>>4042082
FIRST POST LETS GOOO

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>>4042082
https://youtu.be/flMl5iocfcQ

More heat was on you and in you than a mortal man should be capable of withstanding. More than what's burning in you, even now, for how flushed your face likely still is.

There was an embrace.

Looking to your own hands, you confirm that it wasn't a Dream. There is a solid band of yellow-gold, nestled at the base of your ring finger.

There is still a promise.

There's more of the metal littered in specks along your skin. Though they brush off with the slightest effort, you know that there is a permanent cast of the metal in your eyes, and all throughout your hair.

Not even the Goddess of healing and compassion could mend every scar along your skin, but you've felt Her.

She wants to be with me. To serve my vessel.

The sheets come up higher around you, in the dark of your bedroom.

Despite your prolonged silence and obvious discomfort, it seems Cyril still wants an answer. You are a Church leader, a preacher, and a farmer's son. Honesty not only has great personal meaning to you— it's a tenet of Mercy.

It's been months since you were last home.

Dodging questions comes even more naturally than dodging responsibility. "I would appreciate a little privacy, Cyril. What was I— why are you— how long have you been in here for?"

"Since yesterday. I was starting to get worried, sir."

"Mercy—"

"Heard a lot of that."

It's a blessing that you regained your ability to exercise restraint. The temptation to swear has never been greater.

He has the audacity to chuckle, but at least looks to the window. "Father Wilhelm was pretty big on not disturbing you, but I figured, well—!"

There's a wave, of an arm who's sleeve has been shorn. The muscle is directed towards crimson curtains, also pulled back in full. It's more than enough to let in the moonlight. A cast of blue from a clear night sky filters into the chamber. Sleep is fading fast, as you become aware of the cold air, the scent of the frigid river below the sheer cliffs. You can almost hear the water rushing below. The end of autumn is unrelenting, against the stone floors and broad wooden rafters. The hearth within your room has a low fire, unattended to by the mischievous priest across from your bed.

Despite the lateness of the hour and the perpetual slouch in his shoulders, Cyril seems to be wide awake. His hair is tied neatly back, his robes are free of blood, and his scar-laced knuckles are cracked in one fluid motion.

You cringe a little at the noise, and more at his proposal.

"Thought you'd appreciate making something of the night. Get you back to, well, something a little more normal. I mean, it's none of my business—"

"It is not." Grimacing is always appropriate.

"I didn't mean to interr—"

"You did." Your face is starting to hurt, between the flush and how hard you're frowning.

(2/3)

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>>4042086
The infuriatingly cheeky smirk is growing by the second. "Still! It's been nearly two days."

"You waited outside for a day? Two...?"

A shrug. More dodging. "I bet we could sneak you out before Fred even knows what hit him."

Asking anything of others usually escapes you, but this is too much. "Why are you watching me?"

"Orders."

"What orders?"

"Father Friedrich's."

A long moment passes between you both. You asked what, not who, but nothing more needs to be said.

You keep every inch of your frame out of view, despite your rigid posture. Trying to not think too long on what worship was uttered in your sleep is proving impossible.

There is only one thing, one divine focus, in your thoughts. It's in more than your mind.

For all the rest you should have had, you can feel the remnants of a Goddess throughout your body. Lingering in abuse, scar tissue, and emaciation. You're exhausted. Beyond your weariness, or perhaps because of it, there is a deeper impression. It's one of mutual love, devotion, and adoration. An embrace, that only You should be capable of sharing.

It's in your very soul.

She loves you.

The blankets come up as high as your broken nose and stark cheekbones. The heat is not dying down. An old, rustic, and persistent accent plagues you almost as much as your prolonged desire for decency. Soft-spoken at the best of times, your murmur and accent becomes almost inaudible through the want for modesty. For respect.

Breaking the silence is a small Mercy. "How much did you hear?"

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Don't worry about it."

Anxiety might as well be my middle name.

"I'm not one to judge."

He definitely is.

"Okay, maybe a little. Praying in your sleep is a bit much—"

Your face definitely hurts. In fact, almost everything hurts. You could do with another two days in bed.

"You can't tell me you don't want a break from all this craziness. A few good drinks couldn't hurt. A few good women couldn't, either—"

"Brother Trebbeck—"

"Don't lie to me! You'd probably kill for a night out."

You have done far worse things, and have no intention of elaborating on why you're grimacing even harder.

"No offense or anything, Father, but it wouldn't kill you to loosen up a little bit. It wouldn't hurt anything to take a few hours out, right? I could even show you a little around Beorward. Won't have a whole lot of bastards running around the streets at this hour. Not that I wouldn't beat down anyone who'd give you any trouble, but, well, it's like I said before, isn't it?"

He knows I am more than capable of protecting myself, so why is he acting as if I'm hurt?

Another sickening pop. The movement might be compulsive. "I don't know. Maybe roughing someone up might be good for you, too. What do you say?"

(Options in next post)

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>>4042089
>A] Reprimand Cyril for directly disobeying the orders of (3) three church leaders in one proposition. You have infinitely too much responsibility to deal with his shenanigans.
>1] Go straight to Father Friedrich's office, despite the late hour. You need to have words with him regarding the state of affairs.
>2] Find Father Wilhelm. He asked to see you in the evening, and you miss Ray. Get your dog and your Dream sorted out in full.
>3] You have a visit from the very Goddess of Mercy to sort out.

>B] You are a man of excess, temptation, and no small amount of sin.
>1] You'll sneak out and be shown around Beorward, but you will not stray from your vows.
>2] Everything in moderation, including moderation. Ask Cyril what he has in mind.
>3] You also serve a God of Vengeance, and you're pissed. Settle this blatant disregard for your position and your worship in the roughest bar Cyril can find.

>C] Write-in.

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>>4042091
Archive (Avowed starts with Thread 7): http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Catalyst%20Quest
Discord (Update notifications, art, music, fan projects, etc.): https://discord.gg/24cmNWp
Father Anscham's Journal (Your tenets, inventory, observations/ability through prayer, demons faced, and much more. Strongly recommended reading/viewing. Updated regularly.): https://drive.google.com/open?id=1r-yFdCSj0VJi63LsD3Vl9T0DWw4us6wn

>>4042091
>A2

>>4042091
>A] Reprimand Cyril for directly disobeying the orders of (3) three church leaders in one proposition. You have infinitely too much responsibility to deal with his shenanigans.
>>2] Find Father Wilhelm. He asked to see you in the evening, and you miss Ray. Get your dog and your Dream sorted out in full.

Id rather not reprimand him and just lay out that we have certain priorities we must attend to, he isn't saying anything out of ill will.

>>4042095
actually supporting this instead i completely forgot about wilhelm lol

>>4042095
Yeah no need to chew him out

>>4042093
>>4042094
>>4042095
>>4042097
>>4042099
(Got it, A2 with no reprimand. For the record, I typically prefer to integrate as many votes as possible when not unanimous, so don't be shy if anyone's lurking! Locking the vote here and writing now.)

>>4042114
The brisk air is waking you up rapidly. It's easier to remember yourself, your tenets, and that you are the Father of Compassion with each passing moment.

"I appreciate the offer, Cyril. Sincerely."

The blankets are tossed aside. You straighten your collar, realize that you must have slept in the same robes for the last two days, and breathe a sigh of relief. Your journal, and the note containing the interpretation of Dream is still on your person. Right alongside the flask of a demon, and a locket from Mercy Herself.

"Please try to understand."

It grants you enough reassurance to get up, to start grabbing the rest of your things. Wolfing down a handful of dried meat seems prudent, for not having attended to your body in days. You are still attempting to uphold the teachings of the Church of Flesh, too.

One of their priests seems adamant about tempting you. "You sure? I don't think they'd mind."

"There is no rest for the wicked, Cyril— and even less for the devout. Father Wilhelm explicitly asked to see me in the evening, and I intend to honor our arrangement."

The meat is so salty, you can barely finish speaking. The flask comes out, with a murmur. "Self-heal. Boneset. Tansy. ...something to offset the flavor."

The herbal tea comes with you, piping hot, as you head for the door. You are an herbalist, a healer, and chronically full. The tea does help with the exhaustion, but a very disgruntled blonde is frowning at you. Your murmur lifts. There's an attempt at a smile. "I know you meant no ill-will."

"Father of Dream, huh?" He's following you.

"Close the door, please. Gently, to not wake—"

It's closed roughly, echoing down the hall. "Sorry."

You're headed down the corridor, blessedly silent, save for the mutterings of a blonde directly at your back. Your steps are extremely broad, given your height. It's easy to miss because of his slouch, but the priest of Flesh seems to match your pace.

"Whatcha' goin' to talk about?"

"Business, Cyril. You can leave me be."

"Orders, Father Anscham! Can't say I'm not curious, either."

Turning the corner, exiting the exterior ward, you cut straight to the inner halls. It's significantly busier, even given the Time. You're taken aback by how many men are up and about.

"What has happened—"

"Call to arms."

"Where?" Awake for less than ten minutes and there is already another issue—

"It's alright. Not in Beorward. Defenses in Murgate aren't holding. Needed to get out a few more men."

"Mercy."

Another smirk. "You said it. They'll be alright. Try to not worry so much."

Outside of the interior ward, back to the courtyard, you're greeted by a substantially smaller field of flowers. The frown permanently etched across your face must catch on the light. Remnants of gold, the blossoms of sapphire and ruby, now seem to cover only the borders of the courtyard.

"That face. You need to stop that."

"It is difficult to not take these things personally, Cyril—"

(1/2)

>>4042175
"Don't take it so hard, then! Most of them went to the families. We lost a lot of men— more than men. You gave 'em something to remember 'em by. Right?"

There's no need to reply. Your grimace lifts, slightly.

There's still a flower of your own, a memento, on your person. Of the lives I saved.

To the southwest, another familiar sight greets you. One of the gentlemen you fought with is standing guard, healed and hale despite the late hour. The last time you saw him, he fought against insurmountable odds, and trusted his life to your shield. Your defense. Your Mercy.

His face lifts the moment you turn towards him, and he's smiling broadly once you are within speaking distance.

You match it. "Brother...?"

"Duval. Father Anscham. It's good to see you."

Cyril has his arms crossed, looking up to the top of the post. You follow his gaze, and catch a faint blue light emanating from the highest reach of the guard tower. You gesture to the light. "I have some business to attend to, with Father Wilhelm."

"Sure, sure, not a problem." Brother Duval's grip tightens, slightly, on the handle of his spear. "I wanted to thank you. You saved my life, Father. I don't— you must be busy. I don't want to keep you—"

A few steps forward. You are in a rush, but there is always a way to respect your Time. "There is no need to apologize, Brother Duval. To live is to serve— and it looks as if healing you was the greatest Mercy We could have provided. Thank you. For all of your aid."

Brother Duval looks like he wants to say something more, but he merely nods, and waves his spear. "He's up the stair. Door should be unlocked. Holler if you need anything."

"Of course."

Cyril trails directly behind you, as if he's going to be accosted for merely existing behind you. You try to not pay the childish behavior any mind, and reenter the stone and wooden defenses.

Trailing up an incredibly narrow and winding stair, you reach a narrow door. A small, hand-written note is on the iron-banded wood. It is written in blue ink, and says, "please knock softly. Dog (Ray) is asleep."

You move to do so, but the door opens before your knuckles can rap on the surface.

Half a foot below you stands a slender, middle-aged and utterly exhausted looking man. Clenched between his teeth is an incredibly fine cigar. Between the cracks in his skin and the shades of cerulean in his eyes, he seems to reflect the little light behind him. The most intense of the blue, the paint in his eyes, flashes up to you with a weary smile. It's pained, and very familiar, after having traveled for weeks together. "Richard."

"A-Atticus?"

"Relax. Father Wilhelm is fine. Atticus is fine. You brought company? Who's this?"

"Cyril— Brother Trebbeck. He insisted."

"Maybe he'll learn something. Come in, both of you. Pay a little mind to Ray, he's taking up the whole damn floor."

(Slightly over, 2/3)

>>4042177
The room is terribly small. There are no windows, but several slits in the stone for projectiles or launching more sadistic offense. You can see small grooves from stones and hot tar pushed through the gaps, in all of the stone and some of the wooden rafters. Like all of Corcaea's buildings, it appears to be constructed on top of and into a ruin. A remnant of a forgotten age.

It's mostly covered by blue sheets, smoke, and a stockpile of bones and other toys. Ray is sleeping, soundly, right on top of a rug in the center of the room. The colossal mastiff takes up nearly the entire floor space.

You can't help but smile. He's been cleaned up from the battle, is clearly well rested, and has been outfitted with a jet-black harness.

It is absolutely perfect.

A few gold fasteners are around the edges of what distinctly looks to be designed for holding a book.

Cyril blanches. "Is that a fucking pooch pouch?"

>A] Yes, it is, you love it, and you're giving Ray some attention before you do anything else.

>B] It is not a "pooch pouch," it is (write-in your catchy name for the ridiculous invention) and needs to be taken as seriously as the business you're attending to.

>C] Ray is sleeping, and you will see to him after your business with Father Wilhelm. There is a Dream to discuss.
>1] Give full disclosure regarding your vision, and permit Cyril to stay in the room.
>2] This is a private affair. Politely ask the priest of Flesh to leave.

>D] Write-in.

>>4042179
>>A] Yes, it is, you love it, and you're giving Ray some attention before you do anything else.

>>4042179
>>A] Yes, it is, you love it, and you're giving Ray some attention before you do anything else.

>>4042179
Could we get some proper armor for Ray too? I'm worried one of these days he is going to catch a poison dagger or random spear and bleed to death on us, I was thinking something like a studded gambeson. It is going to match the rest of our gear ofc.

>>4042209
(To be totally transparent, the tech level in Catalyst is equivalent to armor in a VERY dystopian 6th century AD. Though there is access and ability to create chain mail, gambesons and even some plate, resources are VERY SCARCE. Metal is terribly hard to come by, and at a premium. Outfitting enough men to fight onslaughts of demons is difficult enough. Men largely favor shields for protection, and if they can afford/find/be given further armor it goes to leg coverings or helmets. Giving a dog armor would be an extreme luxury, that you should likely take up with the leader of the main military force who has already given you several gifts! I will make note of this and have you guys bring it up at the first possible opportunity. Just wanted to be totally clear!)

>>4042210
I'm not looking for anything metal, that would be a bit overkill and reduce Rays mobility. Something relatively light that can protect him from bladed weapons, teeth claws or whatever. He is too fuck huge and full of muscle for blunt trauma to put him down that easily. I'd like to get Fred take on the best armor type too considering this is his stomping ground.

>>4042218
(Awesome, thank you for the clarification. I wanted to illustrate the armor typically available to men since, well, outfitting a dog in this setting is highly unusual. You guys are exceptional though, and best boy definitely needs some extra protection. All noted!)

>>4042184
>>4042195
>>4042209
>>4042218
(Alright, going to lock the vote here to keep the ball rolling. Writing now!)

>>4042179
A)
weewoo

>>4042245
>>4042305
"Yes. It is. It is phenomenal." You kneel down beside your best friend, and gently murmur, "hello, Ray. Want to wake up and say hello?"

At the sound of his name, the mastiff's eyes drift open. The very instant he lays sight on you, he's all verve. Over 200lbs of muscle and fur springs into the night. Panting, ears perked up, tail wagging, without hesitation, your dog launches himself towards you.

Cyril and Father Wilhelm take a broad step out of the room, as you're completely knocked back. Staying upright is absolutely impossible, but you're simply delighted to see your boy again.

"Easy! Easy, Ray— I missed you too. Down, boy! Easy!" A quick gesture immediately commands him to get his paws back to the ground, to give you a little needed space.

Dusting yourself off, you kneel back beside your hulking best friend. His old scars are barely visible, concealed largely by well-groomed fur. He looks extremely well rested, healthy, and is bursting with energy. You take him into a brief hug, and scratch behind his ears while inspecting the harness he's been outfitted with.

Cyril can't resist making another comment. "You're matching."

You grin back. "I know." The harness is the precise same shade as your own robes. The myriad pockets and pouches look to be capable of holding a respectable quantity of material. You don't want to bog down your best friend, especially after everything you've been through together, but it is tempting to consider how many bandages and herbs he might be able to aid you in carrying. More importantly, his broad frame seems more than fit to handle a simple leather-bound journal.

You fish the tome out of your own satchel, and present it in front of Ray. "Look. Ray. You are guarding this."

Several minutes are spent with a few strips of meat, instructing and rewarding your boy for recognizing and defending the item. You gingerly place it in a pouch in the center of the harness, to not have him struggle with his balance or have any issues resting.

He still looks utterly delighted, for all of the attention. You give him a brief kiss on his forehead, and glance back to Father Wilhelm.

Cyril has a cigar. He's grinning, puffing at it as if it's second nature. The two are talking in low voices, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle.

You don't care in the slightest, and give Ray a pat on the head before standing back up.

A deep blue nightcap crosses the short room towards you. Ray seems pleased by the respectable distance, without a single growl.

"Thank you for looking after him, Father Wilhelm."

"Least I could do! He slept nearly as much as you do."

"You're such a good boy, Ray." Your dog is beaming, living up to his namesake. The man beside you looks almost as pleased as you murmur, "I received your note."

(1/2)

>>4042316
A glint of turquoise and divinity catches in the grin. "I will see to the Dream, with respect paid to our Time. Through city streets we will roam. Smoke and cinder, brew and tinder. He will look for me in the Night." Puffing on his cigar, the smile persists. "It was a little too flowery for a full note."

