Chapter 36: Balance
"Plans are set in motion."
It was the early afternoon— on the 27th of Last Sowing— when you passed out in the arms of a Goddess. It is now early morning. By your best estimates, you have slept a total of 12 hours in eight days. Every inch of you feels it. Primarily, you're starving. Thirst is on you like a demon. The pain you started to feel before passing out has eased, but it's unmistakable that you've been pushing yourself too hard. As much as you hate it, simply traversing the castle all morning yesterday feels like you ran a marathon. It's likely that brisk walking for several hours is still too much exertion for what your body is presently capable of. Searing pain is also all throughout every joint in your lower body, and it's the least of your concerns.
As you look to the ceiling of Walter's and Harriet's bedroom, and all around, your body is screaming to get up and clean. There's cute little love notes tacked onto the ceiling. Walter would have had to have been the one to climb up there. It's just about the only inch of the room that isn't in disarray, thanks to the assortment of traps near the door that are still untouched. Approximately ten thousand flower petals litter the floor, which have been disturbed in multiple places from yours and Agriculture's cuddling. Little flecks of gold and residual light are intermingled with all of it.
There's two things that give immediate solace. First, and most importantly: no one else is in the room. This is one of the first occasions in recent years where you've woken of your own accord. It's a fire alarm in your mind, and you have to wonder what day it is— but it means you have privacy, and a minute to clean. That same privacy enables you to confirm the second piece of respite: There's no indication of any further, significant weight gain. Granted, at this point it's harder to gauge precisely— but you're
almost positive that you're no larger than yesterday.
Agriculture kept to Her word. Mercy's healing enabled you to wake of your own accord. You take a moment to get up, and pray. Thanks is in order. The Gods are Merciful.
There are two entire days at your disposal before the public sermon in the main choir. It's likely that Father Pevrel has been seriously delayed thanks to the floods. Given the scope of issues the Church of Storm needs to address, a priest of the tempest in his company would have actually
slowed down their travel. You just might have more Time at your disposal than you thought, and you intend to use every second wisely.
There's still the matter of planning the sermon, putting out missionary work, whether or not you will make the Time to invite any of the downtrodden into your home, audiences with the people, your congregation's immediate safety, making sure Spangle doesn't burn down half the city, taking stock of the situation with the food shortage, and cleaning this damn room. To say nothing of self-care, checking in with Adwin, all the rest of your company in the city, and making sure you all live to see another day.
It's miserable, but the dungeons will have to wait. You never can have enough of darkness, but the city, and your family needs you.
This is nothing you aren't used to. Before you went to the ruins, four years of your life were spent leading the Church of Mercy. Delegation is mandatory. Trust in your congregation is second nature to you. The words of two Goddesses are your counsel. The power of the pantheon is in your hands, and you won't get bogged down with micromanaging for more than a second necessary.
Setting about a few morning tasks, cleaning yourself up, and getting the room in order is critical. It gives you a few additional moments to think, gets you ready for the day, and ensures that your guests don't know exactly what went on in their bedroom. It's clear that no one is coming in to bother you, short of fear for your life.
Getting business in order will take priority, so you can direct your attention where it's actually needed most. You swore up and down that every single day, no matter what other activity or responsibility befell you: you WILL exercise. It will give you even more Time to think over how to map out your schedule in the next couple of days, get your energy level up, and will address several other longer-term choices you truly need to make.
Roll 1d100. Best of 3 will be used.
>-50 PRIEST OF AGRICULTURE (It's going to be a long road.)
>-20 SOUL ACHE (Dream is pissed, you invoked for nearly a week solid, and you're REALLY feeling it.)
>+10 FAITH OF A GODDESS (Mercy should be delighted that you're looking after yourself.)
>+15 VETERAN (You're an active man, have been working out your entire life, and trained under the leader of the Church of Flesh. You're far from clueless.)
>By default, you will stick to a routine with a calorie deficit, and a focus on strength training. This will hurt your gains, but will provide the most weight loss.
>The priests of Flesh in your company will be consulted at minimum, to ensure that you do this safely.
>There is an alternative, if MAJORITY vote decides:
CLEARLY SPECIFY if you wish to apply your +20 bonus (GREEN DAHLIA).
>No muscle will be lost! Rather than maintain a calorie deficit, you will have a diet that meets your caloric needs, AND supplements strength training.
>You will SERIOUSLY improve your performance (both through numbers alone, devotion to Agriculture and Flesh, and how much you can lift/drag/carry/throw/etc.)
>Weight loss will be dramatically slowed, but your body composition, health, and overall feeling of wellness will see serious, rapid improvement.
>Lastly, you have 4 priests of Flesh in your company. If you do not elect to train under any one of them in particular, you will work out with whoever in your clergy is available that day.
As a purely OPTIONAL prompt, feel free to specify if you'd like to focus your training with any one of the following priests in particular:
>1] Brother Roger Garrick. (Veteran priest of Flesh. Worked directly under King Magnus. Native of Calunoth. Former body guard for Walter. He's incredibly fond of lifting, and you know you'd see the greatest improvements in your STRENGTH with his guidance.)
>2] Brothers Eustace and Tancred Nye. (The very polite gentlemen you saw earlier yesterday. They adore swimming, have done so with you on a few occasions, and know your limits. They'll take it easier on you than their compatriots, but also may be more willing to teach you about BALANCED devotion to the God of Action.)
>3] Brother Olaf Osmund. (Brevity is his creed, his devotion to Time almost matches yours, and he's allegedly not a denizen of Corcaea. The fighter loves using his fists, and would certainly help with your COMBATIVE capabilities.)
>
Rolled 63 (1d100)
Growing up in a famine, being raised under the hand of a brutally strong farmer, and being stripped of your identity as a human as a boy did not make you soft. Neither did eight years in damned captivity. The taste of blood is still in your mouth. Leaving for the ruins to die forged your will in iron, and the allegiance of an archdemon. The capital knows you as a hero. Over one dozen survivors of Ostedholm look to
you as the founder of their congregation. A return home came on the heels of assassins, and you intend to hunt down
every last one of them.
