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>>4404551
Imgur (To anyone who would like to catch up, or are curious about the events that have already transpired, I've made a timeline packed with original art and highlights of major events. It can be found in this imgur (and in our Google Drive), which includes everything up to the last thread): https://imgur.com/a/MXi710P
Google Drive (An in-character journal with maps, a guide to the Gods, details on your expedition into the ruins, fanart, and more character portraits than you can shake a stick at): https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1LkahIC8EcwHBPbrkEODUMH9iwQhxkFvB?usp=sharing
Discord (Art, a huge music playlist, fan projects, update notifications and much more): https://discord.gg/24cmNWp
Archive (Ruins Arc 1-6, Avowed 7-9, Calunoth 10-18): http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Catalyst%20Quest

(Good morning everyone, and welcome back! We're starting a new arc today, with our new thread!

Sessions will be Friday-Sunday, every weekend. Updates at least once a day Monday-Thursday, though more often than not it's much more. Any times listed are always in EST, such as for voting windows.

Please note to anyone who's just joining in, we do have quite a bit of history with our characters and locations. If anyone has any questions, feedback, concerns, etc, please let me know at any time! Discussion is always strongly encouraged. Write-in options will be back after a post or two. They universally make a difference with mechanics, strategy, and I try to take every serious post into consideration. Vocal opposition to votes also always matters, so if you don't like something, don't be shy about it!

We'll stick to thirty (30) minute voting windows whenever things are moving quickly, otherwise we'll see what happens. Super excited to get started with you all! Let's get this show on the road!)

>>4404551
>>A] Invoke Mercy, before leaving this morning.

Time to have a heart to heart

>>4404551
>A] Invoke Mercy, before leaving this morning.

>>4404551
B

>>4404557
>>4404560
>>4404580
(Alrrrriiiight guys! Did some dishes, bit longer than 30 minutes but we'll stick to that window moving ahead for a good bit here. Vote is locked with the A majority, will make it nice and respectful though. Writing now!)

>>4404553
>C] Be late to vote

>>4404585
(Good to have you here with us man.)
>>4404583

Dawn has yet to rise over The Honey Bee. Good-byes are beginning to feel like a fate worse than death, so you did not see its owner out the door yesterday morning. The home is nearly empty, as is the room you occupy.

It's small, with wood paneling from stone floor to short ceiling. An absurd volume of items are neatly organized on the nearby end-table, as you took account for all of your possessions over the course of the evening. They are not your concern. The affairs of the material world are pressing, as you shift upright in bed, but you need to focus.

It's been twelve days since your body composition last dramatically changed, and you still aren't used to the bulk, or muscle, in the slightest. Thanks to your substantial height, notable musculature, and a little pudge that's neatly hidden beneath your holy vestments, the twin bed feels altogether too small. No one would judge that you didn't bother changing out of your traveling clothes before lying down. The black, tasteful, long-sleeved garments beneath your gilded robes are fine. Dressing every part for your station— before embarking on an expedition across the country in plain sight— is only appropriate.

The fact that your feet and ankles hang off the bed is not the only reason why you shift to sit upright on the bedside.

Knitting your hands together, and bowing your head, is not a formality. There's no need for words at all, between you and your lover. You'd like some proper conversation, and to have your lover at your side, with the little privacy still afforded to you.

Reminded of the first day you arrived in Calunoth, and relieved beyond measure to not be beaten bloody or broken, you speak with all the love you possess. Softly, resonantly, and with the light of the Gods, you whisper to a Goddess, "may we speak, before I go?"

https://youtu.be/TnoyRnGmnlI

Instantly, with the heat of the sun, and the light of a new day, there's something more than an embrace from within. Its intensity is a force of nature, that has you knocked flat on your back, the breath taken from your lungs, and flecks of gold dancing before your eyes. There's a light pressure on you, though it's difficult to tell what. The spots just won't go away, yet there's something significantly more radiant.

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>>4404622
There is someone more radiant, who looks substantially more mortal than you've ever seen Her. Leaning just slightly over you is a Goddess. Mercy doesn't move, initially, to part from your frame. With daffodil-colored curls, hearts in Her honey-coated eyes, a light in Her smile, and the softness of a thousand strands of spun gold all throughout Her skin, the attempt at humanity is almost more jarring than looking upon divinity. Mercy clearly has tried to assume a substantially more mundane appearance. Her full bosom and hips are anything but, despite being shrouded by a simple, linen dress. It's tapered in, with the dip of Her waist, slender arms, and long legs, and it's impossible to not pull Her closer, and breathlessly wrap your arms against a Goddess.

She's softer than a flower petal, and leans right up against you, as warmly as the coming sunrise. Mercy doesn't mind that you're still breathless, though whatever She's done has you feeling positively exhausted. She might as well have pulled Her current form from the depths of your own soul.

A pair of impossibly soft hands gently take your hold from Her waist, while you're gently helped to sit upright. While She scoots close enough to lean against you, Mercy intertwines your fingers, so that the two of you can hold hands completely. She's quite tall for a woman, but obviously has chosen exactly the right height to comfortably lean Her head against your shoulder. With significantly less divinity in Her tone than you're used to, in a whisper as soft as the one you used to invoke Her, Mercy smiles, "good morning."

It's not necessarily exhaustion. You're physically fine, and your mind is sharper than ever. It's a weariness of the soul, as you raggedly manage, "Good morning, Mercy."

"It will be a beautiful day." Her smile is not metallic. It's gentle, and normal, and lovely, as Mercy plants a small kiss on your shoulder. She notes, "you wished to speak with me?"

>A] Try to make some pleasant conversation, before getting into anything extremely serious.
>1] About your congregation. Most of them are coming home.
>2] About you. You're doing so much better than usual.
>3] About Her. Keep it light.

>B] What did She just do to you? With you? To Herself?

>C] Cut right to the chase, and keep it tactful. You're doing pretty well, but anxiety is no joke, and the matter of your exclusivity has been plaguing you for weeks.

>D] Write-in.

>>4404625
>>D] Write-in.

About the future, and Irefist. How many share his sentiments? How many people can I reach? How many will outright refuse Our help? What could We do?

>>4404625
>A] Try to make some pleasant conversation, before getting into anything extremely serious.
>1] About your congregation. Most of them are coming home.
>3] About Her. Keep it light.

>D] Write-in.
About the future, and Irefist. How many share his sentiments? How many people can I reach? How many will outright refuse Our help? What could We do?

>>4404625
>C] Cut right to the chase, and keep it tactful. You're doing pretty well, but anxiety is no joke, and the matter of your exclusivity has been plaguing you for weeks.

>>4404628
>>4404643
support both of these

>>4404625

>>4404628
>>4404630
>>4404643
>>4404648
(Great. For the sake of pacing and tone, going to go with the majority for the write-in, and C.)

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>>4404654
https://youtu.be/q1406MAJ8B8

There's no use trying to hide your anxiety from Her. You don't want to, or need to. Loosening the mutual hold between your hands, you elicit a small gasp, and a smile from a Goddess. Sweeping Mercy into your arms, leaning slightly against Her for further reassurance, you murmur, "yes. Of our future. Our children. The way that we've affected the world, and— and Mercy, all of the ways you have been absent from it."

Pulling back, to look Her in the eye, you're greeted by a face swimming with grief. Her smile persists, horribly, as every last one of your partner's dainty features is battling to not cry on the spot. She's either speechless, or doesn't know what to say, so you continue.

"Irefist— Carlisle, I mean—"

A slight shake of Mercy's head gently bobs Her curls. "He prefers Irefist."

"Irefist," you insist, "spurned you." She doesn't have to fight to not cry, and buries Her face against you, sniffling quietly. "I know it hurts. I know it's difficult. But how— how many more people must share his sentiments? How many people can we truly reach? If they— if they are to refuse our help outright—"

Exasperated, nerves on end, you keep Mercy gently against you for your mutual comfort. She's so warm, that even the skin between Her thin dress and your own robes is like fire. Keeping Her head held gently to your chest, quietly, you ask, "what— what can I even do...?"

She's beside Herself, and obviously isn't speaking for fear of sobbing hysterically.

After a full minute passes in absolute silence, it's necessary to take Mercy into a proper hug. The moment She's fully in your arms, your partner breaks down completely. Sobs destroy Her composure, and though Her voice is still fair, it's the ugliest you've ever heard it. Against your robes, muffled through tears, the Goddess can barely say, "I have asked far too much of you."

"Never," you firmly reply, with no humor to speak of.

She moves back, to stare you down, with real tears, and enough agony to break your heart. "No one else will understand. You cannot. I bear our children's compassion. I do not merely know of their sorrow, or feel for their pain. I do not have the luxury or force of the land, or sea. We are all that there is, and all that may ever be."

Mercy sniffs, and looks just slightly up to you, with love in Her heartbroken eyes. "You cannot understand. I would never ask you to. But please, do not ask me to leave you. I am here with you, now, because I am with no one else. I know it is selfish, and cruel. But I cannot endure another moment of it, Richard. We can never reach every soul in our nation. I will never be at the hands of every last one of our children in need."

(1/2)

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>>4404694
She shifts, and pulls just a little further away, drawing Her arms around Herself. It's the same motion you've made ten thousand times, to comfort yourself in isolation. "I love you, Richard. I love you, because you will want only the best for our home. For our family." Tremor runs all through Mercy's shoulders, as She bends in on Herself, and hysterically sobs, "because you will not want to stay with me. I understand."

>A] She's avoiding several of your questions, but might just be too upset to address them. Give Mercy a hug, help Her calm down, and try to see if She'll address everything Herself.

>B] You seriously don't understand. Ask Mercy to try and explain what She means in greater detail.
>1] Why She can't physically be with you, if She's being invoked by other people.
>2] Why She doesn't want to be used by the entire country, to heal and protect the nation.
>3] Why She thinks you won't want to stay with Her.

>C] You are kind, and as the Father of Compassion, you more than understand. You genuinely want to stay with Her, regardless of what this means for your countrymen.
>1] You can't tolerate anyone in agony, and especially not the woman you love.
>2] You would never try and force someone to live a life they don't want to lead.
>3] Write-in.

>D] It doesn't feel right to make this choice for Her, at all. You might not agree with it, but you won't beg Mercy to do anything that will bring Her this much pain.
>1] Express that you are seriously uncomfortable with the choice, and need some Time to think. Release the invocation.
>2] You agree that She shouldn't bring Herself any turmoil, even to save the lives of others, but you need some other plan of action.

>E] Write-in.

>>4404697
>B] You seriously don't understand. Ask Mercy to try and explain what She means in greater detail.
>2] Why She doesn't want to be used by the entire country, to heal and protect the nation.
-- Try not to upset her with the phrasing of the question
>3] Why She thinks you won't want to stay with Her.

>>4404714
I second this. with the addition of:

>E] Write-in.

Even if you cannot, is it not worth it to try? It doesn't have to be all the time, we *can* find a compromise. Even if it is going to take some time, we can figure something out, can't we?

>>4404697
>C] You are kind, and as the Father of Compassion, you more than understand. You genuinely want to stay with Her, regardless of what this means for your countrymen.
>>1] You can't tolerate anyone in agony, and especially not the woman you love.

>>4404732
Needless to say I am strongly opposed to this.

>>4404714
>>4404730
>>4404732
>>4404790
(Had an unexpected appointment, back and ready for action. Going with B2 (minding the phrasing), B3 and the write-in. Like I noted at the start of the thread, really prefer to respect any vocal opposition, especially when it's very contrary to other actions! We won't be using any of C1. Vote is locked. Writing now!)

>>4404797
(Nearly done writing and have to go to the store. Thanks for your patience guys, and sorry about the delay. I'll let you know as soon as I'm back.)

>>4404921
(Back, update will be out in just a few.)

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>>4405013
https://youtu.be/b9WKC5sT9Z4

Gently, though clearly enough to be heard over Her sobs, you state, "Mercy, I want to understand." Seeing Her in any agony is almost unbearable, but it's kept you from truly speaking with Her for far too long. Squashing down every urge to pull Her right into an embrace, to kiss away every last ounce of pain, to give Her no more turmoil and to wordlessly go along with Her wishes, you implore, "please, just talk to me. Tell me what you mean. Why—" the phrasing of this is incredibly important, so you pause a moment, and choose, "why is it that having anyone else invoke you— even to protect, or heal our children— is not feasible?"

"It hurts me," Mercy sobs, clutching onto Herself all the tighter. "It hurts to know that they have suffered. That they always have. That they always will. It is your nature. It is human. You struggle, and overcome, from the moment you are born, until your parting breaths. Suffering is left in your wake, from the day you die, til the cycle begins anew. I am no Goddess of life, or death. I have no control over any mechanism save for my own being. The love we all feel. The compassion that we all share."

Practically bent over, curled in on Herself, Mercy picks Her knees up, for something to hold onto in devastation. "I love you all. I love you so, Richard. I have strove to learn, and to love myself, as well." It looks like She's in physical pain, for how tightly Mercy's eyes are shut, and how firmly She's clutching onto the hem of Her dress. "There is more to love— than to sharing myself with others."

"I love you, too," you assert, "and not for what you have given. For who you are, Mercy. I would never— I couldn't—" you barely can articulate, struggling to not misspeak, "you're right, about one thing. I— I don't understand. How could you ever think that I— that I would ever want to leave you—"

Her sobs redouble. Miserably pulling Herself out from the awkward position She's been in, your partner accepts your motion to come back into your arms.

Nuzzling Herself against your chest, Mercy sniffs, "I am not the Goddess of Wisdom."

"Did I invoke Spirit," you quietly ask.

"No," Mercy tries not to smile, with tears streaked across Her face.

With the side of your scarred, calloused, and entirely human thumb, you brush aside a few of Her tears, and murmur, "I am seeking more than your love, or your compassion. I want to be with you. Just you. Can you please try to explain this to me, in a way that— that I can better understand?"

More calmly, She takes in a deep breath.

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>>4405104
It would appear Mercy isn't very familiar with what you really smell like. She buries Her face beside you, and breathes a few more times. You try to not smile, and give the Goddess a moment, while She enjoys something entirely mundane. Granted, you have been taking full advantage of the pain-dulling effects of myrrh in recent days, and the plant is no doubt disguising the usual clove and thyme, that you prefer, but it seems your partner enjoys the close proximity all the same.

After several more minutes, having wound down considerably, Mercy informs you, "I simply cannot pick and choose when our children live, or die."

"This does not need to be an all-or-nothing decision," you quietly reply. "You know how sorely I want to protect them."

"I do," the Goddess of Defense murmurs, holding onto you as tightly as She can.

"I would never wish to disrespect your wishes, either. I am— I am certain there is some way we can come to a more— more moderate course of action." Scarcely able to breathe, and loving every second of the pressure, you wheeze, "even if it will— even if it is going to take some Time—" The hold loosens just slightly, and you can perceptibly feel a small smile against you. With far more ease, you murmur, "we can figure something out, can't we?"

In a tone so gentle, you almost can't hear it, Mercy mumbles, "I have an idea."

"Go on."

"It is terribly stupid." It's not just modesty. She may have no confidence in Her intelligence.

Frowning, you pat Mercy a little on the back of Her curls. "I can't imagine it being anything— anything less than a reflection of your best intentions."

She takes heart. "What of a holiday? A public decree?"

"Pardon me?"

She's still sniffling, but with far more verve, explains, "what if we were to set aside the days we spend with one another? There would be no question of my absence. Would it not reduce any conflict of interest?"

"A holiday," you repeat. "A full day?"

"I would prefer every waking second, of every day and night," Mercy fervently demands. She pauses, and far more quietly, notes, "there is no question that you have a far more responsible grasp of Time, Richard. I am not certain what would be most appropriate. I am certain you will come under no small amount of scrutiny, no matter what we may choose."

Holding Her all the tighter, you insist, "we will figure out something."

(Options in next post.)

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>>4405110
>A] Word is unbelievably slow to travel in the year 606, and you have over thirty people in your company that are ready and willing to risk their lives to travel. Keeping them waiting while you sort this out would be a questionable choice, at best. Conversely, the counsel you keep is sound, extremely wise, and will have a better idea of how to proceed than your best guesses might. Praise Mercy a little more, and let Her know you'll seriously look into how to implement something like this.
>1] Spend a little more quiet Time together this morning. Let Her know how your congregation has been, and ask Her how She's doing.
>2] You honestly should get going. The sun will be up soon, and though you'd love to spend the entire morning together, you have places to be. She'll understand.
>3] Write-in.

>B] Send for a secure messenger, to get to King Magnus. In the interim, you'll pick a date to arrange to see Mercy next. It's going to be a national holiday, and you'll leave it to the crown to arrange the details. (Unanimous vote must be chosen for this option, and any vocal opposition will render it null. This will require an additional prompt, if chosen.)

>C] While your partner is a treasure, this is probably not the best possible solution. You have a better idea. (Write-in.)

>>4405121
>A] Word is unbelievably slow to travel in the year 606, and you have over thirty people in your company that are ready and willing to risk their lives to travel. Keeping them waiting while you sort this out would be a questionable choice, at best. Conversely, the counsel you keep is sound, extremely wise, and will have a better idea of how to proceed than your best guesses might. Praise Mercy a little more, and let Her know you'll seriously look into how to implement something like this.
>2] You honestly should get going. The sun will be up soon, and though you'd love to spend the entire morning together, you have places to be. She'll understand.
-- Places to be, heathens to convert

>>4405167
+1

>>4405167
>>4405207
(Great guys, going to keep on trucking with the unanimous vote here. Writing now!)

>>4405121
>>4405167
Support

>>4405341
(Appreciate you man!)

>>4405265
https://youtu.be/IC6cvQ4tXGo

"Look at me," you pull back, keeping Mercy firmly within your arms.

It's silly, there's barely any space between the two of you, and She has to look up to really scrutinize you. She squints. It's possibly the cutest thing you've ever seen, as Mercy says, "I did not mean to rob you of the joy of healing. The work you did on the break was miraculous."

"That is not what I'm asking you to look for," you quietly assert, unable to help but smile at someone actually liking your nose, "but thank you. Do you see this, Mercy?"

"See what?"

With the best grimace you can muster, you insist, "I think this is a phenomenal idea. You needed to see how seriously I was taking the suggestion."

Your beam of sunlight shines at you. "I am so glad."

"You are far more intelligent than you let on," you continue to scowl, "sweeter than any marigold, and far— and far more potent in your intent."

"Ah," the schemer coyly smiles, "my honey bee is buzzing."

