Thieves of Divinity

Your browser lacks required capabilities. Please upgrade it or switch to another to continue.

Loading…

[[Codex]] [[Inventory]] [[Achievements]] [[Files|Stats]] [[Relationships]]

By Isa Azevedo

<<set $unstoppable to 10, $maxunstoppable to 100>> <<set $mystical to 10, $maxmystical to 100>> <<set $nimble to 10, $maxnimble to 100>> <<set $knowledgeable to 10, $maxknowledgeable to 100>> <<set $resourceful to 10, $maxresourceful to 100>> <<set $prestigious to 10, $maxprestigious to 100>> <<set $divinity to 50>> <<set $genial to 50>> <<set $acclaimed to 50>> <<set $compassionate to 50>> <<set $revolution to 50>> <<set $reputation to 20>> <<set $seir_a to 15, $max_seira to 100>> <<set $hellmouth_a to 15, $max_hellmoutha to 100>> <<set $larcenist_a to 15, $max_larcenista to 100>> <<set $warden_a to 15, $max_wardena to 100>> <<set $virtuoso_a to 15, $max_virtuosoa to 100>> <<set $wayfarer_a to 15, $max_wayfarera to 100>> <<set $money_wal to 0>> <<set $money_filan to 15>> <<newmeter '$seirapproval' '0.15'>> <<colors 'darkcyan' 'darkcyan' 'black'>> <<sizing '200px' '25px'>> <<label '$seir_a%' 'whitesmoke' 'left'>> <<animation 10s linear>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter '$hellmouthapproval' '0.15'>> <<colors 'darkcyan' 'darkcyan' 'black'>> <<sizing '200px' '25px'>> <<label '$hellmouth_a%' 'whitesmoke' 'left'>> <<animation 10s linear>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter '$larcenistapproval' '0.15'>> <<colors 'darkcyan' 'darkcyan' 'black'>> <<sizing '200px' '25px'>> <<label '$larcenist_a%' 'whitesmoke' 'left'>> <<animation 10s linear>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter '$wardenapproval' '0.15'>> <<colors 'darkcyan' 'darkcyan' 'black'>> <<sizing '200px' '25px'>> <<label '$warden_a%' 'whitesmoke' 'left'>> <<animation 10s linear>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter '$virtuosoapproval' '0.15'>> <<colors 'darkcyan' 'darkcyan' 'black'>> <<sizing '200px' '25px'>> <<label '$virtuoso_a%' 'whitesmoke' 'left'>> <<animation 10s linear>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter '$wayfarerapproval' '0.15'>> <<colors 'darkcyan' 'darkcyan' 'black'>> <<sizing '200px' '25px'>> <<label '$wayfarer_a%' 'whitesmoke' 'left'>> <<animation 10s linear>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter '$unstoppablebar' '0.10'>> <<colors 'darkcyan' 'darkcyan' 'black'>> <<sizing '200px' '25px'>> <<label '$unstoppable%' 'whitesmoke' 'left'>> <<animation 10s linear>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter '$mysticalbar' '0.10'>> <<colors 'darkcyan' 'darkcyan' 'black'>> <<sizing '200px' '25px'>> <<label '$mystical%' 'whitesmoke' 'left'>> <<animation 10s linear>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter '$nimblebar' '0.10'>> <<colors 'darkcyan' 'darkcyan' 'black'>> <<sizing '200px' '25px'>> <<label '$nimble%' 'whitesmoke' 'left'>> <<animation 10s linear>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter '$knowledgeablebar' '0.10'>> <<colors 'darkcyan' 'darkcyan' 'black'>> <<sizing '200px' '25px'>> <<label '$knowledgeable%' 'whitesmoke' 'left'>> <<animation 10s linear>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter '$resourcefulbar' '0.10'>> <<colors 'darkcyan' 'darkcyan' 'black'>> <<sizing '200px' '25px'>> <<label '$resourceful%' 'whitesmoke' 'left'>> <<animation 10s linear>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter '$prestigiousbar' '0.10'>> <<colors 'darkcyan' 'darkcyan' 'black'>> <<sizing '200px' '25px'>> <<label '$prestigious%' 'whitesmoke' 'left'>> <<animation 10s linear>> <</newmeter>>

<<link 'Stats explanation'>> <<dialog 'Stats explanation' 'stats explanation'>> ''//Unstoppable//'' Your physical strength, resistance and constitution. ''//Mystical//'' Your magical knowledge and skills with spells, rituals and Blessings. //''Nimble''// Your agility and precision with fine tools. //''Knowledgeable''// Your booksmarts and problem-solving skills. //''Resourceful''// Your streetsmarts, observation and inventiveness skills. //''Prestigious''// Your ability to use of charisma and social status. <</dialog>> <</link>> //''Skills''// Unstoppable: <<showmeter '$unstoppablebar' '$unstoppable'/'$max_unstoppable'>> Mystical: <<showmeter '$mysticalbar' '$mystical'/'$maxmystical'>> Nimble: <<showmeter '$nimblebar' '$nimble'/'$maxnimble'>> Knowledgeable: <<showmeter '$knowledgeablebar' '$knowledgeable'/'$maxknowledgeable'>> Resourceful: <<showmeter '$resourcefulbar' '$resourceful'/'$maxresourceful'>> Prestigious: <<showmeter '$prestigiousbar' '$prestigious'/'$maxprestigious'>> //''Personality''// <<if $divinity > 80>> You are a vessel for the //Seven-Headed Serpent// and its mysteries. <<elseif $divinity > 50 && $divinity <= 80>> You are open to the //Seven-Headed Serpent// and it mysteries. <<elseif $divinity === 50>> No one knows if you're a //Thief of Divinity// or a //follower of the Seven-Headed Serpent//. <<elseif $divinity > 20 && $divinity < 50>> You might prefer the //Thieves of Divinity// and their worldliness. <<elseif $divinity <= 20>> You take pride in belonging with the //Thieves of Divinity// and their worldliness. <</if>> You're a <<if $genial > 50>> //genial// and //charismatic// person. <<elseif $genial === 50>> neither //introverted// or //extroverted// person. <<elseif $genial < 50>> //reserved// and //taciturn// person. <</if>> You <<if $revolution > 50>> neither //comply to// or //question// societal norms. <<elseif $revolution === 50>> //rebel against// societal norms. <<elseif $revolution < 50>> //comply to societal norms//. <</if>> Your reputation as a <<if $acclaimed > 50>> //respectable// and //peaceful// member of the community preceeds you. <<elseif $acclaimed === 50>> neither //famous// or //infamous member// of society preceeds you. <<elseif $acclaimed < 50>> //scandalous// and //infamous// part of the populace preceeds you. <</if>> You show <<if $compassionate > 50>> //compassion// when dealing with others. <<elseif $compassionate === 50>> neither //compassion// or //cruelty// when dealing with others. <<elseif $compassionate < 50>> //ruthlessness// when dealing with others. <</if>> <<if $reputation <= 30>> You and the Thieves //aren’t known// through Staseele. <<elseif $reputation > 30 && $reputation <= 50>> You and the Thieves of Divinity //are moderately known// through Staseele. <<elseif $reputation > 50 && <= 80>> You and the Thieves of Divinity //are famous// in Staseele. <<elseif $reputation > 80>> You and the Thieves of Divinity //are legendary// in Staseele. <</if>> <<if $charactercreator === "true">> //''Personal''// <<if $origins_choice === "true">> You're a $a_man named $name $origins. <</if>> <<if $hair_color === "bald">> You're bald. <<elseif $hair_color isnot "bald">> Your hair is $hair_color, $hair_length and $hair_texture. <</if>> Your skin is $skin_color. You're $height. <<if $additions === "true">> You have $scars, $tattoos, $piercings, $vitiligo, $freckles, and $acne. <</if>> <<elseif $charactercreator isnot "true">> <</if>> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

<<linkappend "//''Staseele the Stubborn''//">> <<if $codex_historystaseele === "true">> [[Traveler's guide to the marvelous city of Staseele: a brief History of the Gods' Seat|Staseele1]] <<elseif $codex_historystaseele isnot "true">> ??? <</if>> <<if $codex_geographystaseele === "true">> [[Traveler's guide to the marvelous city of Staseele: layout|Staseele2]] <<elseif $codex_geographystaseele isnot "true">> ??? <</if>> <<if $codex_fashionstaseele === "true">> [[Traveler's guide to the marvelous city of Staseele: current fashions|Staseele3]] <<elseif $codex_fashionstaseele isnot "true">> ??? <</if>> <</linkappend>> <<linkappend "//''A politician's guide to the city's insides''//">> <<if $codex_gods === "true">> [[The Seven-Headed Serpent|Groups1]] <<elseif $codex_gods isnot "true">> ??? <</if>> <<if $codex_thieves === "true">> [[The Thieves of Divinity|Groups2]] <<elseif $codex_thieves isnot "true">> ??? <</if>> <<if $codex_saltcovenant === "true">> [[The Salt Covenant|Groups3]] <<elseif $codex_saltcovenant isnot "true">> ??? <</if>> <<if $codex_shalayn === "true">> [[The illustrious and dignified House of Black, the Sha'layn|Groups4]] <<elseif $codex_shalayn isnot "true">> ??? <</if>> <<if $codex_divinehands === "true">> [[The Divine Hands|Groups5]] <<elseif $codex_divinehands isnot "true">> ??? <</if>> <<if $codex_sodality === "true">> [[The Sodality of Mercy|Groups6]] <<elseif $codex_sodality isnot "true">> ??? <</if>> <</linkappend>> <<linkappend "//''Observations on known people''//">> <<if $origins_codex === "true">> [[Origins of a deicide|Origins codex]] <<elseif $origins_codex isnot "true">> ??? <</if>> <<if $seir_firstcodex === "true">> [[The Seir|People1]] <<elseif $seir_firstcodex isnot "true">> ??? <</if>> <<if $hellmouth_firstcodex === "true">> [[The Hellmouth|People2]] <<elseif $hellmouth_firstcodex isnot "true">> ??? <</if>> <<if $larcenist_firstcodex === "true">> [[The Lacernist|People3]] <<elseif $larcenist_firstcodex isnot "true">> ??? <</if>> <<if $warden_firstcodex === "true">> [[The Warden|People4]] <<elseif $warden_firstcodex isnot "true">> ??? <</if>> <<if $virtuoso_firstcodex === "true">> [[The Virtuoso|People5]] <<elseif $virtuoso_firstcodex isnot "true">> ??? <</if>> <<if $wayfarer_firstcodex === "true">> [[The Wayfarer|People6]] <<elseif $wayfarer_firstcodex isnot "true">> ??? <</if>> <</linkappend>> <<linkappend "//''Historical gossip''//">> <<if $theriseofgods === "true">> [[The Anarchy and the Rise of the Gods|Gossip1]] <<elseif $theriseofgods isnot "true">> ??? <</if>> <<if $codex_voidstrider === "true">> [[The Voidstrider Rebellion|Gossip2]] <<elseif $codex_voidstrider isnot "true">> ??? <</if>> <<if $codex_synod === "true">> [[The Synod Confusion|Gossip3]] <<elseif $codex_synod isnot "true">> ??? <</if>> <<if $codex_coinaccords === "true">> [[The Northeim Commercial Accord|Gossip4]] <<elseif $codex_coinaccords isnot "true">> ??? <</if>> <<if $codex_aegenitediscovery === "true">> [[The discovery of aegenite|Gossip5]] <<elseif $codex_aegenitediscovery isnot "true">> ??? <</if>> <<if $codex_nightofagony === "true">> [[The Night of Agony|Gossip6]] <<elseif $codex_nightofagony isnot "true">> ??? <</if>> <</linkappend>> <<linkappend "//''A cartographer's notes''//">> <<if $codex_knownworld === "true">> [[The Known World|Cartography1]] <<elseif $codex_knownworld isnot "true">> ??? <</if>> <<if $codex_geopolitics === "true">> [[Staseele and the Known World|Cartography2]] <<elseif $codex_geopolitics isnot "true">> ??? <</if>> <<if $codex_latenna === "true">> [[The disappearance of Latenna|Cartography3]] <<elseif $codex_latenna isnot "true">> ??? <</if>> <</linkappend>> <<linkappend "//''A mage's schoolbook''//">> <<if $codex_blessings === "true">> [[Blessings|Schoolbook1]] <<elseif $codex_blessings isnot "true">> ??? <</if>> <<if $codex_spells === "true">> [[Spells|Schoolbook2]] <<elseif $codex_spells isnot "true">> ??? <</if>> <<if $codex_rituals === "true">> [[Rituals|Schoolbook3]] <<elseif $codex_rituals isnot "true">> ??? <</if>> <<if $codex_placesofpower === "true">> [[Places of Power|Schoolbook4]] <<elseif $codex_placesofpower isnot "true">> ??? <</if>> <<if $codex_magicalbeings === "true">> [[Magical denizens of the world|Schoolbook5]] <<elseif $codex_magicalbeings isnot "true">> ??? <</if>> <<if $codex_aegenitedangerous === "true">> [[The dangers of aegenite|Schoolbook6]] <<elseif $codex_aegenitedangerous isnot "true">> ??? <</if>> <</linkappend>> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

<<link 'Funds'>> <<dialog 'Funds' 'money'>> $money_wal walis and $money_filan filen. <</dialog>> <</link>> <<link 'Equipment'>> <<dialog 'Equipment' 'inventory'>> <<if $origins === "Fuchs">> A now blunt dagger. <<elseif $origins === "Vogel">> Wooden prayer beads. <<elseif $origins === "Althaus">> A set of fine clothes, now hopelessly stained with dirt and white pus. <</if>> <</dialog>> <</link>> <<link 'Gifts'>> <<dialog 'Gifts' 'gifts'>> <</dialog>> <</link>> <<link 'Items of power'>> <<dialog 'Items of power' 'items of power'>> <</dialog>> <</link>> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

<<linkappend "//''Prologue''//">> <<if $agreement === "true">> Deal with the devils: you agreed to help the Thieves of Divinity! <<elseif $agreement isnot "true">> Deal with the devils: ??? <</if>> <<if $disagreement === "true">> Some common sense?: you'll not help the Thieves of Divinity. <<elseif $disagreement isnot "true">> Some common sense?: ??? <</if>> <<if $killthehands === "true">> How grimdark of you: you decided to kill your pursuers. <<elseif $killthehands isnot "true">> How grimdark of you: ??? <</if>> <<if $sparethehands === "true">> And to the snakes, their slithering: you decided to spare your pursuers. <<elseif $sparethehands isnot "true">> And to the snakes, their slithering: ??? <</if>> <<if $recruitment === "true">> In Staseele, the job finds you!: Willingly or not, you're now a Thief of Divinity. <<elseif $recruitment isnot "true">> In Staseele, the job finds you!: ???<</if>> <</linkappend>> <<linkappend "//''Chapter 1''//">> <</linkappend>> <<linkappend "//''Chapter 2''//">> <</linkappend>> <<linkappend "//''Chapter 3''//">> <</linkappend>> <<linkappend "//''Chapter 4''//">> <</linkappend>> <<linkappend "//''Chapter 5''//">> <</linkappend>> <<linkappend "//''Chapter 6''//">> <</linkappend>> <<linkappend "//''Chapter 7''//">> <</linkappend>> <<linkappend "//''Chapter 8''//">> <</linkappend>> <<linkappend "//''Chapter 9''//">> <</linkappend>> <<linkappend "//''Chapter 10''//">> <</linkappend>> <<linkappend "//''Epilogue''//">> <</linkappend>> <<linkappend "//''Relationships''//">> <<if $qpseir === "true">> Soothsayer summers: you are in a queerplatonic relationship with the Seir. <<elseif $qpseir isnot "true">> Soothsayer summers: ??? <</if>> <<if $rseir === "true">> A love in past, present and future: you are in a romantic relationship with the Seir. <<elseif $rseir isnot "true">> A love in past, present and future: ??? <</if>> <<if $qphellmouth === "true">> Loyal beyond the bounds of page: you are in a queerplatonic relationship with the Hellmouth. <<elseif $qphellmouth isnot "true">> Loyal beyond the bounds of page: ??? <</if>> <<if $rhellmouth === "true">> Sweeter than a midnight's summer dream: you are in a romantic relationship with the Hellmouth. <<elseif $rhellmouth isnot "true">> Sweeter than a midnight's summer dream: ??? <</if>> <<if $qplarcenist === "true">> True to my word: you are in a queerplatonic relationship with the Larcenist. <<elseif $qplarcenist isnot "true">> True to my word: ??? <</if>> <<if $rlarcenist === "true">> A heartrob by any other name: you are in a romantic relationship with the Larcenist. <<elseif $rlarcenist isnot "true">> A heartrob by any other name: ??? <</if>> <<if $qpwarden === "true">> Nonetheless, we bloom: you are in a queerplatonic relationship with the Warden. <<elseif $qpwarden isnot "true">> Nonetheless, we bloom: ??? <</if>> <<if $rwarden === "true">> A sword, a shield, a lover: you are in a romantic relationship with the Warden. <<elseif $rwarden isnot "true">> A sword, a shield, a lover: ??? <</if>> <<if $qpvirtuoso === "true">> Salt-washed dreams: you are in a queerplatonic relationship with the Virtuoso. <<elseif $qpvirtuoso isnot "true">> Salt-washed dreams: ??? <</if>> <<if $rvirtuoso === "true">> Why would Pygmalion cry?: you are in a romantic relationship with the Virtuoso. <<elseif $rvirtuoso isnot "true">> Why would Pygmalion cry?: ??? <</if>> <<if $qpwayfarer === "true">> A reason to return home: you are in a queerplatonic relationship with the Wayfarer. <<elseif $qpwayfarer isnot "true">> A reason to return home: ??? <</if>> <<if $rwayfarer === "true">> Bound by oath and devotion: you are in a romantic relationship with the Wayfarer. <<elseif $rwayfarer isnot "true">> Bound by oath and devotion: ??? <</if>> <</linkappend>> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

