The year is 606, and in your home— the country of Corcaea— the souls of mankind belong to demons.
Catalyst Quest is a dark fantasy epic that follows the adventures of a compassionate, self-sacrificing priest warped by divine power. In this original, apocalyptic setting, the Gods are real, and within every man, woman and child lurks a phenomenon that can transform men into monsters: the Catalyst. You assume the role of Father Richard Anscham, leader of the Church of Mercy, and it is your mission to cure mankind of this monstrous affliction. In this genre-spanning adventure, get ready to face horror, action, mystery, romance, and to conquer your personal demons.
Each book of Catalyst is self-contained with its own cast of characters, locations, and themes! The mystery, action, and recovery filled book, Panacea, is the most recent and is the recommended starting point for new readers.
In a perfect world, you would be three hundred miles across the country, back with your family, helping the clergy of your Church to become more accustomed to the demons and ex-demon in your home. But this is far from a perfect world. This is a world where the Gods are real, demons infest the land, humanity is at its end, and a terrible weakness resides in the hearts of all of mankind.
The year is 606, and in your home— the country of Corcaea— the souls of mankind belong to demons. A phenomenon known as the Catalyst can turn any man, woman, or child into a monster. A person's Catalyst can be anything: love, hope, grief, fear, generosity. You even sent a demon of cooking back home recently— and so far, she is one of your best chances at finding a cure.
You are Father Richard Anscham, leader of the Church of Mercy, and the foremost researcher of the Catalyst. Finding a cure for the Catalyst is your life's work, but right now, you're currently overlooking a beautiful, cloudy, pink-and-gray sunrise that's climbing over the farmland of Wearmoor.
The City of Vitality lives up to its name. The fields are flourishing, flowers are blooming, and it's almost pretty enough to make up for how shitty you feel.
Every inch of you aches. Though you may be (25 years) young, you made this journey on foot through the thickest woodlands in the nation, and your heavyset frame is feeling every step that took you here.
Father Richard Anscham, leader of the Church of Mercy.
(You!)
Having stayed up through the night to make it to Wearmoor by dawn, you let loose a tremendous yawn, and flinch hard as you're roughly tapped on the shoulder. It's more of a violent jab, really, but you don't retaliate.
Of the two men traveling with you, it's Father Nicholas Pevrel who has tried to get your attention. This is coming from one of your closest friends: a drunkard, a killer, a sadist, and the leader of the Church of Vengeance. The Lord of Retaliation is of average height for a man in Corcaea, though much shorter than you— about 5'5'' to your near-freakish 6'2''— so his sneer is directed up towards you as he taps you again.
Both of you are incredibly on edge, but the man doesn't even have eyes to narrow at you in impatience, as they were taken from him by the God of Vengeance on request. That particular story is one you've respected enough to not ask for all the details about. This priest is someone who's confided his worst secrets in you. It's often said that he's one of the only men alive with a worse reputation than your own, but you're not one to judge. On the contrary. It doesn't matter if his clothes are covered in dirt, flecks of paint, are torn and shredded from a month on the road, and he's drunkenly teetering. All of you probably smell just as badly of liquor, blood, and sweat— and your relationship has never been about appearances.
This man has sacrificed months of his life to fight by your side, lost several of his children protecting your home, and you've sworn to help him with everything you have. Every last horrific story he's shared has been hard-won. Every last drink you've shared under the stars has been another victory. No matter your differences, and no matter how badly he tries to act otherwise, you both care a great deal for each other.
Father Nicholas Pevrel, leader of the Church of Vengeance.
"Anscham." The sallow of Father Pevrel's skin is a lot healthier thanks to the last few weeks you've all spent under the sun, but is still stark and pale against his salt-and-pepper streaked hair. He looks almost as tired as you feel, and the gravel of his voice lets up only slightly when he speaks to your other companion (on a first name basis, no less). "Atticus. We're in plain sight up here, and the sun is coming up. Let's get off this hill. Back to the tree line."
By your side is your other traveling companion, Father Atticus Wilhelm, leader of the Church of Dream. As the Seer of Somerilde and Lord of Visions, he did not travel further than you and Father Pevrel combined just to make this venture a success. He's left his sons and city behind, and disgraced his reputation with his very own God just to keep you safe each night.
Last night was no exception, and this is not a man who easily misses sleep. He worships sleep. He wore his blue, embroidered pajamas and nightcap on a cross-country trip. The brunette adjusts his cigar between his white teeth, wrinkles his mustache, and looks like he's struggling not to fall asleep standing up.
Father Atticus Wilhelm, leader of the Church of Dream.
Barely managing to stifle another yawn, Father Wilhelm's mellow and warm voice is a little distorted. "Hmm…? Oh, right. Right you are!" One of his slender hands goes to the same spot Father Pevrel jabbed you at, to gently lead you into the woods. "Richard, it will be quite alright. We'll head out straight away."
His touch is reassuring, but the tension in you redoubles. The soft, kind confidence of your speech makes sure that your protests aren't heard by any of the farmers tending to their land in the distance. "We need to get moving. Please—"
No one acknowledges your pleas. Against your better judgement, you and your company march between the tree trunks and fallen boughs at your back. The dense foliage nearly exceeds the brightness of the green in your eyes. Rays of sunshine provide a little relief from the coolness of the early day, though it does nothing for the cold sweat on you.
"Neither of you were in such a rush during any one of the little detours we made." Father Pevrel narrows his lack of eyes at you, one socket twitching in irritation. "I'm not taking a single step into Wearmoor before we gather our thoughts on this matter and have a plan of action."
An exasperated sigh leaves you. "The Church of Agriculture is in league with the cult of Inertia. I've confirmed their association through the shipments of produce that arrived from— that arrived from Wearmoor's fields to my own city, in the hands of the same cultists who are responsible for the deaths of our children."
Father Wilhelm was not there with you or Father Pevrel during the last several months of bitter fighting for your holy city's safety, or the infestation of Inertia. But he knows of your affinity for plant life, your ability to gather unquestionable information from natural growth, and that you are the Lord of Honesty. The blue-eyed priest takes a long draw on his cigar. "The Church of Agriculture has been supporting Inertia, then. You're sure of it."
"Worse," Father Pevrel says. "We received the names of three clergy from within their ranks who tunneled beneath Anscham's citadel, threatening to destroy the Church of Mercy and jeopardizing the lives of hundreds within it."
"Who?" Father Wilhelm glances between you and Father Pevrel curiously.
You quickly rattle off, "Brother Gilford Woodfeller, Sister Ela Pottinger, and Brother Merek Boyce."
"I apprehended and executed Boyce, the traitor—" Your raven-haired ally grins viciously, showing his crooked, liquor-stained teeth. "I don't suppose you would care to know the details?" Father Wilhelm waves a hand to him dismissively. "Suit yourself. But the two others are still at large— and given Inertia's involvement with sparking demonic outbreaks, attempting to besmirch the good name of our theocracy, AND the loss of life that they're responsible for, I see no reason why this alone is not sufficient reason for an investigation."
You're gritting your teeth loudly enough to be heard, while looking constantly to the horizon. The issue of Inertia infesting your country's government, corrupting your people, worming into little villages and bringing down the greatest of your holy cities is not even the worst of the issue.
The reason why you're truly so on edge is that two of your most loyal friends— Clarence Chester "Chesty" Connelly and Mathers "Serpent" Ormond— offered to spy on the Church of Agriculture on your behalf. They were discovered last month through unknown circumstances, and the entire point of this venture's urgency was to rescue them. They may be heretics and criminals, but these are two of your children. You would die for these men, and you will NOT rest until you get ANSWERS.
Left: Clarence Chester "Chesty" Connelly. Right: Mathers "Serpent" Ormond. (Currently captured by the Church of Agriculture.)
"Chesty and Serpent do not deserve to wait for this—"
"We will find them, and we will rescue them, but we are NOT only here for them, Anscham." Father Pevrel fires a glance to Father Wilhelm (who is patiently smoking, keeping an eye on you all the while). A far more apologetic look goes to you. The priest of blood nervously fidgets with the hilt of his sword while he speaks. "This is the only Church in the nation to have had a vacancy for this long in an age. You both know how unusual it is. The Church of Agriculture's new 'council' has been thriving in the absence of Mother Bethaea."
"Absence—? She killed herself, and my boys are out there suffering, all because they wanted to help bring me CLOSURE—" Your voice cracks. The loss of your first mentor is still raw. It was nearly four years ago that Mother Bethaea died, but she showed you kindness. Respect. Dignity. The two of you cultivated an herb that could heal any poison, and she healed you.
"Richard." The scent of spice and smoke shifts towards you. Father Wilhelm assumes the mildest voice he can. "We've talked about this. Haven't we?"
Your volume decreases. One of your hands nervously teases the golden chain around your neck, which feels uncomfortably cold against the heat of your skin. "Yes."
"Chesty and Serpent wouldn't have offered to spy on the Church of Agriculture if they didn't know the risks. Right?"
"Yes, but—"
"And they have been through far worse, have they not? Between their misbehavior in the capital—" He's referring to the bloody civil war they took part in. Only your intervention with King Magnus saved them from execution. "—and all the rest—" Both men have incredibly sordid pasts. You have only confirmed Chesty's mercenary work, but he's hinted towards a lot worse— and you can't even imagine what led Serpent to looking the way he does. "—I think they're going to thank us for coming to help them at all. This was no small journey."
