FINAL CORE : [A holy dungeon-core litRPG]

Grace.

What is grace? I speak not of the physical concept of grace, such as might be attributed to an elegant doe, striding through the snow-laden forests in winter, nor do I speak of the harpy, effortlessly gliding through the shine of the bright morning lights of vibrant sprints hither.

No, instead I speak of the esoteric term of grace. When one’s life is blessed, a person is wont to say that they are in possession of grace.

When one lacks for such things, one might ask for just a little more grace.

This usage of the term is currently out of fashion, having been a phrasing that was more popular with the older generations. However, the concept remains the same. Grace, in a metaphysical sense, refers to the shine cast upon one’s life by the universe, by the gods, by fate.

To live in grace, with grace, is to have a blessed life and to live without it is to be as an unoiled wheel, difficult.

When you pray at night, pray not for wealth or for strength, pray for just a little more grace — as this will provide you with both of the prior.

 

~ Father Esmondious’ teachings, Scroll Fourteen

 

 

~ [Isaiah] ~

 

“This reminds me of the past,” says Isaiah, looking at Rorate, who is holding onto its arms that hold her. Its legs are submerged in the steaming waters of the healing hot-springs.

 

Rorate nods. “That’s the idea,” she explains. “It’s a ritual,” says the dark-elf. “It’s like how you helped me or how you pulled Seide from the water.” She nods, thinking.

 

“It’s also like when you brought me inside from the rain,” says Scion, from the side of the water.

 

Rorate keeps nodding. “Rituals are important,” explains Rorate, looking up at Isaiah. “We can talk about our faith in you until the sun comes down, but practices matter, and symbols matter,” she explains. “This can be one of ours.”

 

“I see,” explains Isaiah, looking at the dark-elf in its arms. “But I do not quite understand why we are doing this,” it says.

 

“Practice,” replies Rorate.

 

“Practice?” asks Isaiah.

 

Rorate lifts a hand. “The pilgrims are here, remember?” she asks. “Hundreds of them and thousands more are on their way,” says the woman. “We need more than words and sermons, we need teachings, things we can show them, things that have symbolic value.”

 

Isaiah looks at her. That does make sense.

 

“The water symbolizes the washing clean of a person,” says Rorate. “It means that it doesn’t matter who you are, where you’re from, or what you’ve done in the past, it can be something that means less than this new existence.”

 

“I see,” replies Isaiah, understanding. It’s actually a good idea. As the head of a religion, it would be wise to deepen the aspects of its faith in many ways. It is good that it has Rorate and others for this, as it itself wouldn’t really know where to start.

 

Rorate nods her head to the water, and Isaiah obliges, stepping in deeper and lowering her down into her baptism. It is not her first, but it is the most graceful so far.

 

“Me next!” says Scion from the side. “I want to go next!”

 

Isaiah looks at her as it lifts Rorate back up and out, setting her on her feet so that she can stand in the water by herself now.

 

It had not expected this to be its day.

 

 

~ [Taishi-Shi] ~
Vildt (Rabbit), Male, Priest Location: The Far Off Eastern Continent, Church of Isaiah

 

(Taishi-Shi) has taken the class: [Priest]{Of Isaiah}

 

- [Priest] {Of Isaiah} - The holy-men of the world, priests, are a caster class with a strong foundation in healing and supporting magics. They have next to no offensive abilities but are extremely useful as members of parties because of their large SOUL pool and array of helpful powers. While priests of the HOLY-CHURCH generally worship a broad pantheon of specific old-world gods and are socially obligated to follow the church’s strict doctrines and rules, priests of Isaiah are free to follow their own lives and practices — so long as they adhere to the teachings of Isaiah. New Abilities [Minor Barrier]: Creates a minor magical barrier that absorbs {20} damage from any source. [Minor Heal]: Casts a minor healing spell that restores 15% of lost HEALTH-POINTS [Crafting: Minor Ward]: Allows the crafting of a physical warding charm, that repels minor spirits and ghosts from an area New Boons

The more worshipers a deacon acquires in their flock, the more energy is sent to Isaiah, but also as deacon of a church, this priest also gains a boon, which scales accordingly.

Boons are unique abilities, tied specifically to the patron entity a priest worships.

Unique Boon [Isaiah’s Fervor]: For every prayer said in your church, you passively gain EXP Unique Boon [Isaiah’s Wings {01}]: Allows access to the [Hover] ability. Subsequent tiers are unlocked with a stronger church.

 

“You’re all set,” says the messenger of Isaiah next to him. Taishi-shi looks at the creature, colored teal like the waters of an ocean-side lake. The creature holds out a fabric robe for him to take, made of a beautifully woven, soft white fabric. “You ready?” he asks. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you today,” it explains, flying up to the rafters of the small church.

 

“Yes, thank you,” replies Taishi-shi, putting on the robe. The creature waves at him.

 

Today is the day of his first sermon. He has a class, as one of the only ones of any of the others here. Many of them are coming to listen to what he has to say about Isaiah.

 

— Taishi-shi’s feet leave the ground, and he wobbles around in surprise, trying to hold on to whatever he can grab.

Taishi-shi has activated: [Hover]

It seems that he will have a lot to say.

 

 

~ [Cardinal Schweig] ~
Human, Male, Cardinal of the North Location: The City, Cathedral Spire

 

The man stands atop the tower of the cathedral, staring out into the city below and then, with distaste in his eyes, looking up towards the blemish that blocks out the light of the sun.

 

Had the tower decided to be born in the north, circumstances would have perhaps been different. He could have made it become quite the useful tool, a symbol of the gods as proof of the validity of his domain.

