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Jelena Turandot rose from her leaning position and made a point of disappearing into the castle proper. She exited down a narrow, shaded tunnel running under the outermost walls.
Calaf wanted to follow. To shake her down for answers and find out what exactly she was doing here amidst this den of apostasy. But he was duty-bound to his mission.
“Soon, the storm will be upon us,” Joan said from high above. “For now, come in, eat, feast, and meet the scion of the holy bloodline that will be our salvation.”
Doors opened leading further into the fortress. Try as Calaf did to skirt the crowd and follow after Jelena, the flow of his fellow guests proved too strong, and he was pushed steadily inside.
Joan and Cayo, high-level Paladin and Cleric turned apostate rebels that they were, observed the crowd as they entered the fort.
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Fort Duran Du Loc was the official dungeon of the Paladin. Just as the Battletower was for Battlemagery and Ye Olde Docks were for the Scout/Thief. The Cleric’s patron dungeon was a nunnery deep in the core districts of the Olde Capital.
Normally a dungeon would be sparsely populated by mortals and filled with dire-creatures and peril. Getting to the banquet hall would have been a challenge for even a Squire pushing level 60! And intentionally so. The purpose of these holy sites was to test the mettle of aspirants. Now, with an entire army holding the fort down, things were considerably less perilous.
Special items from the tallest or deepest segment of each dungeon were required to achieve that final rank up to Paladin, Scout, Battlemage, etc. For an aspiring Paladin, this would be Rampart Rubble from atop the central keep’s highest battlement.
Calaf refocused. This was not his immediate concern. It would be several years and twenty-odd levels until he had to rank up; there would be plenty of time to tackle Fort Duran ‘properly’, but first Calaf had to survive this mission…
A great hall awaited, cleared of both foes and centuries of rot. In place of ruined tables and crumbled chandeliers, there was an ornate banquet hall. All the delicacies of Autumn’s Redoubt were provided: dire-duck, dire-pheasant, pomegranates, and even the incredibly rare dire-pumpkin. An assortment of pies from the refurbished fort’s kitchens were kept under guard. It appeared Joan’s rebel Levelers took dessert deadly seriously.
Soldiers kept the queue tidy and flowing single-file. Calaf ate alongside the others. As he chewed on some dire-duck, he looked about and memorized the banquet hall’s layout. True to Joan’s assertions, the tables were round and without any corners or proper ‘head of the table’ to denote status. Instead, the layout of the tables as a whole was revealing:
Nine round tables full of food for the ordinary camp folk were arranged in three columns and two rows. A tenth table had been placed in an alcove or divot against the far wall. Not positioned above the rest of the tables, but it was quieter and secluded. This was where Joan, Cayo, and a set of clients wearing significantly higher-quality clothing sat. Nobles and the like. Their Interfaces revealed their names and designations effortlessly:
Name:
Cedric, Earl of the Capital Plateau
Rank:
Earl
Level
62
Status:
520/520
Name:
Lady Evelyn of Swampside Castle Cole
Rank:
Duchess
Level
73
Status:
650/650
Name:
Duke Marlowe of Howe
Rank:
Duke
Level
55
Status:
390/390
… which is to say, these were important nobles from around the northern plateau and even a few converted lands from overseas. Indeed, they even had the class reserved for those of noble birth. A useful audience to have if you were wining and dining dignitaries of power and influence.
Calaf spoke each name into the magic snail, as subtly as possible given the circumstances. He did this between bouts of dire-duck, of which his table had plenty.
Only about half the hall was taken up by the tables. The remaining half, the southern half near the fortress tower’s grand doors, was bare. As dinner gradually finished, a series of Troubadour-class musicians filed into raised balconies in the wings. They played regal music as a group.
One by one tables of common folk took to the dance floor. The nobles continued to hold their meeting at the secluded table, with a Paladin occasionally coming in to report to Joan with a whisper.
Desperate to maintain cover, Calaf left his seat once the food was running low. He milled about at the edge of the group, noticing that the refugee rabble was joined by a higher-end clientele as the noble’s retinues joined in – but not the nobles themselves.
Footsteps snuck up on Calaf. He didn’t notice until it was too late, but a set of long, slender nails slid along his forearm daintily.
“Excuse me, noble sir,” came a soft and sly voice.
Calaf turned to see a woman in a poofy regal dress and tight corset before him. Curly hair was done up in an ornate and lacy headpiece. Though a veil of lace covered her face, it could never hide the blocky eyepatch obscuring her lefthand side.
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“May I have this dance…” Jelena smirked and offered her hand. “… Hot Shot?”
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The dance floor was crowded, but the chamber was large enough to accommodate both more regal types of dancing and the more… plain… moves of the commoners.
