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>>4373245
A pair of gilded eyebrows quirk up. "Good morning, Father Anscham." Getting across the city in less than an hour, without any prior notice, clearly means the world to Him. A concerned, slight smile insists, "your respect for Our Time is greatly appreciated."

Leveling your breath, the air feels staler than the liquor still on your tongue. It's stifling, and altogether too warm for the Time of day. Pulse still high from the sobering sprint to the castle, it takes you a minute to even begin to wind down. Morning sun beams into the few windows in the stone and wooden chamber. It's well over four stories above the ground, the door behind you is locked, there's no one else in sight, and you're certain that not a soul will disturb either of you. Most importantly, the King isn't judging, or offended in the slightest.

He's worried. "Our intent," you're gently informed, "was to grant you Time, Father Anscham. Time to meet your congregation, and to see to Our city. Its peoples. A reprieve, without any limitations." Something between amazement, and complete dismay is knitting the King's brow. "Yet you have done no such thing. To the best of Our knowledge, you have yet to stop for a moment. Never, in all Our wildest imaginings, would We have expected you to amend everything We placed before you in four days. It comes as no surprise that you have been unavailable for contact, for four more."

You slept for four solid days, after finishing all of the business the King outlined for you.

"We wish for nothing more than to see to your health," King Magnus asserts, "and to aid you however We can. Before any reports are issued, or We discuss any further business: you are Our highest priority. This is a matter more pressing than any war on our doorstep. You are the hands of Our Church, and a light for Our people. To let you go unaided is unthinkable. You may speak freely, Father."

More than drying perspiration, relief soaks into you. The sheer number of things kept secret from the King are growing by the day. This may be an excellent opportunity to air out a few grievances. The volume of issues you have to discuss today are substantial, but this is the last meeting you both will have for months to come. The Church of Mercy is your home, the holy city of Eadric is your charge, and you have been absent from it for far too long.

"Thank you, your Grace. Before returning to Eadric, I would have liked to merely inform you, of— of the successful completion of my work here, in the capital."

The country is in turmoil, the lives of everyone you know are in danger, and a weakness resides in the hearts of humankind. The year is 606, and in your home— the country of Corcaea— the souls of mankind belong to demons. This is the last meeting between you, and going home, but the number of concerns on your shoulders will require more than a single conversation to resolve.

"I— I need your help."

(Options in next post.)

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>>4373247
>A] Start with your mind.
>1] "Unhinged" is rapidly becoming a generous statement. Focus on your personal struggles.
>2] Father Sullivan, leader of the Church of Spirit, has made your life a living hell. Stress his involvement in besmirching your good name, before getting into politics.

>B] You barely know where to begin, when it comes to your body.
>1] Vocalize a fraction of your concerns, as a physical vessel for all the Gods.
>2] Father Friedrich, leader of the Church of Flesh, is growing more distant by the day. Ask for advice on how to not push your country's foremost war strategist away from you, completely.

>C] Last night you admitted to fearing for your very soul.
>1] Confess.
>2] Father Pevrel, leader of the Church of Vengeance, has never even met you. Make your violent past— and hope for the future— clear to the King before seeking aid from an asocial stranger.

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>>4373249
Archive (Ruins Arc 1-6, Avowed Arc 7-9, Calunoth 10-17): http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Catalyst%20Quest
Discord (Update notifications, a huge music playlist, fan projects, etc.): https://discord.gg/24cmNWp
Google Drive (TIMELINE HIGHLY RECOMMENDED FOR NEW READERS!) (Timeline that succinctly summarizes events thus far, official art, fanart, high-res maps, calendars, TONS of in-character/expanded info on abilities, demons, and more!): https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1LkahIC8EcwHBPbrkEODUMH9iwQhxkFvB?usp=sharing

(Good afternoon guys! We're hitting the ground running with a three-day weekend. We typically do sessions Friday-Sunday. Minimum of one update a day Monday-Thursday. All times listed are always EST, in the event of short voting windows, or any updates. Super excited to get things going, it's great to be back!)

>>4373249
>>C] Last night you admitted to fearing for your very soul.
>1] Confess.

>>4373257
+1

>>4373249

>>4373257
Supporting

>>4373257
+1

>>4373257
>>4373318
>>4373320
>>4373326
(Locking the unanimous vote! Have a very short appointment at 2PM, will let you guys know if it take more than a few. Writing now!)

>>4373335
(Ty for your patience dudes, appointment is over already. Back to writing, will post shortly.)

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>>4373391
>>4373335
https://youtu.be/yAkZ5rAgqFU

There's a sickness still stuck to the back of your tongue, that can't be washed away with all the whiskey in the world. "May I— may I confess, Your Grace?"

The concern knitting King Magnus' brow deepens. Sweeping the back of His cloak aside, and sliding His chair a little closer, He replies, "you may."

"The guilt is eating me alive." There's no air. "It's crushing me." There was a small cell, underneath the Church of Mercy, for nearly a decade. Without light, or hope.

A low, understanding tone insists, "it is alright, Father Anscham."

"It's not." You snap your gaze from the floor, to your King, and choke out, "it's not. I'm not alright, and none of this is. You know I killed Brother Murdac. You're fully aware that I've slain countless demons. I may have abused the Gods, and abused myself— it— it is public knowledge that I have gone to depths that few other men can claim—"

"Father Anscham—"

"I do not regret crippling Edwin, your Grace. I do not regret any single action I've taken to defend myself, my family, my home or my life." Complete silence is all the invitation you need to elaborate. You're gritting out the truth, and not stopping for anything. "My first invocation to Vengeance was righteous."

You've felt the Catalyst 34 times.

"I killed twenty-eight innocent people. I was made to kill twenty-eight innocent people, by invoking Vengeance, and snapping my sanity cleanly in two each and every Time. They made me do it. They made me kill them. I might as well have died, for how agonizing it was—"

"They?"

"Brother Morris. Brother Stace."

"Adrian, and Theobald," you are quietly reminded.

"There was no justice," you spit. "Their titles are gone, but so are nearly thirty people." The tension in your chest feels like it hasn't left since last night, despite having an item in a shaking hand, that should relieve you from any pain. "I do not fear them."

Way too much silence passes between the two of you. The tremor, and cold sweat, is back in full force, in a small stone room, in a fortified building, in the presence of a member of the Church of Mercy. No sudden motions are made, to set your nerves on end. King Magnus deliberately slides His chair around the table, to sit right next to you. Slowly, and without any indication of judgement, He shifts, and makes sure that you don't have to look right at Him.

You want to cry. "I fear for my soul, Your Grace."

"You want to say more," He points out.

"Yes," you fight— through injustice, and the splints on your face— to not sob.

"How long ago was this...?"

"It started eight years ago, and lasted for less than one. They— they were attempting to cover for their actions. For all of my Time that they stole— this— this was one torture that was— was not prolonged—"

(Options in next post.)

>>4373420
>A] Demand that King Magnus explain why He permitted this activity to go on in the Church of Mercy— possibly still to this day.

>B] Get into the meat of it. Don't pass up on the opportunity. He's clearly not judging.

>C] Beg for forgiveness. Ask what you can do to make amends. Anything. You need to know that there's nothing to fear here.

>D] Plainly ask if He will aid you in writing the full confession to Father Pevrel, right now. This can't wait, and there's a guarantee that the message will be safely delivered if it comes from the capital.

>E] Write-in.

>>4373420
>>A] Demand that King Magnus explain why He permitted this activity to go on in the Church of Mercy— possibly still to this day.

>>4373427
+1

>>4373427
>>4373489
(Appreciate you guys, locking the vote! Back at my desk. Writing now.)

>>4373707
Neither emotion, nor the King of your country, can strike more fear into your heart than the absence of truth. Snapping to King Magnus, you demand, "how long— how long has this been going on for? Was I the first? Are they working to this day? I— I need answers— not forgiveness— not more distractions—!"

"Father Anscham."

Anger, and unrelenting grief has every tear threatening to spill over your eyes evaporate in an instant. "Why would you permit this to happen?" Quietly, afraid to ask, you have to beg the question. "Why me?"

"You were the best hope they had."

The world might as well give out from under you. "What?"

"Please, listen."

"I am listening," you breathe, and have never listened more closely in your entire life.

The King leans forward a bit, looking up to you, with regret smeared across all the gold of His face. "Humanity is ending. Our borders are beset, on all sides, by a common enemy. It is a war that We have lost, since Time immemorial. Our numbers grow fewer by the day—"

"We are not numbers—"

"Richard. Every victory, every new alliance made to the east, and every life that returns back home is another demon in our midst. We have delved, and sought answers from monsters. We have emptied the ruins beneath Calunoth. We cannot empty Our home." Though you're certain King Magnus must be physically incapable of crying, grief is stuck to every word from His lips. "Yet We drove away Our family."

Is this why his children left home...?

"We have sought answers from men, who accuse others of what they have been all along. Adrian, and Theobald, have worked tirelessly to understand the Catalyst. They have shared their findings with Us, for decades—"

An incredibly intense urge to vomit completely derails your attention, for the briefest of moments. Instinctively drawing a hand to your mouth, a distant, "please. Look at Us," from King Magnus punctuates a swell of bile, and old memories.

You look up, horrified. Powerlessness is drenching Him. "Desperation has made Us blind to everything that matters. Age is no excuse. Neither are the volume of Our concerns. This has never been, and never will be your sin to forgive." King Magnus gets out of His chair, and looks down at you, as you still are trying with everything you have to keep down another wave of bile.

He's furious. "It is Ours."

It's extremely hard to breathe. Against your better judgement, parting your hands from your lips, you keep a hand on either knee, head down, and just try to get some air. The windows are open. No one is hurting you. "Answer my question," you manage.

(1/2)

>>4373780
"Their work was permitted, in order to discover the limitations of the Catalyst." You're being stared at, as the King could not sound more apologetic. "We will make no excuses. Each and every life they claimed is no blood on your hands, Father. It is not your fault that their research was a success."

It's no use. You can't breathe.

"You were discovered, and could be pushed beyond mortal limits. We realized altogether too late what was transpiring, within the depths of your home." Very, very quietly, as if He's afraid to say it, a cursed sentence hangs in the air. "They wrote as if you were already a demon."

Clenching onto the knees of your robes, you seethe, "I am not."

"I am sorry, Father Anscham, that you have suffered as you have."

He's known. He's known this entire Time. Walter was right.

"Personally enforcing any measure of control over the Church of Mercy has been next to impossible, given the scope of Our position."

It sounds like He wants to say something further. You're far past your limit, eyes to the ground, and bark, "will you answer the question—?!"

"It is likely," the monarch quickly retorts, "that if they have yet to leave the church, that they will have continued to pursue their own ends without pause. Since We last heard news of their whereabouts, it would seem as if they have made themselves a fixture in Eadric."

"Why have you done nothing—"

Carefully, King Magnus explains, "We wish to leave the extent of their punishment in your hands."

>A] You're the Father of Temperance. Try to calm down. There are a LOT of other issues you came here today for. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED, with a positive modifier.)
>1] But you won't apologize for an instant for your behavior, or anything else you have to say on this matter.
>2] Do your best to not prove Adrian and Theobald right, and at least implore Mercy for forgiveness.

>B] Vent. You got the answer you wanted. (Write-in literally anything you wish to express about the sheer volume of bullshit you've gone through. Your QM will fill in any blanks.)

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

>>4373781
>>A] You're the Father of Temperance. Try to calm down. There are a LOT of other issues you came here today for. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED, with a positive modifier.)
>>1] But you won't apologize for an instant for your behavior, or anything else you have to say on this matter.

>>4374037
+1

>>4373781
>>A] You're the Father of Temperance. Try to calm down. There are a LOT of other issues you came here today for. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED, with a positive modifier.)
>>1] But you won't apologize for an instant for your behavior, or anything else you have to say on this matter.

>>4373781
>>A] You're the Father of Temperance. Try to calm down. There are a LOT of other issues you came here today for. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED, with a positive modifier.)

>>4374037
>>4374131
>>4374333
>>4374181
(Good morning everyone! Locking the vote here.)

>GET IT TOGETHER
>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.
>+10 FAITH OF A GODDESS/FATHER OF TEMPERANCE

Rolled 77 (1d100)

>>4374460
HERE WE C]

Rolled 95 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>4374460

>>4374468
Nice

Rolled 18 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>4374460
Check this 5.

Rolled 33 (1d100)

>>4374460

>>4374464
>>4374468
>>4374479
>>4374480
>>4374482
(Holy shit. Best of the first three is a 105/100. Good start! Writing now!)

(Bungled a dialogue tag, please refresh/F5 if the old post is still displaying. Will fix shortly.)

>>4374483
Before any other worship, passion, or oath, you have been a priest of Vengeance. There's no need for apology, plotting, or further grief.

https://youtu.be/wVVMHJxqDjE

The King of the country trusts you to be His hands, not His burden. You're going home, will clean up whatever messes have been left in your absence— and you're going to do so gracefully. You take several deep breaths, as your pulse starts to wind down. It's only the beginning of the dawn. There's a lot less heat than you initially thought. In fact, an outright chill on the air, from a light breeze, that picks up on half the sweat upon your skin.

A prickle runs up your spine, at the promise of retribution. "We will leave this matter at that, then."

Apology is still sinking into King Magnus. "That would be wise."

"You should be made aware," you tactfully shift, "that my research has been particularly fruitful, as of late." An interested, politely quiet glance is given, but no further comment. "The care, and assistance, of the scholars in my company have made themselves more than an asset. They have made themselves dear friends, and their competency is without question." Some reassurance is necessary. "Furthermore, it— it will please You, Your Grace, to know that Sister Harriet Cardew, and Professo— Walter Middleton— have born no ill-intent towards anyone here in Your city. On the contrary."

Professor Echo spent the better part of eight months hiding in the castle, and the leader of your congregation killed nearly half a dozen men to successfully escort him in. It's fine. King Magnus does not seethe, and with all the grace you could hope for, sighs, "elaborate."

"Walter's devotion to Spirit puts most clergyman to shame. His first-hand experiences, and daring to challenge any preconceived notions Sister Cardew or I possess, has practically led to a— to a new revelation, for every Time we've spoken. Our findings are in their earliest stages, Your Grace, but with Sister Cardew's support, I am certain that I will make the most of our work, when we return to the Church of Mercy."

Sitting back down, King Magnus observes, "you're sheltering them both, then."

"Yes," you immediately retort. "They mean no harm. The fact that their lives have been endangered in— in any way, is an outrage. The doors of the Church of Mercy are open to any who seek refuge, Your Grace, and I will never turn a blind eye to anyone in need of Our protection."

A simple enough question is poised. "What of the rest of your congregation, then?"

(1/2)

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>>4374538
Taking enormous comfort in the promise of camaraderie, thriving on so much talk of your creed, you firmly insist, "Sister Corbon, and Sister Tirel, both have expressed that they wish to return to the Church of Mercy." Another breath of relief escapes you. "I sincerely look forward to learning more about them, their talents, and where they wish to go, from here. It is thanks to their efforts that nearly four hundred lives were saved, in the district of Flesh. Sister Corbon has saved my life multiple times, this month alone. Needless to say, what I have already seen of their skill is without compare. I— I am certain they will be an invaluable aid in the days to come."

"And all the rest?"

This is the singular task that brought you to Calunoth, has occupied nearly the last month of your life, cost the King hundreds of souls, and upset the entire city's order. The investigation may be over, but you have loose ends to spare. It's probably best to get the King's thoughts, before making any judgement calls of your own.

>For the sake of pacing, please select only one of the following prompts.
>Majority vote will dictate the following post, but I'll try to integrate all votes into the course of the discussion if there are splits.

>A] The twins, Starlight and Stardust. The King will want to discuss His children, and has been exceedingly polite to not demand an answer immediately.

>B] Your ringleader, Harvey Jay Algrith. He's the most wanted man in the country, and he's coming with you, no matter what.

>C] Wildcards. Irefist, Klepto, Randy, and Mick are all unaccounted for in their own way, which absolutely does not fulfill the terms of your work here in the capital.

>D] Chesty and Serpent: The two men tasked with investigating the suicide of a martyr.

>E] Claymore is easily the most talented blacksmith, and one of the most capable combatants you've ever met. His skill will want to be used, somewhere.

>>4374540
>>A] The twins, Starlight and Stardust. The King will want to discuss His children, and has been exceedingly polite to not demand an answer immediately.
I don't see how we can avoid this talk honestly

>>4374540
>>A] The twins, Starlight and Stardust. The King will want to discuss His children, and has been exceedingly polite to not demand an answer immediately.

>>4374540
>A

>>4374544
>>4374546
>>4374553
(Awesome dudes, locking the unanimous vote here. We'll keep to half hour voting windows if things keep up! Writing now.)

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>>4374568
https://youtu.be/dwGSv9mQxS4

There's no avoiding it. "The matter of your children nearly cost me my life, Your Grace, but they are worth every last ordeal. Both Lady Edith, and Sir Allan, have been seen safely back to the surface." Apology sinks into your voice, as you continue, "they raised several concerns. I would like nothing more than to help you set things right, but— but I fear that it is not my place to do so." These sorts of games are becoming increasingly familiar to you, at least. "I— I believe that I still do not understand the entire situation. Further clarity may ease the Spirit of everyone involved in this affair."

Stressing their romantic involvement may be unnecessary, but you're an honest man. Distaste, and frustration is the only initial reply. "You seem to be fully aware of the situation."

"To lie is to sin, Your Grace. I would never— never presume to mislead you. Their thoughts have been made known to me over the course of a singular, momentary meeting, before they were forced to flee for their lives."

Dismay meets you, from a man who made a pact with their jailer— likely for their safety.

Stressing further, you drive in the nail, "the discussion held between you and I was anything but. My direction was limited to a singular letter, and its contents still remain unclear. It— it would be a disservice to the Goddess, to stress anything less than my ignorance."

"I want them to come home," King Magnus confesses, sounding increasingly less divine, "and Our instructions were made clear. We asked for their return, to Our side, and nothing more."

"You asked for their safety, under my care," you point out. It doesn't hurt that you both know Sir Allan is worried he'll be beheaded if he so much as steps foot in the palace.

A pointed glare is fired at you. "Where are they, Father Anscham?"

The plan was to draft a letter to Father Wilhelm, leader of the Church of Dream, as soon as humanly possible. He's one of your most stalwart allies, has granted you asylum before, and would respond immediately to any correspondence requesting for the shelter of Starlight and Stardust. Not only have you not had the Time to write, but revealing any of this would compromise the twins safety.

Lying to the King's face is probably the second-worst thing you can think of. Beyond breaking a vow, and blemishing your pact with Mercy, it's tantamount to treason. Even lying by omission would compromise your tenets, as leader of the Church of Mercy.

>A] Be honest, about literally everything you've heard from the twins thus far.
>1] Leave it to the King, to ruminate over the fear they have for their lives.
>2] Blankly state you're going to protect them both with everything you have.