 

But for it to be in the south, well, this is of no use to him. His counterpart, the now deceased bishop of the south, would have gained far too much status in the church from this, had the narrative gone any other way. So it is well that it did not.

 

After all, now he can still use the tower to prove the validity of his own domain.

 

Those who had wanted to leave the city, have left. But those who remain here within the city’s walls, those hundreds of thousands of people, they’re fearful and full of angst. They desire safety and shelter from the clawing terrors that they perceive to be knocking at their doors.

 

And so, in their pursuit, they’ll latch on to anyone who can display strength and power.

 

His eyes turn toward the west, toward the swarm present in the distance.

 

The crusade has finally arrived, making its way to the south. He watches them crest the horizon from his vantage point by the hundreds and then by the thousands, banners of the faith held high into the air as trumpets begin to call out, filling the sky as if it were birdsong.

 

They are a fitting procession for his coming declaration of ascension towards bishophood and full governance of the holy-church.

 

Then, the tower will be destroyed, his agents are likely already in place and at work sabotaging its defenses from the inside for the crusade, and his seat of power and greatness will be enshrined forever in the halls of humanity and even in those of godhood.

 

 

~ [Witch Perchta] ~
???, Female, Witch of the Blackwater Location: The City, A Small House

 

Perchta stares out of the window, lifting her gaze up toward the sky.

 

The day may still be here, the night having not yet fallen, but with it will come the bounty of a full moon. The waters of corruption have been trickling through the city for so long that a saturation has come into effect. Hundreds of people have made wishes and very likely gotten them, one way or another.

 

But by doing so, they have allowed her magic to seep into the waters of the fountain and, accordingly, into the land and the dungeon. Witch-water seeps now through every crevice beneath every foot, and the world is not yet aware of what this implies.

 

Yet it will be so.

 

“The crusade is here,” says Witch Gauden. She turns her head to look at him. “Everything is set up like we wanted.”

 

Perchta looks over to the ranking members of the Witches’ Sect, who are working on a logistical plan of sorts. “What’s the scoop, Andman?”

 

Scholar Anderwal lifts his gaze. “We’re ready, Witch Perchta,” replies Anderwal, tapping a finger onto the map. “As soon as the moon is right and the crusade is in position, the stage will be set for your arri-” He swipes a strand of white hair out of his face. “- arrival.”

 

“Witch Perchta,” says Witch Spillaholle. The woman looks up from her book. She’s sitting on the ceiling, upside down, just above the members of the sect. “This is your last chance to cease this nonsense,” she explains. “We may still yet simply let this all be.”

 

Perchta points at her. “I’m not letting that feathered rat get away with what it did to me!”

 

“Witch Perchta. You may have likely done it to yourself,” she replies.

 

“Now, now,” says Witch Gauden. “Let’s not fight. We came all this way to help Pipi, and that’s what we’re doing.” He looks over his shoulder as the door to the house opens.

 

“Pardon the interruption,” says the member of the sect. “Witch Gauden, it’s ready.”

 

Gauden smiles, lowering his hands. “Oh, boy! I’ve been looking forward to this,” he says, walking outside.

 

“To what?” asks Perchta, looking after him. “Where’s that dumb slime of yours anyways?” She looks around.

 

“Be nice, Pipi,” says Gauden, looking over her shoulder. “He’s my friend.”

 

Perchta frowns, lowering her head. “…Sorry…” she sheepishly apologizes. The witch puts her fingers together. “I get jealous.”

 

Gauden puts a hand on her shoulder. “I know,” he replies. She looks back up at him. “You’ll always be my best friend. Don’t worry.” He nods toward the door. “Wanna look?” Perchta nods, and the two of them go outside, where a carriage is parked in front of the door.

 

The member of the sect lifts the sheet covering the cargo, showing off a gigantic suit of blackened metal plate armor, engraved with the iconography of the Witches’ Sect. The armor rattles, not quite moving in any coherent form, but still shaking here and there as something squirms around inside of it.

 

He knocks on the armor.

 

“Really?” asks Perchta. “You put the slime in a suit of armor?” she asks.

 

“Sure did,” replies Gauden. “Little fella got pretty big, you know?” he asks. “Weighs as much as I do.”

 

“Sure, but, you know that he can’t… you know, move it?” she asks.

 

Gauden shakes his head, resting his palm on top of the armor’s chest. “Nothing a little magic can’t fix,” he replies, blue streaks crawling over the armor as if they were the roots of a growing fungus seeking water. “I figured it would be a nice surprise for you,” he explains.

 

“For me?” asks Perchta.

 

Witch Gauden nods. “Sure,” he replies. “After all, if you’re going to be in the sky during the big event, then you need someone down on the ground too, right?” he asks.

 

(Witch Gauden) has used: [CURSE]

 

The armor rattles as his magic runs through it; the carriage shakes as the pieces of the suit pull themselves together, holding firmly as if a man were wearing them. The monster in the armor sits upright, lurching over somewhat before rising, towering over them as he steps out of the carriage and into broad daylight.

 

“How are you feeling, Shamrock?” asks Gauden, talking to the slime in the gigantic suit of armor.

 

It looks down at them, its chest heaving as it comes to terms with its changing sapience.

 

The creature, the monster, looks down at itself and then back at itself, a shaky arm rising up as it adjusts to movement, before strongly striking against its chestplate, ringing out like a gong. “I serve,” replies the creature of war.

 

Perchta beams. “How many people can you kill for me?” she asks excitedly.

 

The entity simply breathes for a time, its heavy exhalation of air blowing back her strands of hair.

 

“Yes,” it replies, saying nothing more, its heavy words heralding in the first days of the end of an era.