"The Baronet would like us to believe. Your master is dead."

Alpheba squinted at the powerful light beaming into her face, but she knew who sat on the other side. "If that is what he says, then I believe it."

"You don't seem hardly broken up about it." The constable gruffed.

"I'm not. Lacrima didn't have followers, only victims."

"Then why did you follow her out into these wilds? There would have been a way for you to make a living in Eston, the other children under her control could."

"..." The werewolf was screaming in the back of her skull. The constable knew about the curse, she had transformed on the premises before, but he was making her talk about it. "I'm... not safe." The more she envisioned it, the more she had to concentrate to keep it at bay.

"Tell me where Lacrima is dog. Or are you protecting her?"

A door slammed open, flooding the room with natural light. "Constable." Lydia said sternly. "What crime is this young woman accused of?"

"Just asking some questions..." the man said gently, he had walked around the subject and planted his hand firmly on her shoulder. "As fits the duties of your post."

"As the partner of the Baronet it befits my duties to..." she reached over and pulled Alpheba away from him, "protect the vulnerable minds of these young people. If there's any information to share about the witch's death, you'll hear from it. Come on, dear."

"She isn't one of your hideous goblins spawn. You know." He hissed. "This concerns real people. With real lives."

Her eyes briefly flashed wolfish yellow and a growl escaped her throat, from which he recoiled.

"Eston will be getting a new witch soon." He called after them as they left. "I'll make sure to have her visit this hell too. Take inventory over the curses."

-

Three streets later, Lydia stopped to check up on the girl. "Are you alright?"

"Who is? I'm not the one that lost control."

"... I lost my temper, he has that effect on me. But I felt that you were about to transform, you're still fighting her, aren't you? You always were."

"What else can I do? When Lacrima was around, she would use her control magic, but..."

"The other carriers, me and the bandits, we cooperate with our spirits. We give each other space, we compromise."

Alpheba frowned. "You want me to meld into one personality like you? It's a bloodthirsty beast!"

"You can sate its thirst. Let it out. You didn't have much trouble when you let it eat Blurichan pilots, did you?"

She averted her gaze.

"Alpheba, I want to recruit you. We could use a magic user when out on shadow bandit operations, and it'll give you an opportunity to 'let out the beast' from time to time. Would that work for you? It'd give you a way to continue living with us."

Alpheba grimaced. "Are you asking me this for my sake, really?"

"Scratch may not acknowledge it much, but the shadow bandits are vital to the Promise, and we need your strength as well."

"I'll join you, it's just..."

"Just...?"

She blinked away a hint of tears. "I always thought I would grow up to be a witch."

Guth's statue was the woman with the orb and staff.

The orb was the moon, the staff a spellrod. And these objects were enough for the statue to be connected to her, allowing her to inhabit it.

It was a common practice among the twelve gods to listen in on the prayer of mortals through their effigies. Sympathetic magic lets one treat a part or copy of oneself as a substitute of the whole, and experience the temple as if one is present in the statue's place.

But Scratch wasn't praying. He had a capricious on-and-off pride that let him sneak and grovel like a beggar, but not supplicate before a goddess.

He had his hands in his pockets and was chatting idly at her.

"So by my reckoning there's two kinds," he said, "there's me, Sanadora, and her whole gang. And we're all here due to Benesant. But there's also Beatrice Dichtershire, and Abyss, and all those heroes. And if I'm right, those are here because of you."

The statue didn't respond, but he could feel her presence. The witch's sight allowed for such things.

"You're from Earth, aren't you? There's nobody here, you can tell the truth."

"..."

"Look. Didn't I do you a favor? How about you be a doll and grant me a little bit of yer time, eh?"

"Is that how you talk to a go- is that how you talk to a woman?" She crossed her arms and fumed.

He gave her a smug expression at having baited her out. "Beatrice mentioned a dark god granting her and the other Japanese a new life, that was you, wasn't it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oops, *ding*, a lie. Cyclophan is playing lie detector on today's show. You do know what I'm talking about."

"... I don't see why I would-"

"WHY do I KEEP getting ATTITUDE from you people!?" He threw up his hands dramatically and bend his legs as if about to sink to his knees. "I'm being NICE for goodness' sake."

"This? Is you being nice?" She hadn't picked her ostentatious manner back up and spoke naturally.