The Seir: <<showmeter '$seirapproval' '$seir_a/$max_seira'>> The Hellmouth: <<showmeter '$hellmouthapproval' '$hellmouth_a/$max_hellmouta'>> The Larcenist: <<showmeter '$larcenistapproval' '$larcenist_a/$max_larcenista'>> The Warden: <<showmeter '$wardenapproval' '$warden_a/$max_warden'>> The Virtuoso: <<showmeter '$virtuosoapproval' '$virtuoso_a/$max_virtuosoa'>> The Wayfarer: <<showmeter '$wayfarerapproval' '$wayfarer_a/$max_wayfarera'>> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

<h3>Traveler's guide to the marvelous city of Staseele: a brief History of the Gods' Seat </h3> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

<h3>Traveler's guide to the marvelous city of Staseele: layout</h3> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

<h3>The Seven-Headed Serpent</h3> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

<h3>The Thieves of Divinity</h3> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

<h3>The Salt Covenant</h3> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

<h3>The Hellmouth</h3> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

//This Larcenist is proof the commercial elite has gone too far in its depravity and godlessness. Their only gods are money, heresy and greed. — Captain Idril Lorenz of the White Eyes’ Divine Hands, 1498.// The Larcenist willingly shared they once belonged to the elite of Staseele, and it’s not far-fetched to assume their blood must wield a reasonable amount of influence — for their connections run deep, their knowledge of the high society is sharp, and they undergo many pains and problems to keep their identity hidden. Their self-proclaimed desire for more power and to see themselves free of the countless, sometimes deadly, constrictions of the bourgeoisie, has led them to become a vital part of the Thieves of Divinity. <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

<h3>The Warden</h3> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

<h3>The Virtuoso</h3> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

<h3>The Wayfarer</h3> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

<h3>The Anarchy and the Rise of the Gods</h3> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

<h3>Blessings</h3> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

<<if $origins === "Althaus">> //I remember…// Althaus is an old and coal-stained House, falling into a subtle but persistent decline over the last decades. Not famous or particularly respected among Staseele’s nobility, with money scarcer at each generation as the mines of Velldorf dried up, its reputation is built on age and strangeness — some of its most infamous members were odd, fey, or even god-touched and Blessed. Even more now, with its recent tragedy. In a wedding dedicated to the Faceless One, the deity’s Blessing to the betrothed, a rising merchant family, went out of control and slaughtered all the attendants except for $name. Its frantic search for a suitable host wrecked the city’s average traders. $name was the oldest child of Reyse Althaus, a severe and competitive woman whose greatest passion was economics, and Johann von Lÿndow, a charming and well-humored but cutthroat politician. Adrian and Maximilian are $a_his younger brothers, twins and the despair of their parents: one, a quiet and studious artist, and the other, an ambitionless devil. House Althaus’ symbol is a black, grinning jackal on a bright blue field crowned by seven scarlet lilies and the words, now heavy with irony, //Ever Living//. <<elseif $origins === "Vogel">> //I remember…// The Mirror House was a small and ill-famed temple of the Faceless One, located near Staseele’s lawless docks. Their miracles, workings and Blessings were among the most powerful, but a dark reputation of madness and bloodshed stopped most from looking for aid there or joining its ranks. As many of the Orphics’ houses of faith, it had the curious custom of a phantom name to disguise and forget previous identities — theirs was Vogel, though many adopt nicknames and titles so as not to be mistake for others. $name became a part of the Mirror House young and was given the phantom name as many others before. $a_he and Salt-Washed Vogel, a quiet but fiercely faithful and brave woman who joined at the same time, were overseen by Rose, head of the temple and a dry, quick-witted, old person. During a Welcoming ritual, however, this alliance proved to be dangerous. It is not unknown whether the Blessing was meant to be so powerful, but it went out of control and slaughtered the Mirror House except for $name. The Vogels, and many priests of the Faceless One, use an eyeless white raven as their symbol, though the deity itself abhors being identified by anything. <<elseif $origins === "Fuchs">> //I remember…// In Staseele, there is a family name that expresses the poor’s invisibility— Fuchs, by which so many answer they’re lost even to the city’s extensive, labyrinthine bureaucratic system. It birthed a slang, poor foxes, and gave identity to the passionate movements for abolition of serfdom almost four centuries ago, the Foxy Rebellion. $name is the second youngest child of Ann Faulkner, a once proud and efficient spinner who became bedridden because of arthritis, and Ludwig Fuchs, a gentle coal miner who spent most of his time away and suffers with black lung. The family has a considerable with two older sisters: the dutiful Friede, who currently takes care of their mother’s business, and the ever-adventurous Gerda, who married a Leviot merchant and moved to her country; and a younger sibling, Aliz, an anxious jokester who struggles to balance work and the struggle to study. When $a_he went into the service of Wilhelmina Hoffman, a disgraced cleric of the Faceless One who indulged in unethical, forbidden divine magic to recover her position at all costs, including sacrificing her employees. When those experiments were rewarded by the deity with a Blessing of rare power and particular violence, it proceeded to slaughter the diminished household, intentionally or not, until just $name stood standing. <</if>> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

<h3>The Sodality of Mercy</h3> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

<h3>The Divine Hands</h3> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

<h3>Traveler's guide to the marvelous city of Staseele: current fashions</h3> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

<h3>The Known World</h3> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

<h3>Staseele and the Known World</h3> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

<h3>The disappearance of Latenna</h3> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

<h3>Spells</h3> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

<h3>Rituals</h3> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

<h3>Magical denizens of the world</h3> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

<h3>The dangers of aegenite</h3> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

<h3>Places of power</h3> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

<h3>The Voidstrider Rebellion</h3> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

<h3>The Synod Confusion</h3> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

<h3>The Northeim Commercial Accords</h3> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

<h3>The discovery of aegenite</h3> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

<h3>The Night of Agony</h3> <a data-passage="$return"><i class="fas fa-arrow-left"></i></a>

<<set $charactercreator to "true">> “Thief of Divinity!” cried a priestess, pale like a creature grown in the dark and thundering, the silver bells she tolls whispering to a death song. “Gluttonous worm! He dares to steal what our Gods so generously give! No mercy such a scum will find on this land!” The crowd stumbling after the Reckoning screams. They’ve been screaming for hours, bright-eyed and terrible — furious at this pitiful man being dragged through Staseele, drenched in mud, sweat, tears and whatever else they could throw on him. When a faceless colossus of a guard strikes him on the face, gauntlet glittering inexorably, people laugh, ravenous for the blood that arches gracefully on the air before splattering on the streets’ gray stones. There is still the better half of an hour before he reaches the Red Cathedral. You don’t think he will. “He stole a Blessing that could be yours!” the priestess chants, her pale veil fluttering, a mockery of a peace offfer. “A Blessing that ought to belong to a person of this community, feeding and caring for you! Rat! And he’ll discover what we do to rats!” <a data-passage="PS1P1-1"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

<<if $vendorboy === "true">> “More dramatic than a Hellmouth priest,” the boy grumbles. <<elseif $vendorboy === "false">> “Drier than a Hellmouth ending,” the boy grumbles. <</if>> Your pockets are empty, have been for days. Most employers look for Blessings before accepting anyone, fearing what the Hands might do if an unsanctioned person is found working for them, and rumors sizzle around about the Rogue Faceless, about //you//. Besides the pity of some kind-hearted fools, you don't show your face around. Outside the processions street, large by divine decree, sprawling, red-dusted alleys welcome you in, beckoning sweetly. Their walls, narrow and rough, scrape against your shoulders, and people improvise places to hang their clothes to dry. Children hop over stale, putrid puddles, going door to door to ask for flour and beans or kicking around balls of fabric. You hasten your step, fingers drumming against your arm. You’re just another face among many who haunt places like this. No one will remember you. <a data-passage="PS1P2-1"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

<<if $knowla === "true">> They're clever, white-blooded and a particular annoyance to the Hands. Keep your eyes sharp, and one might discover they have a name and a reputation. As much of sound bet as it'll get for you, a solid chance of escaping. <<elseif $knowla === "false">> Magdalena might be sending you to your vile fate, the name unfamiliar and pretentious, but for the kindness she has shown you and the desperation grinding your mind to nothing, you decided to come. A blind gamble, your chance of escaping alive. <</if>> Not even a miracle-maker can hide forever in Staseele, and you don’t have the means to flee. Rocky beaches, dangerous roads, Hands and their outposts, or overpriced ships with little chance of survival are the only paths open, and you aren’t fond of inviting death to play dice so freely. Not until you’ve tried your hand in every bet before. And thus, this journey to a nowhere tavern, heart in your throat. Hope’s Hole is a small, square building, blue paint peeling off the walls and yellow chairs littered on the dirt street. Two women are knitting, a bottle of cachaça between them, and a man is sleeping on the ground directly before the door, cap pulled over his face. <i>Scenic</i>. <a data-passage="PS1P3-1"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

<<set $larcenist_firstcodex to "true">> <<notify>>CODEX UNLOCKED!<</notify>> “Going right for the jugular, scoundrel?” the server, Vic, laughs. “Rake, vagabond, and beloved firstborn of a bitch too." The person drags xem for a hug. “But I’m afraid I do need to get business started. Two portions of whatever you have going today, and water if it’s clean, please. It’ll be a long talk.” Your stomach grumbles. You hope this person, this <i>Larcenist</i>, will pay well. Vic dives into the overheated kitchens, a smile still dancing on xir lips. Your possible employer crumbles theatrically on the chair in front of you, leaning back and content to stare. Their smile has not dimmed, and they have childish dimples dimming the effect of high and sharp cheekbones. You shift under their gaze. “I’ll cover it. It’s only polite to provide for a guest.” They wave a dismissive hand. So, you do look //that// pitiful. You run your tongue over your teeth. The street outside is calm, red dust twirling with the wind. No signs of a battalion of Hands and priests ready to drag you screaming to the Old Harbor. <i>Yet</i>. But you have questions. [['"Who are you?"'|PS1P5]] [[“Do you come here every day hoping someone will be waiting?”|PS1P6]]

<<set $question1 to "true">> “Fair’s fair, though you decide how useful this explanation will be,” they shrug. “I’m the one called Larcenist, in charge of a recruiting process for a task few would want to participate in. I have a Blessing, and it’d be best for both of us if this talk remained unknown.” You frown. “That’s not useful. At all.” <<if $knowla === "true">> Speculation floods Staseele, relentless as always, and their name, if it can be called a name, is everywhere if you know how to listen. Most people don’t look twice to a sunburnt, hungry rat prowling the streets. They talk around you. They talk about the good, the bad and the dangerous. The Hands don’t like Larcenist — and whoever the Hands don’t like, they devour. Even then, you expected something… more solid than a handful of loose words. <<elseif $knowla === "false">>>They might as well have spoken in a dead tongue. <</if>> “Forget about who and focus on why and how. I’m offering an alliance when this city wants to take your head.” They speak too loud. You flinch, chair screeching as you jump. Vic’s head snaps to look at you. Have xe heard it? Will xe — Larcenist’s in the way, but you can run. They grab your wrist. “Believe me." They shake their head. "If I called the Hands here, the bastards wouldn’t even look at you. I have far, far more to lose — my friends here in the Hope’s Hole, my family. Sit, please. You shall discover soon the Churches bite deeper than I ever could.” Your heart thunders in your bird-hollow ribcage. “I can’t —” “I’m the one called Larcenist and willing participant of a ploy to destroy the Seven-Headed Serpent,” they murmur, softer than a rustle of fabric, eyes piercing deep into your soul and grip loosening until it falls undone. “I can offer you protection from the Gods themselves and money. Ask me your other questions.” <a data-passage="PS1P5-14"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

<<set $question2 to "true">>“There’s a limited amount of people who fill our criteria. Not a lot of waiting to be done.” Time for feigned foolishness is dead. “Which criteria?” “A Blessing from the Faceless One.” They count on their fingers, stark white gloves unmarred by the smallest imprints of dust. “And either recklessness, idealism, anger or despair enough to gamble on this table. I did say must don’t.” “You’re serious.” “Deadly so.” The street is still quiet, and the two women have abandoned knitting in favor of drinking. “That’s impossible.” You swallow the vomit high in your throat, fingers drumming on the table. Your voice comes out reedy and dripping disbelief. Their eyes flash, and Larcenist leans into your space over the table. “No, it’s not, but we need someone with a Blessing from each of the Orphics to sever their connection with this world. Lacking their tethers, even gods may die.” “What if I say no? What if I get up and let the Hands know about this?” They are mad. The lightest punishment you may get from speaking like this is the gallows. Larcenist's eyes narrow. “Please, we can do without threats. It's not in your best interests to compete against me in this matter. I know you’re called…” <<linkappend "Masculine name suggestions">> [[Lothar|PS1P6-1][$name to "Lothar"]] [[Theseus|PS1P6-1][$name to "Theseus"]] [[Ranjit|PS1P6-1][$name to "Ranjit"]] <</linkappend>> <<linkappend "Feminine name suggestions">> [[Beatrix|PS1P6-1][$name to "Beatrix"]] [[Merope|PS1P6-1][$name to "Merope"]] [[Darshana|PS1P6-1][$name to "Darshana"]] <</linkappend>> <<linkappend "Neutral name suggestions">> [[Auri|PS1P6-1][$name to "Auri"]] [[Haris|PS1P6-1][$name to "Haris"]] [[Roshan|PS1P6-1][$name to "Roshan"]] <</linkappend>> <<textbox "$name" "Please capitalize." autofocus>> <a data-passage="PS1P6-1"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

“Ah, ambitions." Killing Gods, protection, payment. Your head throbs. Do you even want to know how they found out about your Blessing? “Survival instincts.” “A much more important trait to foster.” They nod. One doesn’t need to be clever to notice the hypocrisy dripping from every word. “Let’s start with what may fill your empty stomach. Twenty-five Walis a week, how does that sound?” <<if $origins === "Althaus">> You never thought you’d see this much money again. Just how powerful must these people be? <<elseif $origins isnot "Althaus">> Your eyes widen. To say such a value around… Just how powerful must these people be? <</if>> Your silence seems to be answer enough. Larcenist is fond of talking in your place. “I ask for a single task performed: there are tethers linking the Seven-Headed Serpent to this world, one for each God. Only a person Blessed by one may deal the killing blow on their deity’s tether. If you are unwilling to risk your skin more than necessary, there you have it.” “One could get executed by proxy.” “Yes, but it’s the best offer of safety you'll receive.” The women’s muttered talking rises to arguing, voices slurred and heavy to the point of unrecognition, needles glittering in an invitation for violence. <a data-passage="PS1P7.1"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

"I know you're staying in the attic of a woman named Magdalena. I know you've been wandering around hopelessly for two months now, desperate and out of luck. And yes, I know what happened in that... <<link [[Household. (Fuchs, Commoner origin)|PS1P6-2]]>> <<set $origins to "Fuchs">> <<set $nimble to Math.clamp($nimble + 6, 0, $maxnimble)>> <<updatemeter '$nimblebar' `$nimble / $maxnimble`>> <<set $resourceful to Math.clamp($resourceful + 6, 0, $maxresourceful)>> <<updatemeter '$resourcefulbar' `$resourceful / $maxresourceful`>> <</link>> <<link [[Wedding. (Althaus, Noble origin)|PS1P6-2]]>> <<set $origins to "Althaus">> <<set $knowledgeable to Math.clamp($knowledgeable + 6, 0, $maxknowledgeable)>> <<updatemeter '$knowledgeablebar' `$knowledgeable / $maxknowledgeable`>> <<set $prestigious to Math.clamp($prestigious + 6, 0, $maxprestigious)>> <<updatemeter '$prestigiousbar' `$prestigious / $maxprestigious`>> <</link>> <<link [[Temple. (Vogel, Priest origin)|PS1P6-2]]>> <<set $origins to "Vogel">> <<set $mystical to Math.clamp($mystical + 6, 0, $maxmystical)>> <<updatemeter '$mysticalbar' `$mystical / $maxmystical`>> <<set $unstoppable to Math.clamp($unstoppable + 6, 0, $maxunstoppable)>> <<updatemeter '$unstoppablebar' `$unstoppable / $maxunstoppable`>> <</link>>