>B] Write-in. (Unanimous vote will be required for any falsehoods, or lying by omission. Bear in mind that serious consequences may result.)

>>4374606
>>A] Be honest, about literally everything you've heard from the twins thus far.
>2] Blankly state you're going to protect them both with everything you have.

Get bent bitch boy you suck at tag good luck finding them.

>>4374606
>>A] Be honest, about literally everything you've heard from the twins thus far.
>>1] Leave it to the King, to ruminate over the fear they have for their lives.
>>2] Blankly state you're going to protect them both with everything you have.

>>4374606
>>>A] Be honest, about literally everything you've heard from the twins thus far.
>>2] Blankly state you're going to protect them both with everything you have.

>>4374617
>>4374618
>>4374633
(lmao alright, let's do this thing. Vote is locked! Writing now.)

>>4374640
https://youtu.be/EopytTCu610

"Hiding," you cordially inform him.

"Wiser men and women fear Our ire, Father Anscham."

"They fear for their lives, Your Grace. As your children have have for the last eight months, and— if I am not mistaken— for the last six years."

"If you wish to test Our patience—"

"I did wonder, Your Grace, if this was not a test of some sort on my behalf." Politely, you illustrate, "sending someone your children trusted, to the depths of the world— without wanting for a single question to be answered— has raised more questions, still. Sir Allan, in particular, has wondered if you have been using me."

An iron might as well be pressed to King Magnus' spine, for how much He straightens up. "We would do no such thing."

"Threatening the safety of your own kin is more palatable," you note.

"We have been granted much Time to think." Something awful, between anger, and grief, is all over the King. "The extent of Our regret could not be expressed in a single meeting, Father Anscham. We have granted you an audience for answers. This exchange needs to go both ways, does it not?"

"Certainly, Your Grace. Answers are in order." Getting to your feet, looking down to royalty, you quietly assert, "I will protect them with everything I have."

King Magnus crosses His legs, glances up to you, and pulls on His long beard. The motions are meant to look casual, but are forced, and unsettling to an extreme. "Is that so?"

"I am certain that my company will excel in keeping them out of harm's reach." You fight with everything you have to not smile, "particularly if a poor chase is given."

Rising to His feet, failing to mask His outrage, the leader of your country declares, "this is a game to you, then, is it?"

You are the Father of Restraint, and can hide your smile, just a moment longer. "Not a particularly challenging one."

"Father Anscham." The King is smiling. His teeth are gold. It's disturbing, and the expression He's making is somehow worse than the material it's made of.

"Yes, Your Grace?"

"We have broken your trust," He continues to grin.

"Yes, Your Grace." Your scowl is entirely sincere.

"We have no place to make unreasonable requests of you, or to challenge your tenets."

"That is very kind of you," you scowl, "Your Grace."

He takes a step back, and bows His head, just slightly. "You have little need for Our company. After all, We cannot hope to catch up to your company. Is that not so?"

A cold sweat is back on you. There's a lot you still need to cover.

King Magnus muses, "perhaps another game would interest you, before you depart for Eadric?"

"Your Grace, I—"

(1/2)

>>4374691
"I believe it would be fair, if We were to appoint someone in Our stead," He continues to grin, much more sincerely now, "given our inadequacy, with your choice of leisurely pursuits. Please elect a champion, Father Anscham! One to represent those in your company who I still seek to catch."

Harvey. Oh, Mercy—

He moves for the door. "By noon, if you please. We will arrange for a secure location, within the palace, to be cleared. Your company's safety will be assured, Father Anscham. Your swiftest allies should suffice. You are welcome to represent them, yourself, as well. We do know how much you wish to overextend yourself, on their behalf."

The door is opened. At least thirty guards are posted outside the small room. Every single one snaps to attention, the moment King Magnus enters their field of view. The fact that he's opening a door for Himself has them all outraged beyond reason. At least, those who aren't still sweating, out of breath, from chasing you halfway across town. It's plain as day that the King has put you under public scrutiny, to fully display your insubordination.

"Thank you for your Time, Father Anscham," is a sincere nod, over the King's shoulder. The King, who is rumored to turn His opponents into statues of solid gold. The King, who does not hesitate to kill and imprison anyone who breathes so much as a word against the theocracy. The King, who is terrible at tag, and is apparently a VERY sore loser, "We may resume our discussion at a later date, when you are more inclined to respect it."

(Options in next post.)

>>4374695
>A] Immediately inform King Magnus that you'll represent Harvey in whatever game he wishes to play. You'll be back after speaking with your friends— since He's slow enough to need an entire afternoon to prepare. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
>1] It's definitely not safe to head straight back to The Honey Bee. Write that letter to Father Wilhelm, and see if you can get another member of your congregation to warn the twins that they need to leave the city NOW.
>2] Take the risk, and try to shake anyone that follows you out of the castle.

>B] Insist that this isn't necessary. Yes, over thirty guards are watching, but your reputation as a threat to the country could use a boost, too. You REALLY have a lot of life-threatening issues to discuss, and desperately need all of the help you can get. (Write-ins may seriously help.)

>C] Politely highlight the King's own disrespect, in a tactful, socially respectable way. It's going to infuriate him, but you're fine with having one fewer set of hands on your side.
>1] You'll head back to The Honey Bee, and discuss this matter with everyone you honestly can count on. Plainly try and dissuade anyone on your heels from coming after you. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
>2] Flatly bribe anyone that follows you to look elsewhere. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
>3] Stay in the city, write the letter to Father Wilhelm, and don't look for anyone in your company. You'll handle this matter all on your own.

>D] Write-in.

>>4374697
>>A] Immediately inform King Magnus that you'll represent Harvey in whatever game he wishes to play. You'll be back after speaking with your friends— since He's slow enough to need an entire afternoon to prepare. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
>>1] It's definitely not safe to head straight back to The Honey Bee. Write that letter to Father Wilhelm, and see if you can get another member of your congregation to warn the twins that they need to leave the city NOW.

"I have no use for pride, I forget others do."

>>4374708
+1

>>4374708
>>4374714
(Great, noting the write-in! Vote is locked here.)
>WRITE TO ME AND ESCAPE

>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.
>+10 FAITH OF A GODDESS/TO PROTECT IS TO SERVE
>+20 SPEED DEMON
>-10 CLOSER TO AGRICULTURE LATELY

Rolled 33 (1d100)

>>4374729

Mercy bless these dice

Rolled 95 (1d100)

>>4374729

Rolled 38 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>4374729

>>4374734
>>4374744
>>4374745
(Sweet mother of fuck this luck. Alright! Writing now.)

>>4374759
https://youtu.be/JnIKLRA31nw

"Your Grace," you call out, "there is no need for my representation, in whatever game you wish to play. You are absolutely right. I would be happy to overextend myself, on behalf of my friends— and will return, to participate in your game, just as soon as you have made any necessary arrangements."

A stern glance fires over the King's shoulder, as He pauses at the door. "We wish to take the Time to gather Our thoughts on this matter, Father Anscham." He takes an incredibly deep breath, and smooths out His features. "A more level field may level both of Our minds."

It doesn't escape you that your own behavior has been hideously erratic, too. "What, precisely, did you have in mind...?"

"Sister Raleigh has expressed the desire for your capture, arrest, and execution," King Magnus sighs. "It is foolishness. This should assuage her concerns, and will grant Us welcome respite from multiple grievances. She will represent us, in a race. We can come to the terms when we reconvene." Another glance trails over you, from head to toe. "Please take this Time to look after yourself, Father." There's a Storm brewing, on a royal visage, and it's clearly everything that King Magnus can do to keep His voice level. "We did not mean to interrupt your evening," is His strained departing message. The floor-length cape upon His back barely moves, with a turn to leave. "Thank you, again, for respecting Our Time."

"You're welcome," you mutter.

Not a single guard follows the King. They're looking to you. There is no conceivable way that it's safe to head back to The Honey Bee, without compromising Starlight and Stardust's location. Rolling your shoulders, taking a moment to stretch, you level your breath, and glance to the sunrise. From your vantage point near the peak of the castle, it's easy enough to see almost the entire city skyline. The morning sun is hot on the horizon, welcoming in a new day.

The prospect of getting to go running twice, so early in the day, is almost enough to lift your grimace. It's entirely prudent to shrug off your whiskey-scented robes, and to turn them inside out, concealing all gold from view. Tightening your belt, and rolling back your sleeves, you don't particularly mind the sheer number of scars lacing your discolored, cut, and burned forearms. They're significantly broader than you're used to, and still a sight for sore eyes, compared to the walking corpse you use to resemble. Relishing the few disbelieving stares from the guards in the hall ahead— who know what's coming— you fleck a few bits of pollen off your trousers, and ask, "are there any clergy of Flesh present?"

A singular, small voice at the back of the group pipes up, "no, Father Anscham—" to which several guards fume.

While they give the poor soul a hard Time, you seize the distraction, and take off running. "Good! No use trying to keep up, then!"

"Father Anscham—!"
"Wait!"

(1/2)

File: Calunoth_Buildings.jpg (3 MB, 4435x2957)

3 MB JPG

>>4374802
Straight through the small opening amidst all of the company present, you sprint down the corridor, past all the obstructions you would normally struggle with through all the castle. A healthy burn is immediately all throughout you. There's no pain, even in your legs, thanks to the Relic in hand. Merely a fire in your chest, exhaustion all through your frame, and the world flying by.

Past tall painted glass, countless bookshelves, clergy in long halls, nobles gathering in dismay, amused servants lingering in every wing, and more candles than you can count, you assume a perfect form, and more speed than anyone should rightfully possess. Three stairwell practically vanish underfoot, descending from the peak of the palace, down to the lowest landing. Sliding off the final banister, for just a little more momentum, you tear out of the entry halls, out through the main doors, and call over your shoulder, "the Gods are Merciful!" to the collection of security that tries to hold you up.

There's simply no way anyone can catch you. Flying across another drawbridge, the fresh morning air is in your lungs. A few birds flit overhead, looking as invigorated as you feel. It's a beautiful morning, and the royal gardens are bustling with activity. Beyond the memorial to every fallen soldier from your last battle, you catch the scent of Green Bough on the warming air. Yours and Mother Bethaea's flower is a bit like lemon and honey, even through the lingering reminder of whiskey. The fact that your old mentor's legacy is being used for remembrance puts a further spring in your step.

The memorial runs through all of the reconstructed area, but stops abruptly at the first checkpoint into the cathedral ward, which is ran clear through. So is the entirety of every ward thereafter. It may be due to a second wind, that you're sobering up, or the threat of multiple attempts on your life. Yet for every rogue that recognizes you, and makes their way through the mercantile crowds, you're another step faster. Not even recognition from fellow clergy is enough to stop you. Ward after ward streaks by, making way for the slums.

It feels like you've surpassed human limits for speed, tearing down city streets, and having to bring yourself down to a jog long before arriving at Electrum's safe-house. Taking care to reduce your pace before the door, breathing hard, and loving every ounce of heat on you, it's with a slight smile on your face that you swing open the door, and see Chesty sitting right inside the humble abode.

The hulking farmer is wearing the same soiled vest you last saw him in, has his long hair down, obviously hasn't shaved in two days, and could not look more relieved to see you. Quickly rising from a bench near the hearth, tossing his whittling materials clean across the room, he deeply declares, "Father Anscham! The fuck happened to you— get in here!"

(Options in next post.)

>>4374804
>A] "Parchment." There will be Time for explanations later. Invite Clarence to go with you into town to send off the message, if necessary.

>B] Collapse on a bench, and actually take a minute to relax. This man has helped you through significantly worse mornings, and you know he won't mind your company for as long as you need to take.

>C] Give Chesty an extremely sweaty hug, and ask if he'll take you to his garden across town. It might be a more discreet location to talk.

>D] Write-in.

>>4374805
>C] Give Chesty an extremely sweaty hug, and ask if he'll take you to his garden across town. It might be a more discreet location to talk.

>>4374805
>>A] "Parchment." There will be Time for explanations later. Invite Clarence to go with you into town to send off the message, if necessary.

We must become speed to beat the thicc thigh flesh hottie. Everywhere we go we must run.

>>4374806
>>4374817
(Just a reminder that you're still human, and running nonstop does not speed make. I think we can incorporate most of both of these, though! Vote is locked here. Writing now!)

File: Clarence Chester 'Chesty'(...).png (231 KB, 512x512)

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>>4374860
https://youtu.be/gyZfD162-wg

Simultaneously, you and Chesty stride across the small hovel towards each other. He's nearly your height, slightly broader, and doesn't complain in the slightest as you pull him into an incredibly sweaty hug. While you're pat a little on the back, he can't help but ask, "you've been out all night, haven't you?"

"Yes," you pull back, "I am not drunk," slicking back your hair a little is entirely necessary, "it is terribly good to see you, and everything will be fine."

"Good to see you, too! You fixed your nose?" He looks extremely impressed.

"Yes," it's hard to not smile back, "can we speak while we walk?"

"Someone's followin' you," the brunette half-laughs, half-shakes his head.

"Yes," you try to not twitch, fidgeting with your Relic in hand, while glancing over your shoulder. There's a few amused neighbors peering around the road, to which you promptly close the door.

Helping Chesty gather some coin, a number of personal belongings, putting out the hearth, and hiding all identifying items from view only takes a moment. "What did you do this time," the heathen innocently asks.

"Nothing," you assert.

A disbelieving eyebrow is raised at you.

"It's the King's guard," you try to elaborate. "I do not suspect there is any immediate danger, but my meeting could have— we— we are simply taking a break, until noon."

"Mhm." A pair of fairly large arms are crossed, and a traveling cloak is thrown over them. "Pissed off Magn-ass."

"He is merely gathering His thoughts." The fidgeting intensifies, and you don't quite care.

"You still lookin' to get yourself killed?"

"That's not funny," you frown.

"You're right," your congregation member frowns back. "Electrum is goin' to be real hard put if we lose this place."

"I would sincerely like to lose them," you firmly agree. "Is— is your garden far from here?"

It turns out it was halfway across the slums, on the border of the forest, past two more men who tried to kill you, and a third who wanted to steal all the gold on your person. Running for the last mile seemed wise, and though you're no worse for the wear, you both slip inside the ramshackle hut on the edge of town with a fire under your heels.

It's unfurnished, save for a number of gardening supplies, a small moldy chair, and an old straw mattress. You both leave the door cracked, to let some light in, while Chesty asks, "the fuck?"

"You will have far more respite in Wearmoor, than in my company," you breathlessly deflect.

From the belongings that were swiped from Electrum's safe house, a single piece of parchment, and an old set of writing implements are thrust at you. "Make 'em count. I'll keep watch."

Your meticulous calligraphy makes quick work of a nondescript letter. While Father Wilhelm has borderline precognition, it's been months since you agreed upon a code-word, recent events could not possibly have come to his attention, and you aren't taking any chances.

(1/2)

>>4375002
'Wish you were here. I'm in good company, but nothing is quite like Somerilde this Time of year. Remember going ice fishing? Two of my friends would like to pay the south a visit, after hearing all about our last catch. I was hoping you could show them— the same way you taught me. It was hard enough to believe your patience, but they hope to see for themselves. No need to write back, as I'll be on the road, but you know where to find me.'

You pray that it will be sufficiently vague for any prying eyes, and certainly clear enough for the interpretation of the Father of Dream. Neatly folding the letter, you glance over to Chesty, who is attentively picking some splinters of wood off the side of the shack. No one is in sight, and the moment he realizes you're staring, he perks up, "everything alright?"

"Absolutely," you breathe, desperately wanting to get out of the small, enclosed space.

The two of you step back out into the morning sun. "Would you accompany me into town," you quietly ask.

A small pouch is thrust at you. There's unmistakably seeds inside. "I've got a better idea," Chesty smiles at you. Giving him a wary glance, for further explanation, is more than enough. "It's hibiscus. I know you wanted some. Why don't we get out of town for a bit? Pay the woods a visit. No assassins are gonna' be lurkin' in the treeline. None I can see, at least."

"I—" the urge to run is incessant, "I have an incredibly urgent business matter to attend to—"

"And you're runnin' yourself right into the ground." A mildly worried glance goes over you. "If you're not gonna sit back, and at least get cleaned up, then I'll find us a nice spot in the city to unwind. Really. I insist."

>A] You could honestly use some Time out of Calunoth. Head out to the woods. You'll get your letter mailed before returning to the castle.
>1] The only thing you need more than a break from the city right now is a bath. Find a creek.
>2] Take a nap, and ask Chesty if he can wake you up in no more than an hour.
>3] Get a crash course in hibiscus care, and catch up with Clarence.
>4] Write-in.

>B] Get back into the city, and risk whatever trouble may come with it. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.) After getting your letter sent out...
>1] Follow Chesty's lead on this. He's a lot more worried than he's letting on, and you appreciate the effort.
>2] Ask if there's anywhere decent you can get something to eat. Cake and whiskey is not going to be adequate fuel for a race.
>3] Write-in.

>>4375007
>>A] You could honestly use some Time out of Calunoth. Head out to the woods. You'll get your letter mailed before returning to the castle.
>3] Get a crash course in hibiscus care, and catch up with Clarence.

>>4375232
+1

>>4375232
>>4375502
(Awesome guys, locking the unanimous vote here. Writing now!)

File: Morning Sun.png (1.94 MB, 1920x1080)

1.94 MB PNG

>>4375568
https://youtu.be/YSyZIxyPiHY

The treeline is absolutely devoid of cut-purses and killers. It's a beautiful day, the weather is warm, the sun is still low in the sky, and you have a new set of seeds in hand. Folding the letter to Father Wilhelm, and tucking it safely in your folded robes, you resolve to mail it just as soon as you're back within Calunoth. "I could use a break from the city," you can't help but smile. "It's a phenomenal idea."

You're pat on the back, as the two of you make your way to the forest. "That's the Spirit."

Waving the small pouch you've been given at Chesty— it's a light green cloth, with a simple string tie, and you can't help but love it— it's hard to not ask, "where did you come by these...?"

"Doesn't hurt to have a hobby, right?" His sheepish smile catches on a few rays from the forest, as you both work your way through dense foliage with ease. "I've picked up a few things, here and there. The capital. Wearmoor. Couple travelers on the road. Never know who's got something from home!"

The two of you find a quiet clearing, where you collapse to the ground, and don't dare to part your grasp from the Relic in hand. Exhaustion is on you, as hot and fast as the sprint across town. A light breeze picks up across the field, rustling the grass, and immediately cooling you off. It's still difficult to breathe through the pack in your nose, the splints on the bridge, and what's likely a fair amount of old blood. The work you did last night on the break was without compare, but you're positive so much activity is going to slow the healing process.

Chesty sits down beside you, nodding towards your face. "Claymore wouldn't shut up about it. I don't think I've ever seen anyone so sorry."

"It was a fantastic opportunity," you remark.

