Chapter 13: Soil and Whiskey

"Consume my heart away; sick with desire." ​

He has his own alarm system...

The bells around each spider's form twinkle from the slightest movement. You eye them with hesitation. "He swore that he would command his demons to— to not attack me or Ray. I can't believe it."

With a heave of her chest, Celegwen's ragged breathing breaks out into a coughing fit. You gently ease her onto the floor. Though Ofelia doesn't move to help you, it's plain how concerned she is. The way that Ray is bristling makes it even clearer how badly he wants to attack.

"Down, boy." The timbre and resonance of Flesh and your voice catches the mastiff off guard. It takes a minute, but he defers to your judgement, and gradually lessens his growling.

With Ofelia's help— she does her best to support the elf's weight while you dig for medicinal supplies— you make quick work of gathering everything you need. The small woman is still out of breath from running with Ray, and pants, "you took so long to catch up. I didn't think you were goin' to make it out of there. What happened— and what's the deal with you? I mean, I'm not complainin' about yer voice—"

Looking over your significantly more muscular shoulder to the corridor you all came from shows no sign of smoke— yet. The volume of paint and ice that you and Celegwen inhaled should have killed you both. She has had nothing in the way of Flesh to clear her body of toxin. You sweep the elf into your arms, and get to work.

Herbs. Poultices. "Those vials that you threw, Ofelia— they are still burning. The smoke nearly overtook us. I'm sure more will come. My prayer to the God of Flesh was answered, and I was able to carry Celegwen— but I don't know how much longer I can stay with Him for. I don't feel it now, but..."

Extreme worry stops Ofelia's rapid breaths. You try to not pay any mind to the look. Grateful that your body is cooperating for once, you shout to the spiders. "My name is Father Richard Anscham. I have humored your 'Master of Webs.' Honor him and his word! I ask for safe passage through this place, as he has promised me and my companion!"

Pawing at the stone, Ray resumes his growling at the spiders. They make no motion to cooperate— save for twinkling and chiming as they sway and leer.

All your intent shifts to gently guiding Celegwen, in hopes that she can drink a tincture you've prepared. Most humans would be incapable of stomaching the mixture, but you know her constitution can take it. Her eyes remain open, but glossy. She responds slightly to the motion, and manages to not choke or lose any of the drink. If you didn't know any better, you'd think she was awake.

Fear coats Ofelia's untrained eyes. "Do you think she's...?"

You shake your head. "We won't lose her." Repressing the urge to swear, you speak once more to the spiders. "Do not trifle with me. I will seek out Malimos if I must. Do you need me to write a letter? Do you wish for the Master of Webs to know how his children have misbehaved? Do you really wish to try my patience?"

Floored by the way that you're speaking, Ofelia doesn't dare to interrupt. One of the spiders complies, and dances along its legs with almost as much dexterity as its master. The droplets of blood suspended along the strands remain undisturbed as it skitters before you in a matter of seconds.

You tense, and move yourself directly in front of Ofelia and Celegwen. Ray growls and begins barking hysterically as he inches forward by your side.

"Ray. Stay down."

The spider spins and twists a series of webs. From it comes the most grotesque square of parchment you've ever laid your eyes on. It had the audacity to bring you something to write on.

Ofelia is too shocked to make a witty remark. "Is this a joke?"

Eyeing the bloody parchment sideways, you speak slowly to the spider. "Will you take this to him?"

The spider stares back at you, then bows slightly. It may be mocking you, but it's impossible to tell as this demon is too young and savage for speech. Its obedience is— at the very least— impressive. The spider's fangs drip with blood— obscenely mirroring an animal drooling before a meal it cannot touch.

Malimos clearly knows how to discipline his children.

You gently lower Celegwen's head onto a rolled up blanket. The tincture will work quickly, and you can safely monitor her condition while seeing to these creatures.

"Ofelia, take her." The halfling quickly moves and (with some difficulty,) takes her from your arms. While examining the parchment intently, you're greeted by dense and dripping webs. The texture is morbid, but inviting. Rather than pick it up, you fish a writing implement out from your pack and use the tail end of it to inscribe a letter. The blood parts before your motions, leaving behind a request for safe passage.

The greater demon is terribly patient, and easily amused— but you still hesitate, unsure of just how much to say.

Between the stone floor, the horrific parchment, and Celegwen's constant coughing, it's impossible to get the pen pressure quite right. Still, you write the rest of the message as concisely as you can.

Master of Webs,

I urgently implore you to grant my allies and I safe passage through the ruins. In my company (along with Ray) are two women: Ofelia Banks and Celegwen. They have saved my life, and now risk theirs to aid me. I have postponed my search for the cure to the Catalyst— which will no doubt amuse you— to seek a Relic of enormous importance. The Gods Themselves have entrusted me with this search. Please call off your children as soon as you are able. I must continue my mission.​ I pray that this letter finds you safely.​ May the Gods have Mercy on you, Malimos.​ ​ ​

"Hurry." You slide the bloody note towards the nearest spider with the end of your pen. It snatches the dripping silk out from your grasp, and begins to skitter away. "We won't wait. I'll know if you're delayed! I swear to you! DON'T toy with me!"

