan thinks the link is spam no matter how I format it.

My backlog for drawings is ridiculous, so I'll hopefully be able to drop a few more into the thread, and update your journal as soon as possible. I'm way too slow to draw for the thread in real time but hope you all enjoy in retrospect!

Locking the vote here, writing now.)

>>3978608
"I— I do. Sincerely. More than anything. I don't care if you were being entirely serious, Father Wilhelm. Maybe there is something wrong with me— but you want to discuss Them just as badly as I do. I know it."

You're trembling, and so is the hand that's set firmly on your shoulder. The cracks in the man's skin before you are only kept apart from your own scars by a scarce amount of silk. You know, unquestionably, that Father Wilhelm has been fighting with himself to not discuss the Gods since your arrival.

His blue eyes are swimming with frustration.

"I am trying my best to keep my word to you, Father Anscham. You're making it exceedingly difficult."

Fighting every urge to pull away, to glance aside, you stare back as firmly as you can.

"Please— forget my request. I've been in the dark for so long. I need answers. I need respite from my ignorance, Father."

The priest's will dissolves the instant that you appeal to his God.

"What do you want to know, Richard?"

More than seven hundred years of knowledge without learning a thing of your own home or the people within it has your eyes maddeningly wide, trying to take in as much as they possibly can. You only say one word, starved for a sane reply.

"Everything."

Father Wilhelm reclines, ever so slightly, taking his trembling hand off of your shoulder and pulling several times on his cigar. His obvious test of your restraint has you fidgeting with the chain around your neck, but no more than a few seconds must pass before you think you might get some reprieve.

"I'll tell you as much as I can. We'll talk all night, if you want, but I need you to relax. Let's move next to the hearth! The heat should do us some good. Ray seems to enjoy it enough."

You're grasping hard enough on the gold to possibly hurt yourself.

"He can wait. I can't. Please."

As Father Wilhelm speaks, he takes you firmly by the arm, pries your hand off of your holy symbol with a fair amount of force, and walks you next to the hearth.

"A compromise it is! Astrid is a terror. I bet you both would get along swimmingly. This makes perfect sense, spending your whole life fasting, I'm sure. The food and drink must be a lot easier to hold off on than all of this excitement! Bear with me just another second. As I was saying— it's a shame she's hardly written!"

Ray is back up on his feet, growling as a precaution at your obvious discomfort. Through clenched teeth, you command him to stay down, as you are gingerly made to recline next to the roaring fire.

"Simply marvelous. Mother Aimar's clergy and my own work together in many respects, mostly along the borders— I wasn't too rough, was I? He seems upset."

"Ray— sit. Down. Stay. Father Wilhelm. Please. He's only upset because he knows you're hurting me—"

The hand comes off of your arm in an instant, though it isn't the source of your discomfort.

You finally snap.

(1/4)

>>3978795
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bNhrCIVzj3Y

"Stop with the tests and games— everyone— everyone thinks that they know what I need. No one will let me learn in my own Time, or give me any answers, even when I finally ask for them. How— how am I meant to lead? Or— Mercy— or do anything befitting of my station, if I'm always being treated like this? Does no one legitimately respect me? Please, ANSWER the question, Father Wilhelm—"

"Richard—"

You practically bark the correction.

"Father Anscham."

Father Wilhelm pulls back, looking extremely apologetic.

"Father Anscham, I never meant any offense. You know I respect you. We lose clergymen every year to the Church of Time. We lose many more citizens still. I have only been trying to push your limits because I want to help you. It can wait for another Time. This is much more important. I sincerely can't believe that the Church of Mercy has taught you so little—"

"Why is it so difficult for anyone to speak plainly? I was taught to uphold my word, to be truthful in all things, to make oaths before I could possibly comprehend what they entailed— and it feels as if I'm the only man on Aerth who can do so—"

"That's not necessarily true—"

"I had to invoke Spirit to learn anything in the Church of Mercy worth knowing, Father Wilhelm."

A legitimately horrified expression looks back at you. You grimace back.

"Is that really the worst thing you've heard me confess to?"

"No, not by a wide margin. It simply explains a great deal."

"Tell me. I need to know."

The horror on Father Wilhelm's face is rapidly dissolving back into his usual, tired expression. He doesn't smile, but simply looks to you with so much pity that you don't know what to do with yourself.

"We don't know what happens, Father Anscham. At the Church of Time. People simply go missing. We keep their clergy in our outposts as a fear tactic. We use them for interrogation if we must, but even I don't know what they actually do."

"You— you must be lying."

"You've been told since you were a child, haven't you? Her will is unchangeable."

"Yes, but—"

"It's enough to keep most people in their place, isn't it?"

"That doesn't mean—"

"You've never met someone that's invoked Her, have you?"

"No."

"You certainly have never tried."

"No!"

"You were afraid, weren't you? To even pray to Her?"