The three of you are wavering from exhaustion. The bags under your eyes are so deep, you can feel them. It's like someone's rubbed sand in your eyes, stuck knives in your joints, and put a fire under your feet. You carried elderly Father Wilhelm on your back through part of the night, even. It goes without saying that the last month of travel was no small journey, but...
"It doesn't matter." You're getting pissed, and clutch at the chain underhand tightly enough to hurt yourself. The thought of wringing the necks of anyone who's laid a hand on your boys is no small comfort.
As politely as he can, Father Wilhelm reaches over and gently pries your hand free. "I dare say it does." The priest stands a few steps away, peering through the trees to the farmland beyond. "It's at least an hour's walk through Wearmoor, if we head straight for the Church of Agriculture. I don't know if you recall, Richard, but when we visited your parents last year, I got quite the view of the City of Vitality! Spent a whole night out gallivanting with the locals. If we want to enter the Church discreetly, I could make it happen for us. We'd... well, we would still look a right mess when we arrive, but I could get us to the door without a lick of trouble."
Most clergy require a lifetime of devotion in order to be graced by the gifts of the Gods. Those who are of adequate faith can invoke their patron's ability, and in doing so, channel that God's might through their own body. Men such as yourselves can invoke their sole patron. You, and you alone are capable of invoking all of the Gods— and you have done so often enough of late to inflict pain on your soul itself. As a result, you are not one to judge, but the sanity of this proposal leaves a great deal to be desired.
Father Wilhelm is proposing invoking the God of Dream— the God of creativity, interpretation, and the night— to disguise your approach. Flippantly invoking is simply not an option for most people. It's meant to be done only in matters of life or death, and even then, only when there are no other options. You and the men in your company have the closest possible relationship with your patrons... but you and Father Wilhelm have something of a problem with the frequency in which you ask for divine intervention.
You remain silent, shoving your scarred, calloused, stinging hands in your pockets, and leave it to Father Pevrel to rant.
Father Pevrel keeps leaning to the side to look around you to the farmland beyond (as you're about twice the width of the average man, and he enjoys annoying you). Any trace of apology has fallen from him. He stops his wavering to snap, "we all have appearances to keep. If we're to make demands of this filth— these HERETICS and miserable excuses for clergy—" His respect towards the Goddess of Agriculture does not extend towards Her practitioners. "—it would behoove us to go in looking like more than wild animals." He narrows his lack of eyes at you. "You owe it to your boys to do this right. I say we find a creek somewhere to go make ourselves look remotely presentable, then find a way to sneak into the city. Showing up on their doorstep unannounced, unfazed by the trip here and out for blood should do more than scare them straight."
"A very fair observation." Father Wilhelm raises his eyebrows to the lord of fairness, who does not find the statement amusing.
Your knuckles pop from how hard you clench your fists. You're normally not such a vindictive man, but this is your children who are in danger. "There should be no illusion of what our intent is."
"We don't know if they've done anything," Father Pevrel spits.
You might punch him. "I beg your pardon—"
The look on Father Pevrel's face could kill. He drags a hand down his stubble in exasperation, and fires you a weary, equally impatient stare. "You deduced the association between goods from Wearmoor and the cult of Inertia, but that does NOT implicate every single person in this city. That DOES NOT give us a SINGLE indication of the involvement of EVERY SINGLE PERSON in this Church. I will squash out every last one of these cowards, liars, and thieves. We are here to free your boys. I will find out who is TRULY responsible for this corruption, but we will root it out at its source."
The Lord of Investigation scowls. "I will be personally investigating the death of Mother Bethaea, and corroborating my findings with any and ALL information that your boys have found on their own. Do not think for an instant that they were captured without finding something worth finding."
Father Wilhelm gives you both a cheery smile. "Right, then. Anything else?"
"Don't expect me to hold back if anything has happened to either one of them." You don't sound pissed. You sound heart-broken.
You were wrongfully blamed by many for Mother Bethaea's death, as you were her last pupil, and the two of you spent a great deal of time together. She's been heralded as a martyr across the nation, as most of the country thinks she sacrificed herself to end the centuries-long famine that plagued Corcaea before. Only a few souls know that because of Mother Bethaea's tutelage and your love of the land, you were the one that took Corcaea's curse onto yourself. It's been through unending love and devotion towards Agriculture that you found a way to destroy the curse once and for all— but no matter how much your body has healed, your heart has not been the same.
"I've lost enough to the Church— to the Church of Agriculture already."
>Welcome to Catalyst Quest!
>Our votes are a little different.
>EVERY vote matters. In many cases, I combine every vote that makes sense to do so. If that is not the case, I will explicitly say as much. This is one of those times!
>The following prompts are mutually exclusive. Majority vote will decide, barring write-ins that make sense to combine.
>I also track all votes manually. To vote, copy+paste the entire prompt you wish to select, or simply specify the letter you wish to vote for.
>This will make more sense during more complex votes later.
>A] Take up Father Wilhelm on his offer. You can't beat guaranteed stealth, and you would be the greatest hypocrite in the world to question his use of invocation. Looking like a disaster might even aid in intimidation!
>B] Father Pevrel raises several good points, and you trust his judgement in this matter completely. Go find a way to discreetly clean up, then sneak through Wearmoor and into the Church of Agriculture. The early hour is still working in your favor, both men in your company are experts at this sort of thing, you'd really like to respect the Gods, and you have ample experience with getting around in cities while disguised. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED. Feel free to write-in any fun disguise ideas you have or ways you wish to bolster your strategy! Intelligent and/or creative ideas may net bonuses!)
>C] You're a diplomat. Insist that you head straight for the Church of Agriculture and ask Father Wilhelm to not invoke. You'll rely on your own skills to get there, even if looking and smelling like wild animals is going to make life a lot harder. It will save Time, you'll be respecting Dream, and your condition might help to intimidate the clergy you encounter. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED. Feel free to write-in any fun disguise ideas you have or ways you wish to bolster your strategy! Intelligent and/or creative ideas may net bonuses!)
>D] The gloves are off. Get a weapon at the ready. You've intimidated demons before, and will Storm this Church. Chesty and Serpent are not waiting for another second longer than necessary, and NO ONE is standing in your way until you get to this council.
Be advised that in Catalyst Quest, decisions have consequences that could last months, years, or be permanent. Your votes matter. If it makes sense to combine votes or even discussion, I usually do.
We cover mature themes such as addiction, eating disorders, and abusive relationships frequently. Body horror is a regular part of life for a man who uses his body to channel all of the Gods.
Father Anscham is an unreliable narrator as a reflection of his experiences. You are strongly encouraged to question what you perceive!
Friends come and go, enemies will show you no Mercy, and the world will change whether or not you choose to affect it.
This is a quest about growth, compassion, and the choices you make.
Catalyst Quest is an epic-length saga, broken down into ten books (so far).
Each book is in a stand-alone thread. *You do NOT need to read from the beginning of book 1.*
Each book is fresh start, with new locations, stories, and supporting characters. The current intended starting point is the beginning of book 10: Death Defiant. Each book is then broken down into chapters, like any normal thread.
At the conclusion of each book, I create an illustrated timeline of important events. These can be found below for your reference.
LINKS
Community The Catalyst Quest Wiki, an encyclopedic reference of Catalyst Quest that anyone can edit!
Fan projects and discussion on Discord!
Major update notifications on Twitter!
Support
Follow me on Patreon for exclusive polls and early art access!
Or show your support by donating on Ko-Fi!
Quests are inherently a cooperative story telling medium. This is only possible thanks to the behavior of every participant. I reserve the right at any time to disregard, remove, or counter any posted content in this thread. This includes any votes, write-ins, discussion, or other posted material.
Civil and respectful behavior is all that I ask for! If you cannot adhere to the global rules, disrupt the thread, or for any other reasons I see fit, I reserve the right to revoke the rights to participate in Catalyst Quest from any poster at any time.
This is a passion project I am running for the joy of it. It's only thanks to the civil, polite, and downright admirable behavior of our older voters that we've come so far. Let's show them and our cooperative work the respect they deserve, and have some fun!
CONTENT WARNING
Please note: Not only will our story shift genres and locations often— it's through a troubled, anti-heroic and unreliable narrator that we most often put the 'dark' in 'dark fantasy.' Please be aware that Catalyst Quest addresses themes that may be distressing to some readers. Addiction, self harm, eating disorders, the effects of prolonged confinement, abusive relationships, and suicidal ideation are to name a few.
Reader discretion is advised.
MECHANICS
I typically use a 1d100, bo3 system for rolls. No hard success or failure states are used. Instead, I utilize ranges of percentiles, and factor in situational bonuses and/or maluses. Some of these can be found on your character sheet. Be advised that due to the wildly different challenges you will face, this is subject to change at any time. Write-ins can also make a substantial difference!
Titles and Affiliations:
Leader of the Church of Mercy, Foremost Researcher of the Catalyst, the Hands of the King, Founder of Harvey Jay Algrith's Blasphemous Congregation, Ally to Archdemon Yech
Nicknames:
Demon of Faith, Demon of Gluttony, Demon of Speed, The Father of Compassion, The Father of Honesty, The Father of Healing, The Lord of Excess, The Lord of Light, The Father of Love, Conqueror of the Ruins, The Beast Tamer, Reaper, A Man of All the Gods
Disclaimers:
Our protagonist is an unreliable narrator. This is a reflection of his life experiences, innate conditions, and the choices our voters have made.
