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Gold:
x21724
…. Aaaand there went another hundred gold. Early victories had given way to a string of crushing defeats. Calaf was left at a dealer’s table, blithely calling for an extra card and washing out. The Luck stat failed him on that day. Now he was going to keep at it to try and make up the losses…
It was in this state, hunched over a card table, that Calaf was approached by a figure in robes.
“Calaf of Riverglen?”
The Stalwart looked up, bags under his eyes. It was a courier.
“How’d you find me here?” he asked warily.
“All is logged under the Menu.” The courier didn’t seem to particularly care about Calaf’s identity aside from the fact that they had a delivery to make. “Here you go.”
Calaf was traded a simple envelope with little fanfare.
Item: Letter For the Betrothed
Description:
From: Charlotte, Deaconess
Church of the Menu
Riverglen
To: Calaf of Riverglen
Pilgrimage Courier (Deluxe Mail!)
Ah, a letter from his beloved Charlotte!
“Thank you kindly,” Calaf said, then used the funds he was going to use for another round at this infernal ‘gaming parlor’ to tip the courier.
Evidently happy, the courier skipped off without another word.
Calaf selected, then opened, the letter.
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Dearest Calaf, My Betrothed,
It has been several weeks since your departure, and over a week now since Gorman returned without you. It sounds like you have elected to travel along the pilgrimage route to further deepen your faith in the Holy Menu and your mastery of its Interface. Congratulations, my love. Why, it was my determination to carry on my own pilgrimage past the typical layperson’s endpoint that awarded me the position of Head Deaconess of Riverglen. I have appealed to the clergy at the Grand Cathedral and they’ve confirmed, when you return, a position as a guardian of the Riverglen cathedral is yours, as is the next stage of our betrothal.
Early returning pilgrims suggest that the crisis with the leveling creatures has stopped at Granite Pass and spread no further. You’ve successfully alerted our noble church hunters to the relic thieves and murderers who accosted our fair cathedral. They shan’t continue their reign of terror any longer. Please leave further pursuit to the noble hunters. And do let me know when you are scheduled to return to Riverglen.
Sincerely Yours,
Charlotte, Deaconess of Riverglen
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A position in the Riverglen cathedral – taking over for the martyred Pryor Yordan, to be sure. And the next stage of Calaf and Charlotte’s betrothal – they may be granted the ability to hold hands under the Menu, even! Ah, it was almost as if that time shadowing Baldr and being detained by the crooked authorities of the Port Town monastery were all just a bunch of bad dreams.
Calaf wanted nothing more than to begin the journey back to Riverglen right away. He excused himself from the table, cashed out (to the extent that there was anything to cash out) and headed for the door.
Blinding sunlight awaited Calaf just as soon as he opened the door. It was already midday. How long had he been at those tables?
Stumbling out onto the main avenue, Calaf was swiftly carried northward by a constant stream of pilgrims. It took some time for his eyes to adjust, dim gaming parlor having rapidly given way to the scorching desert heat, and by then Calaf was nearly carried to the cathedral.
The under-leveled Stalwart needed two things: one, passage on a pilgrim’s convoy back through the lesser stations, to Plains Junction at least. Two, he needed to enlist a church courier himself to find and explain to Jorge’s party that he wouldn’t be meeting up with them after all. It was possible they’d already moved on from Firefield, and if not, it’d require a miracle to find them in this crowd anyway.
So Calaf returned to the Cathedral at Firefield. It was made from a kind of gravel-textured, tan stucco that camouflaged itself well with the desert – a rare flourish as far as church cathedrals went. Massive scheduling and budgetary errors meant it had taken a full century to build.
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In front of this cathedral was a bulletin board. Where party meet-ups could be suggested, jobs could be requested, and general announcements were posted.
The chase after Jelena, the machinations of the thieves’ guild, and the apparent corruption of the church at Port Town were the furthest things from Calaf’s mind. He looked for a listing of caravans south down the route. He wouldn’t even be able to serve as a guard for this part of the route, merely just one pilgrim of many.
In terms of choice, there were a few dozen caravans to choose from. Many of them booked, as Firefield was where the level delta between laymen faithful and the beasts of the field tended to grow a bit much for some average thatcher or blacksmith to deal with.
It was while perusing this message board – it was quite large, given it was the primary job board for the entire settlement – that Calaf noticed two very peculiar notes.
Firstly, a job listing:
“Wanted: Dire-Axolotl pelts. Will pay handsomely – 1000 gold per pelt! Typically hang out around the salt licks and watering holes thereabouts level 30 or so. They’re rather squirrely though, so bring traps. Signed – The Watering Hole.”
Huh, level 30. That was not insurmountable for Calaf. And he did need to recoup his losses…
Alas, he’d have to spend money to armor up before he could properly hope to fight anything in this desert abode. That would require spending yet more money. It would also require finding a blacksmith.
The second entry of note was three places below the creature bounty. It read as thus:
“Legitimate business blacksmiths. We’ll bring the materials, you bring the cash! The finest of firestone armors, obtainable for half off standard market rates! Special deal: 75% off armor infusions and refinement. Come visit us at… The Watering Hole!”