"Thank you for sharing the Dream with me, Father."

"We envisioned much during my stay." A cloud nearly obscures more mania. He's reverent, despite his exhaustion. "I fear I'll have to take my leave by the morning. It would be a privilege to make something of the evening, Father Anscham. You've seen to your Dream, and served Him dutifully! It would be a shame to pass up the opportunity, to interpret another, wouldn't it?"

Spending several weeks with the Father of Dream has given you a penchant for interpretation. You want to give the priest an answer to his prayers. To thank him for his weeks of devotion and sacrifice.

To make something of the Night? To live is to serve, is it not?

>A] You could kick up some cinder, in the seediest and roughest bars Cyril knows of. It may be a blessing in disguise, to be supervised by a local.

>B] A good brew would be an excellent capstone to Father Wilhelm's aid. Go to the coziest taverns in the city. You want to get comfortable, and share in your mutual respect.

>C] Smoking is the man's favorite habit. Try to find the finest establishments Father Wilhelm and you can afford. A cigar lounge seems proper, and befitting of men of your station.

>D] Write-in.

>>4042325
>>C] Smoking is the man's favorite habit. Try to find the finest establishments Father Wilhelm and you can afford. A cigar lounge seems proper, and befitting of men of your station.

>>4042325
>>D] Write-in.
Cyril, Wilhelm, Dick and Ray go take some cigars and beer, to enjoy around a campfire in the cozy nature next to the river.

>>4042330
Changing to this.

>>4042330
Support.

>>4042330
>>4042342
>>4042346
(Damn this is comfy. Locking the vote here, writing now.)

>>4042330
>>4042342
>"Politely" telling Cyril to fuck off when he offers to go get drinks, but being 100% down when Wilhelm does the same
Talk about shitting all over him, poor dude. Might as well not invite him at this point

>>4042325
>d] Take Ray out and procure some treats for him, he deserves it

>>4042350
(Missed the lock by one minute but I just started writing, so going to include this. Vote is actually closed now!)

>>4042350

Why is that shitting on him? We didn't get drinks with him because we were going to shoot the shit with Wilhelm regardless, also he is just a brother, I'm sure he understands why we would rather attend to a Father of a church first.

>>4042355
Looking apologetically to the priest of Flesh, you give the best interpretation you're able. "I think a few drinks would be prudent. Is there any way we could get down to the river, Cyril?"

"You sure?" The room is rapidly filling with smoke. He seems altogether too pleased by the proposition. "We'll need something for the road."

Father Wilhelm is grinning like a maniac. He's seen this before. There's a flourish, as he tosses aside one of the blue sheets in the small guard tower.

There is a stack of bottles, labeled with various exotic and exorbitantly luxurious family names. "Beer or wine?"

It is excellent, and halfway gone by the time you're at the exterior walls. You all have a ridiculous hat. Where Father Wilhelm acquired several new hats is a mystery, but you have then, nevertheless.

There are so few citizens on the streets that Father Wilhelm and Cyril seem to have no concern for the context of their conversation.

"This is nothing. You should see the wenches I've drank under the table!"

"Oh? Whereabouts?"

"The Broken Drum, of course—"

They both simultaneously are laughing, "it can't be beat!"

The beer is outstanding, and nearly gone by the time you get to the river Morinburn. The blue haze of the sky overhead, the cold mist from the fast moving water, and the rapidly growing camp fire is more than you could hope for.

A break from Cyril's and Father Wilhelm's banter would be a blessing, for the context.

"Corsets, Father Wilhelm?"

"Corsets."

"Better on the floor, if you ask me!"

They're laughing. There is a lot of smoke, rising, from the cinder and tinder. You lean back, looking to the clear sky. There are no stars, but the air is awash in a streak of blue. You're as crimson as the priest's robes, and remain completely silent. The beer is perfect. It's clearly from outside of Corcaea. You've had your fill, and then some, with no pain to speak of.

Enough to listen to something less than chaste, without fear of retribution. Enough to speak candidly.

>A] Boast about your own experience. You're the Father of Mercy, and earned your title.

>B] Listen to the exploits of Father Wilhelm and Cyril, but keep to yourself. You've taken a vow of chastity.

>C] Not only are you keeping to yourself for now, you are having a lot more to drink. Ray can look after you.

>D] Write-in something a little more decent. You have to stretch your mind, in the city of Flesh, to take your mind somewhere else.

>>4042471
>>B] Listen to the exploits of Father Wilhelm and Cyril, but keep to yourself. You've taken a vow of chastity.

>>4042471
>Drink m o r e
>"Hey, wanna hear about an old flame I kinda had before I took my vows?"

>>4042471
>>C] Not only are you keeping to yourself for now, you are having a lot more to drink. Ray can look after you.

>>4042471
>C] Not only are you keeping to yourself for now, you are having a lot more to drink. Ray can look after you.

Mention the fuck zone but don't let too much slip

>>4042471
>>C] Not only are you keeping to yourself for now, you are having a lot more to drink. Ray can look after you.

>>4042471
>>C] Not only are you keeping to yourself for now, you are having a lot more to drink. Ray can look after you.

>>4042471
>C] Not only are you keeping to yourself for now, you are having a lot more to drink. Ray can look after you.

>>4042475
>>4042477
>>4042479
>>4042481
>>4042483
>>4042484
>>4042485
(Locking the vote here, I have a way to integrate all of these. Writing now!)

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>>4042485
>>4042484
>>4042483
>>4042481
>>4042479

>>4042494
There is not enough beer in all of Corcaea to handle these two.

Fortunately, you have beer from outside of Corcaea. It is delicious, rivaling the contents of your flask from a demon. An endless flask.

Cyril has finished no fewer than three flagons of ale, and seems to be on his second cigar. The slouch in his shoulders has persisted, and the rest of him seems equally relaxed as he leans back against a nearby tree.

"Heels?"

Father Wilhelm is smoking two cigars at once, somehow. His hat has two more nightcaps on top, each one gaudier than the last. Where he's getting the hats from escapes you, but there they are. "You know. Not for butchers, or for riding, but—"

A gesture, vaguely resembling legs. He enjoys painting. It is obscene. You avert your eyes. You are chaste, and settle them on another bottle. It's mead, sweeter than the conversation, and altogether too curvaceous.

"M-Mercy."

Cyril is laughing, unaware of your struggle. "Better on the floor!"

There's a faint buzz. Not from the bee, but in the back of your head. The campfire is fantastic. The beer is fantastic.

"You don't know what you're missing, Father—"

"Of course I do!"

"Oh?"

Father Wilhelm is trying to talk while smoking three cigars. "Five sons don't make themselves!"

"Only five?"

"...only?"

"Father Friedrich's got nine, NINE, and more daughters than I can count."

"What about you, then?"

"Just the one. No corsets required!"

You smirk, through the bottle of honeyed liquor. It's nearly empty, and your head is full of old memories. Of demons, and sin. Vows nearly broken.

Cyril makes a spectacle of sitting upright with perfect form, turning the slightest motion into an exercise. "What about you, Father Anscham?"

Father Wilhelm groans. "It's not going to do you any good, with all the liquor!"

You can't help but disagree. The effort is devotion in and of itself. Unfortunately, your own devotion to Flesh has come at a cost. Your tremor is decidedly more pronounced, for how much you've had to drink. It doesn't phase your grimace, or your speech. "Flesh can be worssshiped in many waysh, F-father Wilhelm."

Both heads snap to you, wide-eyed and grinning.

"No."

"Richard."

"I knew you were being too quiet! Come on, you can't just say something like that—"

Murmuring into the last of the mead, you try to stay discreet. "I would prefer to not discussh the fuckzone—"

Cyril gasps entirely too dramatically. "Father Anscham. You— no. I don't believe it. What? WHAT?"

You're frowning, and put aside the mead. Ray is more than happy to let you lean against him, as you uncap your flask once again. Murmuring, "my vows are unbroken, Cyril," you're back to a very substantial brew. One made by a demon.

The thirty check marks on the golden underside of the item are definitely visible as you drink.

Cyril is staring at you, flabbergasted. "You have to tell us."

(Just over, 1/2)

>>4042559
Father Wilhelm is smirking. You've already confessed this to him, and he's at least showing you enough respect to not spill any details.

You literally pull into yourself, wrapping an arm around Ray, and firing an extremely modest look to Cyril. It says everything you need to say, but you are a master of deflection. You can do better.

>A] Ask him and Father Wilhelm something that will totally distract them from your own exploits.
>1] Ask them about the demons they've faced.
>2] Ask them about their old flames.

>B] Make some lighter conversation. You're uncomfortable, and REALLY don't want to relive extended torture at the hands of a succubus.
>1] Ask Father Wilhelm about his hats. Father Friedrich made a weird comment about them, and you're curious.
>2] Offer to share your flask with the men you're drinking with. See what they might pick, and why.

>C] Write-in.

>>4042563
>>B] Make some lighter conversation. You're uncomfortable, and REALLY don't want to relive extended torture at the hands of a succubus.
>>1] Ask Father Wilhelm about his hats. Father Friedrich made a weird comment about them, and you're curious.

>>4042566
+1

>>4042563
>>A] Ask him and Father Wilhelm something that will totally distract them from your own exploits.
>>1] Ask them about the demons they've faced.

>>4042566
>>4042572
>>4042574
(Locking the vote, going to combine these. Writing now.)

>>4042606
The sky is spinning. The last time you were this drunk, you were in the arms of a succubus.

Your accent is coming out, hard, through the slur and more relaxation than you've had in weeks. It's almost as pronounced as the occasional muscle spasm, but you really don't mind. The beer is phenomenal. "Enuff 'bout moi daemons. What oif the ones you'ff contended wit?"

Cyril is smirking. He absolutely can't resist, launching straight into a boast. "WELL! It's face was split in two. Every inch was covered in hair. A beast, each leg as wide as Father Friedrich's shoulders! A gaping, dripping maw—"

Father Wilhelm is trying to smoke a fourth cigar.

A pause, from the priest of Flesh. "Are you even listening?"

"Yesh, yesh, of courshe." His hats are staying in place, all six of them.

Standing, the blonde continues, making a terrific motion with his arms and legs. It reminds you of a monster, for how much the world is spinning, but you're all smiles. He spins to the side, mocking a fight despite his inebriation. The man has perfect control over his form, for all of the drama. "O Flesh, I implore thee, I said, fighting to save my little dew drop's life! It was an easy blow, across my jaw! The very soil cracked underfoot from the force of our blows!"

The priest cups his hands to his mouth, mocking a screech. It's very restrained, quite silly, and has you all laughing. "His screech would have deafened a mortal man! NO frenzy would take me! I PLUNGED—" he punches forward, with perfect form, arcing his arm up as if he was digging into a barrel chest, "straight into its heart! Its teeth and maw were destroyed!"

"May oihll th' Goids be prais'd—" you murmur, knocking back a little more beer.

Father Wilhelm is beaming. "Impressive, Cyril. Impressive."

"It collapsed underfoot. I stood, triumphant, with the very God of the Material at my side!"

You lean forward. Ray is right at your side, looking to you lovingly. You pat his back, adjusting his harness, making sure he's comfortable. "Such a good boiy. F-Father Wi'helm," there's a gesture, to the pile of hats on his head. To the stupid gold-trimmed cap you're wearing. To Cyril's red and spotted night cap. "Th' haats. Sorc'ry?"

The Father of Dream looks up, taking out three of the four cigars from his teeth so that he may speak a little more clearly. "An astute observation, as always, Richard."

"Fath'r Ansccam," you correct, as well as one could hope for. Ray's ears perk up, nuzzling under your arm for how hard you're leaning on him. "'ts ahn oiwful risk, 'sn't it?"

The nightcaps come off in full, with a sweep of the priest's— the sorcerer's hand. "An experiment. It's always struck me as odd."

Cyril picks the cap off his blonde head, scrutinizing it intensely. "It's not cursed, or anything, yeah?"

(1/2)

>>4042768
"Don't be ri'iculois." Leaning harder, you make an attempt to adjust your own cap. A few strands of gold are likely peeking out, but you're satisfied with the effort. "Oi trust Fahth'r W'helm coimplet'ly."

"Appreciated, Father Anscham. It's fascinating, isn't it? Our ties to the arcane are tenuous, at the best of times."

"Work oif dem'ns."

"I could never produce a holy symbol through the work, of course. But the— a more evocative symbol seems to be easy enough!" He places his old and singed nightcap back on his head, seemingly generated out of nothing but oil paints and whimsy. "Only took a few decades of practice, but easy enough."

You and Cyril are both stunned. You've had much more experience with Magic, having befriended a conjurer of immense skill.

>A] Ask Father Wilhelm what he makes of the items Yech has conjured for you. You have quite a few of them, and you know he's seen everything in your possession in the weeks you've traveled together.

>B] Cyril is being suspiciously paranoid regarding Father Wilhelm's hobbies. You're worried, and too drunk to not be honest. Express the concern.

>C] Restraint is a tenet of Mercy, and you're definitely at your limit. Magic is fascinating, but you are a man of the Gods, and need to remember yourself.
>1] Make a little more light conversation. Change the subject. Maybe you can express a little more gratitude towards Father Wilhelm.
>2] Suggest that you all turn in for the night. Sober up with the walk back to the Church of Flesh.

>D] The night is still young, and so are you. You can handle a lot more than this.
>1] Propose that you all make some fishing rods, and make the most of the river.
>2] You're itching for some deeper conversation. Do some prying into Father Wilhelm's study.
>3] You're so grateful for everything Father Wilhelm's done, and you're terribly drunk. Get sappy.

>E] Write-in.

>>4042771
>>D] The night is still young, and so are you. You can handle a lot more than this.
>>1] Propose that you all make some fishing rods, and make the most of the river.

(End to the balls to the wall session today, running to the store to get some groceries. Updates as usual will be at least once a day for the remainder of the thread, and far more if we have steady votes. Thanks for the phenomenal start to the thread everyone! I'll be back soon.)

>>4042771
>>A] Ask Father Wilhelm what he makes of the items Yech has conjured for you. You have quite a few of them, and you know he's seen everything in your possession in the weeks you've traveled together.

>>4042771
>A] Ask Father Wilhelm what he makes of the items Yech has conjured for you. You have quite a few of them, and you know he's seen everything in your possession in the weeks you've traveled together.

>>4042771
>A

With a bit of >C1

>>4042784
>>4042795
>>4042801
>>4042857
(Locking the vote here, going to write as soon as possible. Should have one more post out tonight minimum.)

>>4043236
The desire to fish has never been greater. You channel the urge, from the depths of your restraint to the flask at hand. "Wa'err."

"Holding up alright there, Father Anscham?" Cyril is attempting to perform an increasingly complex maneuver on a single foot, arms outstretched, with a number of Father Wilhelm's hats.

"Oi'm jus' foine." There is a lot of heat in your face. It feels as if there might as well be an arm draped around your shoulder, a hand grazing the crimson along your cheeks.

In a sweep, he pulls back his arm, and catches all of the nightcaps with the same hand.

It's too difficult to clap politely, though Father Wilhelm manages. You're entirely preoccupied with the gift of a demon. It may be that you're too drunk for finer motor control, but your interest is piqued in the priest's dabbling in the arcane. A few more swigs of water later, and you point the flask at Father Wilhelm. It's as politely as you can manage. "Sorsery is terr'bly uncohmmon amon' human mehn. If Oi maey, Fahther Wi'helm?"

He nods, with a grin of absolute endearment.

Two decades of conditioning are temporarily forgotten. The compulsion to be as presentable as possible is replaced with the taste of potent beer and demonically good mead.

There's still something divine, in the heat. Through the haze, you don't forget to stick to the water, and to your questions. "Wha' do youu make oif the gif's Yech en'rrus'ed too me?"

Cyril is trying very hard to not laugh. A wiser man pelts a nightcap at his face, silencing the man in an instant.

The Father of Dream scoots around to the side of the campfire, by you and Ray. His voice drops to a murmur. He even takes the last cigar from his teeth. "Yech's Catalyst was something truly remarkable. I may have my misgivings, but it's nothing short of a miracle that you befriended such a powerful ally. Treasure what he's given to you. I doubt you'll ever find a mortal man with the same degree of skill."

It's hard to not miss the archdemon. "His skill is wiffou' compaere."

"That shield of yours seems capable of withstanding any assault, Richard."

"Yess."

"I suspect the other gifts you were granted are just as spectacular."

"They ahre."

"They're far beyond my skill to study." A very delighted smile looks up to the night sky. "The best I can do is attempt to interpret."

"You'ff been ahn incre'ible help. Oi don't knohw if Oi can ehver—"

"You don't have to thank me. Getting you back on your feet was about more than merely doing my job, Father Anscham."

Even through the soft gold, the nonexistent edges of the world, a blur and the blue, you can see weariness soaking into Father Wilhelm's frame. "Youff pushed yourseff harderr 'han you roightfully shou'd. I's not roight—"

"It has been an unbelievable privilege, and I wouldn't have traded these weeks for anything in the world."

(1/2)

>>4043437
You hold a little more tightly onto Ray. Despite everyone's intoxication and weariness, you're determined to still make your mentor and peer proud. Ray immediately rises as you move to get on your feet, to make something of the rest of the night.

Were it not for his aid, you'd certainly have fallen over. "Good boy, Ray— eeasy—"

"Alright! We're heading back."

"Boi ahll the Gohds, Cyril—"

A light laugh, as Father Wilhelm's cigar is replaced in full. "Where do you think you're going, then?"

