----------------------------------------
So many ranking church personnel in good standing had been injured or killed in the attack. Pryor Yordan had just been the most high-ranking victim. The second assailant had cut down dozens of clerics and many more guards who’d responded to the commotion.
Regardless, though, the sudden arrival of an iterant group of preachers from a southern monastic cloister helped bring order to Riverglen just when the city could have devolved into chaos. Calaf and a few surviving guards and congregants that had managed to get a good-enough look at the assailant gathered back in the cathedral with the head of these iterant preachers.
Together, they compiled a profile, since the assassin did not have a proper one of her own:
Name:
Jelena (Surname: Unknown)
Rank:
Apostate, Relic Thief.
Level:
??
Status:
Apostate
Based on Calaf’s description, they even had a sketch, ready for the wanted posters. They made sure to draw in detail Jelena’s thick eyepatch, no doubt covering fiendish scars. They drew her bloody red eyes, leering with sinister intent. And her sneering lips, practically built for spreading dissent. Yes, truly this vile heretic was the total opposite of pure and beautiful Charlotte, devout and perfect in every way.
The iterant preacher who’d come to their rescue was named Deacon. He’d single-handedly healed a dozen guards from Death’s Door back to full health with a wide-area healing spell. All were in awe of his Menu registry:
Name:
Deacon
Rank:
Deacon, Church of the Most Holy Menu
Level:
41
Status:
80/80
Still not higher rank than Charlotte, but level alone was not the end-all, be-all deciding factor as far as church duties were concerned. Life in a monastic cloister gave the man access to all manner of elaborate church-approved healing spells in his interface.
The few who could provide testament to the perpetrator of these crimes stood in the now-abandoned cathedral main hall. Pyror Yordan’s body had been removed to the subterranean crypts.
“You there,” Deacon said. “Guard from the sewer. The deaconess informs me that you appear to have fought this attacker face to face-and lived to tell of it.”
“That is true, sir,” Calaf said.
“Few could hope to confront such a villain and live, certainly without becoming corrupted by her vile heresy and seductive wiles,” said the deacon. “And you’re only level seven? Why, you seem to have a great deal of potential at least.”
“She dodges. Fights without the aid of the Holy Menu. Sir, what was this woman doing here?”
Deacon scratched his chin. “Ah, there’d been rumors of movement among dissidents and apostates. In truth, we were sent from the cloister to provide warning to Riverglen that something of this nature could happen. If we’d only arrived but a few hours earlier…”
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
The deacon brought out another, crumpled, older wanted poster of their assailant. It was Jelena, features drawn softer, maybe three years younger, lips angled upwards in a slight smile. Eyepatch was nowhere to be found, with a tell-tale marking of the Menu Brand on her left pupil. And she was wearing a plain and unassuming habit.
----------------------------------------
“For you see, we have reason to believe that this Jelena once administered an orphanage at a convent,” Deacon said. “A small outpost, well off the Grand Pilgrimage line. Records are sparse.”
Calaf nodded, understandingly. It would explain why her interface was scrambled. If she were just any old dissident who’d never accepted the Menu into their heart, she wouldn’t have an interface at all. And the eyepatch – she’d likely defiled the holy brand when she forsook her convent vows for a life of crime.
“As for this second assailant, we have only the faintest of descriptions to go by.” Deacon provided an even rougher sketch of a rapid-looking man with very long hair and a scraggly matching beard.
Even this, the deacon explained, was conjecture; few who got close enough to the beast to make out details managed to escape in one piece.
“We know only that he goes by Enkidu. And there are no records of his birth in any church papers. Neither is his name on the Wall of Converts.”
Meaning he had no brand, and therefore no menu to speak of. Lowlier than even the lowest boar out in the surrounding fields, even!
All this was to say, this second assailant – Jelena’s partner – was likely born in the wild, far from any Church of the Menu. An outlaw – a feral madman – scarcely capable of rational thought.
“Well, we know who planned the attack at least,” Deacon said. “No doubt Jelena’s the mastermind. She just set this wild man against our hapless guards to cover her escape.”
Calaf pondered this all. He’d scarcely seen even a trace of this second attacker. Only overheard the aftermath, by which Jelena had talked about calling the figure off before he struck Calaf down…
All contemplation was cut short by a commotion at the entrance. A figure muscled his way into the chamber.
