Catalyst Quest: Death Defiant & Catalyst Quest: Panacea

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Chapter 28: For Beth
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    • Chapter 28: For Beth​


    There is another bedrock of your home: An unfathomable sacrifice. One that will explain everything.

    You gently take Agriculture's hands, lean against Her shoulder, and whisper to Her with so much pain, sorrow, and relief that your words are hardly intelligible.

    "I'm ready to let them know."

    She nods a little, blinking an equal amount of emotion from Her eyes with a stunning smile.

    Everyone has quieted down. Tension crackles in the air like a building lightning storm.





    ​




    The land was barren. You were the last man working late into the sunset, trying to make the most of Mercy's blessing. No matter how intensely it beat on you, the light of day felt as if it was never enough. The harvest would not come. Not as it should. Another season of toil. Ever dwindling yields. A single crop for every hundred seeds planted.

    Evening was closing in fast, yet you spoke with hope for a brighter day.

    "Goddess of Bounty: of death, of life, and everything that comes between! I beg of you. Hear my plea. Hear our cries. Hear the land, and all of its people. We are dying. Our bodies fall— we return to Your bosom— but nothing takes us in turn. We do not feel Your embrace. No flowers climb from our graves. Our prayers have gone unanswered."

    There's a hard squeeze on your hands.

    Agriculture's smile is somehow twice as pained as how you feel. "I'm right here. It's over. It's okay."

    You remember how to breathe, but have to take a few moments of raggedly gasping for breath to keep from slipping back into one of the most traumatic memories of your life.

    You're not on hands and knees, vomiting seeds and blood into the dirt. The nausea on you is real, but you are not in the throes of the worst invocation of your life.
    You're not taking on a hundred year curse. The agony you endured can be seen and felt on the equally disturbed Goddess beside you, but you have been through this together.
    You're not being stripped of everything you know and love. There are not years on end of pain ahead of you. Not if you can just explain.

    Agriculture squeezes your hand harder and speaks to the whole room. "This is incredibly difficult for Father Anscham. I ask that you all remain respectful and do not interrupt him."

    One more deep breath. You look to the council sitting before you— to their worried and confused faces— and level out your voice.

    Your words still come out so pained, everyone flinches.

    "It will be four years ago this month. I am not saying this to disgrace Beth's memory, but to honor her. She taught me everything that has mattered. Everything. She's why I was able to love. She's why I was able to think of my family first. She's why I—" Your voice cracks. You can hardly see from how much mist is in your eyes, but you are not going to stop now for anything.

    "I invoked Agriculture for the first time here. Right here, in the fields of the Church." You and your partner share a look that says more than any of these clergy can hope to ever understand. "I asked for Her to listen."

    Everyone sitting before you is slowly piecing it together. There's no protests. Just grief, and a lot of people who look like they wish things could have gone differently.

    "She did. She heard my pleas. She heard that our children were dying, thinking that their prayers had gone unanswered. She heard that we had nary a flower to place upon their graves. She heard that we lacked the strength to do so much as hold each other in our wasting arms and hearts, and I BEGGED for Her to listen. She did. Agriculture heard of our pain, and I knew in that moment that She was in pain, too."

    The hold on your hands gets a whole lot tighter. You've never seen your partner look so furious.

    "She had not scorned us. The very idea is so absurd that I hated myself for ever thinking it. Agriculture had been CURSED by a Vengeful King over an age ago, and She could not ask us for our aid. She had to endure, while Her children lived and died cursing Her name."

    You part from the hold on Agriculture's hand to take Her properly into your arms. It looks like She's going to break down, but is obviously taking tremendous heart from you saying this all on Her behalf.

    The strength in your voice redoubles. "King Vaughn would not have his victory. Agriculture imparted Her curse onto me."

    Several people take in a quick breath— Sister Jolland, Everard, Sister Schafer, Tathan and Ethel— but no matter how badly it looks like they want to say something, not a single one of them interrupts.

    The woman in your arms gives Her children an incredibly appreciative smile. She's still furious, though, and the impression borders on terrifying. "I cannot tell you all how difficult of a choice this was. I thought it would kill him. I could have done so for any one of my clergy before, but the thought— I couldn't do it. Not unless I was certain whoever asked was willing to bear whatever this curse entailed."

    Agriculture leans hard against the side of your shoulder, closing Her eyes in anguish. "Richard had already been through so much. It was so selfish of me. But I knew he could take it." She whispers in your ear, "I'm so sorry."

    It feels like every scar on your face is being committed to your clergy's memory. Like it could somehow tell them how to best serve their own Goddess.

    You place a small kiss on Agriculture's cheek. "It wasn't selfish of you. There is nothing to apologize for. I knew exactly what I was asking for, and I wanted it with all of my heart. I would do it all over again, if I was only given the chance." You meet everyone's stares with all the resolve you possess. "Three years. I could not eat or drink for three years without it feeling like broken glass, or seeds in my lungs, or— or any other number of nightmares you all do not need to know of. Any man would have killed himself after three months, but it— that doesn't matter—"

    "It matters." Agriculture shifts upright, firmly wrapping an arm around your back. "They should know."

    You try to keep breathing. Instead of air, a nervous smile escapes. "It was easily one of the worst experiences of my life. It felt like the only thing I could think about. But I couldn't— I was still—" Running a hand through your hair in exasperation does nothing to help.

    Agriculture boops you on the nose with a grape, which you gladly take and spend a moment relishing. It helps. The tightness in your chest eases up.

    Everyone in the room suddenly looks a whole lot more understanding. You've spoken only with Father Wilhelm and Father Pevrel about this at length before, but they didn't seem to fully understand the nature of your relationship until right now.

    Your partner readjusts Her hug so She can lean even closer against you. "Richard, Mercy, and I had an unparalleled experience earlier this year that enabled us to be rid of this curse once and for all. It is no longer a threat to his health or to any of our safety. I wish I could tell you all exactly how, but I am not the Goddess of Intellect. It is something I am still searching to understand."

    Everyone looks incredibly understanding. It's enough to make you tear up all over again.

    Agriculture is still looking for something, and She seems to find it in the people sitting in this very room. "What truly matters is that the sacrifices that we all have made should never be forgotten. I ask that you all show your respect towards Father Anscham's sacrifices."

    You're not going to break down in front of all of these people, but you're close, and can't stop yourself for one second longer from burying your face in Agriculture's hair. Taking Her into the biggest hug that you can is mandatory.

    "What about your sacrifices?"

    She laughs in a way you can't help but love, and hugs you right back. "What about mine? Everyone can piece that together. It's getting it through everyone's thick skulls that you're a hero that seems to be the real problem!"

    The two of you keep your hold for several long moments. Nothing else in the world matters but the softness of your lover and the smell of strawberries.

    With dry eyes and a world of determination, you slowly break apart. That is to say, Agriculture stays on your lap practically glued to you, while you keep both arms around Her and direct your attention towards your clergy.

    Pensive, brooding, but grateful faces are in all directions. It looks like Sister Jolland and Father Wilhelm really want to say something, but judging by the dissatisfaction on Everard's features and Tathan's nonstop fidgeting, you're not done.





    "Mother Bethaea may have not died to fix the fields, but everyone knows that something happened to her—" Agriculture tenses under your arms. The looks you're both getting completely confirms your suspicions. "—and I am starting to believe that she took a great big fall for ALL of us. She isn't the hero people think she is. She's one far greater than that. She died taking no laurels, only giving US the best possible shot at doing better: an opportunity to grow."

    Tybalt shares a knowing, bitter look with you. You meet his eyes. "The only true disgrace to her memory would be not doing the absolute best we can with what she had given us. To dither with infighting."

    Sweeping your gaze across the room is met with more verve than you could have hoped for. These people seem determined to do better.

    "I know egos are bruised and this is the most uncomfortable everyone here has probably ever been—" Nervous laughter leaves Petronilla, Bobert, Father Wilhelm and Ethel. Tightening your hold on Agriculture elicits a small and precious sound of delight from Her, too. "—but I refuse to let our Church be pushed around like a wet rag by anyone. Like it or not, we are all in this together."

    The laughter falls. You know that this council is already united, but many hate-filled stares are going towards Father Pevrel, and plenty more distrustful stares towards Father Wilhelm.

    You practically bark, "if we can't get our act together, no one else is coming to help."

    The severity of the situation seems to finally be sinking into the council. You don't back down from their terrified faces. "I am really sorry that everyone has had to go through so much suffering, but none of us— none of us have had it easy."

    There's some story behind the way Renne looks like she's suddenly the hardest and most upright woman in all of Corcaea. Same for the bitterness on Tybalt's features, and the anger stewing in Everard.

    You're not one to sugar-coat things. "It is probably going to get harder from here on out. We NEED to know if we can ALL trust each other enough to get this done."

    Brother Foster can't help himself. He jerks a thumb in Father Pevrel's direction. "You're crazy if you think I'm goin' to work with 'im."

    Before the irate priest of blood can speak up, you shout, "I AM crazy."

    The room falls totally silent. Disbelief and nervous smiles are on almost everyone's faces (save for Petronilla, Father Whelm, Father Pevrel, and Ethel, who simply look worried.)

    You lower your tone. "Between us all are lifetimes dedicated to the Church. It would be a travesty if we couldn't find a way to keep serving our Goddess. Call me crazy. I think I'm crazy enough to think that this just might work."

    Shakily getting out from her seat, Sister Jolland slowly approaches you and Agriculture. When she's only a foot away, she holds out an open hand. In her palm is a single mustard seed. The minute speck is barely visible against the cracks in her well-worn skin, but you appreciate its meaning tremendously.

    Faith, no matter how small.

    "For Beth."

    You look up to the old woman with tears in your eyes, and instantly place your hand over hers. "For Beth."

    Agriculture's chin is quivering from how hard She's trying not to cry. "For Beth."

    It takes Bobert one step to cross the circle and to place his hulking hand atop the pile. "For Beth."

    Every other council member gets up and joins in on the huddle, save for Tybalt and Everard.

    Tybalt is talking in hushed whispers to the older man. "Just go join in, for fuck's sake. You can go right after—"
    "Shut up, Ty, you couldn't make me even if I wanted to. She should understand why I don't want nothin' to do with Rot-eye, the 'Lord of Nightmares,' and the—"

    Still in arm's reach of you, Sister Jolland hollers at the top of her lungs, "will you both quit making an embarrassment out of the whole damn Church and get your asses over here?!"

    "Yes, ma'am." While your ears are still ringing, Tybalt instantly bows his head towards the older woman, kicks Everard in the shin, and comes over to place his hand atop all of yours.

    "...yes, ma'am." Wincing, Brother Foster finally joins the rest of the group. He obviously hates it, but he places his hand atop everyone's as well.

    With all ten of you standing and sitting around in a little huddle, there's not much elbow room, and you all are way too close for comfort. Petronilla is entirely unfazed by this, however, and cheerily smiles at you all.

    More grumbling, from Brother Foster. "Now what?"

    Sister Schafer locks her bright-green stare with your own. "Thank you for all that you've done, Father Anscham."

    "Oh. Yeah." Pet blinks a few times, and continues beaming your way. "Thanks. And to you too, Agri."

    Gratitude is murmured around the entire circle from everyone present. Even Tybalt.

    Agriculture elbows you. You hurriedly murmur, "you're welcome."

    The Goddess by your side is still teary-eyed, but She couldn't look more pleased. "Ev raised a great question. As much as I'd like to stay here with you all day, I don't want to push Richard too hard. We all have a lot of work ahead of us, so we had better get to it."

    >A] Invite Father Wilhelm and Father Pevrel over to your little huddle. You're really going to harp on the fact that they're allies of the Church of Agriculture, no matter how forced it might feel right now.

    >B] Propose uniting everyone via your Relic. You'll make a convincing argument, and will not force anyone to do so who is uncomfortable with the suggestion.

    >C] Do not bring up your Relic. Let everyone naturally build their relationships with you and your allies. You've done a lot today to restore their trust, and would like to see how well everyone can work now to solve the problems plaguing the nation; especially given just how much everyone in the room likely wants to say.

    >D] Everard definitely needs to be talked to.
    >1] Ask Agriculture to have a few words with him.​
    >2] Talk to the lad with Agriculture's support.​

    >E] Tybalt might still be a problem.
    >1] Ask Agriculture to have a few words with him.​
    >2] Talk to the lad with Agriculture's support.​

    >F] There is someone else who you're still worried about. (Write-in anyone else you would like to speak with separately before leaving the meeting.)

    >G] It is incredibly rare for Agriculture to meet other people, and it's not every day that you summon Her. (Write-in anything else you would like to say or do with Agriculture before ending the summoning.)

    >H] Write-in. (Anything else you would like to say or do with the council while you have everyone here, before interrogating Sister Schafer or leaving the Church.)
     
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    • Chapter 29: Family
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    • Chapter 29: Family





    The gold sitting over your heart feels even lighter than usual. You're glad to have kept your Relic out of sight while in the city today. It would be a bit much to ask these people to divinely unite themselves with each other when your relationships are still getting off the ground. Besides, judging by the nervous smiles packed around you, there's plenty of other ways to help this family blossom.

    You gently move your fingers at the bottom of the wholesome hand pile, encouraging everyone to separate. It takes a full minute for all ten of you to extract your hands and to get back to a comfortable position, and the council seems intensely shaken by having such close proximity to your Goddess. Agriculture is loving every second of it, but She still looks on the brink of tears, and you really feel like you should still say something.

    "I know you all are incredibly capable. If you all can put your heads together and start thinking of how to address the problems we've discussed...?"

    They're already scattering to various corners of the room. There's plenty of "Yes, Father Anscham," which leaves you to catch Katelyn before she goes running off.

    "Sister Jolland."

    She smooths out her skirts and fires a dirty glare at Father Pevrel, but still speaks to you. "Yes, Father? What is it?"