"Fisheen'." Absolutely nothing on Aerth will stop you from stripping off some nearby bark. It goes from strips into the thinnest strands that your trembling hands can manage. It's extremely ineffective, given the tremor and occasional spasm, but your determination is without equal. Ray is right by your side, for support, unquestioning as always. You're endlessly relieved for the company, eventually banding together enough twine and sticks to make three remarkably competent poles.

Tossing Cyril's to him seems appropriate, which he catches effortlessly. "Hey—!" A glance of legitimate surprise. "This is pretty good. You're not so stuffy, are ya', Father?"

A smirk, as you hand off the matching pole to Father Wilhelm.

"Eahdric is alongsoide the Morinburn, Cyril. Oi grew up fisheen'."

You all settle alongside the banks of the river, sleeves pulled back. Your skill, upbringing, hobby and obvious divinity gives you a colossal advantage over even Father Wilhelm's competency as a fisherman.

Cyril is still not catching anything. "This is bullshit. You're not lying to me, are you—"

"Don't 'nsult me. Oi've 'ad an incred'ble teacher."

You're elbowed roughly in your side by the ice fisherman to your right. Ray shoots a warning glance at Father Wilhelm's nudge, though your dog is laying comfortably beside you.

The frown fades, with the steady stream. Three smiles are reflected back against the water.

It's so clear, and the moon is so bright, you can practically see schools of fish in the streams of sapphire. Periodically, you're adept enough to nab yet another bite. Ray has been well-behaved enough to warrant a little spoiling, from three fish so far. Father Wilhelm is obviously holding back. Not only to leave any further reward of your dog to your discretion, but to try and give Cyril some encouragement.

"Brute force isn't always the answer, is it, Brother Trebbeck?"

"Yeah, yeah."

>A] You are the Father of Compassion. Fashion a makeshift spear for the priest of Flesh, so that he can keep up. You're not getting close enough to the current for how intoxicated you are, but you can do him a small Mercy.

>B] Try to teach Cyril a little about fishing, without bait. He may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he seems to mean well enough.

>C] Focus on enjoying your Time on the shore. This will likely be the last time you see Father Wilhelm for quite awhile. (Write-in anything you'd like to say or do.)

>>4043446
>A] You are the Father of Compassion. Fashion a makeshift spear for the priest of Flesh, so that he can keep up. You're not getting close enough to the current for how intoxicated you are, but you can do him a small Mercy.

>>4043446
>>C] Focus on enjoying your Time on the shore. This will likely be the last time you see Father Wilhelm for quite awhile. (Write-in anything you'd like to say or do.)

Ask Wilhelm to help interpret our dream and also talk about the dream demon we fought in the ruins

>>4043446
>C] Focus on enjoying your Time on the shore. This will likely be the last time you see Father Wilhelm for quite awhile.
Dream is space innit

>>4043491
>>4043772
>>4043788
(Good morning everyone! Locking the vote here. I have no plans today so if we get votes in I can write a lot.)

>>4044100
"Hold this," your own fishing pole is promptly shoved at Cyril, who is making no use of his own.

"Hey! What're you—?"

His smirk persists, as you stagger alongside Ray to another nearby branch. The outskirts of Beorward, like most of the country, are overgrown to the point where you could never want for a tree. Fashioning a spear takes hardly any time, for all of your experience. The small knife you generally keep only for calligraphy is applied with the same devotion as everything else in your life. In a matter of minutes, you've fashioned a weapon that even a priest of Flesh shouldn't object to wielding.

Tossing the item to him, you're pleased to see that he's more than satisfied. "Well, shit, Father, you really didn't have to." The priest immediately hops to his feet, giving you back both fishing rods.

Murmuring, you're humble, and can likely barely be heard. "Least I could do."

"I didn't want to complain, but this is a lot more my speed. Thanks—" What was surely intended as soft jab to your shoulder nearly knocks you off your feet. "Shit!"

You're righted, as the world spins from under you. Ray is more than happy to growl at the offender, who puts his hands up, back, and to the spear. Sitting back down beside Father Wilhelm, you both watch a moment as your drinking companion fearlessly wades out into the river, fighting the current to skewer multiple fish in a row. He makes it look effortless.

The priest beside you is all smiles. "Mercy, eh, Father Anscham?"

"Oh?" You've got your flask back out, trying to sober up as best as you're able. There's a heat in you that will simply not die down. Even an endless amount of water seems incapable of compensating for how much liquor you've had, but you're trying.

Father Wilhelm mutters, "there is a lot of talk."

Your frown is back in full.

"But I don't believe anyone who meets you could doubt it for a second! Your connection to Her is— well!"

If you weren't mistaken, you'd think the Father of Dream looks a little insecure. For all of the cracks in his skin, and the way he's looking up to the night sky, you want to reassure him. Your face is still beet red. There's nothing short of a full embrace around you. It's definitely not from the dog at your side, looking quietly to the water. It's not of any mortal woman, either, but you cough a moment, trying to level yourself. "You have dedicated your entire life— your entire self— to Dream, too."

It's not a question. You don't hesitate, sobering rapidly, producing the hand-written note from your pocket. The blue ink catches on the moonlight the moment it's presented. "This is your work, Father Wilhelm. Your devotion. I cannot possibly hope to understand Him as well as you."

(1/2)

>>4044168
The look directed back towards you is very familiar. Father Wilhelm takes the letter back, his smile softening as he lovingly pours over the page. His brow does furrow a few times, with concern and scrutiny, but ultimately the page is shown back to you. The priest keeps it in hand, not wanting to let go so soon.

"This is still phenomenal work, Father Anscham. Phenomenal."

"Thank you."

"Dream has seen fit to bless you, has he not?"

"Yes."

"With His form?"

"In a way, Father Wilhelm."

A very unhinged look is geared straight at you. "Do you know what it feels like? For Mercy to visit another?"

Your brow knits. You're an honest man. "No."

"I assumed as much." The letter is handed back to you, with a smile. "You are gifted, Father Anscham. This is spectacular work. There was only one thing—"

"Please."

"Your suspicions, regarding the King and his court. It's incredibly concerning. This letter is tantamount to treason!" A very light laugh. A concerned glance to Cyril, who is out of earshot. "Though I suppose you have written worse things. Keep it close. I don't believe your concern is founded."

With a frown, you fold the letter back, and place it once again in your pocket. "What of the rest?"

"To interpret is to serve. But even if ours may differ, it—"

"Father Wilhelm. I— I do not believe we will see each other again for some Time. This may be our last opportunity to share, to Dream, until we meet again."

He doesn't hesitate, grinning broadly at so much reassurance. "Well. I strongly suspect that your assessment of the white thread is misplaced."

You blanch. "I am certain it is not."

He smirks, crossing his arms. "See? What did I just tell you?"

"I know that I have seen much." There are hundreds of years of collective memories, buried somewhere behind the back of your mind for its own protection. A fraction of the insanity probably leaks out, into the stare you direct to the man across from you, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"For everything that the Church of Mercy has tried to keep from you, you at least know that the Church of Spirit's symbol is a white thread?"

"Yes."

"Did you not also recently write to Father Sullivan?"

"Yes."

"Are you not responsible for sending for his aid again the very same day?"

There's a cold sweat on you. Ray whines, dropping his head on your leg for reassurance. You scratch behind his ear, murmuring, "yes."

"He is going to be very interested in your work, Father Anscham, if he is not already." The adoration for the religious work fades for the briefest of moments. It's fading into sympathy.

"What...?"

The charge of of Cyril kicking up water downstream, the rush of Morinburn, a few crickets in the distance, and Ray's steady panting are the only sounds in the air for a few long moments.

Father Wilhelm looks to you with deep concern. "You want to investigate into the Church of Agriculture. Into Mother Bethaea's death."

(Just over, 2/3)

>>4044169
A nod, with absolute conviction. "It is only right."

"Please don't get yourself hurt. The Church of Agriculture has enough turmoil without someone else stirring the pot."

"I do not—"

"It's going to become increasingly difficult for us to communicate. I'll take care of the messengers, alright? Don't waste your Time with horseback." A smile. "Not with the work you intend to do! I'll use blue birds."

You're frowning. "Do you think something a little less obvious—"

The smile is lanced with embarrassment. "You're right, of course. They're all I keep at the Church. I'll acquire something else."

>A] Propose that you use a code. (Write-in any suggestions.)

>B] Suggest a phrase to use, for you to indicate any future correspondence you have is authentic.
>1] Going fishing
>2] Nightcap
>3] Write-in

>C] You are going to be on the move for the foreseeable future, and it's going to be very hard to reach you in any event. Suggest another method for you to initiate contact with Father Wilhelm. (Write-in.)

>>4044171
>1] Going fishing

>>4044171
>B] Suggest a phrase to use, for you to indicate any future correspondence you have is authentic.
>1] Going fishing

>>4044171
>>B] Suggest a phrase to use, for you to indicate any future correspondence you have is authentic.
>>1] Going ICE fishing

>>4044175
>>4044176
>>4044179
(Awesome, locking the vote here and writing now.)

>>4044201
"Father Wilhelm."

"Richard, you have that look—"

"It is nothing— I am not crazy, Father."

The lack of a direct reply borders on insult, but it comes from a good place. "You worry me. You know that."

"It is perfectly innocent."

"Of course it is."

"I thought it might be prudent to place a phrase in our correspondence, that is all—"

The man beside you can't help but laugh. He's obviously terribly embarrassed. "Is that really all?"

"Yes!"

He wipes a tear from the side of his stark blue eyes. "Well?"

"'Going fishing'. If either of our writing has been compromised, we can change it to 'Going ice fishing'." A very concerned look is directed to you. It's between a smile. You've seen the look before, on your own father's face, and it's making you terribly uncomfortable. Your brow furrows tighter. "Is something wrong?"

"No, Richard. No. This is a spectacular idea."

"Something is wrong. You— you have a look, Father Wilhelm—"

"I'm just worried."

"Please try not to be. I am fine—"

"You slept for two solid days."

You're definitely still blushing, and remain completely honest. "It was a blessing."

"It isn't healthy, Richard."

"Pardon me?" Since when is it appropriate to criticize another church leader's relationship with their patron?

"Dream has seen fit to help you, to guide you, but it is abundantly clear to me why."

When it has to do with their own. This makes sense.

But it wasn't a Dream, was it? Was I even asleep? It certainly doesn't feel like it.

"I wish I had known you sooner. Been able to help you sooner. Been able to stay longer."

Every time you feel you've had one question answered, it feels like a hundred takes their place.

"Were you abusing Mercy?"

Righteous conviction and no small amount of anger at the accusation takes hold of you. A possession. "No."

Father Wilhelm pulls back, very slightly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

Your expression softens, though it may be imperceptibly. "I know. I am not offended, Father Wilhelm, I simply want to understand. Why would you think for a moment...?"

"The work you've done here in the Church of Flesh is utterly unprecedented. There has been a lot of talk. Most people who have heard of your ability scarcely can believe you're human— please don't give me that look, Richard, it's not like that! Not the work of a demon, or anything so sinister."

A hand goes to your shoulder. "They think you're something of a God, Richard."

(Options in next post.)

>>4044231
>A] That's the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard. You're a common man, who's been thrust into a position you never deserved. You're just trying to do the right thing.

>B] You don't want ANYTHING to do with that sort of worship. That's blasphemy, of the highest degree, and you'll actively oppose anyone who is willing to worship you before the Goddess of Mercy.

>C] That's nice, and you do like to think of yourself as Mercy's partner, but there's still a King in the country who holds himself as "the Merciful." You are not a traitor, you are not a heathen, and you will not risk your life to acknowledge these rumors.

>D] This could be worth looking into. You have your suspicions about the King and their court, and if the people want to worship you, maybe you could do a little digging. There's no need to be suicidal again so soon, not after finding so much to live for, but you'll keep your eyes and ears out for some more information on this.

>E] You're changing the subject, HARD, back to the subject of you abusing the Gods. You have no idea what to make of this kind of talk, and want to focus on what you know: that you're a man, of ALL of the Gods, and that you simply want to know how to handle Them.

>F] Write-in.

>>4044232
>>B] You don't want ANYTHING to do with that sort of worship. That's blasphemy, of the highest degree, and you'll actively oppose anyone who is willing to worship you before the Goddess of Mercy.

>>4044232
>] This could be worth looking into. You have your suspicions about the King and their court, and if the people want to worship you, maybe you could do a little digging. There's no need to be suicidal again so soon, not after finding so much to live for, but you'll keep your eyes and ears out for some more information on this.

>>4044232
>C] That's nice, and you do like to think of yourself as Mercy's partner, but there's still a King in the country who holds himself as "the Merciful." You are not a traitor, you are not a heathen, and you will not risk your life to acknowledge these rumors.
Aren't we seeing King Big next?

>>4044232
>D] This could be worth looking into. You have your suspicions about the King and their court, and if the people want to worship you, maybe you could do a little digging. There's no need to be suicidal again so soon, not after finding so much to live for, but you'll keep your eyes and ears out for some more information on this.

though I still think we should keep the mind of

>B] You don't want ANYTHING to do with that sort of worship. That's blasphemy, of the highest degree, and you'll actively oppose anyone who is willing to worship you before the Goddess of Mercy.

but I think regardless of the people's opinion we should keep a listen out for information on the court and the king and our suspicions

>>4044235
>>4044260
>>4044320
>>4044323
(We can integrate all of these, conveniently! Locking the vote, writing now.)

>>4044327
https://youtu.be/Cl8a9b76GMg

The campfire in the distance is crackling. Its heat can't possibly rival the intensity of everything building in you. Dismayed, you pull back, trying to sort out your swell of emotion. "Blasphemy. Of the highest order."

There's a great deal of horror. "This is— this is a nightmare. Anyone— it does not matter who— anyone who would profess devotion to me before Mercy is a heathen."

A significant amount of deference. "A traitor. To the King, to the court, to His children and to His throne."

Fear. "If I am to see Him— while at fault for the sacrilege of His people..."

There's curiosity. "If I am to know how to best combat this menace, Father Wilhelm, I need to know what the people are saying of me. What their thoughts are, in regard to my— to Mercy's works. This needs to be rooted out and dealt with as soon as possible. I— I will oppose any of these accusations with everything I have."

"Richard."

At some point you stood up. You've been fidgeting. You probably look distressed.

"Sit back down. It's alright."

You do so, still agitated. "It is not."

"You have every right to be upset. It's difficult enough for you to attend to matters already, without any of this messiness. That is precisely why I am concerned. I didn't mean to offend you."

"It— I simply wish to understand, Father Wilhelm."

The hand goes back to your shoulder, squeezing slightly. "You know just as well as I do. What the Church of Mercy is capable of."

There's no need to respond, but you grimace anyways.

"The work you've accomplished in a matter of days dwarfs the skill of any priest of Mercy that's preceded you. It's enough to challenge the King's authority. There is talk, among men far too stupid to restrain themselves."

You both glance to Cyril. He's entirely preoccupied with lining the entirety of his spear with fish, clearly making an attempt to full demonstrate his prowess. Father Wilhelm waves, checking to make sure he isn't listening. The man shows no indication of eavesdropping, and the Father of Dream continues. "Talk of your work. Of your skill. They've been saying you're better evidence of the Gods than the King Himself."

"Nonsense."

"I know, I know, but you wanted to hear it, didn't you?"

"I cannot fathom—"

"You survived the ruins, Father, and rescued over a dozen men and women. They've been doing nothing but singing your praises— sometimes literally, I hear— for weeks now. They've been spreading your word. Now there's an entire church— not your own, mind— but the Church of Flesh. They owe their lives to you. And what's more, even after the outbreak. Men who's lives were saved in a matter of moments, thanks to your—"

"No. Thanks to Mercy."

You think the sunrise might be coming up, for all of the light in your eyes.

(1/2)

>>4044419
Father Wilhelm smiles to you, looking terribly proud. "Yes, well. Try telling that to the priestess who's back on the field of battle, advocating for Mercy. To the men who can once again serve their own God, thanks to yours. To the man who's leg you fully restored."

You pull back again, certain that the sun is actually rising. There is enough of Mercy in you without invoking Her to feel the heat of day. The fire is not just in your face, in a caress or an embrace.

It's in your soul. You stand again, eager to move, to work, to make something of the coming day. "I will."

"Will you have Time?"

"Excuse me?" You are still a man of all of the Gods, and looking down on the figure at your side.

He's back to smoking, and through his teeth and the cigar is yet another smile. "Will you have Time? It's our curse, isn't it? There's only so much a man can do. Your devotion to Her is without compare, but do you honestly think you can sort out all of these affairs?"

"I am not normally a God-fearing man, Father Wilhelm, but you know I revere—"

You're cut off. "It's not just about you and the Gods, Father Anscham."

The accusation is maddening. You've dedicated your life to everyone but yourself. "Of course not."

"The world revolves around more than your congregation, as well. You cannot heal everyone with your own two hands, even with your skill."

There's a deep dread snaking its way into every last droplet of cold sweat and river water on you. You know what he's getting at, but it doesn't stop.

"I have to get back to Somerilde. I've been gone for only a couple of weeks." A cloud of smoke starts to obscure his eyes. They're melancholy. Homesick.

Your dread is growing by the second. Ray's more than happy to look up to you, but you stay your hands from reassuring him. They're on the chain, the gold, fidgeting, trying to ease your nerves.

"I've done almost everything I can for you, for all of my connection to Dream. It's nowhere near enough. I've been forgetting something horrifically important, all of this Time."