The minor demon makes its way through the cavern, up a network of webs, and to one of the many walls high above. It vanishes from sight and straight into a crack in the wall. It's impossible to tell where it's actually headed, but you have greater concerns to attend to.

Your time with Flesh is running out. There is no longer smoke wafting off your skin. His intense heat has abated. The God works to make you whole. Removing the poison. Keeping you on your feet through impending exhaustion.

Ray will simply not stop growling at the spiders. You scratch him behind his ears, trying to reassure the protective hound. "It's okay, boy. It's okay. You did good. Stay." Kneeling beside Ofelia and Celegwen, the usual timidness returns to your voice. "...are you alright?"

Ofelia's eyes wander over you. "I'll be alright. I'm just a little cold. I'm more worried 'bout Gwen and you. That was some stunt you pulled back there. I didn't think I'd see either of you again, if I'm gonna' be honest."

Holding Ray closer, your joints begin to ache as Flesh drifts further away. Worry creeps in. "I could never abandon someone in my care."

Your exhaustion is intense. No matter how much you wish for Him to stay, Flesh parts from you. You trail after the sensation, and slump heavily forward. Ray supports you as much as he's able. The concern in Ofelia's voice mounts. "Richard— Richard! I can't look after all of you. Come on, big guy. Stay up. You didn't even answer me properly— like usual."

"I'm... not ready to die." You murmur, struggling to stay upright. "It will— it will take more than a major demon... to keep me down..."

Your eyes are heavy, and your body is begging you for rest. The lack of food, water or proper sleep is catching up hard and fast. Flesh left you so quickly. Your unwillingness to use His blessing seems to be coming with a milder price than usual, but a price nonetheless.

He wants you to take care of your body. A small smile flits across your features— mostly in respect to the God, but also to your ally. "Now is not the best time."

Your breathing slows. Your eyes close despite your best efforts. Leaning heavily against Ray, you're barely able to stay upright.

The world goes dark for the briefest of moments.

"Richard! Richard, wake up— please wake up! I don't know what to do! Don't pass out on me! Come on—!"

You jerk your head upright, trying in vain to stay awake. Ofelia helps prop you up, as your face sinks against Ray's fur. You want so badly to not rest.

The tincture you gave to Celegwen has started to produce a wet cough. She'll expel the paint from her lungs, but it's going to be messy business. "Keep Celegwen on her side," you murmur. You're barely able to articulate the words.

You're given a nod in reply, and Ofelia releases you to shift Celegwen over.

"Don't let her choke. Don't stop— don't stop her coughing." You start to knit your hands together, to pray, to beg for Time— but you don't have it in you. Simply moving yourself off of Ray's side causes you to crumple to the floor.

Your limbs feel like they're made of lead. It would be suicide to ask for anything more of the Gods. Praying back-to-back between Mercy and Flesh has you worn to the bone. You think with no small degree of horror at the myriad stories you've heard of the Church of Time, and the heavy toll that worship takes on Her priests. While Mercy was unbelievably kind to you— protecting you and your friends without asking for anything more in return than to be with you— Flesh is demanding his price.

You're at your absolute limit, shake your head, and try to straighten up again. It's no use. "Good boy, Ray." All the warmth in the world returns to your commands. "Keep watch. Stay...."

Your eyes and limbs are so heavy. You just need to sleep. Your eyes close.

"Richard!"

Repressing your groan, you try to see what the woman wants as she leans over you. "I need sleep, Ofelia. I'll be alright. I just— I just need some rest. Wake me up the moment— the moment that there's any trouble, okay?"

Speaking at length is more than you can do. You don't hear her response as you drift off to sleep.

Mercy does not visit you in the darkness.

"Richard!" Ray's growling punctuates the halfling's worried tone. "Wake up! HURRY! Come on—!"

Wincing and pulling away from the woman leaning over you is an exercise in restraint. Every inch of you still aches. Every sound you want to make as you sit upright is muffled, with sleep clinging to your voice instead. The bleary way that you open your eyes, and the hand that ruffles through your hair completes a more innocent image. "What's happened?"

"The spiders Richard. They're actin' really weird. Really weird."

It's like a hot wire through your spine. You shake the last of the sleep from you, in the low red light.

"Please get up—"

You bolt upright— grabbing instinctively for your mace and shield— but instantly ball your hands into fists instead. The spiders are filling the corridors immediately before you with even more webs.

You snap to Ofelia, "how long have they been like this?"

"Only a second— okay! Okay! A couple of minutes! Yer a really heavy sleeper, Richard. I was about to dump some water on yer head—"

"Mercy." Your whisper is covered by one hand in horror. The bell spiders are slowly covering the entirety of the cavern before you in dense, wet, and dripping webs. It's clear that a message is slowly taking shape within their work. This must be the minor demons' best form of defiance against their master's wishes. But it's not the congealing flesh or fluid upon every web that's making your stomach turn.

You clutch at your holy symbol because of the acrid scent of paint that's wafting up from behind. You whip your head around, and can't see anything down the descent— save for tufts of blue and white smoke that's steadily rising. "Ofelia, stay with Ray."

