----------------------------------------
Fort Duran Du Loc’s central keep was home to a throne room belonging to a royal line that died out centuries before the time of the ancient heroes. The Obsidian Throne: an ornate and regal seat of power forged from the lava of a now-extinct volcano, remained. Joan took the opportunity to sit down, hunched over, on this throne.
“Do you have the right to sit on that throne?” Calaf asked, nonplussed.
It was a bold move for a Paladin, even one who’d already forsaken the church.
Rather than answer right away, Paladin Joan craned her neck, revealing a Brand just above her collarbone. The exact mark of the Ancient Paladin of Yore.
“Why, I and Zilara here are perhaps the only two people currently in the region with the right to do so,” Joan said, then slouched over even more. “Of course, she inherited the holy bloodline’s more… administrative features. So, I have it on good authority that you’re an agent of the church?”
The elderly Paladin looked at the pair expectantly.
Jelena and Calaf stood before her. Cayo stood at Joan’s side, hand on her shoulder plate. And Zilara, the promised holy child, sat on the stairs at Joan’s feet, Branded eyes darting around at nothing.
“Not me,” Jelena said. “Though in the interest of full disclosure, I did steal this dress. I can give it back if someone helps me get out of it without slicing the corset off…”
Silence filled the chamber. Then, after a glance at Cayo, Joan’s lips tilted upwards in an uncharacteristic smile.
“I kind of like this one,” the Paladin told her beau. “Are you from Firefield?”
“Yep.” Jelena nodded. “Well, the outskirts at the very edge of the desert. You’ve probably never heard of it.”
“Ah, I’m distantly Firefieldian myself.” Joan repositioned, no longer slouching quite so much.
“What of your gentleman companion?” Cayo asked. “Take off your rings, good sir. Let us speak without any disguises here.”
Reluctantly, Calaf removed his bronze and silver rings. Once more, his Menu designation matched his self-perception:
Name:
Calaf, Crusader
Rank:
Squire
Level:
40
Status:
120/120 (Discovered!)
Weapons:
- Redstone Spear of the Desert Nomads
- Exquisite Shield of Fireproofing +2
“Nice spear.” Jelena whistled. “Elders used to catch dire-geckos with those back home.”
“That shield’s been scorched before,” Joan said. “I hope it serves you better than whoever held it last.”
“Thank you?” Calaf said despite himself.
“It makes sense the church would send a lower-level aspirant.” Cayo looked Calaf over. “He’s been traveling for quite some time. His hair is all ragged and his beard is barely kept. A Paladin in the church’s regular army would stick out easily. But you, good sir, look like just another refugee.”
Nothing could be said about that either way, so Calaf kept quiet.
Neither of the rebel’s two guests was restrained, and there were no guards other than Joan and the Bishop themselves.
“Hey, I know things seldom end well for spies, but…” Jelena motioned to Calaf. “If he needs a character witness, I’ll gladly volunteer.”
“Hmm?” Joan slouched down again. “Oh, by the Immaculate Interface, that’s the last thing on our mind.”
Calaf and Jelena looked at each other. Neither of them was about to be lined up against one of the ramparts and bombarded with a firing squad’s worth of magic missiles. The realization dawned on them gradually, and they both mutually felt a great weight off their chests.
“Whew.” Jelena sighed.
Over on the stairs, Zilara giggled.
“Heh. They have some chemistry,” she said in her folksy accent.
“We do not!” Calaf and Jelena said in unison, taking a step away from each other.
Joan observed all this with the slightest of chuckles.
“We were hoping you could bear witness. Our cause is just, and we have no wish to strike down leal and faithful servants of the church. Certainly not lower levels who are not yet complicit in the ecumenical council’s many crimes.” When Cayo spoke his voice was soft and whisper-like, though he never had trouble being heard.
“Your forces down at the Battletower ransacked the hinterlands. Killed many people, church conscripts and otherwise. And their leader was a piece of work.”
Cayo and Joan looked at each other.
“The man with half a face?” Joan arched an eyebrow, then looked back to Cayo.
“We received word of his re-discovery of these level-up artifacts,” Cayo began. “It goes against the official church history of the time of heroes. We had no control over his band and neither did they operate under our orders. The thing to remember is that these people were granted great power in short order with no guidance from the Church other than complete prohibition.”
