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An uneventful, scorching day’s ride in a dire-mule-driven cart brought Calaf to Firefield. Mercifully, it was a dry heat; a simple tarp draped out above the cart was sufficient to keep Calaf and this gruff-looking cart driver from suffering the ‘Heat Stroke’ status effect.
The cart driver was another old, grizzled man. Skin turned ragged by life in the desert. He was Unbranded. As they got to talking, Calaf learned that this fellow was a Japella local, and merely pooled the hamlet’s resources to go into town for a supply run now and again.
True to its topography, the desert was sparsely populated. The usual itineraries for pilgrims listed only Firefield as a proper destination. A desert oasis surrounded by red, rocky crags. Only three proper routes in and out of this desert abode had been worn through the rocks with centuries of foot traffic: the route with a clear south and north entrance along the grand pilgrimage route. And this tiny little dire-goat path through a narrow pass leading to Japella out amidst the sands.
When they arrived, it was near late afternoon again. The peak heat of the day was dissipating. To Calaf’s surprise, the desert could get quite chilly at night.
“Where do you stay in Firefield?” Calaf asked the cart driver.
“Aye, over there a way,” the old man said in a rather gruff desert dialect.
‘Over there a way’ happened to be a modest abode that the old man’s Menu-converted grandson owned in town. Most of the supplies sent to impoverished Japella were gathered together from younger generations here in the Firefield residential district. Alas, Calaf was not invited in, not that he was asking. This was one of the larger stations on the pilgrimage. He surely wouldn’t find lodging in due time.
As with Plains Junction, the aspiring Paladin was viewing Firefield from a vantage point that was not meant to be a pilgrim’s first impression. A residential district, the buildings here were well-maintained but not inherently different from the hovels of Japella.
It was not until the path looped through these natural cave-carved homes and over to the main avenue that the true Firefield experience began.
Night had fallen as did the desert chill that came with sundown. But a warm glow came from up ahead. Rounding a corner right from beside the southernmost town entrance, Calaf saw a kaleidoscope of lights arranged in all manner of fetching displays.
Cleric’s illumination spells had been dyed all manner of colors, and arranged on wooden boards and stone slabs to advertise pretty much anything a weary traveler could want.
Cheap Rooms at the Inn! Vacancies available (though ‘vacancies’ was crossed out in some kind of red temporary paint). (Color Interface Notice Board and Complementary Breakfast Included)
Most Holy Church (Off) The Menu Wedding Chapel! Open 24/7!
All you can eat dire-shrimp, shipped daily from Port Town!
Welcome Pilgrims! Come see our dancers open 10PM to sunup only at The Most Holy Slots Bordello!
Church-approved Menu Roulette (come spend that pilgrimage allowance)
Calaf sniffed the dry air. It smelled of… something iniquitous. Still, the sight before him was impressive from a logistical standpoint. To think that this thin strip of questionably-Menu appropriate commerce was made possible by a small network of oases closer to the center of this settlement.
Dancing lights naturally drew all eyes to this spectacle. Especially interesting in contrast to the dark, featureless desert to the south. The town ended abruptly at two stucco guideposts with a ‘Welcome to Firefield!’ banner draped over the route. Beyond that the southern horizon was black and featureless, lit only by a paltry sliver of moon.
The main route from the delta through the desert was no less treacherous than the alternate route to Japella. The Old Heroes of Yore had just barely survived to reach the oasis, hovering around level 8 dehydration, where any further level met with instant death. Recent innovations in path Trailblazing and general preparedness meant that people seldom died of exposure on the route any longer though.
And when the travelers journeyed out of the delta’s watershed and braved the desolate desert, they eventually saw this city on the horizon, like a mirage in the day and a gleaming jewel at night.
Even at this late hour the main street bustled with activity. Parties of all sizes gathered and moved about. A party made entirely of clerics marched into some sort of dance hall as if they were going to mass.
As he walked, Calaf couldn’t help but notice the level deficit between him and the rest of the pilgrims. He seldom encountered anyone below level 39! Where before he was over-leveled for most of his party, now he was well behind both this area’s typical range and his peers. Why, he could never level up at this rate; the local beast population was simply too strong (and too rare).
First things first. The Stalwart tried not to let all the glitzy lights distract him. He did have a mission after all. Calaf tried the local cathedral (easily identifiable as the tallest building in this land of wide, squat stucco establishments) and found it to be shuttered tight for the day. He did need to safely deliver this artifact to a church official. Surely anyone in good standing would be able to take responsibility for this priceless relic and ensure it gets into the hands of a more noble bishop assigned to Port Town.
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Still, with the path closed Calaf detoured to look for a room. He could always approach the cathedral’s Pryor or a bishop in the morning.
Hours passed, and his endeavors proved fruitless. Though he’d been ahead of the waves of pilgrims up through the delta, his weeklong stay in the Port Town monastery had delayed him just long enough for the peak season to catch up. The detour through Japella had cost him yet more time. Now Calaf was underleveled, under-equipped, and without even a place to hang his head for the night.
Calaf tried every inn along the route – all were booked. He spread his net a little further and stepped into an establishment offering warm beds by the hour… then stepped right back out.
Oh, by the Menu, the scandal! To think such an establishment would exist right here on the main road, tempting innocent pilgrims with, ah, ‘off-Interface’ activities. What’s more, the ladies there seemed to be dressed in mocking costumes of devout church nuns and deaconesses! The shame. He should report that establishment to the clergy first thing in the morning.