"Here we are, a whole goddamn goblin horde ready to help out your whole fairy conquest deal. I even let Lacrima live, which is earning me a few enemies. But I can't very well be of much service to you if I'm not told the big picture, can I?"

She sighed and sat down. "Fine. I'm... sorry. But can you at least treat me with a bit more respect? Usually a follower would at least kneel for his goddess."

"Yeah... they probably assume they're talking to a thousand year old cosmic being not, like, a millennial."

"I'm not-" She remembered the lie detector. "I am thousands of years old. Time flows different in Cradle and Lite."

"Ah... Is that the name of this planet?"

She shook her head. "Cradle is what we call Earth. It's the origin of life. Other worlds branch out from there. Lite is where we are now, and it isn't a planet, it's a disc."

Having learned his lesson by now, he didn't gloat or rub the fact that he had gotten her to open up in her face. "...How much time has passed on Earth since you left?"

"Oh..." she smiled nostalgically, "maybe twenty years? Crikes, I'm middle aged!"

"So what happened, did you drink a magic potion?"

She sobered up. "No. Is that what you did? Is that how Benesant gathers her champions?"

"I..."

"Benesant has always been a roaming deity, but we didn't know it was possible to affect Cradle from here. If we're to stand a chance against her we need to bolster our own power."

"You and who else?"

She swayed her head, feeling she had already shared too much.

Not to antagonize her, he quickly changed direction. "I mean, I haven't traveled the world but they tell me every town and hamlet has a shrine dedicated to her. Can you ever match that?"

"Gods don't owe their strength to the amount of worshippers. We are the conscious extension of our temenos, our domain. For Benesant that is light, and things such as altruism or empathy. The more there is in the world, the more miracles she can perform. For me, it is sorcery, magic. If I can make fairy magic part of my domain as well, I will become permanently strengthened. For as long as there are fairies in this world."

Scratch put his index fingers over his lips. "Can we kill her?"

"Kill a goddess? No. Put it out of your mind. It isn't your business anyway, we will not discuss it any further."

"At least tell me what brought all of this about. How did you end up here?"

Guth sighed. "Fine... but this is a secret, okay?"

"Sure."

She eyed him suspiciously. "There's really on six gods natural to this world."

He didn't react as strongly as she had expected. He had no conception of what a natural god even was. "...Not including yourself?"

"My friends and I were placed here to help set the stage for heroes to come in. We make sure the world never runs out of interesting stuff; powers, conflict, drama. In return, we get to live forever."

"Do you know by whom?"

"No... a bit? There's one author to all the stories published on Cradle. The heroes say they remember a deal with a dark god, but he has no domain on this world. And, you know, gods can not provide divinity out of nothing. A god must take part of themselves and put it into a soul in order to let them reincarnate with a higher potential. Any god would have siphoned themself into nothing producing so many legendary heroes, never mind producing five whole other gods."

That did elicit a reaction. "Then, the creation of a fiction author..."

"No." She said sternly, "we are not fictional. I know this for certain. Gods can see the future of the entire world, but that future changes when anything from outside the world enters it. The author just writes down the current future in his comics, before it changes. The events aren't caused by the writing, but the other way around, even if the writing comes first."

"Okay... do we make for a very compelling documentary?"

"Oh I never read it. I think the appeal is sort of a self-insert for readers you know? Wish fulfillment." Suddenly she started laughing. "Sorry, it's been so long since I've talked this much without using the goddess voice."

He smiled. "I like the real you much better, Guth."

"My real name is Lauren. Guth more, like, the name of my powers, you know?"

"Where're you from Lauren?"

-

So they shared shared more about themselves and their original lives, tongues loosened and information slipped out more easily.

By the end, Scratch had learned three valuable pieces of information.

1. Gods can die. Or rather, they can be killed.

2. The gods of magic, love, war, knowledge, and time were artificial. The gods of fire, earth, water, air, machines, and beasts had come with the world. Of these, the first had an interest in curbing Benesant's power, but not against any price.

3. The way to weaken a god is to reduce the prevalence of their domain in their world, by having a part of their domain stolen by another god, or by having them pour too much of their essence into their champion.

Which was a lot more than Cyclophan had ever willingly given him.

Cyclophan was observing the dungeon master with a certain crystalline exasperation.

He hadn't spoken it aloud, but the dungeon master's ambition was very clearly to kill the goddess. Which wasn't so much foolhardy and hubristic, as simply stupid.

