~*+- PROFILE -+*~ HP: ----- "Canta" SOUL: 24/24↑ LEVEL: 4 ↑ [https://dmrhodes.com/gallery_gen/4adb161c4cd597149f35cadb9b9be16f.png]
EXP: 0/50
CLASS: [Sin-Eater]
STATUS
HUNGER: You are pretty full
THIRST: You are a little thirsty
SUB-CLASS: None
RACE: Human
OBOLS: 0
STR: 08 WIS: 13↑ LUK: 07 DEX: 13↑↑ INT: 13↑ LOV: 05
Canta wants to sigh, but his mouth is too dried out and full of wafer crumbs to allow that to happen. He grabs the bottle of mud-free water standing next to himself and takes a long drink from it. He’s pretty sure that he’s going to vomit if he has to eat another wafer today.
Well Water
~300mL
Pure - Make Up - Trace Minerals: 1.00% Water: 99.00% Other 0.00%
“Thank you, sin-eater!” says a relieved voice from the other side of the wooden mesh that separates the two of them.
Canta groans, rolling his eyes at the absurdity of what he assumes is his hundredth confession today. “Yeah, yeah, just don’t do that again,” he says, thinking about the poor chicken that he was just told about. He shakes his head, taking another drink, and he waits for the next person to come into the confessional.
He had been sitting here for hours now on this side of the booth, while people from the city entered from the other side and laid their confessions bare before him onto a thin, edible wafer made out of flour, water, and salt. Each time they’d confess, he would eat the wafer and clear their sins and, more importantly, get a few experience-points for each sin that he removed.
With Yashira and Nina, he had gotten a full level-up from each of their sins. Perhaps because they were more ‘significant’. These minor, venial sins that the city-people have to confess, however, are boring and mundane, except for the chicken-guy, but still. Even the chicken-guy was only worth two experience points, which Canta just doesn’t think is worth the effort for him, especially now that he has to live with that mental image in his head of -
“Sin-eater?” asks a voice from the side, interrupting his thoughts. Having been lost in his mind, he didn’t notice that the familiar priestess had opened the curtain. “We’re done for the day. Thank you for your hard work,” says the bookish priestess.
Canta crosses his arms, having a perfect argument for his defense now given her prior statements about his ‘degeneracy’. Even if it is several hours late.
“How am I a degenerate?” he asks, pointing at the empty booth across from himself. “Did you hear some of those stories?! The people in this city are fucked!”
“Ah-ah!” She lifts a finger, shushing him, which he thinks is a bold move on her part. His fingers can regrow; hers can’t. “The sanctity of the confession is absolute,” says the priestess. “You must swear to never say a word about any of this to anyone, ever.”
Canta gets up, pushing her hand and then her out of the way. “Uh… no?” he replies. “That guy -“
“AH-AH!”
“Oh, come on!” argues Canta, really wanting to talk about this with somebody. Although, he isn’t even sure why. Maybe it’s just so that he can process his latest trauma before it has a chance to fester inside of him with all the rest of them.
She shakes her head, grabbing the sack of wafers and closing it back up. “If we betray the people’s trust, they won’t come to us to alleviate themselves of their mistakes.” Hoisting the sack over her shoulder, she grabs her book with the other hand. “We must keep their hearts clean, so that evil can’t ever take root in them.”
“But, come on!” argues Canta, walking after her, as it’s apparently time to leave.
“I do this every day too, when we aren’t chasing a distorted,” she says, opening the door. “Today was my first day off in a long time.”
“So you know -”
“I know -“ she says, lifting a hand to stop him from saying anything again. “Congratulations on your level-up, sin-eater,” she says, nodding to him. They step outside into the nigh-orange haze of the dawning evening.
Canta, having completed his tasks for the day, heads back and finds Alleluia still being attended to by the priestesses, who buzz around her like busy little bees, as if she were some sort of noble-woman. Seeing him, she seems to light up a little and jumps excitedly to her feet, which does make him feel good, in all honesty. He asks about her day as the two of them leave together, and then she asks about him.