How you choose to manage Father Anscham's well-being (or enable his inclinations) is up to you.
Confronting, accepting, and overcoming personal demons is a central theme of Catalyst Quest.
This format is a unique opportunity to directly explore what these elements mean to YOU.
The following information is far from exhaustive, and is subject to change at any time.
Age: 25 Date of Birth: The 2nd of the Setting (or Blinding) Moon Height: 6'2'' Weight: 380lbs Hometown: Pontos Place of Residence: Eadric, Daybreak Citadel Identifying Features: Curly brown hair, startling green eyes, covered in scars from head-to-toe. Most notably has a crooked nose (broken multiple times without setting correctly), and a deep gash across the chest from abusive invocations of Dream. Almost always seen wearing a small, golden locket in lieu of a traditional holy symbol. Bears a symbolic golden ring on the left hand.
Obsessive
The Catalyst— the phenomenon that turns men into demons— cannot turn you (33 times and counting). You will do anything to save the world from its influence.
Compassionate
Kindness, devotion, and love define you. Easing the pain of mankind is your creed. Salvation is your bond. Some of your greatest allies are the worst mankind has to offer— and you wouldn't have it any other way.
Masochistic
Be it for the sake of disarming your enemies, protecting your friends, or achieving physical feats that other men can only dream of— you prefer to look at your self-sacrificing nature as a selfless and positive attribute.
Unhinged
Your perception is not always accurate.
Insatiable
7/8 churches agree that gluttony is a sin. You're courting the Goddess of the other one.
The world itself is a part of you.
"Mercy. Agriculture. I know you are with me. Guideme. Come unto me. Love me. Let us transcend."
A connection between Mercy, Agriculture and you— the sun, the earth, and the lover— has yet to be fully understood.
The following abilities likely reflect the qualities of you all. They persist with or without invocation.
Resistance to toxin: When present, Agriculture can pause or remove this at will.
Identify all properties of life: Prior locations, current composition, an item's means of production, and any presence of poison can be deduced through the ingestion of edible substances. This is GREATLY heightened through invocations of Agriculture, to encompass almost any discernible property of the substance in question.
Attunement: Mercy's and Agriculture's domains can no longer cause you pain in any respect. Damage sustained from these elements has been massively reduced as well. (E.g. Over-exposure to sunlight or heat, excessively imbibing any material, consuming poison, etc.)
Ecstasy: Physical sensation pertaining to either Goddess (personal healing, weight, or otherwise making contact with Them/Their domains) has become continuously, disproportionately pleasant.
Sensitivity: Proximity to natural substances directly correlates to a disruption in focus. It's been most noticeable with food and drink, but this applies to all sources of life and light.
Limitless: All aspects of life and death are susceptible to your increasingly insatiable nature. Be it on research or recreation, hunger and fullness are no longer obstacles. They are enablers.
"May this flower take root in the soil of my flesh. Flourish in the garden of our creation, and grow to be as beautiful as my Goddess."
The Goddess of Agriculture manifested a divine green dahlia, and gifted the flower to you. Tasting it gave you a sample of Her works. After consuming the item in full, you have received a slew of abilities that pertain to all of Agriculture's domains. The following table is nowhere near an exhaustive list, and you have been strongly encouraged to indulge in Agriculture's works whenever possible.
Positive
Ambivalent
Negative
More reliable perception.
Increase in weight, correlated mastery of growth.
Absence of restraint.
Increased virility.
Hair & eyes have reverted to a natural color and texture.
Exacerbated fixation on food and drink.
At-will resistance to poison.
Extreme sensitivity to life (and all its pleasures).
Compulsive gluttony.
Can accelerate growth.
Carries the scent of fresh herbs/flowers.
Detect life from a distance.
Healing
Having been trained in the art of medicine under the Church of Mercy, your skill is renown. You've occasionally heard rumor that you're regarded as the most capable healer in the nation. (Given all that you've accomplished, you're inclined to believe them.)
Demonic Expertise
As the foremost researcher of the Catalyst, you are incredibly familiar with the weakness within the hearts of mankind. At a glance, you can typically recognize a demon's association with any deity, their general capabilities, and how you can best approach them through your own skills (or invocation). This is not limited to your personal alliances with demons (such as your good friend Archdemon Yech), or your mission with Agriculture to offer salvation to any demon who seeks it.
Diplomacy
"Being a gentleman means much more than saying 'please' and 'thank you,' or yielding to the whims of others. That is a shallow, and unfortunate representation of how a man should conduct himself. Being a gentleman means carrying yourself with confidence, and showing respect towards all people.
When faced with hostility, a gentleman does his utmost to defuse the situation without violence. Only when violence is inevitable will a gentleman strike hard, and decisively— so as to not prolong the predicament. You should understand more than anyone that at times, all we can do is put a stop to this madness. To end our enemy's lives before they willingly become demons.
Your canvas is not merely the walls of our home, or the form you assume. Sometimes we can do more. A gentleman seeks to understand the full picture. Do not settle for the mistakes of the past. Let's paint a better vision for tomorrow."
Thanks to your position as the leader of the Church of Mercy, you are only second in power to the King of the nation. Requisitioning forces, reallocating supplies, or giving essentially any order to any individual within Corcaea would not be overstepping your boundaries. (Bear in mind that not everyone takes kindly to your shattered reputation, though. Some people may disagree with your methods regardless of how much power you wield.)
Beast Taming
You've said before that your dog is the real hero of your story. Be it dogs, horses, or lions (such as your treasonous knight), you excel in taming the hearts and minds of others. It's often said in jest that you've even been capable of taming the King Himself.
Combat
In addition to your veteran, first-hand experiences, you trained with the leader of the Church of Flesh for months— and Father Friedrich is a master of combat. Melee is your specialty. Though Piety is your long sword, maces and shields make you feel right at home. Hand-to-hand combat, ranged, and exotic weapons are familiar to you, too. It doesn't hurt matters that your build and position as a man of all the Gods makes you an incredibly intimidating presence on the field of battle.
Fishing
Having grown up on the banks of the Eventide River, your fondness for fishing was nurtured at an early age. Furthermore, you were relocated to the Church of Mercy— adjacent to the Morinburn River— and have often snuck out at night just to cast a line. You're incredibly proficient with spears and nets, and can fashion these implements on the fly. Father Wilhelm, leader of the Church of Dream, has shown you a few techniques with or without lures, as well.
Agriculture
Despite growing up during a famine, you have always had an affinity for all things that grow. Under the tutelage of Mother Phyllis Bethaea (martyred leader of the Church of Agriculture), you cultivated a new herb that can heal any poison. You've selflessly taken on curses in the name of the land, and have the Goddess of Agriculture's favor. This is to say nothing of your deep appreciation for gardening. The sprawling grounds you've nurtured around all of the Church of Mercy are your legacy as its current leader.
Literacy
Knowledge is power, and the Church of Spirit dictates who wields it. The majority of Corcaeans are illiterate— but you were trained in the art of reading and writing by your first mentor, Adrian Morris. It has enabled your scholarly pursuits, honed your mind, and granted you a deep love for the written word. Your calligraphy is quite nice, too.
In addition to your literacy, you are regarded as a scholar. The vast majority of your research has been dedicated to the Catalyst, but you never shy away from an opportunity for more knowledge. Religion, history, architecture, horticulture, and fiction are all subjects of your intense interest and study— enough to have called upon the Goddess of Knowledge Herself for further research in.
Faith of a Goddess
"Promise me, then. Promise me that you will live your best life. No matter what den of sin you must enter, or what enemies that come upon Our door. No matter what illness may befall you, or how dearly Our tenets are tested. Promise me that you will stay true to yourself, Richard. Your search for answers. All of your compassion, and humility, and love. Never stop sharing hope with the world. Never let your light go out."
Don't respect a man for making a promise. Respect him for keeping it.
+10 FAITH OF A GODDESS
You have forged a PACT with a GODDESS.
This bonus can and will be lost if your word is not kept (e.g. actions unbecoming of Mercy's tenets, self-destructive behavior, and/or sabotaging your self-improvement.)
Severe psychological and emotional consequences can and will result if your word is not kept, and your promise is broken.
This permanent modifier applies to all actions befitting of your promise to Mercy (e.g. forging new political alliances, sparing enemies, healing the sick, protecting the weak, etc.).
Atonement
"You are not the Father of Temperance, Richard. You're the Father of Love. Compassion. Hope. Give yourself to the ones you care for. Find your lost children. Show them that there is an answer. Help me save our world.
If anyone can bridge the distance between us all, it's you."
Death made you a promise, and sealed it with a kiss.
+10 TO CHANGE IS TO GROW +20 ATONEMENT
Any action taken befitting of the Goddess of Growth, Generosity, Fertility, Life, Nature, Death, Harvest, Bounty, and Agriculture will receive this bonus.
It can also be used to offset a portion of the maluses you currently have as a priest of Her church.
Actions taken that deprive you or your fellow man of Her blessing may permanently remove this bonus. (e.g. encouraging stagnation, ignoring an opportunity to give, neglecting your own growth, distorting the cycle of life and death via murder, etc.) Be advised that serious consequences will result from abusing this gift.