You're the Father of Compassion. It's always been your greatest strength.
Evidence of abuse, excess, and the blessing of two Goddesses back-to-back is stripped clean from the room. You don't leave any additional notes. Nearly half a decade of your life has spent running the Church of Mercy, and the only man you truly answer to is your King. The morning search for the priests of Flesh in your company gives you more Time to think, still. Being qualified to pen the tenets of Agriculture came from
all of Her domains. You are a priest of
all of the Gods. It only makes sense to train in
all the aspects of
action.
"Balance."
You found them quickly enough, on the outskirts of the great hall. Brother Eustace and Tancred do not need further instruction. The frame you possess is the altar of your devotion, and you have
sinned. Flesh may scorn you now, but you won't tolerate it for another second. The weight of your station is
fuel for your fire. The coming days may challenge your skills as a leader, but the rest of your
life demands infinitely
more. Insanity has a place in your life. So does excess. But not today. Today you, and two of the nicest men you've ever met politely deflect any and all criticism that's fired your way from the rest of your congregation, staff, or friends. They get you away from the main hall.
"It is
very important to take Time to rest." Eustace is a treasure, as he shoulder-checks Agnes while you all pass down the hall. "I heard you and Father Wilhelm are close! I also heard that you gave Fred the runaround. How about you kick his ass, next Time?"
You both could not grin any harder.
His brother tarries a moment behind, dusting Agnes off as politely as he's able. Tancred winks at you both. The priestesses barrage of insults carry down the hall, in lieu of asking where you're going.
"The heart is the strongest muscle, and Father, you've been training it every second! Let us apply that same discipline today. Keep your Spirit high! Today, we fight each other. Tomorrow, we may fight together."
A discreet location on the outskirts of your gardens has been selected. There's a few fallen trees. On arrival, you confirm that solid stone fountains can be drained. Monstrous rocks and debris are set aside. "A warm-up," Tancred happily declares, as he runs up with several boulders in hand.
Roughly an hour later, they're still all smiles. Spotting you is a workout in an of itself for both men. They aren't phased at all by how badly you've been beating yourself up. "Do not worry, Father. Vomiting from lifting is natural! It is
weakness leaving the body."
Existence doesn't need to have a purpose. Everything will wither in Time. You are not dying today— but your inability to say 'no' will. You give them no quarter. You're not risking your health again. Not at home. A close eye is kept on the Time, on the sky, and on your intent to show
all the Gods your devotion.
"We're all rooting for you, Father!"
The might of the pantheon doesn't compare to how miserable you feel near the end of it. You focus on fighting through worse than weight, or blood, or exhaustion. Each God has their own punishment for abuse. You know them intimately. It stops today.
"Heh. Root."
"Thank you for the display of appreciation, Tancred. You know how sincerely I appreciate it. Will you fetch one of those tree trunks? It should do nicely."
The Gods will literally kill you if you cannot control yourself. Control usually escapes you, but there are two priests of self-discipline in your employ. LONG before you think you should stop, an expanse of the moat is elected for cooling off. Eustace ensures you, "it will come with a burn hotter than the sun! How is
that, for the Father of the Day?"
You've made mistakes before. They're a learning experience. Your
intentions to serve with all your being are one thing. Destroying your image, your credibility, and everything you hold dear is another. It doesn't escape you how discreet the three of you keep the routine. There will be a Time for public appearances, and this is not one of them.
Begrudgingly seeing to a rationed breakfast on the outskirts of the curtain wall comes with a prayer to the Goddess. Conversation, pleasantries, and verbal worship will come later. The first day of the rest of your life stretches out before you. Your city is baking hot under the sun. So are devastated fields, far off in the countryside. Roads in disrepair. A Father delayed.
You're sick of stalling.
>A] ELECT TO MAKE A TIME-SKIP. Jump ahead through all micromanaging. It will be assumed that you see to affairs to the best of yours and your congregation's ability. The sermon you will hold with Mercy will be planned and written by your QM, in accordance with as much character development and intent expressed by our voters thus far. One more post will be provided, and we will end the thread. I will launch thread 22 TOMORROW, THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 25TH. We'll open with the sermon.
>B] START KNOCKING THIS SHIT OUT. (The following are MUTUALLY EXCLUSIVE. We will address these items one at a time until we hit 404, or they are all addressed. (Whichever comes first.)
>1] MISSIONARY WORK.
>2] AUDIENCE WITH YOUR PEOPLE.
>3] PLAN THAT SERMON.
>4] HELP THE POOR AND DOWNTRODDEN.
>5] AN EX-DEMON IS YOUR WARD. GO SEE TO HIM. (Write-in any additional action you want to take regarding Adwin preemptively, if you wish.)
>6] YOU WERE NEARLY KILLED ON YOUR WAY HOME. WHAT THE FUCK WERE THOSE ASSASSINS?
>7] STACE! MORRIS! VENGEANCE!
>8] TAKE STOCK OF THE ENTIRE SITUATION. HOLD ANOTHER DAMN MEETING. EVERYONE IS ATTENDING. (I'll write a scene with nearly twenty named and speaking characters. I don't even care. Let's do this shit.)
>9] Write-in. (Subject to QM approval.)
>C] CLEARLY specify if there is an action you want to leave by the wayside. This will shorten the amount of time we spend in this thread on duties, and focus on getting to your public sermon ASAP. Subject to vocal opposition AND QM discretion.
The city of Mercy has lacked its Mother and Father for far too long. The first order of business is seeing to the sick, and downtrodden. There are so many problems with this, a lesser man would not know where to start. You set about wrangling together your clergy, and direct every last one of them towards the main choir. The entire affair takes roughly half an hour to orchestrate, thanks to the breadth of the castle. Within the hour, you're all assembled. A few things are relayed to you by Electrum, under the stained glass, amidst pews, and embraced by the ever-rising sun.
There's the matter of Sister Corbon's work in the city. She's seen the as many of the sick and dying that she could, but was obstructed at every turn. Those who recognized her often turned her outright away from their homes. Affiliation with your blasphemous congregation comes with a high social cost. Those that she could not bully into accepting her aid— through waving authority, or further threats against their health— were left unattended. The clergy of Corcaea are once again able to call upon the Goddess of healing, but it was too little, too late in many places. You are only one man, and have pushed yourself beyond all mortal limits. It would be unwise to go it alone.
