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Clerical healing left the once-injured Stalwart as healthy as he’d ever be. It was just the psychological toll that weighed on him now, steeling himself for what must be done, that kept Calaf in bed for another hour or so.
Calaf spent the remainder of his bound-by-personal-honor twenty-four hours settling accounts in Firefield. He went to the cathedral and put out a messenger bird up and down the pilgrimage route informing Jorge’s party about his adventures since they parted ways.
He still had a fair bit of gold. In fact, he’d inherited a healthy sum from Metzger, having been mid-battle with the thieves’ guild don when Walter’d bisected the crooked bishop. It was not enough experience to level up even once, alas, but the late bishop Metzger Cross had kept quite a lot of gold on his person.
Calaf’s borrowed redstone mail was ruined, so he sold that for a paltry sum. He then spent as much money as he dared to upgrade his existing steel armor kit to +5 all around. A notable damage and defense output without having to go for over-leveled stats. He then bought a redstone shield – it would come in handy when he was properly leveled, at least. Just had to lug it around in his inventory until the time was right.
He sent another letter to Riverglen informing his betrothed Deaconess Charlotte and coworker Gorman of the Sewer Grating that he’d be heading back just as soon as the caravans allowed. This was not quite a lie, for he used his remaining gold to reserve a spot on a caravan heading south first thing in the morning, three and a half days from then.
Three days. Should be more than enough for him to do what must be done. He’d grown rather adept at the chase here. Even without his perception bonuses or any levels up, he’d grown quite knowledgeable in how to navigate the desert. At least he hoped so. He knew the route he was meant to take, at least.
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Exactly twenty-four hours to the minute when Calaf had been tricked into making that oath to give Jelena Turandot a head start, Calaf headed forth from Firefield. The route took him back south and east, along a narrow and faint but ramrod-straight path through the desert crags.
Unfortunately, he’d proven unable to find that cart driver and hire him for another trip back to Japella. The driver hadn’t been at the house he’d stayed at previously when Calaf passed through the residential district. But no matter – the route went by faster on foot, believe it or not.
Calaf marched through the desert, ample supplies keeping the dehydration and heat stroke debuffs at bay. Marching in the day had several disadvantages (not that he was going to give Jelena even more of a head start) and a few advantages. Beats seldom crossed the cart path. Though he did spy a dire-snake scuttling about in the grass.
Name:
Dire-Serpent
Title:
Common Snake, Beast (Venomous)
Level:
38
Status:
55/55 (Sunbathed)
Hmmm. A risky battle. The vile serpent was higher level than him. And if bitten, it would inflict a nasty plague status. But Calaf had antidotes, and he also had a secret weapon up his sleeve. He’d spent all that gold to forge and then refine his fluted spear, after all.
Calaf took aim…
Special ability: Throwing the Melee Weapon
Description: Throw your melee implement. Generally not recommended. Accuracy is dependent on lighting, perception, and strength stats.
It was so bright that lighting wouldn’t be a problem. His perception and strength were as good as they were going to get. Calaf held his spear aloft and let loose. The spear flew through the air, wobbled a bit, then struck the dire-serpent square in the head. A critical hit! But it was not over yet…
Name:
Dire-Serpent
Status:
13/55 (Alert!)
The beast slithered towards a now-unarmed Calaf. The spear sat in the ground maybe eighteen paces away, behind the snake. It curled up and lunged.
Calaf performed another parry with his shield, just as he’d done to Metzger. But Metz was a full-grown man, and this snake was maybe ten pounds. The parry dashed the creature across the sands and rocks of the desert, reducing its HP further to 9/55.
A mad dash for the spear ensued. Calaf nabbed it and wheeled around, just as the dire-snake reeled up for another leap. This would be its doom, as the creature leaped right into Calaf’s spear thrust.
Item Obtained:
Snake Pelt x1
Snake Eggs x4
Snake Eyes x3
Snake Fangs x2
Gold x 1000
Experience: 400xp
A whole lot of crafting material. But where did the third snake eye come from? No matter, drops were often random like this. And the experience was enough to level up, and then some:
Calaf Leveled Up! Level 26:
Strength: 36 (+1)
Endurance: 52 (+2)
Agility: 23
Intelligence: 20 (+3)
Charisma: 18 (+4)
Arcane: 6
Luck: 26 (+1)
The first level-up in such a very long time. Fighting higher-level monsters was a high-risk proposition with high rewards. Sometimes you found a nominally high-level beast that was at least possible to best without too much effort.
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Snake eggs made a nice enough omelet. Cooked in the late afternoon, once the heat was starting to die down. He marched back into the tiny barely-there hovel of Japella. A near-ghost town at the edge of the desert, maybe a population of a few dozen old folks in all.