The Goddess of Generosity has been eager to answer your demands for more of Her works, in the name of finding a cure for the Catalyst, and in devotion to Her. Maintaining the blessings you have already been given slowed the decay of the modifier. Excessive use of Agriculture's ability, upholding your oaths, and showing Her unrivaled devotion has made it permanent.
Indomitable
Sitting upright, and looking to the intense scars all along your thick wrists and calloused hands has never felt sweeter. You did want the evidence of your abuse to be accentuated by a demon. You did tell the demon of interpretation that excess and lust are the lesser of all evils. In your hands, gluttony and masochism can be tools of indomitable willpower. Pain and indulgence has been more than your shield.
The Lord of Light will not hide from his innermost darkness.
+10 INDOMITABLE
All rolls to CONTROL your response to pain or indulgence will now benefit from this bonus.
The God of Visions is happy to accommodate a BROAD range of applications for your strengths.
Conquest
"Your life has been spent in the pursuit of demons, their meaning, and where to find love in a loveless world.
The God of Flesh wishes to reward your determination."
All actions taken that pursue your goals towards the greater good of humanity— and a cure for the Catalyst— will benefit from this bonus.
Disrespect towards Flesh, abuse of yourself, or return to behavior befitting of a demon can and will remove these gifts.
Integrity
"Your life has been spent in the pursuit of demons, their meaning, and where to find love in a loveless world.
The God of Vengeance also respects your interpretation of His will."
In recognition of your pursuit of justice, all actions taken that bring about greater fairness in the world will benefit from this bonus.
Disrespect towards Vengeance, abuse of yourself, or return to behavior befitting of a demon can and will remove these gifts.
Vim and Vigor
This is a recurring, temporary bonus granted from eating and drinking a significant amount in one sitting.
Liquid Energy
Every little bit counts. This minor, recurring bonus has been granted from caffeine, or proper nutrition on the heels of massive blood loss.
Soul Ache
A recurring pain has been felt in your soul itself, in the wake of invoking Mercy and Agriculture for four days straight.
It has steadily increased as you've invoked the Gods. You are unsure if there is a limit to how much you can push yourself, but the effects had become debilitating. You currently have no soul ache, but have been wary of invocation at the risk of rekindling this malus.
Nerve Damage
Your left leg was recently skewered by a barbed arrow, which was slick with a caustic poison.
Though you successfully removed the object (and Mercy cauterized the location instantly by flooding it with molten gold), severe nerve and tissue damage was unavoidable.
Dexterous movement and/or putting serious strain on this limb may be compromised for the foreseeable future.
Blood Loss
Due to a catastrophic surgery attempt on the floor of a cave (to remove a barbed and poisoned arrow), you recently lost a serious amount of blood.
Naturally healing from similar events reduces this malus over time.
Sacrifice
Bonuses
Maluses
Immunity to pain.
Inappropriate at the best of times.
Can aid in intimidation.
Loss of control over actions.
Delay treatment of injury or exhaustion.
Exacerbated by urge to self-harm.
Major combative benefit.
Can run counter to your pact with Mercy.
Priest of Agriculture
Bonuses
Maluses
Inhuman resistance to poison.
Most physical activity has been passively affected.
Identify any natural substance in any quantity (via ingestion)
Difficulty focusing on surroundings while imbibing food or drink.
Weight can be useful.
Public image.
Major utilitarian benefit.
Your Relic
Mercy has always been there for you.
In your darkest hours— without so much as the will to live— She turned to you for hope. The Goddess entrusted you with a divine mission: To seek out a fallen child of Mercy, who still possessed kindness in their hearts. They were to bear Mercy's symbol.
By granting peace to a single lost soul, you were promised relief from your pain, and the cure to the pain of so many others.
The lost soul was an archdemon, and a fallen Mother of the Church of Mercy.
Mother Idonea possessed a piece of a long-lost King. In her care, this Relic was a symbol of light. A pact was made with Idonea. You granted peace to three of her children.
In return for your sacrifices, compassion, and unwavering devotion, Idonea left you with an answer to your prayers with her dying breaths.
This Relic is now your symbol.
A pair of clasped hands, for alliance and prayer.
A pair of bent swords— as you are known for turning violent intent towards compassion and good-will.
To some, the swords more closely resemble a skull: for every demon that you've conquered or accepted (inside and out).
Your Relic bridges the gap between the Gods' will, and those who will open their hearts. A small mirror is contained within: an object of truth, housed between all of your symbols.
Your Relic has been used thus far to:
— Grant the tenets of Mercy to demons and clergy alike. (Doing so to a demon stripped you of that tenet of Mercy. The clergy did no such thing.)
— Heal your pain, and the pain of others. (Your Relic must be held by the individual who requires its aid. Up to two people are eligible at a time.)
— Ally the strengths of others (including demons, other races, and invocations of the Gods Themselves). The effects of this social bond are so strong, they may be permanent. Invocations allied in this manner do not tax the invokers normally, but all of these properties are not fully understood at this time.
— By opening your Relic, you can reflect your honesty and truth upon the viewer— or helps them to see their innermost reflection.
Mercy's Ring
This divine, solid gold ring is a symbol of yours and Mercy's commitment to one another, and a physical reminder of the pact you both share.
"Promise me, then. Promise me that you will live your best life. No matter what den of sin you must enter, or what enemies that come upon Our door. No matter what illness may befall you, or how dearly Our tenets are tested. Promise me that you will stay true to yourself, Richard. Your search for answers. All of your compassion, and humility, and love. Never stop sharing hope with the world. Never let your light go out."
Severe psychological and emotional consequences can and will result if your word is not kept, and your promise is broken.
This permanent boon applies to all actions befitting of your promise to Mercy (e.g. forging new political alliances, sparing enemies, healing the sick, protecting the weak, etc.).
Furor
Furor has been shaped with the gifts of Agriculture, is plated in Mercy's gold, and exists as a testament to Storm's might. This cane may only have a solid wood interior, but it possesses divine properties, enabling its soft, metal exterior to withstand current of lightning (without melting!) for extended periods of time.
The Church of Mercy
The largest church in the nation. This building's cloisters (and the surrounding grounds of Eadric Castle) are intended to house anyone who seeks safe refuge.
It is tradition for the Father or Mother of the Church of Mercy to make one significant addition or improvement to the building in their lifetime. Your legacy is a sprawling series of gardens, for both healing and recreation.
Below the Church of Mercy are a series of dungeons. The labyrinth closest to the surface is intended not only to contain any human threats that the Church has to hold-- it is intended as a stop gap for what lies below.
The lowest levels of the Church of Mercy are permanent holding cells for threats that cannot be killed or contained by any other force in the nation. YOU are currently responsible for every single one of these demons, and there are NO locks on any of their cell doors.
Your Gardens
Breathtaking gardens sprawl in and around your home. These herb gardens, orchards, recreational fountains, topiaries, and divinely blessed vineyards are your legacy as the leader of the Church of Mercy. You've tended to the land here for over five years, and have even seen to the gardens with the Goddess of Agriculture.
Recently, you converted the foundations of Daybreak Citadel into an underground Church of Agriculture. This is thanks to the root system of your entire gardens, which have been artificially grown into the bedrock of your home.
There is no understating what a positive impact your efforts have made on the populace of Eadric. Personal gardens are a common sight in almost every single home in your city.
Daybreak Citadel
Home.
In addition to securing the Church of Mercy, some key features are:
Apotheosis Keep: The most secure structure in the nation, along with The Solstice Keeps, Equinox Keep, and Perihelion Keep. One single priest of Flesh (Brother Garrick) was capable of holding off a siege at Apotheosis Keep's gates. The lower levels (aside from the main hall) are currently occupied by your research team, who are turning many rooms into an open library. The Great Chamber: Sits on the second floor, just below your solar in the tower keep. This is where your most veteran priestesses have taken up residence. The Solar: The highest point in the castle, on the third floor, where you usually reside. Stables: Currently housing your stallion, Impetus. Walter Middleton's gelding, Bastion, is also kept there (along with the horses for most of your other tenders). The Twilight Wall: Best view in the city. Inner Bailey: Contains kitchens, barracks, stores, the stables, and workshops. Currently occupied by 13 members of your caravan from Calunoth, and a handful of citizens who survived the Night of Embers. Moat: Repaired. Secret Passages: You're intimately familiar with how to navigate in your home, and can travel through the sprawling castle grounds more efficiently than any other man alive.
Yech's Flask
Conjured by Archdemon Yech to commemorate your historical alliance. This simple, gold-capped flask has two unusual properties.
Demon of Faith: Out of genuine respect for your trials and triumphs, Yech imbued this item to bear a checkmark for every invocation you have made to Vengeance (and in turn, how many times you have felt the Catalyst). The gilded underside currently has thirty-three tallies. The Lord of Generosity: Stating a drink to the flask (with the intent to consume its contents thereafter) fills the item with that drink. The conjured liquid will then pour endlessly. You have experimented thoroughly with this property, and found that liquor, tea, water, oil, caffeinated beverages (not native to Corcaea), thin soups, and even chowder could be conjured in this manner. It has also produced ice cubes (in cocktails), flower petals, seeds, and intact pieces of vegetables (all as components of other drinks).
Yech's Enchanted Shield
Conjured by Archdemon Yech to commemorate your historical alliance. This matte, black, large shield is made of an exotic metal that you have yet to identify, and is unusually light to hold. It has demonstrated the ability to deflect or absorb almost any attack directed at it, barring that you are capable of withstanding the force of the blow.