The safety of your family is a serious concern. From the public appearances you wish to make, to simply traveling outside of the keep, there is the constant threat against everyone's livelihood. Most of the castle remains empty. For the vast majority of the day, its residents gather in the great hall. Anyone who is not immediately tasked with defense has been leaning hard on the protection of your home. There have been attempts multiple Time a day, every day, for cutthroats and butchers to try and work their way inside of your fortress' high walls. Harvey and Irefist have given potential spies among the guards nothing to work with thus far. Both men are sleeping in shifts, while personally monitoring Walter's and Harriet's protection. It's a bad spot for both of them to be in. They're worn out, and you all are just getting started.
If you can safely open the doors to the Church of Mercy, there is then the question of who to let in. Moving the sick within the halls of your home would be a tremendous ordeal, given the social unrest in the streets— but once inside, they could be treated and monitored through mundane means with far greater ease. The population boom has led to a massive surge in childbirths, and there will be orphans from the flood. You saw a number of vagrants running around the streets from the first few moments you came back to Eadric. There may be homeless adults. There will definitely be those who will take advantage of your kindness. Plenty of citizens may try to seek free shelter and protection from you, especially in such a trying Time.
There's also the threat of those who will take the opportunity to slip into your home in the guise of a friend, to slit the necks of your family as they sleep.
This is to say nothing of the starving, the elderly, and those who have fallen on difficulties from concerns that plague you all. Outbreaks tear families apart. Refugees may be seeking shelter from outside of the city's walls. It could be suicide to open your doors in full. The men and women working under your employ are already pushed to their absolute limit, in terms of the burdens placed on them.
There is the matter of your tenets. You penned them yourself. Seven clergy of Mercy are under your command, and finally arrive together in the hall. Brother Durville drops his halberd when he sees you. The young brunette doesn't even need to shave, but he's seen more combat than most. The boy's reliance on weaponry and shields is only a supplement to his own ability to invoke. The gears turning in his head are practically visible, as Sister Tilda sweeps up the flabbergasted priest's weapon, and politely hands it off to him.
Sister Superior Clemence "Electrum" Tirel, Sister Beatrice "Spangle" Corbon, Sister Agnes Willoughby, Sister Susan Willoughby, Sister Tilda Willoughby, Brother Peter Fergant, and Brother Thomas Durville are currently at your disposal. You're all gathered in the main choir, and do not have Time for preaching.
Every last one of them has sworn to uphold the same, fundamental truths. You preach, regardless. They need the reminder.
"The Church of Mercy is our home. Our gift. As the halls of Our shelter remain open to
all who seek refuge, so too are Our
hands. I will never fail to extend myself. Neither the fall of Our home, nor a crack in my shield will halt my oath. I will
not hesitate to use my
own vessel in the name of
Mercy."
Brother Fergant and Sister Agnes are doing everything in their power to keep the young upstart in your midst from interfering with your orders. The young man means well. He was your running partner as recently as two months ago. There's an ache in your heart that's not going to go away until you set things right. It might be nice to invite the sprinter to work out with you every so often. His elder is all bristling stubble, and new gray through his hair. Peter was challenged to prove himself to you, upon your arrival in Eadric. "Thank you, Father Anscham. I see you've decided to take some action."
He presents you with a map. You grin, and love maps. "What is the meaning of this?" It's an innocuous, small piece of parchment. The item is scarcely five inches across in any direction, but has a remarkable amount of information. The hand that penned it is steady, firm, and releases his grip to brush off his hands.
Your most veteran clergy member (in terms of age, not authority,) might think you've been cursed by something. Not only can you not be bothered to care, you're not going to entertain a single disparaging remark. The sheer amount of stoicism and resolution you're radiating immediately puts the man in his place. Brother Fergant points out several markers on the map. Its border mimics the perimeter of Eadric. A number of squares mark the location of the Church of Mercy, along with what you instantly recognize as major landmarks. Bends in the runoff from the Morinburn River. Commonly used halls for meetings, and business. The gardens. Checkpoints, and major gates. Between all of the little squares are a few red circles. "Orphanages. Permit them do their job. We can provide additional funding at your discretion."
Grumbling from Electrum about the art budget. You try not to smirk. The man at your side points to a number of little black x's. "Kitchens, that Sister Superior Tirel—"
Spangle outright snaps, "
Electrum." She could not look more pissed. Her foot is tapping. Every inch of her is radiating that she's hating being in the same space as the majority of your clergy.
The grimace on Brother Fergant's face could cut glass, as he repeats, "
Sister Superior Tirel and I have inspected. They've been ransacked. Those that were not destroyed outright have been closed. Every building that I've indicated is intended to be re-opened, but are now being used for the criminally inclined. Our livelihood is at serious risk here in the castle. This will only be compounded for every additional stranger that enters our halls. Blindly adhering to our tenets is as great a sin as ignoring them outright."
You take a level breath. He wants to lecture you on how to run things. He means well. It's fine. You are a patient, and understanding man.
"This is our home, but it is
also our shield. I would like to advise you, Father Anscham: do not create a crack in our defenses. Not where there are presently few to none."
Spangle spits again. "Coward."
Sister Agnes, Sister Susan, and Brother Durville bristle. They're all infinitely too well-mannered to speak out against a superior— especially a member of your congregation— and especially while they're in your company. Everyone is on edge, save for Tilda, who has been making a series of poultices and powders while you all speak. She beams at you. The squeak of her voice interrupts whatever retort Brother Fergant was about to fire off. "You seem much calmer, Father. Wonderful weather we're having, isn't it? Blessed be the
day, and all that. We shouldn't have any trouble at all if we don't get all split up, I don't think. Hard to give a group of clergy a hard Time, after all! Strength in numbers?" She elbows Brother Durville, who has settled into a state between devastation, and disbelief. "Ehh?"