<<set $origins_codex to "true">> <<notify>>CODEX UNLOCKED!<</notify>><<set $origins_choice to "true">> You draw your shoulders into yourself, hands itching to — to //tear//, at yourself or them or anything. “That’s none of your business.” “There are others like you.” Larcenist leans back, though their gaze doesn’t stray from your face. “Each more screwed than the last, but I’m willing to offer my time, effort and resources to protect you. They had a Reckoning today. You and I both are running out of time.” “I could find other ways.” “Yes, you could. However, I know your of talents, and they intrigue me and mine. Consider this a peace offer, as you may still survive even if you sell me out: the oldest member in my rebellion has been acting for five years. We know what we’re doing.” “That’s one fun way of trying to calm someone,” you half sneer, half sigh. Larcenist smiles, sheepish as they run a hand over their hair. “Like I said, you'd be the best addition. Say no, though, and we keep our silence as long as you keep yours. No one wins if all of us go for the knife in the back, so to speak.” “Kill the Orphics.” You rest your head against the rough wall. “Or, if you are understandably squeamish, cast a single spell.” “Are you not <i>understandably squeamish</i>?” “Compared to you? No. Compared to others you may meet? Yes.” Larcenist muffles a laugh against a gloved palm, locks of pale hair falling on their face as sweat undoes their styled neatness. “Ask me something else, it’s better if we move along fast.” <a data-passage="PS1P5-14"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

Larcenist gets up in less than a heartbeat, relieving Vic of half of xir load. Xe laughs, setting yours on the table. It’s a bubbling bowl of green beans and smoking pieces of meat, and you might cry in relief or thankfulness, stomach devouring itself. “Aren’t you a charmer.” Vic nudges Larcenist, a smile lingering. They wave a hand. “Words of surly grandparents and overloaded servers.” You dig into it as Larcenist drags xem away. The food is thick in your mouth, fulfilling. A starving person could go on for hours after this meal. All vague memories of something called manners disappear. When they return and start picking at their food with grace and patience, the contrast cuts deeper. You’re an animal gorging yourself, trying to fill the gnawing void leaking from belly to your body’s every corner. <a data-passage="PS1P8-1"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

They press on, undaunted. “The Hands will come for you soon. They know you’ve been staying in Magdalena’s attic. There’ll be a Reckoning next week.” Your hands curl into fists under the table. “How can I tell if you’re being honest?” Larcenist rolls their neck languidly. They don’t shy from your attention — no, they don’t flinch, meeting you heads on. “I have nothing but my word, however much you decide it’s worth. But i'ts hard to ignore that breed of warning, no?” “When?” “You were terribly lucky,” they say, food forgotten, gloves damp from their cup. "Terribly lucky indeed today's Reckoning demanded so much attention and preparation.” That is and isn’t an answer. Blood thumps loud in your ears. “When?” “Walk through shadow and under the rose. They’re looking for you tonight.” <a data-passage="PS1P10"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

Yourself an owner of a stolen — //accidental// — Blessing, you howl with the crowd, throat raw and veins thrumming. But when the priestess, her guards and the poor fool pass, taking with them a murmur of doom in the air, you duck your head and move along. The sun is egg yolk yellow and merciless above your head, melting away the city’s colors, and people are too busy shouldering each other for space or yelling prices or prayers to care about a solitary figure braving alleys and meandering paths. A good day for illicit meetings and desperate people grabbing opportunities by the neck. Your stomach clenches, acidic in its emptiness, and you blink away black spots from your vision. A rawboned, skinny boy leans on a wall, skewers gleaming under sunlight and puffing out smoke. He notices you looking, and something akin to hope lights up his face. “You hungry, esteemed?” He brandishes a skewer like a sword, eyebrows raised. <<link [[“I’m not.” You walk away briskly.|PS1P2]]>> <<set $genial to $genial - 1>> <<set $vendorboy to "false">> <<set $reputation to $reputation + 1>> <</link>> <<link [[“No, thank you.”|PS1P2]]>> <<set $genial to $genial + 1>> <<set $reputation to $reputation + 1>> <<set $vendorboy to "true">> <</link>> <<link [[You shake your head and walk along.|PS1P2]]>> <<set $reputation to $reputation - 1>> <<set $vendorboy to "true">> <</link>> <<link [[You don’t bother to answer.|PS1P2]]>> <<set $reputation to $reputation - 1>> <<set $vendorboy to "false">> <</link>>

No one has reason to report you to the Hands. Or do they? You clumsily step over a flea-bitten, gaunt dog, its sleeping form taking most of the alley. Hope’s Hole should be some corners away, and inside it either your last chance or your doom. <i>They’s good, the Larcenist</i>, a said woman, Magdalena, who had offered some loaves of stone-hard bread and her damp, cockroach-haunted attic, shaking her head at your state and lacing her hands together in prayer or nervousness. <i>Hid Ben, they did, and managed to clear his name after some business with his tithe. And they don’t give a damn, if you’ll forgive the word, about your — you know</i>. And so, you came. <<link [[You have heard about this Larcenist before.|PS1P3]]>> <<set $knowla to "true">> <<set $resourceful to Math.clamp($resourceful + 1, 0, $maxresourceful)>> <<updatemeter '$resourcefulbar' `$resourceful / $maxresourceful`>> <</link>> <<link [[You are more lost than a blind person in a knife fight, but beggars can't be choosers.|PS1P3]]>> <<set $knowla to "false">> <<set $resourceful to Math.clamp($resourceful - 1, 0, $maxresourceful)>> <<updatemeter '$resourcefulbar' `$resourceful / $maxresourceful`>> <</link>>

You make your way inside, small windows letting in puffs of a dry breeze and inklings of light. Sweat circles your neck and crowns your temples. Drool pools in your mouth at the heady smell of green beans, swirling lazily in the air, but you bite your lips and take a seat in the farthest corner, back to the wall. A short, pale and black-haired server heads your way, drenched silver and tired from the kitchen. In a few hours, people might escape from zealous overseers and obligations to grab whatever they can afford. “Hey there, esteemed.” Xe flashes you a smile, leaning against your table. You have an answer ready when someone walks in, steps measured and meandering, bone-pale hair slicked back and green eyes flashing. Tall and broad-shouldered, they take over the entire tavern, and it’s clear they don’t belong among the slow-going, unwashed mess. Not with those clothes, a fine and sheer white shirt and high-waisted, purple plants. Not with this smile, wide, careless and pristine. <<if $knowla === "true">> This must be Larcenist. <<elseif $knowla isnot "true">> You can guess who this might be. <</if>> “Vic, little liege! Is there food ready yet?” <a data-passage="PS1P4"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

<<if $question1 === "true">> <<elseif $question1 isnot "true">> [['"Who are you?"'|PS1P5]] <</if>> <<if $question2 === "true">> <<elseif $question2 isnot "true">> [[“Do you come here every day hoping someone will be waiting?”|PS1P6]] <</if>> <<if $question1 === "true" and $question2 === "true">> [['"Tell me more about the job."'|PS1P7]] <</if>>

She’s the most famous, or infamous, playwright of Staseele, and some dare say of the continent. People gather in plazas to watch her works, their numbers so vast it daunts even some of the Hands. Most wear masks. The actors always do. They are sharp and rhyming, over as soon as they begin to let people disappear, a fast-paced, comedic drama dripping poison from every line. <i>They who steal tithes are thieves, they who steal fortunes wear golden sleeves, and they who steal more go from baron to folklore</i>, she says. Laundress and shopkeeper alike mutter it under their breaths, a day-to-day prayer. Larcenist raises two fingers and lowers them in a diagonal line. <i>Quaedam</i> — a non-verbal shrug. You had never seen this gesture outside the Hellmouth’s plays. “She’d be delighted to hear this. Have you ever paid attention to what Staseele’s bloodiest pen writes, though? Deviancy and rebellion! How does a person like her keep writing freely?” “You can’t be saying —” “Can’t I?” “I’m sorry.” Vic says, xir voice loud and thunderous as xe stumbles from the kitchen, arms full of steaming plates and two cups. “You’re lucky. All fresh food.” <a data-passage="PS1P8"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

Your portion disappears too soon, bowl picked clean. Larcenist doesn’t raise their gaze from their own. Overfullness strikes not long after as you stare at the cracked walls as the women grow loud and quiet in waves outside, the sun brighter and the wind drier. A good day for desperate deals. Larcenist’s presence presses against your skin, demanding. There are a dozen ways to describe their offer — madness, trap, foolishness. They cover their mouth and swallow. “I suppose you don’t have an answer yet.” “That’s one unexpected bargain.” You eye their plate. “One last piece of advice, free of charge.” Their eyes bore into your own, fey and green and bright. “How does that sound for trusting each other?” “Trust cannot be bought.” "Even with actions?" <a data-passage="PS1P9"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

//''Thieves of Divinity''// is a high fantasy and political game in which you control the Senseless, a character out of luck and options after accidentaly receiving a piece of the Faceless One's power. This story is intended for 16+ audiences, and the rating may be updated in the future. It'll include frequent mentions of body horror, hallucinations, violence, death, State oppression, religion, and political anxiety. Each chapter will contain its own list of trigger warnings, and I'd be happy to add //any// warning that's deemed necessary. Finally, I am open to criticism (and making the appropriate changes) regarding my representation of gender, sexuality, race, cultures, disabilities and any other topic that might have been done clumsily or offensively. This game is a learning experience for me, and I want it to be as inclusive as possible. I hope you have a good experience! [[Start game|Character creation 1]]

What is your gender? [[Man|Trans][$gender to "male"]] [[Woman|Trans][$gender to "female"]] [[I don't have a gender|Character creator 3][$gender to "agender"]] [[My gender is fluid|Character creator 3][$gender to "genderfluid"]] [[My gender doesn't exist in the binary|Character creator 3][$gender to "$non-binary"]] [[I have more than one gender|Character creator 3][$gender to "multigender"]]

Please insert your pronouns and don't capitalize. Subject pronouns: he, she, they, etcetera. <<textbox "$a_he" "" autofocus>> Object pronouns: him, her, them, etcetera. <<textbox "$a_him" "" autofocus>> Possessive adjectives: his, her, their, etcetera. <<textbox "$a_his" "" autofocus>> Possessive pronouns: his, hers, theirs, etcetera. <<textbox "$a_hiss" "" autofocus>> Reflexive pronouns: himself, herself, themself, etcetera. <<textbox "$a_himself" "" autofocus>> Form of address: boy, girl, kid, etcetera. <<textbox "$a_boy" "" autofocus>> Form of address: man, woman, person, etcetera. <<textbox "$a_man" "" autofocus>> Form of address: brother, sister, sibling, etcetera. <<textbox "$a_brother" "" autofocus>> Do you use singular or plural? [[Singular|Character creation 2][$plural to "false"]] [[Plural|Character creation 2][$plural to "true"]]

How tall are you? [[Extremely tall (taller than 195 cm/6'3)|Character creator 4][$height to "extremely tall"]] [[Tall (180 cm to 195 cm/5'9 to 6'3)|Character creator 4][$height to "tall"]] [[Average (165 cm to 180 cm/5'4 to 5'9)|Character creator 4][$height to "average"]] [[Short (150 cm to 165 cm/4'9 to 5'4)|Character creator 4][$height to "short"]] [[Extremely short (shorter than 150 cm/4'9)|Character creator 4][$height to "extremely short"]]

What is your hair color? [[Black|Character creation 5][$hair_color to "black"]] [[Dark brown|Character creation 5][$hair_color to "dark brown"]] [[Light brown|Character creation 5][$hair_color to "light brown"]] [[Dark blond|Character creation 5][$hair_color to "dark blond"]] [[Golden blond|Character creation 5][$hair_color to "golden blond"]] [[Strawberry blond|Character creation 5][$hair_color to "strayberry blond"]] [[Ash blond|Character creation 5][$hair_color to "ash blond"]] [[Gray|Character creation 5][$hair_color to "gray"]] [[White|Character creation 5][$hair_color to "white"]] [[Red|Character creation 5][$hair_color to "red"]] [[Ginger|Character creation 5][$hair_color to "ginger"]] [[Copper|Character creation 5][$hair_color to "copper"]] [[Dyed|Dyed hair color]] [[I'm blad|Character creation 7][$hair_color to "bald"]]

How long is your hair? [[Knee-length|Character creation 6][$hair_length to "knee length"]] [[Hip-length|Character creation 6][$hair_length to "hip length"]] [[Waist-length|Character creation 6][$hair_length to "waist length"]] [[Midback long|Character creation 6][$hair_length to "mid back long"]] [[Shoulder-length|Character creation 6][$hair_length to "shoulder length"]] [[Chin-length|Character creation 6][$hair_length to "chin length"]] [[Short|Character creation 6][$hair_length to "short"]] [[Closely cropped|Character creation 6][$hair_length to "closely cropped"]] [[Shaved|Character creation 6][$hair_length to "shaved"]]

What is your hair color? <<textbox "$hair_color" "Please don't capitalize" autofocus>> [[Next|Character creation 5]]

How is your hair styled? [[Straight|Character creation 7][$hair_texture to "straight"]] [[Wavy|Character creation 7][$hair_texture to "wavy"]] [[Loosely curled|Character creation 7][$hair_texture to "loosely curled"]] [[Tightly curled|Character creation 7][$hair_texture to "tightly curled"]] [[Coiled|Character creation 7][$hair_texture to "coily"]] [[Cloud-like|Character creation 7][$hair_texture to "cloud-like"]] [[Braided|Character creation 7][$hair_texture to "braided"]] [[Other|Hair style]]

What is your skin color? [[Onyx|Character creation 7-1][$skin_color to "onyx"]] [[Mahogany|Character creation 7-1][$skin_color to "mahogany"]] [[Russet brown|Character creation 7-1][$skin_color to "russet brown"]] [[Ochre|Character creation 7-1][$skin_color to "ochre"]] [[Umber|Character creation 7-1][$skin_color to "umber"]] [[Siena|Character creation 7-1][$skin_color to "sienna"]] [[Golden|Character creation 7-1][$skin_color to "golden"]] [[Olive|Character creation 7-1][$skin_color to "olive"]] [[Tanned|Character creation 7-1][$skin_color to "tanned"]] [[Beige|Character creation 7-1][$skin_color to "beige"]] [[Ivory|Character creation 7-1][$skin_color to "ivory"]] [[White|Character creation 7-1][$skin_color to "white"]]

How is your hair styled? <<textbox "$hair_texture" "Please don't capitalize">> [[Next|Character creation 7]]

Do you have tattoos? [[Yes, many.|Character creation 9][$tattoos to "many tattoos"]] [[Yes, a few.|Character creation 9][$tattoos to "a few tattoos"]] [[Yes, one.|Character creation 9][$tattoos to "one tattoo"]] [[No.|Character creation 9][$tattoos to "no tattoos"]]

Do you have any big scars? [[Yes, many.|Character creation 10][$scars to "many scars"]] [[Yes, a few.|Character creation 10][$scars to "a few scars"]] [[Yes, one.|Character creation 10][$scars to "one scar"]] [[No.|Character creation 10][$scars to "no scars"]]

Your pronouns are $a_he/$a_him. You are $gender. You are $height. <<if $hair_color === "bald">> You're blad. <<elseif $hair_color isnot "bald">> <</if>> Your hair is $hair_color, $hair_texture, and $hair_length. You have $skin_color skin and $eye_color eyes. <<if $additions === "true">> You have $freckles, $acne, $vitiligo, $tattoos, $piercings and $scars. <</if>> Is this information correct? [[Yes|TRIGGERS]] [[No|Character creation 1]]

What is your eye color? [[Black|Character creation 7-2][$eye_color to "black"]] [[Dark brown|Character creation 7-2][$eye_color to "dark brown"]] [[Light brown|Character creation 7-2][$eye_color to "light brown"]] [[Amber|Character creation 7-2][$eye_color to "amber"]] [[Hazel|Character creation 7-2][$eye_color to "hazel"]] [[Dark green|Character creation 7-2][$eye_color to "dark green"]] [[Light green|Character creation 7-2][$eye_color to "light green"]] [[Dark blue|Character creation 7-2][$eye_color to "dark blue"]] [[Light blue|Character creation 7-2][$eye_color to "light blue"]] [[Gray|Character creation 7-2][$eye_color to "gray"]] [[Mismatched|Character creation 7-2][$eye_color to "mismatched"]]

Would you like to add features such freckles, acne, vitiligo, piercings, tattoos and scars? [[Yes|Character creation 8][$additions to "true"]] [[No|Confirmation][$additions to "false"]]

Do you have vitiligo? [[Yes|Character creation 11][$vitiligo to "vitiligo"]] [[No|Character creation 11][$vitiligo to "no vitiligo"]]

Do you have freckles? [[Yes|Character creation 12][$freckles to "freckles"]] [[No|Character creation 12][$freckles to "no freckles"]]

Do you have acne? [[Yes|Character creation 13][$acne to "acne"]] [[No|Character creation 13][$acne to "no acne"]]

Do you have piercings? [[Yes, many.|Confirmation][$piercings to "many piercings"]] [[Yes, a few.|Confirmation][$piercings to "a few piercings"]] [[Yes, one.|Confirmation][$piercings to "one piercing"]] [[No.|Confirmation][$piercings to "no piercings"]]

Are you transgender? [[Yes|Character creator 3][$trans to "trans"]] [[No|Character creator 3][$trans to "cis"]]

Larcenist’s head turns to look at the kitchen, where Vic and a shadow move fast, the smell of green beans and spice growing headier. You drown in their pale, aristocratic profile. Food must be almost finished. You bite your tongue, fighting off the incoming pangs of hunger. “And what about protection? Is that everything you can offer on protection?” They grin, wide and reckless, twirling the ribbons tying their shirt closed. “A $a_man after my own heart! No, it’s not. We have our own spies, spell-casters and soldiers — solid enough we can afford public confrontations. You know the Hellmouth, don’t you?” “Find me someone who doesn’t,” you snort. <a data-passage="PS1P7-1"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