The brunette drops down, keeping his hands behind his back, as you both look to the sky. "Sure he didn't hit your head?"

"Positive." There's a few clouds, peeking through the treetops, in hues of amber and gold. It's lovely, and you quietly comment, "I meant— I meant to say that it gave me ample opportunity. To demonstrate my devotion. To heal is to serve, Clarence."

An audible frown points out, "we've all been worried sick about you. Shouldn't have to heal shit. It's not right."

"How has everyone been," you mutter, trying your best to not take offense.

"Claymore went back off to the sewers. Goin' to try and help find Mick and Randy. Not that he doesn't trust Irefist and Serpent to get the job done— but the guy just can't sit still."

"I— I see. Did Electrum get the horses she was looking for...?"

"She's workin' on it. Pretty positive she's lookin' to see how many of us are pickin' up, and movin' along."

Shifting upright, so you can better see Chesty, you assert, "I cannot tell you enough how— how much I appreciate your support. Offering to go to Wearmoor—"

(1/2)

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275 KB JPG

>>4375659
Rolling to his side, the farmer snatches the pouch out of your hands with a grin. "Give me that. Might as well teach you somethin' before I go."

The two of you easily while away the next half hour, going over the extremely temperamental plant's needs. Sowing it might as well be done indoors, back in Eadric, and they're already out of season. Between intensive watering needs, a demand for full sunlight, grotesquely specific fertilizer requirements, and countless health problems the flowers might exhibit, you're longing to take notes by the end of the explanation.

With a glance to the ample supply of healthy specimens you've been entrusted with, it's hard to not comment. "Mercy. How have you managed it?"

A broad pair of hands makes even the largest desiccated petals look fragile, by comparison. Placing the precious gift back into hiding, handing the bag of seeds off for a final time to you, Clarence notes, "I've made the time. It helps. With all this craziness goin' on, we gotta keep it together somehow. Right?"

"Yes." It dawns on you that there was no garden to speak of, outside the small shed at the edge of the slums. "Did you intend to move, prior to— to finding me?"

A guilty look fires over your shoulder. "Yeah." He sniffs. "We all thought it was better to move on. But things didn't work out so bad." Looking back to you, Clarence asserts, "we've got more than enough shit to tend to. It doesn't really matter, right?"

"I don't think I follow—"

"If we're hardy, or sensitive, or need a little extra attention. Right?"

"Your plants," you can't help but frown back, "our plants, need extra care, to— to get off the ground."

"Right. Even if it only flowers for a day!" He likes patting your shoulder, and it's fine. It feels fantastic, really, and you suspect he knows how much better you feel about your frame, as Chesty grins, "most of us like puttin' in the extra effort."

The frown just can't stay put, as you begrudgingly admit, "the additional effort is a reward, in and of itself."

Crossing his arms, looking you over, Chesty has to mention, "it's not alright. Way you've been treated. All of this shit? I'm stayin' put in the capital 'til Serpent's back, and you know I'm still helpin' out with this whole," he searches for a tactful way to put it, "goin' to Wearmoor, thing. About Mother Bethaea. But you need anything in the meantime? You just let me know, alright?"

"I—" it's hard to believe that you're the one saying it, "you are absolutely right." Just sitting down feels spectacular. There's little desire for more than pleasant conversation. "I was hoping we could simply catch up, Chesty."

Placing a hand to his chest, you're asked, "me? No. Don't be ridiculous. You have urgent business!" A sheepish grin breaks through. "What did you want to talk about?"

(Options in next post.)

>>4375661
>A] Eadric. You're homesick to an extreme, and really can't help yourself.

>B] Another member of your congregation. You're not a gossip. You genuinely care about them all, and are perpetually strapped for information.
>1] Electrum. The priestess of Mercy is absurdly hard working, and you're wondering how she's been.
>2] Serpent. If he's going with Chesty to investigate Mother Bethaea's death, you'd like to understand his strengths, and how he might approach the issue.
>3] Walter. He has a few behavioral issues around others, and you want to know what you're in for, before he comes back to the Church of Mercy with you.
>4] Klepto. What has he been saying about you for the last eight months? Should you be worried about him running amok in Calunoth? Is there any word of where he'll go?

>C] Just ask Chesty how he's been. Leave it up to him if he wants to discuss anything else.

>D] Write-in.

>>4375662
>>C] Just ask Chesty how he's been. Leave it up to him if he wants to discuss anything else.

>>4375661
>>C] Just ask Chesty how he's been. Leave it up to him if he wants to discuss anything else.

>>4375704
>>4375706
(Locking the vote here for one more update of the night! Writing now.)

>>4375718
https://youtu.be/N52VD2LzQmw

Slipping your (relatively drier) robes back on, placing the seed pouch in a hidden pocket, you casually ask, "how have you been?"

Disarmed doesn't begin to cut it. A look is given to you as if you have three heads. "What?"

You try a different inflection. Maybe he didn't hear you correctly. "How have you been?"

He's flabbergasted. "Pretty good, I guess?"

"Good," you reply, collapsing back into the grass. It's soft, and even through the break on your nose, you can smell a little bit of the mid-Grace blossoms. An incredibly soothing kind of exhaustion is through all of your limbs, and sinking a bit deeper against the dirt, you don't bother asking anything further.

Chesty laughs, "huh," and is definitely staring at you. "Things have been a lot smoother since you came back, you know."

This might be the first Time anyone has pointed this out. It's hard to not smile, "is that so?"

"Yeah." You're probably making the grass look absurdly comfortable, and Chesty lays out, hands behind his head, looking to the sky right alongside you. "Air's clear. Streets aren't full'a demons. It's been months since the fighting finally stopped, between any of us. I've had some Time to think. We all have."

A cloud drifts by that looks vaguely like a dog. Several smaller, puffier tufts float behind it. Musing they might be something like puppies, you quietly inquire, "about what, might I ask?"

"The future. Where to go from here. You gave us all a new bid on life. I know you don't want to hear it, but thanks, Father. Really."

Smiling to the sky, to yourself, you murmur, "the Gods are Merciful."

"I got to thinkin'," Clarence muses, "'bout how much I might get done now that I'm back up here. With the sun. All this land. Harvey wouldn't shut up about it, for what felt like an age. But I think he was onto something. Guy's a lot sharper than he lets on, you know."

The Red Lion is one of the sharpest men you've ever met. "I know."

"So." Moving to get back up, with a groan, Clarence cracks his neck, and makes the effort to help you back up, as well. "Let's take care of it all. Right?"

"Please elaborate," you mutter, suppressing any sounds that want to surface as you get back to your feet.

"What's all this with the King? You gotta be back by noon?"

"Yes." You could not be more excited, brushing some grass off the side of your legs. "I'm to race a priestess of Flesh, on Harvey's behalf."

Yet another look glances over you, from head-to-toe. "Don't take any offense, Richard."

"Get on with it," you dead-pan.

"You're gonna kill yourself," Chesty firmly states.

Your grin is gone, just as soon as it came. "I am fine."

"Mhm." A burly arm wraps around your shoulders, and practically drags you out of the clearing. You're heading deeper into the woods. "And I suppose you were going to just, run back to the castle, too?"

(1/2)

File: Still River.png (504 KB, 910x512)

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>>4375739
"Don't be ridiculous," you mutter. His sigh of relief is cut short, as you insist, "of course I was."

"We're getting some breakfast, and a quiet place to settle down," Chesty asserts. "We'll talk more once you've got your feet put up, alright?"

He's led you to a nearby river. It's beautiful, clear, and almost completely still. "This is not breakfast, nor necessary," you mutter.

A devilish grin is fired at you. "We'll get to it. Priestess of Flesh, right?"

"Yes?" You try inching a little to the side. The vice around you tightens, just enough to keep you in place.

"Long legs?" He could not sound more smug. "Painted lips?"

"How would you—" it really shouldn't matter if he's familiar with your old pursuer, "I— would you please let go."

The mischief on Chesty's face somehow intensifies. "The bitch has given us more trouble than you'd believe. It's not a sin to make an observation, right? We'll have you put on a good show for her. Really. Or should I say Raleigh?"

A slight laugh escapes you. "Not your best work, Chesty—"

His grin could not be cheekier. "Get in the damn river, Richard."

There are three things in this world that truly terrify you: Time, doors, and anything that threatens your modesty. The fact that you're being strong-armed into bathing is a non-issue, as you have no use for pride. But considerations have to be made, for more than appearances. You're verging on some serious self-neglect. Regardless of whether or not Mercy loves you as you are— if your friends are having to intervene on your behalf, they probably have only your best interests at heart. They also don't have a broken nose, and are certainly more capable of smelling at the present moment than you are.

>A] Bargain, like your life depends on it. You'll wash your face, at least, but this is really beyond your comfort zone. (A ROLL MAY BE REQUIRED. Write-ins may make a big difference.)
>1] Compromise with some other activity.
>2] This is out of the question, unless you're given some privacy.

>B] Try to swallow your insecurities, and just get in the damn river.
>1] Stay fully dressed. You'd rather die than to have your modesty compromised.
>2] At least make some concessions so you aren't in sodden clothes for the next few hours.

>C] Wrestle out of Chesty's hold, and shove him into the water. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
>1] Laugh from dry land. You're not going down without a fight.
>2] Be a good sport about it, and jump in after him.

>D] Write-in.

>>4375740
>C] Wrestle out of Chesty's hold, and shove him into the water. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
>1] Laugh from dry land. You're not going down without a fight.

>>4375740
>>C] Wrestle out of Chesty's hold, and shove him into the water. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
>>1] Laugh from dry land. You're not going down without a fight.

>>4375746
>>4375835
>TEST YOUR STRENGTH!

>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.
>+5 PRIEST OF AGRICULTURE
>+5 PRIEST OF FLESH
>+5 TRAINED BY A MASTER COMBATANT
>-5 RELIC IN HAND
>-5 RAN TWICE JUST THIS MORNING
>-5 NO SLEEP
>-5 NO FOOD
>-5 DON'T FUCK UP THE BROKEN NOSE

Rolled 45 - 10 (1d100 - 10)

>>4376002

Rolled 80 (1d100)

>>4376002

Rolled 2 (1d100)

>>4376002

>>4376004
>>4376005
>>4376018
(Alright alright! Good morning to everyone by the way. Locking the vote here, writing now!)

>>4376023
"Just— give me just a moment," you insist, shrugging all of the parchment, vellum, and valuables out of your robes. Chesty is insistent on keeping a borderline headlock in place, but you successfully set aside the letter to Father Wilhelm, your flask from Yech, at least ten daggers, the letter from Beltoro, Father Edmund's last note, a flower from your last dual invocation to Mercy and Agriculture, some coin, and the bag of seeds that were just entrusted to you.

Chesty is laughing. "Seriously?"

This is your chance. You promptly drop to your knees, bringing you both straight to the ground.

https://youtu.be/1EcZW_SgFTI

"The fuck do you think you're doin'—?!"

Dropping to the sodden grass nearest to the river's edge, getting the two of you as close to the water as you comfortably can, you simply laugh in return. Carrying the momentum forward, and taking extreme pains to mind the break on your face, you practically roll to the ground.

Your opponent has been called a contortionist before, and expertly shifts his grip with the fall. You both struggle for a moment, on your knees, getting lower to the ground with each passing moment, and each shift in position. "That the best you've got?!"

"Not even close," you grin. Driving your knees deeper into the soil for a better purchase, you lean straight into the hold, practically roll down, away from Chesty's grasp, and wrest yourself free.

Triumphantly, you hop back to your feet. Hands up. Shifting your weight. Firing an extremely mischievous glare to your opponent. "I am not going down without a fight."

Clarence rolls up his sleeves, revealing a meaty pair of forearms, that flex with the crack of his knuckles. "You might actually be as crazy as you look, Father. If you think I'm gonna let you get away with this—"

"Combat uncertainty," you grin.

"What?"

You charge, genuinely laughing, and totally disarm a farmer that easily rivals your size. As a priest of Flesh, having trained under the very father of musculature, his size is not an issue. Speed is on your side, and the newfound weight behind your motions makes every bit of your assault legitimately imposing. Barreling into the edge of Chesty's broad shoulders, you knock his balance off just enough to risk sweeping the back of his heel with your own.

He lets out a shout, grabbing fast onto the edge of your robes.

Forcing him off balance, you do everything in your power to keep hold. Rather than hold your own ground, you stagger with his bulk, and run you both towards the water. With a victorious shout, thrusting your arms forward— you compromise your position.

It's probably due to no sleep, barely anything of substance to eat in two days, staying up all night drinking, a hangover only kept at bay by the continuous use of a divine symbol in hand, and the sheer combative prowess of your target. There's force behind your motions, alright, but it's impossible to not watch the break on your nose.

(1/2)

>>4376105
Arms come up, as Clarence shifts all his weight to the side. The movement nearly brushes against your face. Parting your hands, taking a swift step backwards, you're on a tightrope of poor decisions.

The brute beside you turns, quickly, escaping your hold, and a shove on your back compromises any hope of staying on your feet. To add insult to injury, he simply walks forward, carrying your stagger straight into the water, barely leading you with further force applied to your back and shoulders.

He parts from grasping you, with a laugh, barely up to his calves in the water. While you fall through the air, for just a moment, you muse about how many demons Chesty's likely killed with his bare hands. It's fine. The descent is almost akin to flying, and might be fun, were it not for a collapse into the shallowest end of the river.

With a splash, you abandon all pretense of not getting wet, in lieu of protecting the splints upon the bridge of your nose. Not a drop upsets the delicate situation on your face. Granted, your robes are soaked, but the water is fairly warm, and you landed well. Shifting to sit upright, the water doesn't even reach your waist, for all your height.

It would seem Chesty's a good sport, and drops straight into the water with you. A little old blood parts into the water, from the ragged old vest on him that's likely seen more combat than most clergy. "Not bad," he sniffs, firing you a grin.

>A] You might as well ask Chesty where he learned to fight.

>B] He's the largest member of your congregation, and allegedly has been, even since the famine. Ask him about his routine.

>C] Compliment Clarence's success, and get moving as soon as you can. You're hardly haughty, but would rather not dwell on this.

>D] Write-in.

>>4376109
>C]ompliment Clarence's success, and get moving as soon as you can. You're hardly haughty, but would rather not dwell on this.

>>4376109
>>B] He's the largest member of your congregation, and allegedly has been, even since the famine. Ask him about his routine.

Get some fighting tips too, big man knows his stuff

>>4376113
>>4376116
(I'm pretty sure we can combine these. Vote is locked, writing!)

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>>4376156
https://youtu.be/VEJkwxbHLOM

"You're not so bad, yourself" you note, splashing a small wave of water over to the victor. Wanting to get the situation over with as soon as possible, wanting for soap, wanting for some privacy, you shift your back towards Clarence, and scrub at your hands and face while asking, "I should— really, I should say that you know your strengths, Chesty."

"Thanks," he grins, promptly getting back to his feet. Shrugging off his vest, and sodden shirt, you're reminded, "bet you'd kick my ass in a straight fight, any day, though."

Your smile is back in full force. Shrugging off your robes, tossing them to the riverbank, you murmur, "well. I— I would never refuse further instruction. If you wouldn't mind."

Surprise gives way to a mild, and humble point to Clarence's chest. "Really?"

"Absolutely," you insist, much more seriously, trying to finish the fastest bath of your life. There's still some grit and blood stuck beneath your nails, from the fight with Arkthros over a week ago. "You know what you're doing."

"There's not much to it." Chesty sweeps up your robes from the shore, and sets to wringing them out. "Habits, right?"

"Habits?"

A light laugh declares, "figures. It's not so hard to keep yourself up when you, you know, put it first. Would you believe that I picked up tools, before I picked up gardening?"

"Certainly," you murmur. "I would have assumed fists, before fields."

"Right," he chuckles. "Well. It's a hobby. Growing things, I mean. But building yourself up?" A disbelieving glance sweeps over you. "I don't mean any offense, Richard, but you didn't get like this from routine, did ya."

There's no shame in having your faith rewarded. Sincerely, you murmur, "in— in a way. Devotion to the body, to Her fields, and to myself can come in many forms."

"Well." He lays your robes flat out, a few feet from the riverbank, on drier land, to bake in the sun. "Not all of us have the Gods to build us up. I put in the work, Father. And that's not to say you haven't, too! But— this?"

With a grin, twisting just a little to turn his biceps to you, Chesty flexes. The width of his arms probably eclipses most of Sister Cardew's body. "This is all from routine. Not worship. Good, old-fashioned, hard work. Sweat, and the right kind of rest."

Relaxing the tension in his upper body, assuming a normal stance, Clarence wades back over to you. You're offered a hand, take it, and get back to your feet with some effort. "There is no secret to it at all," you muse, "is there?"

"Not at all." You both head back to the shore, as Chesty enthusiastically declares, "I push myself! Grow what I can, eat as much as I can, work as hard as I can— and knowing when to rest as often as I need." You're firmly pat on the back. "The last bit is just as important as the rest, Father. Probably the most important."

(1/2)

>>4376241
This is all something you've heard a thousand Times before, but never so earnestly. "I know," you can't help but murmur.

"You really just want to know where I learned to fight, don't you?"

You flash the sun in your eyes to the man standing just slightly shorter than you. "If you could."

"I spent some Time to the south. Traveled a lot. Got my hands dirty. I'm not proud of it. Wound up in Sigbrooke, if you can believe it."

The outpost is near the peak of the Folorast mountains, and is even more remote than the Church of Dream. Notoriously manned only by the deadliest forces in the country, Sigbrooke is the front line of defense against what lurks across Corcaea's borders. The narrow passages they've tirelessly worked to defend are deadly, to an extreme, and it's one of the few locations you have never hesitated to allocate resources to. Your jaw practically drops. "Why—"

The smile seemingly plastered across Chesty's face falls. "The Gods aren't doin' shit for the people, Richard. I wanted to make somethin' of myself, before we all died. Or worse." Looking off to the treeline, back towards Calunoth, you both can see the peaks of the cathedral ward. The palace, and the morning sun. "It's not so hard to keep your body up, when it's all you got."

You're pat hard on the back, once more. "I can't teach you what's taken me a lifetime to learn in one morning, but I can still do this much. Let's get some breakfast!"

>A] Let Chesty pick where to go. It's seriously the least you can do.

>B] Offer to take you both somewhere nice. Ask Clarence along the way about his Time in Sigbrooke.

>C] You'll be strong-armed away if necessary, but insist on asking your congregation member what led him to go to the ruins.

>D] Write-in.

>>4376243
>C] You'll be strong-armed away if necessary, but insist on asking your congregation member what led him to go to the ruins.

>>4376253
+1

>>4376253
>>4376254
(Great guys, vote is locked here! Writing now.)

>>4376352
Gathering your things, and making no indication of moving, you mutter to your robes, "dry, please."