Jelena Turandot, with her fancy dress and noblewoman disguise, of course, insisted on the latter. Calaf accessed his Interface, and chose ‘Dance.’ Jelena took his hands, placed one on her waist, and they began to sway about.
“So, Calaf.” Jelena’s feet swiftly outmaneuvered Calaf’s.
“It’s Caelus,” the disguised Squire said.
“Oh?” She glanced down at his fingers as they sat interlaced in hers. “A title-spoofing ring. I see. Well, that’s not something I’d be able to see. Hello there, ‘Caelus’.”
“Jelena, what are you doing here?”
The pair twirled around. Jelena repositioned his hand a little lower on her waist.
“Well, after you and I split up back at Japella, Enkidu and I traveled north. We happened to be in the area and it looked like there was all sorts of church activity goin’ on. Church hunters are on the warpath, of late.”
“I’ve noticed,” Calaf said, deadpan. “Are you here to spread heresy? To subvert these people’s faith in the glorious Menu?”
“What? No!” Jelena slowed down their pace. “This Joan lady seems to have plenty of faith in the System, she just wants to be in charge of it. It’s Menu versus Menu combat. Must say, though, she does welcome the excommunicated and Brandless into her ranks.”
Indeed, the dance floor had more than a few people who shared the question-mark designation of Jelena’s scoured Brand.
“What do you think of her? About Joan?” the relic thief asked.
Calaf thought long and hard. “What of her? She… does seem to believe what she’s saying. But to overturn the church… it would just give power back to nobles. Nobles just like her, conveniently.”
“Perhaps.” Jelena’s lips pursed. “She did say she wants to leave the Menu in place, and just allow everyone to live their own life. That doesn’t seem so bad. But the System would remain.”
The pair looked to the far table, where Joan and her posse stood, and observed the proceedings.
“You never told me why you were here.” Calaf’s face was perilously close to Jelena’s.
“Where there are battles over church doctrine, there are typically church relics,” the former Sister Turandot explained. “And where there are relics, there are opportunities to steal those relics!”
Calaf tried not to laugh. The Troubadours played louder, and they picked up the pace.
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The dance floor grew more fervid as everyone struggled to keep up with the beat. The commoner’s dance proved more adept in this fashion as they were, as they say, freewheeling it. But Jelena kept flat-footed Calaf on the beat.
“Ah, you thief!” Calaf said at a shout-whisper. “I should have known that was your angle!”
“Says the spy,” she shout-whispered back.
Jelena sashayed away from Calaf and made airs of considering a dance with various other suitors – of which there were many. Calaf was left in the middle of the dance floor, abandoned, until she came back and scooped him up.
“Just kidding~” she teased. “You’re far more handsome than those gentlemen suitors.”
“I am not either handsome!”
The pair took off tangoing once more.
“Lying is unchivalrous conduct unbecoming a Paladin~” Jelena said. “’Course, so is spycraft.”
Calaf frowned. “Why did you seek me out?”
“Well, handsome.” Jelena enunciated this word with extra emphasis. “I wasn’t expecting you here. But I’m here for relic-thieving purposes. You’re here for church-double agent purposes, I presume. Curious how that works out.”
The pair twirled. Jelena spun about while the pair orbited each other. Her dress puffed up as she spun, drawing much attention from the crowd. When she slowed down, she went flush to Calaf’s body, and the pair took off laterally, hand in hand.
“We both have the power to destroy each other,” Jelena said. “One of us can rat the other out. It’s quite the precarious situation, wouldn’t you say?”
Calaf grabbed Jelena’s waist and hoisted her into the air. The crowd responded with a polite clap. They returned to a slower, swaying style.
“Well,” Jelena said when she was back on the floor. “What do you say, Hot Shot? Truce?”
“Truce. For now.” Calaf sighed, then said at a lower octave: “But you should get out of here before the fighting starts. I was sent here by General Perarde himself.”
Jelena nodded, understanding. “The Paladin Exemplar is here? Why, that’s every hunter in the church… must really have them spooked.”
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There was a twang of a Silver Spoon of Stirring (x1) against a Plain Wine Goblet +2.
“I am glad that so many could reach this redoubt, and make merry despite the dire circumstances we find ourselves in.” Paladin Joan held the goblet aloft, turning all eyes towards her.
“Now, our friends here.” Joan motioned towards her fellow nobles. “Among others, have questioned how we can hope to withstand the full power of the church. Top loyalist forces close in around us even now.”
That sent a murmur of concern through the crowd. Cayo held his hands out.
“Dread not. For we have a plan to expose the Church’s corruption to all. Surely, when all see the truth, open rebellion is assured.”
Frightened murmurs soon turned to nods of agreement.
A door at Joan and co.’s back opened just a tad. A diminutive figure walked in.