Your screw your eyes shut, breath scratching your lungs to nothing, and force yourself to open them. Larcenist hums, eyebrows furrowed in sympathy. Looking for you tonight — it’s a long walk through Storm’s Kiss to the house you were hiding in, to poor Magdalena who might hang for helping you. Where should flee to? The Hands raid empty houses in the sunken Old City, patrol the streets, question neighbors. You want to shrug off this ominous warning but <i>can’t</i>. “Swear it seven times.” “Strange thing to ask from a heretic.” They smile, a small thing. “I swear seven times for the seven gods, each part owed their due and my honor. How does that sound, $name?.” How much are these words worth to them? To //you//? You rub your forehead, bones creaking like rusted hinges. “Shit.” Larcenist shoves their hair away from their face. “Shit,” they agree, easy and weightless, tone smooth until it snaps in a cutting question. “Say yes or no.” A memory overtakes you, a sharp reminder of the stakes in question. <<if $origins === "Althaus">> <a data-passage="ALTHAUS1"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a> <<elseif $origins === "Vogel">> <a data-passage="VOGEL1"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a> <<elseif $origins === "Fuchs">> <a data-passage="FUCHS1"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a> <</if>>

A six-armed dancer, one of the Transubstantiated, twirls and swirls and dazzles on the center of the room, her long, dyed-red hair fluttering at each spin. There is a net of silver bells wrapped around all her wrists, and they twinkle and toll relentlessly, trailing her every moment. Her eyes are covered by a white blindfold embroidered with green, shimmering thread, though you’re too far to make the minute details. They’re called pythonesses by the priestly folk, and People by the commons. Even in Staseele, few brave to step in their way. “Freaky,” Maximilian drawls, hiding a sharp smile on his glass. Freaky indeed, but also nimble and precise. A godly aberration. “Don’t be cruel,” Adrian chides, voice low and raspy. His fingers twitch on the table. “She’s already suffering enough, being employed by the Hatzfeld in this accursed heat.” Maximilian chuckles, “Those pesky wages.” <a data-passage="ALTHAUS2"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

“Pay attention.” Salt-Washed Vogel frowns to your hastily sketched prayer lines, smoothing a sharp angle to a curve with her thumb. “We don’t want any third arms.” You swallow, ears ringing with the undying melody haunting the Mirror House and ricocheting through every corner. A building pressure, filling your skull with voices and songs coming from nowhere, from everywhere. //A good omen//, Rose would say. The Faceless One is reacting to your temple’s offerings and prayers, to the space offered without rancor and hesitation. Blessings go in more smoothly when there’s no hidden protest. You blink away the spots in your vision. Back to salt symbols. Salt-Washed Vogel hums, sticking her a strand of light brown hair behind her ear. She’s good at rituals. Patient like the sea driving away coastal towns. She was a housekeeper or a tailor before, Adelia Vogel whispers, and it bleeds into her every action. Her salt goes up in blue flames, and those wisps float high. It smells of sea rot and flowers, the sharp and crackling fire that lasts for half a heartbeat. Yours doesn’t flicker or grows warm. You run a hand over your face — where’s the miscalculation? The lines dance in front of your tired vision, bone-white and swirling, maddening circles on the bronze table. Salt-Washed Vogel leans to look at them again over your shoulder. Her mouth pinches, fingers digging into her palms. Since Rose announced you would have to prepare to receive the Faceless One’s Blessing, work has been endless. Symbols to draw, water to haul from the harbor, candles to lit, prayers to conduct. “Do you think it will be enough to control the…” Salt-Washed Vogel trails off meaningfully. You look to the thirteen symbols floating on the ceiling, their light thin but unwavering. The Mirror House never needed more than seven before. [['"Yes."'|VOGEL2][$answer to "yes"]] [['"Maybe."'|VOGEL2][$answer to "maybe"]] [['"No."'|VOGEL2][$answer to "no"]]

“Fetch me the salt, $a_boy!” snaps once cloistered sister Wilhelmina, bent over her desk as blue symbols flutter lazily in the air. She’s three steps away from the bowl. You fetch her the damn salt, stone-hewn silence haunting your tongue as you scowl. Standing too close to the sister’s workstation makes your eyes water and sting, a headachy pressure building behind them, so you return to your perch on the other side of the room with fluttering, quick steps, otherwise unmoving. She huffs. “Honestly, servants these days.” It’d be foolish to point out sister Wilhelmina is two months late in your payments. You don’t. If your eyes roll in the privacy of being unseen, that’s your business. “Why the fuck isn’t this one working?” she drawls, hammering a hand down the magnificently carved table. The impact makes her wince and hiss, curling said hand. “If that bloody leech sold me the wrong scrolls, I’ll flay them alive!” May this person be spending their hard-earned coin in peace as you certainly aren’t spending yours. You lean on the wall, not permitted a chair or to sit on the floor, and your knees and feet ache something fierce and liquid. Sister Wilhelmina continues with her insistent complains, shaking her head like a rabid dog. “Bring me the box I left in the winter garden.” You hesitate for a heartbeat, peeling yourself from the wall. The sister snarls. “Now!” Work for a holy woman, they said. Best paying, easiest job this side of the city’s walls, they said. Bastard. <a data-passage="FUCHS2"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

<<if $answer === "yes">> “Praised be,” she whispers, sinking back on her chair. <<set $divinity to $divinity + 1>> <<set $swvapproval to "1">> <<elseif $answer === "maybe">> “Vogel,” she whispers, eyes darting from shadow to shadow. “Of course it will.” <<elseif $answer === "no">> “Vogel,” she whispers, eyes darting from shadow to shadow. “Of course it will.” <<set $divinity to $divinity - 1>> <<$swvapproval to "0>> <</if>> Silence reigns supreme in the small room. You add angles and curves and arching lines, the symbols burned into your mind after hours of Rose explaining them in gross detail. Circles for identity, which must be soft and an ever-shifting creature at home in the Mirror House. Corners for the Faceless One’s ambitions and actions. It takes some fiddling, the pressure growing and retreating in uneven pulses, a filling and retreating tide, until yours finally lights up and floats to join the others above your head. “Nice work.” “Yes!” Behind you, a voice agrees, airy and cheerful. You flinch. “Very nice work, indeed. A strong seal to make everything calm and controlled.” It’s Rose. He’s a skinny, short man with a mop of black hair and lighthouse-bright eyes under a pair of spectacles. His smile, though. Being target of Rose’s smiles could make a person ten years into grieving dance in joy. You smile back without even noticing. He stretches the syllables of <i>calm and controlled</i> playfully. Salt-Washed Vogel bows her head, pale hands sitting demure on her lap. “We’ve had little to no trouble. Will the Blessing come to us tomorrow morning as informed?” Rose laughs. “Nay! We move at midnight. Stay strong, don’t stray.” You frown. <i>Midnight</i>? The air buzzes with power, and it'll grow worse in that fated hour. Rituals and spells thrum to contain the excess of power the Faceless One tends to share. A generous Deity. Most generous, indeed. Salt-Washed Vogel remains as expressive as a carved statue. Rose seems to notice your hesitation, however, and fixes his blue stare on your face. “Vogel, you needn’t to worry yourself. It’ll be a glorious night; I can feel it.” [[“To whom will the Blessing go?”|VOGEL3][$question to "true"]] [[You nod. Most nights are glorious to Rose.|VOGEL3][$question to "false"]]

<<if $question === "true">> “To the worthiest of us.” Rose claps his hands, still smiling. The thrumming melody doesn’t seem to reach him. “I need a favor, however. Are you two free?” <<elseif $question isnot "true">> “Splendid.” Rose claps his hands, still smiling. The thrumming, pulsating melody doesn’t seem to bother him. “I need a favor, however. Are you two free?” <</if>> “Yes,” Salt-Washed Vogel rushes to answer. “My thanks. The pythonesses are busy peering into their mysteries and preparing our little abode. Would you mind delivering their food?” Rose rocks on the balls of his feet. “I wouldn’t want to drag the soothsayers from their obligations.” He winks. Salt-Washed Vogel rises from her chair, tall and imperious like a lancer or a marmoreal colossus, rough, gray skirts swirling around her feet with a faint wind’s murmur. She bows her head again in quiet deference, looking at you with round eyes full of hope and forthright expectation. You repeat her gestures, a dancer falling in line with equal grace. “Thank you again.” Rose gives you both quick hugs. “We’re all so busy.” He is less abrasive than most temple leaders you met before. And far politer. Salt-Washed Vogel releases a breath when he leaves. Her heavy eyebrows are furrowed, contemplation etched on her face. You dig your fingers into your nape, releasing the tension of craning your head up and down to oversee the prayer lines. <<link [['"We should go together."'|VOGEL4]]>> <<set $swvapproval to $swvapproval + 1>> <<set $swvscene to "1">> <</link>> <<link [[“I can go alone.”|VOGEL4]]>> <<set $swvapproval to $swvapproval + 2>> <<set $swvscene to "2">> <</link>> <<link [[“You can go alone, right?”|VOGEL4]]>> <<set $swvapproval to $swvapproval -1>> <<set $swvscene to "3">> <</link>>

<<if $swvscene === "1">> Salt-Washed Vogel nods, though a small smile graces her features, and she seems almost fond. “Yes, I was thinking that too. You never know with the pythonesses.” <<elseif $swvscene === "2">> Salt-Washed Vogel puts herself in your way to the door. “There’s no need. We were called to do it together, weren’t we? Besides, you never know with the pythonesses.” <<elseif $swvscene === "3">> Salt-Washed Vogel frowns, picking at her billowing sleeves. The line of her thinned mouth is severe and displeased, and her knuckles grow white. “We were called to do it together, weren’t we? Besides, you never know with the pythonesses. Follow me.” <</if>> She holds onto your arm and guides you out, though the Mirror House’s ways were burned on your ribcage long before she ever came to this temple. The white and blue walls undulate. Through the vein-like corridors, you find a veritable army of servants — ten, more than you’d ever seen before — scrubbing candlesticks, lamps and doorknobs. The kitchens, however, are near silent. Stygian, a new cook, alone drags a pan of reheated soup from the fire. They wave you along, crowned by silver sweat. “You’re the offering for our prophets?” “Something like that,” you <<if $divinity > 50>> say. <<elseif $divinity <= 50>> groan. <</if>> Stygian shakes their head, a feigned but accurate mournful tone sticking to their words. “That’s damn sad. I’ll be sure to tell the newcomers to take your best trousers.” Salt-Washed Vogel giggles quietly, and Stygian’s eyes widen before a contented, sated grin spreads on their mouth. “Must be speaking for Vogel. My best trousers aren’t that nice.” [[“Mine neither.”|VOGEL5][$scene to "true"]] [[“You wouldn’t. We can’t have the newcomers getting comfortable.”|VOGEL5][$scene to "true"]] [[“My last wish is going to be being buried wearing them now.”|VOGEL5][$scene to "true"]] [['"This is adorable, but we need to feed the snakes."'|VOGEL5][$scene to "false"]]

<<if $scene === "true">> Stygian ignores you and wrings their hands. “Your skirts are.” Salt-Washed Vogel ducks her head, a creature akin to a girlish blush dusting her cheeks. Stygian leans against one of the tables, pan long forgotten. “You’re too nice.” She shakes her head. “But we shouldn’t make the pythonesses wait. They’re thrice the monsters when hungry.” “Yeah,” Stygian agrees, obvious in their disappointment. “’Til later.” Salt-Washed Vogel waves, picks up the pan and walks away before you can blink. You’re made to trail after her awkwardly. <<elseif $scene isnot "true">> <<set $genial to $genial - 2>> <<set $swvapproval to $swvapproval - 1>> Salt-Washed Vogel ducks her head, a creature akin to a girlish blush dusting her cheeks. Stygian changes their weight from foot to foot. “Yes, of course,” she says, prim and impeccable. “Let’s go. The pythonesses are thrice the monsters when hungry.” “Yeah,” Stygian agrees, obvious in their disappointment. “’Til later.” Salt-Washed Vogel waves, picks up the pan and walks away before you can blink. You’re made to trail after her awkwardly. <</if>> Ah, temple romances. Balancing dishes and plates, you and Salt-Washed Vogel head downwards, two solemn shadows. A fresh-faced newcomer winces in your direction when you pass by him, his sympathy clear. You finally reach a locked door a floor under the earth, the pythonesses’ song echoing through solid wood. Here, the air overflows with static and fills the space in your throat, dry as sandpaper. <<if $swvapproval > 1>> She hastes her step to overtake you and, in a remarkable show of coordination, manages to undo the lock without spilling any broth. <<elseif $swvapproval <= 1>> She hands you the key and waits, unblinking. <</if>> //Fine//. The door opens smoothly, and the song stops like a snapped life thread. <a data-passage="VOGEL6"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

A pythoness close to you turns around, a pained and unbalanced effort as dozens of small tentacles slide on the smooth floor, the same rosy pink of its skin. It almost collapses on the floor, light brown eyes wide and shocked, but it manages to lean on the walls. Another stares moodily, snake-like eyes motionless on your face, the scales crowning its temples shining purple. You and Salt-Washed Vogel set the food and the plates on a table by the door, the soothsayers staring in sepulchral silence, though the ringing in your ears rises, an angry sea threatening to engulf your thoughts. Unprompted, your ever-sharp companion takes a breadbasket before you can drop it, and she moves both undauntedly and efficiently, avoiding any creature that might wander close. The table is set, pythonesses wandering in your direction to eat, eyes bright and faces elongated in evident hunger. You and Salt-Washed Vogel retreat, key brandished like a sword to lock them in again, when one grabs your wrist. Its hair is long and dark, tucked in a serious and elegant braid, and its vibrant, black eyes are lined by dark blue kohl. You would mistake it for a normal person until it opens its mouth to start babbling, a torrent of words and snake venom dripping from its lips’ corners, white foam staining on the ground and cold against your skin. It threatens to crush your wrist with unsubdued strength. “Danger,” the pythoness croaks. [[You push it away.|VOGEL7]] [[You freeze.|VOGEL7-1]] [["What?" Are you in danger or the danger?|VOGEL7-2]] [["Speak plainly," you demand.|VOGEL7-2]]

<<$divinity -= 1>> Salt-Washed Vogel gets in its way before it can pounce back, dragging you and herself outside the room and locking the door. Her body is tense and coiled, knuckles white around the key. Her gaze roams nervously over your form. When Salt-Washed Vogel seems satisfied you are in one piece, she releases a breath, holding the key close to her chest. Your heart thrums and runs, a stiff chill spreading through your arm, wrist joint cracking when you test it. The pythoness’ bright eyes flash in your mind — <i>danger</i>. This is not the warning anyone wants before a Blessing. “We should try and rest,” you suggest, voice thin and reedy even to your own ears. Salt-Washed Vogel nods quickly. “You go first, I’ll give back the key.” The relentless thrumming and thundering that reverberates on the walls follows you to your small cells, and each light casts long, deep shadows on the ceiling. You don’t sleep. [[Later that night...|VOGEL 8]]

Exhaustion forces your eyelids shut through the feast. Incense smoke makes odd shapes in the air, gray, airy and ever-present. Sweat drips down your back and pools on your neck. No wind disturbs the Mirror House’s main hall, where you sit shoulder to shoulder between Salt-Washed Vogel and a visiting priest from another temple, eir fidgeting and muttering rattling your mind. It’s hot like an oven, shadows thick and tinged blue with the light of the symbols you carved earlier floating above. Rose drones on and on about joy and thankfulness, his face flushed and thrilled, a smile going from ear to ear, proud speech melting into the weightless music of tambourines and violas. You lean back in the bench, rubbing your eyes, a yawn locked in your throat. Pork and beans, sugarcane juice and brown sugar candy go from hand to hand. Salt-Washed Vogel nudges your shoulder and muffles a laugh into her clay cup. Rose has convinced the severe, Red Hand cleric who was listening to his excited monologue to dance, and between the two of them, they have around half a dancer. “Who do you will be Blessed?” the visiting priest whispers, toying with eir their sleeve. “Rose, most likely.” Your eyes sweep over the crowded hall. [[Next|VOGEL 9]]

Word would’ve spread if there was someone missing or preparing to receive a Blessing. It’s impossible to keep a secret in such tight quarters unless it happens inside your head alone. The priest hums, digesting your answer. “It could be a locational one too,” Salt-Washed Vogel points out. Her eyes reflect the blue symbol-light, face turned gaunt and odd despite the small smile gracing her lips. You raise an eyebrow. “The safety measures.” She gestures up, wooden bracelets clinking together. A festive occasion indeed. You have never seen Salt-Washed Vogel so adorned. “I only saw so many when multiple people would share or when a place would be the receiver.” “Locational, then.” The cleric opens eir mouth to ask you another question, but Rose wanders close, eyes lit from within and smile widening more. He’s flushed, sweaty and delighted, voice booming when addresses you, “Vogel, a dance if you may? It’s quite the occasion.” [[You can’t dance to save your life. Better not.|VOGEL10][$dance to "1"]] [[You aren’t in the mood for a dance.|VOGEL10][$dance to "2"]] [[You flash him a smile and agree despite your tiredness.|VOGEL10][$dance to "3"]] [[You’re going to show him true dancing.|VOGEL10][$dance to "4"]]

