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Name:
Marianne, Maid of Port Town
Rank:
Initiate
Level
2
Status:
10/10 (Newly of Age, Enterprising)
A maiden having only recently turned eighteen, Marianne was born to a pair of converts from across the sea. She worked as a maid and seamstress just outside the Port Town Cathedral District, works she’d performed since the death of her parents on pilgrimage some twelve years prior.
Marianne was named as a variation of and in deference to Cleric Mia, the holy priestess, whose shrine in the Cathedral annex she prayed to twice weekly for guidance and peace of mind.
Bells rang as the weekly congregation filed out of Port Town’s main cathedral.
That kindly new interim bishop has drawn in many formerly lapsed Branded into the flock, thought the maid.
Yes, this rather iniquitous town of libertine morals was hardly the most devout station on the pilgrimage route. But with a bit of spiritual guidance, even these lapsed souls could learn to accept the light and divine reassurance offered by the Holy Interface.
The streets of Port Town were quiet of late. First, the pilgrimage season had wound down then those armies raised from the other stations had marched south in a hurry. As a result, it was only locals and foreign sailors on shore leave walking along.
The lack of crowds left Marianne with a quiet anticipation. The pilgrimage season was over, whatever unpleasantness was sending armed, more southerly faithful would be resolved within the season. The path would be clear for her own pilgrimage next year, the centerpiece of her spiritual life, and an event she’d been waiting for ages in which to participate.
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Earlier in the week, Marianne had cleaned up some of the many hotel rooms belonging to adventurer's parties and mercenaries that had been among those troops marshaling to respond to some such disturbance. She cleaned dutifully in her work uniform: a Plain Maid’s Apron +1, equipped with her Austere Feather Duster and the always reliable Dire-Horsehair Broom +3. These sellswords were always rude, randy, and often just dropped used foodstuffs right out of their Inventories!
Today, though, she was commissioned to travel along the sandy jetty off to the lighthouse. For as long as Marianne had been alive, the beacon had moved at a steady pace round and round, burning every night. Here in the early afternoon, the beacon was not yet lit.
Marianne approached the lighthouse to discover a pair of church clerics standing guard at the door.
“Good day. I’m a maid hired to attend to the cleaning of this place,” Marianne said.
“Go on in, you’re expected,” said one of the clerics.
Marianne stepped in with her hands clasped. Her apron swished about as she walked.
A handful of other clerics and less prestigious grunt workers milled about on the first floor.
“Gotta manually crank the damn thing in shifts,” said one of the workers. “How did it work for so long before!?”
“Nah, used to have a crank. Like clockwork,” said another, older worker. “Did some maintenance on it back when I was your age. Heck, guess I was a few levels lower than you are now too. If it weren’t for all that vine-gunk gumming up the works it would just need a single twist a month. Old bishop used to have a few guys come out and wind it now and again.”
An unlit beacon stuffed with its daily allotment of firewood awaited high above. The workers stood around an Interface-incompatible crank, preparing to manually pull it for the day.
A cleric pointed Marianne towards a flight of downward-spiraling stairs. Marianne nodded and followed the stairs.
Down in the basement, a half-dozen other maids were already at work, sweeping and cleaning off some unsightly gunk along the far wall. They greeted Marianne. She recognized many, as they worked side by side cleaning inns and maritime trading conglomerate manses regularly. A small fire raged in a cut-in fireplace, where two maids swished some dried-up plant matter into the fire, disposing of it.
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As she used her feather duster to sweep some orange and flesh-colored dust off the various walls and stairs, Marianne’s mind drifted off to thoughts of her beloved sailor beau, Griff.
She could have departed on the pilgrimage this year. The stories of the initiation rites in the Riverglen sewers had long filled her with anticipation. To travel along the same path as the Ancient Heroes of Yore! But she put it off, even as friends and fellow faithful began their journeys along the Church’s holy pilgrimage path themselves. Why, Maid Barbara who worked the dockside inns was half as faithful as Marianne was, and she’d left for pilgrimage two years ago! Barb had traveled to Autumn’s Redoubt with convoys and garnered a respectable level 35.