With a grin, you get right beside Mercy's ear, and make a series of extremely obnoxious buzzing sounds. "Buzz bzzz."

Her laughter is certifiably sweeter than any honey, which you collect for several precious seconds, before complying with several desperate requests to "stop, stop. Please."

The two of you smile to one another, quietly, for many perfect moments.

"I love you," you have to finally repeat, "and will discuss this with my council, the first moment I have the chance. They will know how to— how to proceed. With far more wisdom, and— and discretion, than I could ever hope to possess."

Mercy leans up, to plant a kiss on your cheek. It's so soft, you have to put a hand to the spot, just to confirm that the touch was real. "Thank you," She murmurs. "It may not seem as if I was listening, Richard, but I always am. Do not fret for the lives of your friends, or for their welfare." In a whisper, She promises, "if you are in need of me, I will answer."

Planting several kisses gently along Her neck, between every other word you swear, "not if— I can— help it. This— this will be a welcome respite, for— for us all."

"You need to get going," you are quietly reminded, through a smile, and over the sound of birds beginning to chirp outside.

Grinning into several more kisses, "yes," you peck, "places to be." Smooch. "Heathens to convert."

"Richard." She's giggling. You've won.

"I love you." You'd sing praises, if there was enough Time.

"I love you, too," Mercy quietly remarks, and earnestly kissing right beside your ear, "and I will be beside you, each and every day."

-----

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>>4405359
Upon releasing the invocation, you appear to have slumped to the bed, and blacked out. The room is hotter, though you're above the sheets, still fully dressed.

Straightening upright, looking wildly around, you're alerted by a RAP RAP RAP upon the door. "Richard!" Sister Harriet Cardew's stern, young voice is just upon the other side of the locked door. "RICHARD! Open up! Harvey is threatening to break the door down—"

The Red Lion, your right-hand man, and the tell-tale clamoring of his masterwork armor delivers on the priestess' word almost immediately, behind what is certainly flimsy wood. "It's n-not a th-threat, Sist-ter. It's a prom-mise."

Blinking the spots of light and gold from your eyes repeatedly, you mutter, "just— just a minute—"

Several groans emit from the opposite side of the door. You have a reputation for taking altogether too long when left to your own devices, but everyone will have to wait. The quantity of priceless possessions you need to gather before leaving requires your due diligence.

Letters. It is not hoarding, to want to protect some of the most important correspondence of your life:
Father Wilhelm's backlog of four months of correspondence. It's reasonable to hang onto what you have received.
Father Friedrich's death threats.
Father Barthalomew's friendly request to beat up Father Friedrich.
What you can only assume is a normal response from Mother Aimar.
Your confession to 28 murders, addressed to Father Pevrel, that should be secured on Ray's person, but is incredibly soothing to read.
Father Edmund's suicide note.
Beltoro's apology.

Maps of Corcaea, and the eastern district of Calunoth. Both are incomplete.

Calendars, for the year 605 and 606. Neither have holidays or more than a handful of birthdays circled. You prefer to keep it that way.

Irreplaceable memories:
A hand-sewn, 30lb capacity backpack, caked in filth.
Three pens, that barely write.
Your old journal. What isn't caked in blood is primarily outdated. Pressed inside new observations in prayer— and tenets— are your additional holy symbols.
The flower produced from your first perfect invocation to Agriculture.

New treasures:
Your new, pristine journal, with only two pages used.
A small, light-green pouch, containing hibiscus seeds from Clarence "Chesty" Connelly.
A gold-threaded nightcap, covered in various embroidered animals, also courtesy of Father Wilhelm.
A bottle of Vernon's Whiskey, from your last night out in Calunoth with the poisons master of extreme renown, Ofelia Banks.
Significant reading material, hand-selected by King Magnus.

(Weirdness with character limit, barely over 2/3)

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>>4405363
Thanks to an enchanted satchel's properties, this all weighs next to nothing, once safely secured. On your person, the promise ring upon your left hand remains a symbol of your pact with Mercy. The divine locket about your neck is, of course, more than a holy Relic. Within a breast pocket is an enchanted flask from Archdemon Yech. The mace and unbreakable shield he gifted to you are safely secured. Your long sword, Piety, is cleaned and sheathed.

You are the caravaneer for thirty-three other souls, are probably running a little late, and should probably try to make a good first impression.

>A] You didn't sleep all night, and can't be bothered to do anything more. Stick to the yellow-gold robes of your station. They're the same that any priest of Mercy would wear, and you don't think of yourself more highly than anyone else. It doesn't matter so much how you look, as how you conduct yourself, and you want to do Mercy proud.

>B] The high-collared, gold-trimmed, otherwise all-black garb you had on during your last night on the town was devastatingly tasteful. Ditch the holy vestments. You're not invoking while traveling, and will look as much like the common man as someone of your class can muster.

>C] You are the leader of the Church of Mercy, and for once, you want to look the part. With your banner, the company of clergy, and a message to be made to your enemies, the front of the caravan will suit you just fine, and so will the ceremonial garb of your position.

>D] The robes you wear can be changed in shape, size, color, cut, and can even clean or dry itself on command. As a well-off man of all the Gods, you have something else in mind. (Write-in.)

>>4405369
>>C] You are the leader of the Church of Mercy, and for once, you want to look the part. With your banner, the company of clergy, and a message to be made to your enemies, the front of the caravan will suit you just fine, and so will the ceremonial garb of your position.

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>>4405363
(Also just in case it isn't clear from the beginning of the Google Drive, the vast majority of these items are actually written, and viewable! Tons of info, though a lot of it is appropriately out-dated.

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1r-yFdCSj0VJi63LsD3Vl9T0DWw4us6wn?usp=sharing )

>>4405369
>>C] You are the leader of the Church of Mercy, and for once, you want to look the part. With your banner, the company of clergy, and a message to be made to your enemies, the front of the caravan will suit you just fine, and so will the ceremonial garb of your position.

>>4405388
>>4405612
(Hell yeah guys. Locking the vote here, going to knock out an update before bed. Writing now!)

>>4405369
>C] You are the leader of the Church of Mercy, and for once, you want to look the part. With your banner, the company of clergy, and a message to be made to your enemies, the front of the caravan will suit you just fine, and so will the ceremonial garb of your position.

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>>4405768
(Thanks man.)
>>4405670
https://youtu.be/BjfdQYo-G_I

Reclaiming your title has come through blood, sweat, tears, and some of the hardest-fought battles of your life. Though you are not a prideful man, every single part of you rushes to the nearest window, and greets the new day with the sun in your eyes. It is a beautiful morning. The sun is rising above the holy city of Calunoth, and your banner is flying high. It is tacky, bright yellow, bears a pair of open hands— the symbol of your church— is bordered in black, and you love it. It's being held by one of your priestesses, who has not noticed you yet, and you promptly close the curtains.

The majority of your caravan is already outside of the city limits, due to the sheer scope of the venture. It will be at least a couple of weeks, and could take as long as a month to reach Eadric. With your brother-in-arms beating on the door, demanding, "d-don't m-make m-me come in here, Rich-chard," there isn't a moment to spare.

Placing a single hand to the enchanted robes upon your frame, you murmur to the traditional-looking garment, "as the returning leader of the holy city of Eadric, and as the rightful Father of the Church of Mercy, I would like my enemies to see my arrival. Grant me the ceremonial garb of my station. Something that— that will inspire my sinners, and clergy alike."

The traditional, humble, yellow robes swim for a moment, in varying hues of gold. It continues to swim. The fabric shifts with the light, absorbing, reflecting, refracting, and creating a nearly dizzying display.

"Keep it tasteful," you murmur.

The nearly blinding garment retains its glitz, though the enchantment persists on the trim alone. The rest of the robes become a floor-length, monstrously tasteful, ridiculously comfortable, utterly flattering, and completely befitting set of holy vestments. No mere set of robes adorn you. The black, well-fitted, high-collared shirt and trousers you have still peek out, as you turn, and look over further, ornate regalia that drapes with more fabric than just a traveling cloak. Further sleeves, hoods, and outerwear exaggerates and accentuates every motion. It drapes with finer fabric than anything of this world, it's nothing practical, and it feels right.

Having only worn the excessive, impractical attire once before (on the day you first became Father of your church), it takes a moment to move aside the fabric upon the sleeves, just to open the door.

(1/3)

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>>4405814
You are promptly confronted by Harvey Jay Algrith. The Ringleader of your blasphemous congregation is literally tapping his foot, though the second he lays eyes on you, the red-head is all smiles. It's barely visible through his oddly braided beard, and the might of the fully plated suit of armor adorning every last inch of him, but he's grinning nevertheless. "M-morning, Fath-ther Anscham." Over his shoulder, before you can so much as reply, he fires off, "hey, Echo. G-get a l-load of th-this."

Conveniently, you have a load of items to hand off, and promptly begin dumping everything you just suited up with onto Harvey's capable hands. "Good morning, Harvey. Would you— these will look far better on a saddle."

There's no complaints, and you're both all smiles. "Good morning," Sister Cardew sternly notes. The petite priestess struggles to do so much as look around the lion's broad frame, so she settles for nasally interjecting, "the road will not get any shorter if we dither."

The lion politely side-steps once your things are off-loaded, to permit Sister Cardew, and the other member of your research team a proper look. Walter "Professor Echo" Middleton's features are narrow, save for his chiseled jaw, which promptly drops. The long-legged genius of a nobleman is outfitted in a dandelion traveling cloak, that is garish, at best. "This is spectacular," he plainly states, gesturing to you.

Walter insisted on identifying himself with the Church of Mercy from the day he came into your employ, is one of your dearest friends, and you sincerely murmur, "thank you," in reply.

Sniffing, Sister Cardew admits, "this is far more appropriate, though the trim may be too much. It will likely dull while we ride."

"You look lovely, as well," you nod to the clergywoman of thread, who is wearing the same excessive number of white shawls and skirts as always. While she keeps a straight face, adjusting her glasses, you stride down the hallway with a concerned frown. "White is a very poor choice for the road ahead."

A series of complaints and objections trail behind you.

Looking through The Honey Bee one last Time is unbearable. It's not the same, without Ofelia's ridiculous accent carrying down its halls, or any less than a dozen people inside. You keep your eyes to the ground, to the gilded trim on your clothes, as it reflects the sunlight creeping across the floor.

There's no use dwelling on your friend's departure. You have your own trip home to think about, upon the broad streets of Calunoth.

Dutifully pacing around your company's gear is the most stalwart defender in the country. Ray has kept a close eye upon what appears to be a fair number of horses. Most are stunning, and all are outfitted for travel.

(2/3)

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>>4405818
A curvy, fairly tall, put-together, and entirely excited priestess of Mercy has been attending to all of the livestock for your company. Sister Clemence "Electrum" Tirel is none other than the one who was waiting with your banner.

How she produced it, and this quantity of horses within just a few days is something you know better than to question. "Good morning, Sister Tirel," you mildly call out. There's almost no one on the street, and the neighbors know better than to ask questions by now.

"Father Anscham." Electrum nearby drops the banner. Her mellow voice squeaks. "You look phenomenal."

"Spectacular," Walter grins, striding over to elbow her. "I told you the gelding would be better."

"They will clash horribly," Sister Cardew dead-pans. The priestess of Spirit manages to work a grin into her voice, without so much as quirking up her lips, and asks you, "what do you think?"

Harriet gestures towards two horses with significantly less gear. One is unquestionably a war horse, in the deepest shade of night you've ever seen. The stallion has an attitude, even from a distance. Its counter-part is a mild, and gorgeous gelding, with a metallic sheen. It's clearly not native to Corcaea, for its pearly coat, size, and obvious capacity for speed.

You gesture to them, and to yourself, hoping against hope.

Electrum grins, "I wanted to surprise you. Walter insisted on taking whichever you don't choose. The stallion— Impetus— is from Mauseburg. The gelding is one of the King's own. Bastion. They're both without compare, Father."

>A] As a well-groomed man of the cloth, you would be delighted to take a more mild-mannered beast of burden, such as Bastion. One with a swiftness to rival your own, and a name befitting of your home. You can't think of a more befitting companion.

>B] Every one of your oldest callings is embodied by the darker stallion. Impetus will be a welcome challenge, to a man known by many as a beast tamer.

>C] You would be utterly delighted by either choice. As the Father of Generosity, you'll leave it up to Walter to decide who he'll ride.

>>4405821

>>B] Every one of your oldest callings is embodied by the darker stallion. Impetus will be a welcome challenge, to a man known by many as a beast tamer.

If we ever need to get into combat I would rather have a warhorse, giving Walter a rowdy beast doesn't sit well with me either.

>>4405821
>B] Every one of your oldest callings is embodied by the darker stallion. Impetus will be a welcome challenge, to a man known by many as a beast tamer.

>>4405821
>B] Every one of your oldest callings is embodied by the darker stallion. Impetus will be a welcome challenge, to a man known by many as a beast tamer.

Dark Horse is cool, I cannot lie.

>>4405835
>>4405904
>>4406092
(Good afternoon! I seriously overslept, but am back, and good to have a session if you all are! Unanimous vote is locked. Noting those comments. Writing now.)

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>>4406261
https://youtu.be/09YjC1tnsCA

Every last one of your oldest callings is being played upon. You can't take your eyes off a symbol of Vengeance, a native of Mauseburg, a bold leader, a temperamental loner, and a fellow dark horse. To Walter, you mention, "I think— I think that Bastion's temperament would make for a fantastic fit, for you."

His delight, and excessive flattery is only audible. "I wouldn't doubt your judgement with these affairs for a single moment, Father Anscham. An excellent decision, if there ever was one."

Striding across the stone street with a grin, you pay no heed to the little houses, your friends agreeable snickering, everyone saddling up, or anything more than how exceptionally behaved your newest friend is in the presence of so many other animals. The stallion must weigh well over 1000lbs, and has evidence of mistreatment about his eyes and mouth.

You stride right back to Electrum, get a number of carrots (stronger than any whip), some proper handling equipment, keep all of your weapons with Harvey, and spend the next full hour with your new best friend. Impetus does not have a terrible attitude. He's young, curious, extremely energetic, vocal (the whinnying is not aggressive, and downright adorable), and simply needs proper direction.

Nearly constant direction is absolutely necessary. Impetus doesn't have aggressive behavior per say, but the two of you make for an intimidating procession. The sheer musculature you both command could block out the sunrise. His strength is unparalleled, and the weight of every footfall upon stone or soil alike can be heard from a great distance away. Your firm, constant commands (and reassurance) are nearly the only indication of anything less than a man and beast who could crush their enemies underfoot.

It's going to be a long road to Eadric. There's no question that riding at the head of the pack upon your stallion will command far more attention, direction, and energy from the other horses in your caravan. It will certainly shorten your travel time. To say nothing of dramatically boosting your safety in a fight— but there's simply no way you're going to be able to hold a conversation, let alone supervise anyone while on your horse.

You've instructed everyone to keep fair distance, while you become acquainted with your magnificent champion. His black is a gorgeous contrast to your excessive attire (one garment is similar to a cape, and is outright billowing with faster motion), and makes you stand out all the more.

Regardless of your direction, Electrum rides up alongside you, banner in tow. The trouble-making priestess can't help but grin to you, "the main road may be too crowded, even at this Time of day. If you'd like to take the back roads, I can get the rest of our company to the caravan, Father." With a toothier smile still, she notes, "I am meant to ensure we keep up the morning run."

(Options in next post.)

>>4406325
>A] Make a slower, bolder procession out of Calunoth, with your friends in tow. There will be no question that you have all taken to the road, and are returning to the Church of Mercy. This may also pull some potential fire away from Serpent, Chesty, Ofelia, Cyril, and Sullivan.

>B] Make a more discreet (which isn't saying much) getaway, by riding along the back roads and slums upon Impetus. It may help his temperament on the road with your first day together, but will be a challenge. (An additional prompt will be made, if the majority vote selects this decision.)

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

>>4406328
>>A] Make a slower, bolder procession out of Calunoth, with your friends in tow. There will be no question that you have all taken to the road, and are returning to the Church of Mercy. This may also pull some potential fire away from Serpent, Chesty, Ofelia, Cyril, and Sullivan.

Cover for our friends, we can take take the heat. Pretty sure that Richard combined with Impetus and Ray could obliterate most threats before anyone else gets a chance to react.

>>4406328
>A] Make a slower, bolder procession out of Calunoth, with your friends in tow. There will be no question that you have all taken to the road, and are returning to the Church of Mercy. This may also pull some potential fire away from Serpent, Chesty, Ofelia, Cyril, and Sullivan.

>>4406328
>A

>>4406339
>>4406346
>>4406366
(Sweet guys, locking the unanimous vote! Going to keep to 30 minute windows if things stay speedy. Writing now.)

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>>4406391
https://youtu.be/4XH5_hJqU-g

An amber sky, a light breeze, and the promise of leaving Calunoth behind has just as much sun in your voice as what's peeling over the buildings beyond. "I believe we can take the additional heat, Sister Tirel."

Your procession winds through the district of Flesh, with you at its head. Keeping Impetus steady is a constant task, but his gait is confident, and burgeoning trust is established with each passing distraction. Your departure is caught onto by the city who rightfully owes you their very lives. Fair voices call out to your company, with thanks, and well wishes on the journey home. You reassure your horse through a few flowers being tossed from high windows. The flowers rightfully begin to rain, after a number of moments, and a great many citizens seem to catch on.

They're all light green, and lemon-yellow. The break on your nose was unquestionably fixed from every recent invocation to Mercy, and you can finally catch the scent of Grace on the air. Along with the pollen, and bright floral notes, there's hearths being stoked. Warm smoke, freshly cut greens, and the start of the day is more than enough to wake you right up.

Almost immediately upon exiting a nearby checkpoint, before any of your friends can follow, a jolt runs through your spine.

A daring cut-purse tries charging straight at you. He's filthy, probably been paid off by one of your enemies, and there's no telling of any immediate association.

Impetus promptly kicks him. Your assailant is knocked backwards several feet, as your stallion calls with such ferocity, seven guards from within the tower come running.

Shouts clamor over your immediate commands to get Impetus to calm down. Despite a heavily bleeding injury upon his chest, the rogue tries crawling back. It's abundantly clear that the beast would trample the assailant to death, given the chance.

The rogue is accosted, and after more Time than you'd like to refuse an escort out of the city, you hide a grin.

"Very good," is an understatement, as your war horse is entirely aware of the quality of his performance.