After walking up and down the strip for a bit to clear his head with wistful visions of his beloved Charlotte, Calaf felt enough self-confidence to again try another non-inn establishment. ‘Eternal Twilight’ it was called, offering beds, massive banquets worth of meals, and something called ‘roulette.’
A building as spacious as any cathedral but entirely windowless awaited. Those technicolor clerical light ball spells had been cast up against a darkened ceiling to create an illusionary night sky. A thin haze of smoke filled the ‘sky’ and gave the illusion of low cloud cover or smog – tobacco, not technically part of the establishment’s atmosphere, but perhaps it added to the ambiance.
Smoking a dedicated tobacco stick was technically banned under the Menu. The System simply would not allow the item to be selected and ‘Used’, as was the case with most forms of sin-facilitating items. But there were workarounds that the Church did not necessarily frown upon. Indeed, monastic orders would sell some diluted forms of tobacco to be poured into a Plain Wooden Pipe. By using the Plain Wooden Pipe, otherwise godly Menu-bound folk could bypass the greyed-out options on the tobacco itself while still partaking. There were even common items that facilitated this and conferred some stat bonuses: Charisma +2, at the expense of Endurance with continued use.
Observing the gaming parlor mostly consisting of big wheels and betting fields, Calaf suspected that items to increase luck would be ideal for this situation. Betters called out a numbered field on a segmented wheel of alternating colors, or a set of numbers, or just a color and were rewarded based on what they got right relative to the odds.
Not much skill was involved, but Calaf was born lucky! His luck stat was higher than average for his level. He stepped up to the nearest table.
His current gold supplies were thus:
Gold:
x32562
More than enough to resupply and reprovision his entire kit, as soon as he was at level for Firefield’s gear. Point being, he had money to burn.
“One hundred gold on black,” Calaf said.
A ball rolled on a spinning wheel. It landed on four. Black.
A trade was performed by a professional if haggard-looking attendant. Calaf received 200 gold in return. A success!
“Hmmm. The third twelve?” Calaf guessed.
A lucky roll to number thirty-four was another, even larger payout to Calaf. Huh, this was pretty easy…
“Three hundred on red!” he declared, bursting with confidence.
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“Haven’t seen signs of any tails for quite some time.”
“That’s typically a good thing.”
“True.” Jelena shrugged. “Kind of surprised I don’t get more flak so close to home though.”
The pair were hidden under a rock cropping north of Firefield. Even in the early morning, the heat was building everywhere outside of a good patch of shade. Dire-axolotls patrolled in a nearby watering hole. Their pelts were worth quite a hefty coin purse per hide and would be needed to fund yet more ambitious heists.
“You never do.” Enkidu paused, looking at a rudimentary trap splayed out at the edge of the watering hole. “Go back home.”
“Eh, nothin’ there anymore anyway, ‘cept Gram-gram but she’s so prideful she’ll demand to look after herself.” Jelena looked out over the rocky environs. “Firefield’s a great base of operations, though. Could get used to hanging around there.”
Enkidu grumbled. The dire-axolotls just weren’t biting.
“I distinctly recall the brothels there,” Enkidu said all bluntly.
“Yeah. I’m sure you do, buddy.” Jelena laughed, half at Enkidu, half because she noticed her old desert accent creeping back through years of a more neutral dialect.
“Is that why you want to stay around Firefield?”
“What? Me? Pshaw.” Jelena laughed. “Perish the thought.”
The pair sat in silence for some time. Enkidu sniffed the air; his eyes got a slight gleam to them.
It was Jelena who broke the silence. “Spent a ton of time around Firefield, though. Years. Kind of got an itch for traveling. Staying mobile. Monotony is boring, even if it’s all bright lights all the time.”
“Mobility is good. It helps avoid enemies,” Enkidu said with a lizard-like slithering tone. “Like the ones approaching from south and east even now.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Jelena said.
The pair emerged from their shade – Jelena first, then Enkidu. The dire-axotyls waddled off, startled by the commotion.
“C’mon out,” Jelena cried. “We’ve been able to hear ya comin’ from miles away.”
Of all the times to get a tail. Didn’t sound like church hunters, though. Hunters didn’t even try to be stealthy.
A dozen men emerged. If Jelena still possessed the ability to use the Menu, she suspected their titles would be listed as ‘cleric.’ This would be a feint though, as the group pulled out jagged daggers – the signature weapon of thieves, scouts, and their various trailblazing subclasses.
“There’s a bounty out on you,” said the toughest-looking thief. “From both the guild and the church.”
“Let me guess: Metz is in hot water and wants to trade a world-famous relic thief for a full pardon and his old position back?”
“You’re quite perceptive.” The lead thief pulled out another, larger dagger.
Again, Jelena shrugged. “Eh, saw the bounty notice back in town. So, who wants to die first?”
One particularly bold and burly bounty hunter took a step forward. A padded, relatively stealthy boot landed at the edge of the watering hole. Perilously close to the axolotl trap.
Another step. There was a snapping sound and a twang as a pin went flying. Counterweights moved, and the toughest-looking thief was suddenly being dragged by one leg off towards a nearby petrified tree.
Jelena pulled out a wood-and-steel flintlock and hip-fired, cutting the next-toughest-looking thief down with no respect for level or defense values.
Enkidu brandished his sword – a rusted, jagged thing left over from an ancient civilization. The pair got to work.
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