The priest shrugs away from her, as lightly as he can. The grip he's keeping on the weapon at hand tightens. So does his own scowl. "Yeah."
There's bags under everyone's eyes. The severity of how understaffed you are cannot be overstated. There's only 7 clergy in your employ, and one of you. Every member of your clergy is currently also tasked with other duties. Demanding their attention be given to a different, additional matter is risky. In addition to compromising the security of the Church of Mercy— if every one of your invokers is absent— your staff is only human. Overworking them could destroy worse things than their health. Things like your friendships, and their respect for you.
>All of the following are mutually exclusive. Majority vote will decide.
>Select one (1) prompt.
>A] This has to wait. It's insanely unrealistic to address these matters at the moment, and hideously unfair to your clergy to expect this of them now. Once the affair with Father Pevrel is attended to, you'll get an update on the matter, and determine how sorely you need to wait on additional hands. Try to focus on home security, and making the most of your work here, now.
>1] MISSIONARY WORK. (You already have your clergy gathered.)
>2] AUDIENCE WITH YOUR PEOPLE. (If you can't go to them en masse, and they can't reside here, maybe letting a smaller number come to you would be more manageable.)
>3] PLAN THAT SERMON. (Everyone present will likely want to be involved.)
>5] AN EX-DEMON IS YOUR WARD. GO SEE TO HIM. (You might have forgotten about the art lessons. Shit. Better late, than never.)
>B] There are citizens of your city sick, and dying. You can't stand the thought of it. The problem of your public image will not get any easier, and fear will not stop you from seeing to those who's lives may be in danger. (Resolve to tackle this specific problem. Write-in who you want to have go with you, if anyone.)
>C] The Church of Mercy is YOUR home to use as YOU see fit. Its doors are meant to ALWAYS remain open. Upholding this oath is one of your greatest challenges while residing in Eadric. The burden is monstrous, but as the Father of Shelter...
>1] TAKE STOCK OF THE ENTIRE SITUATION. HOLD ANOTHER DAMN MEETING. EVERYONE IS ATTENDING. (You've got a good chunk of them already assembled, and will be able to gather everyone else faster than you could have alone.)
>2] YOU WERE NEARLY KILLED ON YOUR WAY HOME. WHAT THE FUCK WERE THOSE ASSASSINS? (Sounds like Brother Fergant knows something. Call for Harvey, and Irefist too. The keep's immediate security is in question, and you can't let it fall by the wayside. It's a good, discreet place to start.)
>D] You need answers, dammit. There's a map in your hands that can take you straight to a significant cause of crime and turmoil in your city. You're not going to let this sit. (Write-in who you want to invite to investigate this issue with you, if anyone.)
>E] Write-in.
Running a hand through your own hair, and dragging your palm over the bags under your own eyes doesn't cut it. There's a severe desire to go get a drink. You crush the impulse with righteous resolution. "We all are undermanned, and overworked." Exhaustion, and gratitude casts to Brother Fergant. "You're right."
He gives you a sincere smile. It might be the first you've ever seen from him, which only gets a little deeper as you continue.
"Having to worry about assassins, and— and the risk of losing you all is my primary concern. We cannot begin to
pray to protect anyone else, if we cannot protect ourselves first. Let us find a way to solidify our mutual security. As disappointing as this situation may be, I was expecting priorities to shift as new information came to light."
A few weary smiles find a way to surface, as you all bask in the sun within the main choir.
"You all cannot work effectively with this threat looming overhead. Brother Durville?"
He's taken heart. A fair measure of devastation drops off of his frame. "Yes, Father?"
"Will you please fetch Harvey, and Irefist? Whoever is not guarding the keep will be sleeping nearby. Both of their presence is immediately required. Please grant them any Time they need to ensure the keep's defense in their
temporary absence. We will keep this as brief—" You laugh, exasperated. "—as briefly as I'm able."
The boy takes off running without a second's hesitation. You literally pray for his swift, and safe return. No one minds the additional moment of quiet, and sanity.
To the triplets, you quickly reassure them, "I trust you all to aid me. I will do
everything in my power to aid the people, but your safety is paramount. I know you all are horrifically busy. If you would like to resume—"
A shake of all three priestess' heads. Agnes pipes up. "The security of the Church of Mercy is as great a concern for us, as it is for any other."
While every quietly requests permission to stay (which you immediately grant), there's a matter you've failed to see to. As tactfully as you're able, you pull Electrum and Spangle aside. It's rough, but you need to instruct someone else to temper their impulses. Sister Corbon's fire-starting is a threat to the safety of your city. It's far from productive. Beyond any measure of a doubt, you will not be invoking unnecessarily in the days to come. Promising your priestess to conduct research together is one thing, but following through is another. Experimentation is out of the question (for the Time being). So is enabling her vices, even if they perfectly compliment yours.
You don't want to be a hypocrite, even though you're positive you're going to come off as one.
>A] Bite the bullet, and tell Spangle point-blank that she is forbidden to perform any arson in Eadric, or any of its surrounding areas. She's a grown woman, who needs to manage her own impulses.
>1] Be firm, and make it a clear order. Threaten punishment, if necessary.
>2] You know how difficult it is, and won't be cruel, but you want to give her no doubt about how serious this issue is. You're willing to take some extra Time to reason with her, in the name of compassion.
>B] Flatly apologize for your behavior yesterday. Try and have a conversation about how you're doing everything in your ability to manage the fixations you have, and encourage her to do the same.
>1] Try to talk it out, and encourage Spangle to find a solution herself. You're the Father of Grace, and can definitely find a means of resolving this in a civil fashion.
>2] You were not joking about barbecue. Propose that she tend to the fires of the main hall, the hearths, and some cooking. You will get no end of shit for the suggestion, but you'd rather deal with some harassment now, than to have to clean up burnt bodies later.
>C] You have no regrets, and would never apologize for your involvement with the Gods. Awareness of your self-abusive behavior and acceptance of your flaws is still something worth preaching! You meant what you said when you proposed working with Sister Corbon in mutual research. Explain to her that you are simply too busy at the moment to enable either of you to stick to your original plan.