The garment immediately takes in every last bit of moisture off of your sodden clothes. Chesty stares at you in disbelief, as you slip back into the enchanted (and pleasantly warmer) garment. Placing your possessions back in myriad pockets, it's impossible to not think to more fantastic experiences, journeys in the dark, and everything you both have been through up to this point. Quietly, you note, "this is remarkable, Chesty."

A soaking wet arm snakes around your shoulders. "Try that again."

Blinking, you repeat the same request to your robes. It does absolutely nothing for the gentleman not wearing the item, who keeps his arm in place, and grumbles, "bullshit. Alright! You're comin' with me, then."

Sweeping up the last of your things, strong-armed away from the riverbed, and back towards Calunoth, you mumble, "I was not referring to my clothing. I meant, why— how— what could have possibly led you away from your station? To the ruins?"

There's no reply, for quite some Time after. The two of you walk in silence, back to the edge of the slums, past the abandoned gardening shed, and along the outskirts of the city. An extremely erratic path is chosen, which is borderline exhausting, but seems to favor abandoned alleys, and streets with no foot traffic.

The frequency in which you've been accosted definitely has your friend's nerves on end, but he offers you a stoic face, and eventually answers, "the three of us—" you give him a questioning stare, to which he frowns, "me, Carl," Irefist, "and Eckard." Of course he was friends with Claymore.

Harvey mentioned that they were all working together, even upon his first meeting with them in the ruins.

"You all—" you are starting to get the picture, "you all manned Sigbrooke, together...?"

"I guess," he shrugs, pulling the weight of his arm off your shoulder. A little dampness remains where his hold parts, but the morning sun will make quick work of drying it. Glancing to the sky— due south— Chesty mutters, "there was always a lot of help."

Pulling around the corner of another alley, you both emerge near a number of street vendors and hucksters. Canopies of brightly colored cloth provide welcome shade over hot, freshly prepared pies, and women mulling about with baskets of second-hand goods. The poorest of Calunoth are gathered around, as a great number of voices drown out your conversation from listening ears. Men, women, children, a few stray animals, and ample activity puts a little more light in your eyes.

"We'd eat well, but at who's expense," your escort notes, shoving aside someone that gets a little too close for comfort. Chesty nods, "put up your hood."

Not wanting a scene, you do so, before garnering any recognition. The presence of clergy is not necessarily a common sight, for many citizens of Corcaea.

(1/2)

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>>4376450
Your heart drops. It would seem that the Church of Mercy hasn't been felt here in quite awhile. The sheer number of individuals around with some sort of health issue is alarming, to an extreme. Missing limbs are commonplace. Graying eyes, scars upon careworn faces, and backs bent with toil are upon all too many people.

"Every day we fought," Chesty mutters, working his way with you along the edge of the crowd, "we were takin' something off another man's back. Years of it, without any relief. No change. No word. Year, after year. Fightin'— excuse me, ma'am," Clarence pauses, by a crone, with a nose that rivals Klepto's. Picking up a few odd looking vegetables from the basket that was being carried atop her head, the two exchange some coin, toothy smiles, and carry along your respective ways.

Blinking, completely out of your element, you oblige Chesty as he pulls you away. There's several murmurs, every you both go, about "a priest of Flesh and Mercy, all the way out here?"

Escaping to the furthest edge of the impromptu market, beneath a nearby tree, you resist the urge to slip behind the trunk. "Wait here," you're mildly instructed.

The farmer requisitions several hot pies, and insists as he comes back, "we don't want any extra attention."

He refuses all offers for additional coin, as the two of you slide beneath the shade, and pick at the humble breakfast that's been acquired. Despite it being agony to eat, you're reminded a fair bit of home, of your mother's cooking, and don't quite mind.

Not even as Chesty mutters, through a mouthful of pastry, "we were all dying. So we left, Richard. Not for change, and not for answers. I— we might've lost it. Just a little. Taking the fight to the source seemed like a good idea at the time. Picking how we'd go out. It seemed a lot braver. Bolder. Better than taking. Better than wasting away. But that's— it's just not how things work."

A glance is fired over Clarence's shoulder, and he offers a frown, to the filthy men, women, and children mulling about. A lot of them are staring at you, and all the gilt upon your robes. Though your hair is neatly concealed beneath your hood, the light is likely catching on the plating upon your eyes. To say nothing of the chain wrapped fast around the Relic in hand, you're absolutely a walking target.

"We could have worked for a thousand years in Sigbrooke," Clarence frowns, glancing back to you, "and never seen a thing change. We rotted in those ruins, and for who knows how many months? Just like we were afraid of. Wasting away." There's one more person staring at you. "Some fights need heavier hitters, Richard, and I don't need to teach you how to throw a punch at all. You just need to know what battles to pick."

(Options in next post.)

>>4376454
>A] Resolve to spend the rest of the morning taking care of yourself. You're running on behalf of the leader of your congregation, and won't stand a chance against a priestess of Flesh if you do nothing but work yourself to the bone. Listen to some sage advice, and do your best to keep working in the future. Ask a few more pointed questions at Clarence, while you're at it.
>1] What does he think constitutes your attention, as one of the country's leaders?
>2] Does he have any serious recommendations for your personal care?
>3] Write-in.

>B] The way the King runs His city is not only out of your sphere of influence, but it could heavily detract from your own work. Chesty is easily a better example of how the clergy should behave than most other priests you've met.
>1] The disconnect between the theocracy and its people is a travesty. You're making this a focus of your work in Eadric. You have to start somewhere.
>2] You're already overwhelmed, and seriously just want to express to Clarence how much you appreciate his kindness. Try to have a milder rest of the morning. This could be the last time you see him for a long while.

>C] Write-in.

>>4376457
>>A] Resolve to spend the rest of the morning taking care of yourself. You're running on behalf of the leader of your congregation, and won't stand a chance against a priestess of Flesh if you do nothing but work yourself to the bone. Listen to some sage advice, and do your best to keep working in the future. Ask a few more pointed questions at Clarence, while you're at it.
>>1] What does he think constitutes your attention, as one of the country's leaders?
>>2] Does he have any serious recommendations for your personal care?
>3] Write-in.

There is an obvious divide, how should be try to bridge it? What values should we try to instill in the clergy, what actions should they take day to day. In his view, what would the perfect theocracy look like?

>>4376497
+1

>>4376497
>>4376504
(Great guys, got that write-in too. Vote is locked. Writing now!)

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>>4376533
https://youtu.be/aKX4-0VH45s

"I can think of three, off the top of my head," you murmur, doing your best to not speak with your mouth full. Smaller bites are easier to tolerate, and you're probably eating half as quickly as your friend, but Clarence pays no mind to you taking your Time.

In fact, he offers you a slight smile, and asks, "oh?"

Glancing up to the throngs of the poor, and downtrodden, you grimace, "there is a divide between the clergy, and our people." Looking earnestly to Clarence, you assert, "I would like nothing more than to bridge it, and— and I would like to hear your thoughts. You embody values that should be commonplace among more than just the Church of Mercy. Our actions— the actions we all take, day-to-day, are what define us."

Tearing into a loaf of bread, trying to not hate it, you scowl, "I would like to set a better example, as well." Flitting your eyes up to Clarence, who is deep in thought, you conclude, "first, and foremost, I would like to know your thoughts, in— in regards to an ideal theocracy."

"Give me a minute," he humbly requests.

Some weak beer is acquired, which you're assured might help with whatever hangover you'll be nursing later. While you nurse a watery, unfouled, and surprisingly well made brew, Clarence comes to his conclusion. "There shouldn't be one."

A deep breath is necessary. "Why," you patiently ask.

His mug is tipped slightly, right towards you. "Leaves the rest of us high and dry, doesn't it?"

Several more deep breaths are critical. You've befriended traitors, heathens, and killers, but this is still an insult. "Our devotion, and the blessing of the Gods, is all that stands between us, and the end of mankind. It is a necessary compromise, Chesty— but you have raised several valid points—"

"Yeah," he frowns. "There's only a few of you, for how many of us? You can't protect everyone. Look at how much good it's done. I think it'd be better to be done with the whole charade."

"There is nothing false about our work," you levelly assert, doing everything in your power to not take this personally. "I— I am fully aware that we are stretched far too thin, Clarence, but—"

"Nah," he grumbles. "Sorry. It's not your fault."

"It is, though. That is precisely what I am attempting to amend."

"You can't go tellin' people how to live their lives—" is the initial interjection, before the heathen frowns. "I'm really forgettin' myself, Father. I'm sorry."

You have literally written tenets that dictate how your clergy guide their every action. Shifting, you murmur, "I'm making you uncomfortable."

"I don't think it's my place," you're quietly informed, "to order anyone else around."

"I only intended to hear your thoughts," you scowl, and try to seek some solace at the bottom of a mug. It's like glass going down, and a lot less painful than being reminded of your lofty position.

(1/2)

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>>4376625
"Listen," Chesty suddenly, and firmly states. "If I had it my way, you lot would look a whole lot more to the common man. There's not a whole lot of us, and we're all fightin', with or without ya'. I don't know what the fuck Father Friedrich's doing, but he's not gettin' to everyone. Your church sure as shit has been sitting on their hands—" you nearly choke on your drink, and try to not let on the fact that you're solely responsible for no one else in the country being able to invoke Mercy—

"Father?" A firm slam on your back does not help at all, while the brunette pauses. "You alright?"

"Yes," you choke, coughing a little more.

"Right. Well. Like I was sayin'. Joke all you want about how slow the Church of Agriculture is—" he gives you a guilty grin, as you scowl, "—no offense. But they're dragging their feet, too. You don't hear shit from the coast! Don't hear shit from the mountains! It's no wonder Sullivan lost it. Same for Fred, and Pevrel, too."

A long pause hangs in the air.

Chesty scoots over, and wraps an arm around you. "And I guess that goes for you, too. I'm probably bein' too hard on you lot."

"No," you frown, "you're right. We are mismanaging affairs to an extreme. It's getting worse every day. I haven't the faintest idea how Sullivan has seen to any order of business from the capital— and I've been absent from the Church of Mercy for nearly a year. To say nothing of how much of a distraction I proved for Father Friedrich—"

The King's irritation sticks to the back of your mind. He's been attempting to clean up after you all, pick up the slack of two empty churches, and attend to more problems than He can begin to describe.

"Chesty," you murmur.

He pulls off your shoulder, and produces another flask of beer for himself, seemingly from thin air. "Yeah?"

"Another battle. What do you think would constitute my attention? Personally?"

Running a hand through his hair, the farmer balks,, "I bet you've got a lot of people who can answer that better than I can."

He fires a glance to the horizon. To the palace. You take a level breath, and close your eyes. "Yes," you eventually agree. "Perhaps it would be better to ask about some personal care—"

The light comes back to Clarence's eyes. "Now you're talking."

The severity of your frown lifts, just a little. "A battle I know we can win. Go ahead."

"You take pretty well to anything set right in front of you," is a mild enough observation. "You've got a lot of friends. I think you might do better to make somethin' social out of lookin' after yourself. Go runnin' with your priests! Have supper with your lady, or— or whoever. Clean up for your damn dog, if you need to—"

"Ray," you patiently remind him.

"Ray. Right. Do it for him," a frown advises, "if you can't do it for yourself. You'll feel better. Getting some normal sleep. Taking a break now and then, like this. It's not so bad, right?"

(Options in next post.)

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>>4376627
>A] This is honestly such a decent proposition, you can't believe you hadn't thought of it before. Worry about business later.
>1] Offer to take Chesty out for a drink, somewhere in town, before you send off your letter to Father Wilhelm. You'll stick to something that might help with the race, and take his advice to kick back for a bit.
>2] Give him a hug, and stay put in the slums for awhile longer. You'll likely avoid more trouble here, than in the city proper. (Write-in anything else you might want to discuss.)

>B] You're still worried, but thank Clarence for all of his advice. Take it easy, for the rest of the afternoon, and get that letter sent out without further complaint. You'll take his suggestions to heart about your health, and consult with your associates about business matters when you get the chance.
>1] But you can bet you're going to incorporate your allies into a more regimented self-care routine. They might complain, but you're getting as many people on board for this as possible.
>2] Stick to harassing the friends you know have already offered to look after you.

>C] You'll cross the bridge of roping your friends into helping you out when an appropriate Time comes. Make a mental note of it, and focus on getting ready for the rest of the day. Get that letter sent out, while you're at it.
>1] Make a literal list of business matters to discuss with the King. You're staying on topic— if you get the chance to speak to Him again in the near future.
>2] Leave the rest of your affairs for the morning to Clarence. He obviously only has your best interests in mind.

>D] Write-in.

>>4376628
>C] You'll cross the bridge of roping your friends into helping you out when an appropriate Time comes. Make a mental note of it, and focus on getting ready for the rest of the day. Get that letter sent out, while you're at it.
>>1] Make a literal list of business matters to discuss with the King. You're staying on topic— if you get the chance to speak to Him again in the near future.

>>4376628
>>B] You're still worried, but thank Clarence for all of his advice. Take it easy, for the rest of the afternoon, and get that letter sent out without further complaint. You'll take his suggestions to heart about your health, and consult with your associates about business matters when you get the chance.
>>1] But you can bet you're going to incorporate your allies into a more regimented self-care routine. They might complain, but you're getting as many people on board for this as possible.

We are *all* gonna make it.

>>4376632
>>4376634
Supporting both of these.

>>4376632
>>4376634
>>4376693
(These both can absolutely work together. Locking the vote here! Writing now.)

>>4376766
https://youtu.be/tYf3_XPB7DU

You're still worried, and have plenty of business in mind, but your friends are here to help. Whether all of them like it, or not, you're taking this advice to heart. "Thank you, Chesty."

"Don't mention it," he grins, taking another swig from his flask.

The two of you pass a few more minutes in the shade. It's enough to really slow down, and to take in the morning air. As abundantly clear as it is that you both are here for leisure, no one dares to come over and disturb your breakfast, save for a curious cat. The last of the meat pie— with a crust decidedly less savory than your mother's, but flakier, and blessedly easier to eat— gets set aside for the stray.

Before long, you both head off, into the city. Exhaustion is still soaking into you, but a leisurely pace is taken, and you should still have several hours to spare. Clarence absolutely demands that the two of you stick to the outskirts of Calunoth, rather than cut straight through to the cathedral ward or palace. Assuming broad strides, and a broader course, the straightest path possible is made to the city's church of Mercy. Keeping your hood up does wonders for your mutual safety. Not a soul seems to pay either of you any mind. Not while winding out of the slums, along old riverbanks, through a few checkpoints, down stone streets, and beneath painted homes.

The repurposed ruins, wooden fixtures, and new housing bustles with activity. Women air laundry out to dry, children are running in the street, and multiple structures are repaired from prior outbreaks. Beggars— legitimate, or otherwise— mind their customers, while merchants bark from their stalls.

Mercantile and residential wards make way for the quieter district of Mercy. It's a short matter, to pull aside a singular priest of Flesh from the side of the road, peek from beneath your hood, bid him good morning, and request for some parchment to be fetched from within the nearby church. It's gaudy, with gilded facets, high windows to let in light at all Times of the day, and little in the way of activity that can be seen from the street.

Within minutes, the clergyman you bothered returns. You're outfitted with a singular piece of parchment, several apologies for not being able to do more on your behalf, and as he runs off, you still take further precaution. Leading Chesty behind the church itself, glancing in all directions, you quietly set to writing.

"You uh," Clarence can't help but note, "you don't want to go inside...?"

"One thing at a Time," you mutter, taking extreme pains to not forget anything on your agenda. Leaving enormous space in the margins for any mistakes, or additional notes, you mull over the sheer number of issues you're trying to face for many minutes more.

(1/2)

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>>4376824
Writing it all out is cathartic, to an extreme. Multiple headaches can be consolidated, or have already been resolved in the last few days. Your conversation this morning, alone, addresses the largest nightmares that you were dreading getting to.

Looking over the drying ink, you muse, "good."

The illiterate gentleman next to you leans around your shoulder. "Don't mean to be rude, Father, but—"

A little surprised, you quietly ask, "would you like me to read it to you?"

"Couldn't hurt," Chesty frowns.

Fidgeting a little with the edge of the paper, you assume a more formal position, and in a clear voice, you immediately read off, "In regards to King Magnus, 'the Merciful'. On behalf of Father Richard Anscham— leader of the Church of Mercy. Order of Business. To be held on this, the twenty-second day of the Tending Moon, in the year 606: Reports. The successful acquisition of the mission congregation."

"We weren't missin'," Chesty interjects, frowning.

"You were to me," you murmur.

An incredibly sincere smile flashes back at you. "Alright. Alright, go on."

"Harvey Jay Algrith's, Walter Middleton's, Sister Beatrice Corbon's, and Sister Clemence Tirel's retention within the Church of Mercy."

Relief sinks into Clarence's broad shoulders. "Really weird hearin' their names. So they're goin' with you, for sure?"

"Yes," you immediately reassure him. "Clarence Chester Connelly's—" Chesty makes a face, to which you laugh, "and Mathers Ormond's relocation to Wearmoor. Thank you again, Chesty."

"Yeah, yeah." He nudges you with the side of his shoulder, "get on with the rest."

"I need you to understand that Starlight, and Stardust, are completely safe."

"...alright?"

"The ensured safety of all survivors from Ostedholm's ruins." You sigh, and happily read off, "Scheduled return home. Travel arrangements for all company to Eadric. Security for any company returning to Beorward. The rest is extremely dull. Are you certain you wish to—"

"I'm good," you're assured, as Clarence's eyes have already threatened to glaze over. "Glad you're handlin' this shit."

He doesn't need to know that your congregation isn't even half of the number of things you have left to attend to, and it's fine. As the Father of the Church of Mercy, you can easily requisition a clergyman to deliver a message to Somerilde, at a moment's notice. The trouble is that you're in the King's city, and any correspondence is bound to come back to him. Getting enough coin to hire a messenger will attract an equal amount of attention. You could head back to the Honey Bee, and leave the matter to your allies, but there's no telling who may follow you, even later in the day. And while finding a traveler heading to the south may be the most discreet, you have need of urgency, in ensuring Starlight and Stardust don't arrive in Somerilde unannounced.

(Options in next post.)

>>4376827
>A] Take the risk of acquiring a messenger from the nearby Church of Mercy. (A MODERATE ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED. Write-ins to provide additional discretion may help. Bear in mind that you have ultimate authority, within your own church, save for a direct order from King Magnus.)

>B] You can find a way to explain away the expense. Go inside the church, and see just how far you can push your title as the Father of Gold. (A LOW ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED. Feel free to provide potential excuses, which may add additional positive modifiers.)

>C] Attempt to find a caravan or traveler heading for Somerilde. Calunoth is a VERY populous city. Someone has to be going that way, who can keep their head down. (A HIGH ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED. Anything you want to try, to help in the search, may grant a positive modifier.)