“Gorman?” Calaf asked.
“Hey, found some iterant preachers from some cloister to the south to heal those initiates,” Gorman said. “Locked the sewer up tight. There are, uh, at least seven Rat Kings down there now. All level sixteen or above.”
“Level sixteen?” Calaf asked. “That’s impossible. There’s not enough rats in the city to form even one level sixteen Rat King!”
But Deacon only scratched at his chin. “So. It’s as we feared…”
A second guard came through, short of breath, reporting to Deacon that there was a commotion at the north gate.
“We’ve closed all other gates,” said the guard. “Something’s happened to the beasts of the field. They’re double the expected level for the region. And their aggressiveness – it’s like they’ve gone berserk!”
Double the expected level. Why, that would mean, Calaf did the math, the highest-level nonhuman creature in Riverglen’s valley would be level eight normally. That means we’re looking at level sixteen and above.
All possible initiation rites for new converts left around level five by the time they left the sewers. Pilgrims would be slaughtered if they attempted the standard Pilgrimage route!
Deacon Deacon pondered this development for a long while before speaking again. “The relic thief has pilfered a vital artifact from the Pryor’s body. One essential for governing the peaceful cohabitation between man from beast. An ancient bauble passed down from the Heroes of Yore. This will require a response.”
Just having this disaster afflict the sleepy, low-level glades and heaths of Riverglen was bad enough – preventing new pilgrims from beginning their journey up the ranks of the church’s levels. But levels scaled exponentially, or something close to it. If a zone towards the end of the Grand Pilgrimage was similarly affected, well, doubling a level eighty-five creature in the Fellmarsh would be a threat that the combined might of every Paladin in the church would be unable to put down.
“Yes. This is a crisis. Potentially on a scale unseen since the Ancient Heroes of Yore established the church,” Deacon said. “I must report this to the Cardinals at the end of the line, urgently. But I’ll need guards. Some intimately familiar with the relic thieves and capable of braving the Grand Pilgrimage route.”
With that, Deacon turned to Calaf, and Gorman beside him.
“The sewers will be closed indefinitely until these relics are retrieved,” Deacon said. “We must resolve this problem before the turn of the season.”
Calaf nodded understandingly. If they couldn’t return the local beasts to their usual habits by that time, then the yearly Grand Pilgrimage season was in danger.
“Sentry Gorman,” Deacon said. “Your level should suffice for the new tier of difficulty. Would thou do your church-mandated duty and accompany me at least until the next station?”
“Well, not getting paid until the sewers reopen,” Gorman said with a shrug.
“And you, Sentry Calaf,” Deacon said. “Though low level, you have firsthand experience confronting our culprit. Will you assist in the pursuit?”
Calaf let out a knightly bow. “Of course, Deacon. It will be an honor to bring this fiend to justice!”
----------------------------------------
They would leave in the morning. Immediately after this briefing with Deacon, Calaf returned to Charlotte’s side. He risked the potentially scandalous maneuver of tenderly placing his hands atop her own clasped hands.
“I’ve been summoned to journey down the Grand Pilgrimage line,” Calaf told her. “Possibly all the way to the far end of the Pilgrimage path.”
He went on to explain the basics of the latest crisis, and the need to pursue this foul villain and apostate, Jelena.
“I see. Worry not, dear Calaf. This is an excellent opportunity sure to strengthen your power under the Menu as well as win glory for the church.” Charlotte closed her eyes.
“Ah, but I only regret not being able to be by your side. There’s no telling when we’ll be back, my love.”
“Worry not.” Charlotte placed her hands on top of Calaf’s own – as intimate as the Menu would allow. “Surely, for such a great deed, the exalted church elders would smile upon our engagement. Should you earn many more levels, they must surely even move up the date of our betrothment.”
Indeed, Calaf’s engagement to such a higher-level deaconess was rare and unorthodox. More prestige would be required before they could have the church truly sanction their union. It was for that very reason that their betrothal had been in the engagement phase since he started his sewer guarding duties.
With his goal clear, Calaf made his leave and ran off to prepare for this latest journey.
----------------------------------------