“Behold,” said the Paladin. “Our benefactor, and candidate for a true, more… worldly archpope.”
Joan held her hand out and this miniature figure took it, before likewise requesting Cayo’s hand as well.
The Paladin and cleric both presented a short young woman of no older than twelve. Otherworldly silver hair sat groomed into a dozen pigtails around the back of her head, while twin sideburns likewise adopted a natural spiral. The young girl said nothing, letting her twin-Branded silver eyes do the talking, alongside an interface designation:
Name:
Zilara, Holy Child
Rank:
(Custom Class: Divine Bloodline)
Level
26
Status:
70/70
“For as you see, a descendant of the divine couple has been found,” Joan announced. “Of a bloodline unjustly cast out from the Grand Cathedral long ago.”
Cayo and Joan gently urged this young lady out into the crowd. Still, she did not speak.
“Thought extinct, this branch of the divine bloodline has survived in the wild amongst the Unbranded and those outside the church’s influence for generations. It represents an older, more pure form of the faith. One we will restore to its proper place at the Demon Lord’s Fall.”
The crowd was silent as they observed this otherworldly-looking child.
Joan nodded sagely at the child. “It was through her power that we managed to temporarily unlock Systems Messages, which we used to invite so many of you here to our sanctuary. And, with time, I’m certain we can fully unshackle this ability from control of the ecumenical council, and return it, and many other System features, to the people!”
The crowd cheered.
Zillaria turned to a proud-looking Cayo and Joan.
“What say you, child?” Cayo asked. “Can you restore the Systems Messages? So that we may provide this truth to the faithful? No need for sermons, no need for cathedral hierarchy?”
“Got it, Hoss.” Zilara gave a curt nod. “Can do.”
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The holy child didn’t talk much. But when she did it was in an off-pilgrimage route accent not unlike the people of Vault. Much more twangy, somewhat common to the unconverted masses of the cold and chilly north, well beyond Demon Lord’s Fall.
Joan and Cayo showed Zilara off like doting parents at a debutante ball. Zilara awkwardly fumbled through memorized dance motions as the festival continued. A second helping of food was provided at the tables, drawing a few souls away from the dance floor.
Both Jelena Turandot and Calaf of Riverglen continued their detente dance of mutual rivalry.
“Say, what do you think of this dress?” Jelena asked after a time.
Calaf looked down, examining the tight purplish bodice Jelena was squeezed into. The corset turned her waist into an hourglass. And a low cut along the top revealed a great deal of her neck. Dark purple lace blended in and accentuated a stunning dusky desert complexion. The dress popped out on all sides, only making her figure appear supple and more exaggerated.
Damn the curves on these seductresses of the Firefield desert. Their sun-kissed skin tone and ample assets were about to make the dutiful Squire start reconsidering his vows!
“I… er, I’m engaged,” Calaf said in a huff.
“I was going to ask you to take it off,” Jelena hummed, then: “That wasn’t a sexy proposition. I mean it’s legitimately going to be impossible to get out of this corset without a blade.”
“Where’s Enkidu?” Calaf asked. “He ought to be able to help.”
“How do you think I got in this thing?” Jelena chuckled. “He’s around. Keeping watch. Hardly fits in at a proper, civilized banquet.”
The pair’s faces drifted closer.
“Got the dress from some noblewoman’s mobile wardrobe,” Jelena explained. “They have so many they’ll never miss it and clearly don’t even recognize it on someone else.”
“I… I see.”
“Glad you like it,” she teased.
“I… do,” Calaf admitted. “It looks good. Great On you, I mean.”
Over near the hall’s center, a cry went out:
“Tell us, child, what miracles can you perform?”
“Er, I can see the true designations of people’s menus,” Zilara said, finger in her ear.
“Wow. A way to instantly determine the loyalty of spies and cutthroats!” said an audience member.
All at once Calaf felt a pair of eyes fall upon him. Suspicious, far from the fawning gaze of the crowd garnered when he and Miss Turandot had stolen the show with their dance moves earlier.
“Like those two.” The holy child pointed directly at Calaf.
Dancing stopped.
“Who, me?” Jelena pointed at her chest. “Why, I’m but a humble noblewoman who lost her Brand in an elaborate apple-picking accident!”
“That one.” Zilara made an immature pointing motion at Calaf. “One whose Menu designation says ‘Caelus.’ He’s got a spoofing ring.”
Calaf tried to hide the bronze and silver rings on his left hand, to no avail.
“You two, the couple that’s been stealing the show all night,” Joan’s voice boomed. “Come visit us in the fortress annex.”
“Worry not. You will not be detained,” Cayo promised. “We simply wish to talk, and hope you will listen.”
“Heh. Yeah, what the Hoss and Other Hoss say,” Zilara concluded. “Just goanna talk.”
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