    You adjust your position with Agriculture slightly, leaning towards the priestess of Generosity while still keeping your Goddess perched on your lap. "Can we speak with you privately, please?"

    "Oh." She darts a quick look around the room, realizing that everyone has intentionally moved to the periphery to give you and Agriculture more space. "Of course, Father."

    Agriculture nearly laughs when you drop your voice to a whisper and lean even further over, looking as conspicuous as can be. You're terrible about being secretive with virtually anything, but you can't really care. The reduction in your volume will have to suffice.

    "What is going on with Everard and Tybalt?" You nearly say 'Everhard and Tightbutt,' and thank all the Gods that you didn't misstep. The way you fight back a smirk must look more pained than you intended, as Sister Jolland is the picture of apology.

    "Well, Father, not everyone takes kindly to their family being held hostage and tried as criminals." Her frown looks a little unnatural, as all of her wrinkles are from smiling and laughing. "Myself included. I may be respectful of yours and Agriculture's sacrifices, and want to serve the Church to the best of my ability, but I'm also quite upset about this entire affair. It is asking a lot of us to forgive Father Pevrel's actions after a matter of minutes." Sister Jolland lowers her voice further. "I am not trying to trivialize your years of service, or to disgrace your own Church's tenets. The last thing I want to do is make excuses for my actions, either. But hopefully you can understand that Tybalt and Everard may not see things in such a forgiving light as what you are capable of."

    "I understand. Thank you so much for your insight." You give her a little nod of your head in lieu of a bow. "Is there anything else you might be able to tell me that could help me, well, help them?"

    The Goddess on your lap is properly smitten and snuggles closer next to you. You're reminded that an aspect of Agriculture's Generosity is kindness, and of the extreme overlap between Mercy's own domain of Compassion.

    You can't help but sigh. Some of the lace on the side of your shirt might have given out. You've gone through two full baskets of produce by this point, but Agriculture sees fit to grow a few more bunches of grapes to feed you during yours and Sister Jolland's whispering.

    "We all do everything that we can to look after each other, but Ev, Ty, and Bobert are incredibly protective of us all." Sister Jolland smiles in a way that reminds you a great deal of Father Wilhelm on a bad day. "As everyone has already observed, the council has come under little fire since our formation. It has been as smooth of an operation as any of us could have hoped for. This is sincerely the first major threat to all of our safety since the famine, and having a more human enemy is a terrifying thing indeed." The elderly woman's eyes are watering. "My own cowardice aside, we all have been working as hard as we possibly can to keep the Church as safe as can be. As prosperous as can be. I imagine that acknowledging Ev's and Ty's work could do wonders for garnering more of their respect."

    Agriculture nods a little towards you, smiling just slightly enough that only you can make it out. She seems to approve. That, or she's particularly enjoying the enthusiasm you're exhibiting towards another bunch of fruit.

    Though she was already whispering, Sister Jolland lowers her tone even further. "I don't know exactly what happened between you and Ty, and I don't want to presume your forgiveness—"

    "You can speak freely, Sister."

    "Thank you, Father." She quickly glances towards the youngest priest present. It looks like Tybalt and Everard are in a heated discussion with Bobert. There's a few sheets of parchment spread over the largest table in the room, peppered with pins and pens between the three of them. "You should apologize to Tybalt. The idea Father Pevrel said you proposed, to take him away—"

    "I know." You couldn't sound sorrier. "Do you— do you think that he would forgive me—?"

    "It's like I said, Father— it is a great deal to ask of a young man mere minutes after he thought he was about to be ripped away from everyone and everything he loves. He may need some Time, but an apology is an excellent place to start."

    You bow your head again. "Thank you. And as for— as for Everard—"

    "Oh—" She laughs quietly, exasperated and obviously tired of the man's antics. "He's just a stubborn old stick in the mud. You have to earn that man's trust, and he'll keep up that face before the council even if it gets him killed."

    The priest's behavior while he was tied and gagged seems to align well enough with Sister Jolland's statements. You don't interrupt, but the look on your face must speak volumes about your own frustration.

    Katelyn sincerely smiles to you and Agriculture. "Please take it easy on him. He doesn't know any better, no matter how many times I've tried to convince him otherwise. His love is for the land. Not for subtleties with people."

    It's the spark that you needed. You gently take the elderly woman by her hands— a little excessive to most people, but an expression of extreme gratitude from any member of the Church of Mercy. "Thank you so much again, Sister Jolland."

    She sighs deeply. "You are very welcome."

    Agriculture really didn't need to say a word, but She looks the elderly woman over. "It's going to be a long month. Which room within the Church can you best perform your functions in?"

    Sister Jolland's breath catches. She puts a hand over her heart. "You don't mean—"

    "You are sincerely repentant for covering up this nastiness in the Church, right?"

    It looks like the old woman is going to pass out. "Absolutely."

    Agriculture steadies Her priestess by her shoulder, gently patting Katelyn once she's stopped wavering. "It would be a waste of Time and resources to get a replacement. You've served the Church diligently all of your life. I believe that kind of faith should be rewarded. Father Pevrel's enthusiasm does not extend to robbing the people of their leaders. I'll have a talk with him about stripping you of your position." With a smile, Death narrows Her eyes and sweetly says, "do not let this happen again."

    "Y-yes, of c-course—" Katelyn is tearing up.

    Agriculture fishes a handkerchief out from the side of Her skirt. It's emerald and embroidered with an 'A' on one corner. The thread is translucent, shimmering, and looks as though it came from Spirit Herself.

    Sister Jolland almost refuses to take the item, but realizes what Generosity is doing, and gladly accepts the gift. She keeps a straight face, but you know she's going to cry all over the handkerchief the minute she gets somewhere private.

    "Thank you so much, Agriculture."

    "You're very welcome. Stay out of trouble."

    You part ways with the sentimental priestess. It takes a minute for Agriculture to get off from your lap, to stretch Her legs, and to get you on your feet. You're so full, it feels like you're going to tilt over when you stand. Your Goddess winds up intertwining Her arm with one of yours, giving you some extra stability while you both go over to Tybalt, Everard, and Bobert.

    All three priests are pouring over reports regarding shipments into and out of the city. Red ink has been used to denote anything that's left the city, but on a separate piece of parchment they've been sketching out their speculation on where these goods have actually gone to, based on everyone's reports during the meeting. Additional pieces of parchment refer to every individual they collectively know who could have come in contact with the missing goods, cross-referenced with their location in or out of Wearmoor, and if they've traveled recently. They're so deep in thought and discussion, you almost don't want to interrupt, but Agriculture really doesn't want to keep anyone a moment longer than necessary.

    "Ev?"

    The priest instantly looks disgusted. It's like a knife through your heart.

    Everard manages to put on a respectable enough act once he gets over his first reaction to Agriculture's voice, pulls himself away from the table, and joins you and your partner at the side of the room.

    "I really don't want to sugar-coat anything, Brother Foster." You're using a normal volume. Enough that anyone who wants to listen can easily do so. It seems to put the simple man at a lot more ease. "We're not what you expected, and you don't think it's right. I won't lie to you or promise to make things perfect in a snap, but I— but I want to make things better."

    Agriculture can't help but add, "you don't need to talk to us. I'm here if you'd like to, but that's it."

    He actually looks guilty, and avoids looking at either of you at first. It takes the man a long minute to figure out what to say, but he comes out and says it, looking over you and your Goddess with hurt all over him.

    "It's not that we haven't put up a new leader 'cause Beth's gone. It's 'cause things have been goin' right." He stares straight at you. "You love Mercy and Agri. I don't think that's right. Even if They do, there's nothing any of us can do to change that. Is there?"

    You and your partner share an incredibly loaded look. That look with one thousand emotions neither of you have ever been able to completely say.

    Both of you shake your heads simultaneously.

    "No." It feels damn good to get it out in the open. You sigh deeply, and try as hard as you can not to smile. "There's not."

    "I wouldn't, even if every last person alive thought we were doing the wrong thing." Agriculture stares Her priest down. "You know how it feels to love something with all your heart. You wouldn't back down if it upset someone else, would you?"

    It's like all the lights came on upstairs. The priest's eyes brighten, even though he still looks incredibly pissed. "Nah." He scowls at both of you, shakes his head, and admits, "I can respect that much, at least."

    You nod. Every bit of you would like to leave on a good note with this man, but things can never be easy. "I didn't overrule Father Pevrel's verdict today to do anyone any favors. I did so because I thought what he was doing was wrong."

    A convicted and firm nod. Brother Foster crosses his arms. "Damn straight."

    "He's also killed more of our enemies than I can count, and most of them were responsible in some way for the death of who he loves."

    The man standing before you could not look more uncomfortable.

    "I'm not asking you to sympathize with him. I just want you to know that his zealousness is what saved Eadric and enabled Agriculture and I to bless the fields in the first place. I wouldn't even be here in Wearmoor if it weren't for his help. I'm in this with him— and I really want to stress that you don't have to trust him— but I just want to better understand how I can keep making this all better. It will make us all stronger if we can."

    It looks like the priest wants to spit on the ground. He darts his eyes between you and Agriculture. You can hear his fists tighten. "I want him to keep the fuck away from my family. It's like I said. I won't stop his work, but he'd best stay away from all of us. You don't go treating people like that and think they'll take it lyin' down."

    Agriculture's full lips are in that perpetual smirk. "You didn't take it lying down. None of you did. That's probably why he was so quick to go along with Father Anscham's ruling: You all reminded him that he was dealing with people!"

    Brother Foster looks to the floor, then glances back to his Goddess with his cheeks slowly turning red. "Well. Yeah."

    Still keeping Her arm intertwined with yours, (with some difficulty due to Her bust) Agriculture also manages to cross Her arms. She tilts Her chin up. "He has shown all of us nothing but respect since I've been here. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he's not a threat at all."

    Everard almost rolls his eyes, but stops himself at the last second. "Of course. It's not as if I was afraid of him. I was just putting him in his place, is all."

    "Of course." Agriculture glances towards the surly priest of honor across the room, who is standing rigidly by a far wall, talking in a low voice with Father Wilhelm. "He's out of place, away from home, and still grieving over his children. All of this might have even been him just trying to feel less like he was out of control."

    "Fucked up way to go about it," Everard mutters.

    "He didn't go about it, though." Agriculture taps a finger beside Her cute little nose. "Eh?"

    "I suppose you're right. It's still fucked up, though."

    "It is." Your scowl could cut glass. "I wouldn't stand by and hear any of it. I do still need to talk to Sister Schafer, and Sister Jolland does need to think on her actions, but we shouldn't have any other problems. I'm going to talk to Tybalt right after we're done here, too."

    "Well—" The priest actually looks relieved. "Well, good. Good. Fine, then."

    This is about as good as you can hope to get things, and you'll leave it on Brother Foster's more positive note. You wave towards Brother Townsend.

    Meanwhile, Agriculture holds out a hand to Her priest. "Keep up the good work. Alright?"

    The two share what looks to be a crushing handshake. Everard cringes through it, fighting back a smile.

    "Always will."

    The Master of the Harvest is sent back to join Bobert. Agriculture insists on getting you a seat, has Father Wilhelm fetch some wine, and pours three glasses while you get settled at a low table.

    You're so stuffed that you almost feel satisfied. The red is exquisite. It keeps you busy for a few extra minutes while Tybalt extracts himself from his work with Bobert, then joins you and Agriculture.

    Your partner is back on your lap ("proximity helps,"), and Brother Townsend sits directly across from you both.

    He stares you down so intensely, you wonder if he could shatter the glass in your hands through hate alone.

    Agriculture swirls Her wine. "Both of you promise to be civil."

    "Promise." Tybalt snatches the wine off the table and bitterly raises the glass to you. "To Agriculture's health, and to you both ridding the land of the last famine."

    You raise your glass in turn. "I promise to be civil. To the prosperity of Wearmoor, the Church of Agriculture, and to everyone within it."

    "To better understanding." Agriculture raises Her eyebrows to you both, smiling as She downs half of Her glass in one go.

    You stop sipping at your glass. Apology sticks to your stare, to the rich taste of grape, and to three precious words.

    "I messed up."

    "You did. You're keeping me from what little work I can do right now, too." Brother Townsend's expression is so severe, it's bordering on grotesque.

    "Do you understand now why it upset me when you used Agriculture against me?"

    "About that." The priest looks to your Goddess with confusion and a raw, familiar pain. "Why would you let us do something like that?"

    She looks just as confused and hurt. "I really can't say no."

    All three of you sit there in horror for a few minutes.

    Brother Townsend nervously laughs, runs a hand down his face, and leans towards your partner. "I am so sorry. I had no idea."

    Agriculture takes a deep breath, finishing Her wine in another swig. When She comes up for air, She's smiling with just as much pain as the both of you. "Thank you." She looks between the two of you. "Please don't do that again. Not unless your lives seriously depend on it."

    Tybalt couldn't look guiltier. "It felt like it did. But I'm sorry. It's no excuse."

    You tighten your hold on the Goddess' waist, keeping Her as close to you as you can. "Thank you for telling us. I'm so sorry."

    She moves to refill everyone's glasses. "It's different when I'm not here like this. I'm present, and we can talk all of this out. But even now, I am Death. I am poison." The pitch of Her voice keeps getting more removed from the present. It's the rocks underfoot, the soil beneath your nails, and the final shroud on every body. "You cannot ask Bounty to not give. You cannot ask Growth to still itself. You cannot ask me for these things, then expect me to not be what I am."

    The brightness of Her eyes is back in full force, and the richness of Agriculture's voice returns just as swiftly. It still looks like She could cry, no matter how big Her smile is. "You can always ask me to help you. That doesn't mean that it's always the best idea, or that you should! This is why Spirit gives me such a hard Time, you know?"

    You hug your partner as tightly as you can. "I know. I'm so sorry."

    She turns a little in place and hugs you back. "You don't have to keep saying it. It's alright. You know I forgive you."