The old lady was there to meet him when he walked into town from the northwest.
“Ehe, she described who she was expecting to come follow her and I had my suspicions,” said the old lady. “Well, you’re a nice and respectable young man, I told her.”
“She’s… really here?” Calaf asked.
So, his hunch was correct.
“Oh, the old sister? Yes. She was born here, she was.” The old lady chuckled like there was some inside joke she wasn’t going to explain.
Sister Turandot. It’s not a common last name. ‘Hunch’ was perhaps underselling it. She may as well have circled her old hometown on a map, really. Would’ve been listed in church records, so even if he hadn’t stumbled into this one-dire-horse town on his way into the desert, finding her was a practical inevitability.
Awfully risky of Jelena, granting this clue to her identity to a ranking member of the church. She clearly trusted him a great deal. Perhaps the old saying was wrong, and thieves were not without honor after all.
“Jelena’s at the old chapel,” Calaf guessed.
“Indeed.” The old lady nodded. “Already on first name basis. Well, I won’t pry into your affairs.”
“It’s not like that.” Calaf frowned. “I’m just… going to have some words with her.”
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Oh, ho, of course. Good luck, sonny.”
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A fetching crescent moon had risen over the desert. Calaf walked into the roofless remains of Japella’s old Church of the Menu.
Smaller settlements seldom got a full cathedral. But the old church grounds were much larger than anyone would expect for a village of this size.
“Knew you’d make it.”
The former Sister Turandot waited. Gone was her habit, replaced with her functional and tight burglary outfit full of pockets pretty much everywhere.
“You expected me to come after you?” Calaf asked.
Jelena tilted her head to look upon Calaf with her good eye. She tossed the Scout’s Lockpick at him. He grabbed it in mid-air and it was returned safely to his inventory.
“Is that the only reason you came all the way out here?” The thief asked.
Moonlight shimmered down through a hole in the roof, wreathing Jelena in a thin silver sheen.
Calaf shook his head.
“Why do you do… all of this?” He asked. “The thievery is frowned upon by the menu, but even most brigands are bound by its laws. Why did you do it – despoil your brand I mean.”
Jelena put a hand up near her eyepatch and rubbed it on instinct. “Ah, this. Eh, it’s a long story.”
“I’ve got some time before I have to head back,” Calaf said.
At some point this relic-thieving apostate had been a member of good standing in the church. There had to be some sort of story to that.
“Ah, well. You see, several years back I was one of the first converts in Japella. The local deacon had opened up the first-ever mission in our lonely abode, and I attended every sermon. Rushed to be the first in our town to be branded, and of course, I got it right over the eye. So that I may better see the Menu and its Interface, yeah?”
Again, Jelena put a nervous hand on her eyepatch.
“My, ah, I never met my parents, but it’s been said my mother was a convert from overseas,” Calaf said. “She got the brand in the same place.”
It was a common practice among converts. Those second and onward-generation faithful like Calaf inherited a brand, but Jelena had been so blessed as to choose where hers would be placed.
“No doubt got the brand on your hand there from your father, then?” Jelena looked at Calaf’s arm as he presented the Mark of the Menu.
“Indeed.”
“Sons usually inherit the branding location of their fathers, and vice versa.” Jelena laughed to herself. “Heh. Guess any daughters of mine would’ve had one in their eye as well.”
“So, you were the Deaconess of the church at Japella?”
Jelena nodded. “Sister Turandot, what the kiddos called me. Head of the orphanage. Departed on my pilgrimage shortly after getting branded. Came back home and got straight to work.”
“Wait. Your pilgrimage…”
“The full route, from rat sewers on to Firefield.” Jelena eyed Calaf up and down. “Ehe, speaking of, there was a very peculiar pair of gate guards back then. Maybe, eh, three to five years ago or so?”
Calaf opened his mouth to say something. Nothing came out. That would’ve been around the time he’d first started as a sewer guard – shortly after his own pilgrimage. He’d encountered countless initiates and converts alike in that sewer.
“Jog your memory?” Jelena asked with a hand on her hip.
“I, ah, so many pilgrims pass through the sewers daily,” Calaf managed, cheeks growing rosy.
“Well, I quite remember a handsome young gate guard who was very kind and considerate in explaining the ins and outs of our classes to me and the rest of the Japella gang. He was a little young for me at the time, but I’d say you matured into quite the fine young man.” Jelena punctuated all this by winking her good eye at him.
“I, uh, don’t recall… betrothed… nice and all, but… un-Menuly conduct,” the stalwart stammered. “Any… anyway. What did you do once you returned to the Mission?”