Regardless of any protest of you might or not have, Rose’s cheer infects the air. It’s impossible to say no, and you find yourself tugged to the open space in the center of the room, other people stomping their feet and clapping and rushing into dances. Neither you or Rose are particularly dedicated to formality or known steps, and the music mingles with the pressure in your ears. <<if $dance === "3" || $dance === "4">> It disturbs whatever excitement or skill you might’ve had. <<elseif $dance === "1" || $dance === "2">> It makes you even clumsier and distracted. <</if>> He seems happy leading anyway. You bite your tongue, worrying it between your teeth. Should you tell him about the growing tension, the relentless melody stuck between your ears? Rose is the head of the Mirror House: he knows better than anyone how to deal with the Faceless One’s many mysteries. It might be an omen, though, and you aren’t sure if you’re in for a sermon or, worse still, suspicion and questions. He raises an eyebrow, saving your feet from being stepped on at the last moment. “Is everything alright?” [[Tell him.|VOGEL11][$revolution -= 1]] [[Don't tell him.|VOGEL11][$revolution += 1]]

“I’ve been… hearing a song,” you mutter, voice pitched to a careful whisper. Signals and omens are a reality in the Mirror House, but one that often spells danger. Rose perks up, however, eyes widening, pressing you to continue talking wordlessly. His hands tighten around yours. People who are already wet shouldn’t be afraid of going out in the rain. Taking a deep breath that rattles your ribs, you weave your account. “It started six days ago, a faint melody. I could barely notice it.” A delicate thrumming, a lyre’s lovely song. “But it kept growing louder and louder, and sometimes it’s full of whispers in tongues I don’t understand. Do you have any advice to spare?” “Do I have —,” Rose laughs, disbelieving. “Vogel, this is wonderful news! Most wonderful indeed. You’re more beloved than most, the next Blessing should be yours!” You go still, stumbling a step. Is he saying…? “We should discuss the details tomorrow. It’s important to strength our deity, and if they show signs of approving one of mine, who am I to disagree?” Beloved. <<if $divinity < 50>> //A heavy word to throw around.// <<elseif $divinity >= 50>> //A word I appreciate.// <</if>> “You should sit down, though,” Rose adds, frowning. “You look dead on your feet.” And so, you go back to your seat, back to your wait, tasting his words in the back of your throat. Salt-Washed Vogel and the cleric are still chatting about technicalities, though she smiles at you, <<if $swvapproval > 2>> delighted by your presence, <<elseif $swvapproval < 1>> mocking your dancing stint. <</if>> The next Blessing. Just an implication makes your head spin with possibilities, wild possibilities. It's more power than you ever dreamt of. <a data-passage="VOGEL12"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

“Just tired,” you shrug, eyes darting from his face to the crowd to the walls. Music and merriment and unnatural melody are a weight on your chest, grinding your ribcage to nothing but ruin. “It’s been a long road to make this happen.” Rose believes it as much as you do, despite his willingness to boast, “long but fruitful.” “Long but fruitful,” you echo. He slows down his steps to accommodate your apparent exhaustion, pitching his voice to a careful whisper amidst the endless joy, “Vogel, there are many signs revealing themselves to me these days. We need to strengthen our deity. I’m drafting the plans for another Blessing soon. If you notice anything amiss, for good or ill, please warn me." You frown. “So soon?” “Dangerous times.” Rose squeezes your hands, comforting. “Go sit down. The ceremony will start in a little while, and you look about to pass out.” And so you go back to your seat, back to your wait, tasting his words in the back of your throat. Salt-Washed Vogel and the cleric are still chatting about technicalities, though she smiles at you, <<if $swvapproval > 2>> delighted by your presence, <<elseif $swvapproval < 1>> mocking your dancing stint. <</if>> The next Blessing and dangerous times. You shut your eyes, wisp-thin words ricocheting in your skill — in tongues unknown and sharp. <a data-passage="VOGEL12"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

“Praised be, praised be, praised be,” Rose chants, interrupting the party, hands raised over the crowd. His voice makes your bones creak, old and loud and deep. You lean in, breathing hard. “Tonight, we eat and drink in thy kindness’ name! Tonight, we bask in thy joy.” The very air screeches. Your breath comes out harsh and cold. Despite the food, your stomach contorts in brutal pangs of hunger. Salt-Washed Vogel is nibbling at her fingers. You grit your teeth, crystalline tears clinging to your lashes as smoke rises. The symbols shine brighter, fiercer, until every shadow flees from this all-consuming light. “Siblings, rejoice!” Rose shouts, the words tumbling from his mouth. “Rejoice, rejoice, rejoice! You’ll see a true sign of our Beloved’s power.” He lowers his arms, the silence thundering and hollow after his voice threatened to shatter the earth’s bones. The ringing in your ears grows to a symphony, voices clamoring and singing and intoning in a tongue unknown. Seven, or seven thousand, and twice as many fingers pressing against your skin, trying to reveal your inner self or tear you apart. Rose’s body writhes and waves as if it's being consumed raw and whole. As if he loves becoming the main course. “Be not afraid! You’ll never be the same, nay, but a new, grandiose creature! A signal of power and mercy!” You flinch at the abrupt words, but your heart races. Yes, yes, yes. “Why am I not hearing praise?” Rose claps his hands, dripping sweat and white light. <a data-passage="VOGEL13"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

He’s smiling and crying, twirling around the small stage to look at every single person in the eye. When he catches you, your arms itch to rise and praise, and your feet tap to the imaginary rhythm of the songs played before. Salt-Washed Vogel, however… Her voice is a whip cracking against an ox’s back, a wave dragging people back to the sea’s womb. The verses echo, long and deep, and make your ears bleed with their alien sharpness — //here it comes, here it comes, here it comes, the Most Adored, the Most Chaotic, the Most Wise//. Your throat aches and goes dry when you join her. You don’t know these words. They come anyway. Your eyes don’t stray from Rose. He kneels on the stage, head so low it touches the floor, and when he raises it, it’s contorted, trying to smile and cry and scream all at once. Seven masked cleric climb onto it, standing at his side, their masks glinting silver and sharp. A knife. A bowl. A plate. A bell. A candle. A towel. A pythoness. Rose lights the candle. Its flame is small and near translucent, a white fire that doesn’t waver with the wind. He devours the uniform square of meat on the plate with bare hands and bare teeth. He drinks the bowl dry, a mirror-smooth, black liquid that houses all the world’s secrets. He uses the towel to clean himself and sets it on fire with the candle. He picks knife and turns to the pythoness. <a data-passage="VOGEL14"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

The rosy tentacles. The light brown hair, falling in sweaty curls over its eyes. You recognize this one. Veins burning gold and bright with boldness and holiness, you aren’t afraid to look. It has a soft, bare face — in its past life, it couldn’t have been older than twenty, and retains a tender-footed boyishness despite its wet staggering on the stage. And it retains boyish fears. It doesn’t want to die. Rose raises the knife. The pythoness screams. It shouldn’t have screamed. You have never heard a pythoness scream before. Rose hesitates, knife raised but unmoving. The feverish chanting led by Salt-Washed Vogel grows quiet as if the threads moving their mouths were snapped. //Danger, bottomless danger// screams the chanting housed in your ribcage, behind your eyes, between your ears. //Danger, bottomless danger//, and it happens so slowly. Too slow. <a data-passage="VOGEL15"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

The pythoness throws itself on Rose, a liquid, gurgling sob tearing through its throat, coal-black claws glittering more than the naked blade. Rose tries to stagger back, surprised. Your arms are heavy and waterlogged. Not even the clerics a few steps away move when it grabs him by the neck and tears and tears and tears — The ritual is complete. Praised be. Rose crumples on the floor without a single whisper, red foam and red blood arching on the air and pooling around him. A halo around his head. It grows pale. It starts shining, a gentle moon. The music you’ve been hearing for days stops. The pythoness tries to run but falls, and a fleshy impact echoes in this sealed sepulcher. No one moves — to help or to condemn, no one moves. The blood starts to catch fire, first blinding and then so bright it'd hurt less to look at the sun. You squeeze your eyes shut, and it pierces your paper-thin eyelids. This light has the weight of an iron blanket, resting glacial and suffocating against your flesh. //Enough//, you plead. Nothing comes out. The glow coalesces in a floating sphere, and you must see. It gnaws at itself, trying to break apart — raw humanity and raw divinity eating each other alive. The symbols dim, struggling to devour so much power. Overfull gluttons begging for mercy when none will be given in this eternal feast. They’ll not control this. It wobbles towards the crawling pythoness. <a data-passage="VOGEL16"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

It jerks, the pythoness, and lets out a chilling wail that doesn’t end. Its body grows stiff, trying to flee from the growing pressure, until the light merges with its skin. The soothsayer convulses, each movement more liquid and impossible, members going soft and long. Does it not have bones? Oh. The pythoness is <i>melting</i>. First, the skin comes away. Turned white as a worm and viscous, it drips on the floor. Then flesh, organs, bone, all liquid. The smell burns down your throat, uncaring of the burning incense. Pus and putrefaction; your eyes water. Nothing remains but a thick, opaque puddle. The light — the Blessing, how could you not have realized? — drips out of it. Above, one of the symbols grows dark. Thirteen more to go. Your fingers twitch. Your eyes dart from shadow to shadow. Sounds echo in your throat, locked in by your teeth. A cacophony of struck motionless pleas fill the silence. The Blessing graces another person. Their eyes melt first, and they’re forced to stay still and compliant as it devours them, gnaws at their bones, destroys their flesh. Another person. And another. And another. The symbols dim and flicker, three go out. The Blessing remains uncaring and unflinching of your and Salt-Washed Vogel’s best attempts to contain it. Spring-sweet, viscous terror scratches your throat to nothing along with acidic vomit. Your jaw loosens enough to scream, and scream you do, like all the other doomed. White pus stains your feet. <a data-passage="VOGEL17"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

“Mercy, mercy, mercy!” you shout, writhing in your seat, crystalline tears clinging to your lashes. You don’t want to die. Not yet, not like this. Salt-Washed Vogel manages to get up first. Her legs are unsteady, body too heavy for them to carry far. She tries to run anyway, stumbling and wailing through the slippery slaughter. No songs of praise and adoration, no welcoming her fate. You can’t tear your eyes away. Not even when the Blessing reaches her, and she’s suspended high in the air, jerking in an endless dance of agony, her own flesh dripping like murky water. Her last words are a curse and something garbled, <i>inhuman</i>. There will be no salvation. The Blessing grows hungrier, jumping from person to person in a frenzy, trying to tear itself apart. <a data-passage="VOGEL17-1"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

<<set $divinity to $divinity - 3>> You’re a marionette jerking around. You’re a sacrificial lambed washed for slaughter. You don’t want to be any of this. You can’t. A step. Two. Your feet slide on pus. The door is close. So close. But not close enough. Blood bubbles in your throat as you wail. [[It burns.|VOGEL19]]

<<set $divinity to $divinity + 3>> There’s no running from this. You squeeze your eyes shut, fingers digging into your palms. It’s a Blessing. It’s a blessing. It might be quick. It might spare you. Light dances under your eyelids. Soon. Too fucking soon. [[It burns.|VOGEL19]]

It <<linkappend "burns" t8n>>. Burns //Burns// //BuRNs// //''BURNS''// @@.shudder;BURNS@@ [[PlEAsE|VOGEL20]] <</linkappend>>

@@.blur;LOVE TO THE FACELESS ONE@@

Salt-Washed Vogel untangles you from its punishing grip, dragging you and herself outside the room and locking the door. Her body is tense and coiled, knuckles white around the key. Her gaze nervously roams over your form. When Salt-Washed Vogel seems satisfied you are in one piece, she releases a breath, holding the key close to her chest. Your heart thrums and runs, a stiff chill spreading through your arm, wrist joint cracking when you test it. The pythoness’ bright eyes flash in your mind — <i>danger</i>. This is not the warning anyone wants before a Blessing. “We should try and rest,” you suggest, voice thin and reedy even to your own ears. Salt-Washed Vogel nods quickly. “You go first, I’ll give back the key.” The relentless thrumming and thundering that reverberates on the walls follows you to your small cells, and each light casts long, deep shadows on the ceiling. You don’t sleep. But the warning, the prophecy, swirls in your thoughts. You could discover more if you tried to listen in. Dangerous. An opportunity. Should you? [[Go to sleep.|VOGEL7-3]] [[Find out more.|VOGEL7-4]]

Salt-Washed Vogel gets in the way, prying you from the pythoness and pushing you through the door. She locks it quick, eyes wide and knuckles white around the key, but when her mouth is set in a thin, unamused line. “Trying to talk with it was stupid.” Her eyes roam your figure, a frown distorting her forehead. Her gaze nervously roams over your form. When Salt-Washed Vogel seems satisfied you are in one piece, she releases a breath, holding her arms close to her chest. Your heart thrums and runs, a stiff chill spreading through your arm, wrist joint cracking when you test it. The pythoness’ bright eyes flash in your mind — <i>danger</i>. This is not the warning anyone wants before a Blessing. “We should try and rest,” you suggest, voice thin and reedy to your own ears. Salt-Washed Vogel nods quickly. “You go first, I’ll return the key.” But the warning, the prophecy, swirls in your thoughts. You could discover more if you tried to listen in. Dangerous. An opportunity. Should you? [[Go to sleep.|VOGEL7-3]] [[Find out more.|VOGEL7-4]]

Before we begin this glory-stained tale, we need to settle some details. What are your pronouns? [[He|Character creation 2][$a_he to "he", $a_him to "him", $a_his to "his", $a_hiss to "his", $a_himself to "himself", $a_man to "man", $a_boy to "boy", $a_king to "king", $plural to "false"]] [[She|Character creation 2][$a_he to "she", $a_him to "her", $a_his to "her", $a_hiss to "hers", $a_himself to "herself", $a_man to "woman", $a_boy to "girl", $a_king to "queen", $plural to "false"]] [[They|Character creation 2][$a_he to "they", $a_him to "them", $a_his to "their", $a_hiss to "their", $a_himself to "thmself", $a_man to "person", $a_boy to "kid", $a_king to "monarch", $plural to "true"]] [[Xe|Character creation 2][$a_he to "xe", $a_him to "xem", $a_his to "xyr", $a_hiss to "xyrs", $a_himself to "xyrself", $a_man to "person", $a_boy to "kid", $a_king to "monarch", $plural to "true"]] [[Ve|Character creation 2][$a_he to "ve", $a_him to "ver", $a_his to "vis", $a_hiss to "vis", $a_himself to "verself", $a_man to "person", $a_boy to "kid", $a_king to "monarch", $plural to "true"]] [[Fae|Character creation 2][$a_he to "fae", $a_him to "faer", $a_his to "faer", $a_hiss to "faers", $a_himself to "faerself", $a_man to "person", $a_boy to "kid", $a_king to "monarch", $plural to "true"]] [[Per|Character creation 2][$a_he to "per", $a_him to "per", $a_his to "pers", $a_hiss to "pers", $a_himself to "perself", $a_man to "person", $a_boy to "kid", $a_king to "monarch", $plural to "true"]] [[It|Character creation 2][$a_he to "he", $a_him to "it", $a_his to "its", $a_hiss to "its", $a_himself to "itself", $a_man to "person", $a_boy to "kid", $a_king to "monarch", $plural to "false"]] [[Ey|Character creation 2][$a_he to "ey", $a_him to "em", $a_his to "eir", $a_hiss to "eirs", $a_himself to "eirself", $a_man to "person", $a_boy to "kid", $a_king to "monarch", $plural to "true"]] [[Set your own|Custom pronouns]]

<<set $revolution to $revolution - 1>> <<set $divinity to $divinity - 2>> The relentless thrumming and thundering that reverberates on the walls follows you to your small cells, and each light casts long, deep shadows on the ceiling. You don’t sleep. [[Later that night...|VOGEL 8]]

<<set $pythonessmark to "true">> <<set $revolution to $revolution + 1>> <<set $divinity to $divinity + 2>> Knowledge is the greatest pursuit one can engage in. Especially knowledge about the Seven-Headed Serpent. A godly quest. Salt-Washed Vogel heads off with a tight-lipped, nervous smile, her gaze darting to and away the locked door. She’s frightened by the pythonesses. You want until the echo of her steps doesn’t reach you. Your arm still cold, each shift of muscle sending pinpricks of pain up to your shoulder, you press your ear against the solid surface. Sharp and polished, your bones itch at the faint murmur of song tucked behind stone, wood and metal. //Danger, bottomless danger//. A warning. A prophetic warning given by a pythoness in a Blessing’s dark eve. Salt-Washed Vogel took the key, but you can — Is that… scratching? You press harder against the door, a small sound of confusion bubbling from your mouth. The pythonesses stop their eerie chants, voices ripped apart. Your breath is glacial and punch-quick, each exhale scraping your throat. The silence is viscous, vicious, and your fingers dig into the carved ridges, trembling. A screech — no, a //shriek//, a sound made by seven-thousand throats. The door rattles on its hinges, impact throwing you on your back. You scramble away from the pounding, the relentless and wet crashes, ears burning. When you touch them, your fingers return stained by something white and putrid. You scream. And scream. <a data-passage="VOGEL 7-5"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

“No, no, no,” you whisper frantically, up on shaking legs. The door is still rattling. So, you run, away away away from the hissing, poisonous pythoness. The Mirror House might be empty, a hollow sepulcher. Wetness coats your face. Tears, divine pus — it doesn’t matter anymore. Hollow drums, wordless chants, your mind throbbing and swirling with bone-deep terror. You shouldn’t have — you //shouldn’t// have. You throw yourself in your bed, drowning in your ceiling’s twisting lines, each ridge whispering a story. The ringing in your ears doesn’t subside, doesn’t let go, but they’re dry. An illusion. Magic and divinity turn the air heavy and sharp with unpredictable effects. You don’t sleep, not at all. [[Later that night...|VOGEL 8]]