Wow. It sounded like this Watering Hole establishment had all manner of legitimate business. Blacksmiths, and apparently tanners too. Calaf wondered who could possibly fund armor for such cheap prices.
One day, some years from now, Calaf would surely complete the rest of the pilgrimage. It would help if he traded his now-lagging behind steel armor and his well-outdated buckler for a proper Firefield set.
Another set of advertisements for caravan listings were backlogged. It would be a few days before an opening cropped up. Which meant Calaf suddenly had time. And rather than spend it back losing the remainder of his gold supplies in those gambling parlors, he could hope to outfit his kit with the finest armor that would last him for years, as well as recoup his losses with animal hide bounties.
Just before heading out, Calaf noticed another listing buried behind all the others. It had been posted some time ago. By pure chance, Calaf examined it.
“Wanted: Jelena, Apostate. Surname Unknown. Dead or Alive. Crimes: Dangerous Conduct, Relic Thievery, Murder of Clergy, and Over 21 Additional Counts. Bounty: 200500 Gold. Posted By: The Most Holy Church of the Menu, Authorized by the Grand Council of Archbishops at Demon Lord’s Fall.”
That was quite the sum. Seemed higher than it was before Riverglen as well, which made sense. Not that Calaf was interested in the bounty for its own sake; it was personal, after all.
There was another bounty on the wanted section of the board. Posted much more recently. And not put out by the church…
“Wanted: Jelena T. Thief working outside the guild. Homebase is around Firefield. Wanted Dead. Bounty: 3000000 gold. Signed – The Thieves Guild. Come sign up for hunting parties at the Watering Hole”
Three million!? The thieves’ guild was surprisingly well-funded. And they, too, wanted Jelena. That did mesh with what Calaf had heard back in the cistern, so long ago now.
And the location for sign-up… the Watering Hole. The exact destination Calaf was – or had wanted to – visit. His paladin-aspirant senses tingled. There was most certainly something curious afoot here. And with no way out of town for a day or two, he felt obligated to investigate…
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The Watering Hole was, predictably, located closer to the wide oasis that formed the lifeblood of this desert abode. This part of town was older – less focused on touristy delights for pilgrims and more built around fundamental, pre-Menu industries. Goldsmithing, blacksmithing, wicking every bit of possible moisture out of the atmosphere, and more. Of course, the Menu now allowed these arduous professions to be done in a breeze via the holy Interface. A distinct scent of soot and furnace smelting filled the air. Still, the industry was kept well away from the life-giving waters.
Caves had been worn into mighty granite by flowing water over some untold number of centuries. The path of this flowing water had been cut off through the years, leaving a high and dry cavern system that formed some of the first dwellings in the Firefield desert. One such cavern was now an inn – with vacancies, even, though the day was still young. Another had been transformed into another gambling parlor. And as for a third one…
“The Watering Hole” – a sign, cast up in cleric light balls, per the town’s glitzy style, awaited on a bit of wood. Not a lot of lumber grew in the desert. In fact, it seemed to be sourced from the delta.
Calaf took a step forward. Torchlight filled the cavern every ten paces. Still, there were no signs of others. Admittedly, Calaf didn’t know what he was expecting to find. But he had reason to suspect that the Thieves’ Guild was using this establishment as a front.
Natural stone melded seamlessly with manmade tiling. The cavern had been well-lived in for some time.
A door awaited – highlighted red, locked. There was a plush rug just sitting there in front of the door.
Calaf approached. His intuition blared. A weird tingling against the back of his neck.
What was the Interface trying to tell him? He stayed back, performing a scan of the door ahead.
Yellow highlighted the rug. Ah, it was a trap!
Hazard: Trap Door Floor
Description: A trap door in the ground. Intentionally hidden. No evidence of lethal spikes or other hazards are present. It’s likely this leads to a cell or other form of restraints.
Stalwarts seldom had keen trap senses – it was more of a Scout (or perhaps burglar) skillset. But if his luck had to bleed him of money all night to work properly at this crucial moment, well, it was certainly in his favor.
A paltry amount of experience flowed into Calaf. +15 xp. Not enough to level up. Mastery over the Interface truly was biased towards combat.
The door was indeed locked. The path was shut. But Calaf was undeterred. He poked through his inventory, and remembered…
Item: Holy Lockpick of the Thief Scout (Unbreakable)
Description: A lockpick belonging to the famous Thief Scout of the Ancient Heroes of Yore. +20 to any scouting or trailblazing skills. Picks any lock.
Unlimited lockpicking with a full +20 to any form of scouting? Why, this key ring in his pocket may have been the only reason he survived his trip across the desert to Japella on foot! Suddenly it was quite fortunate that he’d yet to turn this holy artifact into the church after all.
Hearing and perception were scouting skills, ones likewise enhanced by this holy relic. Calaf put his ear to the door. There was a commotion within – steel on steel. Perhaps someone had already caught on to this thieves' guild hideout and had begun to raid the place? Or perhaps someone was being accosted in there.
Regardless of the cause of the din, Calaf used the relic to unlock the door, and then snuck in to investigate.
If someone truly was in danger, what kind of prospective paladin would he be to shirk investigation at this point?
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