“Ah, deacons had to head off to convert the next town. As the first local with any levels on my belt, I took over the church duties. Rest of my party took positions as well.” Jelena’s gaze turned up towards the sky, suddenly quite wistful. “Not a lot of them around anymore.”
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Jelena described in detail the day-to-day life at the Chapel of the Menu at Japella. Teaching and preaching to the orphans of Japella. Providing church-donated meals to the impoverished town. Converting more and more of the town’s young people to the Church of the Menu.
“Got pretty good at imparting that Brand,” she said. “The old folks generally didn’t bite – starting at level one has more appeal for young guns rather than for people already north of sixty, yeah?”
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“So, Mister Sewer Guard, guess we’ve been shadowing each other for quite some time. Can’t help but notice you’ve fallen behind in the leveling game.”
“You can see that?” Calaf looked at the relic thief curiously.
“It’s how you carry yourself. You could get rolled by even a modest-strength dire-camel around these parts,” Jelena said simply. “C’mon, I’ll take you to the salt flats and get you some levels under your belt.”
And so, the pair walked east a ways out of town. A herd of dire-axolotls flopped about in some ankle-deep pools.
“Just block with that big ol’ shield of yours.”
Jelena pulled out some kind of dire-creature bait. She threw it at a salty plain on the edge of the puddle. As she was no longer Of The Menu, Calaf could not properly see this item’s descriptions or stats as she used it. She just… kinda threw it out there under her own power.
“Here they come,” Jelena said, pulling out some gilded knives from a level far higher than was typical of Firefield.
Calaf swapped out for that redstone shield. If he really was just going to be a stone wall, he could live with the stat debuff in exchange for that sweet, sweet 100% physical damage block.
The first level 46 dire-axolotl charged, mouth open and drooling. Calaf held his shield aloft as the beast’s jaws nearly surrounded the entire shield face.
Jelena flanked with the knives.
“Hold ‘em still! Woo, oh yeah!”
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“Yes! Yes. Oh, yes, yes, yes!”
Dire-axolotl after dire-axolotl fell by Jelena’s blades. Then, the strangest thing happened – all level experience and gold flowed into Calaf’s coffers alone. He was the only one with a brand after all. Combined with Jelena felling level 40+ dire-beasts at a regular clip meant that level-ups came fast and loose.
Calaf Leveled Up! Level: 29!
“Keep going!” Jelena said breathily.
Calaf Leveled Up! Level: 30
Calaf Leveled Up! Level: 31!
“One more, one more. Yeah~”
Calaf Leveled Up! Level: 32!
Level 33! 34. And so forth, until Calaf was level 38, and his redstone armor was suddenly able to be wielded without any stat penalties.
All the while, Jelena was really… enjoying things.
“C’mon. All at once. C’mon, Calaf yeah. Yeah~ yeah~!”
Three dire-axolotls approached. The pair had nearly cleared out the pool. Now properly leveled, Calaf was able to wield his spear and shield all at once, stabbing and blocking at two of the creatures as Jelena stood at his back, hacking at the third creature with her knives.
They were flush to each other, back-to-back.
“One down. C’mon, keep going. Yeah,” Jelena rasped.
She’d killed his foster father. And yet, Calaf worked so well with her.
“Almost there,” Calaf jabbed the second beast with his spear, lining it up for Jelena’s killing blow.
“One more time. We can do it together!” Jelena said, dancing around behind the creature.
Together, the pair ran the beast through. Knives in its back, spear through its face.
Experience multiplier!
And when their session was over, Calaf reached these lofty heights:
Calaf Leveled Up! Level 39
Strength: 42 (+2)
Endurance: 60
Agility: 28 (+1)
Intelligence: 25 (+3)
Charisma: 21
Arcane: 8 (+2)
Luck: 31 (+3)
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“Worked up quite a sweat,” Jelena said, back at the church. “You’re pretty good, Mister Sewer Guard.”
Calaf sighed. They’d fought well, t’is true.
“You… okay. Whew. I… don’t think you’re a bad person,” Calaf admitted. “Sinful lifestyle as a relic thief notwithstanding.”
“Awww. Glad I could get through to you.” Jelena adjusted her eyepatch. “We should do that again sometime.”
“I… here, take this.”
Bereft of a trade menu for his temporary companion, he placed a hefty gold pile on the floor. Their axolotl killing spree had gifted him with quite a high sum of gold. Even with the fee he was donating, Calaf still had double the gold he’d come into town with.
“You’re too kind, good sir. Well, it’s hardly necessary, but thanks.”
Calaf wiped his brow. “You… without the Menu, you can’t trade. Can’t even take part in the economy. Why did you… y’know?”
“Well, dear, among other things, the Menu has strings attached.” Jelena swung her gilded knives around. “Without it, both crafting and wielding these are a pure matter of skill. Simply train with these the way I would with some level one iron dagger until I’m an expert. Under the Menu, I’d be some twenty levels too weak to even give them a swing.”