You shake your head at their antics as your brothers, seated at your sides, continue needling the newly-weds’ family, taste and less than stellar payment habits, not even bothering to whisper as servants titter around the tables. One puts a single, artfully curled shrimp on your plate, and another fills your goblet with more heady, viscous wine. It’s fanciest wedding you’ve ever attended. But not the most tasteful, as expected of those loved by the Faceless One. The bone-white walls are arranged with headache-inducing, teary, black circles and sharp lines, and no matter where you look, you dare dragged back to drown until a discomfort settles behind your eyes. Myrrh and lavender cover the stench of sweat. Or struggle to cover. You scrunch your nose, taking another sip of wine, your table silent except for the background bickering. Your father is showering the most important group with effusive praise, his smile radiant to impeccable, white-garbed priests of the Faceless One and the night’s stars, flushed with marital joy. Your mother is muttering to a morose Iron Truth’s Hand, her own face contorted in a frown and hands stiff at her side. And you’re babysitting. “What do you think, grasshopper ass?” Maximilian nudges your shoulder. “Should brother dearest follow our friend’s example and start performing?” <<link [['“No way.”' A brother of yours should never lower himself as such.|ALTHAUS3]]>> <<set $genial to $genial - 1>> <<set $compassionate to $compassionate - 1>> <</link>> <<link [['“I don’t know, does he want to?”' you ask genuinely.|ALTHAUS3]]>> <<set $genial to $genial + 1>> <<set $compassionate to $compassionate + 1>> <</link>> <<link [['“Full attire and arms included?”' you tease.|ALTHAUS3]]>> <<set $genial to $genial + 1>> <</link>> <<link [[You don’t answer such childishness.|ALTHAUS3]]>> <<set $genial to $genial - 1>> <</link>>

“I’ll start the day you stop slacking on your dignified study of economics,” Adrian needles, arms crossed and mouth pulled in a serious, solemn line. “You can’t take a joke.” And there they go again. You pick at your shrimp in forced, calculated politeness, bites so small you can drown in the delicate, herbal taste. The Althaus’ table hasn’t served anything so expensive since… forever, and every guest must know that. They look your way and sneer, laugh, mock. Your mother had to lower herself to asking for favors for you to be here. In a show-off marriage in the //Verben Halls//. The dancer at last comes to a grinding halt, a puppet with her strings cut. Loud, thunderous applause fills the hall for a moment, and she bows, stumbling with her upper body’s weight and taking a long step, planting her foot down, to regain her balance. Musicians pick up the cue as she slides off the open space and start playing an imposing, thunder-rumbling melody. It echoes like a hymn in the hall’s stately acoustics, profound and reverberating. A choir, set on elevated balconies surrounding the festivities, sing a crystal-clear, sweet note, wordless but endless. “They’re committed.” Adrian cranes his head to look around. “Do you think we’ll see a Blessing? I think we will.” Maximilian leans into your space to whisper, a grin tearing apart his attempt of subtlety. Mishri and Enlein Hatzfeld are dear to the Deity; you wouldn’t be surprised. <<link [[“It would be marvelous,” you affirm.|ALTHAUS4]]>> <<set $sw to "true">> <<set $divinity to $divinity + 1>> <</link>> <<link [[“It would be marvelous,” you lie.|ALTHAUS4]]>> <<set $sw to "true">> <<$divinity to $divinity - 1>> <</link>> <<link [['"Aren't those usually done in a temple?"'|ALTHAUS4]]>> <<set $sw2 to "true">> <<set $knowledgeable to Math.clamp($knowledgeable + 1, 0, $knowledgeable)>> <<updatemeter '$knowledgeablebar' `$knowledgeable / $maxknowledgeable`>> <</link>> <<link [["Or maybe not."|ALTHAUS4]]>> <<set $sw2 to "false">> <</link>>

<<if $sw is "true">> “I know!” Maximilian exclaims, notices the glares being sent your way and runs a sheepish hand over his neck. “Sorry, sorry,” he mock-whispers to you, “but I never saw a Blessing being bestowed, and it’s everything priests and clerics talk about.” “I heard there’s human sacrifice involved,” Adrian chimes in, pitching his voice to the droning, melodramatic tone of priests warning you of how a clothing manual will make you stray from pure, ascetic devotion to the Seven-Headed Serpent. “The gods only answer if you can show you are worthy of their attention and willing.” You frown. “That doesn’t even make sense. This would be washed in blood.” “Violent conspiracy? I am in. Ritual dismemberment or slit throat?” Your hand around the fork twitches as you sigh. It won’t be terrible if you throw it at him, will it? A season of gossip and social isolation, perhaps — a small price to pay for your sanity, or whatever little remains of it. “It’ll be more boring chanting,” Adrian vows, smirking to his twin. “Care to bet?” “Killjoy. Ten walis for me if we see more than a tiny cut.” Maximilian turns to you, lips twitching as he fights to swallow a gauche cackle. “You in, grasshopper ass?” <</if>> <<if $sw2 is "true">> “Maybe they would make an exception,” Maximilian counters, tone growing in intensity as he starts to ramble, excited. “I have never seen a Blessing being bestowed, but you know priests and cleric never shut up about that. It would be —” A well-dressed woman in long, patterned, green skirts and a white shirt shushes him, scowling in your direction, perfectly plucked, dark eyebrows furrowed. He runs a sheepish hand over his neck, through his smile hasn’t dimmed at all, and you know how much he doesn’t care for the laugh-strangled quivering in his mouth as he mock-whispers, “Sorry, sorry.” “I heard there’s human sacrifice involved,” Adrian chimes in, pitching his voice to the droning, melodramatic tone of priests warning you of how a clothing manual will make you stray from pure, ascetic devotion to the Seven-Headed Serpent. “The gods only answer if you can show you are worthy of their attention and willing.” You frown. “That doesn’t even make sense. This would be washed in blood.” “Violent conspiracy? I am in. Ritual dismemberment or slit throat?” Your hand around the fork twitches as you sigh. It won’t be terrible if you throw it at him, will it? A season of gossip and social isolation, perhaps — a small price to pay for your sanity, or whatever little remains of it. “It’ll be more boring chanting,” Adrian vows, smirking to his twin. “Care to bet?” “Killjoy. Ten walis for me if we see more than a tiny cut.” Maximilian turns to you, lips twitching as he fights to swallow a gauche cackle. “You in, grasshopper ass?” <<elseif $sw2 isnot "true">> “Killjoy,” Maximilian sighs, pouting in a way he should’ve shrugged off at least fifteen years ago. “It’d be nice to see one in action, don’t you think so? Priests and clerics are so finicky to whom they show the Blessing bestowing.” “I heard there’s human sacrifice involved,” Adrian chimes in, pitching his voice to the droning, melodramatic tone of priests warning you of how a clothing manual will make you stray from pure, ascetic devotion to the Seven-Headed Serpent. “The gods only answer if you can show you are worthy of their attention and willing.” You frown. “That doesn’t even make sense. This would be washed in blood.” “Violent conspiracy? I am in. Ritual dismemberment or slit throat?” Your hand around the fork twitches as you sigh. It won’t be terrible if you throw it at him, will it? A season of gossip and social isolation, perhaps — a small price to pay for your sanity, or whatever little remains of it. “It’ll be more boring chanting,” Adrian vows, smirking to his twin. “Care to bet?” “Boring. Ten walis for me if we see more than a tiny cut.” Maximilian turns to you, lips twitching as he fights to swallow a gauche cackle. “You in, grasshopper ass?” <</if>> <<link [[“Double it.” You grin.|ALTHAUS5]]>> <<set $revolution to $revolution + 1>> <</link>> <<link [[“Alright, I’m in.” you shrug, light-hearted.|ALTHAUS5]]>> <<set $genial to $genial + 1>> <</link>> <<link [[“I’m not giving a single filan of my allowance to you.”|ALTHAUS5]]>> <<set $genial to $genial - 1>> <</link>> <<link [[You click your tongue. “Behave, you two.”|ALTHAUS5]]>> <<set $revolution to $revolution - 1>> <</link>>

You drum your fingers on the table, restlessness seeping deep in your bones despite the light conversation. The strange music fills every corner of your mind, and your brothers whisper between them, fast-paced and loud, uncaring of the constant admonishments. It is, you wish to tell your table-companions, a useless affair to complain and correct. The wine tastes sweet and heady in your mouth, alive even in its inanimation. Your mother tears off from her talk with the Iron Truth Hand and shakes her head at you, gesturing with her chin to Maximilian and Adrian. Althaus isn’t gaining any friends with their hearts worn on their sleeves and their mouths working fast. She wants you to restrain them. Guests are mingling, every soul perfectly aware of when it’s time to go from table to table, when it’s time to flatter, when it’s time to trade sword-sharp gossip in whispers. <a data-passage="ALTHAUS6"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

The Transubstantiated dancer sits on the Verben Halls’ corner by herself, chewing slowly and waving off partygoers who stumble her way, silver net of bells glittering. Maximilian tugs at your sleeve, grinning. “You’re bored.” Are you? “Not the grand party I was expecting when mother told us we’d come,” you say — it is, and isn’t, an answer. He shakes his head, unsatisfied. “Stop making that face. It looks like someone spat in your food,” it’s Adrian who half chides, half teases, and Maximilian beams up at being backed. You roll your eyes. “You should go and do something. Something fun!” “Yes, you should. We are never invited anywhere livelier than a funeral and babysitting us is a heavy duty.” Adrian nudges your shoulder, pointing to the guests. “Besides, mother’s going senile if she thinks the Althaus name will be dragged off the mud because of this party.” “And the dancer looks like she might be coming this way,” Maximilian adds. That's a lie, but //he// keeps looking at her, curious. <<link [['"I shouldn't disobey mother."'|ALTHAUS7]]>> <<set $bh1 to "true">> <<set $revolution to $revolution - 1>> <<set $genial to $genial - 1>> <</link>> <<link [['"There's nothing exciting to do here anyway."'|ALTHAUS7]] <<set $bh1 to "false">> <<set $genial to $genial - 1>> <</link>> <<link [['"Behave, will you?"'|ALTHAUS7-1]]>> <<set $bh2 to "true">> <<set $genial to $genial + 1>> <</link>> <<link [['"Cover me?"'|ALTHAUS7-1]]>> <<set $bh2 to "false">> <<set $revolution to $revolution + 1>> <<set $genial to $genial + 1>> <</link>>

<<if $bh1 is "true">> “Sourpuss,” Maximilian groans, mouth pulled in another pout. “What’s the worst we can do? The bloody sermon mother gives when we fuck up won’t be worth it this time.” “Alright, no scandals tonight just as ordered,” Adrian grumbles. Not subtle, your brothers. “Behave, Max,” you sigh, an admonishment twenty years older than you truly are. You grow roots in your seat chair, resting your face against your palm, eyes darting from face to face as guests mingle in a pulsating, histrionic dance. They talk and gossip and criticize, voices gone soft and disembodied, a building cacophony that presses against your chest. The music threatens to drown conversations until they are but a delirium, a figment of your imagination. “Two hours,” Maximilian sighs, a forlorn prayer folded on itself many times. “Two hours, and I’m going home, and not the very Hands can drag me back here.” “Don’t say something you’ll regret,” Adrian hums, eyes slipping closed for a heartbeat as he rubs a hand over his face. “And don’t whine when mother eats your liver for fleeing the most important gathering of Althaus’ history, or something like that.” An important addition. You could cry in relief when bells sound for another ceremony’s start. <<elseif $bh1 isnot "true">> “Not with that attitude, grasshopper ass,” Maximilian goads but sighs theatrically at your resolute expression. “Is too early to pretend to be sick and disappear from this place?” “Yes.” And you aren’t considering feigning a terrible illness yourself. Not at all. “It could work in two hours or so.” Adrian rolls his shoulders, a non-verbal shrug. Not subtle, your brothers. You grow roots in your seat chair, resting your face against your palm, eyes darting from face to face as guests mingle in a pulsating, histrionic dance. They talk and gossip and criticize, voices gone soft and disembodied, a building cacophony that presses against your chest. The music threatens to drown conversations until they are but a delirium, a figment of your imagination. “Two hours,” Maximilian sighs, a forlorn prayer folded on itself many times. “Two hours, and I’m going home, and not the very Hands can drag me back here.” “Don’t say something you’ll regret,” Adrian hums, eyes slipping closed for a heartbeat as he rubs a hand over his face. “And don’t whine when mother eats your liver for fleeing the most important gathering of Althaus’ history, or something like that.” An important addition. You could cry in relief when they sound bells for a new ceremony’s start. <</if>> <a data-passage="ALTHAUS8"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

“Fuck off,” the Transubstantiated dancer grumbles, face twisted away from your prying gaze. “My hour entertaining visitors is over, if you don’t mind.” Her tone implies she certainly does. “I’m $name, would be such a bother to talk for a while?” Her six hands wringed around the net, bells tolling incessantly at every small twitch and jolt. The dancer huffs, curling herself to flee your attentions. You don’t know whether to feel annoyed, curious or like an intruder. Her mouth curls in an unpleasant sneer. “Would it? Yes, butcher. Isn’t all the blood you take enough?” You physically recoil from her words, the sting of shame, anger and confusion spreading down your face. What have you done wrong? “I’m not sure I follow.” Your tone is halting, a question on each syllable. The dancer gets up in a flutter of bright fabric and her own melody, each fist balled, and her voice echoes loud in the affected merriment of this wedding, echoes like a whipcrack, “You’re going to be Blessed like always and never think we were loved first, loved better. You must think we were created to bleed on your altars and dance for your amusement.” There are people staring, a crest of whispers rising taller than the wide. Your imagination conjures your mother’s scalding glare on the back of your neck. “Who is we?” You can’t let go now. Not now. Not anymore. “They’re breeding you nobler and, surprisingly, dumber. I didn’t think it was possible.” The dancer’s arms push you away without ever coming close, their strident blur carving a canyon where there was once proximity. “Salt baron and white blood, united in —” “I didn’t come here to be insulted,” you cut her. “Then why did you come?” she pauses, savors her bitterness, turns away. “I have a funeral to prepare. Good party.” Stares burn your skin to smoking shreds. The dancer passes by you, arms spread to create even more space. Her rage is a knife pointed at your throat. You could cry in relief when bells toll for another ceremony’s start. <a data-passage="ALTHAUS8"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

The small fire the newly-weds had circled seven times and laced their hands over — Mishri Hatzfeld’s tradition, you believe — is picked up and moved by two servants in black and white uniforms, their heads bent and their steps brisk. A hard-faced priestess takes its place, bare-footed among the dyed satins and linens and bright, a small, circular hat perched on her head. Behind her trails the radiant, singing couple. Theirs is a long, wordless note, an undying exclamation of joy. Your ears ring and throb, and they don’t tire. A moment passes, the priestess remains motionless. Two, three. She turns to the couple, standing in parallel to your position. Maximilian is leaning over the table, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. You frown. There were hours of blessings, chants and ceremonies before. This is the party. “Who comes?” the priestess intones, voice flat and sharp, each syllable a punch. <a data-passage="ALTHAUS9"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

“No one but a simple person.” Enlein Hatzfeld kneels in front of her, bending until their forehead touches the ground. “No one but the Silver Bell.” “No one but a simple woman.” Mishri repeats the action, her tunics’ sleeves pooling around her, a lake of crimson fabric. “No one but the Golden Adoration.” The priestess spreads her arms wide. “My good people, today we see a great sign of joy and love. Our beloved Faceless One will Bless this faithful, virtuous marriage, and their power shall make bountiful reward flower as these treasured people wander the land, at least complete in the deity’s love and might.” In another’s voice, it would come off as energetic, flattery poison-sweet on each word. This woman lingers, no hint of even calculated joy marring her mirror-smooth, expressionless face. Maximilian gasps anyway, fingers digging into your arm, and Adrian grows stiff and surprised in his seat, throwing a look at both of you. A true Blessing. Your gaze roams over the couple again, hungry for noticing what makes them different. “Do you hesitate?” “No,” they answer in perfect synchrony, breaths and hearts and wants matched. <a data-passage="ALTHAUS10"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

The musicians and choir start singing again, and the sound echoes so deep in your bones you thrum and shift in your seat. Maximilian worries his knuckles’ skin with his teeth. Adrian leans back in his chair, sweat gathering on his brow. This strange, thundering song takes all the space between your ears, behind your eyes — your thoughts are cottony, slow, and it takes a blink for the couple to be back on their feet, smiling wide. “Praise, praise, praise!” the priestess exhorts, turning around to face the entire hall, her eyes pale and flashing. “Praise our dearest, oldest love.” “A lot more esoteric than I thought.” Maximilian rubs his forehead, gaze darting from shadow to shadow as they grow darker, thicker — living beings swirling to the song’s command. “Do you think there’ll be a sacrifice? A real one?” You swallow the dryness pooling on your tongue. “That’s just a silly rumor.” <a data-passage="ALTHAUS11"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