Running seems wise. It's what every inch of your body is telling you to do, for the question that's inescapable.

"Father, do you intend to return to the Church of Mercy?"

(Options in next post.)

>>4044422
>A] The Church of Mercy has kept you from attending to yourself for most of your life, but still! Of course you do. Right after...
>1] ...you see to your affairs with the Church of Flesh
>2] Spirit
>3] Storm
>4] Agriculture
>5] and possibly all of the rest.
>6] Not to mention investigating multiple suicides
>7] attending to business with the King
>8] reasserting to the people that you are not a God
>9] revisiting the ruins, like you promised Yech
>10] and seeing to your own health.
>Surely, you'll still have your position waiting when you return.

>B] This is a pretty valid concern. You've already been gone for three months. Though you delegated all of your responsibility, you know of at least two priests personally who want your position.
>1] Maybe you should swing back by Eadric to check on affairs. You're leaving right away. Your work here in the Church of Flesh has been remarkable, but you have too much business to attend to, to stay here any longer.
>2] You'll visit home after receiving word back from Father Sullivan and Father Barthalomew, regardless of what's left to do at the Church of Flesh.

>C] You've never stopped being the Father of Mercy, but you might be forgetting yourself. Ask Father Wilhelm AND Father Friedrich for their advice regarding your responsibilities. You're young, and overwhelmed. This is why you left for the ruins to begin with, but you are not the same man who left to die, to shirk his duty.

>D] Write-in.

>>4044426
>A] The Church of Mercy has kept you from attending to yourself for most of your life, but still! Of course you do. Right after...
>1] ...you see to your affairs with the Church of Flesh
>2] Spirit
>3] Storm
>4] Agriculture
>5] and possibly all of the rest.
>6] Not to mention investigating multiple suicides
>7] attending to business with the King
>9] revisiting the ruins, like you promised Yech
>10] and seeing to your own health.

>>4044426
>>B] This is a pretty valid concern. You've already been gone for three months. Though you delegated all of your responsibility, you know of at least two priests personally who want your position.
>>1] Maybe you should swing back by Eadric to check on affairs. You're leaving right away. Your work here in the Church of Flesh has been remarkable, but you have too much business to attend to, to stay here any longer.
Should probably drop by for a bit to get things in order before we go around the country investigating

>>4044426
>>C] You've never stopped being the Father of Mercy, but you might be forgetting yourself. Ask Father Wilhelm AND Father Friedrich for their advice regarding your responsibilities. You're young, and overwhelmed. This is why you left for the ruins to begin with, but you are not the same man who left to die, to shirk his duty.

>B] This is a pretty valid concern. You've already been gone for three months. Though you delegated all of your responsibility, you know of at least two priests personally who want your position.
>2] You'll visit home after receiving word back from Father Sullivan and Father Barthalomew, regardless of what's left to do at the Church of Flesh.

We did amazing work here but we still need to take care of our own church, after we make sure everything is alright at home we can take care of the others. We can't let the church of Mercy be like that of Agriculture, with us prancing around the country we are as good as dead.

>>4044430
>>4044432
>>4044444
(These are almost mutually exclusive. I can work them together if I really try, but I'd rather you guys discuss your priorities. I'll leave this open for the next hour, and make the decision then on how to proceed based on what's posted.)

>>4044449
I'll switch to B2 the most important thing is that we make sure our own house is in order before we go visit everyone else

>>4044449
We didnt ask about the dream demon, im super curious about it

>>4044462
(Shit I completely forgot, thank you for the reminder. I'll be sure to incorporate that in.)

>>4044454
(Awesome, just going to lock the vote here while there's a concensus to keep the ball rolling. Thanks dude.

Vote is locked, writing now!)

>>4044524

so we can channel spirit to like see others thoughts and memories and such
can we do it the other way , make others see ours ?

would really help to clear up misunderstandings, and help others see where we are coming from with the demons...or other stuff

>>4044539
(That is a phenomenal suggestion. Your knowledge of the Gods is congruent with Richard's, meaning, he has no idea how to do that.

Conveniently, you recently wrote to and requested the company of the very leader of the Church of Spirit. A man who's attempted to instruct you in how to do these things before. He may have failed you then, but things have changed! I will ABSOLUTELY keep this in mind as we proceed.)

>>4044550
https://youtu.be/vT65dm7jaTA

There are at least ten immediately pressing concerns on your mind, all of which deserve months of dedicated effort, and none of which you're prepared for.

You might be having something akin to a panic attack. Your breath is short, your head is on fire, and you really don't know for several long moments what to do with yourself. Thinking about everything you need to do, and leaving it all to go back to the halls of your home is beyond your capacity. There's not enough air, it's stifling, and still altogether too dark.

Ray pulls at the side of your robes, nudging you to sit back down. You comply, wrapping an arm back around your boy. It's too hot. Your head is killing you. It's terribly hard to breathe. There might as well be a belt around your neck.

"You have no idea what it's been like."

An incredibly worried glance, a cigar that's snuffed out. "Richard? It's alright. You don't need to—"

"It— I—" it's very hard to breathe. There's a start of a headache. You haven't had one in quite some Time, for how much rest you've had. The alcohol is dulling the worst of it, you're sure. It hurts.

Deep breath.

"Richard. It's okay. We can talk about this another Time."

"No—" you choke out, "there is never enough Time." The desperation is spilling, "never. Not for talking, not for my duty, and not for any of the people in my life—"

The hand that isn't clutching at your throat and heart goes to Ray, gently. "He is the only one who knows a fraction of what I have been through. My dog, Father Wilhelm, understands me better than any man or woman I have ever known—"

A sob threatens to come to your throat. You've definitely had too much to drink. You're desperate to justify the hesitation, the absence from your position, and everything you've done. You fish for your journal, wincing from the motion.

"Richard. Really. It's alright—"

"No, Father Wilhelm, it is not fine. None of this is fine."

You press forward a page you know was read without your consent. It's smeared with blood. The pages are burnt from months at the bottom of the world. Tinged with melted ice, smeared in the best recreation you could make of a demon comprised of slurry and paint.

"This was the first demon I had shown Mercy to. I omitted it, for Celegwen's sake, but this demon robbed her of hundreds of years of memory. She saved my life. She saved Ofelia's life. She lost everything, Father Wilhelm, and it was everything— everything I could do just to keep him at bay. A demon of Dream, Father Wilhelm? Is this what He's capable of?"

Horror is flashed back at you. Father Wilhelm looks like he's going to be sick. "A demon of ice and paint?"

(1/4)

>>4044707
"He looked like a man, Father. It was anything but. He wanted to take our memory. Everything we held dear. I held onto the precious few positive ones I had at the Time."

You glance, headache blossoming, to the stream at your side. To trickling water. To the priest of Flesh, blissfully unaware of what lies in the ruins surrounding the country. Who no doubt has fought other demons, to protect the lives of who he holds dear.

The gold and green in your eyes darts back to Father Wilhelm, a dreamer, who is remaining suspiciously quiet. "Why are you not saying anything?"

He looks extremely upset. "I wish I could take these memories from you as well, Richard."

You might cry. Your head is killing you. "I need them. I need to remember. I have to learn, Father Wilhelm. Only a demon would take so much. Only a demon—"

Father Wilhelm's hands are shaking, as he lights another cigar. "It's half of the work of my church. This demon was likely a priest in life. He may have been one of my own, for how close this ruin is to our borders."

You're the Father of Compassion, and definitely starting to cry. "I am so sorry."

"No— no, it's alright. Really." A blue handkerchief that vaguely resembles a nightcap is presented to you. You take it, not interrupting. "This demon was obviously of Dream. There's a little hope for your friend, though."

"...what?"

"Dream's primary gift is of the night, Richard. Of Dream itself. Your friend— did she start to remember anything? Anything at all, in your Time together?"

Does this apply to any demon?! What is this— why have I never been told anything like this?

There's a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach. "Yes— everything, right before—!" Your face goes to the handkerchief, trying to cover your eyes as you choke out a sob.

Right before she left. Like everyone else.

As you smear another out pour of tears, you nearly forget the band of gold on your ring finger. It nudges against the cloth, warm and terribly reassuring.

Your headache does feel a little better. The spikes of pain are replaced with too much heat, constant and unrelenting.

I am never truly alone, am I?

"Father, I— I'm sorry to hear all of this. This demon you face, it says here that your friend killed it? This 'Ofelia?'"

You sniff, straightening back up. "Yes."

"It won't be threatening anyone else. If I'm not mistaken, you stopped an enormous amount of suffering, for all of your work in the ruins. Isn't that right?"

"Yes." You straighten up a little more, drying your eyes. The sunrise is coming, and you know it must be bitterly cold despite how hot you feel. "I still have so much work to do, Father. I will go back to the Church of Mercy. There are a few matters here I need to see to, first, but attending to my own home remains my top priority."

A hand pats your shoulder, very briefly. It's still trembling. "Good."

(2/4)

>>4044711
You try to pat the arm that's extended towards you. It's awkward, but you're trying. "I am terribly sorry. I wish— I wish there was some way I could share any of this, to help you better understand— without— without things being so miserable."

Glancing away makes it a lot easier to deal with talking at such length. "I never— I hate being like this. My Spirit is— I feel so weak, Father Wilhelm. There must be something more I can do." You grit your teeth, quelling your dread. "I intend to see Father Sullivan, before going back home, at the very least."

Your grimace is returned, by the Father of Dream. "Are you sure?"

The dread redoubles. "I know he is still— that it won't be easy. I still have to try." Your murmur sinks to a whisper. "He knows me better than anyone."

You realize you've been holding awkwardly onto Father Wilhelm's arm. Letting it go, he offers a weary smile, and replaces it. You're pulled into a hug from the side, loosely. It's just a single arm, but you start crying all over again.

"Write to me, okay?" His smile broadens. "Let me know if you catch anything interesting. The ice won't stick to Morinburn, will it?"

"N-no. Not even in winter. I'll write. I hope I haven't kept you from the Church of Dream for too long." Ray is right at your side, as always, nuzzling under your arms as you're held from the opposite side. "I know that I need to see to my work with Father Sullivan, and I wrote to Father Barthalomew as well—"

"Regarding the Dream?"

Your tears stop. "Regarding Storm."

In a flash of realization, Father Wilhelm drops his cigar.

You don't need to say it, but he's too shocked to reply. You nod your head, stating the obvious. "He's visited me, twice, now."

The cigar is picked up off of the grass, dusted off, and not replaced. "That is impossible."

"I know. It— it was terrible. He nearly killed me, both times. I— it took me months to even write to him about it, Father Wilhelm. I'm still struggling to make sense of it all. I don't know what I'm doing. Is there— you've— I've told you as much as I could. What do you make of all of this?" You're desperate, trying to sit upright, to be respectful. "I— I need counsel. Badly. Is there—"

You're both equally flustered. Father Wilhelm takes a long moment to fix the cigar, cut the end, and light it again properly.

"I think you have your affairs in order, Father Anscham, save for the Church of Mercy. The sheer amount of work you wish to accomplish is commendable. Mother Aimar would be very proud of you."

"Th-thank you. What do you mean—"

"I don't believe I have enough information for proper counsel. I don't wish to upset you any further, but I want to help you uphold your tenets, as well."

He doesn't want to lie to me.

(3/4)

>>4044714
"I have no idea what you've been through, Richard. If you want to tell me, I'm here to listen. It's quite alright if you'd rather we head back to the church on a lighter note." He nods to you, pulling back from the hug, and gesturing to the river. "Cyril seems happy enough, either way."

The priest of Flesh has filled the entire length of his spear with fish, and is now purely hunting for the sport of it. Your attempt at Mercy seems to have made the man's evening.

Do I really want to start my day with this?

>A] You don't need to get into it. Thank Father Wilhelm for his wisdom, his tutelage, and make some lighter conversation while heading back to the Church of Flesh. This is something you want to decide for yourself.

>B] You might want as much advice as you can get. Briefly touch on your mistreatment from the Church of Mercy. Don't name any names, but try to convey why you left and put off your return.

>C] Name names, don't sugar-coat anything, and summarize the full extent of the abuse. Try to stay detached, for your sanity's sake.

>D] You're still extremely upset. This is a very rare opportunity, and you aren't going to pass it up. See if you can get Cyril to leave you both alone for a few minutes, and dump as much as you can. Father Wilhelm's kindness has been unwavering, and you need catharsis.

>E] Write-in.

>>4044718
>>C] Name names, don't sugar-coat anything, and summarize the full extent of the abuse. Try to stay detached, for your sanity's sake.

>>4044718
>>C] Name names, don't sugar-coat anything, and summarize the full extent of the abuse. Try to stay detached, for your sanity's sake.

We need at least one other person to know exactly what happened in the ruins.

File: Tsilorm and Menniath Entries.png (3.9 MB, 2000x1412)

3.9 MB PNG

>>4044707
(Good thing we aren't a drawquest, dropped the pic.)

>>4044725
>>4044733
(Going to lock the vote here to keep this moving, writing now.)

>>4044816
Taking a very deep breath, you try to look to the sunrise. To the amber and pink, to the present day. To the light, the wilderness beyond Beorward's borders. Across from a fast-running current, away from a very amused priest of Flesh. Far from the fishing excursion, detached from the aftertaste of liquor, and beside the church leader adjacent to you.

"Richard?"

"Restraint, Father Wilhelm. They had me restrained for eight years. They took me from my home, from Pontos, after I broke every bone in another boy's body. It did not matter that we spent our youth together. It did not matter that I only did to him what he had done to me first. The Church of Vengeance never came for me. The Church of Mercy did. Restraint, and a cell without a window. Eight years. In a famine. Do you know how much food and water is allocated for prisoners during a famine, Father?"

"Not enough."

"Not enough. Sister Thorel tried to help. Brought me water, and food when she could. When I was taken into the clergy, she even brought me Ray. As a puppy. I only saw two other clergymen in eight years, Father. Brothers, Adrian Morris and Theobald Stace. Not literal brothers, mind, I believe they are cousins— and are certainly unrelated to Father Edmund. Were, unrelated. I don't believe he ever knew the full extent of the abuse."

"Was there anyone else?"

"I am not entirely sure. It was always dark, Father."

"Father Sullivan?"

"He— I believe he knew. He had to have. I begged for him to help." You murmur, "he may have not believed me."

"He must have known. You were a child—"

"I was a prisoner. Tortured like one. Restrained like one."

The scars on your face and hands are probably being intensely scrutinized. You keep your eyes downcast, to the golden band on your ring finger. "Restrain your speech. Don't speak unless spoken to. Don't speak at all if you can't temper your accent. Restrain your posture. Don't bother standing if you can't be presentable. Don't bother walking if you aren't doing so with purpose. To live is to serve. Restrain yourself. Your questions. No one wants to speak to you. No one wants to hear you. Monster. Heathen. Demon. It was beaten into me, Father. Eight years of it. Scalding water, and stakes, and burns, instruments I don't even know how to describe, so much pain I could never fathom that there would be an end to it. Stone and darkness, Father, and—"

Deep breath. The sunrise is beautiful. Ray is nestled deeply beside you, laying his head on your leg, looking up to you lovingly. You scratch behind his ears, your voice level as you continue. "and invocation. Brother Stace realized that my Catalyst was faith from a very young age. I called upon Vengeance twenty-eight times, under the pretense of training. Over and over again. Each one was a Catalyst. Each one was—"

(1/2)

>>4045072
You stop talking.

The sun is up.

There's a hand on your shoulder.

"It's over, Richard."

"It's not. I have invoked Him thirty times, Father Wilhelm—" You stand up, still wavering slightly from all of the liquor, "and I still have a home to go back to."

The light of day is stunning. "I have always been fit to lead the Church of Mercy. She was there for me. She has never hurt me, not in the way that the rest of the Gods have. I will learn to serve Them all, with as much devotion. But—"

Looking to the priest of Flesh across the river, waving to you excitedly, you try to wave back. It's stiff, and you're grimacing, but you still make the effort. You always have.

"I have a lot of work to do, first."

Father Wilhelm gets to his feet, also staggering. He takes off his nightcap, and pulls a slip of paper out from inside.

It's a letter, addressed to you.

"How long have you been holding onto this for—"

It simply says, "Richard," on the exterior, but you recognize the handwriting instantly. The curled script, stamped with gold, is absolutely Father Edmund's.

"Three years. I don't normally keep it in my hat, but I figured it was safe keeping for tonight. I have seen some of this, before. Open it when we get back to the church, alright? We've got a long walk back, and I've never seen its contents. Don't want you out here if it's something miserable."

>A] Open it now.

>B] Wait until you're back to the Church of Flesh, and go straight back to your room to read it.
>1] Read it alone.
>2] Ask Father Wilhelm to do you one final favor during your journey together, and come with you.

>C] Save this for later today. You have a LOT of business to see to, with Father Friedrich, first.

>D] Write-in.

>>4045078
>B2

(Since we're pretty slow tonight, going to turn in and wait for a few more votes. I'll be back tomorrow morning, EST, as usual.)

>>4045078
>B2

>>4045078
>C] Save this for later today. You have a LOT of business to see to, with Father Friedrich, first.

>>4045084
>>4046378
>>4046547
(Good afternoon! Starting a little later than expected today but I am gooood to go. Clear schedule through the rest of the day. Going with majority for this one to take care of the note right away, but noting to take care of that business straight after. Writing now.)

>>4045078

Ask for an explanation. Why did he keep it from us for so long? Why didn't Ed give it to us? When was he supposed to give it to us? Why now?