There's more commotion in the streets, in the districts beyond. Calunoth's colorfully painted homes, densely packed roads, populated markets, brightly decorated stalls, and all the fanfare has become a common sight. Proceeding down mercantile wards is subjectively uneventful. Between Ray, Impetus, and your own capacity to simply intimidate anyone into submission, it's a short matter to deter all but the most idiotic of assailants. Harvey and Walter obviously have a running bet, from the rear, as to if anyone can even get close to you all.

(1/2)

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>>4406485
You're positive that drawing public fire is well worth it. There's a small procession behind your company, as you exit the merchant's wards. More follows all through the gardens, out through more residential districts, and ultimately to the slums. All the while, calls for your safe return, debasement towards everyone associating with you, and ample slander is carried into a cacophony. You try to not pay the worst of it any mind, nor the two additional attempts on your life.

Ray sees to the first, as you get deeper into the slums. Not even the ramshackle houses, narrow roads, tattered rafters, absence of stone, and piled buildings of dilapidated wood can disguise anything from your boy. He's dutifully kept to the rear of your company, but the moment a figure slips from the shadows ahead, the trained killer charges.

200lbs of mastiff leaps through the air, right past you and Impetus. A shout is cut short, over the sound of vicious snarling. There's a meaty gnashing, and screams. A dagger clatters to the floor. Your boy has disarmed an assassin.

He's literally disarmed an assassin. You bring Impetus to a full stop, right at the shade ahead. Backed up against a nearby building is a rugged, middle-aged man. With a shroud over his face, a tattered cloak upon his narrow shoulders, and no weapons to speak of, he has had his right arm cleanly ripped off of his body. It's about three feet away in the road.

Your boy looks to you with love in his eyes, blood dripping from his teeth, as he proudly walks away from the potential killer. He's going to bleed out in a matter of seconds, and is in too much pain and shock to do more than silently gasp, and try to crawl towards his arm.

"Holy f-fuck," Harvey calls out, from the rear of your group, and rides straight up towards both of you, and tosses your shield. An arrow FWIPS just ahead, and plinks quite harmlessly off of Harvey's armor, as you catch your own defense. "Amb-bush!"

Not a second later, an extraordinarily loud explosion shakes the ground you're standing on. Against every instinct you have, you work to stay mounted, to not drop your shield, and to keep control over Impetus with only one hand and several firm commands. There's another burst of flame from a nearby house, which is probably going to rupture in a matter of seconds. You hear two familiar voices laughing hysterically. There's screams, in the midst of Sister Beatrice "Spangle" Corbon's delight, and James "Klepto" Sowers mutual enthusiasm.

The pyromaniac and clown may have had a good time following you through the slums, and providing a distraction from your enemies, but you're on an unfamiliar stallion. Though Impetus is staying extremely calm given the circumstances, you can tell anxiety is soaking into him. Keeping everyone in your company safe has your nerves just as fried, as the two scholars behind you have almost no combative skill to speak of.

(Options in next post.)

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>>4406488
>As with all rolls in Catalyst Quest, modifiers may be applied for all of these options. They will vary based on the situation and choice selected. Write-ins may grant additional modifiers.
>Due to a pact you have made with the Goddess of Mercy, you have a permanent +10 bonus to all actions taken that are befitting of your tenets, and self-preservation. Reckless actions, and acting in a way that would jeopardize your own safety can and will have extremely serious consequences (up to and including the loss of this bonus).
>Majority vote will decide.

>A] Grab Piety, and mow down anyone in your path. You're strong enough to wield the long sword with only one hand, and the very sight of you may be enough to strike fear into the hearts of your enemies. (AN EXTREMELY HIGH ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

>B] Keep your shield up, and work with Harvey to defend your more vulnerable friends. The defense you have is enchanted, and you are blessed by the Goddess of protection, but you'll need everything you have to look after so many others. (A VERY HIGH ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

>C] Get out of here as fast as possible, and ask Electrum to help you keep the animals in your care under control. Trust in your friends to handle the situation. (A HIGH ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

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

>>4406491
>B

>>4406491
>B

>>4406505
>>4406536
(Great dudes, locking the vote here!)

>SHIELDS UP

>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.
>+10 FAITH OF A GODDESS/To protect is to serve.
>+15 LEADER OF THE CHURCH OF DEFENSE/You're in your element.
>+5 BEAST TAMER
>-5 CHAOS AND ART/The territory could be better.
>-10 ONLY HUMAN/One shield can only do so much.

Rolled 33 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>4406555
>trips

Rolled 32 (1d100)

>>4406555

Rolled 85 (1d100)

>>4406555

>>4406564
>>4406593
>>4406601
(Wew. bo3 kicks that up to 85+15, which is a perfect 100/100. Alright! Writing now!)

>>4406608
(Guys thank you so much for your patience. Between an impromptu run to the store, and an obscene amount of research, I am still working on the update. Should be out relatively soon.)

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>>4406608
>>4406812
https://youtu.be/bGZQl6hQ2xs?t=12

You are the Father of Defense, leader of the church of protection, are completely in your element, and have never wanted to move so quickly in all your life. Shifting your legs back, wordlessly urging Impetus into a full canter, you charge ahead, shield aloft, and call to your friends, "FOLLOW MY LEAD!"

Every last one of your mounts breaks into a run, following Impetus expertly, as the building ahead bursts into flames.

You fear no man, flame, nor killer. Neither does your dog, who is the most battle-hardened warrior you know. Ray sprints to the back of your company, with a single gesture, and you're certain he'll be the best rear guard you can ask for. The colossal mastiff can nearly keep pace with a horse, and you're certain that you are the enemy's target.

"HARVEY! ELECTRUM! Flank Harriet and Walter—!"

You're cut off. Turning hard, swinging your shield, you barely manage to hold on to your simple reins and saddle. Keeping just one hand to your stallion, moving with every bob and weave, you have to duck down, to save Impetus from an arrow mid-flight. A poison-tipped arrowhead should rightfully stick into the black, matte metal in hand, but the two objects collide with a flash of black light. Three more hit, in rapid, blinding succession. You have to practically hang side-saddle to meet them all. They are not fired with the strength of a demon, but the impact rolls up your shield arm, all through your shoulders and neck, as the arrows snaps clean off against your defense.

Pulling yourself back up, with a choir of praises to your stallion, you redouble your speed.

"Keep your heads down!"

The narrow, winding roads of the slums won't take long to traverse, and if your attackers were on foot, they can't possibly keep up. The assault is relentless, but Harvey and Electrum have followed your order, and flanked Walter and Sister Cardew. The scholars are keeping their heads down, while your armored friends form a veritable wall against them. The two, more cerebral members of your company are keeping all of their focus on staying mounted, at your break-neck pace.

You dig in, and take Impetus into a full gallop. More arrows and daggers should be singing overhead, as the last of the slums fly past you all. It's a miracle that the road is so clear, and that the priestess in your company possesses inhuman reflexes. While she typically wears gloves, and long sleeves to conceal the artificial limb, her bare, solid-gold hand gleams against the light.

What you suspect to be one of many daggers spins through the air. This one is heading straight for Sister Cardew's head.

Letting out a shout is unnecessary. The weapon is snatched by Sister Tirel, spun twice for style, and gets launched right back at your attackers with the force of a Goddess.

There's a scream, somewhere in the distance, as her hits land home.

(1/2)

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>>4406895
The amount of focus she's exerting, to compensate for no other defense to speak of, has her speechless. She does the same for at least half a dozen other projectiles, and after the third, is sweating, and laughing like a mad thing.

Opposite, Harvey doesn't have so much as a scratch on him. The fighter somehow acquired a set of chain mail, to cover every nook and cranny beneath his sinewstone armor. He's physically blocking Sister Cardew, though seems less experienced riding, and favors staying mounted over providing any additional protection.

You call to him, "stay not your hand!"

Taking heart, and grinning maliciously, the ringleader unsheathes a short-sword from his side. Another building bursts into flames, several hundred feet behind you all. You're certain that Klepto and Spangle can handle themselves, while Harvey slices two final arrows out of the air, saving himself and Sister Cardew from taking any injury.

Many moments pass by, without further attack.

Despite the extreme danger, you calmly ride. Under your breath, you murmur a prayer, and thank all of the Gods for their blessing.

There are no further ambushes, as you all breathlessly slow to a trot, outside of city limits. Without any injury to speak of, you bring yourself a little closer to your company. The substantial lead on the group wasn't so severe that they couldn't hear you, and your reluctance to keep Impetus near any other horses is not even a concern. Every animal in your company looks remarkably more comfortable around one another, and you bring them all to a trot. They're effortlessly following Impetus, who is following you, and seems just as mellow as you feel. Ray valiantly kept pace, and you make a note to get him water and rest as soon as possible. He catches up in a matter of moments. Calling out to him as much reassurance as you can, you're eventually met with a few disbelieving smiles.

"Is everyone alright," you ask, breathing hard, realizing that the absence of anxiety is positively from having left the capital behind.

Given the sparks and flame at your back, and screams in the distance, you're positive that the two most unpredictable members of your congregation will clean up anyone attempting to tail you all.

Though your friends are sweating, there's no blood to speak of. "Thank you," Sister Cardew barely gasps, clutching onto her horse for dear life.

You've seen her look paler, but not nearly as breathless, and you reduce the pace a little more. "The Gods are Merciful," you manage.

Shaking his head, Walter breathes, "let's get the fuck out of here."

It takes less than half an hour to ride out from south-western Calunoth. Away from the castle's peak, too far off to see the heights of the cathedral ward. You ride away from the seedy bars, the brothels, the sinners, the slums, and definitely the longest month of your life.

(Options in next post.)

>>4406897
>A] Give the capital one last look, before you go to your caravan. For all of the bad memories you made, there was a lot of good, and you want to reminisce for just a moment.

>B] Good-byes, mourning, demons, and slander will be waiting in Eadric as well. You're hitting the road, looking ahead, and getting the fuck out of here.

>C] You have some parting words, or something specific to say to your friends. (Write-in.)

>>4406898
>B] Good-byes, mourning, demons, and slander will be waiting in Eadric as well. You're hitting the road, looking ahead, and getting the fuck out of here.

>>4406897
>>B] Good-byes, mourning, demons, and slander will be waiting in Eadric as well. You're hitting the road, looking ahead, and getting the fuck out of here.
-- Hit the road jack

>>4406954
>>4406986
(Hitting the road! Unanimous vote is locked. Writing now.)

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>>4407075
https://youtu.be/mtvETuH3q4M

"It is a beautiful morning," you muse, to no one in particular, as you all wind deeply into the woods. The golden sunrise is making way for a stunning, brisk, clear day. Impetus is gallant, and already extremely well-behaved while in your company. Ray got some rest, and water, and every one of your friends has been quietly chattering for most of the ride.

Not even once do you bother to look back.

James and Sister Corbon caught up, alright. Covered head-to-toe in soot, they did not have horses with them, and came running. They're already ragged, but have assured you one hundred times that no one is going to follow your caravan. In all likelihood, they killed every single person pursuing you, and it's fine. The birds are chirping! A gentle breeze is on the air, and the scent of fresh flowers intermingles with damp soil, from all of the recent rain. It's going to be far easier on all of your riders, and their horses, and you could not be happier to finally see them all.

Through a break in the trees, no more than another hour's ride out, is your caravan. Seventeen vehicles, between all of the wagons and carriages. Your banner is waving off of each and every one of them. A smile spreads across your face. Within each of them are ample provisions, all reviewed by Electrum. Trade goods, luxury items, repair equipment, cooking supplies, and a priceless piece of equipment for the master blacksmith in your company.

Eckard "Claymore" Sollers is ready to relocated to Eadric. Granted, the burns covering half of the middle-aged veteran's face aren't quite as fair in the morning sun, but he's a dear ally, and far and away the most skilled tradesman in your company.

The only other trader in your midst bold enough to make the venture is Laurence Taylor. He's a tailor. Even if your memory wasn't impeccable, it would be hard to forget him, or his extreme fondness for the quantity of rare goods that are being transported from the capital. There's also the wainwright, two cooks, and six drivers, who's names you have yet to learn. They're all guarded by an accompaniment of ten priests of Flesh. Five are currently sleeping, as your congregation is tasked with the afternoon watch, and the morning crew is up and about as to be expected.

Given the nature of the Church of Flesh, you aren't entirely certain if you're comfortable with the arrangement. After all, there are thirteen allies you've retained in your immediate company, and almost all are capable of fighting.

(1/3)

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>>4407193
The two only two complete noncombatant members of your research team are dead on their feet. Sister Cardew happily is taken off of her saddle by the only other gentleman in the caravan (yourself not included). She's already dusty, and the bottoms of her skirts are filthy, but she is unfailingly composed, as always. Walter is nowhere near as ragged. You hardly know a thing about him, which is shocking, regarding how much Walter likes to speak, but you'll make Time for discussion.

There's also plenty of other able hands at your disposal. Harvey is loyal to a fault, and will certainly want to assist in any way he can. You owe him far more than your life. Despite having spoken for hours at a Time about nearly everything other than each other, he gives you another broad smile, and doesn't mind if you're getting a little lost in thought.

James is right behind the red lion, slowly attempting to drop a marble into a seam of his armor. The clown seems content at the moment. There's no telling how long he'll wish to remain in your company for, but you'd sincerely like to get to know more about him, and all of the incredible work he's done on your behalf.

Spangle had immediately ridden alongside Electrum. The two priestesses are excitedly, quietly talking. There's more questions you have for them than possibly anyone else you're with, and they might just be looking forward to the return trip home with equal enthusiasm.

The fact that Irefist agreed to come along your excursion without further argument is cause for concern. The unruly ex-sailor is one of the few men alive who isn't afraid to say something to your face. Beyond his rejection of Mercy's gifts, and his association with the Church of Storm, you know next to nothing about him, or why he's even here.

At the very least, there's the five clergy you hand-selected to bring into your service. Not a single one of them hesitated to pack up from Calunoth, and to make this journey by your side.

Brother Peter Fergant seems like a nice enough man. His qualifications come from a lifetime of service to the Church of Mercy, and a prestigious family line that you've heard of throughout your own service. In addition to insisting on taking up a guard position, he's promised that he can help the cooks here, if necessary.

Second to his seniority is one of the triplets. Sister Agnes Willoughby was capable of invoking Mercy, and seems to have made peace with her current inability to do so. The woman's temperament may be more lukewarm than even Sister Cardew's, though it's hard to tell if it's a coping mechanism, or if she's merely seen so much combat, she can't handle more mundane affairs.

What you're told is the middle sister of the Willoughby's is Sister Susan. It's extremely uncomfortable to not use their surname, but you're assured it helps to avoid confusion. Multiple members of your congregation have joked that she's more pious than you are.

Time will tell.

(2/3)

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>>4407194
The last of the Willoughby sisters is Tilda. She's got enough energy to rival the clergy of Flesh, not a lick of restraint to speak of, and unsurprisingly has never been capable of invoking Mercy. She's still got a lovely Spirit, and is kept well enough in line by her sisters.

The last of your clergy is substantially younger than you realized. In the heat of your first dual invocation to Agriculture and Mercy, Brother Thomas Durville appeared substantially more grizzled. His speed, demeanor, and competency in the field was second to none. He's a phenomenal healer, used to be capable of invoking Mercy... and can't be much older than Brother Wilhelm.

In the days ahead, you'd like to get to know them all better. Every last one of your friends has been tasked with helping to look after your health. You're hoping to try and improve their image in the public eye, while keeping everyone as safe as you can. It's a lot to balance, but fortunately, the logistics are not your primary concern.

>Who would you like to accompany, on your first day on the road?
>This trip will take a minimum of two weeks, so don't worry if you can't do everything in one day.
>Please select one (1) prompt, for the sake of pacing, and to allow yourself some Time to spend on an activity, for once!
>Majority vote will decide.
>Feel free to write-in anything you'd like to address right off the bat.

>A] Harvey.
>1] At the front of the caravan. Make a statement.
>2] Wherever he thinks your leadership is most needed.

>B] Irefist and Claymore, with the rest of the guard.

>C] Klepto, with whatever he's getting up to.

>D] Sister Cardew and Professor Echo. They're going to be inseparable for probably the rest of the trip.
>1] For business.
>2] For fun.

>E] Spangle and Electrum. They're going to be inseparable for probably the rest of their lives.

>F] Brother Fergant. He's with the guard, but tends to keep to himself.

>G] The Willoughby Sisters.
>1] Keep quiet, to yourself, and see about meeting them all together.
>2] Agnes.
>3] Susan.
>4] Tilda.

>H] Brother Durville. Make sure he's alright.

>>4407195
>C] Klepto, with whatever he's getting up to.

>>4407195
>>A] Harvey.
>>1] At the front of the caravan. Make a statement.

We need to set the tone for the rest of the trip, everyone knowing that Harvey is our right hand man is gonna make chain of command a lot easier to manage.

>>4407195
>A] Harvey.
>2] Wherever he thinks your leadership is most needed.

>>4407217
Supporting this, I like the reasoning.

>>4407198
(Appreciate ya man, but as previously stated, going to go with the majority here.)
>>4407217
>>4407311
>>4407425
(Awesome stuff. Alright! Got a clear afternoon, if anyone is up for the last session of the weekend. Vote is locked, writing now!)

>>4407432
https://youtu.be/UnW6625hw_w

It is paramount that you set the tone for the rest of your journey. Though it is tempting to give James some well-deserved company, there will be weeks at your disposal, and it is a beautiful day. The horses are watered and seen to, the guard is bright-eyed, and your right-hand man is honored to join you at the head of the company.

At your call, the caravan packs up. Harvey even takes up a banner from Electrum, effortlessly keeping it flying high, while you both ride towards the dawn.

The sun is high, and there is no one to be seen on the road ahead. It is long, winding, not paved in the slightest, and will pass by countless ruins. The woodlands of Corcaea are dense. Traversing them unaccompanied means certain death for most. Guards are rarely kept posted permanently, though you're certain to find outposts along the way.

It will be several hours before reaching the bend that runs alongside the Morinburn river, and you couldn't be more delighted. Ray is keeping stride at your left, as you and Impetus set a fair pace for the entire company. Your stallion and mastiff are natural-born leaders, and pay one another no mind.

The champion to your right is even more magnificent. Ornamentation of a forgotten age adorns Harvey's armor. The exotic material constituting the suit is more akin to stone, than to any metal.