Yech's Enchanted Mace
Conjured by Archdemon Yech to commemorate your historical alliance. This demonic weapon is unusually light to hold. As a sharpened and flanged mace, it requires a specific holster. You need to have a new one commissioned, as yours currently does not fit.
Endless Satchel
By all appearances, this is simply a tasteful, medium-sized bag with a few gold buckles. You know that the interior is an endless carrying space-- so long as you can get items through its small opening. What the space inside is like has escaped your observation this far, but it appears to be dry and cool enough to safely preserve grain, parchment, and paintings.
Enchanted Robes
Father Atticus Wilhelm, leader of the Church of Dream, gifted you a priceless set of enchanted robes. The garment is imbued with special dyes that can change its color on command. In addition, placing a hand to the item and stating a specific form of attire will command the garment to take on the desired cut/length/style. While you prefer using it to wear holy vestments befitting of the leader of the Church of Mercy, it has created the appearance of everything from executioner's garb to a farmer's tunic. Lastly, the item is self-cleaning. The clothing takes in any grime or stains it has accrued on command, and may passively do so as well. (The item is always cleaner after you've left it alone for awhile.)
Atonement
Your armory was ransacked. All that remained were two weapons your former jailer— Theobald Stace— had used to torture you in years past. You embraced your pain, invalidated it, and chose to literally weaponize your trauma. Rather than take offense at these mockeries of your foremost patrons, you wish to honor Them through each object instead.
"This surgical knife embodies Mercy's will. The strength I have been granted. An instrument for agony, an embodiment of my actions, and all of the healing made possible because of it. Atonement."
Your armory was ransacked. All that remained were two weapons your former jailer— Theobald Stace— had used to torture you in years past. You embraced your pain, invalidated it, and chose to literally weaponize your trauma. Rather than take offense at these mockeries of your foremost patrons, you wish to honor Them through each object instead.
"A thresher. My enemies have sown the seeds of discord. This weapon will do well to loosen the strangle-hold on our nation in the seasons ahead. Agriculture has truly blessed me with Her Harvest."
Father Friedrich sent this long sword from Beorward to Calunoth. The mighty weapon has not left your possession since. It requires two hands to properly wield, and lives up to its namesakes. Piety has withstood bolts of lightning, smited undead foes, and has never once spilled the blood of an innocent.
Father Edmund's Last Letter
Mother Aimar kept this letter for three years after Father Edmund's death. It was passed on to Father Wilhelm just weeks before he rescued you from the ruins, with specific instructions on when to give it to you. The circumstances of Father Edmund's life and death have been an enigma, and you have been under too much grief and strain to investigate the matter thus far.
"Father Richard Anscham,
People will try and tell you that you don't deserve the title. Never let anyone tell you otherwise.
I know I am placing an enormous burden on you. I know that you might not feel ready for so much responsibility. It will likely be years before you even begin to understand everything that this means for you. I had a lifetime to prepare myself for it, and I squandered all but the last few years.
This has never been about me. This has never been about the title. This is about YOU, Richard, and one thing that I NEED you to KNOW.
You've earned it. You have done so much good for this world, for the little time you've had in it.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I wasn't there for you. I'm sorry for everything.
Everything but this. I know it won't make things right, but there needs to be no question in any man, woman or child's mind in this whole damn country that YOU earned it.
Keep proving them wrong. You've earned your place in our world, even though you never needed to prove a thing.
You've earned all of our devotion. I trust you. I know you are more than fit to wield more than power, or wealth, or titles.
You've earned all of our love.
You've earned a life of your own.
You never have to say "yes," but I know you will.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, for all of the years of ignorance and neglect. I can't make it up to you.
This is not about making amends.
You shouldn't forgive me, and you never have to. I want you to live the best life you can. Not for me, not for anyone. Not even for Mercy.
I know She loves you. I do, too.
Live for yourself.
Good bye, Richard."
Beltoro's Apology
After enduring the memories of Beltoro— an ancient demon of Spirit, comprised of 21 hands— you communicated with them via writing. One of your greatest sacrifices was giving this demon your restraint after it penned this message. It has not left your person for a day since then.
Father Anscham,
Thank you for coming back. Thank you for upholding your word. Thank you for already doing more than she swore to do. Thank you for attempting to help us find ourselves once more.
You know I cannot speak of it, but you have so much more than even I once possessed.
A gift from Father Wilhelm during your seclusion in the Church of Flesh. It's easily one of the kindest and most precious things you've ever laid eyes on.
Father Wilhelm's Nightcap
This gold-threaded nightcap is covered in little embroidered animals. It has an exceptionally long tail, always helps you sleep better, is terribly stupid, and you love it.
Your appearance is subject to dramatic change.
Left: Current appearance, thanks to a demonic curse to ruin your image, many invocations of Agriculture, consuming a divine green dahlia, and your personal lifestyle.
Right: Three months prior. (This is about as good as it's gotten.)
A very special thanks to @Florin, @cirno9zero, @Heliophage, @Zedalb, and @Rolen von Keng for their amazing contributions; to all of our readers and voters; to our Discord community; and to my partner for her incredible support.
(Good morning everyone, and thanks so much for reading! The vote is now open. Catalyst Quest updates daily, normally in the later evening EST. Due to how much earlier than that I'm posting, this vote will remain open until Wednesday, December 8th until roughly around 9PM EST. If anyone has any questions or feedback at all (at any time!) please let me know!)
>B] Father Pevrel raises several good points, and you trust his judgement in this matter completely. Go find a way to discreetly clean up, then sneak through Wearmoor and into the Church of Agriculture. The early hour is still working in your favor, both men in your company are experts at this sort of thing, you'd really like to respect the Gods, and you have ample experience with getting around in cities while disguised.
I trust that Pevrel knows how to be discreet. Also, I don't have any creative disguise ideas, but if someone else does then I'm in favor of it.
>B] Father Pevrel raises several good points, and you trust his judgement in this matter completely. Go find a way to discreetly clean up, then sneak through Wearmoor and into the Church of Agriculture. The early hour is still working in your favor, both men in your company are experts at this sort of thing, you'd really like to respect the Gods, and you have ample experience with getting around in cities while disguised. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED. Feel free to write-in any fun disguise ideas you have or ways you wish to bolster your strategy! Intelligent and/or creative ideas may net bonuses!)
In this city full of plants I imagine there should be at least SOME apiaries! We can ask our robes to become a beekeepers suit (that actually existed during this period too!) and use that to cover our bulk and also very recognizable face. If we can find any woven baskets to put either Pevrel or Wilhelm inside of we can also sneak 2 people using 1 disguise! If anyone asks why the box is moving, it is full of bees. I trust Pevrel to come up with a disguise of his own that can complement ours.
>B] Father Pevrel raises several good points, and you trust his judgement in this matter completely. Go find a way to discreetly clean up, then sneak through Wearmoor and into the Church of Agriculture. The early hour is still working in your favor, both men in your company are experts at this sort of thing, you'd really like to respect the Gods, and you have ample experience with getting around in cities while disguised. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED. Feel free to write-in any fun disguise ideas you have or ways you wish to bolster your strategy! Intelligent and/or creative ideas may net bonuses!)
>B] Father Pevrel raises several good points, and you trust his judgement in this matter completely. Go find a way to discreetly clean up, then sneak through Wearmoor and into the Church of Agriculture. The early hour is still working in your favor, both men in your company are experts at this sort of thing, you'd really like to respect the Gods, and you have ample experience with getting around in cities while disguised. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED. Feel free to write-in any fun disguise ideas you have or ways you wish to bolster your strategy! Intelligent and/or creative ideas may net bonuses!)
Florin's idea is pretty good if we are capable of carrying both of them in the same box, otherwise I would just stick Father Wilhelm in the basket and see what Pevrel comes up with. Maybe a sunhat? Anything that can cover his lack of eyes really.
In other news, I see two new faces besides Father Wilhelm and Father Pevrel in the second intro post. I'm intrigued to see who they are to say the least.
>B] Father Pevrel raises several good points, and you trust his judgement in this matter completely. Go find a way to discreetly clean up, then sneak through Wearmoor and into the Church of Agriculture. The early hour is still working in your favor, both men in your company are experts at this sort of thing, you'd really like to respect the Gods, and you have ample experience with getting around in cities while disguised. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED. Feel free to write-in any fun disguise ideas you have or ways you wish to bolster your strategy! Intelligent and/or creative ideas may net bonuses!)
Well, we could always ask our clothes to turn into a veiled yet tattered mourning gown, find a box and stuff Pevrel inside. Walk into Wearmoor for the express purpose of having his body be blessed by Agriculture- in which case also do wish it on Pevrel to treat himself better.
By all means walk inside like a poor man's
Though… Florin's write in also works if a suitable box can't be found.
(Detail worth noting for new readers that will explain the votes thus far: You're in possession of a pair of enchanted robes that can turn into other articles of clothing on request. They can also change color and length (as needed), and clean themselves on demand, but this all only extends to your own personal use. Your allies will need to disguise themselves on their own.
Friendly reminder that you guys also possess a limited ability to manipulate natural growth. Constructing an entire box for """bees""" or a coffin on the fly is not out of the question (after harvesting some wood from the forest)! Up to you all which you prefer, of course.)