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The next day proceeds much the same way. Breakfast. Combat-training. Book learning. Confessions, to get experience points. The latter, Alleluia is bothered about, as he has to spend the day locked up in the small chapel with the strange woman and she admits it, but she lets it drop after Canta reminds her that she’s a priestess and that he doesn’t care about anyone else. Canta, trying to be a stoic, mature adult, realizes that this is probably stemming from the same anxiety of being abandoned as when they split up for his lessons. He makes a mental note to figure out something to alleviate her worries, although he supposes that it's natural to be clingy if you were trapped underground for as long as she likely was. Then again, he finds himself being oddly clingy too at times when he gets back from his day.
He realizes that he is trapped like a fly drunk off fermented fruit-nectar, which willingly flew into a spider’s web. This whole thing is clearly unhealthy in a way, yet he enjoys it at the same time in the way that only something soul-nourishing could feel. It’s very complicated.
Then the next day, the pattern repeats.
Then, the next day too.
Then, the day after that.
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Soon, a week goes by. Day in, day out, it’s the same thing over and over. He’s making very little progress in his combat-training, still never quite managing to reach the palatinos. If it could be called ‘combat-training’. It’s really just always three hours of him getting knocked around. She isn’t even teaching him to use any weapons or any spells or anything, saying that there’s no point unless he learns the core fundamentals of fighting first. Annoyed, he yells at her, telling her that it’s unfair because she has armor on.
– She takes her armor off and breaks his jaw two more times that morning without it. ‘Fair enough’, thinks Canta. She sure showed him. He makes a mental note that when he finally gets a good hit on her, he should aim at her jaw, just to really bring the karmic situation full-circle. That’s a very motivating thought for him. He dusts himself off, getting right back up for round three without a moment of hesitation. Having a clear goal can be very helpful in life.
Later that night, he and Alleluia get into a light argument with each other again, because in Alleluia’s eyes, he was trying to coerce the strange woman to get undressed, which in a sense, he was, but not in the way she was thinking. The two of them talk it out, and an hour later, everything is settled again except for the bed-frame.
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Valenti’s lessons are the worst part of the day, even worse than the combat-training. At least combat-training goes by quickly. As for Valenti, the man might have an interesting personality, but his methods of tutoring truly make Canta wish that he was back in the dungeon, walking down monotone hallway after monotone hallway. “Those were the days,” he mutters to himself, listening to Valenti give a lecture about the phases of the moon and witches.
He has no idea why he even has to know any of this stuff. Can’t he just go to the Demon-King and eat him? What’s the problem? Why does he need to know about the moon? Who gives a shit about the moon?
Confessions are at least a productive use of his time, even if he’s getting very sick of the wafers. Experience-points are coming in at a steady trickle as people come to him; many of them he would swear he had just talked to the day before. As for the bookish priestess, the two of them always make a little small talk before the session starts. Apparently, her name is Carmela. He wouldn’t say that they’re becoming friends, but rather work-place acquaintances. Still, he appreciates having someone normal to talk to. Most of the other priests seem to be oddly avoidant of him when he walks through the gardens. She explains that it’s because they’re afraid of him.
Apparently, being a sin-eater really is a big deal to them. It’s as if they would see the bishop just strolling around. He’s not someone you usually just walk up to and start talking to. There’s just too large of a social power-dynamic to be comfortably bridged. Canta doesn’t really feel all that powerful, in all honesty. But he does appreciate the reverence, even if it is a little lonely at the top.
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Canta stands on the upper floor of the bell-tower of the cathedral.
He has no particular reason for being up here. He was just walking around, exploring a little for the sake of it, when he found a small, forgotten door that nobody really seemed to use ever.
Waiting for the coast to be clear, he snuck through it and went up a long, spiraling staircase, until reaching the very top.
He looks over the railing from the high tower that he’s standing in. There’s a good view of the city from here. All around the cathedral, which is at the heart of the place, beneath the looming shadow of the massive, dead tree, houses and structures that are covered in greenery span out within the confines of the water-coated walls.