>>4046677
(I had the vote locked but this is pretty early in, going to incorporate this as best as I can! Appreciate the questions)

>>4046638
The envelope is incredibly wrinkled, still bearing a few flecks of dust around the untouched wax seal on the opposite side. There's finally so many questions on your mind that you can't keep them all to yourself.

"Why now? Why—" the emotion that you've been shoving down through the sunrise is threatening to resurface, hard, "why have you kept this from me for so long? When were you intended to have given this to me? Why not— why not Father Edmund—"

The priest beside you keeps a respectful distance, replacing his hat. "It came from Mother Aimar."

"What—"

"If it were up to me, I would have done so the very moment it came into my possession. I received it from her, on the night I set out to rescue you from the ruins. She was extremely clear about what Time to give this to you."

You both are pale. Time's will is to be respected, above all other things.

"I understand. That still does not—"

"I know. It isn't right. He shouldn't have waited. She shouldn't have, either. I can't say I understand it at all."

A few long moments pass, as you clench onto the edges of the faded paper. "Will you do me one more— would you please accompany me back to the Church of Flesh? I know I have asked you for so much already, but— but I—"

Father Wilhelm holds up a hand. "You don't even have to ask, Richard. I would be happy to." His hand goes down, replaced by a weary smile. It's directed towards the sunrise. "The light's wasting, and we both have a long day ahead of us. Let's get going."

You stash the envelope on your person, and gingerly get Ray back to his feet. Father Wilhelm waves over Cyril. The blonde, soaked up to his knees, is more than delighted to cross back over to you both with a basket brimming with fish.

"Not going to get any shit for staying out overnight, coming back with all of this, eh?" He's always smirking.

Offering a nod, you can't help but appreciate the attempt at normalcy. "Your devotion is commendable, Cyril."

He smirks, putting a hand to his obviously aching arms. "Nothing to it. Your dog want any, before we head back?"

Frowning briefly, you look down to your boy. "His name is Ray," he's begging, like a puppy, "and yes, I am sure he would appreciate it."

Keeping a wide bearth from the colossal mastiff, Cyril tosses one of his prizes straight into the air. "Hey, Ray! Catch!"

Gallantly, your boy leaps, meeting it several feet off the ground. He practically inhales the catch, and looks to you immediately upon landing for more.

You kneel beside him, patting his side and fighting to not frown. Your voice is all affection, despite how hard you're fighting to not remain upset. "You are never going to learn to chew your food, are you—"

Cyril and Father Wilhelm are both grinning at you. The Father of Dream replaces his cigar in full, going to put out the last of the campfire. "Are we all fine to walk back? I may have had a bit too much over the night."

(1/2)

>>4046809
"Please," Cyril rolls his shoulders back, stretching, trying not to yawn. "I'll see to the check points. You both pipe down, and we'll be through the city before anyone knows what hit 'em."

Crossing back into Beorward, under the light of morning, it feels as if every single face on the street is fully capable of recognizing you. Everyone absolutely recognizes the three of you, and makes no attempt to conceal their appreciation.

You're beginning to suspect that Cyril knows exactly what he's talking about, and has merely been trying to spare you from the reality of your situation.

From the farmland, a number of men and women at the fields are delighted to pause their work for moments, merely waving. A few call out to the three of you. Several more make it a point to bring over a basket or two of produce, even though winter is fast approaching.

"Please, this is the least we can do."
"You boys put up a damn good fight, if what I heard was any indication! We haven't been able to do nearly enough for the church—"
"Think you could show some of this a little Mercy? Ahaha! Kidding, only kidding. Solid gold, can you believe it?"

Getting past the first few gates and walls are decidedly more uneventful, but you catch a few murmurs, from the priests and armored civilians at their posts.

"Hear what he managed in the Church of Flesh?"
"Fought like somethin' scarier than a demon, from what I hear."
"You should have seen it. Saved the whole damn city, they did—"
"Father Friedrich himself was there, didn't hold a candle to what that lunatic is capable of—"

Getting back into the city proper, it's already been at least an hour of brisk walking. The streets are bustling with activity. Cyril is moving just as rapidly, right to your side, using the full width of his shoulders and arms to literally put you out of sight.

"Cyril, what—"

"Trust me, alright? Put up your hood while we're at it."

>A] You are not going to hide, not when you've done nothing but good for this city and its people. Take whatever comes your way in stride, but get back to the church as promptly as possible. You are the Father of Compassion. You'll uphold your word, AND give the common people due diligence.

>B] You have too much business to attend to for dealing with any fuss this morning. Oblige Cyril's request, put up your hood and stay behind him. With everything else going on, the last thing you want right now are more concerns outside of church walls.

>C] Not only are you far too busy for any nonsense, you're a little irritated with yourself for bothering to go to the river to begin with. Lead the group back to the Church, but outright dismiss anyone that tries to approach you. You said you'd actively oppose any worship, and it seems like now is as good a time as ever to make that point.

>D] Write-in.

>>4046811
>>B] You have too much business to attend to for dealing with any fuss this morning. Oblige Cyril's request, put up your hood and stay behind him. With everything else going on, the last thing you want right now are more concerns outside of church walls.

>>4046811
>>B] You have too much business to attend to for dealing with any fuss this morning. Oblige Cyril's request, put up your hood and stay behind him. With everything else going on, the last thing you want right now are more concerns outside of church walls.

>>4046811
>B] You have too much business to attend to for dealing with any fuss this morning. Oblige Cyril's request, put up your hood and stay behind him. With everything else going on, the last thing you want right now are more concerns outside of church walls.

>>4046817
>>4046852
>>4046857
(Stellar, locking the vote here. Writing now!)

>>4046811
>B] You have too much business to attend to for dealing with any fuss this morning. Oblige Cyril's request, put up your hood and stay behind him. With everything else going on, the last thing you want right now are more concerns outside of church walls.

>>4046910
>>4046942
You're muttering. "I do not have the Time for this." The long, black hood on the back of your robes goes up. Your distinctively broken and poorly healed nose is concealed from sight, along with the gold in your hair and the hollows of your cheeks. They're probably taking in the shadow, utterly masking your appearance from view, well behind Cyril.

Keeping to his back through the remainder of Beorward's first few gates is remarkably uneventful. The man is obviously trained as a body guard, for his efficiency at shielding you from any and all scrutiny. The basket of fish is handed off to Father Wilhelm after a matter of minutes, so that he might better attend to his work.

The briefest of efforts from any traders, beggars or cut-purses are thwarted instantaneously. The visible strength of your companion, alongside Ray and an obvious church leader guarantees an utter lack of further delay. It's a smoother venture back to the Church of Flesh than what even Father Wilhelm accomplished while you were under disguise, just a few days prior.

Back to the walls of the church, you're gestured to drop your hood. Cyril steps aside, mock-bowing.

"Thank you, Brother Trebbeck," you murmur, moving to wave down a number of guards at the drawbridge.

The spear fisherman sweeps his catch back from Father Wilhelm's arms, and waves to the walls of the Church of Flesh as well. A particularly excited guard cheers back. "'Bout fuckin' Time!"

Cyril makes a particularly rude gesture, laughing, "up yours!"

Several unbecoming gestures are exchanged between the Brothers, while the drawbridge is slowly lowered. Father Wilhelm leans in next to you, whispering, "straight to your quarters, then?"

You murmur back, "if it is not too much to ask."

A nod, and Cyril is flashing a smile to you. You're too stressed to offer a genuine one back. "Thank you, again, Cyril."

"I take it you'll be alright while I go take care of this," he waves, shaking the basket enough for a number of dace and loach to wiggle at you. "Wouldn't want anything spoiling."

It's hard to not sigh in relief, "of course."

"Right, then!" He turns to leave, and looks back to Father Wilhelm for a moment. "I don't suppose you'll be sticking around?"

Puffing away, Father Wilhelm offers a broad grin back. "Can't wait for winter. The road back to Somerilde is a demon itself, without a proper guide!" He's winking again, for your sake. "I'll be taking my leave soon. No need to send for anyone for my quarters just yet, but will you please speak with Father Friedrich, on my behalf?"

"It'd be an honor, sir." He's not being sarcastic. "What do you need?"

"Please see to it that he is thanked for all of his hospitality. I'll leave a few things for him in the tower. I trust you'll ensure it gets to the proper hands?" There's another wink, for the priest of Flesh.

(1/3)

>>4047139
Did Father Wilhelm honestly have me carry trade goods halfway across the country just to thank Father Friedrich and his clergy?

Cyril is grinning ear to ear. "Of course. Thanks, Father. Safe travels." He's already turning to leave. "See you around, Father Anscham!" He's walking away, muttering loudly enough for you to still be able to hear, "I'll get you to take a proper night out in the city if it kills me..."

No one has the gall, once you're back to the keep, to further disturb you. The courtyard, interior and exterior wards are all blessedly devoid of interruption, thanks to the impeccable grooming of standard church goers.

You close the door to your room, once Father Wilhelm is safely back inside, and lean against it for a moment. A prayer to Mercy seems prudent, for how exhausted you already are.

Father Wilhelm has made himself comfortable in a nearby chair, and is waving a box of dried fruit at you. Ray is eagerly inspecting the entirety of the room, dropping happily down on the large bearskin rug. Obliging the priest's offering, you pull up a chair next to him while chewing on something particularly sour.

Your face is probably reflecting your disdain for the situation at hand, more than the exotic gift. Producing the letter from Father Edmund, you pry open the wax seal the second you're situated.

The letter within is folded over, though there is writing only on one side. It's not stamped in gold. The lettering is frenetic, wavering, and obviously having been written by a man at the end of his rope.

You swallow, hard.

You're glad you're sitting down.

"April, 602. This— he wrote this just before he died—"

Countless words and lines are scratched out, illegible, written and rewritten. More are impressed, from sheets that likely were placed on top. Prior drafts.

A lot of care went into this letter.

It's a suicide note.

You try to work out the full, intended text as best as you're able.

"Father Richard Anscham,

People will try and tell you that you don't deserve the title. Never let anyone tell you otherwise.

I know I am placing an enormous burden on you. I know that you might not feel ready for so much responsibility. It will likely be years before you even begin to understand everything that this means for you. I had a lifetime to prepare myself for it, and I squandered all but the last few years."

A great deal is scratched out and crossed over. You squint, desperately trying to tease out the meaning. There's bits about trying to make amends, making the most of at least the last few years. It's infuriating, but the pen has been pressed so deeply into the parchment, it's even torn in places.

You keep reading.

"This has never been about me. This has never been about the title. This is about YOU, Richard, and one thing that I NEED you to KNOW."

(2/3)

>>4047147
"You've earned it.

You have done so much good for this world, for the little time you've had in it.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I wasn't there for you. I'm sorry, for everything.

Everything but this.

I know it won't make things right, but there needs to be no question in any man, woman or child's mind in this whole damn country that YOU earned it.

Keep proving them wrong.

You've earned your place in our world, even though you never needed to prove a thing. You've earned all of our devotion. I trust you. I know you are more than fit to wield more than power, or wealth, or titles.

You've earned all of our love.

You've earned a life of your own.

You never have to say "yes," but I know you will.

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, for all of the years of ignorance, and neglect. I can't make it up to you. This is not about making amends. You shouldn't forgive me, and you never have to.

I want you to live the best life you can. Not for me, not for anyone. Not even for Mercy.

I know She loves you.

I do, too.

Live for yourself.

Good bye, Richard."

It's not signed. Elias Edmund, the former Father of Mercy, seems to have trusted you to recognize his devotion one last time.

>A] This is for your eyes, only.
>1] Which are going to be crying for some time. Thank Father Wilhelm profusely for the moral support, but you need to be alone. In your room. Grieving. You have your limits, and this is it.
>2] They're red. Thank Father Wilhelm as best as you can. You can keep your composure, alone, in the city. Sneak out, and have some normalcy. Business be damned, you need to mentally regroup, away from the church.
>3] They're dry. Thank Father Wilhelm, but ask for some moral support. Simply inform him it was a suicide note, and ask the Father of Dream for his thoughts. This happened three years ago, and though the wound is raw, it's had some Time to heal.

>B] Show the letter to Father Wilhelm.
>1] Ask him for his continued support, and a shoulder to cry on. You need to vent. Father Edmund's lack of knowledge hurts more than if the abuse in his home was intentional.
>2] Ask him for his thoughts, in full. This is probably too much for you to sort out mentally. You're simply overwhelmed.
>3] Ask him for his thoughts, in full. Father Edmund skirted his responsibility, neglected you, and now you have your hands so full you don't even have Time to grieve. You've got some closure, and this takes you one step closer to resolving the laundry list of issues that have been left to you in the present day.

>C] Write-in.

>>4047159
>>B] Show the letter to Father Wilhelm.
>2] Ask him for his thoughts, in full. This is probably too much for you to sort out mentally. You're simply overwhelmed.

Another reason to start looking into all of these suicides, I want back to the ruins this is too much.

>>4047177
(Noted, and painfully laughing

Manual reminder that you all went to the ruins to die because this was too much

Need a mental break myself after writing that, vote will be open for a little bit while I go make some coffee)

>>4047159
>B2

>>4047177
+1

>>4047192
Wait, didn't Ed die fighting a demon? How did he write a suicide note before that? Did he know the outbreak was going to happen? Can we send a letter to Mother Aimar and ask for some clarification?

>>4047202
(It's been stated by Richard several times in the quest that Father Edmund died during a massive battle against a major demon, and named you the Father of Mercy with his dying breaths. You do not know how he could have written a note before that, or if he knew of the outbreak prior, but feel free to speculate! If nothing else I will touch on this in the next update and get to a letter to Mother Aimar for sure.

Anyone here, feel free to write-in any additional information or questions you'd like to provide. Coffee is almost done.)

>>4047202
>>4047220
I mean from how it's worded it definitely seems like one of those 'open after death' letters. He could just have decided to appoint us his successor even before then.

>>4047159
>B] Show the letter to Father Wilhelm.
>2] Ask him for his thoughts, in full. This is probably too much for you to sort out mentally. You're simply overwhelmed.

>>4047196
>>4047197
>>4047202
>>4047244
>>4047280
(B2, and a letter to Mother Aimar with some pointed questions! Got it. Back to writing.)

>>4047327
For the first time in nearly two decades, you lean back in your chair. Putting a hand through your hair, to your temples, you drag your palm down the side of your face, and try to compose yourself.

The letter is extended out, to Father Wilhelm, wordlessly. You're too overwhelmed to speak.

He takes it, and reads it, while you nervously try to eat a little more. The dried fruit and beer does help. You have as much as you can tolerate, resigning to the fact that your training in the Church of Flesh has been utterly derailed.

Father Wilhelm is taking more Time than he should. You've finished the fruit, and are picking at more marzipan.

He must be re-reading the letter.

You sit back upright, after a few more minutes. Though your posture is impeccable, it feels like the weight of the world is on your shoulders. It's pressing out questions, more than you can stand, and you don't want to restrain them. "What do you think?"

He immediately begins to hesitate, "I..."

"I need your honesty, Father Wilhelm. Now, more than ever. Please."

The priest of Dream looks so exhausted, you fear for a moment that he'll pass out. He pulls a few times at the smoke on the end of his cigar. You drag an empty wrapper underneath the gesture, helping him to discard the ash cleanly, while he gathers his thoughts.

"I wish this was given to you sooner."

It feels like a knife lances your chest, as you choke out, "so do I. How could— you said that Mother Aimar had this in her possession?"

"She sent it to me, with no explanation other than when to give it to you."

At this rate, I'll be writing to every Church leader before the week is out.

"What do you— how could she have— why—?"

"Richard." You're cut off, and pulled into a full hug. Both arms. There's probably some ash getting on your shoulder, but you don't mind. "I don't know. I wish I did. I am terribly sorry for your loss."

Your arms are being pinned, and you don't try to raise them to return the gesture. "It is— I mean, th-thank you. It is fine. I—"

Father Wilhelm pulls back, brushing off your shoulder. "If you say so. Sorry about that."

"I— I really don't care."

"He was right, you know." The smile is back, and tragic. "Still is! About everything. You absolutely have earned your title. I've never met a more Merciful man in all my life."

You almost wish he'd go back to fussing over your appearance. Trying to take the compliment in stride is beyond your capacity. You would redirect the subject again, but this is too much.

Your hand goes back to your temple, trying to sort yourself out mentally.

Every Time I get my affairs in order, something new crops up. This— this is why I left to begin with. Everything has only gotten worse in my absence. Nothing has been resolved. No one waited for me. The world has moved on, and up, and I can't be left behind— I am still trudging through the past, and can't sort out the present or future—

(1/2)

>>4047435
A hand goes to your shoulder, gripping it firmly. You're almost shaken. "Richard. Richard."

It's like a bolt of lightning went through your spine. "Y-yes?"

"Do you need a minute?"

"I— I am not entirely certain— I don't— it feels as if I don't know anything. I— I still need help. I have, for such a—"

"Hey. Listen. Look at me, alright?"

You hadn't realized how unfocused your eyes must have been. They're perpetually downcast, avoiding eye-contact at all costs. You lift the gold and green, to an incredibly worried and sympathetic priest. The cracks in his skin are taking in the light of morning, from the expansive window at the end of your room. The curtains were left open all night, and a little dew from the dawn is littering the edges of the sill. Ray is stretched out, laying on the bearskin rug, looking to the fresh air and birds flying in the distance.