All the foreign sailors in port found the Brands quite attractive. According to Marianne’s beau, they looked much like some decorative markings common among seafarers in foreign lands. Many a sailor converted just to add another tattoo to their repertoire. They often found their new Interface hard to wrangle with the knot-craft and caulking inherent to sea travel immediately thereafter. Certainly, sailors had found Barbara’s Brand and the tales of her journey up the levels and along the path fascinating, for she had a portside apartment, three kids, and a foreign beau of her own currently sailing the trade routes.
Which brought Marianne to thinking, wistfully, of her beloved Griff. A foreign sailor three yers her senior who’d never seen a Brand until he’d noticed hers and asked about it. (That her Brand happened to be on her upper thigh was another story). Handsome, dashing Griff stopped by Port Town three times since then, the latest of which was just the previous month. Marianne blushed as she worked, recalling how Griff hadn’t even bothered to book an inn during his last weekend’s worth of shore leave.
The young maid whistled pleasantly as she worked with the kind of goofy tenor common to the lovestruck. The kind that the smitten seldom thought their coworkers noticed but they always did. Marianne’s fellow maids worked in their assigned segments, giving Marianne’s glurge-inducing wistful sweeping a wide birth.
“Hmm?” Mariane’s broom caught something and sent it flying into the wall. She walked over and then knelt to investigate.
“What’s this?”
A long and slender bone, a bit of dead, crisp plant life wrapped tightly around it, lay on the floor. It ended in a point, like a finger. Marianne wrinkled her nose.
“Must belong to a dead dire-mouse,” she said to herself.
The maid chucked this bone into the fire. She swept and swept until the strange orangish blotches in this dingy basement were adequately blended into the cold stone.
Basement clean, the maids worked their way up to the annex. Things here were less dank, less rotten, with much less to clean. The team of maids swished some refuse out of some cracks in the wall and tidied up strange blotches running up the walls along the stairs.
The maid team cleaned the lighthouse from top to bottom. They got to the beacon to find it ready to light, the topmost floor having been deep-cleaned by some other team.
“We’re just about to light it,” said a cleric. “Your job is done. Visit the bishop’s office after evening liturgy for payment.”
Marianne curtseyed with a smile on her face and was the first to head down. All the maids lingered on the spiral stairwell just long enough to watch the cleric light the beacon with a quick Minor Conflagration spell.
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Downstairs, the standard workers were busy pushing a great crank, winding the lighthouse up for another night’s watch.
“Back in… my day,” an older worker said. “The old crank was System-compatible. Could be used with the Interface. And one windup… hnnng… lasted a whole month!”
This was none of the maids' concern, and they returned out onto the dunes of the cape.
“Bye, Barbara!” Marianne waved. “Hey, if you’re working, I presume your beau is back from overseas?”
A very tired maid, not five years older than Marriane, but rather worn-down from work and childrearing, nodded. “Yeah. Came in last night. Won’t be departing again for another month or two. So I had him look after the kids for my shift.”
Marianne jumped up happily. Excellent! Her beloved Griff and Barbara’s beau were shipmates. Meaning that, with her maid duties complete, she should have some pleasant company for the next few weeks. She took off, spring in her step, all the pleasant and titillating possibilities dancing through her head.
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The lighthouse illuminated her path back into town. Useful, as the sun was setting fast.
Marrianne visited the cathedral. While the new bishop was meeting with some newly devout faithful after evening prayers, she was able to meet with his interim assistant.
Name:
Deacon Jeb
Rank:
Seer
Level
33
Status:
90/90 (Austere and Pious)
This deacon traded Marianne her wages for the lighthouse job.
“Thank you, deacon,” she said. “Is Bishop, er, Bishop Deacon adapting well to the Port Town Flock?”