As long as there is good, there will be a goddess of goodness. You do comprehend that? He inquired.

It was a rhetorical question, but he would have liked a rhetorical answer, which he wasn't getting.

The Baronet was bounding between groups and communities within the dungeon, delegating.

Delegating monster care, architectural repairs, guard duty and chores.

There was a whole department of chores, consisting of just goblins. Ever since crafting, cooking & tanning had become jobs humans could do and earn a living with, chores had become to mean the menial tasks. Carting lunch to workers out of the way of the underground harbor, sweeping the foundry of stray metal shavings, and cleaning out latrines. (Most latrines were not connected to any sort of sewer system in the dungeon proper.)

It was a thankless job and the goblins were starting to duck out of doing it.

"I hate this." One said. "Mom wouldn't make me do this."

"Bit early to start leveraging a tragic death." Scratch said.

"It's your fault!"

He got the broom thrown at him.

"It's cause of you mother is dead and you never even killed Lacrima that did it. I hate you!"

There are petulant children in the world, is there a god of petulancy?

This is what happens when you don't enforce order.

I'm not hard enough on the kids?

You weren't hard enough on the witch. Minions need a sense of retribution when they're wronged, otherwise they lose their loyalty.

Everybody's a statesman now. "He whacked the goblin on the had with the broom handle. "If you're too sad to work you're too sad to eat, go to your room and recuperate."

"I'm not-"

He whacked him again. "Off." I suppose you got that idea from Lydia, she's hopped up on honor culture she doesn't know a thing.

And you are inundated with dishonor. If you do not shape up as a leader all these wretches in my dungeon will end up rebelling.

Nobody's going to-

"Papa Scratch!" A goblin came sliding around the corner. "They're rebelling!"

The old wooden gears creaked lifting up floor of the old sanctum.

"Ever since mama was gone there's no quiet anymore." The goblin explained. "We don't know what's coming in and what's going out and the traders just keep coming. I don't know..."

It was faster sliding down the ladder than waiting for the lift, but Scratch stubbornly insisted on being lowered by the mechanism. "What has Second been doing? He's next in charge, he knows the set-up, follow him."

The boy hesitated. "Second is..."

As the upper view of the market finally slid into place, they could see the chaos before them.

Crowds pushing against each other, yelling, fights. Some stragglers had wormed themselves out of the hurly burly and had fled towards the warping circle, crowding up again there.

It was bedlam, but it wasn't a rebellion.

"Second took a boat. He left."

-

A few minutes later, a member of the riot had managed to slip between the shadows of the stalagmites, with a good haul.

The chaos had allowed him to raid the pockets of a hobgoblins and stuff a powerful inscribed gem into his sleeve without being noticed.

He knew where the secret harbor was from here, if he could just make it through the stone forest...

But he was picked up by the scruff of his neck by an ornery troll.

"Give him a shake, Ronnie." Scratch said.

The thief managed to palm the gem, but the gold fell out.

"You hit a payload like this more often?"

"No sir."

"Would you like to?"

The thief put his hands against the troll to stabilize himself and looked at the Baronet.

"This is a month's wage if come working under me as security."

He looked at the troll, who was showing his tusks, and back at Scratch. "You trust me?"

"Of course. Any missing or destroyed inventory would be subtracted from your wage."

It didn't seem like the kind of offer one could refuse.

"...of course! I'd be honored. Sir."

"Good. Let me show you around."

-

They circled the underground market on the wooden pathways above.

"First order of business is cordoning off these exit routes, of course. Are you taking notes?"

"Who are these pathways for then?" The thief asked.

"It's not important."

"Surely, if I am to manage this place I should know something about it."

Scratch looked him up and down. "Well this is how we locals get around, see? Goblins, trolls, hobgoblins, we move around to the sea, to the market, to the foundry."

"And what's that large tower for?"

"More pathways, more destinations. It doesn't matter, this is your workplace. Look, we're back."

The wooden planks they were on suddenly stopped for a sheet drop-off. Right below stood the money tent, where gold was exchanged for Scratch's paper currency and back.

A little pulley system allowed for the transfer of the metal up and down when one or the other needed to be replenished.

The troll took both of them and jumped down, smacking loudly into the rocky floor and making the thief think his head was about to decorate the market entrance as a painting material.

But they were unharmed and the Baronet was unphased. "Lots of gold in one place, this one."

The goblin manning the tent nodded nervously.