Staggering to your feet confirms the worst: the short amount of rest you got granted some relief from your pain, but not nearly enough. A tilting, teetering jog takes you a short ways down the cavern. From floor to ceiling are plumes of ice and lacquer. It obscures the extent of the damage to the corridor's stone, and would block off all sight of any roaming demons. The buildup of toxic fumes steadily pushes towards your location. It couldn't possibly fill the entire corridor you're currently occupying— let alone the entire cavern— but your alarm is immediate. There's no telling what the body of a major demon is capable of. Not even in death.

You sprint back towards your companions. The spiders are still spinning, as you frantically look to the corridors beyond for an exit. "The smoke—"

Ofelia is a step ahead of you, and strikes a spark into her small lantern. The flame softly illuminates her gloved hands, and stretches her small shadow up to the highest reaches of the caverns beyond. In every direction are holes in the ceiling. They reach higher than any other chamber you have entered thus far. Even at your back, there are more entryways into the ruins that you have already traversed.

Malimos no doubt has a far reach.

Your eye catches on two descending corridors just a little ways beyond. They're obstructed by the durable, ruby-red webs in between— but one is casting a faint green light. The other is broader, darker, and closer to where you stand. Dread sinks into you. Most of these passages descend. You're at the highest elevation in this area. The smoke will rise— and when it does, it will stay here for some time.

Celegwen's severe coughing has yet to abate. Ray whines, and sticks his nose towards the incoming toxin. You grumble. "We need to move."

"That's what I keep tellin' you." The lantern is lowered just below the frown of its keeper. "But what about them?"

A painstakingly crafted, and downright beautiful set of letters has formed in the webs ahead. The first words read, "Dearest Richard."

You repress your mounting fury at the demons for wasting your time. At the rate that they're going, there will be no time to read what Malimos addressed to you.

Turning your back to the spiders and their excruciatingly slow motions, you command, "stay back. I have an idea—!"

"Richard!" Ofelia calls out behind you as you run towards the decline. The small woman moves behind Ray, to better shield herself from the myriad demons up above. "What the fuck are you doing?!"

You ignore her question. You can explain later— when you all aren't under the threat of poison or suffocation. Within seconds you stumble down the length of the cavern, through the corridor, and right up to the edge of the encroaching smoke.

You stop just shy of the wafting threat. Hands together, you bow your head and plead to the Goddess. Life, death, and everything in-between enters your speech. "Agriculture. This humble vessel supplicates to Your bounty. Bring forth Your blessing. Bring forth Your soil. Take this vessel— as cracked as it may be— and flower through it. Blossom through me— over me— and unto the demons who defile Your gifts. Bring forth Your earth."

The green in your eyes intensifies tenfold. Down into the creases of your fingerprints— deeper than the scars adorning your knuckles— and there within the palm of your hand is Her pull. Death Herself leans into your light, and leeches all that you have to give.

Agriculture blossoms forth. The stone at your feet cracks, blisters, and ruptures before the intensity of your invocation. A violent heave tears the rock asunder, in an explosion of soil and devotion.

You step forward to meet the might of the earth. With a sweep of your hands— intending to coax the gravel and silt before you—you're overwhelmed by Her pull. The silt in the air drains you. The clouds of earth gathering within paint and ice seeps your vitality.

The draw of Agriculture becomes an unbearably tight hold. Both of your hands are brought together. From the tension of your grasp, all of the earth before you compacts. Your grip becomes tighter. Extracting enough material for your barricade threatens the integrity of the surrounding walls. The entire corridor begins to crumble from the sheer intensity of Her embrace.

Within the stone— buried beneath the grout— is life. A sweeping motion coaxes out moss, moisture, and all of Agriculture's bounty. From the slurry of mud and growth comes the fruit of your labors.

You dig your heels in— head light from the strain— and endure. As you do so, the earthen wall you have created solidifies completely.

Fire lances through your temples and all of your body. Bowing your head once more with trembling hands, you struggle to even place your fingers together in prayer. There are no breaks or weaknesses in the newly built structure. The corridor beyond also remains sound. You're searing with dehydration and hunger— but still, you thank Her as you release the invocation. "Blessed be the Goddess of our harvest. Thank you Agriculture— for your bounty."

Staggering backwards, you make an uneventful retreat to your companions. The instant you reach the top of the corridor, you take a knee. It does nothing to alleviate the strain. Ray pants and bounds over to you. A few nudges are made to try and reassure you.

Ofelia runs over, and gasps as she sees you collapse against your dog. "Richard— holy shit, WHAT did you do—?!"

You wince at her exclamation. The pain in your head flares up at the sound. "I closed off the passage behind us. The smoke shouldn't penetrate the corridor any longer. I— I needed to buy us some time. I have to rest, Ofelia—"

Looking your frame up and down— paying no mind to you cringing at the scrutiny— Ofelia frowns. "You've lost more weight. I don't mean no offense, but this Goddess of yours? She's really gettin' on my nerves, Richard. She's not treatin' you right."

Returning her frown, you wrap your arms around yourself. There' a lot of room to spare. The edges of your sleeves are poked by the bones of your elbows, and the blades of your shoulders. The entirety of your robes are hanging more loosely now than ever. It's impossible to ignore that you're terribly hungry. Looking anywhere else in the cavern but at Ofelia, your eyes fall on the red webs. "I'll be alright."