“Oh, but of course,” said Jeb. “Say, my dear, did you know that that fine sailor gentleman caller was in town?”
Marianne nodded. “So I’ve heard. I haven’t seen him yet.”
The deacon had a twinkle in his eye. “He had a gift for you. You may wish to visit the annex of the heroes’ shrines.”
A secret surprise. And in the cathedral. Marianne gave a little self-satisfied giggle and went to the annex. She made for the Cleric’s shrine, the preferred hero of lovers. She’d taught dear Griff the basics of the church’s teachings and was oh-so glad he’d remembered the tales.
What could this surprise be? She had her suspicions and moved with an extra sway to her hips as she walked. Only… the cleric’s shrine was abandoned. She looked around but did not find him waiting.
“Griff? Oh love, are you here?”
At first, there was nothing. But then, on the breeze, she heard:
“Marianne…”
It sounded like it was coming from behind the statue. And there was a slight twang to the name (foreigners from across the sea had a strange way of saying the ‘e’ equivalent) that it could only be…
“Griff!”
Marianne checked behind the statue and found only a loose stone pushed aside revealing a pathway into the town aqueducts.
“Marianne~” came the voice again, with a sing-song property.
Strange vines writhed about unbridled along both walls of this hidden passage.
“Marianne~~~”
It wouldn’t do to engage in a romantic tryst on cathedral grounds. And there was only one reason why a non-Branded would visit the Cathedral. Yes, Marianne puzzled out the reality behind both surprises her dear, muscular, dashing sailor beau Griff had in store.
“I’m coming, my love,” Marianne said with a cheeky flourish.
The maid hiked her maid apron’s skirt up, such that her Brand was just visible framed between her skirt and stocking, and then sashayed into the aqueduct. She made sure to tip-toe through the waters, better to preserve her work shoes.
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The aqueduct was dark and damp. Griff hadn’t even bothered to put some torches out!
Marianne summoned forth ‘Illuminate’ – one of the few utility magics available from level one. A modest node of light appeared in her hand. It synergized most unexpectantly with vines on the walls, which lit up with the faintest golden sheen.
Not that Marianne was complaining. She stepped up onto a high and dry walkway and continued to follow the voice of her beloved through the channels.
“Griff? Oh Griff?” Marianne looked down one corner at a sudden intersection, then another. “We’re well off cathedral grounds now.”
“Closer. Have a surprise for you,” said Griff.
There was no echo to his voice. Surely he was close.
“Coming, my love!”
Vines snaked along the walls, leading towards a half-flooded cistern holding rainwater for later consumption by the bustling town.
“Over here, my love,” came a voice from a side room.
“Mmmm. Preparing a little love nest, my dashing sailor boy?” Marianne strutted up to the room.
Griff was there, facing away from the door near a bed of moss and vines. What’s more…
Name:
Griff, Sailor
Rank:
Convert
Level
1
Marianne smiled. Yes, her beloved had done it. For her. Become Branded and converted to the faith of the Holy Menu.
“My love,” she said. “Ah, I think we could find a more romantic abode, dear. But I’m sure we can manage.”
Griff didn’t turn. Odd. Well, the aloof sailor always did play hard to get. She skipped over to embrace Griff from behind. She hugged him from behind and still, he did not turn.
“Come now,” Marianne said, still smiling. She spun him around.
Pallid skin clung tight to his face, soft from having been exposed to cistern water for hours. Griff’s handsome foreign grey eye color was shaded over and dull. Flowery growths poked out of his skin at natural folds and along joints. And the Interface…
Name:
Griff, Sailor
Rank:
Convert
Level
1
HP:
-14/12 (Dead)
Griff moved in a lurching fashion like his muscles were well into rigor mortis and he was being piloted via strings tied to every limb. He’d been branded right on the neck, but that fresh Brand was now defiled and surrounded by vines emerging out of his skin.
And from behind Marianne came a thunderous stomping footfall.