    You stare down Brother Townsend and try to keep your voice level. "You see why it was for Mercy's sake that I couldn't lie to you?"

    It looks like he's torn between crying and screaming. A huge gulp of his wine mellows enough of the priest's emotions that he can speak. "Yeah. This puts it all in better perspective, to say the least."

    A terrible look settles on Agriculture. Tybalt says, "do you understand why I've been fighting so hard to keep everyone safe?"

    She nods several times. "Absolutely. You also understand that working with Father Anscham, Father Pevrel, and Father Wilhelm is the fastest way to do that? No matter how much you dislike them."

    He's speechless.

    A few moments pass in blissful silence, while the young man thinks on what his options are. You finish pulling at your wine— the three of you have been drinking at such an obscene pace, the bottle is already nearly gone— and try to focus through the haze of indulgence and divinity on what you need to do.

    There's the matter of questioning Sister Schafer. As Father Pevrel said, her freedom may depend on what information she can offer. You've gotten incredible results from having Agriculture in your company today, but the idea of keeping Her with you during an interrogation...

    You're also not in the best shape to go running after anyone in the city. It could be beneficial to take some Time away from your lover just to digest everything— literally and figuratively. The members of this council are hard at work in putting their own plans into motion to revitalize the country, and they don't even need to leave this room to do it.

    "Agriculture?"

    "Hmm?"

    You whisper in Her ear, "how much longer do you think we can keep this up for?"

    She whispers back, "what's our record? Four days?"

    "Th-that was a dual invocation."

    "This is a lot less stressful on you than that was." She winks.

    There were a few questions you had for Agriculture (like usual), and you know how much you both want some Time alone. It's clear that She's missed you these last few weeks, can barely keep Herself off of you, and would surely take better care of you in private. Whether or not you want to take the Time to share yourself with your lover is a matter of priorities, though.

    Once this meeting is adjourned and everyone has gone their separate ways, you intend to track down the contact Tathan gave you in the city. There's no telling what could result from such a meeting— particularly now that you want to have Brother Townsend in your company. It could greatly behoove you to go to the meeting alone— but once again, leaving your young charge in the company of Father Pevrel and Father Wilhelm could prove disastrous.

    Things are always complicated, but you are truly a master of prioritizing complicated bullshit by now. This is nothing you can't handle. In fact, it's really quite simple.

    >A, B, and C are mutually exclusive.
    >Write-ins may not be mutually exclusive. They will be combined where it makes sense to do so.

    >A] You'll go get some quality time with Agriculture, leaving Father Pevrel and Father Wilhelm to watch the council and get everyone situated who needs additional care (such as Sister Jolland's house arrest). Afterwards you'll interrogate Sister Schafer. Lastly, you'll head into the city to pursue Tathan's lead, 'The Source.' Taking some Time to attend to these matters should do wonders for how you feel for the rest of the day, and would mean the world to Agriculture (after all She's done for you today, too).

    >B] Time waits for no one, especially not your boys. End the summoning and go interrogate Sister Schafer with your's and Father Pevrel's good-cop bad-cop routine. Leave it to Father Wilhelm to deal with the council. When you're done (no matter how you're feeling), you'll head into the city to meet 'The Source.' You've already kept these people from their duties for almost a full day, and you're terrified of dithering for another moment.

    >C] End the summoning early and stay here in the council room. You always swear you won't micromanage, you're in a very time-sensitive situation, and these people are experts— but you want to get involved in the council's work and find out what everyone is doing. Once the meeting is adjourned, you'll interrogate Sister Schafer with Father Pevrel's help. When all is said and done, you'll go after 'The Source'— even if you have to do so in the dead of night, or wait until tomorrow morning.

    >D] You and Brother Townsend are on slightly better terms, but making friends with him is a long road to travel. (Write-in anything else you would like to convey to Tybalt while you both have some privacy.)

    >E] Write-in. (Any other way you'd like to go about your business, including other activities you might want to do while in the Church of Agriculture, or things you'd like to say/do with the Goddess while She's here.)
     
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    • Chapter 30: Dithering
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    • Chapter 30: Dithering





    With the way that the council is buzzing about, you're reminded of honey bees.

    Your own tremendous sigh of relief is well-earned.

    It's probably best to leave Tybalt to think this over.

    You give the young man no further looks or instruction (he excuses himself after a minute), and instead turn your attention to the Goddess in your arms. She still looks a little shaken from the subject of being invoked regardless of Her own will, but takes a tremendous amount of comfort from being so close to you.

    Those full, red lips part just slightly. "Richard?"

    You can hardly think of anything other than going to rescue your boys, but your head is a little cloudy from how full you are, and there's something you've been meaning to ask both of your partners for weeks now. "I found the old names of Dream, Time, and Vengeance from a book that Spirit imparted to me. It was called The Little King's Law. Have you heard of it?"

    She looks incredibly amused. "I don't do much reading, love. What did it say?"

    "They were known as Esthete, for Dream; Arentia, for Time; and Nemescian, for Vengeance. I haven't— I haven't asked Mercy yet about this, but I figured you could oblige—"

    Your lover can't help but kiss you on the nose. Her usual, warm smile is back, and She looks right as rain. "I've heard of these before! Go right ahead, though. I know you must have more questions."

    "What were you called before? Or during the same period of Time? Is Agriculture your real name, or a title? Or is all of this relative, and— and changes with the sands of Time?" You have to adjust your hold on Agriculture, as She takes you into a firm hug. There's spots of pollen dancing in your eyes from the slight pressure on your waist.

    Leaning beside your shoulder, your Goddess says, "in the last age of mankind, the world was a more advanced place. Information was freely shared, and even traded among men with minds as sharp as your own. The people gave names to the Gods, wanting a better way to encapsulate everything that We stand for. My name was 'Jura.' It refers to those who work the land. Farmers. Earth workers! I have not passed this name on to the people of your age because, well, it was rather special to the people who came before you. It felt more like a loving nickname than having a change to my real name, if that makes sense."

    A heavy, sweet, and loving look passes over you. "You've always called me Agriculture. You know me by a simple name, but it represents everything that I am. You can call me whatever you please, Richard, but these things are relative. They do change with the sands of Time. We all do! ...well, except for Time." She looks a little horrified and quickly reverts back to the original subject. "I do like it when you call me 'Agri'. It's how you've always known me. It's the name we've shared for all the Time we've known each other, and so that holds the most meaning to me now."

    Agriculture's smile broadens. "I know it's a silly name. It doesn't really roll off the tongue. There's a hundred others things I could be called that might be more elegant— but let's be honest. There's nothing elegant about me!"

    You can't help but pan your sight from the dirt on the Goddess' bare feet, to Her simple attire, to Her outrageous curves, and finally to the smug expression on Her freckled features. Kissing Her is not optional.

    The two of you share a long, happy, and tender embrace before parting. You're breathless, and figure this is as good as note as any to end on.

    "I love you, but I really need to get going."

    "I love you, too. One more moment, alright?" Agriculture quickly slips out of your arms, strides over to Father Pevrel, and shares a few words with the priest.

    Her momentary departure doesn't really register to your senses. It's likely that She overdid it with precautionary measures to keep your soul from any harm, but you aren't complaining. A scan of the room is made, and you spot Petronilla in one corner, talking with Sister Schafer, Sister Isolda, and Brother Morgan. You hail the priestess of death with a quick wave.

    It looks like Father Pevrel has been thoroughly lectured. The grief and frustration on his features hurts to look at. Agriculture excuses Herself from the man's company, leaving him to be consoled by Father Wilhelm.

    Your Goddess drops Herself back into your arms, the picture of apology. "He's incredibly upset, but I took care of the situation with Katelyn. She shouldn't lose her position, and Father Pevrel can just say that I was the one who ordered it. You might want to cut him a little slack for the rest of the day."

    Pecking Her on the cheek, you whisper, "I'll do what I can."

    You and Agriculture call over every one of the council members and give them the opportunity to say good-bye. They all appreciate it more than they can say. Those extra minutes are given to Petronilla to talk to Agriculture privately. The two of them chat animatedly in the corner of the room for several minutes, and no one seems to mind at all when Agriculture tears Herself away from their parting words to throw Herself back into your arms.

    She can't help but kiss you again. Every moment that She should be pulling away for air is spent saying, "I love you. I'm so glad you've been taking better care of yourself. Keep it up, alright?"

    "Alright."

    "I need to go." Her smile makes your teeth gently clack together.

    You press your noses together through the last of the kiss. Saying it one more time couldn't hurt. "I love you, too."

    Time waits for no one. Especially not your boys. You end the summoning with a slow, gradual return to the earth. Every part of you is terrified that you're taking too long to resolve anything, but you couldn't feel more relieved.

    There's no pain! None whatsoever! Your soul feels right as rain, and you're mentally feeling about as good as you can get. Granted, you're almost too stuffed to move, and need to replace some of the lace on your undershirt, but that is a problem for future Richard. There's no way you could have put on too much more weight from fruits and vegetables, anyways. Surely, you're just bloated.

    You blink a few times to get chrysanthemum petals out of your sight, then look around the council room. Everyone has respectfully gone back to their duties, save for Sister Tait, who's pulled up a chair.

    She sits on it with the chair facing backwards, in the least lady-like fashion possible. The priestess' thick gloves are disguising the black miasma you saw earlier from view, but you can still plainly see the corpses on her eyes through her veil, and can't shake the impression of divinity from the undertaker.

    Her voice is unfailingly optimistic. "You needed to see me, Father Anscham?"

    "Absolutely. I couldn't help but notice earlier yesterday that you possessed a divine gift." You pick up an empty grape vine from the empty basket beside you, look to the stem, and feel all of its potential.

    A single grape grows from the vine, in the same color and size as what was previously there. For the demonstration's sake, you pluck the fruit off, pop it in your mouth, and grin at the priestess of Agriculture. "I wanted to know if it was related to my own ability, and if it can assist you with anything pertaining to Death without— without invoking."

    "Can you do that again?" Pet couldn't sound more excited. She's taking off her gloves. "Don't eat it, though. Let me see it right after."

    You can't help but notice that several other clergy are curiously eyeing the two of you. You don't mind, and repeat the ability you exhibited from your Green Thumb. Handing off the grape vine and your new fruit, you catch that the palms of Petronilla's hands are pitch-black.

    Swirls and clouds of decay build from the priestess' hands, and the instant she touches the grape vine, it withers and dies. The grape itself becomes rotten in a matter of seconds, filling the air with the putrid smell of spoiled fruit.

    You've never seen someone look so pleased to be around the smell of decay before. Pet takes a deep breath, grinning to you from ear-to-ear. "I can accelerate decomposition. You'd be amazed by how useful it is!" She slips on her gloves. The decay stops. "It's always been difficult for me to control, once it gets started. And I have to be touching something to make it work— not like invoking, where I can kill from just about any distance."

    "I am incredibly grateful to have you on my side, Sister Tait." You give her a nervous but incredibly sincere smile.

    She holds out a gloved hand. You take it without question, and are pleased to see that your hand doesn't wither away on the spot.

    "Likewise, Father. What was it that you just did?"

    "Growth, without invocation. There are— there is a slew of other abilities that I possess, thanks to Agriculture's blessing. I don't mean any offense, but I do not have the Time to go over them all in detail right now."

    "I understand." Pet parts from your hold, remaining seated and incredibly curious. "Was there anything else you needed me for...?"

    "Please keep up all of your good work. I'm terribly sorry for pulling you away from your duties since yesterday—"

    "Don't worry about a thing, Father! It's like you said, my people are capable of handling things on their own. We'd be in a whole lot of trouble if we had to babysit everyone who worked under us, right?"

    "Right."

    She's giving you that expectant look. That look that says she still wants to hear the story of how you came to be known as 'Reaper,' or how you eviscerated dozens of cultists in one fell swoop, or any other exploit you've accomplished with Agriculture's help in the last few months.

    You sigh, and move to get up with a groan. "I do hope we can speak again soon— Mercy—"

    The slender woman rushes forward to help you stand up. "Same to you. Are you going to be okay? I was worried Agri was hurting you, with how much you were eating—"

    You couldn't be redder. "It's fine—"

    Gently prying yourself away from Petronilla, you excuse yourself from her company, and go get Sister Schafer. She comes without complaint, accompanying you and Father Pevrel out of the meeting room.

    Father Wilhelm stays behind to keep an eye on Tybalt, and you all resolve to reconvene just as soon as you're done with the questioning.





    Walking to the dungeons is an experience. It feels like your face is on fire— to say nothing of the heightened awareness you have towards all the rest of your body. It's obvious that Father Pevrel instantly picks up on your unusual response to how stuffed you are. You and your fellow Church leader flank Sister Schafer, going at a speed that is infinitely too fast for how intense any motion feels right now. Just stretching your legs after sitting for so long is a massive relief, but you still have to battle the urge to lay down with every step.

    You try with all your might to stay focused.

    Now that we've solved things with the council, I NEED to double down on getting to them quickly.
    Chesty and Serpent are waiting on us.
    I'd really rather one of them not die.

    Crossing through countless stone halls, under high windows, beyond more plants than you can count, and towards the back of the Church of Agriculture, you arrive at a flight of stone steps. Father Pevrel takes a lantern off from a nearby wall and hands it to you to carry.

    The priest's hand returns to his sword the instant you take the light source away from him. He's so jumpy, even the dripping of condensation from the ceiling seems to set his nerves on end. The man fishes out the keys to the Church and unfastens a tremendous stone door at the bottom of the steps, grunting as he props the heavy entrance open.

    The three of you silently proceed into the dank and dreary underbelly of the Church. You keep the light high, paying no heed to rats scurrying about the floor. It takes about ten minutes of walking past empty cells, rusted bars, and an utter absence of light for you to start feeling sick.

    This is not the Church of Mercy.
    This is not the Church of Mercy.
    There is nothing down here.
    No one to hurt me.