The caverns beyond have a beautiful message painted over them. From walls, to floor, to ceiling are multiple styles of writing. The work is clearly from countless different spiders who have worked to deliver Malimos' intent.

Dearest Richard,

​ Time trickles down my many webs with the steady pace of ages long past. My children pass along them as well, bearing your word, conferring upon me this "blessing." Oh, Richard, as you have amused me once you have done so again. I long to hear greater tales still of this naivete, this mission, this quest! To perceive your buxom complements, to be regaled once more of your daring! I thank you, Richard, for I laugh still. I titter not along my webs— but deeply now, within my hollow being. You have surely granted me another hundred ages. I grant you safe passage in many thanks for this: my most mirthful diversion.​ ​ Through the many ages, through the ruins, through laughter and tears,​ ​ —Malimos​

Ofelia stares slack-jawed between the message, and you. She's speechless. You don't quite know how to respond, either.

Mercy's words echo in your mind.

Gather Our children, Father. Though the only cure to the Catalyst is death, the afflicted themselves need not be abhorred. Gather Our children, and find one that appears taken by their weakness. Find one that still possesses kindness in their heart.

Your body doesn't want to cooperate. Trying to adjust yourself as you lean against Ray, you nearly fall to the floor. Seeing your struggle, Ofelia comes over with your pack, and uses it to prop you up further. Ray growls a good deal at her interference, but ultimately lets her help support your motions. It's a wonder how long the two of them must have been together to have built this much trust.

Even twisting around to get a few rations and some water from your pack is a lance of pain through your empty stomach. A break is long overdue. Pain or no, you need to stop pushing your body so hard.

"About damn time." Strain is all through Ofelia's stare, as she watches you shakily attempt to drink. Her glances go to Celegwen, and a brief distraction. The small woman helps her companion with the help of a handkerchief. Though Celegwen's coughing has slowed, she's expelling a large volume of discharged paint and bile.

Your stomach turns, while finishing the flask of water you brought within a matter of moments.

The rations stare at you menacingly.

"Richard?" A broad gesture is made towards Malimos' message. "Is this the guy you told me and Gwen about before?"

"Yes. I didn't properly explain it before, but he was— is unique." As you try to adjust into a more comfortable position, the ration is offered up to Ray. He wolfs it down with delight, and leans up against you scratching at his ears. "Malimos was the first demon that Ray and I encountered in the ruins. I had yet to see any of his children. It was as if— as if he was waiting for us. He was frighteningly ancient, Ofelia. I could not do anything to harm him, so we spoke at— at length."

The blonde sits a respectful distance away from you. Her gaze constantly flashes to the minor demons and their work. "I ran into these monsters almost as soon as I came in, too. Scared me half to death to see 'em again. What on earth did you tell him to get so..." She waves her hands around, at a loss for words.

"Civil? He— he did threaten us, of course— but even given the opportunity, he didn't harm Ray. He never made a move to harm me, either. I thought that— I thought that if I talked to him, I might be able to glean some information from him. I tried asking him questions about himself— and about the ruins. He was— he was vague at best. Or perhaps he is too old to remember..."

Stomach aching with hunger, you pause the telling to clutch at your sides. A few, slow, small bites of another ration are forced down. Taking your time at least mentally prepares you for the sensation of glass coating your mouth and throat. Pain is still written all over your face. Ofelia leans over with her own wine skin. It's pushed into your grasp. "Here."

You don't refuse. It does help, while many painstaking minutes are spent working through the food. It will keep you going for longer than roots and vegetables— but by the time you're through the second ration, it's like someone's poured molten iron down your throat. Like seeds are in your lungs. You cough all through a pat on Ray's side, as he lays down next to you. "You must be tired too, boy."

Celegwen's coughing has stopped completely. The rogue in your company excuses herself, and gets up to check on her once again.

"How is she?" The question might be a better distraction than suffering through the last of the rations in silence. The pain is peaking, and it's better to be over with it.

"I'm no healer, Richard. I guess she looks and sounds alright."

As you get back to your feet, Ray instantly meets your swaying steps. "Good boy." The wine and food has your head lighter than ever, and you happily kneel back down as soon as you're able.

The elf in your company has been scarred all along her elegant, shapely form. Burns from frost, streaks of paint, and patterns from poison wind up from her feet, to her legs, and you keep your eyes to her face.

Most of the lacquer has been wiped from her lips. You are a professional, and lean in closely enough to hear her heart and breath. It seems to be calming down.

The elf suddenly stirs.

You jump out of your skin, and jerk away instinctively. Pulse skyrocketing, you clutch onto your holy symbol and keep it to your heart as if your very life were in danger. It's too late to repress the extreme response. Ofelia clicks her tongue. "Scarier than any demon, huh, Richard?"

Heat and embarrassment flushes your face almost as severely as the hurt in your tone. "Celegwen? Can you hear me?"

The woman's eyes flutter as they focus. "I've heard everything."

She turns, and slowly looks to you both. Ofelia practically jumps onto the sorceress, and hugs her tightly the moment she sits up properly. "Gwen! I thought we were going to lose you. Are you okay?"

"I will be fine. Thank you for watching over me, Ofelia."

The two hug for only a few moments longer, before Celegwen pries her off.