The couple’s faces are frozen and immaculate, carved in bronze and meant to be admired. Words at last trail after the melody in a language unknown. Your skull rings, and the lilting, pitiless syllables ricochet through every corner and angle. You need to squint to see through the darkness gathering around the choir singers, and even then you can’t pierce through it. Are they afraid? Thrilled? Bored? You avert your gaze. “We should’ve expected it’d be weird,” Adrian mutters, scratching at his fingers to pry off dried patches of paint. An angry red blooms as blue and green disappear. “Or maybe this is perfectly normal for a Blessing,” you suggest. Your voice falters in an incriminating hesitation. Maximilian lets out a disbelieving hum. “Praise, my good people! This is the grandest joy this wonderful couple shall ever receive.” the priestess’ voice is harsh your ears-lungs-soul. Your throat itches. Her flatness melts into a bone-deep, cutting fervor. “Sing for the Faceless One!” And you sing. <a data-passage="ALTHAUS12"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

The insides of your mouth are drowning in hot coal and bizarre words that tear your cheeks to shreds. None of them are yours — none of them you know. Your lips move outside your own control. Are you supposed to feel Blessed? //Do// you feel Blessed? The priestess waves with the melody, drenched in silvery sweat. She smiles, and you can see each muscle shifting slowly into a predetermined as her mouth surrenders to the gesture. The couple are holding each other’s hand, feet sliding too fast on the floor as they… as they dance. Their legs are blurs, and confused tears fill your eyes. Maximilian’s voice is high and sweet when he joins you and all the other guests, clearer than a silver bell and making your heart hammer against your ribcage. Adrian’s is lower, a deep and firm baritone you don’t recognize for a misplaced, misshapen moment. The last time you heard him sing, you were but a couple of wobbly-kneed children dragged to classes. Your singing matches theirs, a smaller harmony in this beautiful choir. “How great they are,” says Mishri Hatzfeld, a penetrating and melodious line. “How generous they are,” reverberates Enlein Hatzfeld. “How joyous we are,” they declare together, matching syllable by syllable. Your teeth thrum, and a piercing hiss settles around your head. It rises and rises but doesn’t fall, a tide’s whims and a trick’s cruelty. Not even your pinky finger twitches when you try and raise your hands to cover your ears, to flee from the death-pressing sounds. They are waterlogged and clumsy, and you can’t get up from this chair. The priestess circles the couple once before stopping their eldritch, enthusiastic dance, fate-heavy hands on their shoulders. <a data-passage="ALTHAUS13"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

The halls’ doors open with the hinges’ rumbling screech, but your eyes don’t stray from the priestess. She kneels in front of the couple, head so low it touches the floor, and when she raises it, her expression is contorted, trying to smile and cry and scream all at once. Seven masked servants walk to stand at her side, carrying the ritual’s items, faces hidden by near-translucent, white cloth. A knife. A bowl. A plate. A bell. A candle. A towel. A Transubstantiated. The priestess lights the candle. Its flame is small and near translucent, a white fire that doesn’t waver with the wind. She devours the uniform square of meat on the plate with bare hands and bare teeth. She drinks the bowl dry, a mirror-smooth black liquid that houses all the world’s secrets. She uses the towel to clean himself and sets it on fire with the candle. She grabs knife. She turns to the Transubstantiated. He screams. You can’t flinch. Vomit scorches your throat; tears spill from your eyes — he shouldn’t have screamed. <a data-passage="ALTHAUS14"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

<<if $bh2 is "true">> “How daring!” croons Maximilian, eyes lit up, face graced by an even wider smile. “Oh, risqué and adventurous. Worry not, my dear $a_man! There shan’t be nary a whisper of our misdeeds while you brave these bloodthirsty throes of guests.” “Adrian, please. No scandals while I’m gone, alright? I’ll be back soon.” “Aye, colonel. Any scandal will be well hidden and minor.” He whispers and pushes your shoulder lightly, making the strong suggestion of just go. Not subtle, your brothers. You get up languidly, a statue’s stony joints creaking as you survey the halls. Adrian slips on your seat, punch-quick on the uptake — they’re planning something, you don’t doubt, and woe upon them when mother discovers such schemes. Woe upon you as well. But that’s a matter for after this party. You chew on your cheek, considering. Guests talk and gossip and criticize, voices gone soft and disembodied, a building cacophony that presses against your chest. The music threatens to drown conversations until they are but a delirium, a figment of your imagination. You could do anything in the world. No one goes far by fooling themselves. There is one path you’d like to brave. You head towards the Transubstantiated, sitting by herself in the corners, arms crossed and plate abandoned, fiery hair slipping from her hair. Despite the blindfold, she stirs when you get close, head turning your way. <<elseif $bh2 isnot "true">> Maximilian claps his hands in delight, laughter bubbling from his lips. “There! I was wondering how long the dutiful act would last. Don’t worry, we have your back as always. At least one of us should have some fun in this seven times accursed party.” “No scandals while I’m gone.” You duck your head to hide the grin curling your mouth. “Aye, colonel. None but the one of your making.” Adrian whispers and pushes your shoulder lightly, making the strong suggestion of just go. Not subtle, your brothers. You get up languidly, a statue’s stony joints creaking as you survey the halls. Adrian slips on your seat, punch-quick on the uptake — they’re planning something, you don’t doubt, and woe upon them when mother discovers such schemes. Woe upon you as well. But that’s a matter for after this party. You chew on your cheek, considering. Guests talk and gossip and criticize, voices gone soft and disembodied, a building cacophony that presses against your chest. The music threatens to drown conversations until they are but a delirium, a figment of your imagination. You could do anything in the world. No one goes far by fooling themselves. There is one path you’d like to brave. You head towards the Transubstantiated, sitting by herself in the corners, arms crossed and plate abandoned, fiery hair slipping from her hair. Despite the blindfold, she stirs when you get close, head turning your way. <</if>> <a data-passage="ALTHAUS7-2"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

The priestess hesitates, knife raised but unmoving, and the feverish chanting led by the newly-weds grows quiet as if the threads moving their jaws were torn. It happens so slowly. The Transubstantiated throws himself on the priestess, a liquid, gurgling sob tearing through its throat, coal-black claws glittering more than the naked blade. She tries to stagger back, surprised. Your arms are heavy and waterlogged. Not even the servants a few steps away move when he grabs her by the neck and tears and tears and tears — Praised be. The ritual is complete. The priestess crumples on the floor without a single whisper, red foam and red blood arching on the air and pooling around her. A halo around her head. It grows pale. It starts shining, a gentle moon. Behind your eyes, the pressure grows wilder, teething at your skull. The Transubstantiated tries to run but falls, and a fleshy impact echoes in this sealed sepulcher. No one moves — to help or to condemn, no one moves. His blood starts to catch fire, first blinding and then so bright it hurts less to look at the sun. You squeeze your eyes shut, and it pierces your paper-thin eyelids. This light has the weight of an iron blanket, resting glacial and suffocating against your flesh. //Enough//, you plead. Nothing comes out. <a data-passage="ALTHAUS15"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

The glow coalesces in a floating sphere, and you must see. It gnaws at itself, trying to break apart — raw humanity and raw divinity eating each other alive. Your insides are made of fire, alive and merciless, and you can't tear your eyes from this horrible spectacle. You don't want to be Blessed. You are afraid. It wobbles towards the crawling Transubstantiated. He jerks and lets out a chilling wail that doesn’t end. His body grows stiff, fighting to flee from the growing pressure, until the light merges with his skin. The poor fucker convulses, each movement more liquid and impossible, members going soft and long. Does it not have bones? //Oh//. The Transubstantiated is melting. <a data-passage="ALTHAUS16"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

First, the skin comes away. Turned white as a worm and viscous, it drips onto the floor. Then flesh, organs, bone. The smell burns down your throat, uncaring of the burning incense. Pus and putrefaction; your eyes sting. Nothing remains but a thick, cloudy puddle. The light — the Blessing, how could you not have realized? — drips out of it. Your fingers twitch. Your eyes dart from shadow to shadow. Sounds echo in your throat, locked in by your teeth. A cacophony of struck motionless pleas fill the silence. The Blessing graces another person. Their eyes melt first, and they’re forced to stay still and compliant as it devours them, gnaws at their bones, destroys their flesh. Another person. And another. And another. Spring-sweet, viscous terror scratches your throat to nothing along with acidic vomit. Your jaw loosens enough to scream, and scream you do, like all the other doomed. White pus stains your feet. <a data-passage="ALTHAUS17"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

“Mercy, mercy, mercy!” you shout, writhing in your seat, crystalline tears clinging to your lashes. You don’t want to die. Not yet, not like this. Maximilian manages to get up first. His legs are unsteady, body too heavy for them to carry far. He tries to run anyway, stumbling and wailing through the slippery slaughter. Your jaw doesn't unclench so you can scream. For him. At him. He can't — Will he — No songs of praise and adoration, no welcoming his fate with curiosity. You can’t tear your eyes away. Not even when the Blessing reaches him, and he’s suspended high in the air, jerking in a dance of agony, flesh dripping like opaque water. Maximilian's last words are a curse and something garbled, //inhuman//. It sounds like your name. <a data-passage="ALTHAUS18"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

There will be no salvation. The Blessing grows hungrier, jumping from person to person in a frenzy, trying to tear itself apart. Light comes to die in its depths, and it still shines like a second sun, terrible and scorching. No one goes far. The Verben Halls are a tomb, you think hysterically. It shouldn’t be. These so-called clerics and religious souls know how to deal with Blessings. People keep dying, keep screaming, keep trying to run. The Blessing comes your way, inexorable. Its light makes your eyes burn. There are dark spots dancing in your vision, afterimages of coming death. @@.blur;Darling@@, it croons, so sweet your insides thrum and heave, @@.blur;say yes, darling, I’ll love you. And it will. Until the day you die, it will love you better than anyone ever could@@ — be this day right now or seven hundred years from now. Your skin itches, bitten by a thousand flies. It’s slow. So slow. You sob. And you… [[Run.|ALTHAUS19]] [[Accept.|ALTHAUS19-1]]

Light comes to die in its depths, and it still shines like a second sun, terrible and scorching. No one goes far. The Mirror House is done for, you think hysterically. It shouldn’t be. Your people know how to deal with Blessings. People keep dying, keep screaming, keep trying to run. The Blessing comes your way, inexorable. Its light makes your eyes burn. There are dark spots dancing in your vision, afterimages of coming death. @@.blur;Darling@@, it croons, so sweet your insides thrum and heave, @@.blur;say yes, darling, I’ll love you. And it will. Until the day you die, it will love you better than anyone ever could@@ — be this day right now or seven hundred years from now. Your skin itches, bitten by a thousand flies. It’s slow. So slow. You sob. And you… [[Run.|VOGEL18]] [[Accept.|VOGEL18-1]]

It <<linkappend "burns" t8n>>. Burns //Burns// //BuRNs// //''BURNS''// @@.shudder;BURNS@@ [[PlEAsE|ALTHAUS21]] <</linkappend>>

@@.blur;GLORY TO THE FACELESS ONE@@

The house’s quiet, and you hear each door grinding on its hinges, each step on wooden floors that must be polished every day, each breath taken on arching corridors. You pass by Perseus on your way to the garden, straining on their tiptoes as they clean a painting’s frame, nighttime black skin glittering silver with sweat. “Oh, hey there!” they abandon the pointless effort, a rueful smile blossoming after their words. “Still stuck with //her//, I see. Good luck.” “I need a divine intervention if I’m to be in that room for another moment.” Perseus winces in sympathy, giving light slaps on your shoulder in mock comfort. But they look around in obvious worry before pitching their voice to a careful whisper, “honestly, I feel like we might get just that.” You raise an eyebrow. “What? What do you mean?” “You didn’t hear that from me.” They shake xir head, small braids and their beads clinking together. “But you remember Nat, right? Poor girl was the designated babysitter before you came along. We were friends alright, and she kept saying something was off with the sister. That she was neck-deep in some plan or another. I didn’t pay a lot of attention back then, but these days I… you can keep a secret, right, $name?” You can. Or maybe it’ll be more useful to spread the secret? In stories, servants make some sweet coin with extortion and gossip. Until they are discovered and severely punished, of course. <<link [[“Yes,” you say, sincerely. Perseus is a friend. You can’t betray them.|FUCHS3]]>> <<set $pbetrayal to "false">> <<set $compassionate to $compassionate + 1>> <</link>> <<link [[“Yes,” you lie. This should be interesting.|FUCHS3]]>> <<set $pbetrayal to "true">> <<set $compassionate to $compassionate - 1>> <<set $revolution to $revolution - 1>> <</link>>

“Thanks, I can’t get in trouble with my brother pregnant.” They flash you a smile, shifting on their feet. The fondness melts into seriousness so fast, however, you could believe you imagined it. “She’s trying to get a Blessing, the sister.” “Why would — oh, you aren’t saying she is a… a Thief?” Perseus shushes you as if a Hand or ten will climb from the long, pitch-black shadows, dark eyes wide. They dart from corner to corner, mouth pursed in a thin line. “Oh, gods and scales!” they exhales, running a hand over their face. “Walls have ears, you know that. The sister is a //godly and lawful// woman.” Their emphasis on the words is sticky sweet and forced, a tiny nod as answer when you cock your head, heart threatening to shatter your ribs. “Of course,” you say, in the same tone, “I’m glad to be working here. A stable position, honest and hard work.” “I’ll meet you later so we can pray together, alright?” Perseus squeezes your arm, looking mournfully at the paintings and their dusty, rusty frames. “It’s time to be faithful.” “In the gardens after the sister’s dinners?” Perseus nods. “Now, off you go. We don’t want her to be angry at half a moment of talking and merriment in this house.” And on your worried way you go, palms clammy with sweat. You could die with her for that. <a data-passage="FUCHS4"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

//Die//. If this is true, you won’t have your throat sliced open as a sacrifice. Not for a woman like sister Wilhelmina. Not for anyone. The winter gardens are cramped and humid, nettles creeping up the stone walls, leaves snapping as they move slowly towards you — they’re open for all to gawk at, those same walls low and invitation for thieves, and the plants, shining as emeralds under sunlight, make robbers sing sweetly as they scream agony and try to claw their skin. You move fast, mindful to not step on any errant leave and anger the nettles. The box is set upon a table, so polished its dark wood could be a mirror. Golden and gaudy, the padlock keeping it closed forces an ugly contrast with its delicate angles. So low, these walls. You can cling to the box, jump over them and pray it has sufficient proof of sister Wilhelmina’s… activities for the Hands to persecute her and spare you, Perseus and old Anna. At the smallest provocation, they could tear down walls and tear down lives. You could be exempt from punishment if they came at your bidding. But maybe there’s no proof. You head back to the sister, a groan tearing your soft throat. The box is heavy, full of fate. You won’t bet your fate on unsure sands and shifting dunes. Perseus will tell you more later. There is time. And if there isn’t, you’ll make it. <a data-passage="FUCHS5"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

You slide back into her suffocating, humid office, the burn of salt deep in your lungs. Sister Wilhelmina hasn’t moved at all. If Anna hadn’t been ordered to routinely remember her to eat, you don’t think she would. To each their own. In learned respectfulness, you stand there, motionless, waiting to be acknowledged. She doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t seem to realize there’s a world beyond the odd blue glow radiating from the blue symbols floating above and the whiteness of salt. You put the box on her desk, releasing a sigh that rattles your ribcage. “Excuse me? Sister Wilhelmina?” Her head whips around, hand hammering down the stained wood. Her eyes — are they…? You shudder, suddenly contemplating a free fall into a great void, into an open staircase that never ends. The sister blinks, forcing herself to straighten, fingers tight on the desk. No, just a trick of the light. They aren’t slitted and twisted into snakelike mirrors. “Very well,” she croaks, clears her throat, tries again, “very well. Leave it there, I have much to do. My Beloved rushes, and tonight, you’ll see something glorious.” Your eyebrows shoot up, each vein and artery pumping ice and not blood. “Tonight?” “A good day. An ominous day.” She tosses her long, glossy hair back, the gesture of a woman twenty years younger. “This house must be spotless: guests will come visit me soon, and appearances are paramount. Off to your cleaning, now.” A Blessing. Or at least, something just as bad. Just as incriminating. Sister Wilhelmina huffs when you don’t move quick enough for her liking. And off to Perseus you go, waves crashing in your ears. <a data-passage="FUCHS6"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

''Warnings applying to this chapter'' — Body horror — Political persecution — Strong language — Death — Violence — Hallucinations — Prejudice — Human sacrifice Please, if you found something in the prologue that requires better tagging and trigger warnings, warn me so I can add them to this list. <a data-passage="PS1P1"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

Finding a person in a massive, decadent state is a game of intent. There are far too many locked rooms and dusty cabinets, spaces for coffee and afternoon meeting carved out and abandoned. A multitude of possibilities, and you might be chasing a shadow. You head to the kitchens first. They aren’t the vibrant center of activity and gossip they were a couple weeks ago, but Sister Wilhelmina has no reason to wander there when she can order her meals be brought to her. One man’s trash and so on. A forlorn king, Anna sits by himself on an uncomfortable wooden bench, kneading a dough of bread with whatever strength remaining to him, a bubbling cauldron of beans simmering in the fire for what must be hours by the smell. “Hey there, $name. Food won’t be done in a few hours yet. Did you need something?” “Nothing world-breaking, I promise,” you say, true by the blatant exaggeration alone of such a sentence alone. “Have you seen Perseus?” “Something to do with their brother. Pregnancies can be tricky.” Anna pushes aside the dough, flour staining his gnarled hands, a fond smile carving even deeper wrinkles in his face. “Should be back before sundown or anyone notices it.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, irritated. “Thanks for the help, Anna.” “They made me promise I won’t tell the sister, $a_boy. Honor among servants?” <<link [[“Honor among servants,” you say, smiling. You have to look out for each other.|FUCHS7]]>> <<set $compassionate to $compassionate + 1>> <</link>> <<link [[Your mouth aches when you smile, insincere and sticky sweet.|FUCHS7]]>> <<set $compassionate to $compassionate - 1>> <<set $revolution to $revolution - 1>> <</link>>