There's fine lines in the edges of Father Wilhelm's eyes. He's likely had more rest than most church leaders, but his age and weariness are still written on him. The lines deepen, as he gives you the weary smile you've come to be quite familiar with. "Good. That's a lot better. You should keep your chin up, alright?"

It's knocked very lightly against his fist. "He was right. You can't let anyone get you down. You've earned all of this, and a whole lot more. Give yourself some rest. Cut yourself some slack! You've been through more than—"

You frown. "You don't need to say it."

"I do. Probably anyone. It's alright if you need some Time, to heal, but you need to get back home." His smile is getting more pained by the second. "I can't imagine how hard it is for you. How hard it will be. But they need you, Father Anscham, even if none of those bastards will admit to it."

Both of Father Wilhelm's hands go back, to the table, as he moves to stand. "We both have families to get back to."

He's already stayed longer than he should have.

You look up to him, as he lingers beside you. His nightcap flops over stupidly as he looks down. He doesn't even bother moving it for a moment, obviously enjoying your response.

"Richard."

"Yes, Father Wilhelm?"

He adjusts his hat, and properly smiles. "I know you'll be alright. Please, take care of yourself. I trust you, too! You'll do the right thing. I know you're more than capable of looking after all of us. You've never let me down. I appreciate you, and you never have to ask me twice to say it." He pauses. "Even if you do, I'll be just a letter away, alright?"

"Thank you. Again. For everything. You know I'll write."

He's heading towards the door. "Come visit Somerilde some time. The Church of Dream's door are always open to you. Or, well, even drop back by the retreat!" The cigar between his teeth almost bends, for how hard he grins. "Just give me fair warning!"

(Options in next post.)

>>4047441
>A] There's one more thing you want to say to Father Wilhelm, before he takes his leave. (Write-in.)

>B] You have business of your own to attend to. Write that letter to Mother Aimar. (Write-in any additional questions, concerns or conversation you'd like to make in your first letter to the Mother of Time.)

>C] Let the man get back to his home, and to his work. You are still in the Church of Flesh, and for everything that needs to be done, you have to see to yourself. Take a little extra time this morning to work on your body, before doing anything else.

>D] Immediately get back to Father Friedrich, before Cyril will likely meet him. You have a LOT that needs to be discussed, and you do not want a single interruption.

>E] Write-in.

>>4047444
>B] You have business of your own to attend to. Write that letter to Mother Aimar.

>>4047444
>>B] You have business of your own to attend to. Write that letter to Mother Aimar. (Write-in any additional questions, concerns or conversation you'd like to make in your first letter to the Mother of Time.)

And after

>D] Immediately get back to Father Friedrich, before Cyril will likely meet him. You have a LOT that needs to be discussed, and you do not want a single interruption.

>>4047444
>C] Let the man get back to his home, and to his work. You are still in the Church of Flesh, and for everything that needs to be done, you have to see to yourself. Take a little extra time this morning to work on your body, before doing anything else.

>>4047447
>>4047454
>>4047456
(Three separate prompts? Perfect time to call the vote. I'll integrate all of these. Writing now.)

>>4047496
Nodding, you already are moving to get a spare piece of parchment. Father Wilhelm shakes his head, laughing, and waves to you as he leaves. "Take care, Father Anscham."

Through a mouthful of salted candy, you lift your head for a moment from your work. Murmuring, "you, too," the door to your room is shut.

You're left to attend to your own affairs. There are at least half a dozen concerns on your mind, and you are determined to attend to as many as possible.

Scarfing down a fair amount of the supplies Father Friedrich's left in your care, you stand, using the back of your journal to pen a letter to Mother Aimar in the most respectful fashion you're capable of. All the while you keep to your feet, trying to make the most of the extravagant supplies left in your care.

It takes quite awhile, enough to have a proper breakfast. The liquor in your flask is replaced with some tea, green, energizing. You rewrite the note a few times, pacing, practicing on the back of the same sheet before committing everything to a singular page.

(1/3)

>>4047630
Mother Aimar,

It has come to my attention that you were in close contact with my mentor, the prior Father of the Church of Mercy. Elias Edmund's final letter was given to me just this morning, despite having been penned over three years ago.

I am in need of immediate clarification. The following questions require your full attention, and a swift reply. They are pertinent not only to my ability to best serve our country, but to the continued integrity of our respective churches:

- Why was Father Edmund's letter withheld from me? There is no conceivable reason that the validity of my title should be withheld for any period of Time.

- If you were aware that I was to be appointed his successor after his death, why have you abstained from delivering this to me, personally? Father Wilhelm had this item in his possession for several weeks, at your instruction. Why was he instructed to wait?

- Regardless of the 'need to know' basis the Church of Time operates on, Father Edmund perished during a catastrophic outbreak of demons. He died on the field of battle, in an attempt to save the lives of hundreds. If you possessed knowledge of how to reach him, or where to obtain this letter, it must be made clear to me with all due haste. This is to say nothing of the events of his death, or any preventative measures that could have been taken.

I trust that you will not withhold any details regarding his sacrifice from me.

I will be made aware of any matters regarding my Church's affairs, especially if they pertain to my leadership, our security, and our collective safety.

Her will is unchangeable.

My deference, to your wisdom, your experience, and all of the Time we have diligently served Corcaea together is eternal.

In all ways, I aim to uphold the Church of Time's tenets. Let us both make the most of the Time that is given to Us.

My prayers go out to you, for your service, and for a swift correspondence.

-Father Anscham

You feel more than a little sick, and it's not from how much food you've forced down while trying to write.

The letter is folded up. You don't have any envelopes, but you have business to attend to, with an incredibly influential leader. For the scarcity of literacy in Corcaea, most clergy are trained in reading and writing.

Each Church leader is dependent on written word, and you know Father Friedrich will have the supplies you need.

Stashing the note on your person seems like a poor idea, for all of the exercise you intend to do. You fold it up, carefully, and place it inside of your journal. Ray is stunned by the extra attention and food you happily share with him, as you place the item back inside of his harness.

"Easy, Ray. You've been such a good boy, haven't you?"

There's business to attend to, and you likely don't have another second to spare.

(2/3)

>>4047631
A little madness takes you, for how badly you want to get back to your routine. Shoving down more of the dried meat and tea, you beam over to Ray. He looks at you, quizzically, as you make his favorite gesture. The words that follow have him back on his feet, panting and running to your side.

"Want to go for a run? Come on. Let's go."

The curtains are closed, your robes changed, the room tidied, and the doors to your quarters firmly shut. Working in some exercise on the way to Father Friedrich's office warrants no scrutiny in the Church of Flesh.

It seems to garner an enormous amount of respect from virtually every priest and priestess that sees you.

Ray keeps right to your side, and you bolt down the halls of the keep. He matches your pace with ease. You weave around a number of clergy, leap clear over a number of cleaning supplies, and make it out to the courtyard in a matter of seconds.

A few guards look up, grinning broadly. Brother Duval breaks from a yawn to wave to you, from Father Wilhelm's tower. You hail him quickly, before tearing back across the few golden flowers persisting. In a few more moments, you're back to the interior ward, and nearly crash straight into a member of the Church of Spirit.

"Excuse me, but-" her hands don't even come up from the colossal book in her arms, for all of the annoyance lacing her voice.

You slip to the side, far from out of breath, and move straight past the wiry form. Her white robes remain untouched. It's a slender woman, young, though she sounds decidedly more mature than what her unmarred face indicates. Pale skin blanches, even paler, as she recognizes you.

"Father Anscham?"

She stops to adjust a very strange item on her face. They look to be rounded pieces of glass, and are outfitted in front of her eyes with a leather harness. They make the dark brown irises much more prominent than they normally should be. It's terribly strange, and makes you pause, nearly skidding to a stop.

>A] First impressions are too important. Stop fully, just for a moment to introduce yourself, and then get back to running. You REALLY can't afford any more distractions.

>B] You're going to lose your mind if there's one more interruption. Call out an apology, but keep moving, and get to Father Friedrich's office with all due haste.

>C] The Church of Flesh has so much to deal with, you can't be bothered to care anymore. Stop, and take a moment to talk to the Sister of Spirit. You're the reason she's here. See what her thoughts are on this insanity. Spare a few moments for someone more cerebral.

>D] Write-in.

>>4047632
>>C] The Church of Flesh has so much to deal with, you can't be bothered to care anymore. Stop, and take a moment to talk to the Sister of Spirit. You're the reason she's here. See what her thoughts are on this insanity. Spare a few moments for someone more cerebral.

Too many damn fires to put out

>>4047632
>C

>>4047640
>>4047848
(Locking the vote here, might take a minute but want to get one more update out tonight. Writing now!)

voting C v.2

File: Sister Cardew and Father (...).png (1.7 MB, 2833x2000)

1.7 MB PNG

>>4048447
>>4048742
This church might as well literally be on fire for every problem I've had to put out.

The run becomes a skid, into a full stop. You turn on a heel, to look back to the Sister of Spirit.

She's all gauze, shawls and holy vestments. Full bangs peek out over the large lenses over her eyes, concealing more leather and barely framing her raised eyebrows. You're not one to judge appearances, especially not under scrutiny, and close the distance between you two as tactfully as you're able.

Ray looks up to you, quizzically, as you extend a hand towards the priestess. It's a simple gesture of the Church of Mercy, and seems appropriate given your near collision. "My apologies, Sister. Are you alright?"

"Yes," a raised eyebrow, and no hand extended in reply, "are you? You were running like a man possessed."

The hand goes back down, as you sheepishly look to the hall ahead. "I have some business to attend to." A glance back, downcast, avoiding the wide stare. "It can wait."

"Don't let me keep you."

Mercy, this woman is curt.

"Were you coming from Father Friedrich's office, Sister...?"

"Yes. Cardew."

Not even a first name?

She's still staring. You might be fidgeting. There's no indication that she cares. "Harriet." There. That was not so difficult. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes." The reply comes a little too quickly.

The book in the woman's arms is closed so rapidly that you don't even catch the name on the spine. She tucks it under her arms carefully, walking a little closer. She's whispering. "You're not."

You're uncomfortable. "Pardon me?"

"You were running."

You're honest. "Yes." Exasperated. You pause, catching your breath in full. "May I be perfectly honest with you, Sister?"

She doesn't reply, inviting you to continue with a further raise of her eyebrows.

"I was expecting a fair amount of work here, but this," you are overwhelmed, "has been significantly more, well..."

"Insolent," she offers, straight-faced.

"That is an— that is certainly an interesting way to view the situation."

"Do you disagree?" She's still whispering, visibly irritated.

"Insanity seems more befitting." It's difficult to not match her aggravation.

"Father Sullivan would have had this mess cleaned up long before it ever began." It's becoming something of a contest. "I must confess, Father, that I am entirely displeased to have been called to such a madhouse when Murgate's borders have been compromised."

There is always something. Your brows furrow deeper, though your voice softens. "I was informed just last night, of reinforcements being sent. With all due haste."

Sister Cardew's shoulders visible relax, but you continue.

"No fewer than several dozen men, and I am certain there are more en route that I did not personally witness going to your home and family's aid."

(1/2)

>>4048936
Her brow unfurrows, however slightly.

You press your advantage, grimacing. "Your efforts here are sincerely appreciated."

Sister Cardew clutches the large tome back to her chest, looking up to you. "I have a full report for you, Father Anscham, when you have a moment to look it over."

Ray looks up to you, whining, for your immediate distress.

Mercy, this is the last thing I need right now.

The building panic is immediately addressed.

"If you like, I would be happy to give you a consolidated version. I know you're a busy man. I have extended only an abbreviated version to Father Friedrich, given the state of affairs here, but I suspected you would want the full picture."

Her voice, already a whisper, drops even further. You have to lean in to catch it.

"I cannot overstate how relieved I am to see you." She doesn't look it, but you take her word for it. "This church needs Mercy now, more than ever." Harriet pulls back, straight-faced, her wide eyes unreadable. "If you would prefer, I could disseminate the most important details of my findings to you." She extends a palm, removing it from her book for only a moment. "I defer entirely to your judgement."

>A] You sincerely do not have Time for mind games, let alone a book's worth of reports. Ask for the abbreviated version to be delivered to you, this evening, when you know you'll likely be available.

>B] A consolidated, verbal account, even if it's lengthier, will give you Time to ask questions if you have any. Tell Sister Cardew that you'll send for her as soon as you can.
>1] Request for her to join you for tea. You'll find a place you can drink without any pain, discreet enough to not worry about any prying eyes, and far enough away from the Church to dismiss any worries of being overheard.
>2] Say you'll meet her in an empty room, in the exterior ward, for the most discreet conversation you can manage. There won't be any eavesdropping in the quiet sick halls. Not that you couldn't hear coming from a mile away.

>C] You need the full picture, even if you're already exhausted and don't have a minute to spare.
>1] Ask Sister Cardew to leave her record with you, now. You'll see to it that it's returned to her just as soon as you're done reading it. (Write-in when you intend to read it. Otherwise it will be seen to when you have any moments to spare.)
>2] Inform her that you'll send for the record as soon as you have the Time, and will look it over yourself. You would appreciate it if she could deliver it to your quarters, but it's reasonable if she has other business of her own to attend to.

>D] Write-in.

>>4048940
>D] Write-in.
Invoke Spirit to convey all the Knowledge in the ledger Sister Cardew carries. We do not have Time to linger.

>>4048948
(To be totally clear, while you possess the ability to invoke all of the Gods, you have been told for most of your life that the way you use them is abusive. They are intended to only be called upon when mortal affairs cannot be handled otherwise. Matters of life and death, that sort of thing.

If you have the ability to learn of something without invoking Spirit, and still choose to do so, it would be tantamount to blasphemy. Especially right in front of a member of Her clergy.

Having said all of that, Richard is pretty fucking stressed, and this seems like something he might consider. Especially on the heels of a particularly horrific morning. Can't promise that it won't go badly, but if several other people back the vote you can certainly try.

I really appreciate the creative write-in, and I'll put this forward if there is no other opposition or other votes cast.)

>>4048940
>>C] You need the full picture, even if you're already exhausted and don't have a minute to spare.
>>1] Ask Sister Cardew to leave her record with you, now. You'll see to it that it's returned to her just as soon as you're done reading it. (Write-in when you intend to read it. Otherwise it will be seen to when you have any moments to spare.)

We should read it with Fred, this is his church after all.

>>4048948
I wanted to do this so bad just to see her face but alas I need to use my better judgement here.

>>4048953
>blasphemy
Nonsense, only such event is Richards obvious lack of drinking coffee as part of a healthy cicadic cycle.

Alas balls to the walls and god channeling for the keks of it is fun.

>>4048956
+1

>>4048948
>>4048957
(We're going to do something with all of this creativity anon, and I appreciate you. I enjoy the keks just as much as you do, but)

>>4048956
>>4048960
(Looks like our boy is taking the sane, wholesome and God-fearing route. Locking the vote here, writing now!)

>>4048982
(Clarification, God-worshiping, over-invoking, righteously-smiting, Dick "Thunder" Anscham'ing. Don't want anyone getting the wrong idea while I'm writing the update. ;^) )

>>4048982
>>4048987
There's an obsession at the forefront of your mind. An itch, a pull, and an overwhelming compulsion to indulge in temptation.

A very large and inviting book is right in front of you. Held in the arms of a Sister of the Church of Spirit.

I could learn everything in this volume in an instant.

It would be effortless.

I could see everything. Have Spirit in my eyes, my veins—

The tome is pulled in closer. A priestess is looking to you, wide-eyed. There's no need for her to say anything.

She couldn't even imagine it, could she?

What it's like, to be with Her. The Goddess of the Immaterial. Her blessing.

You hold out a hand, trembling. "Your diligence and devotion to Spirit is commendable, Sister Cardew."

There's a tilt to your voice, that you shove down, restraining yourself with every last ounce of strength left in your tortured mind.

There are no demons here, save for the ones left in my thoughts.

Hasn't that always been the case?

I have to stop pushing myself so hard.

I know I have better judgement than this.

There's probably still something unhinged in your eyes, but your voice levels out. "Your deduction was correct. I would appreciate seeing to the full report, now. I will have your work returned to you the moment I finish reviewing it."

She hesitates.

"You are speaking to the Father of Mercy. Share your honest thoughts with me, Sister."

"You're going straight to Father Friedrich."

"Yes."

The tome is extended to you. You take it as quickly as you can without appearing desperate. Your hands are shaking, badly, and barely steadied against the hard leather binding.

Both of Sister Cardew's hands are folded in front of her, steady, relaxed. Her face is immutable. You glance away, back down to the pages tucked within. The promise of more knowledge. There is a small bookmark, comprised of only a single white string.

You pluck it out of the pages, and extend an open palm once again to the priestess before you. "You would leave Her symbol with me?"

She still refuses to accept the gesture. "You need Her more than I do."

The constant, overwhelming stress that's plagued you since arriving in Beorward feels like it intensifies tenfold.

"This is exactly what I'm talking about. Take it. Call for me if you need Her services. I'm staying in a spare room in the exterior ward as well." Large brown eyes flicker down to the book in your hands. "Even if it's unrelated to the Church of Flesh, I'll be residing here until you bid my leave. Father Sullivan insisted."

What?

There's a flare of gauze and shawls, as Sister Cardew makes a perfect curtsy. "The immaterial must be known, Father Anscham."

(1/3)

>>4049047
The priestess leaves, as quickly as she's able, off to attend to her own duties.

You try to quell the Storm brewing in you. You're wanting for control, for some sort of power over this whole situation more desperately than anything, but you are a righteous man. An honest man.