(Aaaaalrighty guys, we've got a unanimous vote for B and some awesome write-ins! I'll be giving a bonus for the bee-keeper idea and will call for the roll shortly so I have time to update tonight. Stand by!)
>Roll 1d100.
>Because you are blessed by all of the Gods, the best of the first three rolls will be used.
>The total modifier for the winning roll will be +10.
-20 FAME (Even if you and your fellow church leaders didn't have distinctive appearances, you are three of the most recognizable men in the nation from your wealth, influence, and divine power.) -15 THE FATHER OF HONESTY (Subterfuge is not your strong point, despite how often you've needed to use it.) -10 WILD GROWTH (Though you've stayed clean and feel right at home in the deep woods, your allies are a hot mess. Even getting somewhere to discreetly clean up could be a challenge.) +15 ENCHANTED A clever disguise utilizing your enchanted robes will greatly aid in this venture! +20 THE LORD OF SHADOWS (If nothing else, you shouldn't need to worry about Father Pevrel getting to the Church undetected.) +20 PRIEST OF AGRICULTURE (There's no understating how at home you'll look in the city of growth. It should greatly assist your friends simply by association, too!)
(Way to go, @salemon ! As previously stated, we're going with the best of 3, which is your roll. That's 68/100 with all modifiers!
I was asked in Discord why the rolls don't have hard DC's. I'll be factoring in why you had the bonuses and maluses you did, but I think in our highly narrative, serious, and do-or-die kind of quest that it's really stupid to say that "if you complete a task by one point [or however many points] you get a win condition." Even though this is percentage based, it's not just a flat 50 is a win either. It really depends on the circumstance - like in this instance, there's a ton of shit going on in the city that's reason for this being a roll and not just narrative. Even with a 68, that not a perfect 100. A 100 would be arriving there with zero problems! Conversely, a 0 would be a catastrophic failure. Everything in between is the whole reason for the update, and having that be determined before any dice are even rolled is just not what I'm about. Hell, even when you guys get catastrophic failures or major successes, I still want to write that out and not have you guys be certain of exactly what will transpire before seeing the update! I don't mind that in TTRPGs to a large extent, and hard DC's certainly have their place in other stories, but it's not how I like running my quest. Hope all that makes sense!
I'm just making dinner and will hop to writing shortly. The vote is locked!)
"Let's get moving." With a heavy heart, you give an apologetic look to Father Wilhelm. "I completely trust Father Pevrel's judgement on this matter. I have a plan to get you into the city unseen. We should be— we should be just fine." You mutter to yourself as Father Pevrel resumes your demonic marching pace, straight through the thick of the woods. "This is fine."
The three of you locate an out-of-the-way bend in the Eventide River. It's no more than half an hour from your original position. The three of you get cleaned up as quickly as you can— but as you go to fetch your things from the side of the shore, you catch movement in the shrubs just around the bend.
Father Pevrel took a dagger with him into the river ("you can never be too careful"), and brandishes the blade instantly. "Shit."
You keep your position low— water up to your chin— and gesture to your allies to stay back. Father Wilhelm almost lets out a laugh. Two young boys and a small girl are all doing a terrible job of trying to hide in the woods. They're dressed like urchins, their faces are smeared with dirt, and they're looking at you as if you're the scariest things they've seen in all their lives. It's impossible to tell if they recognize you.
You fire a glance to Father Pevrel, and wordlessly indicate he needs to lower the knife. The priest reluctantly does, and the moment he's relaxed, you call out to the scamps, "good mor-!"
They take off running.
You let loose a series of wholesome curses and scramble to get to the shore. Every concession is made for modesty. It triples the amount of time it would take for you to simply charge after the rascals.
The moment you all are back on the bank— dripping wet and pissed— Father Wilhelm stops you from trying to go after them. "They'll be long gone, and we have more important concerns."
You're imagining yourself carrying Father Pevrel's coffin into the Church of Agriculture. Coping is the best thing you can do, while shrugging your shirt and trousers back on. "They may have not have— they may not have recognized us without any robes—"
"Maybe." Father Pevrel uselessly sheathes his dagger. The three of you grumble intensely. You leave your fellow church leaders to finish scrubbing the cleanest garments they have, and start scavenging in the surrounding woods for all the material you can find for a large wooden box.
It takes a matter of minutes. When you're done locating your materials, you neatly assemble the pieces, dig out some nails and a hammer from your endless satchel, and fashion the sturdiest box for honeycombs that you can manage. You're no expert in bee-keeping (despite how much Mercy teases you about being Her honeybee), but it looks convincing and is large enough for Father Wilhelm to easily crouch inside of.
The enchanted garments you usually wear are still safe and sound. They're currently in the fashion of a traveling cloak, plausibly tattered, and are still absolutely filthy from the night's hike. You place a hand to the Magical cloth.
"Protection for a bee-keeper. Cover my scars, my eyes, and my bulk, please. I need to be unrecognizable to any onlooker."
The long, dark, and tattered cloak spans the length of your body, and instantly constricts into a long-sleeved coat and pale linen trousers. The fabric is incredibly coarse, complete with a hood that covers your face. The pinks and grays of dawn are filtered through the weave of a basket over your entire face. It projects away from your features to keep any stingers at bay. The ensemble ends with a pair of tremendous, elbow-high gloves, which disappear under the full sleeves. Your long hands and thick wrists are almost disguised! There's still no escaping your height or weight, but the cut of the coat is as flattering as you could hope for. You probably look a few inches shorter and thirty pounds lighter.
You dead-pan, "buzz buzz."
Your voice is incredibly muffled. The woven mask even conceals your Church-going speech! You would smile if you weren't so stressed.
Father Wilhelm lets out a nervous laugh the instant he sees you and the box. "Points for creativity, Richard!"
"No names. Come on."
Your allies finish scrubbing down, drying off, and get situated for the trip into the city. Father Wilhelm looks like his old self again in a tasteful— albeit wrinkled— pair of sleeping pajamas, with his favorite blue smoking jacket only moderately stained from travel and fighting demons. Barring the deeper bags under his eyes and absence of a cigar, he shows no sign of complaint while climbing into the 'beehive' you've fashioned.
The man is incredibly light, compared to the boulders and trees you're used to throwing around in training back home. Reasonable fear is in the back of your mind that the sheer size of your biceps will destroy your sleeves if you flex too hard. You lean right next to the box while holding it, and mutter, "are you alright in there...?"
"As rain! Tap three times on the outside when we're close enough for me to get out, or if you need anything. I won't say another word."
The scowl on Father Pevrel's face could wilt every flower in Wearmoor's fields. He's taken the time to quickly shave and slick back his hair. Now that there's no blood caking his clothing, you can make out the black of his incredibly fine tunic and trousers (which is nowhere near as faded as you suspected). The cloak he's perpetually wearing has stopped reeking of death, and he seems to have even sobered up.
You hardly recognize him, and try not to stare as the borderline handsome priest simply tosses up the hood on his cloak for a disguise.
"This idea of yours is genius, Anscham."
"Th-thank you. I would have fashioned a hat for you, to cover your— to cover your features, but I trust that you know how to be discreet."
He pauses a moment— looking like he's going to thank you— and settles on letting up on his scowl. Seeing the priest looking so clean-cut and smiling is bizarre beyond measure.
"We're splitting up. You'll provide a welcome distraction in the streets while I sneak ahead. No one will intercept you along the way—"
"No senseless murder—"
"—and we'll reconvene on the front steps of the Church of Agriculture. Set down Atticus before any guards approach you. I'll come out from hiding if there's any trouble, and can take the heat off so you can make it to the building without any further delays. Understood?"
"Yes." You take a deep breath and adjust the weight in your arms as carefully as you can.
"Let's go."
The last time you were in the southern fields of Wearmoor, you had just escaped from one of the most traumatizing experiences of your life. You couldn't appreciate your surroundings at all. Now you're out from the tree-line, it's nearly a year later, you have come a very long way, and you can fully appreciate the beauty of the day. The gifts of your Goddesses. Mercy's light and Agriculture's land.
Pastel skies shroud the first light of morning. Strips of farmland wind across the hills like colored ribbons. Overgrown grass billows in a light and chilly wind, which you cannot feel through the dense bee-keeper's suit you're wearing. It's blocking out the smell of acres upon acres of wheat, wildflowers, and specialty crops. Past countless farms and their owners, who go about their business without paying you much mind.
At some point, Father Pevrel disappeared from view, and you try not to actively look around for him. You keep your focus on only occasionally tilting your head towards waving farmhands, children running about in spacious yards, and the occasional dog barking at your passing.
Before long, the peaks of the great holy city comes into view. You're entering through the southern gates. Wearmoor is squat and spacious— nothing like your high towers and walls back home. Here, defenses are made out of the land. Wild growth covers trellises with barbed plants. Massive barricades are constructed of fallen wood and sharpened into lethal points, doubling as weapon or rams in a pinch.
The walls of the city itself spans further than the eye can see. They wind around the perimeter of Wearmoor for miles, covered in ivy, and utterly disguising the doors beneath— save for the road leading right up to the main entrance.
The doors you're seeking are open. A steady stream of men and women going about their business filter along the dirt roads. You easily blend into the crowd of merchants, farmers, and common citizenry. Dozens of people litter the sides of the streets, talking and mingling among themselves. They're dressed in a practical fashion— simple working shirts, loose dresses, and aprons with many pockets— and their speech is simpler still. It feels like you pass by one hundred conversations regarding which crop is most favorable for the current climate and soil conditions, as you descend deeper still into the city.