    It seems that Father Pevrel was paying even closer attention to you than you thought. He catches the way your knuckles are white against the lantern's handle, the green on your features, and the way your eyes are totally unfocused.

    "Anscham. Take the keys and unfasten that cell over there. We've gone far enough." He tosses you the key ring, which you catch with steady hands.

    Sister Schafer has her head tilted up. She's remained totally silent, and makes no indication of complaining even when you open the nearest cell and let her inside.

    Casting a nervous look around, Father Pevrel asks for you to get another lantern or two out from your satchel. You gladly get two more light sources blazing. It casts an orange glow throughout the small space you and Sister Schafer occupy. A single bench is attached to the wall that doubles as a bed. There are no other fixtures, and not even a slit in the wall. You have to set the lanterns on the floor, but Father Pevrel goes running off, locates a chair and table, and brings it over for you.

    The Lord of Investigation quickly looks up and down the corridor, just as Sister Schafer reluctantly sits down on the bench. "Anscham, I'm checking the entire dungeon again." He practically spits towards the priestess in the cell. "The fact that this entire space is deserted doesn't sit right with me."

    An opening to talk to her first, then?

    Very well.

    "Father Pevrel—"

    "Don't. Just sit tight. I'll be back."

    He heads down the corridor without another word.

    He's already intimidated this woman into thinking that her life is forfeit.
    She was expecting to be tortured later today, not to talk to me.
    Anything from here on out may seem like an empty threat, given how I excused everyone else in the hearing.
    I need to mind myself and not trivialize Father Pevrel's authority if I want our words to carry any weight here.

    You and the Mother of Fertility stare each other down.

    Sister Schafer folds her hands in her lap, closes her eyes, and breathes deeply. "I hope we can make this quick."

    You pull up a chair and slowly sit back down. "So do I."

    >Choose EITHER A or B.
    >Choose at least one prompt from C, D, and E.

    >A] Make casual conversation until Father Pevrel returns. Try to build a rapport with Sister Schafer in the meantime. You want to play off of Father Pevrel's skill with questioning for this.

    >B] Begin the interrogation immediately. You think you'll get more answers if you keep Sister Schafer on her toes.

    >C] Sister Schafer has been found guilty of threatening the theocracy's stability. Her usage of the title 'Mother' is grounds for execution or exile.
    >1] Promise her protection from Father Pevrel and King Magnus if she publicly denounces the use of this title.​
    >2] Say that you want to understand why this title was given to her. Simply buy yourself time and try to gain her trust.​
    >3] Confuse Sister Schafer and say that you take no issue with this nickname. (You hate pomp, and sincerely mean it.)​
    >4] Write-in.​

    >D] Sister Schafer has been found guilty of withholding information from the Church of Vengeance. Luckily, you're the Father of Truth.
    >1] You don't have to be cruel. Simply stressing your status and relationship with Mercy should do the trick.​
    >2] Ask her why she would keep information from Father Pevrel. See if you can't indirectly figure out what she's hiding based on her motives.​
    >3] Intimidate her into talking by sharing your personal experiences with imprisonment and punishment.​
    >4] Write-in.​

    >E] Sister Schafer has been found guilty on charges of corruption within the Church of Agriculture.
    >1] Guilt-trip her into confessing, thanks to your close relationship with Agriculture and all of your personal sacrifices.​
    >2] Plead with the priestess' sense of right and wrong.​
    >3] Threaten her with shame and exile. No matter what role you're meant to play in this, besmirching the good name of this Church is one sin you will not tolerate.​
    >4] Write-in.​
     
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    • Chapter 31: A Plea and a Prayer
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    • Chapter 31: A Plea and a Prayer





    "I really am useless at this sort of thing." You give a wilting look to Sister Schafer, who outright laughs at your boldness. "Really, I am. All I can do is sit here and think about how I'd like to get to know you better."

    Shaking her head in disbelief, the priestess turns to look at one of the cobweb-filled corners of the cell. She pauses a moment, then says with a bitter smile, "this is my first time down here."

    "I heard that you were helping with child birthing yesterday." You discreetly shift in place, badly wishing you let out your belt on the way down here.

    "Me and Ethel usually take care of things out in the city. There are others, but we handle any difficult births as best as we can." There's suddenly tears in Renne's eyes. She keeps avoiding eye contact, staring hard to the floor. "Every life is precious, Father Anscham."

    The priestess sniffs, dabbing at the side of her eyes with her sleeve before turning to look at you properly.

    "You don't want to be here at all, do you?"

    "There is nowhere else that I would rather be." You frown deeply and lean a little onto the table, hands folded together. "But these circumstances are terrible, and so is the fact that either of us have to be here." You look around the cell, battling not to get sick on the spot. You're not going to think about your own blood caked an inch thick onto the floor of your own cell right now. You're going to focus. "What would you be doing now, if we weren't in this mess?"

    Another, hard look at the table. To your scarred, shaking hands clasped together.

    Renne stares you dead in the eye. "Fighting to make this all right."

    Footsteps come from down the corridor. Tension runs through Sister Schafer like an electric wire. You stay exactly as you are— leaning over slightly is doing wonders to help with how heavy you feel— but you lift your head slightly to Father Pevrel as he enters the cell.

    The priest slams a dagger down into the table between you and Sister Schafer, and barks, "I'm sick of WASTING everyone's Time—!"

    You cut him off. "I have one immediate solution."

    Both clergy in the cell whip their heads towards you and simultaneously snap, "what?"

    There is no way you're making any ground like this. You drop your voice to its softest and least offensive tone. "Before I do, Sister Schafer, I would like to know why the title of 'Mother' was given to you."

    Renne straightens upright, proud as can be, and looks Father Pevrel up and down while she speaks. "I've been the face of the council since its inception. I enjoy preaching, and our people have placed a great deal of trust in me. I do not condone the use of the title, but you would be hard pressed to find someone in Wearmoor who doesn't think of me as the leader of the council— and by association, leader of the Church of Agriculture."

    Father Pevrel looks like he could flip the table. He settles for wrenching the dagger out of it so hard, a chunk of wood splinters off and shoots into Sister Schafer's hair. She doesn't flinch, even while he raves, "UTTERING something like that is HERESY of the HIGHEST ORDER—!"

    You sigh. "I really don't care for titles."

    The dagger stops waving just for a moment. Father Pevrel drawls, "aand?"

    "And we are friends with the very Lord of Creativity." You give a tired smile to Sister Schafer, who gets it instantly, and smiles at you in return.

    "A bold thought, Father Anscham."

    "I thought so as well. Once my boys are found—" You raise your eyebrows to the brunette, who raises her eyebrows to you in turn. "—I would gladly offer mine and Father Wilhelm's services in work-shopping a new title for you. One that the people will take kindly to."

    You glance to Father Pevrel, who is playing his part perfectly. Given how pissed he seems, it might not be an act. Either way, it looks like he could foam at the mouth in frustration.

    You mildly say, "one that won't cause problems. Dream tested—" You smile at Sister Schafer, innocuously turning your hands so the gold on your ring finger is clearly visible. "Mercy approved."

    Renne smiles slightly at your hands once more, the downcast of her eyes and her small smile the picture of docility. "Thank you, Father Anscham. You continue to impress me."

    There's a spark of hope in you. "I was hoping you could do the same for me. I don't understand why there was any need for me to be here at all. Is there any way we can speak plainly about Father Pevrel's accusations, and why you won't speak with him?"

    She glances briefly to the priest brandishing a weapon at her, looking like he could go for her throat at any second.

    Renne glances back to you. "Do I really need to say it?"

    "Yes." You lean back slightly, folding your hands over your stomach.

    A few seconds trickle by.

    Renne finally says, "on principle, I don't associate with child killers—"

    Father Pevrel sheathes his dagger, strides up to the priestess, and pins her to the side of the wall just by placing an arm to the side of her head. She's instantly white-faced and terrified. You get to your feet as the man shouts right in her face.

    "You are keeping me from attending to my children with every petty second you WASTE HERE—!"

    "FATHER PEVREL!"

    Your bark echoes throughout the entirety of the dungeon.

    Sweat sticks some of Renne's loose strands of hair to her forehead.

    Standing just a hair behind the Lord of Punishment, you lower your voice once more to its lowest and mildest tone. "This is no way to treat a lady."

    Father Pevrel moves away from Renne with a sudden and harsh motion, making the poor woman flinch again. "I reserve my manners for actual ladies, Father."

    He takes a few steps back, and you shoulder-check him in the process, forcing him back several more steps. "Thank you."

    You roughly drop back into your seat, making the small piece of furniture creak in complaint.

    Renne glances to you with a hard and scrutinizing stare. "I know what you both are getting at. It's a cheap game and I don't appreciate being made a fool of."

    Father Pevrel's laughter is like nails on a washboard. "We're not trying to trick you, Sister Schafer. Both of our behavior is entirely genuine, and if you sincerely believe that I would rather deal with this horse shit than to simply get you to the nearest rack—!"

    You keep your voice as gentle as can be. "Are you under threat of death from someone, Sister Renne, or worse?"

    The priestess has enough wit not to say something sarcastic about her present company. She still sounds incredibly resentful. "You could say that."

    "I would like you to know that you are already compromised. Regardless of what happens in this dungeon, you will not be returned to whoever it is that you have been associating with. Your wisest move is to help us get to the people who are threatening you. Otherwise—" The glassy, thousand-yard stare you give Sister Schafer makes her draw back. "—well, we become the threat."

    She's obviously terrified, and looks between you and your fellow Church leader. A damning whisper leaves her lips.

    "You're no better than Father Pevrel."

    The Lord of Honor moves toward Renne, dead-panning, "thanks. Now if you're done—"

    "Just one FUCKING minute!" You stand up, knocking your chair over. The way that it clatters against the back wall of the cell resonates throughout the entire small space, down the hall, and into every other empty chamber.

    Renne and Father Pevrel stare at you in stunned silence while you start pacing around the cell, gesturing wildly.

    "If these charges are true, your actions only serve to hurt the credibility of the Church of Agriculture's GOOD name—"

    "Father Anscham, my actions are WHY the Church of Agriculture has a good name!" Sister Schafer is shaking from fear, but still keeps her head held high.

    "Have you not heard a single thing that I've said?" You lower your tone, stopping on a dime and turning to face the accused. "We are at war! The theocracy is hanging on by a thread! Every last one of our allies are precious, and you would sit here withholding information from—?"

    "From two men who have never understood how this Church has become successful. Yes."

    Father Pevrel hisses, "you dense woman, are you actually deaf?" He raises his voice, just to be more of an asshole. "THERE IS A FAMINE DESTROYING OUR NATION WHILE YOU SIT HERE AND 'PROSPER!' WHAT FANTASY WORLD ARE YOU LIVING IN?!" He actually moves to flip the table. You shoulder-check the priest again, while he pushes hard against you. "This is a waste of our FUCKING Time!"

    You sharply and suddenly step aside, causing Father Pevrel to stagger forwards and nearly collide with the table.

    He looks like he hates you, brushing himself off in frustration and hissing, "this is a waste of our Time."

    You turn towards Sister Schafer, who looks pleased as punch.

    Disgust is all over you. "Even if you hate the theocracy, I had hoped that you wouldn't hate Agriculture."

    She instantly turns bright red. "Don't you dare—"

    "How could you continue to disappoint Her?" You shake your head, looking the priestess as if she were something the cat dragged in. "Doing all of this? Really?"

    With a huff, Sister Schafer crosses her arms. "I haven't said or done anything that would disgrace our Goddess."

    You raise your eyebrows, glancing to Father Pevrel. He keeps the best poker face of his life, which is the picture of disappointment.

    You simply mouth, 'wow.'

    It looks like Renne could slap you. "How dare you."

    You drop all pretense of disgust, and just stare the woman down with all the genuine hurt you possess (which is so much, Sister Schafer shudders).

    "You know this hurts the most, don't you?" You sound like you've been stabbed through the heart.

    Her lips become a fine line. "Like I said, I haven't done anything to disgrace Her."

    "But you'd withhold information from Her partner, lie by omission in Her company, and compare Her lover to a man you hate? What does that say about your decisions today, Sister? What does that say about how you view Agri's judgement?"

    "I—"

    You shake your head, barely able to look at the woman. The bars on the cell are glaring at you. "What does that say about all of our sacrifices, Sister Schafer? Is there something you're willing to protect more than your respect for our Goddess?"

    "Father Anscham, you do NOT understand—"

    "Help me understand." Breathing deeply, you sit back down in the abused little stool, ignore its creaking, and do everything you can to ignore Father Pevrel's scowl. "Help us understand so we can actually serve Agriculture to the best of our ability. All I want is for Her happiness and for all of our prosperity."

    It looks like Renne could cry again. She shakes her head. "I can't. You don't understand."

    "Please help me try." Your hands are clasped over the table, shaking slightly towards Sister Schafer. A plea and a prayer. "I can't help otherwise."

    "You're going to ruin my life's work."

    A cold reminder from Father Pevrel is made in a level and devastating tone. "Lying to the Father of Honesty and obstructing my work has already made your life forfeit. This is the one thing you can do to save your work, Sister."

    A long and thin breath leaves the accused. She hangs her head, looking to her own hands.

    There's no threat in your voice. Only hurt. "Do not be the second person to invoke my Goddess against me this week. Nothing is worth the amount of pain it's put Agriculture through."

    Sister Schafer looks up to you with tears in her eyes. "I was going to pray for the strength to answer you, Father Anscham." The priestess of prolificacy grits her teeth, blinking the mist out of her eyes. "I suppose I'll have to do so when I deserve to."

    Father Pevrel grits his teeth. "I suppose so."

    Renne glances to you and to Father Pevrel. "There's something you both should know."
     
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    • Chapter 32: Listen to Reason
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    • Chapter 32: Listen to Reason





    "The Church of Agriculture's hands are clean, in a sense. Not a single member of the council has participated in any illicit activity directly."