Looking down to your dog, back to the hallway ahead, you resume walking in the opposite direction of Sister Cardew. "Come on, Ray."

The hulking mastiff is more than happy to get back to moving. You both cut a clear path through the remainder of the interior ward. Yet another banded door lies at the end of it.

Rapping on the planks and iron, you bark, "Father Friedrich, it is Father A—"

The door opens, promptly.

There are no fewer than fifteen men inside the office. It's more of a strategy room, with how many maps are splayed out on the large wooden table in the center of the chamber. The lack of chairs is pronounced, for everyone standing, and staring straight at you. You don't recognize a soul around the table. About ten are clearly clergymen of the Church of Flesh. Three more are decidedly noblemen, for their finery and posture. The rest are dressed very discreetly, in leggings, tunics, and hats befitting of the upper class.

All of the myriad gifts are gone, replaced with haphazard piles of personal effects. Bloodied pieces of armor, neatly folded robes that were clearly worn by men before they perished, a stack of holy symbols smeared with soot, and countless weapons litter the edges of the space.

It occurs to you that many of the men are dressed solely in black.

Father Friedrich, in his usual skin-tight garb, is right in the doorway. The gray and white of his hair is extremely prominent, against the morning light filtering in from the few large openings in the wooden and stone walls. He whips his head from you, back to the meeting. "Fifteen minutes. Go stretch your legs. We'll reconvene then. Leave us. Now."

Glancing up, the Father of Flesh mutters, "get out of the door."

You step aside, permitting over a dozen men to filter back out to the hallway, muttering as well. You can't catch anything in particular, as Father Friedrich grabs onto your sleeve and practically pulls you straight out of the hall.

Ray is snarling in an instant. You quiet him down, gesturing with a free hand, and keeping the other firmly on the tome that is now in your possession. "We will likely need more Time, Father Friedrich, for everything I have had to attend to—"

Your sleeve is released promptly, as you shrug off the grab. The priest responsible for accosting you firmly closes the door, and looks to you with bags under his eyes. "You don't know the half of it. You remember one of the first things I said to you? About what had to be done?"

(2/3)

>>4049050
"Of course." Your memory is impeccable. "That I have to get home, safely, and set things right. I fully intend to do so."

"After that," he waves his hand, impatiently.

"That the entire country is in disarray? That—" you're grimacing, "that you need my help."

"Yes, Father Anscham. You've been asleep for two damn days. I've been sorting out everything you've helped me with." His fists are clenched. "I was hoping we could have a little friendly training, educate you on Our tenets. Show you some thanks for aiding me with the outbreak." He's pacing, now, and keeping his eyes straight on you. "I would still like to, but Father Sullivan has been so far up my ass—"

>A] "The situation regarding the sick and injured required immediate attention. I could not sit idly by while lives were being lost. If I could have called upon the Church of Spirit sooner, I would have. I have a full report, right here, and would like for you to look it over with me."

>B] "I am going to be completely honest with you, Father Friedrich: I still have no idea how such a severe outbreak could have taken place within your home. This entire situation has been utterly insane, and you need to explain to me why the intervention of THREE church leaders was necessary to get your church back under control."

>C] "I know you are just as overwhelmed as I am. Can we please take a moment, from all of this? I sincerely appreciate your attempts to instruct me, Father, but I cannot tolerate a single additional problem from your church thrust on me. I have a church of my own to get back to. You need to get your affairs in order, and I am not going to instruct you on how to do so."

>D] "I need full disclosure regarding whatever responsibilities have you so distracted. The state of affairs in the Church of Flesh are almost inexcusable. Do not spare me the details. We can make Time for this."

>E] Write-in.

>>4049052
>A] "The situation regarding the sick and injured required immediate attention. I could not sit idly by while lives were being lost. If I could have called upon the Church of Spirit sooner, I would have. I have a full report, right here, and would like for you to look it over with me."

>>4049070
+1

>>4049052
>A] "The situation regarding the sick and injured required immediate attention. I could not sit idly by while lives were being lost. If I could have called upon the Church of Spirit sooner, I would have. I have a full report, right here, and would like for you to look it over with me."

>>4049052
>>A] "The situation regarding the sick and injured required immediate attention. I could not sit idly by while lives were being lost. If I could have called upon the Church of Spirit sooner, I would have. I have a full report, right here, and would like for you to look it over with me."

If we don't sort this out first we risk another outbreak and im not sure we can weather it as well.

(Going to take a quick nap and I'll update when I'm awake. Vote is open until then.)

>>4049070
>>4049095
>>4049102
>>4049116
(Thanks for your patience lads, vote is locked, writing now!)

>>4049488
"Father Friedrich." It's not often that you see fit to interrupt others, but there is the work of a representative of the Church of Spirit in your arms, and you are not about to squander it.

"The situation here— regarding the sick and injured— required immediate attention. I could not sit idly by while lives were being lost. If I could have called upon the Church of Spirit sooner, I would have. I— I have a full report, right here," you lift the large and increasingly weighty tome, "and would like for you to look it over with me."

He's unamused, and stops pacing. "The report. I have only just finished speaking with the priestess you summoned."

"Did she recount any of its contents to you?"

"Briefly, and to be frank, Father Anscham, I did not see any further cause for concern.

"You did not get the full scope of your church's affairs?" You might be sneering.

"I trust in my men and women to attend to their duties.

"If we do not sort this out— first— we are entirely at risk of another outbreak."

He is extremely unamused. The priest's sneer definitely matches your own.

Dropping your voice, you murmur, "I am not sure if I can weather it, as well." The room feels a lot smaller, for how many items of the deceased are scattered throughout. The large table at the center of it all thuds as you set down the book in hand.

Father Friedrich silently moves next to you, with all of the swiftness of the Gods. "14 minutes. I know you like to read, Father Anscham. Make it fast."

The bindings of the book are sturdy, of hardened leather, bound with an exotic glue. The Church of Spirit possesses one of the only two libraries in Corcaea, to the best of your knowledge. It comes as no surprise for so much parchment to be readily available to one of their clergy women. The tome must have a hundred pages.

Unlike your journal, the pages are clean, devoid of any blood or marks of battle. No stains or soot from flame and war adorn the edges of the crisp, unscented animal skins. Sister Cardew's handwriting is immaculate, clearly penned in devotion to her Goddess. The margins are broad, and she has provided full illustrations for a number of the patients in the ward. Depictions of various disease, before and after your treatment, are described in excruciating detail. There are dozens of patients listed that you did not have the Time to visit, who were in far less acute stages of illness.

It seems that the Sister of Spirit attended to every single patient in Beorward, over the course of the last two days, and chronicled their mental capacities in full. While paying due diligence to the state of their Flesh, with the assistance of more mundane healers, her primary concern appears to have been of their mind.

Their Spirit.

(1/2)

>>4049580
Flipping through the pages, skimming, trying to take in as much as you can before a proper read, several entries catch your eye. You know that 14, "Thirteen minutes," is not enough to cover every word in full.

The entry on the gentleman who was covered in lesions spans no fewer than six pages, given Sister Cardew's extremely ornate penmanship.

Flipping ahead, you see that the demon you spared has also been attended to. His record spans at least 10 pages. There is mention of the work Father Wilhelm attempted on the monstrosity, and you cannot discern the full scope of the issue with a single glance. One thing is certain, though.

He is still alive.

The man who was restrained within the confines of his room, in the exterior ward, has an even longer entry. Twenty pages are dedicated to his mental condition, treatment, and recommendations for transfer to the Church of Spirit.

They are both still being held here.

The intensity of your grimace is hurting your face.

There is a short entry, on the man who's leg you completely restored. It is incredibly concise, less than a single page, for his humble and well-adjusted soul.

Over five are devoted to your work on him.

He has been sent home. May all the Gods be praised.

Based on reports from the patients and Sister Cardew's assumptions, there are over thirty pages on an assessment regarding your own mental state. She has left over a third of the book in the back open, labeled "acute assessment incomplete, further report will be provided pending approval of Father Richard Anscham."

(Options in next post.)

>>4049584
>A] (Select only ONE prompt from A. The following will determine how much information you can review with Father Friedrich. Majority vote will decide.)
>1] You'll work with the Time that's been given to you. You have more than enough to worry about, and can read this at your leisure after the meeting.
>2] Risk offending a fellow church leader, and demand that Father Friedrich set aside his company to discuss this with you. Immediately. With due diligence, and as much Time as you deem necessary. You'll back off only if this meeting of his is a matter of life and death.
>3] Flex your position, if you have to. He does, ultimately, defer to the Church of Mercy. There is nothing more important to this church's security than the health and well-being of its people.
>4] REALLY flex your position, and remind him that the King is Merciful. No man, woman or child in this country is to question the validity of your authority, as His hands, and His Father.
>5] You have endured the knowledge of a demon of Spirit. Convincing another man of the Goddesses' might is nothing. Intimidate Father Friedrich through sheer force of devotion. You do not need to call upon Her to demonstrate your conviction and zeal for the immaterial.

>B] (It is safe to assume each page will take a minute to read. Prioritize what you would like to cover, based on how much Time you think you've been given.)
>1] One page, on Dumphrey and his normal, healthy, completely healed condition.
>2] Six pages, on the gentleman who was covered in sores, that you healed to full.
>3] Ten pages, on Jonathan, his treatment, and his current condition.
>4] Twenty pages, on the civilian prisoner with the broken Spirit.
>5] Over thirty pages, on you.
>6] The entire book. You are making Time for this.

>>4049594
>>A] (Select only ONE prompt from A. The following will determine how much information you can review with Father Friedrich. Majority vote will decide.)
>>1] You'll work with the Time that's been given to you. You have more than enough to worry about, and can read this at your leisure after the meeting.
>3] Ten pages, on Jonathan, his treatment, and his current condition.
>1] One page, on Dumphrey and his normal, healthy, completely healed condition.

>>4049603
+1

>>4049594
>>2] Risk offending a fellow church leader, and demand that Father Friedrich set aside his company to discuss this with you. Immediately. With due diligence, and as much Time as you deem necessary. You'll back off only if this meeting of his is a matter of life and death.

>B] (It is safe to assume each page will take a minute to read. Prioritize what you would like to cover, based on how much Time you think you've been given.)
>3] Ten pages, on Jonathan, his treatment, and his current condition.
>4] Twenty pages, on the civilian prisoner with the broken Spirit.

These are the absolute worst ones, if their spirit broke it wouldn't matter what other plans Fred had if his church is going to be on fire again. Make this point very well known, he needs to make sure his home is safe before anything else.

>>4049603
>>4049608
(Going with majority for A, as previously stated, while covering B3 and 1)

>>4049610
(Which leaves a few minutes to touch on B4 and offer a few choice words.

Vote is locked, writing now)

>>4049663
I have spent my entire service as the Father of Mercy with due respect paid towards every other church leader. No matter how much my patience is tried here, I will uphold my tenets.

You're all restraint and diligence, silently flipping to the entries on the demon of fear.

[November 25th, 605. Jonathan Friedrich. Attended by Brother Griffin and Sister Durville. Supervision by...]

You gloss over no less than two dozen names, of every single guard and post that may have come in contact with the demon.

Sister Cardew is extraordinarily thorough. She wanted accountability, in case there was any mistreatment, didn't she?

[Catalyst of Fear recorded and witnessed by 49 civilians, 7 priests, Father Galterius Friedrich and Father Richard Anscham on the eve of November the 23rd. Full list of names can be found on page opposite.

Testimony is consistent with Father Richard Anscham, leader of the Church of Mercy, to be capable of controlling a demon's faculties in full.]

This is your life's work.

https://youtu.be/ce8TIqEsBSU

You lean in.

["Minor" terminology, though archaic, is suitable. The demon possesses extraordinary capacity to control its own Flesh, but exercises no desire for domination or control over any other form. The influence of Father Anscham's "Relic" may be responsible for its shift in personality. Further analysis will be required.]

The locket about your neck feels as if it's on fire. You lean a little closer, as the item practically hangs over the page.

You place a hand over it, letting the heat and relief spread through your palm while you read.

[Testing reveals that the demon cannot demonstrate fear in any capacity. With its sole emotion restricted, its threat has been neutralized, in full. Form can be changed from material to immaterial on command, with possible applications for weaponized...]

Flipping the next few pages, your hands are shaking once again. The tremor is severe enough to threaten to tear the precious parchment. Steadying your wrist with one hand, releasing your hold on the Relic, you turn over the pages with the other. There are a number of stunning illustrations, depicting the man in life, his transformation, and every other form he surely has taken.

The final one is of a small mound of Flesh. Dozens of eyes are protruding from it. Staring.

[November 26th, 605. Intense observation is unsuitable for continued health of the patient.]

Despite the caution, there are still several more pages.

[Jonathan has yet to act on professed desire to maim or butcher his guard. Further questioning yielded similar fear of assault, without action.

Burgeoning control of its Catalyst is tempered in full with any demonstration of compassion.

The demon's restraint has been unwavering, pending change in observation.

Condition appears to be stable enough for interrogation.]

(1/3)

>>4049916
The next several pages are blank.

You flip them over, wide-eyed. You try the edges of the page, ensuring nothing is stuck together.

Father Friedrich is scowling, reading over your shoulder. "She informed me that all research regarding the Catalyst was strictly within the domain of the Church of Spirit, and refused to defer to any further orders. I will be taking her insolence up with Father Sullivan, personally. I told you, Richard, this is a waste of our Time. We have the situation here under control."

I may have to see to her, personally.

Frustrated beyond reason, you flip back, to a patient you know you have saved.

[November 24th, 605. Dumphrey Hayward. Attended by Sister Enart. Patient is reported to be 36 years old, a laborer, yet examination reveals he has not a single injury or complaint. All sign of decay in his amputated limb has abated, as attested to by Sister Enart. Father Anscham's full administrations will be reported in a separate entry of this document. Mr. Hayward is mobile, capable for duty, and fit for immediate release. His mental fortitude is matched only by his restored physical prowess.

Strongly recommended for inclusion into the Church of Flesh's forces.]

There is a signature, beneath the recommendation. It's Father Friedrich's.

Said military commander is tapping his foot. Loudly. "Father Anscham."

You turn to him, snapping. "I am not finished. Do you have such little regard for the welfare of your children?"

"You know I don't want to hit you again, Richard—"

"If their Spirit broke, would it even matter? What other plans—" you gesture to the door, to the men that are likely eavesdropping, "even your best laid plans will go to waste if your church catches fire again."

His fists have not loosened since you entered the room. "So help me—"

"Do you understand me, Father Friedrich?" You don't know whether to shout or drop from exhaustion. "I simply want to help you. To ensure that your home is safe."

The fist closest to you moves, and you flinch, instinctively.

It goes to the book between you both, flipping to the entry regarding the man within the exterior ward. The one who's Spirit was broken.

You look to Father Friedrich, baffled.

"I had a feeling. Put your damn nose in the book and read, will you? We don't have all day."

Scowling, you comply, and turn to the page. There are footsteps coming back down the hallway.

[November 24th, 605. Albert Urrey. Unattended. Allegedly under direct supervision of Father Friedrich. Last seen by Sister Enart, Brother Trebbeck and Father Anscham. All neglected patient care. Questioning revealed transfer from a stable to quarters within the exterior ward of the Church of Flesh. Endangerment of the lives of the patients within said ward is to not be understated.]

Father Friedrich is seething. "Words. With Father Sullivan. About the girl. You're welcome to join me, if you like."

(2/3)

>>4049918
[Textbook cesspool. Symptoms align with reference report 965, shelf 62, chain 3.]

What?

[Disassociation from Spirit has led to a severe buildup of...]

The door to the room is knocked on, hard. An incredibly refined, accented voice picks up over the banded planks of wood. "Galterius. I will take my leave the very moment I suspect my Time is being wasted—"

The priest barks back, "I'll throw you to the battlements from here if you call my devotion into QUESTION, Sir. Hold the door and your insults, and I will be right with you."

A little laughter, at the nobleman's expense, comes from further beyond the wood. There's absolutely no question in your mind that every word you're uttering can be heard by a number of strangers. Father Friedrich looks to you, sympathetically.

"Thank you, for everything you've done here. You know you're welcome to stay for as long as you like," he smirks, "though that isn't going to be for very long, now, is it?"

"I intend to stay so long as I am awaiting correspondence from Father Sullivan and Father Barthalomew."

"The girl."

"Pardon?"

"The— Sister Cardew. She said she had word for you, from Father Sullivan. I haven't heard hide nor hair from Bart yet. I'll pass on any word from either of them the moment I receive it."

"Father Sullivan— you don't mean to say—"

"No letter. No direct correspondence. The man's a psychopath, for all the FUCKING mind-games—"

A deep breath, from the priest across from you. He pulls a little on his beard, looking as if he could desperately use a drink and a vacation.

"Excuse me, Richard."

"It— I understand completely, Father."

His voice is lowered, substantially. "No. Honestly. I'm sorry you've had to see things in such a sorry state. To see me in such a sorry state."

The man is easily twice as broad as you, and so imposing it's difficult to not make some kind of comment.

(Options in next post)

>>4049925
>A] Not only do you understand completely, you badly want to still make the most of your time in the Church of Flesh.
>1] More physical training would be a Mercy. It made you BOTH feel substantially better last time.
>2] You need something more sophisticated. A proper lesson, in the Church of Flesh's tenets and service to the country.
>3] You need a drink. Ask Father Friedrich if he'd like to simply get out and have some time away from the church for the night. You could both use the break.