Joan nodded. “If we could have gotten them here, we would have imposed discipline. And under the protection of a proper army, they would’ve never needed to maraud across the countryside.”
“Such a waste of life,” Bishop Cayo said.
----------------------------------------
Drums sounded in the distance. The din came from out in the woods. With the moonless night the area beyond the ramparts was masked in near-total darkness.
“The church will be upon us soon,” Joan said.
“Spooky,” said Zilara.
Joan repositioned; her entire body pointed at Calaf.
“What say you? Do you acknowledge the righteousness of our cause?”
“I…” Calaf hesitated.
What did he think of these heretical separatists? They were bucking the authority of the church to… old a banquet for impoverished refugees? Said refugees were displaced due to the heretical reformists in turn. But taking care of those disaffected by your actions was in keeping with the dictates of chivalry.
What manifestation of chivalry would Calaf go with? The charity of Joan, or duty and means-to-the-end of General Perarde?
Joan appeared to sense his trepidation.
“If you say no, we’ll still allow you to leave unharmed. You have my word. Please, go bring what troop information you’ve managed to garner. You’ve likely only seen the outer bailey, ramparts, and exterior camp. That’s not even a fraction of our forces.”
Calaf raised an eyebrow. Even with incomplete troop counts, that was tipping the reformist’s hand to all of the deadliest hunters of the church.
“Would that not put many of your men in danger?” Calaf asked.
“Danger is upon us,” the grizzled old Paladin said. “Too late to avoid a fight. Ramparts can be moved, defenses shored up. With a hammer blow from the church inevitable, our goal instead is to… raise awareness of the disproportionate retribution of the church.”
Outside, the drums grew louder.
“That’s where I come in,” Zilara said with a disinterested yawn.
“Indeed.” Joan put her gauntlet-encased hand on Zilara’s head and ruffled her hair. “The holy child shall reveal our plight here to the world. With ample evidence of the church hunters trying to slay half the region to get to me, the good people of this land are sure to rise up in rebellion.”
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“… and with all the highest-level church hunters congregated here to wipe you out…” Jelena’s face lightened up with understanding.
“… rebellion in the major pilgrimage stations will be significantly harder to squelch.” Joan nodded. “I do like her.”
A great crash came from outside, well within the bailey. A fierce glow peeked through the arrow slits and opaque foggy glass of this throne room.
Wordlessly, Joan rose.
“Go in peace.” Cayo kept his hand on Joan’s shoulder pauldron.
“Dread not,” she said, looking upon him warmly. Then, she turned to Calaf. “You can come with me, observe the brutality of the church yourself. Your lady friend can stay here for a time, and feel free to interrogate Zilara. She seems good with kids.”
Joan chuckled, prepped her sword and shield, and pushed open a pair of hefty wooden doors.
Well, Calaf supposed as he followed. Don’t have to worry about espionage if the spy is within arm’s reach.
----------------------------------------
Shouts of panic and commands to form up in line came from the adjacent banquet hall. Jelena waited, still in her combat-inappropriate dress. Cayo remained by Zilara’s side.
“You got a change of clothes?” Zilara asked, still curled up with her knees in her chest.
“Got a change stashed in a false brick near the eastern ramparts,” Jelena said. “Third brick from the drawbridge.”
Zilara’s eyes darted about. Physically she was here, but she was looking elsewhere.
“Got it.” The young woman said. “Here:”
All at once, Jelena felt as if she were picked up by the scruff and posed by a phantom hand. Her stollen dress fell away and was, seamlessly, replaced with her more functional relic-thieving garb. Every lace on her bodice and boots was already in place. In many ways, it was snug and perfectly tailored, a better fit than if Jelena had put the outfit on herself.
“Guess you don’t have an inventory anymore,” Zilara said, offhand. “I can swap the dress out, put it in that false brick. Or I can just keep it in mine.”
Jelena smiled. “You are handy.”
“Can’t teleport people yet.” Zilara shrugged. “Think that kicks in around level 50. It’ll be a while.”