You're surrounded on all sides by personal and public gardens. Plants spill out from every window. The poorest hovels have little to no space around them, on the cramped city streets. Their gardens sit atop the roof— it's likely a nightmare to keep free of snow in the season of Worship— and their humble stone walls snake with moss and ivy. More luxurious homes boast flowers and crop in small plots beside their stone buildings, or even massive tracts of land.
It's all built atop the ruins of fallen civilizations. Above the rubble, beside it, and around every wealthy home, neatly trimmed grass adds to the sea of green. You see exotic metals, glass, and gemstones littering the wealthiest of abodes. The City of Vitality is not just alive— it is truly thriving.
Just across from a stunning public pond, you're bumped into hard by a cut-purse.
Father Wilhelm erupts into a frenzy of buzzing noises, and starts shaking the basket in your arms frantically.
Without having to fake a thing, you scramble to keep hold on the box, and yell at the thief responsible. A series of sympathetic citizens come to your aid, accosting the shady-looking man. Only a single elderly woman asks if you're alright, before joining in on harassing the would-be thief.
While a fist-fight breaks out (it seems Wearmoor's citizens take each other's safety and welfare very seriously), you gently set down Father Wilhelm, confirm that the bag you're carrying under your coat is still unopened (it's untouched), and resume your course.
A colossal park is nearby, which houses a forest within the city. Sprawling farmland surrounds the collection of trees and shrubbery. Prayers to Mercy and Agriculture fall from your lips as you venture deeper still. You're well over halfway to the Church, nearest to the district that your parents inhabit. These massive expanses of land belong to only those of the highest status in the city: nobility, and those who are associated with the theocracy.
Little fences for privacy begin to cut off the view of many front doors down the main road. You're alarmed by the lack of internal walls, but realize that the labyrinthine nature of the city itself is a massive deterrent to demonic outbreaks. The people are not sectioned off from one another. They're all interconnected— and it just takes a little extra work to reach one another.
Over the tops of the trees, deep in Wearmoor's heart, and just a few more yards away from you lies the Church of Agriculture. Your arms ache nearly as much as your heart. You haven't looked on yours and Mother Bethaea's home in nearly four years, and it hasn't changed a day.
The building itself is only two stories tall, but has catacombs and cellars that run many more deeper. Grand, sweeping stone steps rises and falls in all directions. The basement doors, the main hall's stunning archways, and every last decaying tower is just as you remember it. These are not repurposed ruins, but new structures built into the wreckage. Song can be heard from within the home of fertility. Crumbling stone and moss is all around, and the air smells of growth.
The Church of Agriculture is a celebration of life, death, and everything in-between.
A monument to the domain of death stands before you. Leading up to the southern steps are the skulls of many old devotees to the Church. Each one is elevated on a stone platform, and etched onto the front of each surface are the names of your predecessors. There's a similar tribute on all eight corners of the Church's grounds, for all eight of Agriculture's aspects.
Mother Bethaea is buried in the fields to the north, so that she could be one with the Harvest, even after her passing.
You're standing still, trying to not clutch at your chest. It's a little hard to breathe thanks to the mask over your face, but you steady yourself and cross the last few steps up to the Church itself.
No guards come out to accost you. You pause a moment on the steps, standing before a massive, double-door. It's inscribed with stunning illustrations of skulls and flowering bodies.
Your chest is aching.
From the shadows of the archway beside you, Father Pevrel hisses, "this is perfect. Set down Atticus. Let's make an entrance."
The priest of shadow blends so well into the darkness, he's practically invisible. You manage to not jump out of your skin. As gently as you can, you set down Father Wilhelm, and tap three times on the top of the box.
The elderly man still waits a moment to move. He sounds incredibly sore. "How was I? All clear?"
"You were remarkable, and— and, no. Wait just a moment." You're fidgeting hard with one of your gloves. "They must still permit anyone in the city entry. It's been years since I last visited, but I remember this much. We'll need to locate their leadership once we're inside. They're most likely at the center of the building, if they're not— if they're not out working."
Father Pevrel comes just enough out from the shadows to fire you a look. It's the kind of look that says 'I know how much this means to you. Take the lead if you want to.'
>A] Change into the garb of the leader of the Church of Mercy and politely open the door. You're going to not make any assumptions or put anyone in danger unnecessarily. See if you'll be taken to the council presiding over the Church of Agriculture civilly and calmly. Father Pevrel raised some excellent points about not implicating every person here. You don't want to involve anyone you don't have to with all this mess.
>B] This is just as much your home as it is any of the clergy here, and you're going to make it clear that you're not fucking around. Change into the garb of a priest of the Church of Agriculture, open the damn door, and demand to be taken to whoever is in charge. You have a laundry list of reasons to be here, and you're starting with the safety and security of your boys.
>C] You're too upset to give a shit. Get back to wearing something befitting of the leader of the Church of Mercy, but let Father Pevrel and Father Wilhelm take the lead on this.
Switch back to our old black clothes. Stay respectful but firm. Justice is literally by our side, we could probably intimidate a demon into submission so I think we should be fine.
Dress in the finest robes in the style Agriculture adores and kick down the doors in a dynamic entry! Anscham is here and he demands to see the manager in a calm and reasonable manner.
I hate to spread the vote more, but I think we should go in with Black, Gold, and Green. Mostly Gold, with Black and Green accents. If we are doing this diplomatically, we should be in the color of our office, but show our respects to Agriculture and Vengeance by wearing their colors. We are here to seek justice for those hurt by the clergy misusing Agriculture's blessings. It is a promise of what's to come, and we haven't made a promise we couldn't keep.
"The base is hale, but the uppermost branches have rotted."
We already know what needs trimming here.
You're not going to break down. You're not going to break down.
A quick glance over your shoulder confirms that no one is paying you any mind.
Standing in front of Father Wilhelm so that he's partially blocked from the street, you place a steady hand to your enchanted robes. You're split every which way, and barely manage to breathe. "My old clothes— what I wore on my last visit to the Church of Agriculture. Make it in the color of my office, with— with green and black accents. A promise of what's to come." The tension in your voice softens. "Something that Agriculture would adore."
In a matter of seconds, the bee-keeper's hood and wicker mask twists into a long hood draped across your broad back. A high black collar is the only indication of your silk shirt, as it's shrouded beneath a set of impossibly fine holy vestments. The golden weave is enchanting, from the layers of cloaks and sleeves all the way down to the excessive fabric gathering at your feet. At every hem, about your neck, and in slimming patterns along your torso is intricate embroidery, all done up in ebony. If you weren't mistaken, you'd say that the pattern mimicked very small swords. Dark, stitched forests span along the length of the design, in a dizzying recreation of the wilderness you've come to know and love.
You can't help but turn slightly and admire your robes. They're fitted enough to resemble what you used to wear, but concessions have obviously been made to flatter your body type. You're not complaining. It's possibly the nicest thing you've ever worn, save for what you'd put on for a sermon.
Father Wilhelm is back on his feet. He elbows you gently. "They look much better on you than me, Richard."
You can't bring yourself to grin, but move to open the double doors. "Thank you."
"Hey." Father Pevrel moves out from the shadows.
Your friends flank you on either side. With a mighty heave, you push open the entrance to the Church of Agriculture.
Green assaults you from all directions. The interior of the building has changed since your last visit. The ceilings are repaired, though they're spotted with glass windows in many places to let even more daylight in. The wing stretches back further than the eye can see, in part because of the windowed door at the end of the hall. Between the countless ivy-coated pillars, full planters, ponds, and bushes is hardwood flooring. The entire structure must have been an expense beyond compare. The current leadership can't seem to help but flaunt their power and wealth.
Once you and your allies are safely inside, you quickly close the monstrously heavy doors. They slam shut with a THUD that grabs the attention of a nearby priestess, who's dutifully watering some of the bushes.
The tan and curvaceous brunette drops her watering can at the sight of you and instinctively takes several steps backwards. She nearly trips on her pale-green robes. "F-Fathers—"
You put a hand out to stop Father Pevrel from moving any closer towards the terrified thing. Before either of your companions can do any damage, you say, "good morning, Sister."
"G-good m-morning." She brushes some of her overgrown bangs out from her eyes, trying to gather her composure.
"We have business with your leadership. Who can speak with us here and now?"
It's like you've asked her to name every star in the sky. She has to think on the matter for several agonizing seconds, then finally looks towards a door to the west. It's covered in so much ivy, you could have easily missed it.
"Sister Jolland. Our benefactor of Generosity. She should be—" She's wincing, and obviously can't remember the location of whoever it is that you could talk to. "It might be easier for me to show you where she is." She's already hiked up the bottoms of her robes, righted the watering can, and is striding towards the western door. "Right this way."
You and your companions exchange quick glances with one another before following after her.
You're taken into a narrow corridor positively brimming with plant life. Doors line the corridor on every side. It's incredibly bright, thanks to the lighting coming from the ceiling. Your guide ducks into the fourth door on the left, but leaves it propped open.
The second you emerge into the next hallway, you're greeted by a descending staircase at the end of a vast indoor park. There's a fair number of clergy standing about, tending to the growth on the walls or lost in prayer— all full-figured, dressed in green, with ruddy complexions from hours spent drinking and working under the sun— who jump out of their skin at the sight of you and your companions.
