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Traveling backwards along the pilgrimage path was not unheard of. Indeed, pilgrims did in fact have to head back towards their hometowns once they reached the end of their journey.
Pious peasants and shopkeepers hardly needed to be more than level ten. So a steady supply of Pilgrim Guards funded by the church patrolled the route, shepherding those not yet blessed with at-level gear back down the path. It was not so essential service at the southern end of the line, but was a literal lifesaver once north of Autumn’s Redoubt.
Monsters and beasts were only modestly tamed by their menu Brands. But that didn’t mean they were suicidal. Attacks against convoys of 30 or more pilgrims with armed guards were the domain of goblins, bandits, and legendary beasts.
Calaf and Gorman signed on for a pilgrim guard position heading to Twelfthnight at least. Just two spearmen at the back of a pack of folks from the woodlands.
“Thinking of swapping my spear out for a longsword,” Gorman said on the long road up into the wooded highlands. “Maybe an estoc or something.”
“Well, that would be more viable for a battlemage,” Calaf said. “Maybe not ideal for the sewers.”
Requirements for guard uniforms and equipment were pretty strict.
“Yeah.” Gorman shielded his forehead from the sun. “Just more around town. Out in the field.”
“Thinking of traveling the pilgrimage route again?” Calaf asked.
There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Temperatures would drop a bit in the hills but from early morning to noon the plains only grew more stifling, especially in full armor.
“Eh. A lot of effort. Still, the extra experience we’ve got now is nice.” Gorman slapped a stray rock on the path aside with his spear. “Overleveled for the sewers really.”
Calaf nodded. “Guess we’ll need it to clear all those Rat Kings out.”
So much of traveling the pilgrimage path in a large group was just marching. Walking dead ahead of the pilgrim in front of you. And it was even worse on the off season; it had been like this on Calaf’s initial pilgrimage. A full line of faithful from one station to the next, day after day. Maybe it had been more bearable when he was an optimistic and bright-eyed level 1-6, or perhaps the path was simply more pleasant in ideal weather.
Even experience was minimal in such a large group. Being split thirty-plus ways meant any gold or experience they did get from any hapless monsters who happened to cross their path was a pittance – and they were headed into a region with a lower level range, reducing rewards further. It was the safest possible way to travel, but one that took the edge off of any sense of adventure.
More than once, Calaf found himself glancing north again. He could still see the junction, particularly with the road tilting upwards into the highlands. Maybe he’d go on another pilgrimage soon, one where he was properly leveled, taking his time in each zone. It was the ultimate goal of the church faithful. And he always wanted to see the sands of Firefield, the beauty of Autumn’s Redoubt, and the mysterious ruins of the Olde Capital. Why, even braving the Fellmarsh to be one of the few non-clerical faithful to view the grandest cathedral at the site of the Demon King’s Fall would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience, the kind of thing that the grandchildren would inquire about before they, too, departed on their pilgrimage.
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Ah, a spattering of trees cropped up as they ventured further south, bringing much needed shade to protect the pilgrims from this dry heat.
A full day’s march was sufficient for traveling between Plains Junction and Twelfthnight. Most of the trouble was a result of walking uphill. The journey northwards was even easier, being downhill.
Night had fallen by the time the group stumbled into Twelfthnight. What they discovered was a quaint and small mountain town amidst squat and piney trees. Somewhat underwhelming compared to the metropolitan junction or the massive trees of Deepwood further south. Still, the cozy hamlet had a certain romantic quality to it, particularly around some much-advertised hot springs deep in a wooded copse.
The pilgrimage convoy had lodging prepaid, courtesy of the church. They were all going to pile into one of a handful of inns in the town. When they reached the central square, however, they found a gaggle of clerics walking down the path from the south.
“We have cleared all roadblocks from the road north of Granite Pass,” announced a cleric, level 45. “The way is clear. The path free of threats and monsters, patrolled by midlevel priests, between here and Riverglen.”
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Suddenly, the pilgrim guards were out of jobs. The convoy disbanded for all purposes other than that night’s lodging reservations. After everyone dispersed for the inns, Calaf and Gorman approached these priests.
“We were the first group of messengers tasked with delivering warning of the leveling disruptions to the rest of the path,” Calaf said. “What news do you have of the relic thieves?”
The clerics raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You are not arbiters of the church. Were you escorting a priest with official orders?”
“Well… we were arbiters.” Calaf shuffled around, uneasy.
They’d lost the titles with the completion of their quest. Now Calaf was just ‘caravan guard,’ replacing the even more generic ‘wayfarer’.
“Did Deepwood receive word from a Friar Fred of Plains Junction?” Gorman asked, not terribly interested but having sensed Calaf’s trepidation.