    This completely matches the suspicions that Bobert told you he had. You keep quiet, but the look on your face must betray you.

    "The Father of Honesty, is it? I should have suspected you'd already known. Then it won't come as any surprise to you that I've been responsible for hiring other men to do any work that's needed for me?"

    It looks like Father Pevrel is envisioning one thousand ways to torture the woman sitting before him.

    You can't imagine the weight that's lifted off of Sister Schafer's shoulders. She looks ten years younger, but still grimaces, looking like she could die on the spot. "I'm not the only one. Tybalt is involved in all of it, too, and you both already know that Sister Jolland was caught up in the paper trail."

    You might as well have been stabbed. It's bad enough that the boy went and attacked you. "Tybalt?"

    "I don't know the full extent of it, but I've heard his name in circles where he shouldn't be mentioned. And I do get around in every circle." Sister Schafer forces herself to meet you in the eye. "I've helped to redirect supply from Wearmoor to other reaches of the nation, where it would be felt the hardest. I know what Inertia is getting up to, and I don't agree with their methods or consider myself affiliated with them in ANY way, but I could agree to this."

    Father Pevrel starts, but you hiss at him, "wait JUST a minute."

    Renne gives you a grateful look. "Thank you, Father. I've ensured that the majority of their forces are still cut off from supply. They've had to reroute shipments from places as remote as Eanlac and Rimilde just to stay on their feet—" This confirms your own observations in Eadric. "—which has delayed their operations massively. But it's also cut off the people from what they need most, and enabled their plans to create another famine."

    It's hard to breathe. You can't stand it. "Why?"

    "Because there are a number of players on the board who are set to dismantle the theocracy." Sister Schafer stares you and Father Pevrel down with a cold, hard, and terribly ashamed look. "I have ensured the security of the Church of Agriculture. Our enemies understand how invaluable we are towards requisitioning goods from the countryside. As we speak, there are forces across our nation who are combating with farmhands and city-folk alike to keep themselves fed. They need my authority if they want to survive. They needed Sister Jolland's savvy. They want Tybalt's strengths, and have been coming after him for a very long time."

    You narrow your eyes at the priestess. "You said he was involved."

    Her warning look lingers on you. "That is going to be out of my hands, while he's in your company."

    "Speak plainly, Sister Schafer."

    "I don't know what his involvement is, but while in his company, I want you to prepare yourself for assassins, bribes, and no end to threats against your family and home."

    You almost laugh. This is every day life for you, and has been for months. Once again, your face seems to give away everything.

    "You already know all of this."

    "Not all of it," Father Pevrel says. He crosses his arms. "I'm tired of interrupting you, too. Go on."

    The priestess looks between the two of you, then sighs and sets her hands on the table. Palms down. She closes her eyes. "The Church of Flesh is occupied by a new leader, who's cunning has enabled Beorward to reclaim a portion of its lost reputation." You've never been more irritated to hear about Cyril in all your life, and that's really saying something. "This has been an unexpected blow for Inertia's plans, but comes as little surprise to anyone who's been paying attention to Father Friedrich's career. Relief in the tension between Wearmoor and Beorward will strengthen our position even further, as a NEW bastion of hope for mankind."

    Sister Schafer opens her eyes. She's looking right past you. "You can torture me if you like. You can kill me, if you like. I will give you the names of the thousands of men and women who have all helped me throughout the course of my career. But I cannot tell you in the course of one interrogation how to stop this."

    Father Pevrel uncrosses his arms and sits on the bench beside Sister Schafer, as relaxed as can be. "You want a new order, is that right?"

    "That's right."

    "One that's different from the theocracy."

    It seems that Renee already gets what the man is getting at, but she remains silent, daring him to contradict her.

    The Lord of Investigation is trying not to laugh. "You know you're not the first person to try and usurp the authority of the Gods, when we live in a world where Their will is law? You think that you'll have some sort of order between the people, where everyone's word carries just as much weight as everyone else's, but you'll be safely perched at the top anyways?"

    He gets to his feet and brushes off the side of his cloak that was closest to Sister Schafer as if she were covered in excrement. "Your plan was to destabilize an authority that is led by men and women who possess power beyond your wildest imaginings. You think that the people will treat you as an equal. You are a fool, Sister Schafer. You belong in Father Anscham's court, right alongside his fiddle-playing friend with an over-sized nose."

    You'd really like to defend James' nose and everything else about the hero of a minstrel, but now really isn't the Time.

    She's getting red-faced again, but tries to keep cool. "This is why I refused to talk to you. You won't listen to reason."

    "I have yet to hear any. You ally yourself with a cult of Inertia and seriously expect change for the better? You worship a Goddess of Excess, yet think depriving thousands of their BASIC NEEDS is somehow the best way of serving Her?! Are you slow? Are you touched in the head, Sister Schafer?!"

    You feel way too sick to comment.

    Father Pevrel doesn't even bother looking at Renne, and picks at the blood beneath his fingernails instead. "I've heard of more convincing plans from the mad." He raises his stare to her. "Truly. But you're not mad. I think you're still hiding something. Something you're willing to die for."

    A quick glance is made to you, from one Lord of Pain to another. "Father Anscham, Sister Schafer has demonstrated her continued unwillingness to listen to reason—"

    The priestess tries cutting him off. "He's a sadist! Don't listen to him—!"

    Father Pevrel talks right over her. "—a complete disregard for our authority, and has ignored every attempt you have made at reconciliation or Mercy."

    "Father Anscham, I swear to you, he is only doing this to try and get some sick THRILL—!"

    "Given her admission to association with multiple unnamed organizations—"

    "He doesn't know what he's talking about—!"

    "—continued OBSTRUCTIONS TO MY INQUIRY—!"

    Sister Schafer promptly shuts up.

    Father Pevrel smiles at her with his crooked teeth, then grimaces at you. "It is clear to me that we are not going to see further results from this line of questioning. Out of respect for Agriculture's will, and with respect to the grotesque amount of Time we have wasted that COULD have been spent looking for your boys, I would like to bring this matter to a close. I am formally requesting permission to question Sister Schafer under my own terms."

    Lowering his voice and coming near you, Father Pevrel crouches down and mutters, "I swear to you on ALL the Gods that I will return her to you alive and without any permanent injury. If you refuse, I will still help you to the best of my ability, as I always have. But I am confident that to keep talking to her here would be against my best judgement, my counsel, and—"

    It looks like it hurts him to say it. "And frankly— as your friend."

    You're having a hard time breathing again, but give him a weak smile.

    Father Pevrel's grimace lets up just for a second. He sort of smiles at you, with the sides of his lips quirking up.

    The man crouches down a little further, pleading, "please, listen to reason. This woman is a threat to our collective safety, and every second we spend here is granting her and her associates MORE Time to act. You are in NO way responsible for anything that I do. This is my call. I'm just asking you to help me."

    Sister Schafer is pleading to you with wide, tear-filled eyes. "Mercy, Father."

    "Shut the FUCK up," Father Pevrel snaps.

    The man turns to you and asks loudly enough for Renne to hear, "please, trust me on this."

    >Majority vote will decide.
    >Vocal opposition will be considered as always, but the final decision will be at QM discretion in the event of a tie or other unresolved disputes.

    >A] Let Father Pevrel interrogate Sister Schafer on his own terms. You are guaranteed answers.

    >B] Obstruct Father Pevrel's attempts at getting answers. You have a better way. (Write-in.)
    >1] If your attempts fail, you will still refuse to let Father Pevrel interrogate Sister Schafer. (Write-in your alternative solution.)​
    >2] If your attempts fail, you will allow Father Pevrel to interrogate Sister Schafer.​
     
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    • Chapter 33: One Last Chance
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    • Chapter 33: One Last Chance


    The following contains material that may be distressing to some readers.
    Torture, implicit sexual content (sadism, masochism).
    Reader discretion is advised.





    Strength and resolution steels your tone. "Sister Schafer." She's pale as a sheet and trembling, but her head is still held high. "This is the absolute most that I can stretch my Mercy. I am giving you one last chance."

    She tilts her head higher. "Do what you must. I stand by the fact that I have done nothing wrong, surrendered as much information as I could to you both, and have upheld my duty to the Church of Agriculture."

    "This is cruel to your family, and to—" You grit your teeth. "—and to my boys." A single nod, to Father Pevrel. The muscular priest simply grabs one of Sister Schafer's slender arms, hoisting her roughly onto her feet. "If you refuse to act like a member of the Church and its council, and if you continue to behave like an enemy, you will be treated as such."

    Cold, bright green eyes linger on yours. The priestess makes a point of staring at you for as long as possible while Father Pevrel leads her out from the cell. There's no resistance. Only a concerted effort to get under your skin.

    "From what I heard, you offer your enemies clemency and forgiveness wholesale, Father Anscham. Perhaps I was mistaken."

    Father Pevrel doesn't linger, swiftly leading Sister Schafer down the hall. "Regardless of what you hear, do NOT come for either of us, and don't go getting anyone else until I come back. I don't care how long you have to wait, Anscham!"

    She's just using this opportunity to try and weaken us both. To pit us against each other.

    This interrogation will NOT be for nothing.

    Though he's around the corner and out of sight, the Justiciar's voice drifts through the empty dungeon, carrying his words right into your cell.

    "There won't be any visible markings."

    A hot, sharp sensation is in your throat. You swallow a few times and try to remind yourself that you are not in your cell. You are not being pinned to the wall by Stace. There's no iron grip around your neck. No knee between your legs. No one is slipping a blade down your throat.

    You can breathe. He isn't here.

    No one is going to hurt me.
    This isn't the Church of Mercy.

    A muffled scream carries down the hall. You'd recognize the word anywhere, even screamed through a gag.

    "MERCY!"

    You can hardly breathe, but it's alright. The grip that you keep on the wooden table before you is all you need to stay grounded.

    Those burn scars on your wrists are so old, if it weren't for the curse of a demon, the raised skin would be a normal texture by now. Those burns are not being made right now. Your arms are not submerged in boiling oil. You are not in any danger of losing any limbs. No one is making you call out to your Goddess, be it for healing, or for any other form of relief from your distress.

    Another scream; strangled and louder than the first. The syllables are incoherent. It almost sounds like a name.

    Stace's deep and miserable voice is all you can hear.

    "I can't hear you, Richard. I'm going to need you to speak louder. More clearly! ENUNCIATE!"

    You grip harder onto the table underhand. The wood complains from the sheer amount of tension.

    "MERCY!"

    A few splinters in your hand are a welcome reminder of the present. No matter how badly you'd like to dwell on old torture— no matter how much relief it might bring you from your waking life— there's nothing in those old memories that can help you here.

    Leaning over the table, you bury your face in your arms, trying to remember how to breathe.

    Your eyes are going to stay dry.

    You aren't going to get sick.

    You are indomitable.

    Another scream rips through the air. It's another name.

    She wouldn't dare.

    You lift your head from the table, and listen closely.

    "Dell— D-Dell Hayward!"

    No.

    "Mister Maddock, Rue Woode, Thomas Nuem-mann...!"

    Sister Schafer actually has the audacity to...

    "Garry Peytone! Mercy— Isabella Wright! Emma Haynes, Afton Beane— oh, Gods—!!"

    She's going to try and give Father Pevrel the names of everyone who has helped her.


    ​



    It takes six hours.

    You count every single second, just like you did during your own imprisonment.

    Just like you did during your own torture.

    Six, agonizing hours.

    Somewhere around the two hour mark you drank heavily.

    The third was spent silently ruminating over what you've done.

    Working out through the guilt and ache in your gut took up the better part of the fourth hour.

    By the fifth, Sister Schafer's incessant cries hardly sounded human. You were going to get up and see to her, but Father Pevrel screamed down the corridor for you to not come running.

    At the top of the sixth hour— while you were praying to Time for relief from the wait— Father Pevrel came back with Sister Schafer in tow.

    The priestess is limping. You recognize that kind of limp; it's from an internal injury. One that's difficult to diagnose, excruciating to inflict, but fast to heal.

    You cross your legs slightly on instinct. You're the Father of Compassion. You can imagine what a tormentor might do to the Mother of Fertility if he really wanted to get under her skin.

    Sister Schafer is bleeding from her lips. More is dripping onto the floor from below. The Lord of Wrath shoves Renne back onto the bench, and she's so exhausted— in so much agony— that she can't keep herself upright.

    The priestess collapses to the floor in a pile of skirts and misery. Her shoulders shake for just a moment, and you realize that the she isn't crying.

    She's laughing to herself.

    Father Pevrel spits on Sister Schafer's sweat-soaked back, then produces a roll of parchment from his shirt. It's shoved at you.

    "One thousand accomplices. Put that with your things, for safekeeping. I'll get with Magnus on how he would like to handle distributing manpower for further investigation."

    The reminder of how much Father Pevrel trusts you is a welcome reminder of sanity. That is, until a ragged breath fills your lungs with the odor of sweat and stale piss. It's mixed in with the herbs you bathed with this morning, the blood on the floor, and the blood that Father Pevrel is wiping clean from his hands.

    He couldn't look happier. You almost hurl on the spot, but find a way to keep your lips together while stashing the scroll among your things.

    "I would like to commend your efforts, Sister Schafer, but in your valiant attempt at keeping your mouth shut, you have inadvertently damned yourself." Father Pevrel crouches on the floor next to the priestess, grinning from ear-to-ear.

    She makes the effort to raise her head. Long strands of light brown hair drape across her fair features, which are only slightly contorted in distress. It looks like every possible effort is being made at keeping it together.

    Rather than address her tormentor, Sister Schafer turns towards you. "If you would not give your Mercy to me freely before, Father Anscham, perhaps you will do so now. I have information that both of you want. You both have something that I want—!"

    Father Pevrel back-hands Sister Schafer so hard, a spray of blood mists against the far wall.

    You practically jump out of your skin. Your heart might as well leap out of your chest. "Pevrel—!"

