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One hundred questions flitted through Calaf’s head. He rose, feeling dizzy for many long seconds before his sense of balance leveled out.
“Finally, you’re awake,” Jelena said. “You woke twice before but passed out again when trying to sit up. You good to go?”
Calaf looked around. The room was plush. The bed was plusher, with an ornate and tall frame and accompanying blinds that were currently wide open but could be closed for some ‘privacy.’
Yes, privacy. That’s what they’d call it.
“I’m suddenly glad those doors block sound,” the Squire said.
Jelena giggled. “That they do.”
“You made it out of Fort Duran in one piece?”
“Better than you.” Jelena’s brow furrowed, concerned. “Enkidu and I got that child with the twin eye brands out of harm's way. She’s over by an oasis, reading something off the Interface windows of some dire-ducks. Weird, right?”
Calaf held his head in his hands. He struggled in vain to recall the events of the past few days.
I traveled south from Fort Duran to the edge of the desert. There was that godawful water merchant racket. I took exactly one canteen, which barely lasted me a day. Then…
The dehydration status frazzled his brain and even his memories. Must be part of those INT-reducing debuffs. He did remember Jelena, walking up to him framed in the desert sun, offering him lifesaving water. Calaf did not recall being dragged into this brothel or anything that happened since.
“Joan and Cayo. I presume they didn’t make it,” Jelena said.
Calaf nodded.
“They didn’t expect to,” the relic thief continued immediately after. “Cayo and I had a chat while you were out at the ramparts. If Zilara’s trick with the ‘transmissions’ didn’t have an immediate effect, they were going to hold the church off while all those refugees and a large part of their army escaped to bear witness. Obviously, that didn’t quite go as planned, but more than a few civilians made it out.”
“Nobody cared.” Calaf stretched his legs, which were sore from laying about for so long. “The recordings were sent out as System Messages to all faithful. Or at least most of them. Nobody cares. The massacres, it’s all considered just putting fiendish heretics to the sword just like they deserve.”
But Jelena sighed. “There certainly doesn’t seem to be much of a riot around Firefield. Everyone’s just going on with their lives.”
It had happened before. The last time Calaf had been in Firefield, Zilara had been enlisted to send off that System Message. What were the contents of that message, again? There was no record left in the Interface. ‘The bishop’s sermons are but lies’ – Calaf remembered that at least.
Calaf hoisted himself off the extra-large bed with little fanfare. Jelena remained on her knees near where the pillows were arranged.
“Why a brothel?” the Squire asked.
“No room at the inn?” Jelena laughed at some inside joke, then: “It’s a warm bed and the proprietor won’t ask questions. Okay, full disclosure: I also, uh, know the place.”
“Huh?” Calaf turned back to face the bed. He raised an eyebrow.
A thunking sound came from the ceiling. It was a multi-story business, self-evidently.
Jelena’s cheeks were puffed up and flushed.
“W-well.” She glanced away. “What does it sound like?”
“You, uh partake in the establishment’s… services?” Calaf asked, incredulous.
“Used to.” She looked up towards the ceiling. “Heh, some of the rooms have mirrors up there.”
“… so do they offer male, uh, companions, or?” Calaf leaned in.
Not that he was curious about Turandot’s preferences or anything. He just hoped he didn’t seriously misinterpret some things during their intertwined journeys of revenge and gradual camaraderie.
“They offer both services,” she stammered. “Men are in the eastern wing, ladies are here. At any rate, I’m well versed in the layout of both wings, if ya know what I mean.”
Jelena took a deep breath as if she was preparing to break the seal on some highly personal tragic and worldview-rearranging backstory. Her hands bounced up and down in her lap like dire-corn on a hot skillet.
“Ah, I’m not just a customer…” she looked up at that narrow slit in the window. “I was also an employee.”
Strange sounds escaped from Calaf’s mouth despite every intention of clamming up entirely.
“You worked.”
Jelena nodded fast.
“In a brothel?”
Jelena nodded faster.