>B] There's still no excuse for this mess.
>1] Insist that Father Friedrich contact you the moment he's able. You do wish to speak with Father Sullivan, too, and need to arrange a personal meeting as soon as possible. You're ready for whatever games he wants to play.
>2] You're taking up all of these concerns with Sister Cardew. Keep things respectful, but you're alarmed to an extreme.

>C] Simply thank Father Friedrich for his Time, and get moving with the rest of your day. You have more than enough to worry about, without all of this mess.
>1] Ask for the supplies necessary to send a letter to Mother Aimar, with all due haste.
>2] Go find Cyril, and head out to the countryside, for your investigation into the Church of Agriculture.
>3] Reconvene immediately with Sister Cardew, wherever she might be, and address her report.

>D] Write-in.

>>4049927
>>D] Write-in.
Tell Father Friedrich we totally understand; after all this was one of the reasons that made Richard run away from everything
Then
>2] You're taking up all of these concerns with Sister Cardew. Keep things respectful, but you're alarmed to an extreme.

>>4049927
>>A] Not only do you understand completely, you badly want to still make the most of your time in the Church of Flesh.
>2] You need something more sophisticated. A proper lesson, in the Church of Flesh's tenets and service to the country.

>2] You're taking up all of these concerns with Sister Cardew. Keep things respectful, but you're alarmed to an extreme.

>1] Ask for the supplies necessary to send a letter to Mother Aimar, with all due haste.

>>4049930
>>4049932
(I think we can find a way to incorporate both of these. Locking the vote, writing now!)

>>4050749
Parting your fingers from demons and sin, you run a hand through strands of gold. The hand in your hair moves to your temples, matching Father Friedrich's exasperation. You look to him with a very pained smile. "Believe me, I understand. More than I could possibly say."

This is a primary reason I left for the ruins to begin with.

"This is about more than any responsibility. Our respective leadership. I— I may be the Father of Mercy, but it would set my mind at ease to know that you are— that you are being looked after, too."

He matches your smile, as earnestly as you could hope for. "I've got the most qualified man in the country right here, don't I?"

It's very hard to not give a genuine smile back. "Yes, well— at least— if you could try to not be so hard on yourself."

He matches the smile, and ruffles the side of your hair with you. "I know. You don't need to hear any of this shit."

"It would still—" both of your hands part, to respective nervous habits. He's pacing again, putting more distance from the door, to afford you both an extra moment of privacy. You're fidgeting, murmuring, "I will attend to Sister Cardew."

"You are a Mercy, Richard."

"I insist." Your frown is back as quickly as it came.

Thirty of those pages cannot be all praise. If she has the faintest idea of what I have done...

The voices opposite Father Friedrich's door are getting louder by the second.

"Father Friedrich!"
"We do NOT have all day!"

You turn on a heel, asking as promptly as you're able, "if you can forgive me—"

"Just name it. Make it fast."

"An envelope, and insurance for the fastest messenger you can afford. To Eanlac." The knocking is increasing in volume. You try to ignore it. "To Mother Aimar."

Father Friedrich pales, "ah. I— well." He seems to be reconsidering, and struggling under the strain of even more pressure on his doorstep.

"If it is too much to—"

"No, no. It's fine, Richard. You know it might be a few weeks before you get a reply?"

"She will know where to find me."

There's a very nervous silence between the two of you.

The knocking is incessant.

"Right. Here, just a moment..."

A stream of crimson cloth around the man's waist kicks into the air, for the speed at which he moves back across the room. From beneath a floorboard underneath the colossal table, he kicks up a panel. Beneath is a number of incredibly lethal weapons, a number of closed satchels, and a few strange items you do not recognize on sight. Suspecting sorcery, you lean in, but the board is replaced in an instant.

One of the bags has been produced. From it, a coin purse and ten envelopes are promptly handed to you. You're provided with a generic seal, several deep red sticks of wax, and several more pens. "You need this far more than I do right now."

(1/2)

>>4050918
You accept the items as graciously as you're able. "The Church of Mercy will reimb—"

A wave of his hand. "It's been collecting dust. Don't bother. You'd better get going."

The knocking and complaints are increasingly more irritated. You begin to head for an opposite door, wanting for quiet. Lingering just a moment longer, backing up as you speak, you stash the items you were entrusted with. The colossal report goes back to both of your hands, which has been entirely necessary for you to handle its full weight.

You're wanting. Not just for strength, but to best serve the God of the Material. This is an unparalleled opportunity to learn of Flesh, and you are not passing it up, no matter how strained your mentor is.

"Father Friedrich, it has been nothing but a pleasure to study under your tutelage. It would be an honor, to receive further instruction, if you would have me."

"Sure thing, Richard." He's smirking. "You sneaking out again tonight?"

"You—" you're flushing, "there— I—" the stammer becomes a murmur, and immediate acknowledgement of your excursion last night. "I am available this evening—"

His laughter meets you as you scramble to call Ray to your side and slip away from yet another accusation. "Go on! Run!"

You're backing up rapidly, flushed with embarrassment. "Possibly— we could have a more sophisticated lesson when next we meet—?"

"Sure, sure. I'll draft something this afternoon. Don't bother me until tonight, you hear?"

"Of course."

"Don't forget to eat!"

You wave, as reassuringly as you can. Ushering Ray with the opposite hand out of the office, you emerge back into the halls of the Church of Flesh.

The door closes firmly behind you. A fair amount of griping, complaining and various other forms of insubordination can be heard from the door opposite.

(Options in next post).

>>4050919
>A] Eavesdrop for a few seconds. You're an honest man, but you're also a glutton for information.

>B] This is none of your business, and you have MORE than enough of your own affairs to attend to. After you send off the letter to Mother Aimar...
>1] Go back to your quarters, and read the report in full. You can make the Time, and you want to be fully informed before meeting with Sister Cardew.
>2] Locate the Sister of Spirit as quickly as possible, and try to go over the document with her. You don't want to make any assumptions.
>3] You are at your limit for patience and compassion. Find Sister Cardew, and demand that she explain her insolence.

>C] You need a few minutes to decompress. There's only one thing a man with your level of devotion usually has in mind, to heal your mind, body, and soul. Go get some peace, quiet, and prayer.
>1] Pray to Spirit. Her symbol was provided to you, and you wish to ask for guidance.
>2] Pray to Flesh. You are in His church, and seek His blessing.
>3] Pray to Agriculture. She forsake you, and you want to start making amends.
>4] Pray to Mercy. She has always been there for you, no matter what you've been through.
>5] It's not the first thing that comes to mind, but (write-in a better idea you may have to unwind, before beginning your afternoon.)

>D] Write-in.

>>4050921
C1 then B1

>>4051256
+1

>>4050921
>>A] Eavesdrop for a few seconds. You're an honest man, but you're also a glutton for information.

>C] You need a few minutes to decompress. There's only one thing a man with your level of devotion usually has in mind, to heal your mind, body, and soul. Go get some peace, quiet, and prayer.
>1] Pray to Spirit. Her symbol was provided to you, and you wish to ask for guidance.

>B] This is none of your business, and you have MORE than enough of your own affairs to attend to. After you send off the letter to Mother Aimar...
>2] Locate the Sister of Spirit as quickly as possible, and try to go over the document with her. You don't want to make any assumptions.

Id rather talk to her, she is the more important aspect here.

>>4051256
>>4051457
>>4051575
(Nice, I think I can incorporate all of these without any issues. Locking the vote, writing now)

>>4051575
>>4050921
Supporting

>>4051575
+1

>>4051622
>>4051623
>>4051727
It's impossible to resist lingering for a few more seconds. Glancing behind you, ensuring that the hallway is clear, you confirm the obvious.

Absolutely no one cares that someone is waiting outside of Father Friedrich's office.

You inch towards the door, easily able to overhear the start of an argument.

"This is an embarrassment and an outrage, to say nothing of—"
"...did not ride from Calunoth through barricade and—"
"Wasting my Time, Galterius? I thought you were more—"
"It would be wise, to be more mindful of the company that you keep—"
"A demon seems to be of more concern to you than our—"

The sound of a fist impacting an open hand is so deafening it interjects every complaint.

"If a single man here takes issue with the company that I keep, or anyone's conduct in my own fucking home, I am all ears. Go on. Say so. One at a time. Now."

A long silence follows. You can hear the footsteps down the hall, of the dozens of men and women within the interior ward. The bustle of a church that is meant to defer to a singular leader.

There's some throat clearing.

"Oh? Lord Talbot, sir?" Knuckles pop.

A few papers are shuffled. "Our acquisition of the Crepuscule was intended to be made known on merrier terms, Father Friedrich. A festival is to be set in Calunoth, and further forces are to be allocated at once. Resupply—"

Several priests immediately interject.

"We've been in the fucking Fen for—"
"Father—!"
"Murgate has needed reinforcements for months and we've—"

You pull back from the door, as three priestesses walking down the corridor turn their heads to you. Assuming a neutral stance, you keep your eyes averted.

They pass, without issue.

You listen for a few more moments.

"You, too, Lord Quincy? Well? Out with it."

He sounds apologetic. "The civil unrest in Calunoth—"

"We've been over this. You have your own men. Acquire more zealots if you need to, I'm not—"

"If you could speak with him, perhaps? An appearance could quell the dissent—"

The slam of a fist onto something wooden, papers rattling, and a complete silence takes over the room.

It's eventually punctuated by Father Friedrich's voice. "Waste my Time as much as you like, but you're not speaking to Father Anscham under my roof. Don't make me repeat myself again."

The silence persists.

You decide to pull back. For all of your curiosity, this seems to be worse than pulling teeth, and you don't have the Time to spare.

More business lingers in the hall behind you.

"...funeral services..."
"...of Spirit requested for further aid..."
"...for reallocation..."

Taking several deep breaths, you steel yourself against the book in hand. Wordlessly, a quick gesture is made towards Ray, who blissfully follows your broad steps.

They're headed straight back towards your room.

(1/3)

>>4051757
This is too much. I need some peace. Quiet. Prayer.

Not a soul dares to do more than give you a friendly wave or "good afternoon, Father Anscham," as you make your way back to your quarters.

Closing the door firmly behind you and Ray, you slump back straight against the door.

"Mercy."

It looks as if your room has been tidied in your absence. The myriad boxes of imported goods have been straightened, but you're such a neat individual, it appears that almost nothing else has been attended to.

The broad leather bindings in your hands are set on a clean table. Ray politely settles back on the bear skin rug, after walking about the room a few more times in a show of protection. You look to him gratefully, give him a few words of reassurance, and command him to stay put.

He's asleep before you take out the bookmark Sister Cardew left in your care.

She is sharper than even I would have expected.

Grasping the thin white thread in hand, you cross the room, close the curtains, and put out the last of the dying hearth. Every candle is snuffed, up to and including the one in hand, as you kneel down on an open expanse of the stone floor. Your voice drops to a whisper.

"Nothing before me need be seen. Through darkness I have endured. You have shown me, more than any other, not to trust what lies before my mortal eyes. Spirit, Goddess of the Mind: hear me."

If you weren't mistaken, you might imagine the soot and smoke from the extinguished fire smells of white lilies. It's familiar. The scent usually makes you feel sick.

In the halls of the Church of Flesh, it's an immediate comfort. This is no invocation. You have nothing to fear. Nothing is infecting your mind, or intruding your thoughts. There is nothing divine working through you.

You are all devotion, reverence, and love, as you close your eyes and look inward. To yourself. It's informal, but you feel as if your connection to the Goddess has never been stronger.

"Thank you, Spirit. Thank you, for granting me the wisdom to seek my own truths. May no temptation may lead me astray. You are the immaculate teacher, the divine mentor. Grant me your counsel. Permit me to search alongside you. I seek a righteous path. I seek your love. I seek your guidance."

You're on bended knee, smiling. It's dark, but there is a white thread in hand. You can feel, and see, beyond what is directly in front of you.

"I walk now not through a valley of death. The halls of my own life are far more perilous, far more winding. I only wish to understand. Permit me to best serve you. I am listening, Spirit."

You remain on your knees for a few minutes, in the dark and quiet, with the scent of white lilies..

"I am more than Your vessel. I am Your student. The immaterial must be known."

(2/3)

>>4051759
The gentle sound of Ray's breathing is all you hear. There is a soft breeze, from the window at the far end of your room. It kicks up the curtains from time to time, though you cannot even see their crimson.

There is no need for a further response. There's the smell of flowers, and a calm at the back of your mind.

You know She is listening.

Rising to your feet, you cross the room, careful to not trip. Tossing open the drapes to your quarters is an immediate necessity.

Light from the afternoon sun pours into the room, stirring Ray right out of his slumber. He lazily remains on the bearskin rug, looking to you as you gather your things once again.

"We've got our work cut out for us, don't we, boy?"

He is unamused, and yawns.

"My thoughts exactly."

The fire at the hearth remains extinguished. You don't intend to return to your quarters for some time today. Shoving down as much food as you can stand, you stash a small bag of marzipan and dried meat on your person.

Looking to your flask, you murmur, "energy? Vitality? Something... exotic?"

Steam filters out of the top of the unopened cap. The liquid is dark as night, and likely nothing you've tasted before.

A sip confirms it. The drink is bright, crisp, and terribly bitter. There are undercurrents of caramel, something woody.

You're a masochist, and absolutely love it.

It feels as if someone's put a shock to the back of your skull, for how much livelier you feel after a few minutes. Stashing the book under your arm, you resolve at the last possible moment to simply go straight to Sister Cardew's quarters.

Calling Ray back to your side, you head out. Your prior examination of the exterior ward was far from thorough, but you locate your quarry quickly enough.

Down the hall, at the eastern wing, adjacent to the least of the ill, is a single sign. It's hand-written, in the same ornate text that is adorning the book in your hands.

"Keep out. Don't knock. I don't care if the building is literally on fire (again)."

>A] Knock, and make yourself known. You are not playing any games.

>B] Be cheeky, don't knock, but announce your presence. You're determined to get some mutual respect.

>C] Slip a note under the door requesting that Sister Cardew join you somewhere outside of the Church of Flesh. She's obviously upset to even be here.
>1] The courtyard. She's somehow almost as pale as you are.
>2] Out for tea. Keep it light.
>3] Out for lunch. This could take awhile.

>D] Write-in.

>>4051761
>C3

>>4051761
voting 3 C

>>4051761
>>C] Slip a note under the door requesting that Sister Cardew join you somewhere outside of the Church of Flesh. She's obviously upset to even be here.
>3] Out for lunch. This could take awhile.

>>4051761
Take the string with us too, let her know we appreciate the thought and we spent some time with Spirit

>>4051767
>>4051770
>>4051771
>>4051781
(Hell yeah, let's get this ball rolling. Vote is locked, writing now.)

>>4051787
The corner of the cleanest sheet of parchment you have becomes a note. You are a gentleman, articulate, and have a bad habit of talking in circles. It rapidly becomes longer than you initially intended.

"Sister Cardew,

I have returned with your report and bookmark, the very first moment I was able. These records, and our mutual desire to be rid of this place, could easily be amended over lunch. Please correct me if I am mistaken, but I have reason to believe your desire to escape these halls eclipses even my own. Would you accompany me this afternoon, that we might attend to our work in a fairer surroundings?

Your efforts are sincerely appreciated, regardless of your reply. The thoroughness of your study is worthy of praise, and you were right, once again. I was able to give proper devotion to Spirit this afternoon, thanks to your generosity. Enclosed is your holy symbol.

The immaterial must be known,

Father Anscham"

Slipping the letter under Sister Cardew's door takes only a moment. You step back, fidgeting, and wait a few more minutes.

There's a rustling, as the slip of paper is obviously picked up. It has to have been read with inhuman speed, or glossed over entirely, for how quickly the door opens.

A slender, short and wide-eyed woman is standing in a room you don't get to look at. She closes the door rapidly behind her, nearly catching some of the white fabric about her sleeves in the frame.

Flustered, she looks up to you, through wide lenses. "Yes."

"Yes?"

The note is in her hand, and she doesn't seem to want to let go of it. "Yes. Give me just a moment."

A swirl of fabric disappears back inside of the door, which is closed again, promptly. You hear a scatter of papers, some very wholesome swears on things like "by all of the papercuts" and "dog-eared, water-stained, good-for-nothing inkblots."

After several moments, the priestess reemerges, looking utterly identical. The door behind her is shut firmly, the note is gone, though she appears to have acquired a small bag. It is thrust at you to carry, immediately, and weighs almost nothing. You suspect it has a little coin, and more writing supplies.

She sets to locking her door, her back turned to you as she fusses with the lock.

Why was I not given a key for my quarters?

"Where are we going, then?"

(Options in next post.)

>>4051828
>A] Go find a guard you know you can trust, and ask for a recommendation.

>B] You have no idea what's in Beorward, but you have traveled extensively. Trust your instincts, and simply look for a nice place.
>1] A well-off inn. They'll be used to accommodating clergy, and you won't raise too many eyebrows. You'll likely need to purchase a full room, or spend a good deal extra for the service, but it's worth the extra expense to get out.
>2] The best cook shop you can find. It will be busy, and likely poor for conducting business, but you'd rather have some normalcy given the circumstances.
>3] A food vendor, at a nearby market. Take whatever you can find to the most discreet location you can manage, even if you have to walk a bit.

>C] Ask Sister Cardew if she has any preferences. You are a gentleman, and she did ask first, but you'd rather her take the lead.

>D] Write-in.

>>4051831
>D] Write-in.
Find Cyril and ask him.