>D] You'll wait to return to The Honey Bee, and see if Sister Cardew or Brother Wilhelm can help. They're experts with communications, and the Church of Dream, respectively. It might be worth it to wait. (NO ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

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

>>4376828
>>D] You'll wait to return to The Honey Bee, and see if Sister Cardew or Brother Wilhelm can help. They're experts with communications, and the Church of Dream, respectively. It might be worth it to wait. (NO ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

>>4376828
>D] You'll wait to return to The Honey Bee, and see if Sister Cardew or Brother Wilhelm can help. They're experts with communications, and the Church of Dream, respectively. It might be worth it to wait. (NO ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

>>4376828
>D] You'll wait to return to The Honey Bee, and see if Sister Cardew or Brother Wilhelm can help. They're experts with communications, and the Church of Dream, respectively. It might be worth it to wait. (NO ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

>>4377053
>>4377055
>>4377264
(Beautiful, will get right to writing then! Vote is locked.)

>>4377602
https://youtu.be/YB30RVWeuP8

Maybe it's all the physical exertion, good company, a decent breakfast, or even taking it easy for most of the morning— but you lean back a little, against the rear of the church, and breathe. There's no need to rush. Starlight and Stardust are in the safest hands you could hope for. The company they keep includes priestess who specializes in communication, and a priest of Dream.

The letter to Father Wilhelm stays safely on your person, put away, and will stay there until you can get back to The Honey Bee. A light breeze picks up on the air, while you and Clarence quietly let a few minutes pass by.

A choir can be heard, faintly, from within the building you recline against. The lyrics are obscured by the wall, and the melody is unfamiliar. The hollering of merchants off in the distance, children at play, and the general bustle of Calunoth almost completely obscures the sound. Closing your eyes, listening more intently, you pick up on the gist. They're praising the people. It's no melody for King, the Father, or the church itself. With devotion, and love, no fewer than thirty souls are singing to their countrymen.

Opening your eyes, nodding to Chesty, you murmur, "listen to this," and gesture for him to keep an ear to the stone wall. He's skeptical, but doesn't hesitate.

Concern initially knits his brow, but before long, he's smiling. "Well. Would ya' hear that."

Gently reminding Clarence, "we do care," you're met with an incredibly guilty look.

"Never said you didn't."

Another pause stretches out between you, faking frowns to each other, until the melody comes to a close.

You both recline against the building, without care for propriety. Arms still crossed, looking over his shoulder as if he could see through the wall, Clarence notes, "not much good it does from in there, does it?"

"We're human, too. Just as much as anyone else. They're not only singing for the common man, Chesty. They— they are singing for one another." You don't care if you preach. "For themselves. We are all doing the best that we can, with the Time that we have." Gently, you add, "present company included."

He playfully grumbles, "don't you have a letter to send?"

"There could be no delay in penning it," you explain, "but further action will have to wait. At least, until— until later today. "

"Alright. I dunno how long it'll take for you to get back to the castle..."

You both look to the sky, and continue to frown. Having a chronic sensitivity to Time management is good for one thing, at least. "It may be best to head off," you note, absolutely positive that you'll have to run if you dither for any longer. The location you picked to acquire more parchment is nearly on the complete opposite side of Calunoth as The Honey Bee, and the castle is dead-center of the city. It may take well over an hour to walk to the palace, even without any interruptions.

(Options in next post.)

>>4377667
>A] Ask Clarence if he'll accompany you, right up until the end of the cathedral ward. He's not welcome in the palace, and you don't want so much as the nearby security giving him any trouble, but his presence should deter any scoundrels along the way. (A roll will be required, with a positive modifier. Write-in anything further you want to ask, discuss, or share along the way.)

>B] Part ways here. (A roll will be required.)
>1] Try to meet again before Chesty leaves for Wearmoor. You'll try to have Electrum obtain horses for him and Serpent.
>2] There's no telling what might happen before Serpent gets back. Say good-bye, for now, and ask Chesty to find a way to keep in touch during his travels.

>C] Write-in.

>>4377670
>>B] Part ways here. (A roll will be required.)
>>1] Try to meet again before Chesty leaves for Wearmoor. You'll try to have Electrum obtain horses for him and Serpent.

>>4377670
>>B] Part ways here. (A roll will be required.)
>>1] Try to meet again before Chesty leaves for Wearmoor. You'll try to have Electrum obtain horses for him and Serpent.

>>4377670
>>B] Part ways here. (A roll will be required.)
>>1] Try to meet again before Chesty leaves for Wearmoor. You'll try to have Electrum obtain horses for him and Serpent.

>>4377675
>>4377693
>>4377699
(Let's do this thing.)

>CLOAK AND DAGGER
>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.

Rolled 71 (1d100)

>>4377709

Channel our inner Ofelia, let's do Mick and Randy proud.

Rolled 18 (1d100)

>>4377709

Rolled 47 (1d100)

>>4377709

File: you just know.png (124 KB, 408x440)

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>>4377711
>>4377714
>>4377739
(Hell yeah guys. Those comments were so wholesome I'm tacking on modifier for the post.

>+5 ROGUES, RASCALS, AND RANDY

Bo3 is a 76/100. Got to run to work soon, but I'll update just as soon as I can. Hope to knock out a couple of posts today! Will be back shortly.)

>>4377758
(Work has been a nightmare but I'm pretty sure I can write now. Thanks for your patience guys.)

>>4377758
https://youtu.be/wHpMwAehK0s

"Not so long," you grin, pulling Chesty into one more, extra-strength hug. "I think I can still make the Time for this."

You're definitely better acquainted with the amount of force you now command. "Hey," he squeaks out, too comfortable to immediately pull away. Patting your back, and returning the hold for just a moment, Clarence can't help but laugh, "if you're sure."

You're more than sorry to break away, but mildly need to ask, "do you have any idea where Electrum might be at?"

"She's been helpin' out 'cross town, with Spangle. Why?"

Relieved beyond measure, you elaborate, "she will be right down the road from The Honey Bee, then. This is phenomenal. I— I would like to obtain fairer transportation for you, and for Serpent, before you leave for Wearmoor. I need to get moving, Chesty, but this— this is not good-bye."

Mischief paints a smile right across the beer-lover's face. "They got any decent places to drink, over there?"

"Plenty," you note, making sure everything on your person is as hidden as possible. There's no telling how much trouble you might run into across town, given your luck. "It's in the district of Flesh. You really shouldn't bother, though— we have one of the best brewers in the city at our disposal."

"No shit."

"Really. A veritable poisons master." A stroke of inspiration— and love of your most cunning friends— compels you to place a hand to your robes, murmuring, "common attire, befitting of a rogue. Make Mick and Randy proud. ...but keep the valuables out of sight, please."

The moment the last word leaves your lips, the Magic-imbued fabric responds accordingly. All the gold swimming over your holy vestments soaks in the nearby shadow, vanishing into a tasteful, muted black. The cut shifts into a cloak, split down the middle, though broad enough to cover all of your frame. A glove snakes around your wrist, masking your Relic entirely from view, and further ensuring that the item is kept entirely out of sight.
The illusion of multiple frayed edges, holes, scuffs, and a hand-sewn patch completes the change, though you're certain the material remains undamaged.

Chesty crosses his arms, and flips the back of your hood over your head. It's rattier than Algrith's, but soaks in so much light, no one could hope to discern your eyes, hair, or distinctive features from a distance. "Not bad," he sniffs.

You give him one more hug. "It was good seeing you."

One more pat on the back, and you part, moving in opposite directions. "You, too. Take care of yourself, alright?"

"Likewise," you mutter, looking to the horizon. The sun has climbed much higher than you really should have let it, but you flit your eyes back to Chesty, to smile, "the Gods are M—"

"Don't want to hear it," he grins, having already turned to walk off. Waving a hand to you, glancing back with a smile, you hear as he turns around the side of the church, "see you soon!"

(1/2)

>>4378315
"Heathen," you grin, under your breath, and head out into the city.

At the front of the church, the last of the choir can be heard far more clearly. It's a joy to see a fair number of citizens gathered around the building's steps, and filtering inside to hear the service. They all give you an incredibly wide berth. All the way through the remainder of the district, and right up to the checkpoint, you're given no trouble at all.

Immediately upon reaching the city gates, you're accosted by four guards wielding spears. You quickly pull back your hood, explain the situation, and are let through without further complaint. It's almost a relief that no one offers to accompany you to the castle, for how quickly you can stride through the crowds, and how mortified the security remains while you exit the tower.

Cutting into the business wards, past fountains and wells, around vendor stalls and men hard at work, you pass through three more districts in no Time at all. It's a little jarring, to have women pull away at the sight of you, but for the sheer number of scars upon your face, the urgency of your demeanor, your height, the breadth of your frame, and the lack of anything more than a disguised object clenched in one hand, you might be more than imposing. It's fine. You've been called worse things than frightening.

Upon arriving outside the cathedral ward, you have to drop the disguise completely. It's nearly noon, but you've got minutes to spare. In fact, you may arrive early, if King Magnus hasn't made himself impossible to locate within the palace itself. With clean hair, the scent of whiskey decidedly off of you, far more light in your eyes, and after a terribly pleasant morning, you figure now is no better Time than to make a better appearance. There's still the remainder of a race, and the rest of today's meeting— whatever they may bring.

>A] Gold suits you just fine. Though you may be the second-most influential man in the country, even as the leader of the Church of Mercy, you'll try to keep it simple.

>B] Throw on some red highlights, to the standard holy vestments you're accustomed to wearing. You're representing the Church of Flesh this afternoon.

>C] Something green, and a little more humble is in order. Mostly in respect to the Church of Agriculture, you'd like to make a few statements today about the common man to the King, as well.
>1] Just green. It brings out your eyes.
>2] And gold. You know you can keep it tasteful.

>D] The nicest attire an enchanted garment can assume might be more appropriate, for a royal appointment. You're not trying to impress anyone. This is more about feeling your best, and looking the part.

>E] Write-in.

>>4378316
>C] Something green, and a little more humble is in order. Mostly in respect to the Church of Agriculture, you'd like to make a few statements today about the common man to the King, as well.
>1] Just green. It brings out your eyes.

>>4378316
>C] Something green, and a little more humble is in order. Mostly in respect to the Church of Agriculture, you'd like to make a few statements today about the common man to the King, as well.
>1] Just green. It brings out your eyes.

Just caught up to the current thread, the quest has been amazing, thank you Alaric.

>>4378316
>C1

>>4378316
>C] Something green, and a little more humble is in order. Mostly in respect to the Church of Agriculture, you'd like to make a few statements today about the common man to the King, as well.
>1] Just green. It brings out your eyes.

>>4378835
(Man you are so very welcome. Thank you for reading and voting, you all are amazing.)

>>4378563
>>4378835
>>4378905
>>4378953
(Lovely lovely, going to go with the unanimous vote, then! Writing now.)

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>>4378964
https://youtu.be/yMTglswt5dg

A few guards are mulling about, so you step to the side of the wall dividing the mercantile ward from the royal districts. Certain you won't attract too much attention, placing a hand to your robes, you quietly ask, "something humble. Green. Befitting of a priest, of the Church of Agriculture."

The glove about your hands dissipates, back into the bulk of your robes. The scuffs, patches, and frayed edges all resume a mundane, and intact appearance. All of the length comes up, just above your knee, into more of a hooded tunic than a robe. There's no decoration, trim, gilt, or glamour to speak of. Just a simple, woolen outer-garment, with a fairly long hood befitting of the working class.

You unfasten your belt, from about your trousers and undershirt, to take in the waist. It does wonders for complimenting your arms, nothing to mask the slight amount of pudge on you, and for surviving a famine, it's nothing to complain about. Between the careworn soles of your shoes, the scars upon your face, and the relatively simple attire, you probably look the part of a farmer's son for the first time in many years.

With practically a skip in your step, you head off, and uneventfully get through the checkpoints and guards ahead. They're all mildly amused by your appearance, and you're seen off with more smiles than you've seen in quite awhile.

Past the high stone walls dividing each ward, along multiple gardens, you get a few more blessed minutes of respite. The breeze on the air has picked up, and the sparse clouds above are increasing off in the distance. Even if a Storm is approaching, for the moment, there's cooler air, and pollen carried along the wind.

While you close the distance to the castle, despite the break on your face, there's enough sweetness about you to pick up on a few notes. Lilacs, daffodils, and tulips border plenty of restored fountains. The reconstruction throughout the palace gardens seems to be ongoing, but for how many flowers survived the battle, you think it's fair enough to pick just one.

King Magnus' strain of Green Bough is plentiful, in each and every bed of flowers. While yours and Mother Bethaea's work garnered a delicate herb, suited to dark conditions, and requiring ample care, this is a remarkable outdoor variety. With a demand for sunlight, and in need of little water, even snapping off the stem needs a little work with the edge of your nail. The hardier strain is almost sickly-sweet, a stunning shade of yellow, and gets placed upon your chest. It's frustrating to have your things all back at The Honey Bee. Without any means of preservation, the interior pocket works just fine, and you continue to head off to the castle.

(1/2)

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>>4378989
Past more security. A hearty, "good afternoon, Father Anscham!" is heard in almost all directions, which you gladly return. Up high steps, beyond multiple clergy returning from their work in the district of Flesh. "The Gods are Merciful. Good afternoon, Father Anscham." Covered in blood in parts, and others bearing enormous baskets of the medicinal herbs you grew earlier in the week, further welcome is upon plenty of the steps. "Thank you, Father." "Are you alright? We could do something about that break! It wouldn't take but a moment—"

Picking up your pace, and waving off all further attempts at distraction, you get over the drawbridge, beyond the moat, up into the fortified front entryway, and right into the palace. Getting directions to King Magnus' location is easy enough. It's one of your most beloved haunts in the whole city.

Through tall corridors, stained glass reflecting the afternoon sun, countless stairwells, and to the dismay of the librarians of the royal archive, you ascend even further. Arriving at a high balcony, within the center of the castle, a smile is immediately upon your face.

The bookshelves all around are stacked up to the ceiling with the King's most prized literature. High stained glass is smaller, and thicker, breaking up the shelving and scrolls. Striding over to the banister, you're at least five stories above the ground, and the balcony overlooks a descent to the base of the archive. It must drop seven stories, and the candlelight in the lowest levels emanates up, right along every level in-between.

It's not only one of your favorite places in the castle. The peak of the library is a reminder: of how much you still have to learn of your history, your country, and its people.

The view over the balcony's edge is enough to have distracted you from about ten guards, and the King, who is sitting in a nearby chair. He's got a book in hand, and glances up to you from the tome, to mildly note, "good afternoon, Father Anscham."

Without any shock up your spine, or more than a glance to the particularly amused guard around the monarch, you fire a slight smile to the men attentively standing with shields and spears. They can't believe your audacity, your appearance, or how casually the King is greeting you. A few of the men elbow each other, or fire a cheeky grin your way in return.

"Good afternoon, Your Grace," you note, with a slight bow of your head to the men nearby.

A slight smile slips across the King's face. "We would like to extend Our apology once more, for interrupting your evening. It seems you have made the most of our Time apart— as always."

It might as well be a new day, for how much better you feel. He's really trying, too. "A fair morning, with good company, and ample Time in Your city was Time well spent, Your Grace. I sorely needed the opportunity to gather my thoughts."

(Just barely over, 2/3)

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>>4378990
"Further recreation," King Magnus practically grins, clearly in a better mood, but doing His best to keep up appearances, "may be excessive, given the sheer amount of work you have accomplished in days past. We would happily delay Sister Raleigh's fury, if you would like to resume Our discussion."

You try incredibly hard to not smirk. "We're keeping her waiting?"

"Oh, yes." He's straight-faced, and absolutely trying to not laugh. "All morning, in fact. She ran straight here, from what We heard."

>A] See what the King wants to do regarding the race, before anything else. You're dying to run, even if you're exhausted, and really want to get this over with.

>B] Present your order of business to the King, and leave it to His judgement. He may change His tune about the terms, if He at least sees how seriously you're taking matters.

>C] You'd much rather keep Sister Raleigh waiting, and discuss your affairs with King Magnus, first. It might make a big difference.

>D] Write-in.

>>4378991
>B] Present your order of business to the King, and leave it to His judgement. He may change His tune about the terms, if He at least sees how seriously you're taking matters.

>D] Write-in.
>Ask the king if we can have a private meeting in regard to our venture into the depths of ruins.

>>4378991
>>B] Present your order of business to the King, and leave it to His judgement. He may change His tune about the terms, if He at least sees how seriously you're taking matters.

>>4378995
>>4379009
(Fantastic. I can probably knock out quite a few updates before work if you guys are up for it! Locking the vote, writing now.)

>>4379012
https://youtu.be/p7E1zhSh-oI

"If I may, Your Grace," you motion, to obtain the agenda from your tunic.

A radiant, questioning glance permits you, "go right ahead."

It only takes a moment for you to fish out the slip of parchment, stride across the polished floor, and to hand off the item. The guards at King Magnus' side are a little tense, but it's easy enough to tell that your dress and relaxed demeanor has done wonders for putting their nerves at ease. Looking the list over, a furrow forms in the King's brow. "This should not be postponed a moment longer than necessary." Glancing up to you, handing the paper back gently, He asks, "you are leaving this to Our judgement, then?"

"With one condition, Your Grace." The order of business remains in hand. A questioning look is fired to you, to which you answer, "a private meeting. In addition to the items I have presented you with, I— I would like to report on my findings, within the ruins of Ostedholm."

Every single guard around you both goes completely silent, and conspicuously looks right at you. It's obvious that they want to murmur, and question, but are far too well-groomed to do more than implore with wide eyes to not be dismissed.

"You are all dismissed," the King waves to every guard present, and nods to you. "Right this way. We have just the place."

Unaccompanied, down seven flights of stairs, you have to walk several steps behind your host. The King's cape occupies so much space, billowing behind Him, you can scarcely see more than the ornate crown upon His head. Debating how difficult it would be to tag Him from your angle, your mischief is cut short, upon descending to the base of the library. Along myriad dank corridors, into hidden wings, you both walk for at least ten minutes before stopping adjacent to an innocuous bookshelf.

It serves as a hidden door. You resist the urge to chuckle. The King can't resist, and laughs a little, putting a finger up in an unnecessary motion to quiet you. "You would do the same, given the chance," is His excuse, as He runs a small tool along the edge of the shelf.

There's a click, and the bookcase slowly swings open. Entering the hall within, it's almost completely bare, save for a humble wooden door at its end. King Magnus obtains a solid gold key from His person, closes the shelf behind you, and strides over to unlocks the chamber.

Following closely behind, in the dark, your jaw threatens to drop. Within is a hidden library. Sure, there's no windows to speak of, but it's dry, warm, and the King immediately lights a nearby candelabra. An orange glow illuminates a series of shelves, lining further stone walls, which you both quickly stride past. The door gently closes behind you both, thanks to its own weight, while your attention is stolen away.