“Yeah. Partook in the services offered. Also were part of their services offered. The whole gamut of roles one can have around a brothel. Seldom did both at the same time though.”
“Well…”
Calaf added nothing else to the conversation. What was he supposed to say?
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“So, as you’ve probably surmised by now, a few years back I was a pious new convert. One of the first to take the Brand in Japella. Before the mission set up shop, I had a bit of a… reputation around the village. A fun reputation. Popular with the guys around town. Ah, there were so many young adults until relatively recently… now most that are left live around Firefield.”
“Anyway, after my conversion and pilgrimage, I became a pious born-again-virgin type. Branded, I was a whole new me. That lasted for some time as I served the new church outpost as a deaconess. Took care of the Japella orphanage. Town didn’t need an orphanage before the pilgrimage route. But I digress, that’s a different story.”
Jelena sighed. “Hey, there’s a container full of water pitchers over there beside the bookshelf. Work shift makes the girls thirsty, yeah? If you’re still dehydrated…”
“I’ll be fine,” Calaf said, his back to Jelena.
His dehydration status had dissipated entirely by the time he woke up. All negative status effects were removed.
“M’kay.” Jelena paused for a moment. “Can I have one? Been talking a lot.”
Calaf complied. He picked up some Spare Sealed Water Flagons of N. Firefield’s Brunette Bunny Ranch (x4) and placed two of them at the edge of the bed in that awkward workaround for trading with those not blessed with the Interface.
“Cheers.” Jelena took a bottle and downed it. “Despite being called a ‘Brunette Bunny Ranch’ there are plenty of blondes amidst the ranks. Couple redheads over in the male wing.”
“Fascinating,” Calaf said, voice straining to remain deadpan.
“Most of the girls look, well.” Jelena motioned to herself. “Like moi. Locals from the desert yeah? Hair that’s dark black counts as brunette by most standards. Hence the name.”
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Calaf exhaled sharply.
“The church allows such a practice to operate?”
“Oh, there’s a nun-themed brothel closer to the main drag! Worked there for a few weeks before moving here. Eh, better not to talk about The Incident.” Jelena chuckled to herself. “While not necessarily condoned, the church does tolerate it, mostly. Doesn’t think highly of the girls and their opinion of the Johns depends on their rank and status. But, hey, we’re in a room right now. So, they’re above-board.”
“How did you come to work in such a place?” Calaf asked.
Jelena grew quiet. Both her eyes welled up.
“After I got back from pilgrimage, things were quiet for a while. But over the next few pilgrimage seasons, Japella seemed to empty. Younger generations were mostly Branded, and moved over to Firefield to take better advantage of the church’s services and their own Interfaces. Many more increasingly didn’t make it back from pilgrimage. The orphanage ranks swelled precisely because of this. In time they moved the orphanages to the larger towns along the route better suited for handling such things.”
“What did you do then?”
The former sister rubbed her bad eye.
“Stayed around as deaconess for a bit. Mostly assigned to dust off the church archives. But my reputation re-established itself. My failing, perhaps. Idle hands, giving into temptation, and all. Everyone knew since everyone could see now, with the Menu and all. By the time the mission burnt down in a fire one night while I was out fetching water for my gram-gram, I sort of just… lost the last vestige of meaning the role still had for me. No new assignments were going to come and Japella was too unimportant to invest in a new mission once everyone south of sixty was already converted. So, I just up and left through the desert one day. Went to Firefield without a penny to my name.”
Calaf leaned against the bedpost, looking intently at Jelena.
“After that, you…”
“Joined in at a brothel. Like most other women who wind up in Firefield without a penny to their name. Happens to more former sisters and deaconesses than you’d expect, hence the nun-themed hotel, yeah?”
“I… never thought of it.”
“Few do.” Jelena smiled sadly. “Never crossed my mind until I wound up in that situation. Still Branded at that point. Didn’t scour my eye until I turned to a life of more martial forms of crime, and I had to stay off the church’s radar.”