Your ringleader is nowhere near as bright as your own appearance, but that suits you just fine. The lengthiest outerwear is downright gallant, and has picked up in the wind, along with the banner of your company. The contrast against your stallion has you as a beacon. Every priest and priestess among you was instructed to plainly dress for their station, as well. Crimson and gold is at your back, and passing through a break in the dense canopy, most of your robes billow in the gale.

A completely clear sky is ahead, for the first Time in months. Birds are gathering around a ruined tower. The make of the forgotten structure is far more substantial than most built in Corcaea. The stone is as familiar to you as the scars upon your hands, the flowers littering the leaf-speckled floor, or the growth all around.

You're certain you could identify every last moss within each stone upon the ruins, by now. It's with a legitimate grimace, that you look to your fellow leader. Harvey raises his visor, and squints, equally aware of the risk. "Last T-time I passed th-through here, we had noth-thing but amb-bushes and b-bullshit. Wound up rid-ding hard en-nough to kill th-the horses. We can't j-just inspect ev-very ruin, th-though."

"The clergy of Flesh—" you start, and cut yourself off. There's undeniably going to be wrinkles from how hard you're frowning. "They are only human, and won't— they won't be of much use if they are ran into the ground."

(1/2)

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>>4407480
"Can't afford t-to l-lose any one of us," Harvey replies, trying to give you a smile, as you both slow the pace. He winces further, though it's likely only from speaking at any length. "W-we all knew w-what w-we w-were signing up for." Glancing over his shoulder, he murmurs, "you w-want m-my adv-vice?"

Looking in the same direction— to 31 lives in your hands— your own expression becomes significantly more severe. Your friends and the guard are essentially pulling double-duty, as additional drivers and tenders for the animals in your care. All of the non-combative members of the caravan are walking, to help those who may need to fight to conserve energy.

The day has barely begun, but virtually everyone is taking the danger you're all in with severity. As is typical of your countrymen, the majority are reserved. The mild sound of conversation is carried on the wind, but for the most part, everyone knows better than to make a ruckus.

It can't be helped how noisy the wagons or sheer number of horses are, and neither pots hanging off of caravans, nor barrels shifting from within the vehicles can be completely silenced. For a split second, you're reminded of a sorceress that could mute your surrounding area at will.

Blinking the thought away, you look ahead. The road is above-ground. There are no elves in this part of the world. You are not yet in mortal danger, and there are currently no demons to speak of.

"Yes," you softly reply. "Always."

"Scouts." Harvey is fully aware that no one in your company minds his speech, as he firmly asserts, "as m-many as w-we can sp-pare."

(Options in next post.)

>>4407482
>Roll a 1d100.
>Every roll will count.

>In addition to the roll, please cast a vote. Rolls made without selecting a prompt will not be counted.
>These are not mutually exclusive.
>Bear in mind that any one person who is scouting may have their ability to defend the caravan itself reduced, or compromised.

>A] You're ensuring that the red lion gets something phenomenal to drink tonight. Of course you should have scouts.
>1] The bare minimum of the priests of Flesh from the guard. You still want a lot of defense close by. (This option is mutually exclusive from A2.)
>2] As many priests of Flesh as you can spare. They'll rotate shifts, and you'll still keep some guard with the caravan. (This option is mutually exclusive from A1.)
>3] Klepto is notorious for having insanely good observational skills. Even if no one wants his company, he'll be your primary spotter.
>4] Irefist should probably go along with them. His combative ability is second to none.
>5] Claymore's talents have you reluctant to place him in danger, but if there is trouble, he's the first man you'd want on the scene.
>6] Ask Harvey if he would be comfortable assisting in one of the scouting rotations, if at all.
>7] Brother Fergant. He's wise enough to likely predict the enemy's behavior.
>8] Sister Agnes. Her defensive combat experience will be an asset to whoever she's with.
>9] Brother Durville. He's FAST, and would be able to get word to your caravan rapidly.

>B] This is a good idea, but you have some even better ones. (Write-in.)

Rolled 27 (1d100)

>>4407483
>A) 3

Rolled 72 (1d100)

>>4407483
>A] You're ensuring that the red lion gets something phenomenal to drink tonight. Of course you should have scouts.
>3] Klepto is notorious for having insanely good observational skills. Even if no one wants his company, he'll be your primary spotter.
>4] Irefist should probably go along with them. His combative ability is second to none.
>9] Brother Durville. He's FAST, and would be able to get word to your caravan rapidly.

Rolled 88 (1d100)

>>4407483
>>A] You're ensuring that the red lion gets something phenomenal to drink tonight. Of course you should have scouts.
>>3] Klepto is notorious for having insanely good observational skills. Even if no one wants his company, he'll be your primary spotter.
>>4] Irefist should probably go along with them. His combative ability is second to none.
>>9] Brother Durville. He's FAST, and would be able to get word to your caravan rapidly.

I would also like to know more about these guys, I am sure they have a bigger resume.

>>4407488
>>4407490
>>4407493
Ah yes. Hidden tables.

(Alright! A3, A4, and A9 with some more info, coming right up! Vote is locked. Writing now.)

Rolled 39 (1d100)

>>4407483
>>4407493
Support

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>>4407621
(Thanks man, appreciate ya)
>>4407515
https://youtu.be/va2cs3VDOA8

"Harvey." You're a masochist, and pat him firmly on a spiked shoulder. It's great. He's great. "You are a gift. We're getting you something phenomenal to drink tonight."

He's fully aware you can produce nearly any drink in existence, thanks to a flask from an archdemon of generosity. "F-fuck yes."

"Will you bring Klepto, Irefist, and Brother Durville here, please?"

It takes a matter of moments for them to all be gathered. You bring the caravan to a crawl, and fully stop a fair ways from the tower.

Klepto flicks a marble at the ruins. He likely has over a thousand of the brightly colored beads on his person. You make a note to check your clothing when he's out of your sight, while noticing that the clown hasn't changed from his soot-covered garments from early this morning. His maroon leggings, padded gambeson, and ridiculously laced sleeves beneath are dusted off, as he continues to sniff, "I'm checking it out first."

With a slight smile, you insist to every man present, "I wouldn't have it any other way. Your eyes are keener than anyone else's here, are they not?"

Irefist bristles, and Brother Durville finds a nearby tree particularly interesting to frown at. "No," they simply say, in perfect unison.

All three of them fire off something between a glare, and outright amusement to one another.

The sailor in your midst was given one of the few pieces of armor King Magnus could spare. It's a set of worn, fragmented chain mail, that covers the man's left side of his body. It's fastened beneath a haphazard pauldron. With a shield in his opposite arm, Irefist would be fairly well protected. The entire set clinks, as he bristles towards James, "you think you can hold a candle to a barrel-man?"

Harvey gives a glassy-eyed look to everyone present. "Wh-what?"

"A spotter, on a ship" you mildly reply. "Though this far inland, we would never need a basket— or barrel— upon a mast." With serious respect to Carlisle, you wonder, "I imagine a clear sky, and— and solid ground makes for a far fairer view."

"Nah," he spits. "Harder to catch a demon in the shadows than any old beast at sea."

Everyone pauses a moment. There's probably two hundred stories to be told here.

"What, precisely," you tactfully ask, "are you capable of, then?"

As if he's used to reporting to a church leader, a sailor, or a demon-hunter, Carlisle scratches at a little stubble upon his chin, and rattles off, "spottin', fishin', spear-throwin'. Good with a sword, but MUCH better with my fists. I'm faster at runnin' a ship, than running anywhere on land— and if we need to cross Morinburn, I got us covered."

(1/3)

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>>4407653
Your smile is growing by the second, as he continues, "fording's not an issue. Neither is tyin' anything, gettin' our gear safe, or snapping the neck of anythin' that might give us some trouble." He frowns. "I'm still pretty damn fast, and won't have any trouble keepin' us on track, if we need it. Skies are clear, but Storm's a cunt if there ever was one. Don't pardon the language, Father." You don't. "Bet by tomorrow we'll need to keep to the 'bank, if you want to stay the course."

Your ringleader is particularly pleased, and is happy to reassure you, "he's b-being modest."

There's rumor that Irefist is the most capable combatant in your entire congregation, which is really saying something. Klepto, and the priest beside you could not look grumpier. None of them are mounted. To the younger of the two (which is saying something), you look down from your lofty position, to softly state, "your company could— could not be more appreciated, Brother Durville. Of every clergyman I've requested the company of, your skill was what set you apart. I— I believe I still do not know even the half of it." With a glance to your compatriots, and a nervous glare to the tower in the distance, you ask, "would you please educate us?"

The ruins loom a little on the horizon, but continue to remain unmoving, and still appear to be unoccupied. The boy in your midst is definitely no older than his teens. With an equal stare to the ruins, and a slightly squeaky voice, he replies, "I will speak quickly, Father Anscham." He's obviously irritated by Irefist borderline bragging, and rapid-fire lists, "my family was murdered during the last outbreak. All of them. My sisters were taken by the slums, and both of my parents fell to the battle of the cathedral ward. I have worked in Calunoth my entire life. There has been word for most of youth, of the good you've done throughout the country. My skills have been squandered, Father."

There's legitimate hatred in his voice, as the priest tenses, and sneers, "I am certain I would be an asset to you, against even a demon of Storm. I've primarily been used as a guardian, for our priests of Flesh. My prior ability to invoke Mercy was strongest in protection. Our services are needed everywhere. I prefer to fight with a shield, and have been training diligently, to equip myself with stronger materials. I wish to best use my hands for defense. My halberd is with the caravan. I can ride, but my capability on a mount is nowhere near as proficient as yours. I would prefer to stay on foot."

The boy hasn't taken his eyes off of the tower for an instant. It seemed as though he was merely lost in though, but Brother Durville sneers, "there are no demons ahead— but I will see if they are coming." Something bleak is in his eyes, as he finally looks up to you, and mutters, "prevention is the best cure, Father Anscham."

(2/3)

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>>4407659
"Will you go ahead," you murmur in return, looking down from the horizon, to a young man who has undoubtedly seen as much death as any of you, "and keep an eye on our other scouts? I would like for you to be the first to return with any word of danger."

"Yes, Father," is the boy's immediate reply.

"To defend is to serve," you firmly assert.

Your clergyman doesn't smile, but offers some relief from his grimace, at least, and takes off to go retrieve his armaments. For his age and size, a polearm seems like a fine choice.

Meanwhile, Klepto and Irefist have been shooting daggers to one another. To the clown, you patiently ask, "is there anything further you would like to inform me of, James?"

"Sure," he grins. "Traveled a lot, you know. Met some foreign types. Scoured a few ruins, before Ostedholm. I've tried my hand at every single weapon I've heard of. Not bad with any of 'em. You name it, I can make something of it. Lots that don't have any names for, too— like what Spangle's been cooking up." His smile gets significantly more manic. "Toys are a lot better than swords, for the most part. I've been tinkering with a few traps, and other things, that might prevent anyone from giving us any trouble on the road." Giggling, he can't help but add, "much nastier things if they try to catch up, too!"

The man likes surprises, and you really don't have the Time for a full report on the insanity he's been brewing for months. "I need your eyes, James, if we are to do anything with our pursuers. You have something of a reputation."

"Oh." His smile is vicious. "I'll see them. And anything they've got. Carly here might think he's hot shit, but you don't see any scars on my hands, do you?"

The minstrel waves his fingers at Carlisle's face.

The sailor moves, immediately, to punch him. Harvey steps in, conveniently riding his mount just between the two of them, and loudly proclaims, "d-don't kill each oth-ther b-before you ev-ven see a th-threat. G-go. I t-trust y-you can handle scout-ting."

There's grumbling. Irefist rubs his nose, obviously making fun of James, as he nasally whines, "suppose I see something before you? Maybe bragging about it wouldn't tip you off fast enough?"

The clown is already walking away, without any weapons to speak of, straight down the road towards the tower ahead. Over his shoulder, he makes a particularly obscene gesture to the sailor.

They both laugh. You shake your head, and resolve to not lose your patience. Setting a good precedent on the first day of your journey is extremely important to you, and you know that there will be far less micro-management moving ahead.

More importantly, you're confident that the three men you've picked for the job are easily the best souls in the country for the task.

(Options in next post.)

>>4407663
>A] Keep the caravan moving, while your scouts do their job. Trust they they'll alert you to any danger before it reaches you. You don't want to dither for a moment, and are willing to risk a little more danger in the name of a faster journey.

>B] Just this once, wait while they look out. You're all sitting ducks, but there's an active guard posted, and you trust them all with your lives.

>C] Give your scouts a wide berth, and have them regularly report back. This would typically greatly extend your travel time, but with you and Impetus leading the caravan, you'll ultimately make for an average length trip home.

>D] Write-in. (If there's any additional instructions you'd like to give to your men, or specific actions you'd like to take during the journey, feel free to write them in at any time. There will be a lot less micro-managing moving ahead, but as we establish some behavior, it never hurts to point out specifics you might prefer.)

>>4407671
>A] Keep the caravan moving, while your scouts do their job. Trust they they'll alert you to any danger before it reaches you. You don't want to dither for a moment, and are willing to risk a little more danger in the name of a faster journey.

Seems wise to give up enemies less time to plan around us on our travels.

>>4407671
>A] Keep the caravan moving, while your scouts do their job. Trust they they'll alert you to any danger before it reaches you. You don't want to dither for a moment, and are willing to risk a little more danger in the name of a faster journey.

Even if they are followed back to the caravan I am sure Klepto is going to drop something in his wake to cause some damage. We should focus on other issues and have some *faith*.

>>4407671
>>A] Keep the caravan moving, while your scouts do their job. Trust they they'll alert you to any danger before it reaches you. You don't want to dither for a moment, and are willing to risk a little more danger in the name of a faster journey.

>>4407671
>C] Give your scouts a wide berth, and have them regularly report back. This would typically greatly extend your travel time, but with you and Impetus leading the caravan, you'll ultimately make for an average length trip home.

>>4407674
>>4407687
>>4407704
>>4407736
(A and C are directly at odds with one another, so going with the majority vote, and write-ins with great justification. Noting everything! Vote is locked. Writing now.)

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>>4407758
As a man of faith, the entirety of your caravan is urged to move ahead.

You're certain that the additional speed will keep off pursuers. With less Time for your enemies to plan a pursuit, you set about spurring Impetus forward.

No more than an hour passes by. The tower is left in the distance, and your scouts are nowhere to be seen.

https://youtu.be/dKFIGS305As

Exactly one of the men you sent out can be heard running, full-sprint. Brother Durville is furious, and screams from a distance, long before he's even visible, "NOT THE TOWER! THE—"

Manic laughter can be heard off in the distance, from the woods. A tree is felled, and crashes with enough sound to rival one of Spangle's worst attacks.

There's a light slash across Brother Durville's left arm, bleeding freely as he waves. His weapon is less of a halberd, and more of death on a stick. You balk at the black and foul liquid dripping from it as he waves, and hollers, "they're far in, Father Anscham! Imps! I counted eight, in broad daylight—!"

You ignore the urge to dismount. That's demon's blood, no mistake.

"Under the canopy, but still—!"

The priests of Flesh at your back are hailed, with an agreed-upon signal. Those who haven't already come running literally drop what they're doing, while you grimace, "Mercy."

They're likely demons of Vengeance, or Mercy, and it's definitely not going to be just imps.

>A] You swore up and down to take it easier on this expedition. Hang back, and stay with your company. Trust in your friend's ability, have Harvey deal with the enemy, and spur your company on. There's no telling who might take advantage, if you leave the caravan unguarded. Your leadership will keep the animals in the caravan calmer, if nothing else.

>B] Like hell you aren't going yourself, and getting some action alongside your lion.
>1] Ride with Harvey.
>2] Leave your mount here with Electrum. You won't risk anything happening to Impetus. Carefully proceed on foot, with Ray in tow.
>3] Leave Ray with the company for everyone's security, and go ahead with your human allies.

>C] Write-in.

>>4407799

I am confused, can you elaborate on the landscape more and where everyone is positioned?

>>4407799
>A] You swore up and down to take it easier on this expedition. Hang back, and stay with your company. Trust in your friend's ability, have Harvey deal with the enemy, and spur your company on. There's no telling who might take advantage, if you leave the caravan unguarded. Your leadership will keep the animals in the caravan calmer, if nothing else.

Hang back and learn of our congregations combat capabilities, if there are indeed larger demons inbound we must trust in our men to report it before we leave the noncombatants alone

>>4407811
(Yes absolutely. You guys are currently on a road, in a forest. The forest is dense, though the road is well-traveled enough to not be an obstruction for your carts and horses. It is fairly flat, though there are occasional rocks, flowers, mushrooms, etc. I can go into much more depth about the flora and fauna of Corcaea if you guys want, but didn't think it was necessary just yet.

Two of your scouts (Klepto and Irefist) are very deep into the woods, and are fighting what has been reported to be eight imps. Brother Durville may have been overwhelmed, and definitely came running as fast as he could. He is with you now, and stressed that the demons are staying beneath the forest's canopy.

It is highly unusual for demons to have activity above-ground, during the day, so their present at all is strange. You immediately deduced that them not having an aversion to the sun, and sticking to the shade, indicates that they may be a demon of Mercy (to explain the lack of aversion to sunlight) or Vengeance (to explain the preference for staying under the shade).

Sorry if all of that wasn't clear! Thank you for asking, please let me know if you have any further questions.)

>>4407827
(tl;dr the scouts are to the southwest, ahead of the caravan. I'll have Brother Durville report everyone's location much more precisely moving ahead.)

>>4407827
>A] You swore up and down to take it easier on this expedition. Hang back, and stay with your company. Trust in your friend's ability, have Harvey deal with the enemy, and spur your company on. There's no telling who might take advantage, if you leave the caravan unguarded. Your leadership will keep the animals in the caravan calmer, if nothing else.

Have a few Flesh priests go with him, keep the most veteran ones with the caravan

>>4407858
+1

>>4407826
>>4407858
>>4407859
(Got it, A it is! Will note that write-in and do my best to provide some more detail. Vote is locked. Writing now!)

>>4407876
https://youtu.be/JbrGCF2aINo

As rapidly as he's able, Thomas rattles off, "they're all due southwest. We've been staying as far ahead of the caravan as possible, Father, while keeping an eye out for anything approaching you all."

This is nothing you aren't used to, and you're quickly remembering yourself. The priests of Flesh run up from the day guard. They're all equipped with segmented armor from the waist down. Carrying shields, and bearing helmets and swords, there's almost no part of the trained combatants that is immediately vulnerable. It's enormously reassuring. Typically, priests of Flesh and Mercy work in tandem on the field of battle. Though your clergy may not be capable of shielding them all through invocation, these men still are in service of your order.