The feeling of having her equipment changed like it was all one single item was a familiar one to the former Sister Turandot. It was a sensation she remembered from the time she’d converted to the night she’d scoured her Interface Brand. It was almost nostalgic.
“Soooo, you from around here?” Jelena asked Cayo.
----------------------------------------
Joan thundered out into the bailey with Calaf close at hand. The Paladin started barking out orders. While the civilians panicked and stormed into the fort, Joan’s soldiers manned the ramparts with steely discipline.
Before walking out to battle proper, Calaf applied his rings again. The better to avoid being run through by the rebels in the fort.
Up to the walls they marched. A vantage point, where Joan could observe the battle (what little could be seen in the dark) and bark out orders.
There was little in the way of campfires, torchlight, or any of the usual signifiers to indicate that an army was advancing. Open flame came from the refugee camp just outside of the walls.
“Alright, get four parties out there. We need to cover the civilians so that they can seek shelter here.” Joan ordered four of her commanders out of the gate. “Hold them back! The holy child will showcase evidence to the world. All will know of our plight.”
Joan turned to Calaf. “Want to make yourself useful?”
Silently, Calaf nodded.
“Go help evacuate the camp,” she ordered. “And relax. Even if you use this opportunity to go back to your masters, it’s a bit too late for you to provide any information of value!”
Calaf took off down the ramparts and out the gate. Paladins and Clerics of level 60 and above marched out to form a wall of shields behind which the frightened civilians could escape.
As he walked down into the fray, Calaf’s eyes were drawn to the abandoned archway on the edge of camp. It shimmered from one direction, showcasing a vista from elsewhere, but as he walked along it ceased to shine.
Hmmm. Calaf had his suspicions. This was at the far edge of the perimeter, a part of camp long since abandoned. He decided to take the risk and investigate.
Fire and lightning were summoned from the sky in magical barrages of activity. Most hit the walls of Fort Duran and were dispelled by the dungeon’s anti-magical properties. A few landed in camp, setting abandoned tents aflame.
Calaf rushed out to the archway, helping some elderly refugees to their feet and urging them towards the fortress doors. It had been active until not too long ago. A magical flourish still hung in the air. There, in the bloodied patch of dirt where Honest John had been impaled not too many days prior, was another figure…
Name:
Karol of the Olde Capital
Rank:
???
Level
XX
Status:
YYY/YYY
Weapons:
- ???
“Karol!?” Calaf asked. He knelt to his feet.
Only, her Interface was not responding. The name filled out, just as Jelena’s did now since he happened to know her. But everything else…
“Your Brand…” Calaf managed. “It’s been Scoured. What happened?”
“She told me. I could serve the church.”
Calaf helped Karol to her feet. Her eyes were puffy, evidence of a painful scouring and untold days of tears. The former crimson mage wore plain, ragged clothes not unlike those of the common refugees. And her Brand was visible, scarred and defiled, on her upper shoulder.
----------------------------------------
Sounds of battle echoed into the throne room.
“Joan and I knew each other growing up,” Cayo said. “We grew up in the Olde Capital. Her family were nobles, of course, and I was a child of a well-off peasant. After the death of my parents, I was taken as a ward by her family.”
Zilara, as always, looked off in her own little world.
“Almost got it…”
“We grew closer as we grew older. Traveled on our pilgrimage together, side by side. Walked from Riverglen through Autumn’s Redoubt to the capital plateau. Made it to level fifty just on that single journey. Only after we returned did things go awry.”
“For you see, the requirements of Joan’s station put… barriers between us.” Cayo nodded, reminiscing. “She was married off to another noble with deep connections to the church. As a hapless orphan with no birthright of note, I was sent to the church monastic system.”
Jelena nodded. “Yeah. I did a few years as a Sister in a recently converted settlement.”
“I’ll save you the sordid details, then,” Cayo said, solemnly. “Joan did her duty, as did I. She had a few children before the death of her husband, while I rose to shepherd faithfully through the Fellmarsh. Then, newly widowed, Joan took a second pilgrimage…”
“Not uncommon, certainly not for a high-level aspirant or a noble,” Jelena added.