"So it's the main point of attention. You know I want to go fiat one of these days, but you need some setup for that."

The thief was still holding his head, dizzy. "Go what?"

"Nevermind. Here's the goods, follow me."

-

'The goods' meant the contraband smugglers could buy and sell at the underground market.

Some had reserved stalls, from which military grade weapons, cursed artifacts, and stolen wares were fenced.

Some had to go up to pawning tents, where their hot wares were bought at they buyer's price.

The various subhumans had barely completed breaking up the riot and the fences were already back at their haggling. They had a limited time slot reserved.

"So... lots of pickpocketing going on here." Scratch explained.

The new security officer quickly tore his gaze away from a visitor's overfilled purse. "I can imagine."

"You know, everyone that comes here is a member of the thieves' guild."

"So they can't be too mad if it happens to them."

"They can be a lot madder, 'cause they can do something about it. Who were you planning on fencing that gem off to?"

"...What gem?"

The troll gently, for a troll, slapped the back of his head.

"I was just... about to give it back."

They came to a halt and Scratch gestured towards the pirate patting her pockets.

With not a little trepidation he stepped forward and offered it up.

"You!" She snatched it.

"Let's keep a closer watch on our belongings Regina," Scratch said, tapping the side of his nose, "I hear there's thieves about."

She huffed.

Scratch led them further along. "The moment you had tried to unload that thing you'd have your head separated from your body and sent to Regina's fleet commander to buy his favor. I should know, I've had to do it to someone."

"...Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Let's keep going, because your office is at the back here."

-

At the end of underground market stood a construction of layered wooden platforms with a crow's nest at the top for an overseer.

But immediately in front of it were the paper sellers.

"The goods are only booming for as long as the war has the border closed," Scratch said, "this is the future."

The security manager peered around the shoulder of a masked man to see nothing but signed plaques with wax seals change hands. "I don't even know what this is."

"Yeah it's only of interest to high rollers. Basically... ever desk you see here sells some sort of financial derivative."

"Papa Scratch." The masked man said. "My master expects greater returns on these shares the coming month."

"Mansley, I don't control the trajectory of a stock. Tell your uncle to diversify his portfolio if he wants to avoid a nasty surprise like that."

The security officer's brow only furrowed deeper.

"It's investment." Scratch explained. "Guild members supply an initial capital sum in order to get a steady income stream. Way back when I financed an assassins' outfit up north, and I'm collecting thirty percent of their fees ever since. You see I have people store gold in my coffers in exchange for a small interest, and I pay the interest with returns on investment. But lately I've decided to let bigshots invest directly, let them take their own risks, you know? So we can grow the capital market."

"Grow the..."

"Mansley just paid out for ten percent of the assassination business. His family owns it now, and they're getting ten percent of the revenue. Every place here sells something like that. Stakes in thieves' guild business, mortgage claims, commodity indexes, bonds... The buyers like it because they can store their wealth and have it grow, the sellers like it because it gives them starting capital to set up a business." He turned to the buyer, "Mansley, I'm taking this guy to the overseer's office, catch you later. Say hi to your uncle."

"The paper sellers are behind all the bandit cities appearing throughout Reddington." The security officer said in a sudden epiphany. "You're putting all the wealth of the thieves' guild into expanding it."

"You catch on quick." Scratch climbed up the first of the layered platforms. "My network of bandit towns is a more legitimate state than the Reddington kingdom, because it has financial intermediation. That creates social mobility, opportunity. In the long run we want to bleed the crown dry of its citizens, but that's the long-long run. For now- Honey could you get me my hookah?"

A hobgoblin retrieved a bubbly glass shape for him with a flexible tube and small receptacle. It was almost as tall as the goblin himself and sloshing with sparkling water.

Scratch placed himself on a cushion and inhaled through the tube. The vapors of burning blue grass bubbled up through the hookah and into his lungs. When he breathed out a great cloud of effervescent smoke blew through his nose and dissipated over the wooden floor. "For now all you need to know is that the paper is the most valuable asset in the market, and you are to protect it with your life. Are you in?"

The former thief stood there sort of awkwardly. Alone, bereft, and surrounded in a den of strange inhuman creatures. Having smoke blown over his feet. "You mean, will I accept the job?"

"Accept the job. Do it to the best of your abilities. Not run off with whatever you can carry at the first opportunity."

"...Yes."