>1] Ask Spangle if she's willing to wait for things to die down, before you broach Sister Cardew about how to manage your preoccupations together. You WILL get to this matter, but can't promise a specific date. Make your intentions clear, and see if Electrum can help Spangle get out some aggression in the meantime.
>2] Propose that you three carve out some Time this evening together, and find a healthier way of tackling this dilemma. You do everything in your power to uphold your word, and empty promises do not sit right with you.
>D] Write-in.
"I have been playing with fire." The heat of the afternoon sun is nowhere near as volatile as fuse wire standing before you. Tension is all through the thin priestess, and you're not about to set off another reaction. "This evening. The three of us need to do something about this dilemma." No apology crosses your tone. "
Awareness of our destructive behavior is still a matter worth preaching. We can find a healthier way of tackling our inclinations, Spangle. I do
everything in my power to uphold my word— and empty promises do not sit right with me."
Electrum shifts, and looks between the two of you. Her lip curls. She's equally excited by the prospect, but seems deeply bothered. It's likely that she can't fathom how to schedule it, but her eagerness won't be tempered. "I can think of something."
A light rap on your shoulder, from Sister Corbon. "Hey."
You ignore the look of shock and offense that Sister Agnes is casting at Spangle for touching you. A grimace between both of them suffices. "Yes?"
"Don't go keeping me waiting again." That shark-like grin is back in full force. "Last night was pretty shitty. Walter ended up taking me out of the hall. I was worried sick about you." Both of her hands mimic claws. "After all, who knows what
trouble I'll get up to, if left to my
own devices?"
Electrum punches her. The impact hits so soundly, it sends a shiver up
your spine. The financier leers, "don't."
Her sister sets about rubbing her arm, while inviting another hit. It doesn't escape you that
everyone present is reverting to treating you with a distant, delicate hand. "We'll meet at the drawbridge," you propose. "Come night-fall. I believe we all will find ourselves more comfortable in the cover of dark."
A smile is offered to you, from both women. The pallor on all of your faces isn't leaving any Time soon. There's no intent here to stay out all night. All three of you just want to feel something like normalcy. Some relief.
Adwin will be seen to first. The twilight will suit canvas much more appropriately, and his art lessons have not slipped your mind. You're going to sort out this mess first, and see to a being who will treat you like a human the moment you're finished.
You really do need to say something, but now is far from an appropriate occasion to insist on how others treat you. In far less Time than you'd have expected, Brother Durville come running back. Harvey and Irefist are with him. It looks like they simply brought Walter and Harriet along. The fact that they do not trust any other soul in the building to guard them is beyond alarming. The knight in your company is still clad head-to-toe in armor, though it seems that the tattered cloak on the red lion's back has seen some action. There's fairly fresh blood on a fold nearest to his face. Harvey's fair features are ghostly.
You suspect he's heard a fair share of what you, Mercy, and Agriculture were up to yesterday. If nothing else, the red-head gives you a weary smile as he approaches. His helmet comes off, and you get a full view of his matted hair, the sweat on his brow, and exhaustion that easily rivals yours. He's at the head of the small company, and waves as they finish approaching. The motion doesn't come higher than chest-level. Fatigue is on him thicker than his sinewstone. "Hey. G-glad to see you m-made it out of th-there alive."
He
definitely heard the majority of your interactions with Mercy and Agriculture. Nervous energy teases at the ring on your hand, and the nearby hem of your robes. No eye contact. This is fine. "Good afternoon, Harvey. Irefist—"
Bringing up the rear of the group is the most blasphemous member of your congregation. The former resident of Rimilde, ex-sailor, fighter, and associate to your church is clad in far more armor than you saw him in previously. The singular pauldron and fragmented mail on the shorter, stockier man's frame has been replaced with a quality gambeson. An intact breastplate covers it, with complete mail beneath. There's damp dirt on Irefist's shoes, which is getting tracked through the main choir as he rapidly approaches. His gaunt, sun-stained features are worn thin. It looks like he's been running himself into the ground, and there's frizz to the highest crop of his nearly-shaved hair. He doesn't reply. Doesn't wave. Doesn't do more than find a nearby pew to collapse in. The sword and shield he was carrying are unceremoniously cast aside on the floor.
Irefist makes a point of sleeping in front of all of you. Moderate snoring fills the choir before Sister Cardew crosses the last of the aisle towards you. She's wearing plainclothes, or her closest approximation to it. At least five simple, white skirts all shuffle as the young woman adjusts her glasses, breaks away from Walter's side, and pokes your chest. "Richard.
Where have you been—"
"Attending to business." A weary glance, to everyone present.
Walter looks like he was slapped recently. He gives you a cheeky grin. The rest of your clergy is politely standing by, though Electrum and Spangle look like they want to beat Harriet to death.
The priestess of Spirit takes a step back the instant she hears the gravity of your tone. "We all were attacked
repeatedly on the road from Calunoth. I could not bring myself to attend to the details of the matter at the Time. We are home. This threat to our collective safety
must be addressed. Assassins and miscreants have no place in the city of shields. What have we gathered on them? Any identity? Motives? Allegiances? This has been going on for weeks. You all are capable enough to have deduced
something."
Spangle sneers, "what do you think I've been doing? Killing
puppies?"
Ray's absence sends a chill up your spine. You can't help but interject, "I take it Ray is at the keep—"
"B-best g-guard in th-the country." Harvey collapses in the pew next to Irefist, and doesn't nudge him awake. "He's g-got th-the keep cov-vered."
Casting a grimace to Brother Fergant, Spangle, Harvey, Sister Cardew, and Walter is sufficient. They all launch into an actual report.
While on the road from Calunoth, Harvey saw to the safety and security of your company. He and Irefist killed no fewer than two dozen men who were out for
your blood. The majority of the attacks on the caravan monopolized on wearing down your company's resources, slowing your procession to Eadric, and sabotaging your allies by any means necessary. Interrogation of multiple captured individuals revealed no information. Six killed themselves before Spangle could even get to them. The rest were killed via questioning, or outright after refusing to cooperate.