"I'll get somethin' cookin'. We're okay here, right Richard?"

"Yes." A quick, beet-red nod. "I'll tell you the rest of the story in a moment."

Ofelia busies herself with cooking supplies, and Celegwen gives you a deep bow of her head. Though the elf hides her eyes— and seems like she's still too weak to stand— she finds the strength to speak with her usual tone. "I cannot express my gratitude to you in words alone, Father Anscham. I owe my life to you."

You could not be any more embarrassed, and avert your eyes as well.

A long, wine-filled moment passes. Timidity and kindness wraps up all through the warmth in your face, and the smoothness of your tone. "You speak as if you had not saved my own life."

She lifts her head, and meets your eyes. Silver and green reflects off of low lantern light for a precious moment.

"My supplies may be exhausted— and I may be, too— but I am happy to give everything that I have to save a friend." You give her a rare smile. Fire-wine pales in comparison to the knowledge that you've saved another life.

The two of you break eye contact as your anxiety sets back in.

You can hear her grin. "A friend." She starts looking around the cavern for anything to clean up with, but stops short at the message spun throughout the cavern. "I see you three have been busy. I do not recall this author. Ofelia?"

The serious attempt at assembling a meal without a fire is cut short. The halfling looks terribly worried. "You sure you're alright, Gwen? Richard told us about this monster before. Remember?"

She's baffled, and doesn't respond.

You're too spent, and your heart is racing too quickly to do much more than give the elf's blisters and burns a careful once-over. With a gesture for Celegwen to come closer, she obliges a brief examination.

Vacant eyes. Clear lungs. Warm to the touch— but the demon did a number on her.

"Celegwen. Did the demon take anything from you? Any memories?" It's incredibly fortunate that you contended with the major demon as well as you did. "Can you remember...?"

A delicate hand is placed to her temples, streaked with frost burn and paint. "It's hard to say, Father. Give me just a moment."

Trying to not pressure her, you give a brief nod. She immediately becomes lost in thought.

Every attempt is made to trust Malimos' word, and to not give the ever-present minor demons any attention. Their twinkling intermingles with Ofelia's clinking of utensils and plates. With a pat to Ray's side, you prompt him to help you back over to your gear.

Ofelia fusses over your motions, and goes to fetch your equipment for you. "No you don't. Stay put."

"You didn't have to—" As soon as she drops your things beside you, you're given a light rap on the arm. On skin sitting tightly over bone.

The concern on your ally's face looks downright painful. She mutters while shoving your bag next to you in frustration. "Skin and bones... absolute nonsense. Horseshit humans, and their horseshit Gods. I can't believe this..."

Your usual frown returns as you look through your dwindling supplies. Everything is a mess— thanks to rifling through your things with Flesh's blessing. You at least find one of the last rolls of bandages. Gesturing with them towards Celegwen interrupts her reverie. "I don't mean to interrupt— but those burns need to be looked at." You shyly offer your hand, and gesture for her to do the same.

"Of course." She snaps out of the trance immediately, and offers up the damaged skin.

Despite the trembling of your hands, your skills are almost without compare. The elf shows no signs of distress as you tend to her wounds. "The demon. It had to have known my age— or how many memories I had to offer it. I could only offer it what I thought was expendable. I fear it took more— but I cannot remember what. It is terrible to think of what would have happened. Were I... in its grasp... for a moment longer." The distant and plodding nature of Celegwen's voice trails off into nothingness.

Ofelia sobers up quickly. "I'm glad you still remember us, Gwen."

"I wouldn't forget you."

Despite saying something similar not too long ago, you glance away from the feeling of infringing on a private discussion. You finish administering aid to Celegwen's wounds, and examine the bandages thoroughly when you're done.

She clearly feels your eyes on her, and generously distracts you from the moment. "Can you remind me, Father? Of this— creature? I wish to know the meaning of these words. This seems highly unusual."

"Yes." You let out a sigh in relief. "Of course."

Ofelia scoots over to you, Ray, and Celegwen. Little wrapped packages of leaves encase a medley of vegetables in her arms. She hands them off to your companions, and plies you with another flask instead. "It'll help."

It's gilded, and embossed with a family crest: A charred, white oak tree stained with letter 'B'. The instant you uncap the container, the scent of a first-rate liquor hits you. It's smoky and inviting. Halflings are renowned for their ale, mead, and wine— but this puts the watered down liquor at the church to shame.

You still hesitate to drink. There's nothing in Mercy's tenets about abstaining from liquor, but this seems strong— and you're about as light as they come. "I don't know if I should—"

"It's not some ordinary ale, Richard. This is my family's specialty. I'm not a healer— but this whiskey is about as good as it gets."

Uncertain as to what 'as good as it gets' means, you raise your eyebrows. Ofelia's face lights up while you take a drink out of courtesy. The burn is immediate— but not like the pain of eating. This is something far more pleasant. Smoother. A flush comes back to your face, and additional warmth spreads from your tongue to your voice. "This is excellent, Ofelia. Thank you."

"I knew you'd like it. Don't mention it. You can have the whole thing if you like. Go on, and finish talking."

Welcome relief spreads throughout your body as you work at the drink between words. "The greater demon— Malimos— as old as he is, he said that he had not been visited by anyone who could stretch his mind. Not for ages."

