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With the path set, it would be maybe two or three weeks before a proper pilgrimage season got underway. Calaf’s second pilgrimage would be quite different both from the standard route of initiates and from his first low-level pilgrimage some years ago.
Initiates and converts started, of course, in Riverglen. The church reserved all rights to that first holy cave where the Interface was handed down. For it was holy ground far too sacred for any old pilgrim to tread unsupervised. So of course, novice faithful went to the sewers first and exterminated some minor rats to gain their first level or two, just as the old heroes did. Extracurricular activities all over Riverglen mimicked the various side quests of the old heroes. Exceptionally faithful were over-leveled for the path by the time they were done, but be they level three or sixteen, all pilgrims headed north.
Calaf’s last pilgrimage had brought him through the pass to Deepwood. He noted that now he’d be starting at Twelfthnight and moving up the route. The only place on the pilgrimage path he would not visit would be that short stretch of dense alpine woodland between Deepwood and Twelfthnight. Wasn’t much in the way of associated legends on that route. Just a short stretch through some highlands. Barring any other roadblocks, he would be able to visit that last stretch of the path on the way back.
It would be good to at least get to the plains before the glut of lower-level pilgrims started down the path for peak season. And so, Calaf traveled back down towards Plains Junction with another group of pilgrims being escorted by church-ordained guards. This time he was not a hired guard, but one of the escortees. Calaf had a replacement spear he’d acquired from the meagre shops before heading north – back to iron, of course. Probably the only Stalwart with the most basic possible spear. But he still had his shield and armor at level with any creature he was likely to run into at this juncture. A Stalwart’s role was to block and withstand blows. Stabbing the foes dead was the role of other classes.
Still, the iron spear was the only thing preventing Calaf from just braving the route back to the plains alone. The local creature’s levels were not twice their expected range, meaning Jelena hadn’t managed to steal the holy leveling relics from either Deepwood or Twelfthnight. And shouldn’t be able to steal from Plains Junction in the short time before Calaf caught up.
The trip back to Plains Junction was uneventful, and far quicker than the trip up into the highlands. That the walk was entirely downhill only made the journey all the easier. A pilgrimage convoy nearly twice the size of the old group both made things safer and minimized any possible gold or experience benefits of the journey.
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And so, within a short day’s travel, Plains Junction once more appeared on the horizon, then inched closer. He arrived to find the church guard around the cathedral district doubled compared to the usual garrison. It appeared their warnings about Jelena the relic thief was being taken heed of.
It was so weird to Calaf’s senses to have a city that just kind of sprawled out across endless flat land. And there was not even a river to speak of, merely a few springs and deep wells from which the junction got its water. Truly, there was simply no reason for the junction to exist were it not for all the trade brought forth by the pilgrimage.
Having arrived back in the junction’s central square shortly after noon, Calaf began checking in with the local traders.
“I’m looking for a seller of religious relics,” he said. “Possibly a pawn shop. Or mayhaps something under the table.”
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The merchant – literally the first person Calaf approached on his quest – looked to the guard shiftily.
“You, uh, got the password?”
“The password?” Calaf tilted his head.
“Aye. You… uh, don’t know it?”
“Oh, by the Paladin’s Besainted Gauntlets,” Calaf said with a scowl.
“That’s it!”
The merchant disappeared beneath his stall for a moment. Then, with a click, a new, secret shelf collapsed down over the mundane rows of potions and doodads. There were all sorts of religious icons, their prices triple that of the merchant’s ‘official’ wares.
“What’re ya buying?” asked the merchant all slyly.
Calaf examined the artifacts:
Item: Lock of the Besainted Cleric’s Curly Hair (5000 gold)
Description: Hair from the Holy Cleric of Olde. Cures any wound, honest!
Item: Splinters of the Holy Paladin’s Kite Shield (7500 gold)
Description: Splinters from the handguard of the Paladin’s first shield. Quadruples defense for a month.
Item: Thief’s Lockpick (8000 gold)
Description: A single bobby pin from the Thief’s repertoire. Will never break.
Item: Battlemage’s Battleglove (10000 gold)
Description: The ancient Battlemage’s spell-casting glove. Reduces casting time by sextuple the usual battleglove’s delay reduction.
“The Scout’s lockpick,” Calaf said, deadpan.
“Come again?”
“The Scout. Not the Thief. Thievery is bad and therefore sinful.”
“Eh? This a church sting operation?”
Again. Calaf looked to the rows of holy relics. If this was the selection of pilfered relics available from literally the first merchant he approached, the underground relic market must be truly ubiquitous in this trading hub.
“How any of these are real?”
“Everything’s as real as you and me are,” promised the Merchant. “Why, if you’re not completely satisfied after your first battle with a legendary beast then I offer not double but triple your gold back!”
Calaf raised an eyebrow.
No doubt, the money-back guarantee was perfectly designed to only kick in once these false (or highly overhyped) ‘relics’ had led buyers, overconfident, into an early grave. Not that Calaf was going to test these so-called holy relics; he had better use for five thousand-plus gold.
“Your suppliers. Surely there’s someone who has given you these relics.”
And surely Jelena wouldn’t be selling this fake dreck. Calaf scratched his chin. Yeah, she was a purveyor of actual, stollen-right-from-a-murdered-priest’s-hands relics. Not this fake contraband. Surely this farce was beneath a fiendish, suave, hypercompetent villain of her repertoire.
“I, uh, found these relics after having been drawn to a hidden reliquary in a cave outside of Autumn’s Redoubt in a dream!”
“Uh-huh.” Calaf remained unconvinced. “And nobody’s tried selling anything to you?”
The merchant glumly shook his head. “Had some off-Menu pair try to hawk some goods. Looked fake though.”
“A woman with an eyepatch and short, wiry hair that curls all over alongside a crazy man with a long-knotted ponytail-looking thing, right?”
Silently, the merchant nodded. “Wanted like three times as much for some kinda talisman as these relics you see now. I, uh, only use divinely sourced guaranteed-holy relics here. Not going to buy any sketchy relics, no sir!”
Calaf scoffed. “Where’d they go?”
“Ayy, there’s not an underground relic seller in the junction that could afford those prices, no sir. The dire-turtles around the mudholes don’t drop enough gold to ever afford what they wanted to sell ‘em for.”
“And who would be able to afford them?”
The merchant shrugged. “I dunno, Thieves Guild?”
Calaf leaned in. He finally had a proper lead.
“And where would I find this Thieves Guild?”
“Nuh-uh, no can do. You want them to put a hit out on me? I swear I’ll never tell.”
This merchant had already copped to selling fake relics – and perhaps the crime would be worse if these were indeed actual religious articles of faith. Calaf reached for his spear… his replacement, Basic Iron Spear.
The merchant laughed. “Good luck threatening anyone with that, River Boy!”
Calaf frowned. He’d need a proper spear again before he could throw his weight around on this investigation.
A few more points into Charisma wouldn’t hurt either.
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