It's nothing short of a miracle that King Magnus could spare ten invokers, and you aren't going to mismanage a single one. "Harvey," you immediately order, "please take all but our most veteran clergy with you."

Everyone pauses. They're all veterans, but age takes important precedence within any church in Corcaea. Two of the grayer men stay at yours and Brother Durville's side, while Harvey stays mounted. The scout insists to all of them, "there will be more where they came from. I'm certain some will be in the shadows. Keep your guard up."

Multiple nods, and a few, "thanks," are noted.

"K-keep up," Harvey insists, spurring his horse on, and riding straight into the denser portion of the woods. Before he vanishes from sight, both priests ordered to follow the lion invoke their patron.

One has a shaved head, with arms to rival Cyril's. In lieu of a more traditional needle for his holy symbol, the man has a thin spike at the center of his shield. He kneels for a moment, and mutters a prayer, that no one but his patron likely can hear.

He stands, with eyes blazing red, and practically bursts out of the shirt upon his back. His skin and muscle ripples, and smoke begins to stoke from a fire within his soul.

His compatriot is equally imposing, younger, and bolder. With a broad grin, eyes to the vanishing form of your ringleader and his mount, he tears off running, shouting, "praise be, to the God of COMBATIVENESS!" Flame veritably bursts off of his hands, as his speed doubles, and a cry of, "O Flesh—!" carries off, into the distance.

Both men take off completely, straight towards the commotion into the woods. The trees all about you are thick enough in places to completely block out the morning sun. The road is clear, and unfettered by more than the occasional stone or fallen tree, but the surrounding area is decidedly untamed.

(1/2)

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>>4408001
Their forms vanish almost completely from sight. Smoke is positively rising from both burning clergymen, trailing in thin, crimson plumes up into the sky. Though you have ample ability to signal one another with hand motions, whistles, lanterns, torches, and calls— to say nothing of the priestess of Spirit in your company— there are a few other ways you all can communicate, from a distance. You'll look for their forms, and evidence of the Gods, before anything else.

There's a lot of commotion from the caravan at your back. You are calm, and collected, and spur Impetus on, while Brother Durville briskly strides alongside you. "Father Anscham, it was incredibly difficult to gauge where, or what the enemy was. I do not question James and Carlisle's ability, but we may need to take further precaution."

The road is empty, and the trees all about you are devoid of so much as a single animal. You've had to deal with demons in the woods once before, and have always hoped you would never need to do so again. "I understand," you assert, before noting to the three veterans beside you, "I trust that we will receive word, before our noncombatants will be left alone."

Two of the priests immediately sprint to the rest of your company. The extra hands are sorely needed, and a VERY welcome change of pace. The first wagon is only a few dozen feet behind, and you're certain every animal present is calmer for yours and Impetus' lead, but the sheer length of your procession ensures it will take precious minutes to inform everyone of what's happening.

The remaining clergyman is the eldest, and stays right beside you. "By order of the King," he formally nods to you, "and with all due respect, Father Anscham. We're to ensure you are not left unattended."

Resisting the urge to grumble, you quietly continue to spur your horse on. The gentle sway, and constant sound of hooves is enormously reassuring. So is Ray's attentiveness, and the ease of the beasts you command. They'll notice any nearby threat before any of you, and so you ask with a steady tone, "I would like to see my congregation's combative ability, Brothers— and to trust in my men."

Many minutes pass by. Your eyes stay firmly fixed near the sky, and into the depths of the trees. There's a steady stream of white smoke, snaking up into the clouds, from the priests of Flesh at war. Through the shade, tree trunks, drying bushes, and occasional ruins, Brother Durville is obviously keeping just as close of a watch as you. The young man jogs just slightly ahead, paying no heed to his injury. It's not lethal, but he's likely in some pain.

(Paragraph put it over, 2/3)

>>4408005
Further down the road, the sound of battle becomes significantly louder, from deep within the woods. It's clear that your men have been attempting to lead the enemy further away, possibly even further south, but have been locked into some sort of chaos. Another tree is felled, in the direction of your allies. The crash is loud enough to spook a flock of birds nesting in the tree tops, no more than a few hundred feet off to the west. Granted, the sound of battle is fainter, and farther, but you're disoriented already, and have to ask, "how close are they all?" A plume of smoke continues to rise, above the trees, deep into the woods. It's meant to turn red, if there's serious danger.

Thomas confirms, "just over a mile. Took me less than five minutes to run here, Father."

The signal is a vaguely orange-pink, from the morning sun, and what is likely the start of someone in significant distress. Another tree falls. Ray isn't growling yet, but your own nerves are on end, and Brother Durville is sweating.

>A] Continue to wait for further signal. You're a man of your word, trust in your friends, and know that they can handle just about anything that comes their way.
>1] Stay the course. Keep all of your focus on the fight.
>2] Get a detailed report from Brother Durville. He might need some guidance.

>B] That is WAY too close for comfort. Don't ignore your own instincts. (Write-in.)

>>4408015
>2] Get a detailed report from Brother Durville. He might need some guidance.

>B] That is WAY too close for comfort. Don't ignore your own instincts. (Write-in.)
Order the two remaining veterans to keep an eye out on our surroundings and be battle-ready

>>4408015
>>4408035
Support

>>4408035
>>4408375
(Greeeaaaat! Locking the vote here, probably the last update of the night but we'll see. Writing now!)

>>4408399
https://youtu.be/bgkiF_0VNzo

"Too close for comfort." To both priests of Flesh still at your command, you yell, "KEEP EVERY EYE OUT! MAKE READY FOR BATTLE!"

It hasn't been more than a few moments since Brother Durville came running. The young man is sweating, the elderly gentleman to your side shifts, and you insist, "a detailed report." Slinging your shield from the side of Impetus' saddle, you bark, "and do not stop speaking until you are directed."

A commotion breaks out through the caravan. Every single able-bodied soul is up in arms in seconds, who wasn't already plainly armored or wielding a weapon. There's more rustling, in the woods ahead, and Impetus picks up the pace. He's nervous, while quickly as you can hope for, keeping to a jog beside you, Brother Durville reports, "eight imps. No more than four feet tall. Black as night, and took in any light around them. They were hard to see, and harder to hit, Father. I got one, which may make seven. They moved through the shade, low to the ground, and—"

Ray snarls, loudly and intensely enough to startle your nerves. The slight jump in your own frame goes unnoticed by both men at your side, while your boys ears point, and every inch of fur upon him stands on end. Having to shout to be heard, over a deafening roar within the bowels of the woods, Thomas states the obvious. "THEY HAVE TO BE WORKING UNDER SOMETHING GREATER, RIGHT—"

A colossal shape is moving, in the treeline beyond. It's well over a mile away, but the screams of whoever is at it's base are plain as day. It's hard to gauge from your position, but the canopy is over twenty feet tall in places, and for you to see it from here, you mutter, "a greater demon is a possibility. What of the others—"

No fewer than three shadows dart out from the woods, cutting you short. Two of them are flanking the caravan, heading from opposite sides of the road, straight for the priests of Flesh at your back. Both of them are literally up in flames, shields up, weapons out, and appropriately shout in unison, "FIRE!"

A volley of half a two dozen arrows is unleashed from the traders and cooks from within the wagons, and most of your caravan that has stayed in plain sight. A line of shields, swords, and other metal clangs. There's still twenty-nine of you, versus their two, but you can't keep your eyes off of the road long enough to confirm a single demonic kill, or to really focus on anything more than what's coming straight for you.

Every one of the demons is as difficult to discern as Brother Durville said. Their shape is erratic, no taller or broader than four or five feet at any given moment, and soak in any light that touches them. The other imp is heading straight down the road, towards you, and everyone else in your company. It's silently convulsing in the sun, moving in a freakishly unpredictable manner, and you're essentially riding straight towards it.

(1/2)

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>>4408455
Brother Durville tenses the grip around his halberd, now shouting, "unknown! I would have stayed to fight, were it not for your order, Father—!"

The elderly priest of Flesh at your side— who is likely one of the only men around who will answer to the King, before you— does not speak, to invoke the God of the Material.

Faster than you can blink, a razor-thin knife is in the gentleman's left hand. With no hesitation, before you or Thomas can protest, he slices his right hand cleanly open. There isn't a singular sound, be it of pain, or any other human emotion.

The priest of Vengeance smears a streak of blood across his face. Deep divinity soaks his eyes into the depths of his skull. In a voice darker than the streak of liquid turning midnight-black upon a paling face, he utters, "Lord of Retribution."

A covert priest of Vengeance might be overkill.

You grin ear-to-ear, as Brother Durville looks to the priest with more terror than the demon streaking towards you all. One more imp is right behind it. Another form is peeling away from the first imp's body.

"Father, they're multiplying—" is a young clergyman's fair observation.

This is perfect.

>A roll will be required for all of the following.

>A] Charge this demon ahead with your war horse, hunting dog, and the priests tasked with your defense. Leave the guard of the caravan to your allies, while you stay on the point. (Moderate risk to your personal safety, little new information.)

>B] That roar in the distance and COLOSSAL silhouette has your blood running cold. Take heart that your caravan is in capable hands, and ride to meet whatever it is. (Unknown risk to your personal safety, immediately gather more information.)

>C] You have COMPLETE faith in your company. Keep your shield up, and a steady pace. You'll get the rest of that report from Brother Durville, and make this a proper lesson for him. Leave the fighting to the priest of Vengeance. (Highest immediate risk to your personal safety, moderate amount of information.)

>D] Write-in.

>>4408455
(lol the line about the arrows is meant to say two dozen. Don't know how I missed that while proofreading! Definitely last update of the night. We'll have our usual schedule throughout the week, Monday-Thursday with a minimum of one update a day. Thanks for the phenomenal weekend guys.)

>>4408464
>>C] You have COMPLETE faith in your company. Keep your shield up, and a steady pace. You'll get the rest of that report from Brother Durville, and make this a proper lesson for him. Leave the fighting to the priest of Vengeance. (Highest immediate risk to your personal safety, moderate amount of information.)

We charge for the big shadow as soon as we have as much info as possible, we should stay and witness what a *proper* invocation to vengeance looks like and make a mental note of it.

>>4408464
>C] You have COMPLETE faith in your company. Keep your shield up, and a steady pace. You'll get the rest of that report from Brother Durville, and make this a proper lesson for him. Leave the fighting to the priest of Vengeance. (Highest immediate risk to your personal safety, moderate amount of information.)

>>4408563
>>4408616
(Locking the vote!)

>THE OLD AND THE NEW

>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.
>+1 PRODIGY
>+28 AGAIN
>+5 YOU'VE BEEN DOING SOMETHING RIGHT

Rolled 45 + 34 (1d100 + 34)

>>4408716

Rolled 82 (1d100)

>>4408716

Rolled 51 (1d100)

>>4408716

>>4408720
>>4408722
>>4408990
(Bo3 is 82+34=116. God damn. Expected this to get a little stupid but that's fantastic lol. I'm pretty preoccupied this afternoon but will get out at least one or two updates tonight! Thank you for your patience guys. I'll boop ya when the update is out.)

>>4409219
(At LONG last I am home, and ready to write! Update will be out as soon as possible.)

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>>4408563
>>4408616
>>4408720
>>4408722
>>4408990
https://youtu.be/oa1R4gPtkzg?t=6

The company, your stallion, and every last one of your allies keeps the forward momentum. They trust in your leadership. You are calm, and reverent, even as the imps ahead divide, and threaten to fill the road. Your mutual labored breaths, the pounding of Impetus' hooves, and the clamor of metal at your backs should be deafening, but it's drowned out. Not only from Ray's snarling, as it carries over the low utterances of the blood-soaked priest of Vengeance by your side. Not merely from the sound of trees felling, nor the crackle of a fire in the distance, or even of countless woodland animals fleeing for their lives.

There is a roar, of a monstrosity within the woods, from over a mile away. The caravan is keeping your pace. Every driver knows that to linger is to die.

From the rear of the procession, from every hidden member of your company, behind barriers and vehicles, arrows fly. Fwips of wood and iron sail over the cacophony, plunging into the depths of demonic shade. Men and women cry out, for war, for the Gods, for their countrymen, and for death.

The imps about you all are dividing by the second. They are uncannily inhuman. For every arrow that streaks from a bold fighter, every cleave of your clergy's weaponry, and with every cry for blood, there is another form. It is as if the assault is creating more of the enemy. The priests of Flesh can only do so much. Many among you do not even pray.

The surrounding woodland streaks by, as you all barrel ahead, and every last soul in your company has faith in you. By the second, the road is lined with forms as dark as night. They cannot be discerned with the naked eye. It's as if ink could coagulate, turn into spikes, and streak along the ground. The imps are more akin to balls, or barbs, sticking to the floor, convulsing with each motion, and soaking in the morning sun like a sponge.

Under the canopy of the forest, even upon the bare road, the demons among you are creating more shadow still. While they take in the sun, your weaponry, and all of the abuse that you all can dish out, all pretense of discretion has been discarded. Your fellow riders have spurred their steeds on, matching your pace, as you take the caravan into the fastest sustainable speed you dare risk.

Getting the lives in your hands as far from the danger at your backs is paramount. So is observing the clergyman tasked with your protection. The priest of Vengeance at your side no longer needs to run. He is melding with the shadow. The blood upon his face is increasing, soaking his skin in a substance darker than any shade. He shifts with the shadow of the trees overhead. His movement is eerily similar to that of the demons about you all— and in an instant, he is gone.

(1/4)

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>>4409945
Your guardian has moved as erratically as the enemy barreling ahead, and you know better than to doubt the methods of the Gods. Keeping your shield held high, with a grin plastered upon your face, and love of the God of Deliverance in your heart, you don't dare to blink. Turning to your clergyman of Mercy, you bark, "what is our best defense?!"

Brother Durville slings his shield upon his back, to better hold his halberd in both hands. Breaking into a full sprint, exceeding the pace of your mount, he swings his halberd overhead. Leaping into the air, a priest of Mercy screams to the skies, "OUR OFFENSE!"

Impetus tramples the first of the imps to meet you underfoot, as you charge fearlessly into the fray. The sick squelch of meat, and toxic blood, canters between horseshoe and mud. Over the rolling thunder of your caravan's procession, your stallion lets out a cry. He alerts you to three more enemies to your left, while you call out, "the imps in the road are multiplying— but only those who are not lethally wounded!"

Ray snatches an imp between his jaws, and in the same motion, rips it asunder. Not even bothering to slow down, your boy snarls, and gnashes the entire creature clean in two. A burst of light spills out from the demon's body, bursting from the sun trapped within, and showering a little of the mastiff's namesake onto the street.

The priest of Vengeance is still nowhere to be seen.

Just to your dog's right, Brother Durville is in a full sprint. Every ounce of momentum he's gathered barrels straight into a demon, from the tip of his pole arm, sinking so deeply that it carves the monstrosity nearly in twain.

With a wild grin, you scream, "TEMPERANCE, IN ALL THINGS!"

With a twist, Brother Durville yanks the demon upon his weapon clean off, and instantly realizes your game. While jerking the tail end of his halberd back, glancing over his shoulder towards Ray, he cries out, and stabs into an imp that was heading right for your dog. The young priest continues the cry with a laugh, delighted beyond all reason, as the pole arm impales straight through the monstrosity threatening your boy.

You charge towards both of them, and extend a hand, to sweep the injured clergyman off of the field of battle. He's still running, valiantly keeping stride, sweating harder than you, and bleeding profusely from even his light wound. While you ensure Impetus is keeping the course, trampling another division of the imps, you shout to your priest of Mercy, "BY MY SIDE!"

Two more imps threaten to meet his sprint. Breathing hard, terrified, the young man sweeps his weapon in a broad arc. There is a light cut, across Thomas' left arm, and a few flecks of blood swell up with the motion. The swing of his weapon sings through the air, over the clamor of battle, and a cry of "MERCY!" slices clear across both of them.

(2/4)

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>>4409950
A wet spray of midnight and dawn explodes into the air, intermingling with a few droplets of crimson. The imps drop to the ground, their corpses showing gaping wounds, emitting light, and smoking in the sun.

Brother Durville shows no indication of faltering, as you ride to meet him in the road. He tosses his halberd into a single hand, jumps, and you both manage to catch him in one motion. The sheer amount of strength you now possess makes lifting him onto the back of the saddle completely surmountable. The ride is awkward, and you both grimace. Keeping your shield high, bringing Impetus around to continue to charge forward, you mutter, "witness him."

The clergyman of retribution has reappeared, from the shadows themselves. He is slaked head-to-toe in blood, all of which is darker than sin. The man is not keeping pace with your caravan. From the treeline, nearly twenty feet off of the road, the form of night stays completely still, save for his left arm, held aloft. Even from a distance, it's readily apparent that he's suffered intense injury. The majority of the blood upon him is his own. He is dripping with damage, caused by the enemy.

In one, sweeping motion, the priest of Vengeance cuts down with his outstretched arm. Whips of jet-black filth streak away from his body. There are screams, from every imp in the road.

Every single demon that's struck you all has a cut, across their left side.

"He waited to attack," you murmur, "and only struck under fear of death." It happens again. "To protect the innocent." The screams are much louder. "With only the damage that had been done to our kin." Pins and needles might as well be in your ears, though the clamor of metal armor, shields, spears, and spite from your caravan is practically musical. "Proportionate is our enemy's ruin."

Brother Durville visibly recoils.

No fewer than twenty demons rapidly move towards the priest of Vengeance. He's successfully pulled the attention of almost every imp in sight away from the caravan, and off, into the woods. Resisting every urge to turn Impetus around, you continue to barrel forward. "The churches of Mercy and Vengeance have historically been at odds, Brother Durville."

Keeping your shield aloft, eyes wider than any man's rightfully should be, you scan for any further threat. The trees about you all are streaking past. You fire a glance over your shoulder. The young man holding hard onto your back is paler than death, eyes equally wide. You also observe, "there are two priests of Flesh, further down the road, who are fighting for all of our lives. We must work in tandem."

Pink smoke is coming up from the horizon. Someone has been badly injured, from the other portion of your company. Without panic, or anything more than deep concern, you insist, "more are fighting on our behalf, still!"

Wincing from so much as speaking, Thomas breathes, "with senseless cruelty, Father?"