“True, true.” Cayo smiled. “Though she did find me again almost by accident. After all those years, the spark was as if we’d never been apart. Of course, monastic vows got in the way. But along the road, with the experience of age and levels now under her belt, Joan couldn’t help but notice how many pilgrimages failed. No, not just fail, but end in death! New converts, hundreds each year, embark on their journeys full of faith and idealism only to die, killed by a dire-creature or even just accidents along the route!”
Cayo continued, explaining how combat was the primary method of gaining levels and rank within the church. How this was wholly inappropriate for most people, and how it created a church full of warriors more than priests or even administrators. And if every ranking official was a warrior, every problem would inevitably present itself as a call to violence.
The bishop had left his position, rekindling his relationship with the now-Paladin and titled noblewoman Joan. She was a fighter herself, just as Cayo had been a ranking holy man within the Church of the Menu. But he’d forsaken those vows to help Joan pursue her reformist movement.
When it was over, Jelena kicked her right foot along the floor.
“Say, you, uh, got any advice about how a former sister can woo a duty-bound, possibly engaged knight-class into forsaking his vows? Y’know, theoretically?”
Cayo chuckled. “Oh, dear child. Even despite our similar circumstances, I cannot condone breaking apart a prior commitment. However, if it truly is meant to be, well, love triumphs over the cold structures and deaf traditions of the world, hmmm?”
“Oh, I hear you,” Jelena said with a smile.
----------------------------------------
“The brand was scoured on purpose,” Calaf realized.
“Though Jedd is gone forever. Though my family is forsaken, she said I could still be useful to the church…”
“Who?” Calaf’s blood ran cold just as he asked.
Before Karol could respond, the pair was approached by a group of four rushing out of the woods.
“Round ‘em up! Just as the General commands!”
Calaf – still dully aware of his ‘Caelus’ disguise – held a hand out in front of Karol.
“Unbranded and heretics! After them!”
A balanced party emerged from the shadows of the woods.
They were, a knight:
Name:
Jorge
Rank:
Paladin
Level
67
Status:
2300/2300 (Healthy)
Weapons:
Great Gilded Club and Greatshield (x1)
A cleric:
Name:
Sarah
Rank:
Cleric
Level:
66
Status:
600/600 (Nervous)
Weapons:
Stave
A scout:
Name:
Gerard
Rank:
Scout
Level:
69
Status:
566/566 (Cocky)
Weapons:
Golden Gilded Twinknives (x1).
And a Battlemage:
Name:
Isaac
Rank:
Battlemage
Level:
65
Status:
780/780
Weapons:
Great Spell-Catalyst Zweihander.
“You…” Calaf said.
Of course, that first party. They’d traveled down the route well past Firefield and gained many more levels than Calaf, who’d mostly been backtracking and fighting low levels for the past month.
“Yield, heretic!” the party said. “Ah, you even take excommunicated into your ranks! How craven.”
“Wait, it’s me!” Calaf declared.
“I’m… on a church mission,” Karol said, dazed.
Karol’s eyes were dilated. If she still had her Brand working, she would no doubt register some form of drug-based Status effect. The Brand could be reapplied, of course. But never had Calaf heard of the church actively scouring a Brand from a convert to fulfill some holy mission. They already had a man on the inside here! What task could Karol be expected to carry out? To say nothing of the fact that this task could only have come from one person…
The de-Branded crimson mage held out a knife. Only independent from her Scoured Interface was Calaf able to identify it:
Item: Reforged Silver Duran Dagger
Description: A reforge dagger from melted Duran steel. (Req: 8 STR, 16 AGL)
“What is that for?” Calaf asked.
“Calaf?” Sarah asked. “Hey, you’re the gate guard! What’s this, some kind of disguise?”
A column of refugees fled, away from the castle, on the far side of the dormant archway. That got Jorge’s attention.
“Leave these two!” he ordered. “After them! Cut ‘em off!”
The party that had so long ago been idealistic and enterprising level ones ran off on the warpath.
“C’mon. I’m getting you out of here,” Calaf said.
The pair got up and took off for Fort Duran. Church regulars had crashed against the line of Paladins loyal to Joan. One by one, these brave rebels were felled. Still, they held firm, allowing civilians and refugees to escape.
----------------------------------------