Anna hops on the table, shaking off the flour from his hands and arms. “So, $a_boy. Slow day, I suppose. Almost cottony. It lingers in the chest like the heat after rain.” “The sister is busy.” A snort shatters whatever neutrality your expression might’ve possessed when faced with his sardonic, impatient eyeroll, resting his cheek on a spread palm and leaving behind a pale imprint. “Tell me when she isn’t. Hopefully, there’ll be no guts to clean again.” This picks up your interest. You lean towards him. “Again?” “She fancied herself an augur some years ago, trying to find out what made the Mother Superior… give up her illustrious services. Nasty business, cleaning a falcon’s rotten guts while she wailed.” “The sister is fond of alternative solutions.” Your fingers drum on the counter. “Awful polite way of putting it, but yes.” Anna gestures to you with a greasy, awkward clay spoon. “This one is a bit louder and coats this house in salt.” You run your tongue over your teeth. He claps you in the shoulder. “I’ll tell Perseus you’ve been looking for them when they come back, how does that sound?” <<link [[Ask Anna about Perseus’ speculation the sister wants a Blessing. Delicately.|FUCHS8]]>> <<set $genial to $genial + 1>> <<set $resourceful to Math.clamp($resourceful + 1, 0, $maxresourceful)>> <<updatemeter '$resourcefulbar' `$resourceful / $maxresourceful`>> <<set $prestigious to Math.clamp($prestigious + 1, 0, $maxprestigious)>> <<updatemeter '$prestigiousbar' `$prestigious / $maxprestigious`>> <</link>> <<link [[Delicately? Ask Anna about Perseus’ speculation, no time for hesitation or sweet words.|FUCHS8-1]]>> <<set $genial to $genial - 1>> <<set $prestigious to Math.clamp($prestigious - 1, 0, $maxprestigious)>> <<updatemeter '$prestigiousbar' `$prestigious / $maxprestigious`>> <</link>> <<link [[Just go and rest.|FUCHS8-2]]>> <</link>>

“A bit louder?” you echo, bordering on amusement. “It gives me other impressions.” Anna looks around as if a Hand will jump from the shadows. You take a breath, measuring and cutting your words with a tailor’s precision. “I’m the one who’s in the office with her. The rituals there… they’re unusual even for a priestess, even for a once cloistered sister.” He frowns and smooths it over, your trailing off a clear hook as any. “This isn’t my first religious household. You’ll keep what we talk about low and hidden, won’t you?” <<if $pbetrayal is "true">> Just as you’ll keep Perseus’. “Of course.” <<elseif $pbetrayal isnot "true">> You nod before you realize, hands laced together in your front. “Of course. I need to know, but nothing else. I promise.” <</if>> “People in my neighborhood… no, wait. I attend this small Magnum Opus parish. Good people, and the Sodality of Mercy is always there. These last months, though, there miracles piling over miracles. One of our own was Blessed, can you imagine? And I heard news of others. I think the Faceless One will provide to the sister, the Orphics are more than generous these days.” “But the Seven Churches, not so much.” “She may not be a Thief of Divinity.” The name is sour in his mouth, and Anna sighs. “This may not be a Blessing.” “You’re still worried,” you point out. “They seem ambitious, her plans. Too ambitious.” He doesn’t elaborate. You don’t ask. “Thank you. I should go and rest.” Anna flashes you a smile and squeezes your shoulders. The servant’s room is cramped and hot, no windows to cast light or to blow a breath of fresh air. You close your eyes, lying on the lumpy, thin mattress, and don’t sleep until Perseus comes to shake you awake, eyes wide in terror. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," they babble, "my brother needed help." "She shouldn't be summoning us so soon," you say to no one in particular. But there's no time for contemplation. Sister Wilhelmina is summoning you. <a data-passage="FUCHS9"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

You take a breath and let everything out, a flooding torrent, “Perseus believes she’s aiming for a Blessing. An illegal Blessing. What have you heard about it?” Anna digs his fingers in your arm. “Don’t say that.” “It’s just us here.” “Just us!” He lets your arm go, shaking like a furious bull. “Honestly, $a_boy. Do you go around sharing secrets? You could send them to the gallows or worse with that sort of talk. There’s a thousand and one Hands for everyone in this city.” You raise your hands in surrender, trying to appease his piling anger. Anna goes back to his dough, taking out whatever frustrations by throwing it violently against the counter. The soft impacts fill your ears, rhythmic and thundering. He seems content to ignore you, shoulders drawn into himself. But since you’re already standing knee-deep in mud… “Please, listen to me. These rumors are too dangerous for me to ignore them. I have my family too. Everything to lose.” <<if $pbetrayal is "true">> You need to find out how deeper Perseus and Anna will dig their own graces. It’ll be useful. <<elseif $pbetrayal isnot "true">> Worry coalesces in your stomach, heavy and inescapable. Images of all the Reckonings you attended or saw however briefly flash in your mind. The dragging march. The blood. The desperation. <</if>> Anna squeezes his eyes out, mouth trembling unpleasantly. “Leave me be, $name. You’ll need your rest, I believe.” You stumble out of the kitchens, tail between your legs, tasting something bitter on your tongue. The servant’s room is cramped and hot, no windows to cast light or to blow a breath of fresh air. You close your eyes, lying on the lumpy, thin mattress, and don’t sleep until Perseus comes to shake you awake, eyes wide in terror. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," they babble, "my brother needed help." "She shouldn't be summoning us so soon," you say to no one in particular. But there's no time for contemplation. Sister Wilhelmina is summoning you. <a data-passage="FUCHS9"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

Anna flashes you a smile and squeezes your shoulders. The servant’s room is cramped and hot, no windows to cast light or to blow a breath of fresh air. You close your eyes, lying on the lumpy, thin mattress, and don’t sleep until Perseus comes to shake you awake, eyes wide in terror. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," they babble, "my brother needed help." "She shouldn't be summoning us so soon," you say to no one in particular. But there's no time for contemplation. Sister Wilhelmina is summoning you. <a data-passage="FUCHS9"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

You, Perseus and Anna must sit in the room’s farthest corner, staring like owl-eyed fools as sister Wilhelmina runs around, a nervous bird preparing her nest. Or a madwoman preparing her deadly feast. The air is heavy with the stench of brine and wine, and blue symbols float above your heads, casting the room in an unnatural, too still light. You swallow, pressure building behind your eyes, between your ears. Have you been woken up to contemplate a madwoman’s decadent descent? “Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful,” she mutters, the words long and feverish, words ending abruptly as the others begin. You don’t dare to close your eyes, to move. For the lack of a more fitting, less shameful word, you are afraid. <a data-passage="FUCHS10"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

Afraid of the bright glint in her pale eyes, of the sheen of sweat on her ashen skin. Sister Wilhelmina isn’t a priestess anymore, the cloistered and serene folk who never again meet sun halfway through. She echoes the jittery beggars on the narrowest streets, faces turned up to the skies in hollow prayer for — for a better fate, for a sweet tomorrow. For a quick reckoning. Perseus bites at their finger joints, deep and harsh, blood staining their teeth and dripping down their hands. Anna can’t stop shivering, his feet tapping restlessly on the glacial, slimy floor, and crystalline tears gathering on his lashes before being blinked away forcefully. Your muscles are frozen, so waterlogged you feel like overspilling. The sister turns to the three of you, hands clasped and shaking, eyes sunken in her face, turned sharp like a sculpture of marble. “This is a wonderful night, a beloved night.” <a data-passage="FUCHS11"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

Her voice grates at your ears, sharp and alive. Too alive. She is one and one thousand, divided messily among reality and divinity. Yes, divinity. A person lost in their harshest delirium could smell the power here. Sister Wilhelmina wants nothing but the greatest future, the highest prize. The acidic taste of vomit haunts your tongue. Too long, painted darker than the wailing night, her nails dig into her palms. The bleariness of sleep forces your eyelids down. Anna sighs, low and careful, that even the sister’s hawk-like, ravenous attention skips over him. “She doesn’t need the transformation to look like a pythoness,” he mutters, his lips unmoving, the faintest idea of sound tricking. There’s an animal akin to sadness making him frown, exhaustion forgotten. “Pythoness?” Perseus tilts their head, voice higher and more disturbing to the eerie peace. Sister Wilhelmina is humming to herself, a tune ageless and dust-stained. She looks but doesn’t see, hears but listens. The conversation continues even under her terrible, terrible gaze. Anna picks at his sleeves, “One of the People. You know their kind.” You swallow. Perseus releases a harsh breath. Yes, all in Staseele know the People. The sister laughs, tiny and grating. She licks her teeth and takes a step in your direction, then another. The three of you straighten and go quiet. Perseus lets out a choked, grating sound of terror. Your fingers dig into the hard chair. “I must require a task from Anna,” she says slowly, “come here, my good man.” <<link [[“No.” You hold Anna back, defiant. This is a trap.|FUCHS11-1]]>> <<set $revolution to $revolution + 2>> <<set $divinity to $divinity - 1>> <</link>> <<link [[You hold Anna back, quietly but unflinchingly.|FUCHS11-2]]>> <<set $revolution to $revolution - 2>> <<set $divinity to $divinity + 1>> <</link>>

Sister Wilhelmina snarls and gets closer in a blink, her steps thundering on the floor, until she towers over both of you. A faint muttering fills your mind, a scratching whispering echoing in your skull. She reeks of rotten algae, and her hand trembles when she raises it. You try to lean back, jaw clenched and chin jutted out. “Selfish. You’re so selfish,” she croaks, and her hand tightens in a fist. And tightens. And tightens. And tightens. Her fingers slash clean and bloodless through her palm until they emerge on her hand’s back, growing roots looking for sunlight. Glass cracks, and million shards catch the light in a dizzying show of reflecting lights that burn your eyes. The sister has nails-claws-nails-claws-nails-//claws//. When Perseus turns to look at you, a terrible groan dragged from the decaying bottom of your throat, there are maggots dripping down their eyes like pale, writhing tears. You jump away, cradling your hand close to your chest. It’s cold and clammy. Sister Wilhelmina leads Anna towards her desk with a gentle touch on his shaking shoulder, horror distorting his features. She smiles, sharp and beautiful to contemplate. She smiles, wide and wider still, until her face might split in two. “This is how it begins.” The sister pushes him down to his knees. Anna groans in pain, struggling to get up. There’s white, pearlescent liquid dripping from his ears. “I shall have your family compensated, my good man.” <a data-passage="FUCHS12"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

Sister Wilhelmina delights herself in the obedience. She squeezes your hand, beatific until the clamminess and sliminess of her touch hits. A wet corpse’s caress passing for a woman’s. You drag your hand away from her bone-crunching grip. It’s so cold, so alien, it burns up to your shoulder. A pained hiss forces its way through your clenched teeth. Perseus clings to your arm, offering support if not help. The sister laughs, a short and cutting sound, dripping a condescending satisfaction as she stares at you and Perseus both, frozen. You should’ve reported the moment they whispered of terrible omens, twice as terrible deeds. You should’ve — No matter. Sister Wilhelmina is already moving. She leads Anna towards her desk with a gentle touch on his shaking shoulder, horror distorting his features. She smiles, sharp and beautiful to contemplate. She smiles, wide and wider still, until her face might split in two. “This is how it begins.” The sister pushes him down to his knees. Anna groans in pain, struggling to get up. There’s white, pearlescent liquid dripping from his ears. “I shall have your family compensated, my good man.” <a data-passage="FUCHS12"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

Your eyes don’t stray from the sister. She kneels in front of the couple, head so low it touches the floor, and when she raises it, her expression is contorted, trying to smile and cry and scream all at once. The ritual’s paraphernalia gleam, reflecting light and heavy fate. A knife. A bowl. A plate. A bell. A candle. A towel. Doomed Anna. Sister Wilhelmina lights the candle. Its flame is small and near translucent, a white fire that doesn’t waver with the wind. She devours the uniform square of meat on the plate with bare hands and bare teeth. She drinks the bowl dry, a mirror-smooth black liquid that houses all the world’s secrets. She uses the towel to clean herself and sets it on fire with the candle. She grabs knife. She turns to Anna. He screams. You can’t flinch. Vomit scorches your throat; tears spill from your eyes — he shouldn’t have screamed. <a data-passage="FUCHS13"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

The sister hesitates, knife raised but unmoving, and the hesitant chanting carried by Perseus and Anna grows quiet as if the threads moving their jaws were torn. It happens so slowly. Anna throws himself on Sister Wilhelmina, a liquid, gurgling sob tearing through his throat, coal-black claws glittering more than the naked blade. She tries to stagger back, surprised. Your arms are heavy and waterlogged. None of you, standing a few steps away, move when he grabs her by the neck and tears and tears and tears — Praised be. The ritual is complete. The sister crumples on the floor without a single whisper, red foam and red blood arching on the air and pooling around her. A halo around her head. It grows pale. It starts shining, a gentle moon. Behind your eyes, the pressure grows wilder, teething at your skull. Anna tries to run but falls, and a fleshy impact echoes in this sealed sepulcher. No one moves — to help or to condemn, no one moves. Her blood starts to catch fire, first blinding and then so bright it hurts less to look at the sun. You squeeze your eyes shut, and it pierces your paper-thin eyelids. This light has the weight of an iron blanket, resting glacial and suffocating against your flesh. //Enough//, you plead. Nothing comes out. <a data-passage="FUCHS14"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

The glow coalesces in a floating sphere, and you must see. It gnaws at itself, trying to break apart — raw humanity and raw divinity eating each other alive. Your insides are made of fire, alive and merciless, and you can't tear your eyes from this horrible spectacle. You don't want to be Blessed. You are afraid. It wobbles towards Anna — pathetically crawling Anna. He jerks and lets out a chilling wail that doesn’t end. His body grows stiff, fighting to flee from the growing pressure, until the light merges with his skin and scorches. The poor fucker convulses, each movement more liquid and impossible, members going soft and long. Does he not have bones? //Oh//. Anna is melting. <a data-passage="FUCHS15"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

First, the skin comes away. Turned white as a worm and viscous, it drips onto the floor. Then flesh, organs, bone. The smell burns down your throat, uncaring of the burning incense. Pus and putrefaction; your eyes sting. Nothing remains but a thick, cloudy puddle. The light — the Blessing, how could you not have realized? — drips out of it. Your fingers twitch. Your eyes dart from shadow to shadow. Sounds echo in your throat, locked in by your teeth. A cacophony of struck motionless pleas fill the silence. The Blessing floats, graceful and weightless, towards Perseus. Their eyes melt and drip over their face like tears. They stay still and compliant as it devours them, gnaws at their bones, destroys their flesh. Spring-sweet, viscous terror scratches your throat to nothing along with acidic vomit. Perseus isn’t dead. Doesn’t die. You’re starting to think they never will. The blue symbols’ light flickers, dies, wails. Your jaw loosens enough to scream, and scream you do, like all the other doomed. White pus stains your feet. <a data-passage="FUCHS16"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

“Mercy, mercy, mercy!” you shout, writhing in your seat, crystalline tears clinging to your lashes. You don’t want to die. Not yet, not like this. Perseus is still fighting to get up. Their legs are unsteady, body too heavy for them to carry far. They try to run anyway, stumbling and wailing through the slippery slaughter. They can't — Will they — No songs of praise and adoration, no welcoming their fate with curiosity. You can’t stop looking. Not even when the Blessing reaches them, and they are suspended high in the air, jerking in a dance of eternal agony, cries becoming screeches. But alive. Miraculously alive. "Out, out, out!” they howl, and comes out it does. Chunks of flesh fall from their writhing body. You force your eyes shut. Its ravenous glow approaches. <a data-passage="FUCHS17"><i class="fas fa-arrow-right"></i></a>

There will be no salvation. The Blessing grows hungrier, jumping from corner to corner in a frenzy, trying to tear itself apart. Light comes to die in its depths, and it still shines like a second sun, terrible and scorching. No one goes far. This goddamn house is a tomb, you think hysterically. It shouldn’t be. Sister Wilhelmina knew how to deal with Blessings. The Blessing comes your way, inexorable. Its light makes your eyes burn. There are dark spots dancing in your vision, afterimages of coming death. Despair tastes sweet and poisonous. It should’ve stopped in Perseus. Gods, gods, gods. @@.blur;Darling@@, it croons, so sweet your insides thrum and heave, @@.blur;say yes, darling, I’ll love you. And it will. Until the day you die, it will love you better than anyone ever could@@ — be this day right now or seven hundred years from now. Your skin itches, bitten by a thousand flies. It’s slow. So slow. You sob. And you… [[Run.|FUCHS18-1]] [[Accept.|FUCHS18-2]]

It <<linkappend "burns" t8n>>. Burns //Burns// //BuRNs// //''BURNS''// @@.shudder;BURNS@@ [[PlEAsE|FUCHS20]] <</linkappend>>

@@.blur;MIGHT TO THE FACELESS ONE@@