The year is 606, in the country of Corcaea— and the souls of mankind belong to demons. Torture is a regular occurrence. No one present bats an eye at the mention of your enemies receiving retribution. To suffer is to serve, after all.
What matters, and what Sister Cardew repeatedly stresses is that every single individual sent after you could not be identified. They arrived wearing masks, exhibited stoicism even in the face of death, bore no identifying markers, and always traveled from a great distance. They were not local citizens. These were carefully selected killers, who were willing to die to protect whoever hired them to take your life. At the very least, they died to harm the integrity of your return, and to tax your resources.
There's no question in Brother Fergant's mind that the only individuals with the wealth, control, and vendetta necessary to employ this operation would be a member of clergy— former, or otherwise. He notes that Spangle's work in the city has been in an attempt to root out any spies on Stace's and Morris' behalf. While she's performed overt work, he's been seeing to more discreet means of investigation with Sister Superior Tirel.
They have reason to believe that there are multiple bases of operation within Eadric for your enemies to utilize. The city of defense cannot be so easily sieged. The attackers who have assaulted your castle
must be primarily using the city itself for their own shelter, while jeopardizing yours.
Everyone present is relieved beyond measure that the doors to the Church of Mercy will temporarily be closed. The vast measure of assaults have been made by only one or two individuals at a Time. The similarities end there. There have been reckless, open attacks on your congregation in the street. Besmirching of their names and authority. Covert attempts at poison, while Irefist and Spangle have been out in the town. Incidents such as James being accosted for attempting to do so much as say your name. Skilled killers arriving in the dead of night, who have intimate knowledge of the castle's layout. And, of course, those who are non-violently demanding that you all simply leave the castle. The issue of your identity itself being questioned.
It's no wonder Fergant is going gray. An unflappable measure of determination is still on the priest, as he insists, "the streets are not safe. The castle's exterior defenses cannot be held, given our limited number of hands, and lack of compliance from the guard. Their utter lack of communication has led us to believe that they have been threatened, bribed, or worse. There is surely an immediate risk to their families."
Irefist mumbles, with his eyes still shut, "and the fucking countryside is a disaster. Don't even get me started on how bad shit is outside the city walls. They're going to be coming in, lookin' for a place to squat, and it's only going to get worse if they're left out in the streets."
>The following are not mutually exclusive.
>Some prompts may augment and/or support the actions of others.
>Write-ins are strongly encouraged to bolster any strategy you wish to employ.
>Please feel free to ask additional questions about the resources and defenses available to you.
>A] You hate it, but you need to take a prisoner, and want to conduct an interrogation personally. There are a LOT of resources at your disposal to ensure less violent results. Instruct your knight and soldier to capture the next attacker they face. You want them alive, unharmed, and capable of speech. It looks like your dungeons will get some use this week, after all. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
>B] Spangle might have actually been onto something, by sending a non-lethal, loud message to your enemies. Have her brainstorm with Walter, Harriet, and Brother Fergant on a means of capitalizing on her intimidation, without any further loss of life or major property damage.
>C] Electrum is a treasure beyond measure, and needs to be treated as such. Have her flex her social capabilities, and get to the bottom of who is occupying the buildings in the city. Send Brother Durville and the Willoughby sisters with her for additional support.
>1] As a covert operation. They are to let NO ONE know that they're affiliated with the church.
>2] As an open display of power. Have them crush anyone who tries to bring them any harm. Your allies are brutally strong, and capable of wielding the might of a Goddess. Mundane attackers are laughable, compared to demons and natural destruction.
>3] Despite the risks, you're going with them. You will assess the situation once you all are fully aware of what you're facing.
>D] You're going on lock-down until the sermon. All efforts will be concentrated on utilizing your staff and natural defenses. The Church of Mercy is going to be made air-tight.
>1] Focus on the keep. It's designed as a last defense, and can be managed with your present staff. There's a risk of the rest of the castle becoming occupied, but you are willing to sort that out later.
>2] You're confronting the guard personally. If they are not centralized, you'll gather as many of them as you can. If even one soul is willing to speak with you, you might make some headway. (A ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
>E] The defense of a castle, the safety of your family, and the lives of your friends is a complex affair. You have some more ideas on how to handle it. (Write-in.)
>Roll 2d100.
>The first three poster's rolls will be used.
>The first roll you make will represent the decision to take a prisoner. Whether or not you come under attack, and when, is not only chance. The modifiers will be listed below.
>The second roll you make will represent confronting the guards about their secrecy, and potential spies. Whether or not someone makes themselves available— let alone deducing which ones are willing to speak— also carries a degree of luck.
>FOR THE FIRST SET OF ROLLS, AND THE SECOND SET OF ROLLS, BEST OF 3 WILL BE USED.
>(E.g. Player 1 rolls a 99, and a 2. Player 2 roll a 98 and a 3. Player 3 rolls a 97 and a 4. The best of 99, 98, and 97 are for the prisoners, the best of 2, 3, and 4 are for the guards.)
>(For the first roll)
>THE CHURCH OF MERCY STILL TAKES PRISONERS
>+15 FATHER OF RESTRAINT (This is your bread and butter.)
>+5 BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY (Reasonable, realistic expectations will make your guards job much easier.)
>(For the second roll)
>CONFRONTATION WITH THE GUARD
>-10 HARASSMENT (Your congregation has been on their ass for over a week now.)
>-10 SHIT HIT THE FAN (They're a little busy.)
>+15 FATHER OF CLEMENCY (Anyone who is seeking an out would be more willing to confess to you than to anyone else in the city.)
>+10 FAITH OF A GODDESS (Protecting your home carries the blessing of Mercy.)
>+5 PRIEST OF AGRICULTURE (You're bound to be treated as less of a threat, given your current appearance.)
>
Rolled 88, 96 (2d100)
There isn't a second to waste. Plans are set in motion. Getting back in the swing of things could not come more naturally to you. It feels
good to be back. "Spangle, I would hate for anything to bother our plans this evening. Intimidation, death, and consequences will do nothing to fanatics. I trust you are capable of delaying them." The eager, sadistic smile shining at you only encourages your own enthusiasm. "Deceive them. A
smokescreen, at minimum, to disrupt their operations."