“Yes, we received it last evening, then marshaled a response force from the local cathedral and cloister to head south and clear the path to Granite Pass. A force of clerics from another cloister had likewise cleared the path north from Riverglen. From there, we reinforced the route with well-leveled clerics and marched north.”
“So, the leveling issues…”
“… persist in the region directly adjacent to Granite Pass and throughout Riverglen.” The cleric nodded.
Calaf grimaced. He was hoping they’d found and apprehended the thieves that were responsible for this.
“There’s a murder and relic thief who has stolen the relics that set these level ranges,” Calaf explained. “Have you not found any signs of her?”
“There’s been no signs of anyone matching the thieves’ descriptions all week in Deepwood. The reliquary there is guarded twenty-four-seven. If this thief tries anything, we’ll find her.”
There’d been no signs of Jelena near Deepwood. Meaning she was either still there trying to find a way to rob the well-guarded reliquary. Or… perhaps, she’d skipped Deepwood for whatever reason.
They’d passed nobody on the road all day – no doubt a continued effect of the pilgrimage disruptions. But perhaps…
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Calaf waited in a crowded inn, surrounded by pilgrims who would all be traveling alone down the safe and well-patrolled route back to Deepwood or Riverglen. The inn was small, one of many that were built specifically for pilgrims.
It was another thing he hadn’t noticed as a novice years before, but the smaller towns were largely dwarfed, consumed by their role as stations on the path. The junction and Riverglen didn’t have that problem, as they had trading and agricultural reasons for being. But this place? It would never have existed had it not happened to be a place where the Ancient Heroes of Yore spent days twelve through fourteen of their journey.
Just before midnight, Calaf determined that he wasn’t going to get much sleep tonight. The room was too stifling, Gorman’s snores too loud. The church-sanctioned arbiter-turned-caravan-guard-turned plain wayfarer walked out into the cool mountain’s night air.
Twelfthnight itself was lightless, guests and citizens both retiring to their hovels well before sundown. Only the full moon lit the path. Calaf took a walk, savoring the crisp air. Plains Junction proved too dusty in retrospect. But this? Just right.
Maybe he should accompany dearest Charlotte on her next pilgrimage. She went on them all the time, hence the surprising level delta between the fiancés. Well, it wouldn’t be quite so large of a delta by the time he reached the riverlands again. Hopefully the betrothal wouldn’t give them strange looks any longer. Why, a prim and proper deaconess, promising her hand to a novice guard? It was scarcely heard of. Now that he had some experience under his belt, he ought to be much more favored by all those deacons who doubt his adherence to the Interface. And of course, Calaf was still hoping that his quest for the church would cause the organization to even move up the date of their destined wedding. The rather dumbfounded and dismissive comment by that cleric this evening hadn’t quite been the roaring congratulations he was hoping for, but still he had faith.
It was in this headspace that Calaf walked through rows of trees, and dozens and dozens of tents. The inns near the town square and shrines were inadequate to meet the pilgrims’ demand even in this, the lowest traffic of off season. So, most pilgrims just took to camping outside, like the old heroes would have done.
A distinct scent wafted in on some steam. This part of the highlands was famous for some volcanic mountain springs. They were quite pleasant to bathe in, apparently.
Calaf walked down some wooden steps into a natural depression worn into the very rock. A set of five springs awaited, quiet, and mostly not in use at this time of night. Maybe a quick dip would clear his mind.
Fog obscured most of the springs. He gradually unequipped his armor starting with the gauntlets. Didn’t get very far when he heard the sound…
A clink of metal. A gleam of moonlight off a ruby, beset in a gold frame. Calaf knew the look and shape of that object intrinsically – the personal miracle catalyst of Yordan, Pryor of Riverglen, and Calaf’s own foster father. A figure with curly hair done up in a special bonnet to keep it all dry was tossing the holy item around in her hand, clinking it together with the holy leveling bauble stolen from the Granite Pass vaults!
A steam-obscured menu prompt confirmed what Calaf already knew:
Name:
Jelena TnOdRaTU
All else was blurred out, as before.
Jelena, her last name unknowable as she’d forsaken the blessing of the Menu!
Jelena, the heretical relic thief.
Jelena, his foe. His reason for being on this quest.
Newfound conviction filled the Stalwart. He’d gained several levels, even reclassed since the last time they fought. The time to strike was now.
Calaf leapt into heel-deep water. It was pleasantly warm, particularly against the crisp mountain breeze that surrounded the spring.
Jelene awaited, relics in both hands, chest deep in the mountain spring. Modesty protected only by the thick steam wafting off the spring waters, and a well-placed arm. The heretic scowled, brown eyes locked with Calaf’s emerald.
“S-seriously!?” She frowned, sinking a bit lower in the water.
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