Celegwen tilts her head. "What did you do?"

"I didn't trust him. I— I tried to impose Vengeance on the demon. It was a terrible mistake. I severely underestimated his strength, his age— and his cruelty." Smoke, peat and concern from both women fills your senses. "My prayer to Vengeance— it nearly triggered my Catalyst. Vengeance showed me the extent of what the demon had inflicted on others. So much— so much suffering— I can't even begin to describe it."

You've already nearly finished the flask, and sheepishly try to pace yourself through the rest of it. "It would have been suicide to confront him directly after that. You've seen how the Gods work through me. I was weakened and needed to protect myself and Ray. I obliged Malimos' request, and humored him. I told him of the Gods— of my childhood—"

"Like..." Ofelia murmurs, "about what, exactly? That's kind of a weird thing to ask for."

The last of the flask gets drained. Your head is light, and the memories are a blur. You've trusted Ofelia and Celegwen with your life— but your judgement is badly impaired. The liquor's hitting hard, and you're not quite yourself when you're drunk.

Music

​

You're no drinker. The obsessive buzz that plagues your mind, the tension, and the repression slides away with each passing moment. Your muscles ease up, providing some blessed relief from the constant strain of keeping yourself still. You can't help but laugh softly. Your speech is decidedly slurred, and getting worse by the minute— but you don't mind. "It was strange. I ashked myself— why? Why had I even told him so much? But it doessn't matter now. If he— heh. If he had killed me, I wouldn't have betrayed any informasshion that— that could have hurt anyone elsshe. And if he let me live? It would— it would only have hurt myshelf."

Celegwen softly prompts you to continue. "I see."

"I talked at length about the Gods. I don't know why I bothered! Demonsh can't speak of them, and ssshurely— he didn't care. I shupposhe he would have needed conteshxt. Eheh. They've been shuch an enormoushh part of my life—!"

Your speech is cut short, as you grasp onto your arm. The spasm that's running through your wasted muscle isn't violent, but it's enough that you don't want any uncontrolled movement to hurt Ray. He's still dutifully leaning next to you, so you try to let go of him completely. Your boy sticks his nose into your side— trying to reassure you that it's okay to hold onto him for support.

Trying to not pay any mind to your appearance or awkward motions, you settle on leaning against him. Both women are looking at you with concern.

"N-normally it's just tremors. I'm shure you've notishced by now. Flessh haaas taxed me ssoooo much by now— that my muscles don't always want to cooperate!"

Ofelia is clearly upset. The halfling really seems to have a soft spot for your health. You hold up a hand to protest— and immediately regret doing so. The violent tremor drops, as you nod with more reassurance. "Look: I'm alright! Really. D-don't shyoou worry."

"Horseshit." The rogue crosses her arms, wrapping her cloak around herself. "But, come on. What happened next? You're really avoiding the subject here."

"I waaaas getting to it." Even the stone floor feels inviting when your body has this much relief. You do your best to ignore the occasional spasm in your arms and legs. Reclining into warmth, the slight tilting of the world, the numbness and absence of inhibition, you speak freely. "I told him about my cshhildhood. About my first prayer to Vengeance." The haze in your eyes drifts over everyone present. "I was bullied. B-beaten. Ssheveral cshhildren in my village hurt me very badly. I had— had— I had had enough. One day— ehhe. Aha. Ahaha ha—."

Nervous laughter spills from you for several more moments. There's no need to repress it. "I th-thought I might acshually die. I was sso scared, 'Felia. Gwen. I ashked for His aid. A-a— and I had no idea until it was too late. What I had done."

Though you are struggling to speak coherently, you press on. Ofelia's and Celegwen's fuzzy outlines sway a bit before you as you lean forward. You have to stress how important this is to you. "Vengeanshe iss our God of r-r-retribution. Hish judgement — it was terrible. It waas to break every bone that Edwin had broken in m-me. To inflict the same pain that I— I had felt soo many timess before."

Ofelia fishes around for something in her bags. She comes over, and tries to ply you with some water. Your hands are shaking far too severely to hold onto anything. A silent shake of your scruffy hair politely declines the drink.

You're far more concerned with continuing to speak. "It was over—" Your breath hitches. "—in an instant. I waaas hurt as well. The blood. Th-the bile. Having felt all of Edwin'sss pain? All of his insecurity? And his suffering? I couldn't do anything. I couldn't heal him. I was only a child."

The soft burning sensation in your throat is welcome relief as you speak at such length. Both women, Ray, and the spiders beyond are staring at you— and for once, you don't mind.

Celegwen speaks up. "Such a thing would be punishable by death in the Verdant Dominion."

"Gwen, that's so fucked up—!" Ofelia shoves her. "He's tryin' to talk to us—"

The elf raises one hand in protest. "My people abhor violence against one another in any form. How are you still with us, Father? Do humans not care for one other?"

"N-no." You start— then stop— and realize what you're saying. "Y-yes. I mean, th-the entire villagshe turned on— turned on me. I had crippled Edwin. E-everyone was out for my blood. But my parentssh are— my parensh are good people. They protected me. Th-they showed reshstraint despite everything. The—" Big pause. Deep breath. You will not butcher Her name. "Church of Mercy. Waaaas who they evenshtually shent for me. They— the Church— wasshh going to kill me! Their compasshion waaas unbeliebable. Though it— it was likely was because— because I was so young."