"Ahaha.
YES, Father. Right away, Father!" Sister Corbon doesn't quite turn to leave, and is smart enough to know you have ample reason for the request. She still shifts, and blatantly keeps casting glances to the exit of the choir.
The remainder of your clergy is gathered together to stage a discreet mission of intelligence. Strong emphasis is placed on the retrieval of information, and nothing more. Every last building that Brother Fergant and Electrum staked out is to be covertly inspected. The reveal of anyone's identity is out of the question. "Provide us with an opening to strike back," you insist, as they all head for the door. "The Gods are Merciful!"
Irefist is forced awake, while you, Harvey, Sister Cardew, and Walter attend to the matter of the guard. "It would be unreasonable to ask you both to take in a
restrained guest unharmed. I do not care if they are on death's door. We are the church of healing. I will stabilize anyone necessary. Make it happen. I will offer— I will offer protection, and clemency. But there may be multiple enemies within our very own ranks—"
With a sniff, Walter can't help but ask, "you intend to threaten them, then?"
"
I am Merciful. The Father of Judgement is not. I would gladly facilitate a confession for
any guilty soul.
Kindly remind our guards that retribution is coming."
The nobleman couldn't look more pleased. "I'll get right on it. Don't worry. They won't know who sent the message. I have a few tricks up
my sleeve, too."
You're still going to worry. The thought of the entertainer in your company is another wave of anxiety. "I take it James is alright?"
Yawning, Irefist manages to pop his back in three places. "Workin' on some song. Some shit. I don't know. Barely seen 'im. The broody little shit'll be right as rain." A twisted laugh leaves him. "Just give him
Time."
"Come on," Harvey grunts, heading off with a scowl. "Asshole." A wave over his shoulder. "That level of the d-dungeons, with th-the fucked cages and sh-shit?"
"
Yes." You're the Father of Restraint, even if most denizens of Corcaea don't like to acknowledge the primary meaning of the phrase. "In plain sight, please. Do
not wander too deeply. Take care of yourself, Harvey! Irefist! Please!"
One more matter has been on your mind for at least a week. It's mid-afternoon, and you'll head off to get additional information from Adwin shortly.
Walter begins to head out, but you catch him, and Sister Cardew with your tone. "Just another moment. I understand that Stace and Morris compromised the security of the castle, but the doors to the dungeons were completely destroyed. Both of you are privy to my resources, and I— and I
must be kept involved with yours. Withholding
any information from me— no matter how stressed or busy I may be— places all of our livelihood at risk. I require an explanation. Now."
Both scholars look incredibly guilty, and irritated. Harriet instantly replies, "we could have twice as many hours in the day. They would still fall short of our needs. Your trust in us is not misplaced, Richard. An imp escaped from the dungeon. There was a hunt, on behalf of your clergy. It took the better part of two days. Irefist ultimately spotted it. Brother Durville and Sister Susan finished it off. The demon was capable of corroding metal. The few structural weaknesses we have had in the keep are
partially in thanks to its extended attempts at hiding within the castle. Claymore was contacted the first day you left. He is in the process of creating new locks for the entire castle, as well as replacements for the gates and doors that were compromised. The situation is entirely handled." Guilt wins out over her annoyance with having to explain the matter. "I should have let you know. This is a failing on my part."
>A] Curtly thank Walter and Harriet for their efforts, and go see to Adwin. This matter is resolved, pleasantries can wait, and any issue you take with the situation can stand by until Claymore gets here.
>B] That's fine. You legitimately have bigger concerns, like taking full responsibility for your actions yesterday. Walter and Harriet are your friends. You want to make sure that you're on the same page.
>1] Professor Echo may be a heathen, but he needs to respect your wish to observe your devotion in a healthy fashion. Tell him plainly that you will not entertain his ideas about testing your limits with invocation. You WOULD like to talk to Sister Cardew at a more appropriate Time about exploring her own ideas about doing so responsibly, though.
>2] You're not comfortable with the premise of creating reasons to invoke. Period. It guarantees that your research will be dramatically slowed, but this is something you're willing to take your Time with. The findings you've made in the last few years alone have been significant— without staging anything, or intentionally abusing the Gods. Keep it that way.
>3] Simply apologize for hijacking their room, making a huge mess, and worrying everyone sick. All because you take responsibility for what you do doesn't make it alright, and you want your guests to always feel comfortable in your home.
>4] Write-in.
>C] There was a demon running amok in the castle, and you found out nearly a week after the fact.
>1] Saying that this is unacceptable would be an understatement. You've repeatedly stressed that you need to be immediately notified of any threats to the castle's security. Walter obviously doesn't want to always provide complete disclosure, period. Take a minute to get mad. Do what it takes to make both scholars understand the gravity of the situation, and that you ARE the authority here.
>2] You're just glad that everyone is safe. Ask if there's anything that can be done to expedite Claymore's work. He'll certainly be the one to install all of the repairs, and you want to make the Time for him.
>D] Write-in.
"Do either of you have
any idea how concerned I am for everyone's safety?" There's no anger in your tone. It's disappointment, severe distress, and justified concern. "I appreciate you both take responsibility for your actions. I'm sorry for everything, yesterday. Taking your room— all the mess— and worrying you all— the last thing that I want—" You're so frustrated, you can barely speak. "The
absolute last thing on my mind are petty concerns! But all because— all because we take responsibility for our actions does not grant us an
excuse for our failings. I want you both to be comfortable in
our home. We can all do better than this. We have been over this
so many
times."
A deep sigh escapes Sister Cardew. Her, and Walter are entirely aware that you could chew them out with more intensity. She does respect your authority. It seems they both do, given how quiet Walter's being— but you need to get this out of your system. This warrants some serious ranting, even as the Father of Compassion.
You gesture to the far end of the hall. The choir's double doors, and the glass windows above them. "This is a phenomenal opportunity to overhaul our security. The city of shields pioneers protection.