Outside, it was about midday, judging by the glare of the sun beaming directly down through this slit near the ceiling.
“So, yeah. That’s the missing part of my mournful, loss-filled backstory. The glue that welds Sister Turandot to the church’s most wanted Jelena you know today. Didn’t stumble on some faith-shattering secret buried in the church crypts that put me at war with the Archpope. Didn’t learn that the Ancient Heroes of Yore were not divine heralds on a holy quest but were merely random slaves-turned-rebels escaped from some Demonic plantation. No big ‘event’ – just grew disillusioned over time.”
Disillusionment. That word tossed about in Calaf’s head.
“Yep. That’s my story. Left the church, like half the girls here in the building, and sold the only thing I had left to survive. Until I found out that pilfered relics from dusty tombs and barely-guarded reliquaries were worth a lot more than I was…”
“That’s not true,” Calaf said, leaning over the bed.
“Huh?” Jelena asked.
“You’re more valuable than you think you are.” He gazed at her sternly. “I – uh – mean not just your body. You. All of you. The whole package.”
Jelena bit her bottom lip. “You flatterer.”
Swiftly, the Squire glanced away. “That was not my intent.”
“You’ve just got a way with words,” Jelena concluded. “Must be how you wooed that deaconess from Riverglen, yeah?”
Charlotte. The name caused Calaf’s heart to go sour. His betrothed. The woman who’d tended to Karol’s wounds at the Battletower. And…
Calaf leaned back, away from the bed. He walked over to the bookshelf.
“I was trying to follow someone,” he said, scanning the shelves. “Karol. A crimson mage. Her brand was scoured, intentionally. Not part of an excommunication though. She was the one who killed Cayo. Was sent there in the appearance of a common refugee to get close to him. They intentionally assassinated him with someone not of the Menu. Just to get Joan to break her guard and composure. Someone put her up to it. Groomed her for the role with no expectation of her survival. I think it was…”
“Did she speak to a ranking member of the church?”
Calaf said nothing, which told Jelena everything.
“I’m sorry.”
“Riverglen. I need to get back to Riverglen,” he declared. “If I can find Karol along the route, assuming she’s still alive, great. If I can get home before Karol gets there, maybe I can at least ask questions – why, what happened, whatever I need to ask to get answers.”
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Partially to distract himself, Calaf picked out a few books. They were hefty, steamy romance novels. Perhaps unsurprisingly. Jelena chimed in to mention that the girls would usually read them between clients. Keep ‘em in the mood.
Calaf hazarded a glance at a specific novel. It had an Interface designation like most other items in the world.
Item: Brave Ser Knight in The Lair of the Desert-Dwellers
Description: A brave Paladin, Roiland, finds himself beset by a tribe of all-female desert nomads. Will his knightly vows stand firm, or will he be corrupted into the compliant plaything of the tribe’s feisty, pagan, dusky chieftainess? In an added twist, the nomads do not speak the common tongue of the church and so can only communicate using their bodies…
Calaf coughed up some of the water he’d been given during his long delirium-induced slumber. How scandalous! Actually, maybe he wanted to keep ahold of this one. For later perusal. Just to see how sinful it truly was.
Clearing his throat, Calaf turned to Jelena.
“Thanks, Jelena. I can’t help but feel I understand you better now. After everything we’ve been through, both chasing after each other and fighting side by side, I can’t shake the feeling that we could be… friends.”
“Friends, huh?” Jelena smiled.
“If circumstances didn’t get in the way.” Calaf nodded.
“Not still mad about the slaying of that godly Pryor?”
Calaf clenched his fists. “You saved my life twice. That’s double what chivalry dictates is proper repayment. It would be uncouth for me to continue to try and apprehend you.”
And truth is, I don’t even know how godly anything is anymore, went unsaid.
“Oh, Calaf.” Jelena’d scooted to the edge of the bed. “You’re so honorable. That’s… that’s what I like about you. A regular knight in shining armor.”