"I— I would be lying, if denied it—"

(2/4)

>>3978799
"Mother Aimar is sworn to protect our country, our King, our people, just as you and I are. That doesn't mean she's indebted to share her work with either of us. I'm not withholding any information from you, Father Anscham. Cutting a straight path to Eanlac from here would take nearly a month by foot. I know you can't have traveled this far south before, no one ever has reason to, but I am not lying to you. If you ever wish to meet her, it would be my privilege to help you take safe passage to her church, but you should let this rest. At least, for now."

"Why should I—"

"You have absolutely no idea what you're doing when it comes to even the Goddess of your own church, Father Anscham. I know that you're afraid. It's alright. Everything is going to be alright, but you have to trust me, and let me help you. The Church of Time isn't going anywhere. I know, at the very least, that Mother Aimar respects you. She's written to me once before, as well, you know. Been in service to the Church of Dream for nearly 50 winters, and I've only heard from her twice! Can you believe it?"

"What— what did she say—"

"The first letter was to welcome me to my station, of course. I was appointed in similar circumstances to yours, in fact. Hardly the first choice, but my connection to Dream was so substantial that the last Mother of Dream thought me fitting. Mother Aimar was happy to acknowledge as much."

There's a very poorly timed pause that has you gritting your teeth. You manage to not interrupt, and you're terribly glad that you didn't. Father Wilhelm begins to rattle off so much information, so quickly, that it's all you can do to take it all in.

"The second was about you. I had Dreamed the night before. There was a child, on the footsteps of the Church of Mercy. Though his beard was red, his eyes were gold, and he spoke of his Father's pain. He begged for a rescue party to be sent. Before an open doorway, after leaving hundreds more, there was a man, slick with blood and sin. Supported by the hand of a demon, he emerged after weeks of turmoil, back into the light of day. There was a void at his side, a guide, that had not been looked upon in as much Time. He knew not what he sought, though he carried it around his neck. He required Our aid."

"The first time you recounted the Dream to me, you omitted a great deal—"

"I strongly suspected you would die if I wasted anymore Time. Mother Aimar told me as much. Her second letter was enclosed with an exorbitant amount of coin, enough to silence anyone that would question my immediate departure from the Church of Dream. She reassured me, that if I were to leave at once, I would make it to you in Time. I trusted her judgement, and met you within minutes of your exit from the ruins, did I not?"

"...it was almost the very moment I left, yes."

(3/4)

>>3978802
"That was no mere coincidence, Father Anscham. Neither was my Dream, and neither is the Relic you possess now. You may have no understanding of the consequences of using such an item, and you may still have much to learn, but the Gods are Merciful, Father Anscham. I know you've been taught at least that much."

Though you're more rested than you've ever been, you can't help but to feel exhausted.

"There is still so much I don't know, Father Wilhelm."

"I told you once before, and I genuinely meant it: I am more than willing, and able, to stay up all night, if you'd like. We'll have ample time to talk on the road, but this is as safe a place as any to discuss the Gods."

A hand apologetically goes back to your shoulder.

"I'm so sorry I don't have more answers for you, regarding Mother Aimar. You need to respect her, and Time, as I know you always have. The world isn't ready to lose you, Father Anscham. It scarcely knows you, either. I can give you as many answers as I'm able, but please don't be too upset if I don't know everything. I'm no demon."

>A) How can Father Wilhelm possibly say he respects you if he questions your ability to serve Mercy? What was that comment even about?

>B) What would the world possibly know about you, beyond your service to Her?

>C) What did he mean about your invocation to Spirit?

>D) Can Father Wilhelm plainly tell you as much as he's able about Dream?

>E) There's not enough Time in the world for all the questions you have. (Write-in anything else you wish to ask.)

>F) You seriously regret asking. This is way more than you bargained for, and are more than ready to go back to bed. Hopefully you can forget about all of this by the morning. Maybe over some proper exercise and fresh air, away from talk of the Gods.

>>3978809

>A) How can Father Wilhelm possibly say he respects you if he questions your ability to serve Mercy? What was that comment even about?
>B) What would the world possibly know about you, beyond your service to Her?
>C) What did he mean about your invocation to Spirit?
>D) Can Father Wilhelm plainly tell you as much as he's able about Dream?

>Why did the Church of Mercy treat me like they did?
>Have you ever met the king? What is he like? What does he think of the heads of church myself included?
>Tell me of the realm at large, what has the church of Mercy done in my absence?
>This relic, what do you think of it, are they going to try to take it away from me?
>You said we have allies, what of our enemies, demonic and otherwise?
>Father Sullivan tried to teach me, to help me learn and I failed. Do you think he ca forgive me? Do you think i deserve a second chance?
>When I return to the church, what am I in for exactly?

>>3978809
>>A) How can Father Wilhelm possibly say he respects you if he questions your ability to serve Mercy? What was that comment even about?
>>B) What would the world possibly know about you, beyond your service to Her?
>>C) What did he mean about your invocation to Spirit?
>>D) Can Father Wilhelm plainly tell you as much as he's able about Dream?