Name:
Bruce
Rank:
Monk, Thieves Guild
Level:
60
Status:
-798/120 (Dead)
A second cadaver, far more rotted and vine-ridden than her beloved Griff, blocked the door. Massive fists wrapped around Marianne’s throat from behind. And from her front, Griff joined in, throttling his beloved as well.
“Griff,” she tried to plea. “You’re being controlled. It’s me, my love.”
But there was no response. The twin grips strengthened.
Name:
Marianne, Maid of Port Town
Rank:
Initiate
Level
2
Status:
8/10 (Asphyxiation)
Kick though she tried, it had no effect.
Name:
Marianne, Maid of Port Town
Rank:
Initiate
Level
2
Status:
6/10 (Asphyxiation)
“You must fight it. Oh Griff.”
Her airway cut out and only bile crept up.
Name:
Marianne, Maid of Port Town
Rank:
Initiate
Level
2
Status:
4/10 (Asphyxiation, Heartbreak)
No, this was no spell or madness. Griff was slain. He’d visited the cathedral and received his brand, then been killed on the same day. His corpse took turns strangling her now, his mind dead to the world.
Marianne’s vision darkened. Only Griff’s sunken-in face remained clear.
Name:
Marianne, Maid of Port Town
Rank:
Initiate
Level
2
Status:
1/10 (Asphyxiation, Heartbreak)
Yes, Griff was dead. His body repurposed, how and why the poor maid would never know. The only way to be together with her beloved now was… Yes.
Marianne’s hands dropped to her side, limp.
Name:
Marianne, Maid of Port Town
Rank:
Initiate
Level
2
Status:
0/10 (Dead)
The repurposed corpse of Bruce, Thieves’ Guild heavy, continued to choke its dead victim until the HP counter rolled over to -1/10.
Not a soul stirred in the cisterns and aqueducts of Port Town. The only sound was the quick, rhythmic plip of water falling from the cistern ceiling.
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Bruce, former bare-fisted monk, and current corpse, dragged new meat down the halls of Port Town’s elaborate cistern network. Its other possessed appendage was deployed trying to find more subjects from that sailor’s leftover memories.
Vines, reeds, and lily shoots in crimson congregated here and there amidst the aqueducts, jumbled near where cracks and holes in the ceiling allowed sunlight to sneak through during daylight hours.
Deep in the sewers were some rooms chiseled into Port Town’s porous bedrock once frequented by beggars and a few thieves' guild workers operating underground. They all existed together now. Individual fingers used to sense when others came exploring. More than a few curious souls were caught that way.
The rotting, vine-covered corpse of Bruce placed its quarry down in a shallow pit. All the better to keep the corpses separated, keep them from fusing into one morass as happened so often.
Name:
Marianne, Maid of Port Town
Rank:
Initiate
Level
2
Status:
-5/10 (Dead)
The maid lay still in her shallow grave, resting daintily on her bed of moss and vines. This one's Brand was on her upper thigh. The entity knew that from the sailor-appendage’s memories, free to shift through at will now that the host belonged to it . Better than on a limb, lest that infernal shackle impair movement once the body was repurposed.
There were many others.
Name:
Bart, Sailor
Rank:
Fighter
Level
8
Status:
-25/35 (Dead)
Name:
Yalo, Homeless Wayfarer
Rank:
Initiate
Level
3
Status:
-9/14 (Dead)
Name:
Edward, Overcurious Child.
Rank:
Initiate
Level
1
Status:
-40/10 (Dead)
Name:
Isen, Firefield Mage
Rank:
Cleric
Level
47
Status:
-300/130 (Dead)
All rested in their beds. The corpse of Bruce shambled onward. Lower levels were reappropriated rapidly. It would not be long now. And then her memories would be used to acquire new meat. And the cycle would continue.
Marianne’s HP ticked down to -6/10. Too dead to properly consecrate in the Church crypts.
Muscles in her left hand involuntarily twitched.
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