Calaf’s head drooped down.
“A shine just means the armor hasn’t been tested in battle.”
“You know what I mean.” Jelena scoffed. “I took all those vows, but you live by that code of chivalry. I could never have stayed, ah, faithful to the Sisterly vow of chastity for long. If you know what I mean.”
By now Calaf had walked to the edge of the bed. As if he were being reeled in by some force.
“There you go again. Self-Depreciating.” He took her hands in his.
Jelena’s cheeks flushed a darker shade. Calaf gazed into her eyes. Both the natural caramel-colored eye and the cloudier eye with the off-purple, scoured brand gazed back at him, wide.
“Calaf…” she said. “That should be my line. Ah say, about that kiss at the fort.”
“About it.” Calaf nodded.
He leaned in and, in a gesture not approved by the Menu…
Special Technique: Kiss
Effect: Smooches target for zero damage. Can bring certain opponents off guard though. More often used on allies.
Jelena Turandot, sly and highly experienced relic thief that she was, stammered and blushed like a freshly-smooched maiden.
And on Calaf’s Interface…
Name:
Calaf, Wayfarer.
Rank:
Squire
Level:
41
Status:
126/126 (Kiss Stealer!)
Now all would know he was smooching outside of wedlock!
“It was simply payback for the fort,” he said. “A kiss repaid with a kiss.”
The status should wear off before he got to Riverglen. Nosy types could see a history of past status effects, but most clerics felt that was confidential. Still, if it didn’t it could raise some questions he’d rather not have to dodge.
Jelena leaned up and kissed him again. “Mmm. Not bad for a first-timer.”
… really, the status was at least explainable. Chivalry dictates payment in kind. A fair maiden kisses him, and he repays it in the exact form and function. It was a common tale about questing knights.
Calaf kissed again. Well, so much for a one-time thing.
“Ah~ c’mere!” Jelena pulled him closer to the bed.
Their lips met. Soon Jelena was deploying new and exciting special techniques Calaf did not know could be done with one's tongue.
It wasn’t too late. If they pulled back now, that most dreaded of statuses, Oath Breaker, could be avoided. That one showed up next to his name and most certainly would not dissipate before he made it back to Firefield.
Yes, if they went any further all would know that Calaf, Squire, and Paladin-aspirant, had forsaken many vows of chivalry and chastity to seek solace with a promiscuous, fallen, oh-so-alluringly-sexy relic thief!
“Calaf~” Jelena pulled him back, urging him onto the bed.
“I…” Calaf gave one last needy nibble to Jelena’s lip. “Must…”
He pulled back, not without a great deal of sadness. Jelena was left propping herself up on her elbows, gazing up at him.
“I need to return to Riverglen.” He stepped back. “Before anything else. To get answers. To set things right.”
“Still duty-bound after all this.” Jelena smiled up at him. “That’s the you I like, y’know? Even now, still an exemplar of chivalry. If you gave in to that forbidden fruit, well, you simply wouldn’t be the Calaf that’s been on my mind all these weeks and months.”
Calaf stared at her, resisting the urge to step back to the bed and leave this life of honor behind irreversibly.
“… unless you want to break those vows and forsake your knightly chivalry, in which case I’ve got the room reserved all night!” Jelena patted the plush cushions next to her.
Calaf shook his head. “After I’m back from Riverglen. We can talk.”
“And maybe more than talk.”
“Maybe,” Calaf smirked and rolled his eyes. “But I’m not doing this for chivalry.”
The church doesn’t even practice chivalry. Not the way he was taught. The revealed hypocrisy was enough to cause his hands to ball into fists. One rule they teach to those in the pews, while their hunters operate with impunity.
“I’m doing this for me,” he concluded and opened the door.
“By the Scout’s roguish grin, that’s even hotter!” Jelena shouted as he left.
In the end, Calaf of Riverglen, Wayfarer, was perhaps the first man to ever leave a brothel with only the sinful red mark of ‘Kiss Stealer’ on his Interface.
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