>>3978809
>>A) How can Father Wilhelm possibly say he respects you if he questions your ability to serve Mercy? What was that comment even about?
>>B) What would the world possibly know about you, beyond your service to Her?
>>C) What did he mean about your invocation to Spirit?
>>D) Can Father Wilhelm plainly tell you as much as he's able about Dream?

>>3978833
>>3978837
>>3978845
(Sweet Father of Mercy that's a lot. Going to do my best to update before work! Vote is locked, writing now.)

ok

>>3979106
Blessed ok man, what is your ancient wisdom?

>>3979072
"The only thing that has me upset is my inability to get a straight answer from anyone. I have so many questions— and I need answers, so desperately—"

Father Wilhelm makes a proper show of getting as comfortable as possible next to the hearth, putting himself in arms reach of his additional firewood, and gives you a sincere smile.

https://youtu.be/UgHKb_7884o

"I'll help you in any way I can, Father Anscham. Go on."

You scowl back.

"How can you possibly say that you respect me or want to aid me, if you think me too naive to serve Mercy? Have I not— have I NOT proven my devotion to Her beyond all measure? Am I not carrying a tangible form of Her gifts? Did She not embrace me? Do we not have a stronger bond than any other?"

You're intensely aware of how rude you're being. Accusing another church leader of having a weaker tie to his own patron is outrageously offensive, but you can't care. You're glaring, and it's all you can do to not punch Father Wilhelm for his own slander. He's entirely over the line, no matter how honest he's attempting to be with you.

"Father Anscham, I have never questioned your devotion for an instant. Regardless of the relationship anyone has with their patron, you know that Mercy loves you. I hate to be the one to have to spell this out for you, but that is the only thing you seem to know with any certainty."

"I have spent my entire life in devotion to Them. I have sacrificed everything for Them."

"The Gods, yes. Not the church, and not our people, and— how can I put this—"

"You took no issue speaking so candidly before, Father Wilhelm. Why stop now?"

His smile is infuriating, but it persists.

"Because I do respect your devotion. It's unwavering, even though it seems entirely unfounded. You've been made to abuse Them, and still have no idea what a healthy relationship is meant to look like."

You soften your grimace.

"I don't want to be another casualty, Father Anscham. I can't tell you in one night what the Church of Mercy should have been teaching you all of your life, but I'm going to do everything I can to help you, still."

It's becoming harder and harder to not cry. There's still a great deal of anger laced through the injustice in every word leaving your cracked and scarred lips.

"Why— why did the Church treat me like they did?"

"I still don't believe I fully understand the extent of it, let alone why."

You curl up as deeply around yourself as you can, despite the discomfort. Ray properly walks alongside you, dropping himself firmly next to your side, giving you someone else to hold onto. You keep to yourself, relieved for his lack of judgement, but you're too upset to oblige him.

Several very long moments pass. The crackle of the hearth isn't nearly enough of a distraction to stave off the memory, and it all quickly comes tumbling out.

(1/4)

>>3979137
"They sheltered me, as the Church of Mercy is sworn to do. No one from Pontos, who'd heard of what I'd done, would be able to harm me— the Church of Vengeance wouldn't execute me—t hey gave my parents a new home, better land, a better life."

There's no more anger in your voice.

"...away from me."

There's no stopping the outpour.

"They restrained me— from harming anyone else, or myself. They taught me, knowing I would never be a part of the church, but they still took enough pity on me to ensure that I could appear functional enough. While—"

There's no seeing the fire, as much as your vision is blurring, so you put your face in between your arms, wrapped as they are around your legs. You need something to hold onto, in the dark.

"While they tested me. I never should have survived my first invocation. I wanted to prove myself, I wanted to be stronger— I still do, Father Wilhelm. More than anything. I couldn't have realized— I didn't know. It's been thirty times now, Father Wilhelm. Thirty times that I've escaped the Catalyst. Thirty times that I've prayed to Vengeance. I know that even Father Pevrel cannot channel Him."

A simple nod confirms your research. You draw in even more tightly on yourself.

"The Church of Mercy didn't care— I'm certain that they never did— about keeping me alive. I have been a burden on them all my life, and they've done everything— everything in their power to hide their intentions from me. I couldn't have known what damage I was doing to my body, my mind, my soul— not out of desperation to prove myself and certainly not as I risked life and limb to uphold my oaths, my bonds— everything that I hold dear, everything that I've ever known—"

It's impossible to not fidget with the gold around your neck. It's so warm to the touch, and it's not from the fire beside you.

"Mercy has never hurt me in the same way as the church. I could call upon Her at will, from such a young age. My first sermon to Her saved the lives of hundreds— She's— She's always granted me, Our children, relief from Our pain. She's never starved me, or kept me in the dark. Her light— Her blessing— I know that I've never been alone. Not in the same way as being watched, or held down— being made to abuse Their gifts and never knowing why— having my vessel so scarred that it's plain to see to anyone who looks at me that I— that I have never known Them in the way as any other priest—"

Your shoulders are shaking. A hand goes to one of them, marred with exposed shades of blue. You look up to it, teary-eyed, and are met with a smile.

(2/4)