Scratch took another puff of the blue grass. Then he rolled his eyes. "Okay, kill him."

A large troll hand closed around the thief's head. "Hah! What? Why?"

Scratch tapped the side of the hookah. "Because you're lying. I know when I'm lied to."

But of course it was only his connection to Cyclophan that gave him that insight. And Cyclophan hadn't told him about his brother leaving.

"Sir, it's the archbishop."

The warden looked up from his paperwork. "...Right."

He had anticipated the clergyman for almost a week now, but still the moment felt sudden. He had a sense of foreboding about his presence in their remote prison colony.

The heavy mechanism of the airlock creaked and the entrant was revealed to those inside.

The archbishop of Linefort and Cantershire. Without retinue but with all the wealth and majesty of a high ranking member of the clergy.

His holy tassels shuddered at the sudden sense of depleted mana.

"My apologies, your holiness," the warden said, "we keep powerful magic users here. Anti-magic is an unfortunate but necessary precaution. We've all gotten used to it. Would you like some tea?"

"No, thank you my child. Rather I would like to get to business as soon as possible. The prisoner?"

The warden shared a quick look with his second in command, then he deferred to the clergyman. "Of course, your holiness, right this way."

-

They quickly paced through the tiled halls of the underground prison.

A narrow space with the weight of a mountain pressing in on it.

"Normally we'd have waited for the baron's approval before we'd acquiesce to an ecclesiastical request..." the warden panted nervously. "But your cardinal impressed upon us such urgency-

"It is urgent." The archbishop barked. Then he softened, "thank you for obliging."

They came to the mess hall to find a common sight.

The tiny redheaded creature stood on a table, preaching the word of Benesant, and the other prisoners were kneeled before her.

"That's her."

Sanadora looked up with a knowing smile at their arrival.

-

Moments later, she had received a private audience with the archbishop.

The venue was a confession box, often reserved for convicts searching for redemption with a local priest.

"Archbishop...." Sanadora said, "the church has undergone some changes since I last set foot in the world of Lite."

"Then it is true..." the archbishop said breathlessly, "as the oracle said, you are her champion."

"That I am, and I have yet aggrieved the goddess by letting myself get captured by your people. When I have a holy mission."

"Yes... there was confusion with the ongoing war. I shall report to his holiness the pope at once. He shall pressure the Reddington government into releasing yo-"

"No. Word of my existence must not spread any more than it already has. I am but a temporary visitor to this world, not a herald of her word. It would greatly enrage the goddess to see me announce myself. Further, we have wasted enough time already, I must leave here tonight."

"But how? I do not have the authority-"

"You passed the entrance at the surface, yes? It is kept hermetically sealed so that magic can be extracted within the prison at a faster rate than it can flow in. That is why captives under this mountain can not regenerate their mana."

"Then, what should I...?"

"Your rosary, archbishop. It was provenance that you would come here bearing that symbol."

He looked at the little figurine of a winged deer on his bracelet. "The symbol of the goddess."

"When you leave, drop it within the gears of the airlock. Before this realm's peacekeepers have amended the technical fault, I will have regained my strength."

"But the church of Benesant will have committed an act of aggression against his majesty-"

"There won't be a crown if the corruption I seek out is left to fester. You are a man of faith, archbishop?"

"Of course!"

"Then you must trust the goddess above all else."

His hand closed over the rosary. "...I will do as you say."

-

Just after midnight the mechanism of the tunnel entrance locked up.

Just before dawn the mountain had erupted with holy fire.

By sunset the following day, no living prisoner remained under the mountain.

Church of Benesant

Temples to Benesant are the primary avenue for healing and curse removal within civilized settlements, and adventurers are encouraged to make use of them. Both the church and the guild being organizations that transcend borders for the good of all people.

Each township of at least size rank E will have a functioning chapel within its walls, administered by a priest. These perform the holy rituals to aid adventurers, but also to confer blessings on the newborn or officiate weddings.

Priests are appointed and led by bishops, which preside over a region. Some townships may house a bishop that also serves priestly duties.

The further rungs of the ecclesiastic hierarchy are then archbishops, cardinals, and the pope, who are tasked with officiating for high nobility. Adventurers of rank B and above may occasionally be commissioned for holy quests by these high clerics.

When traveling to Heiligdom for audience with the pope, be advised to observe Blurichan law and the blödschicht. (Page 4 of the adventurer's guide.)