Ofelia blanches. She looks like she wants to say something. Celegwen looks like she wants to say something.

"I was ssho young, and not only able to cshannel Ven-gean-ce. But I— but I survived. They gave my parentshh more land. Took care of them. Th-they took me." Your voice cracks. "Raised me."

Your eyes glaze over a bit as you try to remember how much of this was for Malimos, and how much you've just been dying to tell to someone— anyone— for most of your life. Sincere laughter falls from you in relief. "The Cshchurch has not been kind to me! Th-they've pushhed me s-so hard. They've always been scared of me. I have— I have been very alone. M-my f-family is going to end with me." A trembling hand goes to your heart. "I can be a v— a veshshel for the Gods, but I h-have— I have never—"

Both women look to each other. Ofelia shifts a bit. "You told all of this to the demon, Richard?"

Your green eyes are hazy and unfocused as you try to make out her curly hair. Her bright blue eyes. "Yesh. I— I did. Well. I left out a few details."

The liquor alleviated your pain, alright. You can barely make out the edges of the cavern, let alone the spiders beyond. Ray gently leans against you for support. He is still alert, and keeps an eye on you when your defenses are so low.

You feel like you could talk about anything.

You're blissfully unaware of the trembling in your hands, or even the occasional spasm in your limbs as you sink deeper against Ray and your equipment. The relief from your pain is so substantial, you don't know how to properly thank Ofelia. It's unbelievable how understanding and kind both of your allies have been to you. You want to keep talking. You're struggling a great deal to articulate what you want to say, but this is a rare opportunity. You've never had someone to confide in before— let alone two friends.

"I've never been— I've never been able to really... well..." The moment you gesture with your hands, you stop abruptly. They're shaking badly, and the blush upon your face is like fire.

Ofelia catches on with a smile (that's perceptible even through your inebriation). "I get it, Richard. Figured as much! Way you were lookin' over Gwen earlier—"

The elf sharply inhales, and starts coughing through her own drink. Ofelia pats her back several times as they try to keep her from choking. The redness over your cheeks and nose manages to deepen further. "It wassh a mm-medical— a mmmemdical examinatsh... a check-up! I mean, I haven't— I didn't—"

With the complete clearing of her throat, Celegwen saves you. "I know, Father. It's alright. You clearly didn't mean anything by it."

"'course he didn't." Ofelia can't resist making a mockery of your creed. "He's a man of the cloth! Isn't that right, Richard? Wouldn't even take advantage of poor Gwen here?"

Crossing your arms over your chest hides the open hands of your holy symbol. "Of coursshe not!" You seriously want to dig deeper into this. More nervous laughter escapes through fonder memories of other sins. "I'd even tried— I mean, I had left the Churcsh before. Awful sshecurity, f-for how much they act like— like they're 'fraid of me." A self-deprecating smirk. "Maybe they wanted me to leave."

Celegwen respectfully remains quiet, but Ofelia is all smiles. "Look at you! What a rebel! Where did you go when you left 'em?"

Dulled senses ignore her sarcasm. "Jussht to get away, sshometimesssh. The countrysiiide. The river. Th-there— there was a g-girl—"

Celegwen and Ofelia both lean in, unable to help themselves. Almost in unison, they both say, "oh?"

You loosen your arms a bit, and look sidelong at the two women. "Sshe was b-beautiful. Kind. V-very shy."

Celegwen whispers, "what was her name?"

You pause, trying with all your might to not butcher it. "Isabel."

"Pretty." Ofelia swirls a cup in the air. "How long were you two together?"

"Well we w-weren't exshactly... it was... c-complicated. I'd rather n-not get into it..."

An explosion of groans carries over you trailing off.

"You can't just say that." Celegwen's pink lips pout.

You cross your arms. A slight tilt of your nose to the ceiling.

"Oh, goodness! Richard!" Ofelia puts her hand to her chest as she feigns her heart breaking. "You've locked yourself away from us. How could we compete with this divine creature?"

Celegwen feigns equal exasperation. "Do you think she's prettier than us, Ofelia?"

"Of course. He said she was beautiful." The halfling mutters, "I can't remember the last time I showered."

"Perhaps she was kinder than us as well?"

"Pffft, of course! You're a monster, Gwen."

"Surely they had long entanglements through the countryside, making many fond memories together—"

"No, no. More like saucier encounters late at night." Her voice drops to a sinister whisper. "Things that we'd never hear of from such a holy man." You can't help but smile. Ofelia flops onto the stone floor at her back. "Awww, come on, Richaaaard..."

You keep your lips sealed, head swaying slightly. Your eyes are so heavy. It's becoming more difficult to stay awake. The liquor worked through you very quickly— but you're relieved to have had even this much respite. There's still more you want to say, but it's becoming a challenge to articulate anything at all.

"'nuf 'bout me. Itsh sho good to not be alone. Leeetssh hear 'bout yooou." A finger is pointed towards the blurry figures before you. It's so much more comfortable to let your shoulders loosen, and for your head to slump forward. "Gwen? 'Felia?"