(1/2)

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>>4379047
There are two overstuffed armchairs, at the end of the hall, alongside a crowded desk. A colossal tome is at its center. Your joy must be obvious, as King Magnus leads you right to it. Nodding towards the largest book you've ever seen, He gives you a grin. "We knew you'd appreciate it. No need to take a seat just yet. Go ahead."

Glancing at the open page, it appears to be a hand-written account of natural phenomenon. Another nod, as King Magnus sits in the large chair beside you, is all the permission you need. Still, He notes, "feel free to flip through it."

It's some sort of reference book. There's everything from detailed entries on various building materials, to the correct methods of spinning wool, to advanced black-smithing techniques, and even multiple notes on prayer. Your eyes could not be wider. It's all in plain text, with no pretense, pomp, or obfuscation for the common man. "This is incredible," you murmur, not daring to breathe on a single thin page. At least thirty are dedicated to the Church of Agriculture's location, the surrounding lands, its customs, and major contributions. The book appears to be in alphabetical order, with ample blanks spaces between each entry for further notes.

Not even daring to look away to see royalty, you stutter, "you're— you are— this is an archive of— of everything?"

Leaning over to pick up a quill, a scroll, and a tablet to write upon from the desk, King Magnus admits, "nowhere near as much as We would like. There is much that has escaped Our attention— particularly in days of late. The letter We granted you, for the scholars in your company, grants access to this wing, Father Anscham. You are welcome here any Time."

He's speaking so gently, you have to painfully pull your attention away from a detailed entry on the effects of scorched soil on crops over multiple harvests.

The King is concerned. "We have awaited news of your return for months, Father Anscham. News of the devastation, and grief, that your excursion into the ruins brought you has tempered Our curiosity. If you are willing to speak of it, We would like to hear as much of the venture as you can relay." Even more seriously, He notes, "Father Friedrich has expressed extreme concern over our nation's security, due to your actions within the western ruins of Ostedholm. We trust his judgement on the matter completely, but—" a frown comes out, "he has shielded you from any further scrutiny."

You think back to the nobility knocking on the war strategist's door from the very day you arrived in Beorward.

Mercy. Father Friedrich hasn't breathed word to a soul. It must have been a nightmare.

It has been over seven months since you left Ostedholm. The long-reaching effects of your association with an orc, and elf, a halfling, and countless demons has completely escaped you, save for a few conversations with Ofelia, and Father Friedrich's suppressed distress.

(Options in next post.)

File: Non-Natives.png (2.99 MB, 3795x1408)

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>>4379048
>A] It's going to take hours to relay verbally, but give the entire story to King Magnus. There's a lot of other ground to cover, and Sister Raleigh might actually try to kill you when she sees you, but this is one of the most important events of your life. He should know.

>B] Give an abbreviated version of events, but stress the major points. It's going to take awhile, but not all day, at least.
>1] Tactfully omit things like The Fuck Zone, your experiences with particularly intense invocations, intentional self-harm, and anything else that might compromise your image as a pious man.
>2] Make no mention of your experiences with Beltoro. You don't understand even a fraction of it, and would prefer to keep the ordeal between you, and the Church of Spirit. More importantly, you'd rather not ruin your afternoon.
>3] Try to paint a more flattering picture of your interactions with Orgoth, Ofelia, and Celegwen.

>C] Really shorten the account. It's going to compromise the full picture, but your fear of Time is practically crippling.
>1] Keep it focused on your interactions with foreigners, the alliances you made, your Relic, and anything else of major political significance.
>2] Touch on the sheer number of times you had to invoke, and all the good it did. You need to hear from someone else that you've done the right thing.

>D] Write-in.

>>4379052
>B1

>>4379052
>>B] Give an abbreviated version of events, but stress the major points. It's going to take awhile, but not all day, at least.
>3] Try to paint a more flattering picture of your interactions with Orgoth, Ofelia, and Celegwen.

>>4379052
>B] Give an abbreviated version of events, but stress the major points. It's going to take awhile, but not all day, at least.
>1] Tactfully omit things like The Fuck Zone, your experiences with particularly intense invocations, intentional self-harm, and anything else that might compromise your image as a pious man.
>3] Try to paint a more flattering picture of your interactions with Orgoth, Ofelia, and Celegwen.

>>4379052
>B] Give an abbreviated version of events, but stress the major points. It's going to take awhile, but not all day, at least.
>1] Tactfully omit things like The Fuck Zone, your experiences with particularly intense invocations, intentional self-harm, and anything else that might compromise your image as a pious man.

>>4379052
>B
>1
/take 2/ Go!

>>4379057
>>4379058
>>4379059
>>4379060
>>4379066
(B1 and B3 it is. Vote is locked, before 4chan eats more posts! Writing now.)

>>4379067
(Thank you all SO much for your patience. Was working on the timelines, which are finally completed, all the way up to the current arc. Writing now!)

File: Record of Ostedholm-Malim(...).png (4.06 MB, 2000x1412)

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>>4379158
(The following link contains the timeline for your experiences, through the entire quest, up to this point. It is HIGHLY recommended for new readers. Many major points are covered, and may be an asset for those who are already caught up, as well: https://imgur.com/a/MXi710P )

"Devastation," you murmur, "and grief—" deeply breathing, doing everything in your power to stay on the level, you agree, "are apt ways to describe my experiences in Ostedholm's ruins."

An incredibly long silence follows.

"Your Grace." Glancing up to Him, to the light reflecting off the gilded surface of His face, you take a sharp breath in, and assert, "I owe it to them all. To myself. To You. I would like to share my journey with you. As much as I am able. If— if you would permit me to do so."

With a slight nod, King Magnus gestures to the chair behind you. "We wouldn't Dream of denying this request. Of course, Father Anscham. Please."

Taking a seat, you take a moment, and close your eyes. There are no monsters here. Your heart may be beating like a drum, louder than a roll of thunder, but you put a hand to your chest, and let it mellow. There is no threat to your life. There are no spears, and no demons in the dark.

In a low voice, you begin, "I initially met an ancient demon. Malimos, the Master of Webs, was an affable master of communications. I have heard from him as recently as last week— and we will get to his message, on our agenda. He brought me no harm, and shielded my congregation when he was able. I do not know of his allegiances, Your Grace, beyond his desire for amusement. He— he is undeniably insane— but I know that for now, he should be on our side."

An incredibly concerned look pans over you, but the King notes, "we will get to the details, then. Please. Go on."

Shifting, running a hand through your hair, you note, "deeper into the ruins, yet relatively— relatively close to the surface, I encountered a war chieftain. He went by the name of 'Orgoth,' and claimed to be the conqueror of the ruins."

Extreme concern furrows the King's brow. "You fought him?"

"Immediately," you stress, "even— even though he had tamed a colossal demon. If you can excuse my speech—"

"Go ahead," you're encouraged, with a slight wave of King Magnus' hand.

"The humanoid sections of the demon, was— was of a lady of the night. Well endowed, without any grace, or decency. The monstrosity possessed a tail akin to a centipede, the voice of a woman in mourning, and an all-consuming lust for violence. Offala was her name, Your Grace. We fought bitterly, on two occasions. She is dead."

Tensing a hand around your Relic, clenching your fists, you repeatedly mutter, "she is dead."

You're given ample Time. "Father Anscham," you're quietly reminded, several minutes later, "she is dead. What of your first battle?"

"I cannot fathom, to— to this day," you mutter, "how he came to work with her."

"They were companions?"

(1/3)

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>>4379225
"It may have been more than that, Your Grace."

"This is not uncommon," King Magnus quietly says.

"Pardon me?"

A dozen emotions twist the monarch's face. He has to take a few moments to Himself, as well. You can't help but calm down, wondering with some amazement that He can express anything at all. Yet there is unquestionable anger, grief, apology, and frustration.

"The monsters we face in Baranfen," King Magnus seethes, "and even further beyond our borders, seek to undo us all. The forces of Cyno are known to have a few demon tamers in their midst. Colossal, devastating, and ruthless—" King Magnus is so furious, He has to pause, "they will stop at nothing to wipe us out."

"I attempted diplomacy," you quickly insist. "Though I won the battle, Orgoth and I had both suffered serious injury. He tolerated my presence, and— miraculously— he watched over me, for days. Neither demon, nor— nor orc, or any other monstrosity— nothing brought me any harm. I was even visited by Dream, during my recovery."

You've never seen such wide eyes. The King straightens up, just slightly. "Did he say anything of his work? Why he was so deep into Our lands? Did he look over your possessions, notes, or—"

Shaking your head, you admit, "I cannot say what transpired during my rest, but he— in exchange for our temporary peace— he swore on his very children to bring me no harm."

"The names," King Magnus insists, tensing a hand upon his quill. "Tell me you remember them."

You relay the names of all sixteen of Orgoth's sons, his wife, his axe, and every last son that came thereafter. It's been months— but you will never forget what transpired in Ostedholm.

When you're finished, the King of Corcaea unfastens His cape, and gets comfortable. You try to not be too unsettled, as the statue of a man sternly looks to you for answers. Tensing your hand further, struggling for air, you stop.

Rolling your shoulders back, you force all the tension in your body to ease. From your head, along your broad shoulders, from the ache in your gut, the dried blood upon your Relic from holding it so tightly, to the exhaustion in your long legs, and the soreness of your feet, you tense, and relax. You breathe, and cannot stop the pain in your chest, as you continue. "After defeating a sorcerer of unprecedented power, I was near death, Your Grace. He was formidable. The full might of Storm was necessary, to bring Mondost to heel."

You're looked over from head to toe. In a voice so soft, you almost can't hear it, King Magnus whispers, "you should be dead."

(2/3)

File: Within the library of Ost(...).png (987 KB, 2000x1334)

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>>4379229
"I was discovered by a halfling woman," you twitch, "by the name of Ofelia Banks. She hailed from Spira, and was searching for a solution to her people's own weakness. Her loyalty, sacrifices, and the— the—" It's incredibly hard to speak, as you sniff, and choke on the last few words. "...the foes we faced, and the way we grew together. I owe her more than my life. I owe her so much more than any— she's one of the best friends I've ever had. I love her, as you would love a sister, and cannot begin to express how invaluable her company has been. Her race is dying, Your Grace, and she has fought on our behalf Time after Time again."

It's very hard to not cry, as you insist, "Ofelia is a hero. She deserves all the compassion we have to give."

The diplomat before you is stunned. He's stopped writing, and stares at you, to simply say, "you have outdone yourself."

"There's more," you whisper, trying as hard as you can to keep it together. "There was an elf. She was immaculate. From the moment we met, she looked after me. Tended to my wounds. It's thanks to her that I survived. From the battle with Orgoth, to nearly drowning, I—" Upon your shoulder, the knotted scar tissue persists, from a rotten wound that was healed in seconds. "She cared. I know she did. Even in the end."

>A] Don't cry. You're going to keep it together. Think of Celegwen's aid, and your alliance. Even if her loyalty was fleeting, or never existed at all, she endured horror after horror on your behalf.

>B] Let yourself get choked up. You were manipulated, betrayed, and abandoned at your lowest moments. Stress your mistrust of Celegwen's behavior, her exile, the power she bears, and the knowledge she has of you: your ability, your history, and the fact that you now possess the Relic of Mercy.

>C] You are the Father of Restraint. Stay sterile. Political. You will not let your emotions get the better of you. (A roll will be required.)

>D] Write-in.

>>4379225
(Dropped music, my bad.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nioKJNp8ADE )

>>4379232
>>A] Don't cry. You're going to keep it together. Think of Celegwen's aid, and your alliance. Even if her loyalty was fleeting, or never existed at all, she endured horror after horror on your behalf.

>>4379232
>>A] Don't cry. You're going to keep it together. Think of Celegwen's aid, and your alliance. Even if her loyalty was fleeting, or never existed at all, she endured horror after horror on your behalf.

>>4379232
>C] You are the Father of Restraint. Stay sterile. Political. You will not let your emotions get the better of you. (A roll will be required.)
Bros before Hoes

>>4379232
A, C

>>4379252
>>4379280
>>4379289
>>4379312
(Locking the vote. A will take precedence, but for the undercurrent of C:)

>YOU MEAN BUSINESS.

>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.
+30 RESTRAINT FROM A GODDESS/(Did you really think She'd want you to get choked up over an old flame?)
>+5 FANTASTIC MORNING
>-5 NO SLEEP
>-15 UNRESOLVED TRAUMA

Rolled 71 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>4379329

Rolled 72 (1d100)

>>4379329

Rolled 2 (1d100)

>>4379329
Winning dice roll incoming.

>>4379335
(Perfection.)
>>4379334
>>4379333
(Damn close! That 87 is the bo3. Writing now!)

File: 10Record of Demons.png (3.9 MB, 2000x1412)

3.9 MB PNG

>>4379339
Moving on is just about the only thing on your mind. This is more than a matter of business, or politics. With conviction, and verve, you tighten your hold on your Relic further. It's been in your left hand, all day, with your promise ring from Mercy sitting just above it. The gold band is practically warm to the touch, for how much fire is in you. There's no tears. You straighten up, and insist, "Celegwen was an exile, from the Verdant Dominion. It must have taken her— taken her months to reach the ruins. She had traversed them for many more, and lost— lost nearly everything— to save my life. Her sacrifices were not mere manipulation. She defended my congregation. She picked me up, and dragged me to the bottom of the world when the need arose. Sometimes literally, Your Grace. Regardless of her motive, her loyalty during our descent was as real as you or I."

A little paranoia seeps into the back of your mind, about how absurd your life is, and you dismiss it as quickly as it came.

"There was little information we shared with one another, Your Grace, that would compromise our country's security." Tightening your hold on the Relic even further, you mutter, "yet she did not see fit to keep my company, in the very end."

Alarm does not begin to describe the panic on King Magnus. His expression remains stern, but a wave of tension washes over every last gilded inch. "Elaborate. In as much detail as you can."

There is no need to get personal. "She lost hope in my mission, Your Grace. Having regained the memories she lost, and coming to some unknown epiphany, Celegwen left my company without so much as a parting word."

Narrowing His eyes, trying to remain calm, you're asked, "did this elf ever make any indication of her objectives, or any orders she was under, so far abroad?"

"No," you frown, "it is as I said. She claimed to be an exile, with little recollection of any positive memories. I briefly witnessed her old home, through an invocation to Spirit. It was along a distant and unmarked shore, likely on the edge of the Verdant Dominion. Her mind had been consumed by a demon of Dream, Your Grace. Everything was in tatters." The room feels a lot colder. "Menniath likely would have killed us all, had she not sacrificed so much on our behalf."

Your King draws back, and looks like He wants a cigar, or a stiff drink. Running a hand along His beard, thinking intensely, He murmurs, "curious."

You both sit, and think, for a long while.

>A] Don't get side-tracked. Stick to your retelling.

>B] Make a slight diversion, to ask the King about foreign affairs. (Feel free to write in specifics you're wondering about. Your QM will make a general question otherwise, with your typical obsession with answers.)

>C] There is a LOT going unsaid here, in the name of preserving your image, keeping your composure, and not humiliating yourself in front of the King. Give Him your honest thoughts about Celegwen. (Write-in.)

>>4379373
>A] Don't get side-tracked. Stick to your retelling.

>>4379373
>B] Make a slight diversion, to ask the King about foreign affairs. (Feel free to write in specifics you're wondering about. Your QM will make a general question otherwise, with your typical obsession with answers.)
>What has concerned the King about Celegwen's motive? Ask him on the nation's relations with the Verdant Dominion.

>>4379373
>>B] Make a slight diversion, to ask the King about foreign affairs. (Feel free to write in specifics you're wondering about. Your QM will make a general question otherwise, with your typical obsession with answers.)

I have been in the dark all my life, your Grace. Would it be too much to ask you to shed some light on what lies beyond our borders?

>>4379377
>>4379383
>>4379394
(Sliiiiight diversion it is. Going with majority here, and all those nice write-ins, but we'll get back on track ASAP. Vote is locked. Writing now!)

>>4379433
https://youtu.be/k2Fkm4iH1Bg

There is so much to cover, and never enough Time for anything. Yet the busiest man in the nation seems to have set aside His entire day, purely to share in your company. You know King Magnus values your input, but you still ask, "Your Grace?"

Cutting the silence has the strategist only slowly look up, to quietly ask, "yes?"

"What do you make of Celegwen's behavior? Her motives?"

"I will speak bluntly," a entirely human voice declares, nearly knocking you backwards from how jarring the effect is. With the radiance out of His voice, still deep, sage, and furious, the King grimaces, "it is abundantly clear that this elf was using you to further her own ends. She left you, the very moment she recalled what they were, when you no longer provided her with what she required. This woman was no ally. This, 'Celegwen,' provided a false name, given to her as a consequence of abandoning her home, and her kind. It is custom, Father Anscham, for any who leave the Verdant Dominion to have their family names and titles stripped from them. To seek the company of humans is unthinkable. This was a madwoman, at best."

It hurts. She listened, and was there in the darkness. No matter what her motivations were, no matter how many lies, or deceptions you were given. Even if you were all insane. It's not that you've been played a fool. You are righteous, and desperate, and assert, "All my life I— I have been kept in the dark. Shed Your light on our home, Your Grace. Please. What lies beyond our borders? What are our relations, with— with the Verdant Dominion?"

King Magnus actually sweeps a cigar from off the desk, and sets about cutting it. Marveling at His increasingly relaxed demeanor, and all the age creeping into His voice, you listen raptly to an answer.

It is not divine. He is bitter. Bitter, mournful, and full of hate— for what are no doubt countless lives lost under His reign. "They are heathens, and they are afraid. Not only do we present the reality of the Gods, to every other nation outside our borders. Not only do they fear us, and all the power we may wield." A father, grieving, mutters, "every man, woman, and child within Our arms is regarded as a deadly threat. They see us as unstable. Too dangerous to live."

A few items on the desk are swept up, to light and tend to the cigar. With a pack of bandages wedged up your nose, and all the splints, you can hardly smell the exotic spice and woody smoke filling the enclosed chamber.

"There are so few of us left, Richard." Sneering, puffing away at the ember and ash, a diplomat sighs, "they could not be more wrong. To fight is to die."

(1/2)

>>4379494
Putting a hand to His forehead, clearly battling with more guilt than He can stand, you are given a confession that is likely a lifetime overdue. "I have worked tirelessly, to establish anything in the way of peace. It has been a nightmare. For every house or family I reach to the east, we have lost a hundred lives to the west. Surrendering our position, or relaxing the defense at our borders, would have our citizens slaughtered by the thousands. The forces we are contending with could be opposed, for a Time, but at what cost? Are we to genocide our neighbors? Are we to close ourselves off from the world, and surrender to despair? We cannot surrender. We cannot oppose them."

The Merciful has something swimming in His eyes, as he angrily discards some ash. "Father Friedrich has recruited countless citizens. He has lost sons, and daughters, in more ways than I can express. Every man in this country would fight, if they knew a fraction of what is at stake. Our militias in the city could survive and withstand nearly any siege, but we cannot reach Our people. We cannot protect them all. We cannot arm children, the sick, the dying. We cannot cause panic, and risk more deaths from within."