    Renne pauses for a moment in the same position she was slapped in, curled over on the floor, too stunned to speak.

    The Lord of Wrath gives the blood on his hand a hard look, rubbing his fingertips together. "Poison."

    "I—" You really feel like you're going to be sick. "What?"

    "It's all that's come out of her." Despite how excited he is, Father Pevrel keeps a straight and utterly disgusted demeanor. He leers over Sister Schafer, dragging a finger along her back as he sneers. "We will not bargain."

    "Father Pevrel." You have such a severe headache, you can hardly keep your eyes open. "Stop. You interrogated her for the sake of hearing her speak. Let her speak."

    Sister Schafer's lips have remained parted. She's still reeling from how hard she's been slapped, which is all the Time that your ally needs.

    Getting up from the floor, Father Pevrel walks over to you, and makes a point of looking down at you. "What I put her through would make any grown man weep. She did not cry. She did not beg, beyond her manipulative attempts at worming under your skin. This woman is not a devotee of Mercy. This woman is involved with things infinitely too insidious to entertain bargains or pleas for!"

    A firm finger is pointed straight at his victim. "If you give her an INCH, you are letting our enemy take a MILE. We have spent half the day on this bitch, and I refuse to waste one second more. It's bad enough that you have us dragging Tybalt through the city with us. If you're willing to waste even more of your boys' precious Time on this bitch, then I will not hold myself accountable for your role in saving their lives."

    Narrowing his eye sockets, Father Pevrel waits to move towards Renne, and leans closer to you instead. "I am escorting this woman to another cell, where she will remain until we conclude our investigation. I don't trust that you'd lock her up yourself. You're soft, Anscham. I acknowledge that she will require a more delicate touch to get any additional information out of. But this is not something we can accomplish in one afternoon. She is wasting our Time, and THAT is the most precious information we could have asked for."

    Renne suddenly remembers herself, and stiffens so much that she exacerbates her injury. A pained shout betrays how startled she was, eliciting a harsh laugh from Father Pevrel.

    He strides over to the priestess, looming over her. "That's right, you stupid bitch. You know exactly how much Time pressure there is on Anscham's boys, don't you?"

    She goes dead-silent.

    A cold sweat sticks to your back and neck. You try and fail to not see red. "Sister Schafer—"

    There's legitimate terror on the priestess' face.

    "Ah, ah, ah—" Father Pevrel walks back over to you, pinning you to your chair with both arms. While still encouraging you to stay in place, the man calls over his shoulder, "they're not in the Church of Agriculture's dungeons. No one is. You MOVED them all so that there would be no witnesses, didn't you? NO TESTIMONY?!"

    Releasing the hold on your shoulders isn't necessary. You stay in place while Father Pevrel turns towards Renne. The picture of vindication bores down on a dejected and forlorn woman, who is obviously working as quickly as she can to think of another lie or excuse to stall you both.

    Relieved laughter leaves Father Pevrel, before he suddenly squats down beside Sister Schafer. "They've all been moved, but there's evidence of prisoners down here that are quite recent."

    "How—?" She can't stop herself, and looks too mortified by the question to save herself.

    The Lord of Investigation smiles. "Nothing that your delicate sensibilities need to know about, Sister."

    He must have deduced it from any piss and shit left behind. Wonderful.

    Suddenly standing upright, Father Pevrel says to you, "this doesn't mean that they've been moved again recently, or that they aren't on the move now. We know that they must still be nearby. We now have a literal list of people who we can't trust in the city— some outside of its bounds as well, I'm sure— which is even more than I could have asked for. But we need to go. Get me the manacles out from your satchel." A hard look rests on Renne. "Speeding up our search even further could bode well for you. As it stands, I'm inclined to forbid anyone from aiding you until our return."

    The priestess shifts so uncomfortably, you can feel the internal damage. You have to stand up to get some relief from the sensation— which only serves to make her panic more.

    "Wait." Renne takes a few deep breaths, possibly to gather her composure. Possibly to delay you further.

    Father Pevrel glares at her. "No." A slightly softer look goes to you. "She's a snake. She wouldn't divulge anything after half a day under my hands. There is NOTHING here for us, Anscham. She can rot. Don't let your boys do the same."

    >A] Hear out Renne's bargain. She begged for Mercy. You have always sworn to take these matters on a case-by-case basis, and this would not be the first time you have granted an enemy clemency. It might be the fastest way to get help AND actual answers.

    >B] You said 'one last chance,' but you're far from satisfied, and you will make this woman talk now. The thought of wasting Time that could be spent pursuing your boys is a nightmare, but you won't risk losing out on more information here— no matter how ugly this needs to get.

    >C] You're tired of being manipulated and made a fool of. This is not only for the sake of your sanity. There is no information worth risking your boys' lives. Let Father Pevrel imprison Sister Schafer, and get moving. It's obvious that every second spent here has been used against you. You'll come back for this traitor only after you've ensured Chesty's and Serpent's safety.

    >D] Write-in.
     
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    • Chapter 34: Compromise
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    • Chapter 34: Compromise





    "What's done is done." You get a pair of heavy manacles out from your things. When you were asked by Father Pevrel to bring them along for the trip to Wearmoor, you couldn't have imagined that they'd be used for something like this. Your grimace is absolute. "Unless you can give me something in the Time is takes us to leave through your cell's door."

    Renne's wide, verdant eyes are rimmed with red. She doesn't say a word.

    There's absolutely no resistance as Father Pevrel patiently takes the manacles from your hands and fastens them around her wrists. The Mother of Fertility is hoisted to her feet. She somehow manages not to shriek in agony, but she's sweating hard enough for Father Pevrel to leer while he get out a bloody gag and shoves it in the traitor's mouth.

    The small cell is left behind. While you accompany the pair of clergy down the dungeon's hall, you share a single, grateful look with Father Pevrel. He's leading Renne ahead of him, her arms bound behind her back.

    You mouth, 'I trust you.'

    He's still sweating, smells once again of old blood, and is half-dragging, half-carrying Renne down the hall, but your friend gives you a small, grateful smile.

    'Thank you.'


    ​


    A short, dank, and dark cell is picked for the priestess of Fertility. Plenty of moss and moisture litters the floor. If for some reason she's barred from any visitors for over a day or more, she'll have some options (if she truly gets desperate).

    You still feel incredibly sick, and hand over the keys once more to Father Pevrel. He spares you from having to lock a human behind bars, shoving Sister Schafer into the cell and slamming the door shut behind her.

    She hasn't made a single attempt to talk since your ally deduced her intent, but she shouts through her gag as she falls to the floor.

    All three of you know that this entire interrogation was made to work against you. You're tired. Tired of being manipulated. Tired of being made a fool of. Tired of your righteous anger going nowhere.

    You and Father Pevrel turn your backs on Sister Schafer, fully aware that she could still try to invoke at any Time.

    It's hard to breathe, and you still feel so full that walking is a pain, but all of your concern is with the man next to you. You ignore the sound of Renne quietly laughing at your back, and murmur, "you really saved my fat ass back there."

    He grimaces. "I'm just doing my job— and you shouldn't talk about yourself like that. We're still in the house of your Goddess."

    Quickly glancing at you, Father Pevrel seems to confirm that you're in fair enough condition to practically jog down the corridor. He stares dead-ahead, assuming a demonic pace. "I talked to Her about it, you know. Agriculture. What She's been doing to you."

    It feels like all the heat in your body goes to your face. You were going to ask the man why he's been so upset since speaking with your lover, but this is...

    "She wasn't happy about it." Another, quick glance to you. "She knows you're unhappy, but She can't seem to help Herself. I wasn't surprised— this is the embodiment of Poison we're talking about— but it still wasn't what I expected." He murmurs, "I was hoping that She would have some say in the matter. It seems like both of you are slaves to your desires, Anscham, and I don't want any lives ruined in the process."

    He's not wrong. He's so right that you can hardly look at him.

    That scowl just keeps getting worse. "Having my verdict overturned by a Goddess is grounds to lose my position. I don't know if Agriculture was aware of it when She gave me the order, but this not only threatens my legitimacy as the leader of the Church of Vengeance. I will lose a GREAT deal of respect from some of my men, and it also places the Church of Vengeance in a lower standing than the Church of Agriculture."

    It looks like Father Pevrel is hurting himself with how deep his frown is. "I am NOT calling upon Vengeance to contradict Agriculture's word. I will respect Her will, as I have ALWAYS respected this Church. But when word of this gets out, there will be newfound animosity between our Churches." The fact that he's referring to the Church of Agriculture as yours is really something, but you aren't given Time to contest it. "I can try to put a stop to it, but people will talk. People will try to take the higher ground. There will be sides to this ruling, and the the fact that so much chaos will result from Agriculture shielding just ONE of Her priestesses is disappointing, Anscham."

    He stares at you. Hard. "How you live your life and how you worship Agriculture is up to you, but I swore to help you get into better shape. I shouldn't have left you alone down here today. Not with your history. What did you do while I was gone?"

    You grit your teeth. "You don't want to talk at all about how to resolve the issues that Sister Jolland has caused? Will cause?"

    "Not right now. I put a few things in motion during your meeting— and do NOT worry about what right now. Anything further is going to require more of my attention, and we have more pressing issues to deal with. We will get to the matter. Right now, I want to focus on what's going to keep you from fighting. Now answer the fucking question. You looked like a disaster when I came back for you." He glances over you. "A little better now, but you still look like you've been through the ruins."

    You try smoothing out your hair (to no avail), straighten your robes (you're certain your undershirt is riding up underneath), and wipe some of the old sweat off your brow.

    "Better." Father Pevrel is really trying to be respectful. He stares at you with a lot more patience than usual.

    "I drank for about an hour," you mutter.

    "And?"

    Lifting your eyes from the floor, you firmly say, "and spent another hour trying to work off this weight as fast as I'm gaining it."

    The Lord of Judgement drags a hand over his face, smearing a little dried blood into his beard shadow. A long, exasperated breath leaves him. "You know that exercise isn't the problem, right? You push yourself harder than any man I've ever met. Father Friedrich included."

    "I—" You try not to sound too flattered. "Really?"

    "His routine is more regular, but your work ethic puts his to shame, Anscham. I imagine if you had another four months under him, the world wouldn't be able to stop you."

    There's hope in your heart. "I know that if I can regain Flesh's favor—"

    "I just told you that the problem is NOT how often you work out, or how hard." The look that Father Pevrel gives you is so cutting, it feels like someone's stabbed you in the chest. "It's what you're putting in your body. THAT is why you have made progress this month. The exercise would have been for nothing if Father Wilhelm and I didn't intervene with your diet, and you didn't abstain from invoking Agriculture." He pinches the bridge of his nose. It obviously pains him to talk about it. "...or summoning Her."

    "I know drinking is a problem. I know Agriculture is biased towards— towards stuffing me, and upping my weight." Acknowledging the problem doesn't seem to make your ally feel any better. It's likely because he's already heard most of this before.

    Your resolve has never been greater. You declare, "I have a compromise."

    Father Pevrel doesn't give you any sass. The priest seriously seems like he wants to be here for you for this. He stays quiet, and respectful, and the sight of him acting so sober keeps you completely on the level.

    "I know that my behavior has been alarming. I want to show my devotion to Flesh— and I will, even if my body isn't up to his standards right now—" Not even a pair of enchanted robes can mask how heavy you are. Your focus isn't on the swell of your stomach or the breadth of your arms, though. The gold and green is what you really care about."—but I also have Mercy and Agriculture to think about."

    There's an entire pantheon's worth of plans brewing, but you're going to stay focused. You're not going to focus just on the fact that today has set you back— and this is not about self-pity, or binging, or abuse of any kind.

    "So I— I would like to do something that can balance my love of food, and my desire to lose weight."

    He's smirking and only teasing, but Father Pevrel can't help but comment, "that truly sounds like a miracle, Anscham."

    You smile a little to the dungeon's floor, even though your stomach blocks some of your view. You can deal with a little teasing. It's fine. This idea has you in far too good of a mood to care.

    "I would like to try to eat less meat. Normally, I would vehemently be opposed to this kind of restriction. To restrict meat is to restrict half the deliciousness that has been offered to us—" The look that Father Pevrel is giving you is pretty unpleasant. It's obvious that he's trying to gauge just from a glance how much bigger you look, and also seems to think that something is wrong with you mentally. But there is nothing wrong with you. This is the healthiest attitude you've had towards Agriculture in a very long time. Possibly ever. "—but shifting towards fruits and vegetables would allow me to..."

    Every gear in your head is turning. This thought may have come out of left field, but this is an opportunity for even more growth.

    I might have had a decent breakfast, ate during the entire summoning and put away several liters of liquid this afternoon...
    But what if that was all fruit?
    I could get away with several hundred grapes.
    Forget a single sitting of binging.
    I could spread it out through an entire day.

    Your smile gets a little broader. "...I could still pig out without sabotaging myself."

    The priest beside you exaggerates a groan. He knows you're right.

    You lift your eyes to your friend. "This is why it will work."

    "I hate it when you're right." He's almost smiling.

    "I talked with Tybalt about this. He gave me the idea to give more to others. This could also apply to anything from an animal that I'm given." Your voice lifts higher. "It's like he said— feeding others is also a form of worshiping Agri. Please don't look at me like that. I— I won't even have to give up fishing! And with my flask..."

    The small item weighs a little against your chest. You can't help but feel how much cushion there is between your heart and the small, well-worn gift. You pat it lovingly anyways.

    Thank you, Yech.

    The habits you have are not the fault of your friends— but the opportunities they've presented are.

    You keep your gaze on Father Pevrel, radiating determination and sincerity. "...it will be easy enough to maintain this sort of diet."

    "You're really serious about this." Father Pevrel hasn't slowed his pace for an instant, even though he knows how uncomfortable you are. The urgency that you both are moving with has brought you to the end of the dungeon in no Time at all.

