Chapter 49: No Use for Pride

"You have loftier ambitions."​

You were Father Richard Anscham, leader of the Church of Mercy.

Music

Four months ago, you voluntarily committed to your recovery.

Four months ago, you lived up to your actual title.

Everyone knows you as a madman.

Sister Cardew has been invaluable in helping you to understand exactly how everyone views you. It has not been easy. No easier than trying to understand how you view yourself.

You know she's sacrificed an enormous amount of her own sanity to salvage yours. While in confinement— longing for darkness and demons— she's kept you in the light. She's helped to illuminate your obsession, and tolerated each and every breakdown.

You have broken down. You've wanted to go back to the ruins, to the only friend you feel you've ever had. You have been lost, and wandered for far too long among demons and sin.

You have prayed to all of the Gods. You've been given Time. Your Flesh is mending. Your Spirit is stronger than ever. You've longed for Vengeance, these four long months. Your connection to Agriculture is growing by the day. Storm has been with you, and the sleet and hail is the only sound you want for. Mercy has been there for you, to grant you restraint, and to show you compassion. And without abuse— with ample rest— you've truly known what it is to Dream.

You have been unwavering in your devotion. You are confident that your faith has never been more warranted. The Gods have listened, even if it's felt as though they were the only ones listening for a very long time.

​

Three months ago, you were still demanding recognition of a title that was stripped from you. Everyone knows that you are no longer the Father of Mercy, but you were reluctant to let it go. You demanded the title from people who are still struggling to clean up the disaster you wrought.

It's been a long road to recognize that you may not be equipped for so much responsibility.

Cyril has been more than happy to remind you of how ill-equipped you were. He's been resentful, bitter, and transparent. There has been no pretense of friendship or respect. His anger has been justified. He's been a caretaker, a guard, and has had to physically restrain you from bringing yourself further harm. His unrelenting efforts to mend your health put him literally at your neck.

Regular sleep, and more food than you could stand has felt like harm many times.

You came to learn that it's all been for your betterment.

Two months ago, you were not comfortable with recognizing any additional form of harm. Not as the Father of the Church of Mercy, or even as a Brother. You'd been beaten and humiliated, made to recognize how ignorant you've been of the world around you, and kept painfully aware of your condition.

Most of your life has been spent in the darkness, in abuse, and in restraint. You had been tortured early in life, and you've been ignoring the effects for much longer still.

There are very few men like you who are capable of asking for help. Who can be made aware of their problems, and have the strength to seek recovery.

You were made aware.

You knew that you had no use for pride.

Music

Father Friedrich finally stepped in, and recognized that you'd humbled yourself. He listened to your earlier pleas, when you were not a threat to the safety of those around you. Though you resented his absence, you knew it was for the greater good.

The tremor in your hands and body was not a result of mere anxiety. Your health has been catastrophically neglected for all of your life, but no longer. Two solid months of confinement and care had your hands steady, and able to hold a real weapon again.

You worked. You trained. Maces, shields, spears, slings, and even with your bare hands. All alongside your undeservingly faithful dog.

Even Ray is still laced with scars.

He'll never understand how much you love him.

You won't permit anything to happen to anyone else in your care.

Praying night and day has illuminated more than your faith. So much introspection has done wonders for your self-awareness, your devotion, and your connection to all of the Gods.

You're a freak of nature, as a man of all the Gods. There is lasting retribution for calling upon Them in more than just the scars that litter your body. More than the effect you have on nearly everyone that comes into your life.

Innocents, looked upon by your disturbing eyes, who know how horrifically strong you already are.

Father Friedrich and Sister Cardew tolerated your illness. The effects of your abuse have persisted for years, but you all came to solutions in a matter of weeks. They did not wear down, test and break the masochism out of you out of the kindness of their hearts.

It was a nightmare.

You have been the nightmare.

Though you don't want to remember it, you will never permit yourself to be in the dark again.

They knew full well that you could be the answer to their prayers. Not out of friendship. They have helped you out of pity, fear, and desperation. Their passion and personal motives are compelling enough to endure insanity.

You don't want to lose yourself again.

One month ago, you made enough progress to answer to your real name again. Not as a Father, or a Brother, but as a student.

Cyril has since left the keep to attend to his daughter. She is not his real daughter, and you've bitterly reminded him of the fact in heated arguments. They were honest words— ones you might not regret. But the priest— your caretaker, and a man you know deserves respect— put his sacrifices on hold. He left to heal. He has to cope with merely dealing with your company, after three solid months of abuse.

You don't want to think about two women who endured your company for weeks, for reasons you still don't fully understand.

Under the study of an actual scholar— one who has helped your mind more than you can ever express— you have been increasingly urged to remember. Sister Cardew has lost more than her family, and yet she still has pressed on. She was fervently on the cusp of some great breakthrough, though she insisted on focusing solely on your recovery.

So has your primary mentor. Despite all of his responsibility, Father Friedrich has had more time lately.

You know everyone in your company has lost respect.

You've gained everything but respect. There's weight behind your mace. There's a fire, viciousness, and an intense desire for Vengeance in every swing. You'd train for hours, some days, for want of more strength.

You didn't want to answer to anything other than the name your parents gave to you. They sacrificed everything, too, for the sake of cleaning up your mistakes.

You have grown tired of making mistakes.

It has been four months since you came to the Church of Flesh.

You are Brother Richard Anscham, a priest of the Church of Mercy. Under the service of Father Friedrich, the supervision of Sister Cardew, and the authority of King Magnus the Merciful, it seems fitting that you've ended your recovery today.

Today begins the First Sowing. It's the month of Mercy, in the middle of the season of Grace. You passed the worst of Worship in solitude, and the sleet finally seems to have stopped.

It's raining outside. You're not cold, even though the hearth has been put out. You're all getting ready to leave.

Father Friedrich is watching you intently, as you pace in a room you've come to think of as a cell. Your broad shoulders are tense and command more strength than you've ever known. Your long strides are full of nervous energy— wanting to move, to run out under open skies. You're chronically full, and aching for an absence of pain, but you know that may be a long time coming.

It took months just to fill out a normal set of robes, but your weight is far from your greatest concern.

You have loftier ambitions than to merely service the Father of the Church of Flesh.

You are a priest of Mercy with hope in your heart. You hope that you may one day command the same respect you know you've earned.

Your Brother and former guard, Cyril Trebbeck, did not watch you when he was summoned back to the keep. He opened your door, silently looked at Father Friedrich, and left without a single word. The door is splintered around the hinges, given how hard he slammed it shut. Your ears are still ringing, as are Sister Cardew's.

Harriet is wincing, but not from keeping an eye on you. Her wide glasses don't conceal the bags under her eyes, which are looking outside to Storm. She had a revelation this morning.

She's convinced that you have not activated the Catalyst.

She thinks you've been using it.

You all intend to do something about it.

"The roads will feel a lot longer," Harriet murmurs to no one in particular. Her voice is strained, but brimming with excitement.

You have not been permitted to attend to your business with Storm. No one cares but you. You care. You care more than anyone can ever begin to understand.

"I've had worse," you mutter.

Father Friedrich has significantly more important matters to attend to, but he's making the time for you. "I'm going after Cyril." You've hurt him badly, without ever having to call upon a God. He refuses to show it, but you recognize the pain all through his smile as he runs out the door. "I'll see you outside!"

You are Brother Richard Anscham, a priest of the Church of Mercy.

"Yes, Father."

You have not been given a choice.

You have been ordered to attend to your congregation in Calunoth.