You know how dire of a situation that even the smallest of outbreaks is.

"I have worked. Not merely for our people to thrive. The end of the famine has brought about children, yes, but for how many years will we waste away? For how long will Father Pevrel send out scouts in the night, and return with enslaved soldiers, who can never rejoin their families? How many minds will the Church of Spirit mend, when we look upon utter annihilation?"

A broken-hearted stare bores straight into you. "How much will I never learn— of the suffering of Our people— until it is far too late?"

King Magnus slumps back in His chair, and scowls. "I have worked for peace. The Verdant Dominion is organized. Led by royal families, who all claim varying rights to rule. Their heirarchy is not unlike our demons. Their land is rich, their numbers are numerous, and their allies are plentiful. I have staved off their fury for decades. I am tired, Father Anscham—"

Sitting back upright, scowling, putting His cigar between His teeth, the face of compassion sneers, "but I will never rest, until our future is secure."

Smoke fills the library. Several more minutes pass. You are not offered a cigar, but King Magnus quietly notes, "I have never spoken of this to you, but it was not for fear of your temperament. You are vastly stronger, and sounder of mind, than anyone gives you credit for."

A frown is all the answer He needs.

(Barely over, 2/3)

>>4379498
"I have previously withheld these issues from you, Father, because I need you here. You are the leader of the Church of Protection. Petty, vicious, treasonous fool's have made a mockery of your holiest institution. Unseat them, and claim what is *rightfully* yours. Do what you wish, with the demons who have tarnished Mercy's name. Root out the corruption. Bring YOUR light, back, to the Church of Mercy."

A few angry puffs of His cigar gives you no opportunity to interject. "We have enough pressing issues to see to today."

You both lighten your scowls, just a little. More mildly, the King asserts, "I do not wish to insult you. Your capability is without question, and I am proud to have you beside me. This is Time I would not trade for anything, Father Anscham, but let us use it wisely. Let us discuss the nightmares within our own lands. The demons I am CERTAIN we can defeat."

>A] Graciously thank the King for His explanation, and keep your report going. You'll show your appreciation through respect of His Time, and let your resolution of His problems speak for themselves.

>B] Mercy.
>1] Tactfully express your appreciation for the King's efforts at making peace. He probably needs to hear it.
>2] God you have so many questions (Write-in.)
>3] As respectfully as you're able (which is quite a lot), ask Magnus if He wants a hug. Or a drink. Or anything brief, at all, that might help.
>4] Reassure King Magnus that you are doing everything in your power to focus your efforts, utilize your strengths, and get back to leading the Church of Mercy properly just as soon as humanly possible.

>C] Write-in.

>>4379500
>A] Graciously thank the King for His explanation, and keep your report going. You'll show your appreciation through respect of His Time, and let your resolution of His problems speak for themselves.
>B] Mercy.
>4] Reassure King Magnus that you are doing everything in your power to focus your efforts, utilize your strengths, and get back to leading the Church of Mercy properly just as soon as humanly possible.

>>4379500
>A] Graciously thank the King for His explanation, and keep your report going. You'll show your appreciation through respect of His Time, and let your resolution of His problems speak for themselves.
>B] Mercy.
>4] Reassure King Magnus that you are doing everything in your power to focus your efforts, utilize your strengths, and get back to leading the Church of Mercy properly just as soon as humanly possible.

>>4379503
>>4379644
(Locking the unanimous vote here guys, we can absolutely do both of these. Writing now!)

File: Mercy.png (2.72 MB, 1216x1584)

2.72 MB PNG

>>4379739
https://youtu.be/L7I9we5jP3I

"Your Grace." There's no hesitation, no uncertainty. With all the conviction you've put into every last vow, you assert, "I will continue to do everything in my power to focus my efforts. To gather my allies, and all of their strengths. I will return to the Church of Mercy— and I cannot thank you enough for sharing all of this with me. Please. May I continue, with my report?"

A pained smile works around the cigar between King Magnus' teeth. "I have always known I can count on you. Of course you may."

"The rest of the retelling," you glance to the candelabra down the hall, to a candle in the dark, and fervently snap your gaze back to the King. "Is of our demons. Not merely the ones we face, in— in the depths of the world. I was visited by the Gods, in more ways than you can fathom, during my travels— and more recently, still. I have written extensively, to my fellow clergymen, but nothing— I could never have anticipated receiving a mission from Mercy, Herself."

Unwrapping the chain from about your hand for the first Time in hours, keeping your hold fast on your Relic, you're greeted with angry, red indentations upon your skin. The criss-crossing impressions are no blemish. The injury is a reminder of your faith, and you do not balk, while fastening the item around your neck once more. Keeping the locket before your heart, you declare, "I was entrusted with a divine mission. Mercy came to me, in a dark, and lonely hour— embraced by sin, and devoid of all the Gods— for everything I had endured, Your Grace, She trusted me. I was to obtain Her Relic. To find a demon that still possessed compassion in their heart, and to obtain a cure for the pain of humanity."

You are not shaking, be it with tremor, or devotion. With a level, clear voice, looking back to the King, you do not pause at the curiosity, or concern written across His features. You plunge into the heart of the story. "I could never consider turning back, Your Grace. Not for an instant. It was thanks to Her guidance, that I persevered. I kept my connection, to all of the Gods. I saved over FIFTY souls, within the depths of Ostedholm. I would do so again, without question, no matter how dearly it cost me. I will never regret a single sinner, heathen, or killer than was rescued from the ruins. They are survivors, and some of the greatest men and women I have ever had the gift of knowing."

Choking back a swell of love, for all of your children, unphased by the sternness of the King, you continue, "nothing I had endured upon the surface could have rivaled the depths I reached. Nothing. I was pushed beyond all mortal limits, into an Abyss, where— where I met her. The keeper of Ostedholm's ruins."

(1/3)

File: Archdemon Idonea.png (3.13 MB, 2000x1864)

3.13 MB PNG

>>4379813
You might as well still be in her domain. Beneath a red sun, in a field of grain. Waving in a forgotten breeze, of ages long past. Before thousands of doors, stretching out, into an impossible horizon. Upon enchanted soil, standing before yet another fallen mentor— who you never had the chance to know.

"Archdemon Idonea," you say, firmly, with all the respect she deserves. "I will never— there are so many questions unanswered, for all the opportunity I was given to ask. She was a fallen Mother of Mercy, Your Grace, yet her Catalyst was love."

Though He's remained suspiciously quiet, you succeed in fully breaking the King's composure. "What?"

"She possessed Mercy's Relic, in another form," you continue, without missing a beat, "I was tasked with—" it's extremely hard to speak, but you grit your teeth, and force out, "with aiding only three of her children. There must have been thousands. She was Merciful, and I made her proud, Your Grace. I grew. I felt, and learned, and through— through it all—"

You miss him so much.

It may never be enough Time away from the ruins.

Running your free hand through your hair, looking to the wall behind the King, as if the stone itself could give you answers, you murmur, "I still called myself the leader, of the Church of Mercy, through it all. Idonea never questioned me. She knew that my passion— Mercy's blessing— Our love was without equal. I obtained my Relic—"

Staring straight through the King, trying desperately to focus, trying to stay grounded, you can't help it. You have to tell him. He has to know. Insanity leaks into every last syllable, every convicted word, every single truth of sacrifices you can never hope to convey through words alone. "...and it cost me everything. But not the allies I made. Never the archdemon that I saw rise to power, in Idonea's stead. Not over 1600 years of memories, instilled upon my mind by a demon of Spirit— and never, not even once— for all the enemies I spared. Never. Not for every last monstrosity that threatened my friend's very lives, and learned to fear the Gods Themselves."

There's a crackle, at the back of your mind, and the sight of an army that could devastate any holy city in an instant. All of the wrath of the Storm, and fear, of convulsions on the field of battle. "I converted a city of light, into the city of everlasting darkness, and struck fear like a bolt of lightning upon thousands. They know I have taken Idonea's mantle. The demons of Ostedholm know that a new archdemon has risen, in the strongest alliance ever forged."

Breathing hard, running a hand through your hair, trying to calm down, trying to focus, trying to think, you mutter, "I have left the ruins. They have not left me."

(2/3)

File: Lord Eric 'Yech' Yarbury (...).png (981 KB, 1500x1131)

981 KB PNG

>>4379817
Without making a single gesture, as quietly as He can, King Magnus murmurs, "I would like to hear the rest, but will you permit me to ask a few questions?"

"Yes," you finally breathe, fidgeting horribly. It's been months. The only word you've received of Yech came from a spider, relayed by another archdemon. Idonea is dead. Mother Bethaea is dead. Father Edmund is dead. Yech has been out of your life for so long, you're worried about forgetting the taste of his best beer, and

A cigar is being held out to you. It's being waved, a little, to catch your attention without touching you, or saying anything further. King Magnus gives you a weary smile. "They are from Father Wilhelm. It may help."

>Choose ONLY ONE option from A. A1 and A2 are mutually exclusive. Majority will decide.
>Choose AT LEAST ONE prompt from B-D. They may not be mutually exclusive.

>A] For fuck's sake, you miss Father Wilhelm, too.
>1] Take the cigar. You normally don't smoke, but you'll make an exception, especially if it'll help you wind down. (A temporary positive modifier will be added, to better keep your composure.)
>2] Abstain. Maybe it's the race today, or yet another reminder of someone who's not an immediate part of your life, but you can't handle it right now.

>B] God DAMMIT you miss Yech so MUCH
>1] You are telling the rest of your story, no matter how worked up you get. Questions can wait. (No roll will be required.)
>2] Just talk about Yech. Just for a little while. Try to keep it together. (A roll will be required.)

>C] Let the King ask His questions.
>1] Answer as honestly as possible. Don't get side-tracked. (No roll will be required.)
>2] Continue fudging the story to paint yourself in a more pious light. Deflect, if necessary. (A roll will be required.)
>3] There's no avoiding the depths you went to, in order to garner Yech's trust in full, and to obtain your Relic. You can absolutely spin this back around to King Magnus' pact with Arkthros, though. (A roll will be required.)

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

>>4379820
>>A] For fuck's sake, you miss Father Wilhelm, too.
>>1] Take the cigar. You normally don't smoke, but you'll make an exception, especially if it'll help you wind down. (A temporary positive modifier will be added, to better keep your composure.)

>C] Let the King ask His questions.
>1] Answer as honestly as possible. Don't get side-tracked. (No roll will be required.)

>>4379820
>A] For fuck's sake, you miss Father Wilhelm, too.
>1] Take the cigar. You normally don't smoke, but you'll make an exception, especially if it'll help you wind down. (A temporary positive modifier will be added, to better keep your composure.)

>C] Let the King ask His questions.
>1] Answer as honestly as possible. Don't get side-tracked. (No roll will be required.)

>>4379830
>>4379838
(Gonna work in one more update for the night. No rolls required here, with the unanimous vote for A1 and C1. Vote is locked! Writing now.)

File: Beltoro.png (1.59 MB, 1500x1838)

1.59 MB PNG

>>4379895
With a violently shaking hand, you take the cigar, and accept the King's help to light it. You both pass a few minutes in complete silence, while you do your best to calm down, and not get embers and soot all over you.

It's difficult to taste anything, but the wrapping upon the exotic herbs and spices is masterfully prepared. It's not too tight to draw, has a mellow taste, and you manage to not cough, for all the Time you've spent previously in Father Wilhelm's company. It's not bad. Even through the break on your nose, and the difficulty you're having smelling anything, the scent of smoke filters through. It's aerthy, and you're certain that the blend within the cigar is not of Corcaea.

There's a lot of questions to be asked, but at some point, the nonstop buzz at the forefront of your mind pauses.

https://youtu.be/c798bKlW-7U

Before you know it, there's a lot less on your mind. Feeling a little warmer, and far more inclined to conversation, you manage to actually sink a little into your chair. It's disgustingly comfortable, and you hadn't even noticed, for how wrapped up you were in the conversation. Not that it matters what else is in the room, as the King of Corcaea leans over, to make sure you don't get any ash on yourself, or the floor.

The cigar in hand is gently set aside, while you take a few level breaths. Fully appreciating that you haven't slept in two days, you resist every urge to fall asleep. Sure, your eyes were closed for what was likely several minutes, but no one here minds.

A very patient, quiet voice asks, "what can you tell me about Archdemon Idonea?"

"She," you start, and pause, immediately. This isn't right. "I can't tell you about her without mentioning her children."

"Go ahead."

"I gleaned almost no information of Idonea's life, during my stay in her domain, or from anyone after." There's barely any inflection, or intensity in your tone, but the lack of any severe pauses is nice. "One of her children, Beltoro, granted me the full extent of their experiences. Almost everything I have gathered is thanks to them."

"Them?"

You don't dare take a hand off your Relic, and settle for wiggling your fingers on your free hand. "Them. Twenty-one of them, Your Grace. I was blessed with their knowledge, confession, and forgiveness. I gave them my restraint." A slight smile creeps across your face, shifting a little upright. You're sinking into the chair. It's ludicrously comfortable. Possibly the finest armchair you've ever had the privilege of sitting in. "It's hard to tell, at Times, if I ever got it back."

"This Beltoro." King Magnus slowly moves— which you appreciate, as it does not bother your nerves— and goes back for a quill, asking, "you have been able to recall some extent of their memory, for months after your invocation to Spirit? This is remarkable."

"It was much more than that," you frown, not trying to brag.

"Elaborate."

(1/2)

>>4379995
"Beltoro begged me to take their life. I shielded my soul, my body, and mind, with an invocation to Spirit, and Mercy. It nearly killed me, despite every precaution, but I endured." You pause, and fish out the letter from the demon on your person, "we communicated briefly. They were blind, deaf, and incapable of speech. Their existence was a nightmare, and their only respite was a compulsion to study the deceased. Their company was not tolerated by a single living soul within Ostedholm, save for Idonea, and their grief at her loss was immeasurable. I granted them my restraint, Your Grace. I had to."

The paper in hand is speckled with blood, vomit, the ink is smudged from the demon's unsophisticated motions, and was penned by a creature who had not written anything in over one thousand years. It's disgusting, disturbing, and you both look to it calmly.

Father Anscham,

Thank you for coming back. Thank you, for upholding your word. Thank you, for already doing more than she swore to do. Thank you for attempting to help us find ourselves once more.

You know I cannot speak of it, but you have so much more than even I once possessed.

Please accept our apology.

Melancholy safely puts the letter away.

"You have been carrying this with you," King Magnus breathes, "for how long?"

"Seven months, and eight days, Your Grace. I cannot apologize for withholding this information from You, either. My study of the memories I was granted has barely begun. The experience was disturbing in ways I cannot begin to relay over the course of a single afternoon." Mildly, you pause, and note, "I digress. Idonea was the leader of an army. I have reason to believe that she led her forces to the depths of the ruins, only to imprison each and every soul as they turned. Many remained faithful to her, from before her Catalyst was activated, and after theirs was, as well."

More quietly still, you're implored, "and what of the new archdemon?"

"I miss him. More with each passing day." You can't help but fish out Yech's flask. It's dawning on you that the ruins has literally been carried with you, every day, these last many months.

Laughing a little, Magnus has to ask, "how many pockets do you have?"

"This was a gift from Father Wilhelm," you declare, to the mundane tunic with its ridiculous hood, and unflattering cut, "and it has many pockets, Your Grace." Waggling Yech's flask, you make a point of showing the thirty-four tallymarks on its underside.

"Excellent choice of material," the gilded monarch notes.

"My invocations to Vengeance," you explain. "I have more than Yech's alliance.He respects me, Your Grace. He is loyal, and fearless— a leader who would take a fight to his enemy, without hesitation, if it meant protecting his ideals. A demon of Agriculture. His Catalyst was generosity, and I only wish he could have granted us more Time together. Before anything else, he will always be my friend."

(Options in next post.)

>>4380001
>A] Ask King Magnus specifically about his thoughts regarding Beltoro.

>B] Give the King a moment to mull over the sheer amount of information you're unloading on Him. He may have more questions, and they are proving to be extremely fruitful for both of you.

>C] Try and get the King's opinion on Idonea, based on the extremely limited information you have regarding her life.

>D] Focus on discussing Yech.

>E] Write-in.

>>4380002
>>B] Give the King a moment to mull over the sheer amount of information you're unloading on Him. He may have more questions, and they are proving to be extremely fruitful for both of you.

>>4380002
>>B] Give the King a moment to mull over the sheer amount of information you're unloading on Him. He may have more questions, and they are proving to be extremely fruitful for both of you.

>>4380002
>B] Give the King a moment to mull over the sheer amount of information you're unloading on Him. He may have more questions, and they are proving to be extremely fruitful for both of you.

>>4380012
>>4380014
>>4380209
(Sounds good dudes! Woke up bright and early today, so hopefully I can get in several updates before work! Vote is locked. Writing now.)

>>4380216
https://youtu.be/p_Z-KlbYpgo

Patiently waiting for the King to think things over, you give the flask in hand a passing glance. Yech did not judge your grief, intent, or anything further than your capability. The mechanism for the tally-marks at its base is unknown to you, yet there's every indication of your Time spent with the God of Retribution. You hold the item against your chest, almost akin to a hug, for a few moments, before placing it back on your person.

Putting out His own cigar, King Magnus quietly asks, "you have made powerful friends, Father Anscham. Idonea has passed away?"

"Yes," you softly reply.

"You stated that it was necessary to inspire fear into thousands. Your ally. The new archdemon—"

"Yech. Yech, the disgusted."

Unable to help Himself, King Magnus makes a face of mild confusion, and amusement. "I beg your pardon?"

Leaning back a little further, relishing a near absence of anxiety, it's easy enough to reply, "his sense of humor is phenomenal, Your Grace."

"Yes." He coughs a little. "Well. You, and Archdemon Yech. You stated a moment ago that striking fear into thousands was necessary. What were the circumstances of this battle?"

"We were fleeing for our lives, Your Grace. I was on my way out of the ruins, and word had reached the demons of Ostedholm that a change in power was occurring. They were ready to fight, down to the last. I called upon Storm once more, to bring the city of darkness to heel. There is no question of Yech's authority. No question of our alliance."

Dismay flashes across the King's visage. "This Yech was not well-loved."

Pausing a moment, you note, "he had spent the better part of seven hundred years in a cave, Your Grace. Those who know him, love him." Even through the smoke, you can't help but mutter, "Mercy. The trouble was getting to know him."

"Father Anscham," Magnus slowly, methodically reaches near you, to see to minding the embers upon the table. After He's done, you accept His gesture, and take your cigar back to wordlessly smoke. Almost in a whisper, you're questioned further, "you allied yourself with a tumultuous, reclusive archdemon, who required your aid... to merely travel through his domain?"