    "You and Father Wilhelm have helped me make incredible progress in the month it took to get to Wearmoor, and I won't be removing meat from my diet completely. It would be a challenge to maintain my muscle, otherwise."

    The Lord of Honor nods several times. "Yeah. Well. You're right."

    "I would still like your help."

    "You know this is ridiculous? Do you know how absurd this idea is? Most men would be going in the opposite direction, Anscham. You're throwing away a good portion of your wealth and influence in the public eye. People are going to think you're crazy. Just think of what a stink is going to be raised at the first feast you attend with this attitude."

    He knows how to make you smile. "That's never stopped me before."

    Striding ahead of you, Father Pevrel unlocks the exit, trying to hide his smile. A look is cast to the light at the end of the tunnel. "You know I don't mean any disrespect towards Agriculture, right?"

    "Right." You're let out of the dark and dank space, back into the warm and well-lit Church. You can't get up the steps quickly enough. "I completely understand why you were so upset."

    "Am so upset." The priest's scowl is back in full force. "We've wasted far too much Time, and you're in terrible shape to get around the city with any discretion. May all the Gods help us if you need to go running anywhere today."

    An even brisker pace is assumed, in a bee-line towards the meeting room. The two of you speak in hushed voices, ignoring the stares and whispering you're getting from every group of clergy you pass by. Father Pevrel occasionally glares at one of the groups, just to get them to stop looking out of fear.

    He somehow keeps a perfect grimace when he leans over to you and asks, "what are we doing about Tightbutt?"

    You can't help but laugh. "You shouldn't call him that."

    "I'll call him whatever the fuck I please. Particularly until he earns my respect, which is not happening at this rate." His composure cracks at how goofy your smile is. "Look, you have a meeting to get to. Do I need to babysit?"

    "I— I would appreciate your counsel."

    Your comment nets a rare, sincere, and wholesome smile out of him. "Of course you do."

    A quick glance is made around the Church. A nearby priest who is watering an outcropping of shrubs pretends like he didn't see the Lord of Blood walking with a friend, which is good enough for Father Pevrel.

    Your mentor in Vengeance whispers, "normally, I would suggest that you do something like this alone. A group could come across as an attempt at intimidation. Bringing other people into the affair could also betray the trust of your informant, who may be under the impression that this information and meeting was to remain discreet."

    He's intentionally not using any names, but you know well enough that bringing along a group to meet Tathan's contact could destroy what little trust the priest has in you.

    "Given the circumstances, I think it would be unwise to take the Time to split up." His smile is totally gone. "Did you learn anything about this contact? Anything we can do to smooth things over with him, if we offend him right out the gate?"

    "Not much, other than that— other than that he holds his father in high esteem."

    "Good thing we know the most well-connected man in the city, then. We'll get with Brother Townsend on anything he might know about this man."

    After walking for several more minutes, Father Pevrel sneers at the roses you pass by.

    His continued distaste for growth baffles you. "What do you have against flowers...?"

    "Not flowers, Anscham. The arrangement." The man turns up his nose, scoffing in all seriousness. "For a Church that's so obsessed with food, you would think that someone here would have taste."

    It's easy to forget that this man has a life back at home, and that a part of it is a love for interior decorating.

    You do everything in your power not to laugh. "Thank you so much for all of your help."

    He shakes his head. "Don't mention it. Really."

    You elbow him. "We make a pretty good team."

    "...yeah. Well." He doesn't deny it, though he makes a show of dusting off the spot where you touched him. Both of you smile a little as you walk ahead. "We'll see how far that takes us today."

    >A] Ask Father Pevrel to keep an eye on Tybalt. Father Wilhelm can stay with them to mediate. The Seer of Somerilde will likely be able to predict when you'll be able to reconvene, and more importantly, you can hopefully stay more discreet while alone. (Traveling in disguise is far easier for you than it is for your companions.)

    >B] Ask Father Pevrel to keep an eye on Tybalt. You'll try to arrange for the smoothest way to meet back with your friends. Father Wilhelm should come with you when you meet The Source. His people skills are without compare, and you figure that the priest's knowledge of illicit substances will help smooth things over with the drug peddler.

    >C] Ask Father Wilhelm to keep an eye on Tybalt. They have no problem with each other that you're aware of, and you'll try to arrange for the smoothest way to meet back with your friends. Father Pevrel should come with you when you meet The Source, even though his presence will make some people VERY uncomfortable. You make one hell of a team, and you're sure that between the two of you, you can make quick work of the situation.

    >D] Ask everyone to come with you to the meeting. Father Pevrel's presence will make some people VERY uncomfortable, and the presence of so many people could totally sabotage any attempts at diplomacy or secrecy, but your collective strengths are worth the extra effort— which will be significant. More importantly, you don't want to waste a single second reconvening with your allies (which is inevitable, once you split up).

    >E] Before you return to the council, there's something you'd like to talk to Father Pevrel about. (Write-in.)

    >F] This might be your last opportunity to talk to the council for some Time. There's something else you'd like to do, or someone else you'd like to speak with. (Write-in.)
     
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    • Chapter 35: Balance the Scales
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    • Chapter 35: Balance the Scales​


    "...I'll still find some way to make it up to you." You don't mind getting sappy. "Not only because of what you've done for me and Agriculture, but just to— just to try and set this right. Between your reputation—" He's about to protest. "—and to balance the scales...?"

    Father Pevrel crosses his arms, unable to stop himself from smirking. "Fine. Go on."

    "I want to try to arrange for the first unimpeded shipments of food from Wearmoor to head straight for Mauseburg."

    That smirk falls instantly. "My reputation isn't worth the lives of people who need those supplies elsewhere."

    "Life saving supplies arriving quickly would certainly lower tensions." You raise your eyebrows at him. "And the lives of your people are just as valuable as any other. Hmm?"

    Grumbling. "I suppose. With Stace in Mauseburg— and it has been over two months since I've been home, now— I need to make sure that the situation is still handled." He raises his voice back to its normal (still gravelly) tone. "Tensions are already high with Beorward, and I don't think this will be what breaks them."

    The priest doesn't stop walking, but holds an open hand out to you. "I speak for the entire city of Mauseburg when I say that we will appreciate it, Anscham."

    You gladly shake his hand with both of your own, all while keeping pace with him. "This is a start. Right?"

    "Right. Thank you." The two of you part from the hold, still ignoring every stare that you're drawing.

    Every overgrown planter you pass by puts a little more green in your eyes. The thought of heading out into the city alone at a time like this is brutal, but absolutely necessary.

    "I really wish you could come with me." You're pouting.

    A surprised, but respectful stare washes over you. Father Pevrel says, "this is unusually reasonable of you."

    "I— I don't mean any offense—"

    "None taken." The man doesn't look self-conscious in the slightest. It's well-known that Father Pevrel delights in being perceived as a terror— and if you didn't know better, you'd say that the Lord of Honor looks proud of you. "You're putting the needs of the operation before your own, and you're taking into account how much we'd all weigh you down." A brief pause. "Dammit, Anscham."

    "You said it, not me."

    "Ugh. Listen. So far as everyone here in the Church is concerned, my investigation has concluded— but my clergy and I still have fourteen traitors to see to, and there's the matter of looking into your other requests."

    He's going to get to work on investigating Mother Bethaea's death? Already?

    "Don't look so surprised. I'm counting on you to dig up any leads on this poisoning affair. Look for anything that may be connected to the friend we'll be paying a visit to, once your boys are found."

    Omerus.

    "But you don't think that this is related to—?"

    "I think it is all related, Anscham. This is not a matter of getting to the bottom of the problem. We already know that Inertia and their allies are trying to dismantle the theocracy."

    The two of you arrive before the meeting room door, which is locked. Mild, muffled conversation can be heard on the other side of the door, so Father Pevrel drops his voice to a whisper.

    "This is a matter of getting to the people responsible, and making sure that people like them don't come into power again." You're pat once on the shoulder. "You think you can handle going it alone for the rest of the day?"

    You nod a few times, stunned by the man willingly making more physical contact with you. He must be seriously shaken by your offer to help out his city.

    That, or he's finally starting to warm up to you.

    "I think so."

    >You are on a mission to meet with Simon Radley, AKA "The Source."
    >Reaching your meeting point without attracting attention is of the utmost importance.
    >You also have confirmation from multiple sources that speed is critical to finding Chesty and Serpent alive.

    >Roll 1d100.
    >Because you are blessed by all of the Gods, the best of the first three rolls will be used.
    >You will default to disguising yourself as a masked priest of Agriculture.
    >Feel free to write in additional strategy to cross the city! Clever ideas may net additional modifiers.
    >The winning roll will have a bonus of +5.
    +20 PRIEST OF AGRICULTURE (There's no understating how at home you'll look in the city of growth.)
    +15 ENCHANTED (A clever disguise utilizing your enchanted robes will greatly aid in this venture!)
    +10 EXPERIENCE (This isn't your first rodeo.)
    +10 INDOMITABLE (Despite the discomfort you're in, this is nothing you can't handle.)
    +10 VIM AND VIGOR (A full night's rest and ample fuel for your journey has you feeling much peachier than usual!)
    -10 STUFFED (Even in your case, there's such a thing as too much fuel. Moving quickly is going to suck.)
    -10 BIG CITY (It's been years since you've had to navigate Wearmoor, and you have never done so while totally alone.)
    -20 FAME (Even if you didn't have a distinctive appearance, you are one of the most recognizable men in the nation.)
    -20 FRIENDS AND FOES (They're everywhere.)
     
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    • Chapter 36: Clandestine
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    • Chapter 36: Clandestine





    You and Father Pevrel linger outside of the meeting room, reluctant as can be to part ways. Ample words are exchanged over acceptable behavior around Tybalt (Father Pevrel swears to not torture any more council members today, "if it can be helped"), and how you will attempt to meet up after your visit with Simon (Father Wilhelm will find your location if a day goes by without any news).

    Father Pevrel suggests that no one else be informed of this meeting with "The Source," lest you risk raising more suspicion, so Tybalt will not be consulted for any tips on how to appease your informant. You take the vote of confidence in your diplomatic abilities with a smile, and before you know it, you're off.

    You wait until you're out of the Church of Agriculture's main halls, then slip into a small cleaning closet to change. It pains you to be rid of the tasteful, multi-patron aligned vestments that you have on now, but literal gold and such an ornate pattern in black and green will simply attract way too much attention.

    "Well, here goes." After finally letting out your belt (you are not going to think about how far or just how good it felt), you place a hand to your robes. "The most innocuous disguise possible, in the fashion of a priest of Agriculture. I need to pass through the entire city unseen, while maintaining a respectable appearance for a clandestine meeting."

    The cloth on you suddenly twists and shift into attire in the same fashion as what Tathan's clergy had on yesterday. The multitude of layers from your ornate holy vestments becomes a simple, long set of dark green robes, topped with a nearly-black apron. All of the fabric is aged and cheap, splattered with mysterious stains that indicates experimentation with blood and poison. After tossing up your hood, a wide-brimmed hat and long mask sprouts from the fabric, completely concealing your features from view. You try not to frown too hard at how unflattering the outfit is, and safely assume that it's to better the disguise. A belt outfitted with multiple vials, pouches, and strings of herbs sits rather low on your hips, making you look more bottom-heavy than usual. With how much broader and taller you appear, and with the smell of a blood-soaked dungeon mixing in with the herbs on you, it's likely that no one on the street would want to give you more than a passing glance, let alone get close enough to scrutinize you.

    You can't help but smile beneath your enchanted mask. If it weren't for how stuffed you are, you'd be incredibly comfortable, even given how much cloth is on you. The Magic weave covering your face is incredibly easy to see out from, and the entire ensemble feels like a Dream.

    Shuffling out from the closet, your suspicions are instantly confirmed. It's going to be impossible to avoid everyone, so it's quite fortunate that the first priestess you pass by in the next hallway practically hugs the wall to avoid getting any closer to you.

    You painfully push yourself to the briskest pace you can (without looking suspicious), and head out the least trafficked doors you can find. This is your first time ever traveling alone in the City of Vitality, and it shows. Within minutes of leaving the Church of Agriculture's walls, you have to pause and try to reorient yourself.

    Packed, plant-covered houses stretch out in every direction and as far as the eye can see. Given your sensitivity to life, it's almost too much to take without any distractions.

    There's more to this venture than your experience in getting through bustling cities, the fact that you can sense movement from a distance, or even the crippling anxiety you still get in big crowds after years of isolation. You have spent months of your life in the company of one of the greatest survivalists known to man. A priest who can see without sight.

    You hug the wall to your back, close your eyes, and look for what isn't.

    It's as if all the world died. Networks of moss leave behind patchwork spaces of emptiness for miles, showing static dirt roads made entirely of shadow. The growth littering every home is blocked away from your attention with great effort, so that you can focus more closely on the lack of movement around them.

    The world comes alive all over again. Between every moving body, there are empty paths just begging to be traversed. The air and sky is buzzing with motion. Pollen drifts on the breeze, and you move everywhere that it does not touch.

    It's no wonder that Father Pevrel is so sensitive about the way that he sees.

    There's beauty to it.

    Within minutes you're able to move to the outskirts of parks, down into little alleys, and far away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Wide paths are carved out of every crowd you're forced to walk through, thanks to everyone avoiding you like a new plague (which given your attire, is a very real fear). Every couple of blocks, you find a safe spot to pause and open your eyes, to better adjust to your location.

    No more than an hour goes by before the sun sets. Between the council's hearing, your meeting with Agriculture, and Sister Schafer's interrogation, you've whiled away almost the entire day. It doesn't faze you in the slightest, though. Your ability to travel is utterly independent of Mercy's light— and no matter how weird it feels to not rely on the day, you can't help but enjoy leaning a little deeper into shadow.

