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A garment awaited on the cobblestones, just outside the burnt-over hole that had been blown into the back of the church.
Item:
Crumpled Dress (Disguise) (Torn)
Calaf had not even a name to go by, only Charlotte’s description of a cackling, ugly, heretical harlot who’d struck Pryor Yordan down in a most dishonorable fashion before a terrified congregation. Surely, this assassin wasn’t fleeing the scene naked!
More bodies, some merely injured beyond the capacity for pursuit, others on death’s door, lay strewn about behind the cathedral, and at the entrance of a nearby alleyway.
Good enough of a place to check as anywhere else. The injured and unconscious guardsmen tapered off within the alley itself – good, as it meant nobody else was being harmed by this assassin. Bad, as it meant there was less of a trail by which to pursue the villains.
Calaf, at a mere level 7, possessed nowhere near the tracking abilities of your average scout. He was a guard – which was to say, defense-oriented. But he knew Riverglen, having lived here for all but six months of his life, during his own holy pilgrimage. Calaf knew exactly where he needed to go.
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Only the north gate out of Riverglen was particularly large. It was the gate by which the main road leading along the Grand Pilgrimage – the route used in emulation of the Ancient Heroes of Yore – set forth. It was the easiest way to reach another settlement and the first gate that would be put under lockdown if a wanted criminal was trying to escape town.
Numerous other gates along the wall were small, often not wide enough to allow a horse-drawn cart to even pass. Mostly used by local farms. The garrisons at these gates were lax, and the guards would have come to assist in any emergency at the cathedral, same as Calaf. He recognized many from the garrison injured back at the alley, in fact.
Calaf took a shortcut to the closest gate. He hid at the mouth of an alleyway. Sure enough, he found his quarry.
A woman wearing form-tight, functional garb slunk into the waiting portcullis. She had a dark complexion accentuated by a fine tan, more akin to the deserts of mid-level than boring old Riverglen. And she walked on her tiptoes, making nary a sound. Indeed, she appeared to be looking for any remaining guards. But for the moment, it was only Calaf…
The sentry hazarded a peek at this foe, murderer of his foster father:
Name:
Jelena TnOdRaTU
Rank:
???
Level:
XX
Status:
YYY/YYY
Huh. Scrambled.
All citizens in good standing had an interface. As did even the lowliest beast in the field. Those who hadn’t taken the brand simply did not have a menu appear when queried. To have a menu that was scrambled like this…
… meant that his foe had once lived under the grace and protection of the Most Holy Menu, and had knowingly forsaken its divine interface.
Truly, this woman, this ‘Jelena’ whatever her surname happened to be beneath the interference, was a heretical fiend unworthy of mercy.
Jelena paused at the gate. She held something up to her mouth, then exhaled some smoke. Tobacco – such sinful activities were simply blocked by the Menu. So, she truly was operating off-interface.
“Stop right there!” Calaf emerged out of the alley shadows.
“Oh?” Jelena eyed the newcomer, then took a particularly large, final puff of her sin stick. “Was kind of hoping the guards had all run off. Certainly, save a bit of trouble.”
“I’m not a gate guard. It’s Calaf, Sewer Guard.”
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
The woman’s lips pursed. “A sewer guard, eh? I’m movin’ up in the world. Still, that seems vaguely familiar…”
Calaf brandished his spear. “Have at you! Taste low-level iron, criminal scum!”
Calaf Uses Swing: Sentry’s Spear
Error: Miss!
Impossible. He tried again…
Calaf Uses Swing: Sentry’s Spear
Error: Miss!
“What!?” Calaf tried a third time, to no avail.
There was no system under the Most Hallowed Interface by which anyone could dodge a blow. All under the Menu had to stand and fight, only their defense stats and armor rating seeing them through.
“You fight without honor! You knave! Heretic! Murderer.”
Again, the guard swung, and again, Jelena artfully dodged.
“I’m fighting smart is what I’m doing.” The last thrust of the spear did force Jelena to drop her tobacco stick, at least.
“You killed the Pryor. He was like a father to me. For heresy such as this, I’ll never stop pursuing you.” With a growl, Calaf readied his spear, putting everything into one extra-strong thrust.
Even if this dishonorable knave forsakes the menu and engages in this fiendish ‘dodging,’ it only took one direct hit. Getting stabbed with a spear would still hurt. And the portcullis itself was quite narrow.
Only need one lucky hit.
Calaf lunged. Missed. Lunged, she dodged. And he lunged again, forward into the relative darkness of the gate.
“You killed my foster father!” Calaf yelled again.