Celegwen seems to be a bit shyer than her usual self. "I'm having some trouble remembering most things." A pale, bandaged blur must be a hand going to her temples. "Give me just a moment."

A small form sits close enough for comfort. "You goin' to be alright, hotshot? Wasn't exactly expectin' you to really finish that whole thing."

"...mmhmm. Jusht... want to hear somethin' nice. From one of you. Oooor both of you."

"Okay, okay." The blonde settles down closer to you.

You almost don't mind the close proximity. You're altogether too tired to shy away anyways. Ray nuzzles his head underneath your arm, giving you some proper support to sink into as well. "You're the besht," you murmur. Your speech is muffled as you nestle against his soft fur.

"Better hurry up, Gwen," Ofelia's smile is audible. She puts a finger to her chin, obviously hard-pressed to think of something. "I've got it! Don't fall asleep on me, okay, Richard?"

"...mmhmm. 'kay."

"I come from a huge family. Huge! Eight brothers, four sisters, me, my Ma, my Pa— and a whole lot of relatives. It's a headache. But once a year, my Pa would always do somethin' just with me for my birthday. It always meant a lot. Usually— I don't know how you do this stuff back home, Richard, Gwen— but usually we have a huge party."

"No." Celegwen might actually be irritated. "Celebrating the passage of a single year would be terribly excessive."

Ofelia pouts. "That's ridiculous. Richard?"

You shrug. Too relaxed to indulge in self-pity, you mumble into Ray's side. "I'd never had a party. Cake maybe. I know schome families do, but not like that. In the schities, schure. But n-not for me."

The story is forgotten for a moment. "When's your birthday?"

You struggle to remember it for a moment. The Church of Time makes things convoluted. "The schecond of the Blinding Moon— or the schecond of the Sschetting Moon. Either way, itsh at end of the year."

"Okay. I'm throwing you a damn party when we get out of here." You raise your hands to protest, but they're trembling too violently to be of any use. You put them back down and let Ofelia continue. "...anyways, where was I? Oh. Right. So— Pa knew all the fuss wasn't my speed anyways. He'd ask me one thing I'd like to do that day.— then he'd do everythin' he could to make it happen. I was a simple kid—"

"Still simple," Celegwen snickers.

"Look who's talkin'!" She's blushing almost as much as you are. "Anyways. It was always something sweet. Cookin' somethin' together, fishin', hikin' somewhere new. But the year I came of age, I thought he had forgotten completely. I couldn't find him anywhere. I found a note, instead. He pinned it to the damn ceiling. I had to stack half my furniture to reach it. It said, 'come and find me.'"

A small smile spreads across your face. "Well? Didjou?"

"Nope. I spent the entire day tearin' apart the house. They all thought I was a nutcase at first! I wouldn't let 'em help me at all. I kept findin' clues— little notes he had left around the place. 'fore long I was outside, checkin' the neighborhood. And after that, I was on the road." Her smile softens. "His notes took me around all the places we'd been together before. I went hikin'. I went to the little pastry shop down the street. He took me through the vineyards and fields. I came home late— and it all took me back to the kitchen." She sniffs. "Where we made my first birthday cake together. I was about ready to give up—" A sudden flip of the cloak around her shoulders is made with a flourish. You catch a bit of starlight under its hood. "—when he appeared out of nowhere, wearin' this! The absolute nutter! It fit him better than it does me! He gave me a big ol' hug and said he'd been waitin' since that mornin' for me to find him. Promised me I could have it if I'd grow into it."

The halfling rubs her eyes a bit. You want to say something reassuring, but you're at a loss for words, articulation, and fine motor control. You sit there quietly— not paying any mind to your arm as it twitches under your robes— and let her finish.

"I haven't, of course. But I don't think I've gone anywhere from home without it. Maybe one day I'll be as tall as you, Richard— and he'll have to get me a new one."

The rogue offers you a melancholy smile. You give her a genuine one back. "One q-quest at a— at a time..."

She punches you gently on the arm. You're so heavy with sleep, food, and liquor that you don't even respond to the motion until a few seconds later.

"Okay, Gwen. Whaddya got? We're losin' him."

The elf delicately sits down closer to you both. The flush on your cheeks couldn't possibly get any worse. You try to not let it bother you as Celegwen speaks up. "The major demon seems to have taken an enormous volume of my memories. I can distinctly remember a few things that are trivial— but it has robbed me of over a century of experience. There are many, many holes where there should not be any. I fear my knowledge of the arcane will suffer because of this."

Ofelia looks at her with extreme alarm. You can't help but calmly inquire, "what could be sho trivial?"

She hesitates. "...I like pink flowers of rose campion. I like the birds they attract. I enjoy the smell of dust— in old books and unexplored places— but I like the smell of seawater more. I like the heat of the beach, and the sound of sand as you walk over it." Shyness makes her speech almost inaudible. "I like the notches in my staff. How worn it gets where my hands sit on it. How it has warped with Magic over the years. Little things. Lots of little things."

Though you're struggling hard against sleep, as you recline back you manage to say, "thatsh not trivial."

"I hope you're right, Father. Get some rest. We'll keep watch."

As Celegwen's words leave her lips, you slip away from consciousness.

No one visits you in the darkness.