“But the Menu seemed to help this town. Look at what all you did here.”
Jelena held her hand out, and Calaf stopped talking. “I miss it, the orphanage, yes. But… again, strings attached. As I moved up the ranks I was tasked with doing things I’d prefer not to.”
“Jelena…” Calaf said, cheeks flushed.
The relic thief’s expression grew more somber. “You’ll… you’ll see, eventually. I just, can’t talk about it.”
The pair inched closer.
“But I’m free, here. Even those fools in the thieves' guild are bound by the Menu so they can manipulate it. But Enkidu and I? We can go anywhere, do anything. Don’t you want a taste of that freedom, Calaf?”
“That… does sound tempting.” Calaf inched closer still.
The pair were framed perfectly in that thin sliver of moonlight. It would be dawn soon, and this picture-perfect frame would vanish.
Their paths had been intersecting for… ages. And she was dangerous, not like that didn’t have an appeal in and of itself!
Calaf gazed upon her face – the slight scar running just underneath her eyepatch. Her curved lips, cheekbones, freckles, warmly-bronzed skin. It wasn’t like he was attracted to this thieving criminal or anything. She was just… nice. Aesthetically pleasing.
Jelena Turandot was a cold-blooded criminal. One who was passionate and voluptuous and so incredibly free-spirited. With a tight outfit and skilled hands and an immaculate body all around. And the way her bare skin had gleamed in the Twelfthnight hot springs. The way the water glistened off her skin as she’d emerged. He’d done his duty and glanced away for the modesty of all involved, of course. But the memory invaded his thoughts, now.
Totally not attracted. But their lips were drifting closer, and it had been some time since either averted their gaze from each other’s eyes. Why, he couldn’t even kiss or hold hands under the Menu. But she wasn’t bound by the Menu. She could just take charge, lead him along and…
All of a sudden, the Stalwart imagined her impassioned combat quotes, repurposed in a more pleasant form of duel…
Calaf shook his head. He took a step back.
“You… tempting me with your succubus magic!” he cried.
“Pffft.” Jelena tried and failed to compose herself. “What? Ay, was I this dense back in the day? Whoo, boy. You’re down bad.”
“I… I’m betrothed.” He crossed his arms, defensive. “I will not be tempted.”
“I’m sure,” Jelena said, deadpan. She looked away. “The town Deaconess, yeah?
“Indeed. A godly and upstanding woman of the Church.”
“Good… good luck with her.” Jelena exhaled sharply. “I mean that. I hope it… hope it works out.”
Having successfully resisted the siren song of temptation, Calaf felt another pang of sympathy for the relic thief.
“You… seem like a good person at heart,” Calaf admitted. “If things had been different perhaps you would still have your faith, and we would never need come to blows. But so long as you continue to steal relics and live as a wanted murderer of the good Pryor Yordan, we must…”
“I don’t have any relics on me,” she said. “Handed the thief’s lockpicks over to you. Pawned the Granite Pass relic back before I even knew what they did. Once it was clear the church tripled its bounty on me, I anonymously mailed the Riverglen relic back to the church.”
“I’m… surprised. Is it really true?” Calaf asked
“What, wanna strip search me?” Jelena struck a pose.
“W-won’t be necessary, ma’am!”
So all relics were accounted for, once he returned the lockpicks. His mission was truly complete.
“Thank you, Jelena,” Calaf said.
“Any time, Mister Sewer Guard,” Jelena winked again.
The pair smiled at each other. They were approached by a third figure, muscular and with a full, ragged beard.
“The sun rises,” grumbled Enkidu. “Jelena, it’s time for us to leave.”
“What’s his backstory?” Calaf asked, legitimately curious.
“Eh, you don’t want to know,” Jelena said, then giggled.
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“I’ll put in a good word for you with the Church,” Calaf promised.
“Doubt it will get the bounty off my back but… it’s appreciated.” Again, Jelena smiled.
“And I forgive you.” Calaf gave a curt bow. “For the Pryor. For what it’s worth.”
Jelena nodded. “You’re under no obligation to do so. But, sure. For what it’s worth.”
The relic thief leaned against the open doorway of the burnt-over chapel.
“Be seein’ you on the trail, Hot Shot.”
Calaf didn’t quite know where that nickname kept coming from. But he kind of liked it.
“May we meet again on more friendly terms.” Calaf nodded.
The now level 39 Stalwart left Japella with the dawn, feeling at peace and wiser than when he’d first left Riverglen at a paltry level 7. He was confident that he’d meet the former Sister Turandot again. Not sure where, not sure when. But still, he hoped...
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