(3/4)

>>4409953
The priest of ruin is nowhere to be seen. He's likely fallen behind your lead at the head of the company, to deal with the bulk of the demons plaguing you all. "We are not meant to be at odds with one another," you assert. "He would not be alive, were he to only inflict the damage dealt to him—"

Even as you ride, your nerves are on fire. Every last imp that was threatening your company appears to have been pulled away. Yet a wave of blood and shadow, from deep within the treeline, is unmistakable.

A scream loosens through the air, from one of the members of your caravan.

There is a splatter. You will remember the sound of meat, moisture, and baking flesh within the sun until the day you die. It is a choir of death. The sound of your God. The few imps that were still lining your caravan are slashed to ribbons. The additional waves of their viscera, the sound of them splattering against bushes and leaves, deep into the woods, indicates the death of the rest. It even carries over another roar, from off in the distance.

The road ahead is clear, and more quietly still, you observe, "ruthless is our God. Our ally did not hesitate to strike. There may yet be a place for compassion, Brother, but when our lives are at stake—"

The road behind might as well be shrouded in the dead of night. Those of the caravan you can make out— glancing over your shoulder while you ride— appear paler than death. "These were demons of shadow," you observe, "and were equally susceptible to injury. Not direct confrontation. We must know the enemy, if we are to face them, and hope to survive."

Still breathing hard, the young man at your side has not loosed the hold on his halberd for an instant. It's throwing off his balance as he rides safely with you, but your priest has every nerve on end. "Where would they have come from?"

"We have been followed," you seethe, "will continue to be followed, and not even our enemies are immune to the Catalyst. These were spies. Demons of tenebrosity. They turned, and— and are, no doubt, under the control of a greater demon."

Red smoke is at your backs. So is the blood of an ally, who destroyed himself to guarantee the safety of nearly every member of your caravan. There are piles of corpses lining the road, but you're pulling away from them faster with every passing hoof-beat. You can make out the figure of Sister Corbon, riding from the rear of the caravan, to see to the priest of Vengeance. He collapses into the street, face-first, as you all continue to pull away.

There isn't an imp left in sight. Only mounds of chaos, darkness— and so far as you can tell— and not a single death in your company.

(Options in next post.)

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>>4409958
>A] Stay put. While you trust Sister Corbon, the man who saved all of your lives deserves your full attention. There may be multiple other (possibly lethal) injuries as well, BECAUSE of how effective the priest of Vengeance was.
>1] Have Brother Durville send for Electrum, to lead the caravan with Impetus and Ray. The priest is uncomfortable on a horse, and wouldn't make a suitable rider for your stallion.
>2] Get Walter, and have him stay up front, while you check on the status of your company here. He'll keep everyone moving.
>3] Write-in.

>B] Ride hard, and as fast as you can, towards what is definitely someone in extreme peril. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
>1] Leave Brother Durville here, with Ray. Leave the organization to your allies. You don't have a second to waste.
>2] Take the Time to delegate the leadership to someone here. (Write-in.)

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

>>4409962
>>B] Ride hard, and as fast as you can, towards what is definitely someone in extreme peril. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
>>1] Leave Brother Durville here, with Ray. Leave the organization to your allies. You don't have a second to waste.

We should be ready to invoke Mercy as soon as we arrive, shit really hit the fan and I don't want to lose anyone there.

>>4409962
>>A] Stay put. While you trust Sister Corbon, the man who saved all of your lives deserves your full attention. There may be multiple other (possibly lethal) injuries as well, BECAUSE of how effective the priest of Vengeance was.

>>4410087
>B] Ride hard, and as fast as you can, towards what is definitely someone in extreme peril. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
>1] Leave Brother Durville here, with Ray. Leave the organization to your allies. You don't have a second to waste.

>C] Write-in. (A roll may be required.)
>1] Have Brother Durville send for Electrum, to lead the caravan with Impetus and Ray. The priest is uncomfortable on a horse, and wouldn't make a suitable rider for your stallion

>>4410155
This post is for >>4409962 op's post

>>4410087
>>4410123
>>4410155
>>4410156
(Option A is completely at odds with the other votes, but we can definitely incorporate all the rest together. Going to go with riding towards the smoke, leaving Brother Durville here, and having him send for Electrum! Noting that write-in as well.)

>SMOKE ON THE HORIZON

>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.
>+10 FAITH OF A GODDESS/TO PROTECT IS TO SERVE
>+5 BEAST TAMER

Rolled 31 (1d100)

>>4410301

Retribution.

Rolled 29 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>4410301

Rolled 18 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>4410301

>>4410305
>>4410308
>>4410320
(Welp, that makes a 46 the bo3! Writing now!)

>>4410087
>>4410123
>>4410155
>>4410305
>>4410308
>>4410320
Bringing Impetus down to a trot, you get Brother Durville to dismount. Your eyes don't part from the red smoke on the horizon for an instant. "Get Electrum," you order, while gesturing to Ray to guard the front-most vehicles with his life.

The very second your priest sets foot to the ground, you turn your stallion, to ride clear in the opposite direction of the road. "Have her lead the caravan until I return."

"Yes, Father," the priest of defense replies, over the call to your mount.

"HYAH!"

Heavy hoof-falls echo down the entirety of the dark and bleary road to your back. It's early morning, yet the forest seems to have become shrouded in darkness from the presence of every demon your priest of Vengeance had slain. There's blood and gore smeared upon Impetus' lower legs, for how many monsters he had trampled in the fight. It flecks in the air as you barrel past each and every call for your safe venture.

Riding opposite the main road, after a morning of flame, darkness, and death is entirely within your grasp, but that isn't your concern. The sheer speed you assume tears you past the full length of the caravan, before any one of your companions can even register in your sight. The full breadth of your holy vestments catch on the wind, with a cloak at your back flying in the air, and a gust only of your speed's make. Dirt, mud, and corpses of the fallen enemy rip from the road beneath.

With the heavy breathing of the mount underhand, your pulse is just as high. The shield in hand is slung upon your back. Putting both hands on the reins, and assuming perfect form, you clear the expanse between you, and increasingly closer red smoke. The roars from within the trees could not be deeper.

You're ready to call upon a Goddess at a moment's notice, and it feels like you have only barely blinked, before arriving close enough to the source of distress that you must enter the woods themselves.

Slowing Impetus only as little as you dare for his safety, you both turn hard, into the trees, and into an expanse as black as night. By all rights, the stallion should be terrified, but you keep him steady. Every bit of your own composure is projected onto the ally taking you towards certain peril.

https://youtu.be/Lx0C--jlFng

Flying over fallen stones, leaping Impetus clear over fallen branches, winding around mossy trunks, trampling dead leaves, you look with horror to an increasing amount of blood streaked throughout the woods.

Emerging into a man-made clearing, you gasp. The sheer volume of trees you've heard collapsing suddenly makes perfect sense.

"Mercy—"

(1/2)

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>>4410390
Fifty feet across, the clearing is devastated, with multiple stumps plain to see. The ancient wood has been ripped clear from its growth, at least ten times over. Trampled grass, rock, and mud has been baked red-hot below. The sky above cannot be seen. It's swimming with a false light, spinning in a white-gold vortex.

Beneath it, at the center of the clearing, is a demon of Mercy that has been pinned to the ground. The creature is made entirely of light and shade. Looking straight at it has your eyes watering, and you have to slow Impetus, to take a hand off one reign, just to grant yourself relief from its blinding radiance. The monster is just humanoid enough to remind you of a rag-doll. Its limbs are blunt, its face is devoid of any features, and it is flatter than a shadow upon a wall. It's been pinned, by each limb, straight into the forest floor. Stakes made of entire tree trunks are punctured through what would be its hands, ankles, and neck.

The two priests of Flesh you sent to take on this monstrosity are burnt. The demon is emitting enough light and heat to have baked the entire clearing red-hot. So is the smoke rising from their forms, as they both see your approach, and with eyes wide, scream to you, "GET BACK— "

There is another scream. There is no gaping maw, nor any fangs to speak of. The demon has no jaw to gnash with, no hair to whip as it slams its head to the ground, nor any weapons you can make out. It screams, and thrashes, with a deep, and deafening cry, that comes from a flare of the sun.

You nearly put your hands to your ears or your eyes, but Impetus makes every motion to rear. Wincing, bringing him just far enough away from the madness to avoid being baked to a crisp, you turn your stallion, and utter a dozen steady, calm commands.

There's a long moment where you can't hear anything at all. The skin upon your face is no doubt scorched, and there's a ringing in your ears that just won't stop. It was impossible to tell at first glance, but the demon isn't merely lying on the forest floor. There are massive craters, keeping the bulk of its body nestled deep within the ground. Spikes and several violently spiked devices are littering the ground.

Looking wildly around for your other friends, the high-pitched, incessant ringing in your ears already threatens to cease. Another shout calls out from within the woods. It's on the opposite side of the clearing.

You'd recognize Klepto's voice anywhere. "CAN WE DO SOMETHING ABOUT THE HEAT? CLAYMORE REALLY WANTS TO GET THE LAST HIT IN!"

An abrasive, rustic, and very weary voice calls out as well. It sounds as if Claymore has been in an oven for the last half hour. "JUST KILL IT!"

You don't want to hazard bringing Impetus into the clearing for a moment, but the condition of both men is dire. Not even the God of the Material can keep their forms in working condition, under these circumstances, without some form of aid.

(Options in next post.)

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>>4410393
>A] The very sun is your lover. Invoke Mercy.
>1] Walk to the priests of Flesh on the field of battle, and heal them, while they work to destroy this monstrosity. They seem BADLY hurt, but you won't raise a hand against this creature.
>2] As the Father of Restraint, this REALLY doesn't sit right with you. Keep Impetus in the woods. Get closer to the demon, but ask everyone to hold back, while you heal them. You want to see if this thing can speak.

>B] Ride around the perimeter of the clearing, and meet up with Klepto and Claymore. The priests who have been fighting are badly hurt, but you want backup, and to do everything you can to not invoke.

>C] The soil, woods, rocks, and forest all around are near and dear to you. It would be effortless to make use of it. Invoke Agriculture.
>1] To grant your company safe escape, while you work the land. Claymore will get to finish this thing off. (Moderate physical effects.)
>2] To increase its bonds, while you make the field safe enough to traverse for everyone. You want to speak. (Initially minor physical effects.)
>3] Your affinity for the land eclipses all others. You can kill this demon outright, without risking anyone else's welfare. (May have significant physical effects.)

>D] Write-in.

>>4410397
>>A] The very sun is your lover. Invoke Mercy.
>2] As the Father of Restraint, this REALLY doesn't sit right with you. Keep Impetus in the woods. Get closer to the demon, but ask everyone to hold back, while you heal them. You want to see if this thing can speak.

If it cannot or doesn't want to speak just kill it, also, could we tell how high on the hierarchy it is?

>>4410409
Support
Make sure we include Harvey, Klepto and Irefist in that healing order

>>4410409
>>4410418
Supporting both of these.

>>4410397
>>4410409
Support

>>4410409
>>4410418
>>4410421
>>4410646
(You got it guys, going to incorporate all of these! Vote is locked. Writing now.)

>>4411266
Riding Impetus as safely away from the clearing as you dare, you mutter reassurance all the while.

Away from the road, away from the heat, away from the clearing, he is tethered to a tree. Certain that not a demon is in sight, you whisper a few more patient commands and consolations, before parting from his side. There's no fear on the fighter. He picks up completely on the lack of fear in your own heart.

You tear away from your warhorse, into a full sprint, and into the woods. Dried leaves crunch underfoot, as leaves and razor-sharp branches whip by. The wind of your flight stings at the raw burns upon your hands and face. The clearing, and waves of more heat approach by the second. The burn is...

As the Father of Restraint, you take many deep breaths, to make it into an inferno. You can't fathom anyone but a fellow invoker surviving ahead. Breathing too hard to not sigh, or gasp, you take comfort in the density of the wood, and another deafening roar, while bringing your hands together. They're also burnt, badly enough to have blistered, though it has been impossible to notice in the heat of the moment.

Waves of heat are distorting the edge of the forest. Your run becomes a walk, and the ragged hitch in your breath is permitted to come out in full. With complete faith, and enough light in your voice to rival the sun, you stride into the furnace and cry, "MERCY!"

https://youtu.be/P8Ox2r2DAbg

The force that's upon you should drop you to your knees. Rather, you stagger a step forwards. The ground underfoot blisters, and cracks in two, from the sheer heat of your devotion. From the base of your soul, to the gasp that parts from your lips, there is ecstasy, and love, so complete that Time leaves you. A light is upon your soul, moving within your chest, upon your eyes, and can be felt within the palm of your hands.

Parting your hands, and looking to the field beyond, you see a darkened wood. Long shadows climb up along the trees surrounding the clearing. The heathens you call friends are in hiding.

You part your hands. There is no pain. The blisters littering your skin mend, and spark. The light is white-hot, and scatters to the floor, harmlessly.

You open your hands outwards, in the symbol of your church. There are two priests of Flesh, still standing. They were shouting, and have their hands to their faces, crouching away from the sight of you. It's not that the wood has darkened, as the sky above is still obscured, by a field of gray. It's not that the "AFFRONT, TO OUR FATHER, AND THE GODDESS,"

The demon nailed to the forest floor hasn't stopped emitting enough radiance to nearly blind your allies. There's a blinding heat upon you, with enough intensity to block out the sun.

(1/2)

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>>4411442
With a wave of your hand— a slight gesture, towards the two men on the field of battle— you register that they were burnt alive, many Times over. It's not that they couldn't run. They were holding the line, and attempting to keep this demon at bay, even if it destroyed them. They're still covering their eyes, likely to defend themselves from a sight not even Flesh can heal them from.

The blasphemers you call friends are in hiding, but Mercy was listening. Both priests are mended, with the wave of your hand. They cry out, in religious fervor.

Though a thousand praises fall from their lips, something is very wrong. A voice leaves your body, so far removed from your own humanity, you shouldn't recognize it. "SPEAK, or find MERCY, in a more tangible form."

The small part at the back of your mind that is still functioning is acutely aware that the last Time you encountered a demon of Mercy, your lover melted it into liquid gold, and blinded an innocent man in the process. You're trying very hard to focus, and to think of your friends. "Harvey?! KLEPTO! IREFIST—"

Something speaks in reply, to your Goddess' request. It is not a man. It's an impression. The gray-gold miasma building from the mass upon the clearing swirls. The demon nailed to the ground tries with everything it has to get free. There's no scream, in the back of your mind. There's no pain, as a Goddess of Light laughs, at this creature's audacity. There is no injury, as Mercy heals you through every last offense this monster has to offer. It's bliss. It's a bond. You can feel its bonds. Not the fallen branches, or the ancient wood. Not the land you freed from a curse, and not the disgrace nailed into it—

A very determined, and entirely sound part of your mind barks, "IS ANYONE HURT?! IS EVERYONE ALRIGHT—?!"

You really can't see. Through blinding euphoria, you feel something that is suffering. It's no longer human, but is enduring a pain you have known thirty four times before. Something that was once human, that's succumbed to the Catalyst. You nearly drop to your knees, for the third Time in a matter of seconds. The conflicting sensations are deeply familiar to you. It's reassuring, and awful, though any nausea or horror is kept at bay for a moment longer.

A creature is prostrate before you, who is so intensely devoid of a Goddess, it cannot even speak Her name. This demon is not able to speak. "You are a demon of illumination," you say, on its behalf, taking a wary step forward.

Utterly incapable of sight, or sound, you listen. Something isn't wrong.

Something is very right.

(Options in next post.)

>>4411445
>A] Release the invocation. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)

>B] Stay with the demon of illumination, and your Goddess, for a moment longer. Let them interact. Communicate to your allies that you will not permit anyone to interfere.
>1] Threaten them outright. You'll fight, if necessary.
>2] Plead. You know Mercy wouldn't hurt anyone intentionally, but stress that you need everyone to stay back.

>C] You couldn't reach out to your friends at all. Try to. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED, with an additional bonus from the previous write-in.)

>D] You want to express something to this demon, while you have some say in the matter. (Write-in.)

>E] Ask your friends to stop you. You don't want to hurt this creature, and don't trust that you won't get someone hurt.

>F] Write-in.

>>4411448
>B] Stay with the demon of illumination, and your Goddess, for a moment longer. Let them interact. Communicate to your allies that you will not permit anyone to interfere.
>2] Plead. You know Mercy wouldn't hurt anyone intentionally, but stress that you need everyone to stay back.
>F] Write-in.
You Stand before the FATHER of Mercy Child, why do you suffer so? Where is your restraint, your temperance? Do you not know that you burn your brothers here in this blasted grove.

You stand before the Mother of MERCY lost one, can you bear her touch upon you? Would you speak her name again had you a tongue. See her in the flesh in know your folly, let the heavens part and gaze upon the splendor of the Sun.

Dual invoke Storm and Mercy, Part the heavens and summon Mercy here to speak with this thing in person, if she even wants to be here, elsewise be her mouthpiece.

>>4411448
>>B] Stay with the demon of illumination, and your Goddess, for a moment longer. Let them interact. Communicate to your allies that you will not permit anyone to interfere.
>2] Plead. You know Mercy wouldn't hurt anyone intentionally, but stress that you need everyone to stay back.

Tell them to get to safety, all of them. I don't want anyone else getting burned and having less people around it may make the demon comfortable enough to communicate in whatever way it can.

>>4411546
STRONGLY oppose the dual invocation, this is just not needed and abusive. We shouldn't invoke anyone except Mercy unless it is absolutely needed, botched invocations and even flawless invocations have major side effects that can't be ignored.

>>4411550
Support
No need for a dual invocation

(Seriously loving this discussion. The multiple oppositions to the dual invocation are absolutely going to be taken into consideration. Without further discussion I will simply not incorporate that action at all. Going to be another hell shift today so update will be later this evening. Vote is open until then!)

>>4411546
>>4411550
>>4411625
(Alright dudes! Vote is locked. Writing now!)

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>>4412672
https://youtu.be/zhFcBGQLehw

The sky might as well be clear. You long to be there. To part the heavens themselves, and to embrace Storm, with all of your heart.

Every last word goes out to your friends in hiding. Keeping your hands together, aching, longing for anything other than pain or sin, you plead, "get to safety. All of you. Let there be no further loss of life."