He turns his gaze towards the south. The city doesn’t have any walls there. Instead, the ocean meets the land. The harbor is inactive and asleep, barring one or two odd ships that are trawling for fish. The city wall extends out into the ocean a little ways, where it stops at a solitary tower that stands guard in the waters, proving itself resilient against the constantly crashing waves that strike against its base.
What he can also see that’s somewhat interesting is the great castle, made of the same time-forgotten white stones as the rest of the city. It is right next to the cathedral. The two grand structures are intricately connected and interwoven into one-another – just as the dead roots of the giant tree are connected to the city built around them.
Canta looks back around, towards the horizon in all directions. He doesn’t see any other towns. There are a few collections of houses here or there. There are some odd farms and tiny villages. But if there are any real cities, apart from this one, he can’t see them from here.
It’s like this place – this city – is the only one that is left in the entire world.
He recalls from his old life how… bustling and alive the world as a whole used to be. Now, the place that he sees span out all around himself just appears to just be… a grave.
It’s an old grave that grasses and flowers have long since grown over, bringing forth a new form of life that is very different from what had once come before.
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“So, what do you think?” asks the man’s voice.
Canta, leaning against a wall, having been waiting for his lessons with Valenti to start, turns his head to look to the side.
A priest and a soldier are standing there. They don’t seem to have noticed him.
“I dunno,” replies the soldier. “We haven’t gotten any new orders yet, just to look after the sin-eater.” The man looks over his shoulders, looking around the area. Canta ducks his head back behind the wall. “How do you think he knew?” asks the soldier. “– that a sin-eater would should up?”
“Can’t say,” replies the priest. “You know how it is with magic and powerful people. They get… weird.”
“Yeah,” replies the soldier. “So… should we just hold the fort?”
“I think so,” says the priest. “We’ll get new orders when the time comes. You saw him. You saw how intense he was. He was serious about this.”
“Yeah… I never saw anything like it,” replies the soldier. “You adjusting well?”
It’s quiet for a moment. The priest speaks. “I think so. It feels a little weird, but I’ve been out of the game for a while.”
“Yeah, me too,” replies the soldier. “Come on, let’s get a bite to eat. I’m still not over being able to taste things again.” There is a clapping sound, presumably someone being hit on the back with a broad hand.
The two men walk off, laughing.
Canta stands there, not sure what that was about. Someone predicted a sin-eater showing up? Someone powerful? That probably means the bishop, or?
He crosses his arms and narrows his eyes.
Suspicious.
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Another week passes.
He manages to ‘punch’ the palatinos during combat-training, although, it’s just his fist thudding against the metal plate, just below her neck, before he got sent flying again, his victorious grin knocked loose. He’s getting close. He'll get her next time. As for Valenti’s lessons, even if he isn’t really paying attention, he’s still picking up a few things here and there, and finally, another week and countless confessions later, he levels up again to level ten, which is apparently a huge deal.
Much to his distaste however, his final confession before leveling up is from the ‘chicken-guy’, who has come back for more, by the looks of it.
On a happier note, there’s going to be a small party for his efforts, which he does appreciate. Although, he isn’t sure if he’s going to have the appetite to eat anything after hearing this latest story.
“That poor chicken,” mutters Canta, shaking his head after the man has left. Another metaphorical point tallied for the Demon-King and his desire to destroy the world. So far, Canta can't help but notice that the mental scoreboard he’s been keeping is starting to look pretty definitive in favor of the entity.
~*+- PROFILE -+*~ HP: ----- "Canta" SOUL: 48/48↑
LEVEL:
* 10 *
[https://dmrhodes.com/gallery_gen/a29828d4574aefc073fceacf673e4729.png]
EXP: 0/125
CLASS: [Sin-Eater]
STATUS
HUNGER: You are about to burst
THIRST: You are not thirsty
SUB-CLASS: None
RACE: Human
OBOLS: 0
STR: 14 ↑ WIS: 15 LUK: 09↑↑ DEX: 22↑ INT: 15 LOV: 05