    Torches flare, lanterns are lit, and revelry sounds off in the distance. The salmon and umber of a moody sky becomes packed with clouds. Yet, there's still a tremendous amount of movement across town— likely the festival that Tybalt never got to oversee.

    You avoid it at all costs. Thanks to your extreme caution and unorthodox method of travel, you are almost entirely unheard and unseen.

    Much closer to your destination than you're comfortable with, you nearly run into the worst couple imaginable.

    Your heart skips several beats.

    Walking hand-in-hand through a sparsely occupied park is a very familiar pair. Closest to the flowers and the direction you're walking in is a painfully skinny, short, and green-eyed woman. Beside her is a veritable giant of a man, with a thick brown mustache and your strong jawline. (Well, when you're a hundred pounds or so lighter.)

    Your parents are way on the opposite side of the square, and they seem completely content in each other's company. They haven't noticed your long strides in the shadows beyond a cursory glance and your father defensively pulling your mother closer.

    Mama. Papa.

    They're alive.


    ​


    There's no one following them that you can tell. No injuries! No imminent threat of death! Your mother's face is a little paler than you remember her looking last year, and your father might somehow look stronger, but that's it. They're the same as ever.

    Alive and well.

    You grin to yourself as Robert 'the Mountain' Anscham walks by. It's hard to not be delighted beyond all measure.

    Mercy. I must be bigger than him by now.

    He will have a fit when he finds out.

    You are WAY too pressured for Time and cannot jeopardize the safety of your mission to stop now, but just the sight of your parents doing so well puts a skip in your step. You quickly duck out of sight, away from their pleasant small-talk, and continue your long walk through the city.

    It isn't until you reach the furthest outskirt of Wearmoor that you finally spot your destination. Buried deeply away from any residential district, and within the ruins of a long-forgotten temple, there is an unusual forest. Trees have overtaken all of the buildings here. They grow through the foundations, they grow through the walls, and they grow through the very rooftops (or what little remains of them).

    These ancient boughs are revered as evidence of Agriculture's harmony between rock and wood. Any resident of Wearmoor can come to these ruins at any Time for prayer or recreation, but from what Mother Bethaea once told you, you know that this area is almost exclusively used after dark for illicit activity.

    You bow your head for a moment in prayer.

    Man-made worship. Natural devotion.

    Her bounty is limitless.

    To grow is to serve.


    ​


    Just ahead is the meeting spot: A massive tree that rests on the roof of the ruins. The rare moss that adorns its boughs and all of the building is unmistakable.

    You can feel an absence of movement around the ruins. The void behind the pollen. Behind the long fingers that descend from the tree, between the intact archways of the ruins, within the sprawling building's interior, and even on two of the rooftops around you are other men.

    By all appearances, the clearing up ahead is utterly empty. Even if you could kill every man in this square before they could react, there's no need for a confrontation. It's incredibly difficult to do so, but you open your eyes and bring your focus back to what is in front of your face. Everyone is acting on the assumption that these men are hidden, and you're going to keep it that way.

    After all, your boy's lives could depend on how quickly you act tonight.

    You take off your mask and hat (they retract back into your hood the moment they're removed from your body) and cautiously step out into the clearing. There's no movement in the shadows. The men that are in hiding here keep their cover, so you proceed ahead as if everything were entirely normal.

    You do mind your step carefully— not only because of the rubble and slick moss that increases by the second, but out of old fear. It's not that you distrust Tathan or his informant. You simply have traversed so many dangerous ruins, it's a force of habit. You catch yourself holding your breath, pausing around every corner, looking for trip-wire, and wincing at every sudden noise as if it would be the last you've ever heard.

    The rate of your pulse is sky-high by the Time that you are fully underground.
    Walking through the ruins of Wearmoor...
    Its humble series of long halls...
    And many crumbling staircases...
    Ultimately brings you before two cloaked figures.

    At the end of the hall are two men— one seated, one standing— with their faces cast in deep shadow. High-burning lanterns spread even longer shadows around their waiting area, which is focused on a large table. There are a handful of chairs (likely for the men hiding outside), several flagons of liquid, and ample mugs. That's it. If these men were working on anything before your arrival, it's incredibly well-hidden.

    The standing figure calls out to you while you're still a good fifty feet away, walking in the dark. "Oi! Who goes there?"

    You come to a halt. You're a preacher, and don't need to raise your voice to be heard in a room with acoustics this good.

    "Father Richard Anscham, leader of the Church of Mercy. 'The Fey' sent me."

    The last, deep syllable echoes for several long moments after you speak.

    The seated figure gets to his feet. He removes his hood, revealing a hooked nose and such a stern countenance that even Father Pevrel would be impressed. His shoulder-length, jet-black hair is slicked back with grease, and it looks as if he's wearing a terribly fine tunic below his cloak. He doesn't step around the table, but simply beckons you closer with a wave of his hand.

    "A pleasure, Father Anscham. If you please."

    The man who addressed you calls out again in his thick, country accent. "No funny business! Y'hear?!"

    "That will be all, Chuck." The greasy stranger settles a cold, steely stare on you as you come closer. The man by his side doesn't budge.

    Chuck waits until you're only a few long strides away from his master to snap, "that's far 'nuff."

    A warning stare is made to the bodyguard. He lingers only a second longer, glaring at you, but quickly strides away in the opposite direction from where you entered.

    Nodding to one of the chairs nearby, the man— who must be Simon Radley— waits to take a seat before you do. It says volumes about how he values your respective positions, or his attitude towards the Church.

    Either way, you take a seat, and do everything in your power to not look or sound too relieved. The pace you kept across the city (particularly while wearing a mask) has sweat on your brow and an ache in your joints that instantly lets up.

    You might have some relief on your body and heart, but your mind is racing. The premise of you meeting this man was to help Tathan with the poison plaguing Wearmoor. He wants you to ensure that whoever is behind the attacks is caught and destroyed— but you have more than one reason for being in the city tonight.

    Simon sits across from you, folding his fingers together while he leans back and looks you over. He can't seem to stop staring at the way you're dressed. It's probably an intense shock to see the leader of the Church of Mercy look like the spitting image of a priest of Agriculture. "Father Anscham. " Any waver in the man's composure stops, and he locks eyes with you. "You've kept me waiting— but I would like for you to not worry yourself about that. To have come to The Source means that there is a problem you need to address. I will do you this favor, on behalf of my dear friend The Fey. Who or what is it that's been troubling the leader of our nation? What could warrant my attention more than anyone else you know?"

    >The Source is presenting you with a VERY generous offer.
    >The following are not mutually exclusive, but asking for more than one favor may backfire horribly.
    >Though you have a reputation for being insatiable, how greedy you get in this meeting is up to you.
    >You may also specify if you wish to exercise your authority in this situation to get more answers without offending The Source (or anything else that you think might help).
    >In the event of directly opposing votes, majority vote and/or QM discretion will decide.

    >A] Your problem is a lack of information. Stay true to your word. Ask The Source for anything and everything he knows about the poison that's circulating in Wearmoor, and keep your discussion focused on fixing that specific problem.

    >B] Father Pevrel advised you to gear this discussion towards finding about any ties to Omerus the sorcerer. Let The Source know of the poisons master, and ask how he can assist you in finding and eliminating him. Everything else is secondary.

    >C] By all the fucking Gods you are finding information on your boys, even if it kills you to do so. Ask The Source if he has any information on the movement of the prisoners out of the Church of Agriculture. Nothing is more important.

    >D] There are a LOT of threads that are currently woven through your story. Bring up a different subject altogether. (Write-in.)

    >E] How you handle this request may make or break your relationship with this man. Choose your words wisely. (Write-in anything else you wish to share, ways you want to make your request, etc. Feel free to write-in a general sentiment or idea as well, and your QM will handle it as carefully as possible.)
     
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    • Chapter 37: Protection and Services
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    • Chapter 37: Protection and Services





    Brother Morgan's problems should cease once Omerus is out of the picture.

    You swallow once, steeling yourself. "I need a man found and eliminated. Every other concern I have is secondary to this single request."

    The Source doesn't even blink. "The target's name?"

    "Omerus. His wife's last name was Hudson, though by the sound of it, he no longer acknowledges it."

    The man sitting before you is keeping a perfect poker face. You can't read a thing on him, from his stoic posture to the way that his hands remain concealed beneath the table.

    "You ask a great deal of me, Father Anscham. I have heard of this 'Omerus.' I will need resources if I'm to help you with a problem of this magnitude."

    This is not the first time someone has tried to take advantage of the Father of Gold. It likely won't be the last. Still, you are a patient man. A man who wants a sample of every product that this drug peddler has to offer. A man who can patiently sit and ask, "what resources would you require?"

    "You understand that I must look out for the welfare of the people who work below me, and for all of the families who rely on my protection and services."

    "Of course."

    Simon slowly brings his elbows to the table and leans forward, fingers pressed together and pointed towards you. "The suspension of sliver shipments to Calunoth has cut me deeply. The Fey might not see every effect that his actions have caused, but hurting our people is one of them. I am lacking in the funds and manpower needed to satisfy your request at this time, Father— but I would not dare refuse you. It would be to the benefit of our mutual interests to cover my people's needs. Enough to compensate for the loss of our business and for the risks of this venture."

    Simon's voice is as level as his stare. "I understand that you are far from home and may be unable to do this. But there are many ways to help this situation."

    A business partnership with someone of this nature could be enormously beneficial, and you aren't about to pass up on any opportunity that's presented here.

    A single, questioning look is all you give.

    Focus and determination radiates from The Source. There's a fine line of anger through his voice— though it's so controlled, you would have missed it if you weren't giving this man every ounce of your attention.

    "The drug trade in Calunoth has painted an ugly and sinful picture of our work. One so foul, it has tainted our image even here—" He looks around the ruins you're occupying, inviting you to appreciate the roots winding within the underground space. "—in Agriculture's city."

    Your frown is the only answer that Simon needs.

    "The reason why I am in such an embarrassing situation, Father, lies in the capital. If I were to have your word that you would put a stop to this problem plaguing you, myself, and our mutual friend— we would have insurance against the problems such as the one you face now, as well."

    You lean back a little, folding your hands over your stomach, looking Simon over with legitimate concern. "You're implying that if I put a stop to the illicit drug trade in Calunoth, you will not only be able to put a stop to Omerus. You're— you mean to say that it would curtail this sort of problem from reoccurring."

    "That's right. You would also help to restore a healthy trade between Wearmoor and Calunoth, and could save the livelihoods of thousands."

    "If I were to give you my word— to help with the problem in Calunoth— would you still be capable of financing our venture with Omerus?"

    "You would have my word, Father— though I could not guarantee as swift of a resolution."

    "And if I required whatever information you possess, and nothing more?"

    The peddler's severe expression is inscrutable. "The problems that our city faces would not vanish. I would still be obliged to ask for your generosity, Father."

    Appealing to the tenets of Agriculture and Mercy.

    He knows I'm not supposed to refuse.

    I have been meaning to revisit the capital. Archdemon Arkthros deserves an apology— and Calunoth is on the way back home.

    Just to be sure, you run a quick mental tally of how much you have on your person to buy and barter with. Father Pevrel strongly recommended bringing fine goods and a fair amount of coin on the trip, but the coffers at the Church of Mercy were all but cleaned out by Stace and Morris. There's a few precious gems, and a fair amount of gold, but you have a sinking suspicion that it will be nowhere near enough.

    "What sort of sum would we be looking at, were I to fund this venture?"

    Simon rattles off the living expenses of several of his best men, including fees for the danger that this mission would include, insurance for survivors in the event that any of his men are killed, and payment for the completion of the task.

    Not only are you not carrying this much coin on your person; even if you invoked Mercy on the spot and started producing gold from your bare hands, you wouldn't be able to fund such a thing. You would need to put in a request from the Church of Mercy or the Church of Agriculture, if you want to make this venture succeed through gold alone. But in either event, involving the Church would trace the death of Omerus back to Simon, and you strongly suspect that this man would appreciate not having a murder linked to his name or business (even if it's condoned by you, with all the authority that you carry).

    Rather than settle on one solution, you think for a moment to some of the priceless items that are on your person:
    • Two tapestries from the last age, embroidered with the likeness of Dream and Time.
    • An ancient hourglass, etched with a Magical symbol.
    • Vials of blessed Looking Glass water, captured from deep within the wilderness of Corcaea.

    Just about everything else you carry has so much sentimental value, you can't think of parting with it.

    Just to be sure, you ask, "would you be open to the idea of a trade?"

    The man's upper lip curls in disgust. "No doubt you possess a great many treasures, Father Anscham— but no. Not unless that is your only option."

    There's no doubt in your mind that you could afford a great deal of this man's mundane wares. Getting information out of him might be manageable. But the price he's asking for Omerus' head...

    >All of the following are mutually exclusive.
    >Majority vote will decide.

    >A] You want Omerus dead— and with Simon's help, you won't have to risk your life to do it. This is one less problem between you and getting to your boys, and will satisfy Father Pevrel's desire for answers. You'll find a way to get the money. (Feel free to write-in any ideas you have on how to do this! Otherwise a separate series of prompts will be presented.)

    >B] Offer to trade. It's going to offend Simon, and will likely put him off of future business with you, but you're not willing to overextend yourself for this man. (You'll find another way to get those drug samples.)
    >1] You'll put up one item, solely for information.​
    >The tapestry of Esthete (Dream).​
    >The tapestry of Arentia (Time).​
    >The Magical hourglass.​
    >The vials of Looking Glass Water.​
    >Write-in.​
    >2] Offer everything. You want the entire job covered.​

    >C] Vow to investigate the drug issue in Calunoth.
    >1] You just want information.​
    >2] You want information and as much help as Simon can immediately spare (without overextending himself).​
    >3] You want the entire job done, and don't mind if it takes a little while longer.​

    >D] You know when you're being played. Refuse to negotiate with this man. Lay down your authority and demand that he tell you where you can find Omerus. (You'll find another way to get those drug samples.)
     
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