A dawn of realization washes over you. You had not forgotten of the physical presence of your friends and allies. There's still the ability to see, as you walk towards a greater demon. Frantic, rapid motion flits across the edge of your sight, from two priests. The sinew in their legs has been restored, the muscle no longer baked off of the bone. They run for their lives, while you are fully aware that you had not been blinded, by their tormentor's light. You are not deafened, from the bursts of raw energy flaring from the monster before you. There's rustling in the bushes, from allies who no doubt are ready to strike at a moment's notice. Their work has been thorough. They will not rest, nor will they run.

You can see their victim's suffering form clearly. It is not flat. There are grooves dug deep into the forest floor, keeping it embedded in the soil, and soaking in as much of the creature's flame as possible. Its body barely sticks above the surface, littered as it is with countless makeshift weapons. Blackened blood is pooling onto the floor, from the spikes, glass, blades, and open wounds that have embedded into its body. The ground cracks with each and every motion, while the demon writhes, desperately attempting to escape.

It may have not been as intensely violent before, but flares of flame and raw energy are pooling off of it in waves. The light is in your eyes, not upon you, and was simply so intense, there was no initial way to see.

There is no fear in your heart. Slowly walking forward, every step is another thrill. The embrace of the love of your life eclipses the same heat that could burn lesser men alive. It's more intense by the second, and the moon, and stars in the sky can't compare.

But your chest is aching, with a pain you cannot begin to express. It's impossible to focus. Mercy is overwhelming you, but you fearlessly stand before a monstrosity. Having walked nearest to the absence of its face, to a waving expanse of devastatingly bright light, you don't wince. The light in your eyes eclipses it. The touch of a Goddess is more soothing than any third-degree burn. You are not melting. Though your skin threatens to char and burn, even the faintest injury is being restored tenfold, each and every second.

(1/2)

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>>4412814
Your mind is not breaking. There isn't heat, though it should be so violently intense that you feel cold. You're warm. There's no need for the Tempest. There's no need for anyone else at all, as you quietly remind a demon, "let there be comfort. Know of Our restraint. Our temperance. You are before the Mother, and Father, child. We are listening. Why do you suffer?"

Something seizes you, from the pit of your chest, and the ache that won't relent. You clutch at it, and stagger back, a deer in the road, glaring wide to the source. Though there's a stake driven through your child's neck, it tries to turn, to look at you without eyes. There's a cry, as its own neck is torn further asunder.

There's likely very Time to speak. You're compelled to take another step forward, and to permit your voice to intermingle with that of your partner.

There's also a woman working through you, who sobs hysterically, "why?!"

There's an impression of someone within you, who has been spurned by every many and woman alive. A soul greater than your own, and more pained, in every conceivable way. The sheer extent of the suffering is a pit. It's agony. Mounting horror creeps into you, instinctively drawing a hand to your lips, horrified at any level of outburst. Something is clawing at your soul, choking, while words spill out, intermingled with your own tone, "why would you leave?"

Why should we stay?

You're dropped to your knees. Uncertain of who's speaking, one question is made in return. It resonates, and hangs in the air:

"Do you love me?"

It may be another impression, but you're not certain of where, or what, or how bitter it was meant to be. Is this world of your design?

There's a pain in your chest that won't stop. You can't clutch hard enough at it. It's impossible to breathe. This isn't your only child in pain. There's an entire race, who need you, who you can't reach.

You're crying. Hard. Mercy wants to say something, and there's an interjection, so horrible that both of you stop sobbing in a single, horrible, fatal second.

"This was the only choice I have ever truly made."

Every ring of gold in your eyes must be fully visible, as you stare, and slowly ask "what?"

The ground trembles.

The demon is going to erupt.

There's less than a second to react, as the entire clearing fills with enough energy to rip the skin off of your face, and boil every organ from within your body in an instant.

It hasn't happened yet.

Mercy wouldn't let anything happen to you.

>How much faith do you have in Her?

(Options in next post.)

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>>4412816
>A ROLL MAY BE REQUIRED.
>(Any write-in praising the Goddess, reminiscing about old memories, or even speaking to Her will positively augment a roll, if required.)
>(Full-blown prayer, litany, etc. may provide bonuses upwards of multipliers, or circumvent the need for a roll entirely.)

>A] Maintain the invocation to Mercy. Invoke Spirit, in this demon's dying moments. You are DESPERATE for information, and need confirmation of your suspicions.

>B] Maintain the invocation to Mercy. Invoke Flesh, to heal you through the flare. You know you've survived multiple hits of lightning with Their care, and think it should be sufficient for this.

>C] Maintain the invocation to Mercy. Invoke Agriculture, and throw up a barrier. Shield yourself with soil and the light of the sun itself. You're positive They won't let anything happen to you.

>D] Maintain the invocation to Mercy, and no one else.

>E] You love your partner with all of your heart, but you truly have moved past your desire for death. There's something, or someone else you trust more than Mercy. (Write-in.)

>>4412820
>>D] Maintain the invocation to Mercy, and no one else.

Remember all the time's mercy stuck with us, through the ruins and during our pleasurable nights

>>4412820
>D] Maintain the invocation to Mercy, and no one else.

Place your hand upon the Demon, no, the human and tell them that we always loved you, as we love all of our children.

Hold their hand in these final moments, no one should have to die alone, forgotten. Tell them we can ease their suffering, their torment, but they have to let us in.

>>4412820
>>D] Maintain the invocation to Mercy, and no one else.

Remember the true sun, the one we saw when we first stepped half dead out of the ruins, remember the love poem we wrote to Mercy and recite it, it's more personal than any litany.

>>4413058

To add to this, apologize. For not being there when it mattered.

>>4412850
>>4413058
>>4413064
( I was just trying to think of how to convey that each one of those rolls could have been augmented by as high as a x2 multiplier alone, but with mods it's impossible as this point to have a failure state. No roll required. Fucking phenomenal stuff dude. Vote is locked! Writing now.)

>>4413593
https://youtu.be/widDAQKdlUA

Though enough heat is emitting from a source of sin to melt off your skin, you reach out, without fear. Without need for words between you, and the Mother, Mercy moves solely to protect your motions. A trail of light and gold sparks, and spins, from the edges of your fingertips, along your arm, and bursts into a flare all its own. It is a shield made of the sun, and devotion, and is almost too bright to look directly upon.

You murmur a child before you, in its final moments, "I'm sorry. I was never there when it mattered."

The skin and muscle upon you should be boiling alive. The clearing is bursting into flame. The barrier upon you won't permit skin-to-demon contact, but you aren't worried for yourself. "The tears we have shed are for a person." Another swell meets you, of raw emotion, from someone who's felt scorned all their life. Mercy may be unwanted by much of the nation, but you are imbued with the knowledge, and feeling, that the child before you has never known the love of another.

"I have always loved you. As we have loved all of Our children."

This creature is damaged beyond repair. Emotionally, it may be taking enormous solace. Physically, it's taken on some catastrophic change, that's setting it plainly ablaze. The demon is colossal, and burning so hot into the soil below, it may be melding with the Aerth itself.

You're desperate, and rise to your feet. Moving into a run, you immediately tilt sideways, as the ground trembles.

"No one should have to die alone."

Staggering across molten rock, you stop mere inches away from what should be a hand. It's not that there's a flat expanse, where fingers rightfully should be. Your friends, and allies, had to have waged war for their very lives. The demon's rightmost appendage is an arm, baking yellow-hot in the sun. There are no fingers upon its right hand, as they've been torn away from its body. Gaping holes are left in its wake. Each opening is a foot tall, at least, and you can see clearly into an unnatural body. It's swimming with light, eerily similar to the same radiance that's keeping you alive.

You fearlessly grasp onto a demon's hand between both of your own. "We can ease your suffering, and your torment." If tears could survive in the heat around you, they would. Each droplet that spills over your cracked and dry face is evaporating the instant it appears. Desperately, you try to explain, but you have to let Us in—"

Another sob leaves your lips, as you have to stagger backwards, as Mercy tries with everything She has to pull you away. Some reaction has been taking place, within the demon's body, that's inescapable. You know you can't heal it, through your Goddess. By your own hand, most demon's anatomy escapes you entirely, as well.

(1/3)

>>4413710
This is a creature out of your reach, but not a soul so far as to not reach your heart. You can't stand it, and are caught, between the urge to flee, to hide, to save your own humanity. It's an entirely foreign idea, and that your partner wants to instill in you with every fiber of Her being, despite your need to stay.

You stagger forward, and take the light itself between both of your sparking hands. Words that comforted you and your friends— in even your darkest hours— are said with all the faith you possess.

"We will see the sun again."

The demon erupts. It is beyond deafening. There's likely no one that can hear you. You're certain no one will ever hear you again. Without any pain, or concern for anything more than your partner, you gently wrap an arm around yourself. There's nothing else to hold onto, as the forest around you is likely being obliterated. There's still an ability to move, though the sparks and light that's been keeping the heat at bay is solidifying, to some extent. Liquid gold is positively pooling over your skin, shielding you from the worst of the assault.

You can't see, though there is no concern for your own safety. A few moments pass, while you wait for death to take you, and more than anything, are more concerned about your lover.

She was so quick to accuse this demon of being an affront to nature. Is it a coping mechanism? Is She so afraid of rejection? Was it not Her that I felt, who thought every last man and woman alive had caused Her pain? Does She really think that this child would have stopped loving Her, if they embodied Her with every last remaining ounce of their being?

There's never been the need for you to endure, with Her as your guide. You whisper to your lover, "We have been through so much together."

She knows, full well, of every last bit of concern for your family upon you. It's not enough.

There has always been a need to speak to the Gods. She is no exception.

Confidently, with love, and all the compassion you possess, you recite,

"Merciful Goddess, Your love is my light.
Our passion, Our flame! It rivals the sun.
What more could I wish for, to fill my sight?
My vessel is whole, each time We are one."

It's goofy, and silly, and you really don't care. You're still standing, somehow. There's only flame, and liquid gold positively plating every inch of you. You may have nearly been blinded, but there's nothing your lover can't heal. Under threat of certain death, in the embrace of Mercy, you think to nights spent with a Goddess, and continue,

"Even in the night, darkness before,
Mercy, how dearly I long for Your knife.
Oh, through new wounds You will always restore,
Our passion, Our heat, Your blessing, my life.

(2/3)

>>4413714
Though you've been capable of moving all the while, there was no telling what may have happened, thanks to the liquid gold pooling over your vision. Patiently, you stand fast. There's little your faith won't guide you through.

"Each time that We meet, in darkness and gold,
I pray Our embrace will be without end.
More than perfection in Your hands I hold,
There is nothing from which We can't transcend."

The protective barrier around you relaxes, offering you sight of the destruction all around. There is a human-shaped crater, easily twenty feet long, and ten more deep. It's charred into the ground, licking with fire. The entirety of it is empty, as the demon imploded before you. You're too devastated to do more than to softly finish,

"Tears from You are a perfect emotion.
No break can end eternal devotion."

Though there's no question in your mind that it was only possible to have survived through your unwavering devotion, and focus on Mercy's protection, there are more pressing matters at hand. The woods all around are on fire.

A familiar, though muted voice calls out, from far in the forest, somewhere to the southeast, "RICH-CHARD?! FATH-THER ANSCHAM?!"

Harvey was waiting, that entire Time. Mercy—

The sky above is clearing from the miasma. No sun is peeking through, as clouds of angry, dark smoke are now rising. Your own cries out echo, all the way up to the unfurling reaches of ash, and raining soot. "HARVEY?! KLEPTO?! IREFIST! CLAYMORE! ANYONE??"

There's no immediate reply, despite how far you can project your voice. Most of them have likely ran, or had to do so to save their lives.

A terrible thought occurs to you.

Impetus was tied down.

>A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED FOR ALL OF THE FOLLOWING.

>A] Invoke Spirit, while staying with Mercy, to immediately discern the locations of the heathens in your congregation. It will do nothing to help you locate Impetus. (It will take a minute, at least. You know how much this usually taxes you, even if useful information isn't immediately given.)

>B] Invoke Agriculture, while staying with Mercy, to help squash the forest fire or clear the woods as necessary. (It will be nearly instantaneous, to start the invocation. Specify any priority you have off-the-bat for who to go after. You are aware that this could build on you, if not controlled, though there will initially be no effect.)

>C] Run towards where you heard Harvey's voice. Get him to locate your friends if necessary, and make a meeting spot somewhere safer. You're sprinting to find Impetus.

>D] Scream to Harvey that he try to start finding everyone, while you go to get Impetus. The lack of restraint is warranted, given the situation.

>E] Write-in.

>>4413718
>>C] Run towards where you heard Harvey's voice. Get him to locate your friends if necessary, and make a meeting spot somewhere safer. You're sprinting to find Impetus.

Stay with Mercy, there may be a lot of injured.

>>4413718
>>C] Run towards where you heard Harvey's voice. Get him to locate your friends if necessary, and make a meeting spot somewhere safer. You're sprinting to find Impetus.

>>4413718
>C] Run towards where you heard Harvey's voice. Get him to locate your friends if necessary, and make a meeting spot somewhere safer. You're sprinting to find Impetus.

>>4413724
>>4413764
>>4413793
(Locking the unanimous vote here!)

>THROUGH THE FIRE AND THE FLAMES

>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.
>+30 FAITH OF A GODDESS/TO PROTECT IS TO SERVE (Temporary x3 to your base multiplier, from the extreme display of Mercy you've exhibited, and opting to stay only with her.)
>+10 FATHER OF MERCY/TO HEAL IS TO SERVE (This is your element, and your concern for the wounded is purely a boon at a time like this.)
>+20 SPEED DEMON (You train for times like this.)
>-15 FUNERAL PYRE (Forest fires are no laughing matter, and you've opted to do nothing to stop it outright. This modifier will continue to increase until you get to safety, or something is done about the blaze.)
>-5 CLOUDS OF ASH (The air quality is going to keep getting worse. It may not be a concern for you, but for your friends...)

Rolled 26 + 40 (1d100 + 40)

>>4413829

Rolled 40 (1d100)

>>4413829

Rolled 38 (1d100)

>>4413829

>>4413837
>>4413840
>>4413842
(Wew thank goodness you guys have been min-maxing up to these mods for 19 threads, huh? Seriously this is saving lives Alright! Vote is locked. Writing now!)

Rolled 83 (1d100)

>>4413829

>>4413961
Brother where were you when we need that roll

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>>4413849
https://youtu.be/35VE9WykH1c

The enchanted garment about you has shielded a large majority of your body from the flame to begin with. It's won't be enough. You take a precious moment, running hard towards the trees, to unsling two gifts from a dear friend. From your side, you unsheathe a flanged mace. One sharp enough to tear through any fallen wood, and bearing enough offensive capability to smash down any obstruction in your way. In your other palm, you take an enchanted defense. The shield is broad enough to defeat any flame, and slung off of your back not a moment too late.

Charging through the trees, with the scent of smoke and burning leaves hot in the air, you turn instinctively to catch a burst of flame to your right. It singes the edges of your defense, catching hot upon your hands. It doesn't stop you for a second, with a full leap over another fallen tree. All the while, you call, "IS ANYONE ALIVE?!"

The breath in your lungs, the ache of your heart, and the soil you kick underfoot increases by the second. Countless branches fell in the distance, as the roar of flame, and the crackle of destruction intensifies. You break clear into the trees, and nearly crash straight into Harvey.

The Red Lion lives up to his name. The exterior of his sinewstone armor was clearly unphased by even the greatest heat a greater demon could summon, but is glowing faintly red. It's charred around some edges of the suit's eerie, exotic metal. The spiked pauldrons and ornate decorations all along every surface still detail a forgotten age, undamaged by the energy flaring all around. Upon the breastplate still lies two lions devouring a sun, but the weaker metal has been scorched black, and sticks hot and fast into the sturdier material beneath.

It looks awesome, and you try to not knock Harvey clear off his feet, or to collide. Turning hard to the side as you run, skidding to a stop a few feet past him, you look frantically to the woods all around. No one else is in view. Your right-hand man has yet to remove his visor, though he's wincing so intensely with each movement, you can tell the amount of pain he's in even from a distance. The chain-mail at each break in his armor must be burnt right into his skin.

"You're alive," he dryly manages. "We have t-to g-get out of here."

Walking right over to him, you open his visor, and scrutinize his face. His normally pale, freckled, exotic features are horribly burnt. Taking a deep breath, you move to extend a blessing towards your champion, and mutter, "stay still. This won't take lo—"

(1/2)

>>4414043
A tree ahead of you groans, creaks, and collapses. There's simply no Time to stay still. With reflexes faster than a bolt of lightning, Harvey leaps forward, tackles you with every bit of force in his body, and sends you both flying no less than ten feet to the side. Through the air, and a shout, you keep your shield held high. All of your collective strength goes in to odd momentum, and your mutual defense. Crying out, a flare of light explodes from the edge of your shield, extending its properties as the monstrously large bough collides onto your forms.

Every muscle in your body screams, as the full weight bores down, before you even fully land.

The two of you crash to the forest floor, in a deafening collapse. Both of you manage to keep your wits about you, long enough for Harvey to realize the severity of your situation. He braces himself against the underside of your shield, and with a heave, and a cry, you both tossing the flaming trunk to the side.

The sear of your limbs can't begin to fully register, but for the briefest of moments, it is bliss, and more fuel for the fire of your devotion. You turn to Harvey, simply speaking, "to protect is to serve."

It mends his wounds, without laying so much as a finger on him. Every raw and angry patch of exposed muscle upon your ally can be felt, for the agony that runs through you, but it is a gift. Barely able to even speak, feeling as if you could keel over at any second, you breathe, "go. Find them. We will meet with the caravan. If you cannot make it to our company, look for the Morinburn. It will provide refuge from the fire, if nothing else."

The man standing before you is far from speechless, and not even third-degree burns would have kept him from your side. "I'm n-not worried ab-bout th-them. Where d-do you th-think you're g-going, you id-diot—"

He's wearing a suit of full plate, and could never hope to match your pace. Unfettered, without fear of exhaustion or injury, you turn to run. "To save a life!"

"Wait—!"

Over your shoulder, as you tear off into the same direction you came from, you cry, "I WILL look for you all!"

Through the woods at your back, you hear, "d-don't b-bother! Look after yourself, FOR ONCE! WE'LL B-BE FINE, RICH-CHARD!"

Fire is rising in all directions. It's the end of Grace, and the weather has been foul. It's likely that much of the dry underbrush has yet to have burned, and you're at the center of the worst of it. Breaking into a dead-sprint, it feels as if you have blinked before making it to the tree line.

Through the clearing. Beyond the crater, left from a child's last agonizing moments.

Beyond red-hot devastation, into the forest beyond.