“Haven’t killed anyone who didn’t deserve it,” Jelena said. “Would hate to start. Go back and guard your sewer, kid.”
Jelena’s outfit, while form-fitting, was covered in straps and pockets. No doubt to store fiendish instruments of murder and to pilfer stolen holy artifacts. The thief took something out of a pocket just below her shirt’s right breast, clicked it thrice, and placed it on the wall.
Nevertheless, Calaf continued his pursuit. Jelena walked, casually, down the tunnel, her back to Calaf. That globule on the wall began to beep…
A cacophonous explosion sent the sewer guard reeling backward. Dust and soot obscured his vision even as the collapsing wall revealed the bright light of day.
Name:
Calaf of Riverglen
Status:
6/18 (Hurtin’!)
(Leg: Pinned. Arm: Pinned)
Calaf was lucky it wasn’t a critical hit. Anything worse would’ve left him bleeding out, if not so damaged under these tons of rubble that his body couldn’t even be consecrated.
Jelena was gone. Out of sight. A now-collapsed pile of wall between Calaf and her. And with his limbs pinned (and everything else feeling as if he’d been picked up and thrown across town) there was no possible way he’d catch up.
“Hey, it covers our escape, doesn’t it?”
Who was she speaking to?
“Just glad I managed to shake him before you started getting stabby.”
Calaf hacked up a horrible cloud of dust.
“I’ll…” he coughed again. “Never stop chasing you.”
“Still alive?” Jelena asked from behind the wall of rubble. “Good to know. If that’s what you wish, I won’t stop you. But… you should really head back to your post, sewer boy.”
A new status effect appeared in Calaf’s interface:
Name:
Calaf of Riverglen
Status:
6/18 (Concussion!)
“C’mon, Kiddo, on to the next reliquary.”
Before Calaf could puzzle out the identity of this figure the relic thief was talking to, the timer zeroed out and he lapsed into unconsciousness.
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Calaf awoke in a coopted section of the cathedral cloister, remade into a temporary medical facility.
Above, the sun was hovering thereabout four o’clock for this season. Which is to say, several hours had passed since Calaf’s synapses last fired.
With a groan, Calaf instinctually checked his stats:
Name:
Calaf of Riverglen
Rank:
Sheilder, The Most Holy Church of the Menu
Level:
7
Status:
15/18 (Mending)
Ah, the church healers had begun to mend him. A mid-level spell, gradually restoring his health over time. Useful for less drastic cases.
“Finally, you’re awake,” said a soft and matronly voice hovering over him.
It was none other than Charlotte, his betrothed.
“Ah, I presume you were unable to recover the Pryor’s relics, were you, my dear?” Charlotte asked with a slight neutral curve to her thin lips.
“No. And… the assassin got away,” Calaf managed. He felt his health tick up to 16/18.
“And nearly collapsed the easternmost gate on top of you.” Charlotte nodded. “You barely survived, my beloved. Tell me you won’t do something so rash again.”
“I…” Calaf’s overactive mind got back to thinking about the bemartyred Pryor Yordan’s corpse. “I was outmatched. And that assassin, she fought without the Menu. Her stats were scrambled. I think she was once Of The Menu but has forsaken it. And there was someone else…”
“Hmmm. Yes, this matches what others have testified to,” Charlotte said. “Oh, that fiendish assassin. She forsakes the Interface! She engages in heresy against the menu. I bet she even…” Charlotte let out a gasp. “… despises the concept of motherhood!”
The horror of it all caused some of Charlotte’s fellow healers to faint.
Calaf nodded sagely. Yes, surely this vile, fiendish Jelena was nothing like his beloved, betrothed, and proper Charlotte. Why, the deaconess was a model of churchly virtue! Nothing like that murderous old woman who fought so dishonorably.
Charlotte cleared her throat and refocused. “Ah, an iterant cleric from the south happened to arrive in town a few hours ago. We would’ve been overwhelmed with healing duties were it not for his Interface. The church is preparing a response. Perhaps you should join this cleric. At the very least, you may be able to provide vital information about this relic thief.”
From the south? Why, Riverglen was the first station on the Grand Pilgrimage. The only place further south was… the most holy cave where the Menu’s life-altering perfection was discovered. A truly holy site for the church, that made this grand Cathedral look like a backwater Pryory. So fortuitous for an experienced church healer to arrive at this most dire hour.
Calaf rose. He did not dare embrace Charlotte, as anything more explicit than an air hug before marriage was forbidden by the Menu. Instead, they merely clasped their hands at their heart in the Church-approved, modest show of devotion to each other. Then, Calaf wasted no time in seeking out this iterant deacon.
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