"The ruins were in utter chaos," you immediately assert. It's not that you're getting defensive— He simply doesn't have the full picture. "It was no simple expedition. The journey to the surface was grueling, and I could not even witness it, in its entirety, for how much my flight from the Abyss took from me." Frowning, you insist, "Yech is a devastating combatant, and has other allies, as well. He is not alone, in guarding Ostedholm, and I do not doubt his capability for an instant."

"Go on."

(1/2)

>>4380227
"Go on."

"Along with Beltoro, and Malimos— they certainly could annihilate any opponent, individually—" a chill runs up your spine, thinking of the two allying forces. Quietly, you recall, "Yech sought to make amends with every single demon within Idonea's lair. His work must still be ongoing, for— for the sheer scope of it."

There's no further encouragement to continue, until you take several minutes, and wind a little further down.

Smoke has filled the small study, though it's gathering mostly at the top of the chamber, pressing up against its stone ceiling. The candles down the hall flicker, and wave, and you look to the King. He's been so deep in thought, He hasn't even glanced up to you with all the gold in His eyes.

The silence breaks, after several more minutes, while King Magnus murmurs, "he must have someone controlling his army."

"Remigius," you immediately reply. "A commander, if there ever was one."

An unbelievably worried look sweeps over you. "Why is this Remigius not the archdemon?"

>A] Be honest, but tactful.

>B] Don't mince words, but keep it brief.

>C] You're high enough to talk about her without breaking down. Elaborate.

>D] Write-in.

>>4380228
>B] Don't mince words, but keep it brief.

>>4380228
>>B] Don't mince words, but keep it brief.

>>4380228
>>B] Don't mince words, but keep it brief.

>>4380231
>>4380232
>>4380235
(Great guys. Locking the vote here. I'll keep to 20 minute voting windows if that's alright with you all? Let me know if that's too short. Writing now!)

File: Remigius.png (486 KB, 904x1000)

486 KB PNG

>>4380239
https://youtu.be/dPEnuN8JdqY

"She is a monster," you note, "who's sheer viciousness commands the respect of any demon who looks upon her. A succubus that values her reputation— as anything more than a vehicle for pleasure— is remarkable, Your Grace." Drawing on your cigar, eyes unfocused, you recall, "I believe I have never had the misfortune of meeting anyone so sadistic, from man, or demon alike. I never could have imagined a creature that would derive pleasure from other's pain, to such an extreme extent."

Leaning back a little, glancing to the complete shock upon King Magnus' face, you coolly finish, " I pray I never will again. It is not about titles, or prestige, for Remigius. I do not believe she would be inclined to pursue such a lofty position, when it would compromise her ability to get her own claws dirty. She commanded no title. No glory. She valued her demons, and lives for the moment. To revel in the suffering of others. To feel."

"I see," King Magnus quietly replies, and has the grace to not question how you know this with such certainty.

Several minutes pass, before He really, truly, has to quietly ask, "this was one of Idonea's children, was it not?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

A terribly worried look trails over you. "I am glad you are still with us, Father Anscham."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"There is much to consider," King Magnus mutters, puffing away at His cigar.

Your own small luxury is excellent, but you set it aside, really not wanting to compromise your faculties. "I have barely scratched the surface."

With patience, and gratitude, your host wonders, "is there anything further you wish to relay?"

Looking over the infinitely more relaxed posture of your King, the muted gold upon the solid expanse of His gilded features, the absence of pupils upon His eyes, you try to not be too bothered. He's acting significantly more human, and it's fair enough to ask, "do you have any further questions for me?"

"I strongly suspect," He smiles, "that we would be here for another age, if I asked each and every question that is on my mind. We have much to still discuss, regarding the present." Absolutely referring to the torment you suffered at the hands of a monster, King Magnus leans forward, and asserts, "the past is in the past. If there is nothing further you wish to discuss, regarding the possible threats to our country's security— or if there is simply nothing further you wish to share, Father Anscham— I believe this would be a good point to move on from."

>A] Stick to the agenda.

>B] Segue into the word from Malimos, that Arkthros relayed.

>C] Mercy, you still have so much you want to say. (Write-in.)

>D] By all the Gods, do you have more questions. (Write-in.)

>>4380254
>A] Stick to the agenda.
>B] Segue into the word from Malimos, that Arkthros relayed.

>>4380254
>>A] Stick to the agenda.
>>B] Segue into the word from Malimos, that Arkthros relayed.

>>4380254
>>A] Stick to the agenda.
>>B] Segue into the word from Malimos, that Arkthros relayed.

>>4380255
>>4380257
>>4380258
(Phenomenal guys. Locking the unanimous vote here! Writing now.)

File: Archdemon Arkthros.png (280 KB, 564x833)

280 KB PNG

>>4380263
https://youtu.be/h8hRaLDu-ao

"I couldn't agree more, Your Grace. I would like to begin our agenda, with a curious overlap between my experiences in Ostedholm's ruins— and those beneath Calunoth."

The attention of a King is immediately captivated. Setting His cigar aside, snuffing it out, King Magnus nods to you. "Go right ahead."

"During my expedition, to— to rescue Starlight and Stardust— I found myself within the lair of an archdemon of Time. Arkthros and I set aside our differences, for long enough to speak of mine and Yech's alliance. Malimos had painstakingly sent word, all the way from Ostedholm— and not only to the ruins beneath Calunoth."

Boring your gaze straight into the King, keeping your shoulders relaxed, you try to pick up on any recognition whatsoever. He's inscrutable, as you accuse, "Archdemon Arkthros informed me that you have been aware of my alliance with Yech. Not only that you have taken no issue— but that you may also be aware of every other archdemon in Corcaea receiving the same news."

"This is typical," King Magnus sighs, as if He's referring to a troublesome spouse.

You blink.

Looking to you just as earnestly, without any indication of dismay, or more than mild irritation, the King explains, "Arkthros and I have not had proper correspondence in months. He is a liar, and a manipulator, of the lowest caliber. His grief has rotted his mind. This is just like him, to do something like this"

It's not hard to believe, for how erratic the demon's behavior was. Twitching, even through a haze of smoke and mental relief, you quietly recall, "Arkthros said he wished to protect me from the truth. He encouraged me to run. How much of what he said— what am I meant to believe? He spoke of every other archdemon in Corcaea. My Relic. Your own alliances, Your Grace—"

"You know of my alliances," King Magnus agrees, "and that I have made every effort to amend the damage that has been done to your name. I will not rest until respect, and safety, is restored to you, Father Anscham. This news regarding other archdemons is extremely alarming— and it is news to me." Almost in a whisper, He admits, "I have avoided descending beneath the city. It would have been too difficult to see them. I have been a coward."

Snapping His attention back to the present, quickly, you're asked, "when was this correspondence received?"

"No earlier than the tenth of this month, Your Grace."

"Do you have any information, regarding these other archdemons?"

"Their names are Anaximander, and Salphos. Yech confirmed it."

You both sit for a moment, in silence.

"I wish I knew more," you mutter.

"Father Anscham." Stress has the King's brow furrowed once more. "I will have Father Pevrel investigate this matter immediately. You will be kept informed of his findings."

(Options in next post.)

>>4380300
>A] You really need more information about the only other man alive who's allied with an archdemon.
>1] Press your luck, but don't get pushy. See if King Magnus is willing to reveal any further information about their partnership.
>2] You seriously need answers. (Write-in any pointed questions you wish to ask about Arkthros and King Magnus working together.)

>B] This answers nothing about Starlight and Stardust's captivity. You want a straight answer, about their relationship with the King, and what he intends to do about their safety.

>C] You're content to know that the most competent religious authority in the country is tasked with this matter. You'll work through the agenda, and come back to the issue of Starlight and Stardust in a bit.

>D] Write-in.

>>4380302
>B] This answers nothing about Starlight and Stardust's captivity. You want a straight answer, about their relationship with the King, and what he intends to do about their safety.

>>4380302
>>A] You really need more information about the only other man alive who's allied with an archdemon.
>>1] Press your luck, but don't get pushy. See if King Magnus is willing to reveal any further information about their partnership.

Is this something we should aim for? To ally ourselves with demons, what if people found out somehow?

>>4380304
>>4380306
(Got that write-in, good stuff. We can definitely do both of these. Locking the vote here. Writing now!)

>>4380317
https://youtu.be/CQCVHRxVThA

"Is this— is this what we should truly be striving towards? To ally ourselves with demons? What—" paranoia is gnawing at you, "what if anyone were to find out—"

"Your fear is entirely justified," King Magnus sighs, closing His eyes, and putting a hand to His brow. Leaning a bit against His chair, He notes, "no matter how lofty our titles are, Father Anscham— the reality is that we are both in an extremely delicate position. No matter how divine we may claim to be— no matter how much good we have done— the common man will not understand everything we have struggled through. The nightmares we have witnessed. The friends we have made."

He's not letting on something, and you have an incredibly strong suspicion what it might be. "I would be honored to hear anything you have to say, Your Grace. Particularly regarding this matter."

Glancing back to you, looking wearier than ever, your fellow lunatic admits, "I will never tolerate the suffering of someone under my rule. Not so long as I have anything to say about it. Arkthros has resided within Calunoth for longer than your or I could ever hope to understand. He will not jeopardize our home. He has sworn to protect Our rule, to guard Our city, and is the strongest ally I could ever hope for. He is insane— but—" a terribly tired smile shines at you, "are we not all, in a way?"

"Yes," you quietly reply. "Most of us are, Your Grace."

A far sterner demeanor takes over King Magnus, as He sits fully back upright. "You must be careful, Father Anscham, and not merely with the enemies you claim. Mind all of the company you keep. Mind your friends, and allies, with more caution you would have shown within the ruins of Ostedholm. Our country is on its last leg. These are desperate times. The people will not hesitate to tear you down." More sternly still, He growls, "never grant them the ability to do so. Do not surrender our secrets."

He's effectively trusting me with the security of the crown.

Granted, the King also has leverage to destroy your life in an instant, too. You take a few, deep breaths.

"This—" you will not back down, "none of this answers the question of Lady Edith's, and Sir Allan's safety."

King Magnus drops His voice, and all of His verve. "No. It does not."

They may be His children, but you might as well have adopted the twins, for how protectively you demand, "I want a straight answer, Your Grace. What do you intend to do?"

(1/2)

>>4380333
Another devastated glance passes over you. Pain, and resignation replies, "I have been thinking of nothing else, since we parted ways this morning. Before they entered Arkthros' domain. Long before they returned to Calunoth." Glancing to the floor, obviously trying to keep Himself together, a lonely father asks you, "I have debated how to proceed since the day they left to die. Please. Take care of them. If they will not speak with me, and would rather seek death than to come home, I will not force their hands. Their lives are their own to lead." Firing a reddened pair of eyes back to you, still plated over with gilt, the King insists, "I have made many mistakes, Father Anscham. I will not continue to repeat them."

He's trying to not cry, but obviously can't. It's unsettling, and you have to wonder what He's going through, beyond furious utterances. "My unwillingness to listen, to learn, and to look after my own kin has cost me a daughter, and son. I miss them, and have never deserved them." Those awful eyes flash back to you, with a simple request. "Wherever they go, if there is a Time to do so: will you please pass on a message?"

"I cannot make a promise," you quietly remind Him, "that I am unable to keep. But I would gladly listen to what you have to say, Your Grace."

Straightening Himself out, assuming a more reasonable tone, and with a clear voice, King Magnus apologizes. "I have been a fool. My son, my knight, has challenged me. To know his ire is to know destruction. Our enemies quake in terror, at the prospect of coming under his scrutiny. Please let Allan know that I would be proud to fight him. I will not ask for forgiveness. Tell my boy that he was right. I have not lived up to my name. I will bring no harm upon him, if he wishes to live his life in peace."

The threat hangs in the air, for many long minutes.

Far more quietly, the grieving father whispers, "tell Edith that I love her. I miss her, and hope she is happy, with whoever she chooses to spend her life with."

>A] Resolve to relay this to Starlight and Stardust the second you get back to The Honey Bee. There must be some horrific misunderstanding.

>B] You can't just hear all of that and not ask:
>1] What exactly have Starlight and Stardust done, to have warranted such a severe break in the royal family?
>2] Who was their mother? Do they have no other family? Have they spurned more than just the King?
>3] Is Allan attempting to challenge King Magnus' authority? What does that even entail?

>C] Try to be tactful. This may genuinely be way over your head. You have been groomed to serve the Church of Mercy, but even with your lofty position, you're still a farmer's son. Politics (usually) completely escape you, and you'd like to keep it that way. Leave this matter here, and move on to discussing the rest of your congregation.

>D] Write-in.

>>4380334
>B] You can't just hear all of that and not ask:
>3] Is Allan attempting to challenge King Magnus' authority? What does that even entail?

>C] Try to be tactful. This may genuinely be way over your head. You have been groomed to serve the Church of Mercy, but even with your lofty position, you're still a farmer's son. Politics (usually) completely escape you, and you'd like to keep it that way. Leave this matter here, and move on to discussing the rest of your congregation.

>D] Write-in.
> Question the king on what this fight between him and his son entails because King Magnus is the one who is propping up our nation.

(Gonna slow down the voting window for a bit here while I make some lunch, will have this open until I'm back!)

>>4380341
+1

>>4380341
>>4380351
(Looks good guys. Noting that write-in! Just a head's up, this will probably be the last update this morning before I head off to work. Thanks for the impromptu session! I'll definitely back later. For now, vote is locked, and I'll be writing.)

>>4380360
https://youtu.be/TYAnY_Mm6jA

"Your Grace. You are truly propping up our nation. Any threat to Your life, or Your authority, is a matter of our collective survival. As the leader of the Church of Protection, I have one question for you, before we press on with our work here today."

The extreme formality is more than enough for King Magnus to remember Himself. Calming down a fair deal, He asks, "yes?"

"If Sir Allan is challenging your authority— in any way— what does this conflict between you two entail?"

Sinking back into His chair, the gilded finery upon His frame barely shifting with the motion, another look passes over you. It dawns on you that King Magnus isn't judging, or sizing you up. He's probably been gauging if you're alright, throughout the entire conversation, and has given you ample Time as you've needed it. It makes sense, for the way that He calmly states, "he'll have to kill me."

You listen, patiently, as King Magnus elaborates. "Do not be mistaken, Father Anscham. I love my son. I want only the best for him. I have done everything in my power to give Allan a good life, and to support his endeavors— but he has always been a romantic." Sighing heavily, putting two fingers to the bridge of His nose, trying to steady His patience, King Magnus insists, "my boy wants to end the war in Baranfen, Mithirin, and all the rest. He wants us to put down our swords, and demonstrate our good will towards killers, heathens, and savages. If Allan had it his way, our fields would be burned, our children slaughtered in their beds, our women disgraced, our men enslaved— and this is at best. You say that he's taken to calling himself Stardust?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

"It is fitting. Dust is all we would have left, under his reign." Much more quietly, King Magnus asserts, "he thinks I am ruthless, and cruel. I know the lies that have been spread, about my good name. I know how hard your congregation has worked to unseat my authority. To cause unrest in our home, and to further their own ends."

Your sneer could not be any more righteous. "They would never work to destroy our home. Lady Edith, and Sir Allan, refused to even take part in the rest of my congregation's work."

"They were complicit," Calunoth's guardian frowns. "They wield an enormous amount of power, and possess enough cunning to have put a stop to the violence on the very first day. We have lost hundreds, Father Anscham, and many were at your congregation's hands. To say nothing of collapsing buildings, flame, poison, or any other atrocity. My son claims to want nothing to do with violence— but to stand aside, and let others fight his battles, does not exempt him from his responsibility. The same goes for Lady Edith."

(1/2)

>>4380405
An odd tone seeps into the King's voice. You can't quite place it, as He explains, "any one of my children may one day take after me. The right to rule is not given, Father Anscham. I will part from my crown when I am no longer fit to wear it. That day will not come a moment before I have died, and another, more befitting guardian can assume my place. No mere evidence of the Gods. No vessel."

Looking to His slightly radiant hands, flecked with gold leaf, and odd abrasions, there's a mutter. "If Allan can walk among the Gods, he still will not assume the right to lead the last of our people. This is my duty, oath, and bond."

An incredibly intense looks sears straight into you, from the eyes of something— and you're really not certain whether He's man, or another creature entirely. "He cannot kill me."

Quietly, steadily, you note, "it is no surprise that you quelled the conflict in Calunoth, within a matter of months, Your Grace."

Both of the plated hands before you close. "I do not wish for my family's blood to be spilled. No matter what my opponents may say, I have worked tirelessly to put a stop to this insanity."

"The matter of my entire congregation's pardon, and safety—" you start, and are cut off.

"They will not be harmed," King Magnus grimaces, "as I have told you before, Father Anscham: so long as they bring no further turmoil to our home. I cannot undo the damage they have caused. I cannot make them welcome, to any single citizen in our fair city. Keeping their company will bring you no end of criticism, and turmoil, back home— but I will not stop you from using the Church of Mercy as you see fit. From exerting your compassion, and living up to your tenets, as I know you can. Your compassion is commendable. You truly live up to your title." He clearly hates to say, "but do not ask me to enable traitors, killers, rapists, arsonists, and madmen to run amok in Our city. You freed them, from their prison. It will fall to you to keep them safe, from themselves."

Sighing heavily, King Magnus notes, "not from my wrath. I would never have even concerned myself with their behavior, had they not brought about the loss of so much life. I understand their need for levity, but the fate of our race is not a game."

You're both thinking it, and you really have speak first. "I will be taking Harvey to Eadric, along with Walter, and all the rest of my company. He has sworn to defend us, and I am certain that he is a noble man, Your Grace."

"That was to be the purpose of our race today, Father Anscham."

"...excuse me?"

(One paragraph over 2/3)

>>4380408
Paying no mind to your confusion, the King elaborates. "I know you would not insult me so severely. I was not proposing we determine anyone's fate through such trivial means. The race, Father Anscham, was primarily to amend Sister Raleigh's fury towards you, and your congregation. She is an honorable woman, and will likely not pursue you further, if you win on fair terms. We hoped to resolve the game that Algrith had started." He must be trying with every He has, to jest, "you see, my honor is at stake."

>A] It's abundantly clear that the pardon is purely to keep anyone from being hired to kill your company under the King's banner, but that their actions will have severe consequences. Don't test the King's patience any further, show Him some Mercy, and move on to the matter of your return home.

>B] About the race.
>1] King Magnus has mentioned repeatedly that Sister Raleigh wants to kill you. How seriously should you be taking her ire?
>2] You're running on no sleep, have a break on your nose, and probably hurt yourself trying to get some pain relief today. Ask if there's anything you can do to postpone it, at least until tomorrow.

>C] Mercy, you still have SO MANY questions. (Write-in.)

>>4380410
>>A] It's abundantly clear that the pardon is purely to keep anyone from being hired to kill your company under the King's banner, but that their actions will have severe consequences. Don't test the King's patience any further, show Him some Mercy, and move on to the matter of your return home.