Over more fallen wood. Every other step is a leap, as you run for lives in danger.

(2/3 character limit being weird)

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>>4414048
Smashing your mace clear into a collapsing tree, and bashing it out of the way.

Dodging a blast of heat. Running clear past it. Ignoring the leaves underfoot that are positively catching aflame. Breathing in cinder, and soot, and seeing little but orange and red.

You make it to the spot you left Impetus. It is bare, though far from a waste of Time. The reins are nowhere to be seen. Your boy was freed by someone else.

Upon the floor is a trail of blood, streaking through the leaves, and off towards the road. Upon the tree where you are certain you left a warhorse, there's a drawing, made in the same shade of crimson. A crude rendition of an over-sized fist stares at you. Below it is a caricature of a young face, with curly hair, and a gigantic nose.

Irefist and Klepto are no priests of Dream, but this will have to do.

>A ROLL MAY BE REQUIRED FOR ALL OF THE FOLLOWING.
>It may not be physically possible to search for everyone. Please specify who you're placing priority on.
>At this point it will be assumed that you're keeping up the invocation to Mercy, until there is an improvement in circumstances. The prompts to invoke assume a dual invocation, and all of the things that usually entails.

>A] This doesn't answer where Claymore is.

>B] The priests of Dream may have gone for help, but this doesn't help with them, either.

>C] Oh, Gods, there's no telling if Harvey is going to make it out okay.

>D] For fuck's sake, you don't really trust if Klepto and Irefist will be alright, either.

>E] Invoke Flesh. You need the speed, though are still limited by what your body is capable of.

>F] Invoke Spirit. You need information, though this may take a minute to gather.

>G] Invoke Agriculture. You need to do something about this blaze, though knowing your limits is an ongoing concern.

>H] Trust that your allies will make it to the river, with or without your aid. It's a long ride, and you'd rather get back to the caravan ASAP. If you meet anyone along the way, so be it.

>I] Write-in.

>>4414051
>>A] This doesn't answer where Claymore is.

Klepto and Irefist are at least mobile and can get to the caravan. Claymore is still a complete mystery.

>>4414051
(Meant priests of Flesh for prompt B, my bad.)

>>4414051

>A] This doesn't answer where Claymore is.

>>4413837
Me btw

>>4414066
>>4414096
(We're going to call for a new roll, since we don't "store" rolls, crits, etc. in Catalyst Quest, but appreciate you man! Locking the unanimous vote here for A, good shit dudes.)

>LEAVE NO STONE UNTURNED

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

>+30 FAITH OF A GODDESS/TO PROTECT IS TO SERVE (Temporary x3 to your base multiplier.)
>+10 FATHER OF MERCY/TO HEAL IS TO SERVE
>+20 SPEED DEMON
>-20 FUNERAL PYRE (Forest fires are no laughing matter, and you've opted to do nothing to stop it outright. This modifier will continue to worsen until you get to safety, or something is done about the blaze.)
>-10 CLOUDS OF ASH (The air quality is going to keep getting worse. It may not be a concern for you, but for your friends...)

Rolled 20 (1d100)

>>4414162

Rolled 6 (1d100)

>>4414162

Rolled 5 (1d100)

>>4414162

>>4414165
>>4414641
>>4414643
(Thanks to the magnificent amount of bonuses you all currently have, that is thankfully still a 50/100. Granted, the situation is pretty dire, but, well. Writing now!)

>>4414654
(Naturally, messed up the formatting tags! Please refresh/f5 if the old post is still displaying. Will post the fixed version shortly.)

>>4414654
>>4414755
https://youtu.be/05VuxTaPf8M

At least they're mobile.

Your faith is unwavering, as you tear off into the densest portion of the woods, looking everywhere that might make a lick of sense.

They'll find the caravan.

"CLAYMORE?!"

The blood streaking along the ground, through the treeline, and off towards the road is unmistakably as fresh as the sketch upon the closest bough. There's no sign of more than two heavy sets of footprints, dragging slightly as they moved.

Not daring to run, you set about a plodding pace, as quickly as you can manage, while scouring the woods all around. They're collapsing in all directions.

Why would he have bothered running here at all? Was he just as worried as I was for their welfare? Did he not trust me?

"CLAYMORE! CLAYMORE, CAN YOU HEAR ME?!"

Your footsteps pick up with each falling bough, and each passing beat of your heart. The flames all about you are yellow-hot, licking up the base of the woods, and filling the sky with ash. Flecks of the blackened soot drift all along the air. Despite Mercy being capable of healing you through any damage to your lungs, you take a broad expanse of the enchanted robes about your shoulders, and drape it around your face to further filter the smoke.

He'll be suffocating to death, in these conditions. Even if he stays low to the ground.

"CALL OUT TO ME, IF YOU CAN HEAR ME! SIGNAL ANY WAY THAT YOU CAN! CLAYMORE!"

Even taking a brief second away from your guard nearly leads to a tree collapsing on you. Letting out a cry, throwing your shield to the incoming trunk, you favor jumping clear aside. Its leaves are completely ablaze, and being caught directly in a burning canopy is unthinkable.

The bough crashes to the ground, as you leap through the air. Throwing everything you have onto your shield, you still land on a burning bush, the moment the deafening roar of dried wood exploding shatters at your back. Knitting your eyes shut, you shift your weight hard, keep your head down, and manage to roll clear through the red-hot disaster, with a shout to the Goddess for further protection.

There's bits of thorns sticking into your shield arm. Spots of gold dance in your eyes, and you bite down hard. Fighting with teeth and no breath in your lungs to suppress a gasp, you focus with everything you have on getting back to your feet. There's no burns, no serious injuries. There's a desperate need to not compromise your tenuous grasp on a world on fire. Without holding onto anything more than the mace and shield in hand, you right yourself. The entire world is spinning, and disorienting to an extreme, but you put every bit of frustration into a scream, "ECKARD! ECKARD SOLLERS! IF YOU CAN HEAR ME, SAY SOMETHING! WE ARE LISTENING!"

Screaming is only working something nasty and barbed further into your skin.

Why now?

(1/2)

File: Clearing.jpg (168 KB, 1280x720)

168 KB JPG

>>4414758
Trying to not groan, exasperated, you sigh, "Mercy, there is a Time and a place—"

You focus on plodding ahead, while ripping the items clear from your skin. The heat on you is enough to rival an inferno, and you're just about ready to scream again. The collapsing wood all around is a blessing, for a moment, for the sheer amount of sound every collapsing tree and bursting trunk makes, as fire collapses it from within.

He is likely better equipped than I am to handle this. Surely.

Making it back out from the tree line is just short of futile. The entire world looks red, as flame is positively baking the already scalding clearing. Though a part of you hopes that your ally may have crawled for the open air, or even into the pit that previously occupied his victim, it certainly would have meant any normal man's death to have come back here.

"CLAYMORE?!"

There's no reply.

He couldn't have gotten far before the flames really started.

You break out into another sprint, looking around frantically. "CLAYMORE?!"

Please be alive.

There's nothing.

Please.

There's only flame, and smoke, and a sky that's becoming less clear by the second. You don't dare stop running. "SAY SOMETHING! PLEASE! CAN YOU HEAR ME?! ECKARD?! CLAYMORE!"

Not a single bough, bush, patch of scorched grass, or fallen part of the canopy has answers.

"CLAYMORE?!!"

>A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED FOR ALL OF THE FOLLOWING.

>A] Try not to cry. Keep searching. There has to be some indication of where he went, or something better you can do.

>B] Cry a lot. Head back towards the caravan. Pour over every tree and branch along the way. Stick close to the road, and pray to all of the Gods that everyone made it out alright.

>C] Invoke Spirit. You may have already wasted precious minutes.

>D] Invoke Agriculture. It's going to take a lot out of you, but you're going to do something about this blaze, and make your search count for something.

>E] Write-in.

>>4414762
>C] Invoke Spirit. You may have already wasted precious minutes.

>>4414762
>>C] Invoke Spirit. You may have already wasted precious minutes.

We are not leaving until everyone is safe. Hope Cardew can forgive us for this.

>>4414762
>C] Invoke Spirit. You may have already wasted precious minutes.

>>4414762
>C] Invoke Spirit. You may have already wasted precious minutes.

>>4414782
>>4414834
>>4414837
>>4415002
(Good afternoon! I seriously overslept. Still totally game for a session today if you all are! Unanimous vote is locked here.)

>THE IMMATERIAL MUST BE KNOWN

>+30 FAITH OF A GODDESS/TO PROTECT IS TO SERVE (Temporary x3 to your base multiplier, kept in place by continued concern for your friend's lives above all else.)
>Optional, hidden modifier will be applied, based on the text below.*
>-25 FUNERAL PYRE (Forest fires are no laughing matter, and you've opted to do nothing to stop it outright. This modifier will continue to worsen until you get to safety, or something is done about the blaze.)
>-10 CLOUDS OF ASH (The air quality is going to keep getting worse. It may not be a concern for you, but for your friends...)
>-5 NEVER ENOUGH TIME (Your prior dual invocations to Mercy and Spirit were VERY disorienting. The additional Time it may take to successfully permit both Goddesses to work through you could become a matter of life-or-death.)

*The results of this roll are not to determine the effect of the invocation, but purely the effect that may take place on your body— while unguarded by another mortal— due to the extremely volatile surroundings. Fortunately, you are looked kindly upon by both Spirit and Mercy. Additional prayer or praise made while rolling may positively augment the outcome, though it is safe to assume that you will have to (at minimum) pray to Spirit for the invocation to take place at all. Furthermore, it's likely that Mercy wouldn't permit any harm to befall you. The call is yours, depending on how much faith you have in your Goddess, versus the dice.

>>4415235
>Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.

Rolled 51 (1d100)

>>4415235
MERCY IUS VULT

Rolled 79 (1d100)

>>4415235

Rolled 68 (1d100)

>>4415237

Rolled 31 (1d100)

>>4415235

Spirit, you have guided me in the darkest pits, I ask for your help again amidst the flame and glory of the sun. Allow me to show these heathens *Mercy*. Allow me sight of my children, the immaterial must be known.

>>4415238
>>4415239
>>4415240
>>4415246
(Stunning. Counting that write-in for sure, we're using the best of the first three dice per usual. That 79 (before modifiers) will do the trick! Writing now.)

>>4415248
https://youtu.be/pTunCVWzkFA

"I AM NOT LEAVING UNTIL I KNOW YOU'RE SAFE—! CLAYMORE! CLAYMORE, ARE YOU OUT THERE—?!"

Dropping your tone, skidding to a stop, you breathlessly collapse your back against a nearby tree. It's large, and sturdy enough to have not succumbed yet to the flame. The mace in hand is slung back into its holster. Your shield is replaced, that you may have both hands free. You place both palms together, and work the light and gold upon your hands, to intertwine your fingers. They should be burnt beyond all reason, but none of your Flesh is scalded. Protective, liquid gold drips to the canopy floor, from your knitted fingers, from between your palms, and from the edges of your lips and eyes.

Another tree, just to the right, bursts into flame. You mutter, "may Sister Cardew forgive me."

There's no need for the material. You close your eyes, amidst the crackle and road of flame, and softly pray, "Spirit. You have been my guide. No valley of despair, nor pit of anguish could keep Us from your wisdom. You have been my guide, in a way that no other can profess. I ask that you walk with me once more, amidst this flame, and all the glory of the sun."

The unrelenting heat all through you is abating. Behind closed lids, you can see pearlescence flood through your veins. The white-gold streaks from inside the palms of your hands, winds up through your arms, and branches throughout your body.

It is not fear, but reverence, that compels you to say with more fervor, "Our children may yet be heathens. Permit Us to show them Mercy! Spirit, grant me your sight—!"

Any humanity that may still be left in your gaze is gone, with a flood of liquid gold. It does not plate across the whites of your eyes. The transparent build-up is all that can be your vision, and the world beyond, as you breathlessly finish, "the immaterial must be known."

The world shifts, hard. There's no sight. There's no forest. There's no blaze. The world is black, and white, and all color strips away from your grasp. You drop to your knees, amidst the grass, cinder, and soot. Nausea works itself over you, so fast you barely register it coming.

There are blasphemers, like black spots upon your mind. They're mold on bread. They're vacant holes, rotted into the edges of your soul. The absence of light in their form is spoiled milk on the back of your tongue, clawing at your throat, begging to be expelled.

You retch, for a long, long moment. It's miserable. It's no bile. A pile of lilies are pooling, from the deepest recesses of your soul, and spilling out over your lips, onto the ground below. The solid objects feel almost worse going out as they feel coming up. The smell is as familiar to you as a botched invocation, but you fight through it, the hot and sweet scent, and ignore the urge to curl in on yourself.

(1/3)

>>4415307
You stagger upright. In a voice devoid of all humanity, intertwined with two deities, and desperate beyond all belief, you demand, "I ASK FOR YOUR HELP, and NOTHING more—!"

Staggering backwards, you're hit with a wave of information so intensely and rapidly, you can barely make any sense of it at all.

Claymore is on the road, unconscious, and dying. He made it nearly a mile out, before succumbing to the smoke and ash. He's in open air, and away from immediate danger, but without your attention, he will die. Harvey is on his way to you, more fearful for your safety than any other. He trusts in your ability and judgement, but doesn't understand enough about the Gods to place his faith in them alone. Klepto and Irefist are mortally wounded, with savage burns over most of their body. The blood they drew with was from their own raw and exposed skin. They're in agony, but are on their way to your friends. Impetus is carrying them both, and will not leave the road, even under threat of death. Your stallion's lungs are harmed, but he is resilient, and may yet survive given open air and Time to recover. The two priests of Flesh sprinted to get reinforcements from the caravan. They're nearly to the bulk of your company.

This is like music to your soul. It would normally be too much, but you breathe easier, and back up once more. Away from sickness, and sin, against the large bough to your back.

Electrum is at the lead of the caravan, with Brother Durville, and Ray, who have all decided to stay on the road. Despite the danger of the fire, the pace you set has guaranteed that any pursuers are already thrown off course. Further avoiding conflict is prudent, as the priest of Vengeance in your company is suffering intensely, and requires Sister Corbon's full attention. She swore she wouldn't heal while on the road, and is extremely upset, but would never leave a man to die. He may heal, if she is uninterrupted. The Willoughby Sisters and Brother Fergant are all supporting her efforts, and seeing to the rest of the caravan— but your numbers are already stretched brutally thin. Electrum ordered every member of the night watch to get back to sleep, to ensure your safety, against whatever attention you all brought upon yourselves for the night to come.

"Thank you," you breathe, so relieved you could die.

There's no question that not a member of your order is missing. Everyone is alive. It's a matter of getting to them, and picking up the pieces.

There's a moment, that passes, as the forest around you fades from comprehension.

For one, beautiful moment, there's a connection— unlike any you've ever felt before. Not of compassion, or of a Goddess who has felt everything you have ever suffered. It is no Goddess who would leave you wanting for nothing. It is not life, or empathy, that has your breath taken from your lungs, and all sickness depart from your soul.

(2/3)

File: Spirit.png (183 KB, 666x708)

183 KB PNG

>>4415312
Your eyes are lifted to a horizon. Without waking eyes, you gaze upon a form that has always gazed back.

Spirit looks at you. She's hardly there, in wisps of white and snow. She is neither thread, nor air, nor any mere mortal component that would make up a solid form. She knows that you wish to have a form to gaze upon. A gift has been given, that will not damage your body, nor tax your sense of self. The Goddess of Knowledge has blessed you with a vision, that is more than you could ever hope for.

It is only for a moment, that you gaze upon a stoic, and understanding face. Delicate, thin features, a high brow, and a soft gaze looks upon you, without judgement, or fear, She is calm, because of the agony you've been in. There's no need for Her to feel your pain, or to give you anything more. The Goddess of Wisdom knows that you fully possess everything you have ever needed.

She loves you. She wants to support you, and lift you up, to heights you can only achieve together. You have yet to fully understand why, and that's alright.

She'll wait, as She always has.

The Goddess of the Immaterial leaves you, as quickly as She came. Reality slams into you, as the forest all around continues to collapse. The singe on the edges of your robes is extreme, and the air quality could not be poorer. Tufts of blackened soot waft by.

Your stomach is in knots. There's a pile of lilies, streaked with white-gold, on the ground at your feet. It's beautiful, in a horribly disgusting way.

There's no Time to linger on it, or on what torment Spirit may have saved you by ending the invocation so abruptly. There's already extreme exhaustion soaking into you, but a stunning thought occurs to you.

>Choose one of the following, in addition to a prompt from A-E.
>1] She may not be quite so terrible after all.
>2] That was still fucking terrifying.
>3] You seriously have more important things to think about right now. Bring this up with Sister Cardew the very first second you get the chance.
>4] Write-in.

>A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED FOR ALL OF THE FOLLOWING.
>A] Take a moment and utter a prayer to Spirit. Harvey is running to you, and you don't want him to get separated from the group further.
>B] Run as quickly as your legs can carry you, to get to Claymore. The idea of invoking anyone further is a terrible idea, even if lives are at stake.
>C] Invoke Flesh, while maintaining the invocation to Mercy. While you're already brutally fast, you don't want to spare a moment getting to any of your allies.
>D] Release the invocation to Mercy, only to invoke Flesh. Juggling invocations is VERY dangerous, and VERY taxing, but you don't want to risk a dual invocation back-to-back.
>E] Write-in.

>>4415320
>>Choose one of the following, in addition to a prompt from A-E.
>>1] She may not be quite so terrible after all.

I still think we should talk to Cardew about it.

>>A] Take a moment and utter a prayer to Spirit. Harvey is running to you, and you don't want him to get separated from the group further.
>>B] Run as quickly as your legs can carry you, to get to Claymore. The idea of invoking anyone further is a terrible idea, even if lives are at stake.

Also pick up some lilies and take them with us, as evidence of the dual invocation and the moment we first saw Spirit.

>>4415325

I messed the vote up, I only meant to pick the B

>>4415320
>1] She may not be quite so terrible after all.
>A] Take a moment and utter a prayer to Spirit. Harvey is running to you, and you don't want him to get separated from the group further.
>B] Run as quickly as your legs can carry you, to get to Claymore. The idea of invoking anyone further is a terrible idea, even if lives are at stake.

Claymore is in the direst situation

>>4415320
(Just to be completely clear, the 1-4 prompts don't need to be mutually exclusive.)

>>4415320
>E] Write-in.
If we must leave before Harvey's arrival tell him to hurry the fuck up and follow our voice