New methods of defense are
my church's legacy." You outright glare at Walter. "You need to respect my wishes to— my wishes to observe the Gods' will in a
healthy fashion. Not to enable abuse. Not to entertain ideas about— about encouragement, or suggestions, or testing my limits in such a way with invocation. I have a problem. You know how difficult this is for me. Stop making it harder."
Walter could not look more miserable. He starts to interject, but you talk right over him. "I WOULD like to speak with you,
Sister Cardew, at a MORE appropriate Time. We can explore
YOUR ideas about a RESPONSIBLE exploration of the gifts that have been granted to me."
There's a pause. Sunlight filters into the choir, as warm as the reminder of two Goddesses that were in your arms just last afternoon.
They get it. "Ah," Walter laughs.
A sharp breath, from Harriet. "Ah."
You all shift to a more intellectual form of elation, and head towards the exit with a collective skip in your step.
A pause, at the choir's foremost defense. You place a hand to the banded planks of wood at its colossal doors. "Decay. Poison. Dust. These elements may be utilized by our enemies, and demons alike. These domains are
misunderstood. They are
our defense." A mad grin, to your research partners. "Agriculture granted me every element of Her domains."
Sister Cardew looks like she's going to pass out, and can't speak. Right beside her, Walter's mouth hangs open. He manages to get a hold of himself long enough to gasp, "
what?"
"I have no idea what We are capable of, but She has
strongly encouraged me to pursue
as many elements of Her
as possible."
The intensity of everyone's smile increases. Sister Cardew's hands are shaking, as she adjusts her glasses. "This is unbelievable." Her eyes flit over the way that you're outright caressing a natural barrier. "It's believable. But this— Richard. By all the dog-ears and book-ends. It's no wonder—"
You run a finger along the decorative banding. It's copper, inlaid with gold. A few carvings are in place, of religious iconography. The ornamentation is meant to be a concrete embodiment of worship. As a demon of faith, you can certainly do better. "Anything I can do to expedite Claymore's work
must be pursued. He will certainly be the one to install new measures of security, but I would— but I would like to make the Time for him. This matter requires
every resource at my disposal."
A snort, from Walter. "Electrum is going to be on suicide watch after all this."
It's impossible not to laugh. "I have an engagement with Adwin at twilight."
Everyone blinks. Sister Cardew looks wildly around the main choir. "Where is he?"
"Electrum was getting a list of supplies," Walter mutters, "something about canvas? Paint? Ladders? It sounded insane. They should be awhile."
Energy is all up your spine. There's plenty of Time. "How far away are Claymore's accommodations in the city?"
Laughing softly to himself, Walter gladly informs you, "he's dead-center in the mercantile district. Half the city wants his services. Another commission might kill him, but I know he'll want in on this. I know I do."
"It would be incredibly dangerous to wander alone, given recent events." Harriet looks over her shoulder, to confirm that the choir is completely empty. She starts wrapping a few shawls around her face. "It would be a shame. If it was difficult to recognize us." It looks like she wants to wink at you. A rare smile is offered.
Walter casts a glance over you, and the enchanted robes you're wearing. It's effortless for you to assume a disguise on the fly. The scholar doesn't need to do more than throw up the hood on his traveling cloak to blend into a crowd. He shrouds his face with the shadow of a hood, and tightens his belt. "Think you're up to it?"
>All of the following are mutually exclusive.
>Majority vote will decide.
>A] YES. You're heading out in disguise to get some fresh air, some sunlight, and to pay a visit to your blacksmith.
>1] Go as a priest of Agriculture. Literally no one will recognize you, and the opportunity to spread Her word might present itself if you're lucky. (A LOW ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
>2] Try to pass off as an ordinary citizen. You want to draw as little attention to yourself as possible, and to make this quick. Harriet might raise a few questions, but you should be alright, given your luck. (A HIGH ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
>3] Take on the garb of a nobleman. It'll attract more attention, but will draw fewer questions. It should also account for the presence of two scholars in your company. (A MODERATE ROLL WILL BE REQUIRED.)
>B] Relay the entirety of your mad plan to your research partners, and have them give the information to Claymore on your behalf. No matter how tempting it is to venture out of the castle, you do not want to risk an altercation under any circumstances. (A TIME SKIP WILL BE GIVEN, and we'll fast-forward to you meeting with Adwin.)
>C] Write-in.
As badly as you want to see Claymore, it's simply too dangerous. Your mad plan to create a new defense for the Church of Mercy is relayed to Walter and Harriet, without sparing a single detail. Alternating layers of metal and wood. Engravings, if he's able. The tools to do so yourself, if he's not. Fireproofing. Reservoirs within the interior, for you to flood with whatever poison or traps you see fit. How to play with the materials. Thoughts of what organic materials could best supplement the endeavor. Irritants. Toxins. Explosives. Producing never-before seen varieties of lumber is your heart's desire. Shielding your family is, too.
It's a noble pursuit. There's no question that your patrons would be delighted beyond all measure, but it will have to wait. You see off your research team. They reassure you repeatedly that they will travel safely, and come back as soon as possible.
The rest of the afternoon is spent on self-care. Keeping a regular diet. Hygiene. Checking in on Ray, who is right as rain, and gets to be taken on another pleasant walk through the gardens. He couldn't look healthier, or happier. A cursory examination of the damage that was done to you from last week's events, after fighting down more exhaustion. A quiet resolve to go to sleep at a reasonable Time this evening. Seeing to cleaning more of the dust out in the main choir. Formal prayer to all of the Gods, at a proper altar.
Twilight hits the heart of your home. No one could judge you for collapsing onto a pew moments later, while continuing to utter your gratitude to
all of the Gods. For respite. For relief. Patching the cracks in your mind. Regular care for the body. Healing. Growth.
There's Time to take for yourself, and your family. There's no need to break down, even if you want to cry from it all. Over two decades of misery will not break you. Neither will a few gorgeous seconds of silence, as the sun sets over Eadric. The ache in your chest refuses to leave, under blue-stained glass, and the promise of another night spent under real shelter.
Stace and Morris left. There's no one here to scrutinize you. The support of your friends is unwavering. They're all working tirelessly to set things right— and you will, too. You try swallowing some of the guilt, and soak in all the relief of a day well-spent.