Father Wilhelm raises a hand. His mild speech somehow fills the entire room. "Carry on with your business, please."
At least ten more heads must perk up at the opposite end of the chamber.
Your guide takes off at a blistering pace, heading straight for the stair. You all follow suit, drawing the stare of every other person in the chamber. At least three clergy must have taken off to let others know of your arrival.
By the time you're at the bottom of the stair, you can make out whispers throughout the entire ground floor.
You all continue winding through increasingly complex corridors and rooms, drawing no small amount of attention. The moment it looks like Father Pevrel is about to protest or demand an explanation for how long the walk is taking, the priestess who's been leading you stops at a grand, mahogany door.
Carvings of acts of charity adorn the entire piece. It would be heart-warming in any other situation.
Your guide raps twice on the exotic surface. "Kate! Katelyn, open up!"
A mellow, exceedingly friendly call can be heard from the other side. "Hmmm? Motte, is that you, dear? What's the matter?"
Shuffling of papers. Someone's coming.
Father Pevrel can't stand the pleasantries, and barks, "on behalf of King Magnus the Merciful, by order of Father Richard Anscham, leader of the Church of Mercy, I— Father Nicholas Pevrel, Justiciar of Corcaea— demand—!"
The door opens. A short and squat woman— no younger than 70 years of age— looks up to you and your allies. Her button nose is littered with freckles from a lifetime in the sun, and her wrinkles indicate many years of laughter. Her thin, white hair is done up in a messy bun, which is being held up by a string of green ribbon. It matches the emerald of her robes, and contrasts nicely with the gray in her small eyes.
Sister Jolland smiles at you all, nods to Motte, and pats her once or twice on the leg. "Thanks for the help. You should get back to the greenhouse."
The priestess nods, curtsies deeply to you and your fellow church leaders, then takes off at such a brisk stride that she's practically running.
The old woman before you is still smiling sweetly, leaves the door open, and heads back into her office. "Tea?"
"No." Father Pevrel's grimace darkens the hallway. He takes bold strides forward without a single glance back.
"No, thank you." A small nod from Father Wilhelm, as he takes a few steps into the room.
You know it's literally heresy to refuse, you have an innate resistance to poison (just in case), you absolutely love tea, and you could really use something to decompress with. "Please. Sister Jolland—"
"Katelyn's fine, Father. Kate, if you prefer. Is bluebell fine?"
You blink once or twice. The flower-covered office is sparsely decorated. At least eight plush armchairs are all arranged neatly in a circle around a large and low table. On it are ledgers in every size and shape. Piles of coin from Calunoth are stacked up in neat little rows, and a vast assortment of currency from past ages is organized near the end of the table atop a single green cloth. Beside the strange coinage is a teapot in the shape of a heart. There are no holes or windows in the ceiling here, but scented candles and oils create a heady perfume throughout the brightly lit space. Half a dozen teacups are scattered about— some stained badly from frequent use— and Katelyn is trying to find a clean one for you to use.
"Bluebell isn't native to Corcaea." You're in something of a daze, trying to remember if you'd wandered through this room before during your last visit.
"We introduced it quite recently!"
"You don't mean the vine...?" You can't help but stare as the old woman locates a cup ("aha!") and gestures happily for you all to have a seat. You take a seat and assume a firm, level, and respectful tone. "Sister Katelyn."
She laughs a little, but quickly quiets down. "You can call me whatever you like. What's the trouble?"
A deep blue tea is poured into your cup. It smells of exotic fruit— coconut, possibly— and lemon.
"We are here to seek justice for those hurt by the misuse of Agriculture's blessings." You take your teacup, and watch as the liquid changes from midnight to a fine shade of amethyst. You narrow your eyes. "Magic...?"
Sister Jolland looks a little offended. "Goodness, no. Bluebell vines, just as you suspected. They have a curious interaction with lemon." She takes a sip, and looks between you and your fellow priests. Father Wilhelm reluctantly sat down, and Father Pevrel looks like he could kill the priestess as any moment. "What's happened...?"
It looks like every gear in Father Pevrel's head is turning. You keep your eyes on the room, but sip at the damn tea. There's no poison.
It's fucking delicious. Woody, earthy, and full of citrus. The bluebell vine— also known as butterfly pea— symbolizes an attachment to the divine. It's known for stress relief and to increase productivity levels.
Appropriate for a woman who seems to be running the Church's finances.
This is way too distracting for your liking. You set down an empty cup and stare down Sister Jolland.
"Obstructing the work of the Church of Vengeance is more than treason, Sister. If you withhold any information from myself or my colleagues, you condemn your very soul. I will ask you once— and on behalf of Vengeance, the lord of judgement, and all that is good and holy— pray that I do not have to ask you again. Do you know the whereabouts of Clarence Chester 'Chesty' Connelly or Mathers 'Serpent' Ormond?"
A worried, vacant, and extremely apologetic stare glimmers back at you. It's the look of a mother who's seen another parent in pain, who doesn't have the faintest idea of how to help. "I don't—" Father Pevrel makes such an abhorrent face, the priestess nearly stops talking. "—but if you will permit me to, I would gladly gather everyone who might. I take it that this is a matter you don't want the whole Church talking about?"
You're not going to kill this woman on the spot, but you're going through a lot. You barely manage to keep a steady tone. "No. I will need to speak with the other members of your council, Sister. Now."
The tone of your voice, Father Pevrel's body language, and everything you'd said to this small and feeble woman has her scooting slightly back in her chair. "I will gladly tell you where they all are. I can't gather them at once. Brother Morgan and Sister Tait are conducting funeral services, seeing to the dead across town. They're on the outskirts of the city. I can give you directions. Brother Hillbrush—"
Your heart skips a beat. You were told by one of Brother Hillbrush's allies that he was in need of your aid over a month past. You knew that Bobert had a high position in the Church of Agriculture, but nothing like this.
"—Brother Townsend, and Brother Foster are all in the fields. They might be together— they often are. And Sisters Schafer and Isolda are out and about town, aiding in childbirth. They might have not moved since this morning, but I can give you the names and places of every mother they're expecting to see today."
"That's it?" Father Pevrel's scowl deepens. "Only eight?"
"Yes, just eight. We each do our best to represent an aspect of Agriculture's will. There are many more who we teach, and we all serve the Church as best as we can." A terribly sad look lingers on you.
Father Pevrel firmly grabs you by the arm, and spits towards Sister Jolland, "excuse us."
While you're practically dragged to the corner of the office, Father Wilhelm stays in place, keeping a firm eye on the priestess in question. He came along on the trip to ensure its success, but you had never considered exactly what he had in mind. Intimidation was not your first guess.
"She is not to leave the building under any circumstances." Father Pevrel's whispers have a lot less liquor on them than usual. He might be trying to cut back on drinking. Maybe he's just taking this job that seriously.
Coconut water and citrus makes your words far sweeter than they should be. "You can't expect to lock down the entire Church."
"Watch me." He fires a miserable glance to the priestess (she is sitting quietly and patiently), then back to you. "Bringing us out of the Church and into the city is a recipe for disaster. We'll be alerting every one of our enemies to your location. I say you interrogate these groups in the smallest numbers you can, as fast as you can— preferably individually— and see where they slip. Have Wilhelm escort anyone back to the Church of Agriculture who's willing to leave. Keep a close fucking eye on the ones who refuse to go. I trust you can handle that much, while I stay here."
"You are not seriously going to try and investigate the entire Church on your own—"
"Watch me." He narrows his eye sockets at you. "Or rather, don't. We don't need to be up each other's asses for this. Not unless you think anyone would be bold enough to try and kill you on the spot— and let's be frank— who in their right mind would try? These cowards have been working as hard as they can to protect themselves. They're not going to go fucking that all up now. Especially not now."
You speak with the moon and stars. A prophecy granted to you by Dream. You couldn't have completely understood it at the time, but you certainly do now.
"The base is hale, but the uppermost branches have rotted."
Everyone in the room stares at you. Sister Jolland looks terrified.
You all know what needs to be trimmed.
>Choose one prompt from AandB.
>C and D are optional.
>A] You need to figure out how to handle this situation, and you have two invaluable friends by your side. (1, 2, and 3 are mutually exclusive. Majority vote will decide.)
>1] You're all sticking together, no matter what. Drag Father Pevrel away from here kicking and screaming if necessary.
>2] Father Pevrel should stay in the Church of Agriculture to conduct his own investigation. You'll go with Father Wilhelm into the city, and the two of you will stick together.
>3] Father Pevrel should stay in the Church of Agriculture, and Father Wilhelm should split up from you in the city to cover the most ground possible. You'll go it alone.
>B] Looks like your cover is blown. Getting to these other council members as quickly as possible would behoove you. (You'll get more specific directions for whoever you decide to pursue. 1, 2, and 3 are mutually exclusive. Majority vote will decide.)
>1] Head for the farmers. Brother Hillbrush is with them, and you want to get in contact with your ally as soon as humanly possible.
>2] Go for the funerary workers. It will probably be a short affair to get them away from their work.
>3] Track down the midwives. It will take you the longest by far to pull them away from their work, and they're probably not even in the same place.
>C] You're not done with Sister Jolland. (Write-in anything else you want to ask, say, or do while you're here.)
>D] Write-in. (Any other strategy you wish to employ while in the city, things you want to do in the Church first, etc. Subject to QM approval.)
