PART IV: Partners in Life and in Crime
“Bones of the old lord are still settling, and Gustavo and Aldia have already run off to the delta marsh and that high tower in pursuit of their dueling philosophies. Truly, we were united only by my beloved Roland and our shared mission to slay the Demon King.
I’ve done what I can to provide for the refugees who have come to the site of the Demon Lord’s fall. Most are Shackled. I’ve established basic lessons on leveling and a rudimentary ranking system to guide their path. It’s an arbitrary system, stealing much from the old lord’s decrees and mainly relevant to the path we’ve traveled. I pray future generations can develop new and more relevant systems unbound by the past. But from here, atop the great beast’s corpse…
It is the only thing I know.
- Testament of Mia the Holy Priestess, Cleric of the Ancient Heroes of Yore.
“United in purpose and guided by divine providence, the Ancient Heroes of Yore established our glorious System and its Interface. The Holy Menu’s strictures are perfect, the Brand is a mark of the divine. For anyone to suggest that the Holy Priestess’s sermons were anything other than inerrable commandments detailing the perfect society… is abominable!”
Nay – it is heresy!
- Decree of the Third Council of Autumn’s Redoubt, 56 A.D. (After Demons)
The Plains Junction Cathedral Ward was locked down tighter than a nun’s intimacy submenus. The Grand Cathedral of the Plains was bustling with activity, with Clerics and church guards rushing to prep for the yearly pilgrimage circuit. There’d be no infiltrating the Plains Junction reliquaries. Any faithful hoping to gaze upon the sanctified Boot Polish of the Paladin (A reusable item granting a blessing of Charisma +5 to all who utilized its viscous cleaning gloop) would have to wait until next month’s pilgrimage season.
Winter south of Autumn’s Redoubt was seldom chilly. This year, spring had come in with a roaring heat wave that melted the paltry snows of the highlands around Twelfthnight and Deepwood away all at once. Perfect weather influenced some enterprising faithful to depart upon the holy pilgrimage early. These most faithful pilgrims were unable to visit the many shrines and stations they encountered on the route.
Enter Rory’s Off-Cathedral Holy Shrine Revival Emporium - a rented-out mini-warehouse built into a hard plainskarst structure on the seedier end of the Plains Junction market district. Relics for those too faithful by half were available for viewing and occasional purchase with a bit of haggling.
“So, this is the Cleric’s Besainted Footbalm,” said a girl of age thirteen and level thirty-one, standing amidst the crowd in a darkened viewing area.
“Why yes, little lady, it is!” Rory, Enterprising Merchant motioned to the bauble with a pointing stick. “You know your holy relics. Been paying attention in church study hall, have you?”
The young lady shrugged. “Something like that.”
“Well, I see you’re Of the Menu, and already in your level thirties? Impressive, for someone so small,” said the merchant. “If you open up your Interface, you’ll see that this here’s a Bonafide artifact of our holy priestess, founder of the church.”
A cerulean shimmer filled the observation room as multigenerational faithful from all walks of life observed the object of their worship through the opaque sheen of their Menus. What these worshipers saw, was this:
“Huh.” The young girl muttered to herself. She scanned the room. “Not surprising. Still a few good finds in here.”
“Young lady, oh, that name of yours in the Interface. It’s not a common one around these parts,” the old huckster said.
“Mhm. Zelda. Let’s go with that. It’s, ah, foreign?”
“Right you go, little missy. Would you or your properly-Branded legal guardian be interested in some one hundred percent confirmed authentic Holy Eyelashes of the Cleric? Only ten thousand gold a piece! Or – or, now wait, now – what of this Battlemage’s Grand Silver Claymore? It’s refined plus five! Surely your father could use that on his next pilgrimage. Only twenty-five thousand gold. It’s guaranteed to have been bathed in bonafide demon blood or double your money back!”
The young woman performed a full body shrug, her bangs all flopping at once.
“Eh, no thanks. I’ll be back.”
Punctuating this with a whistle, young Zelda turned and left the merchant’s stall. She turned two corners, then summoned a diminutive white-hued glass snail from her inventory.
“Most of what they’ve got in there is fake,” she whispered. “Few things are legit, but spread around so much I think the emporium happened upon them by accident. Look for the battlemage’s Grand Silver Claymore – it’ll be refined plus-five, the Cleric’s Holy Sandals, Cleric’s Besainted Mourning Veil, and Martyred Paladin’s Greatshield. Not sure how the church lost control of that last one. Hoss’s new squeeze’ll be able to spot them all at a glance. Just be careful about the clientele; places like this cater to people a bit too pious for even the church's pilgrimage schedule, yeah? Should have use for the greatshield when the time is right, too. Good hunting~~”
As this unassuming child walked along the dusty avenues of Plains Junction, she passed an item hung against a plainskarst-stucco wall.
‘Zelda’ chuckled and walked on. Her opening reconnaissance role in this emporium job was done. Now it was time to stand watch over the getaway route and wait for the other two prongs of the heist to get started.
Dust pooled in the alleyways of Plains Junction. No matter how often they were swept, by weeks’ end pedestrians would be walking ankle-deep in dust and soot once more. Few traveled these quiet, twisting routes when the wide-open roads of the junction were readily available.
Two figures walked out of the nearest alley from the block opposite ‘Zelda’s’ route and made for the swinging doors of Rory’s Off-Cathedral Holy Shrine Revival Emporium. Neither possessed a Brand, nor access to the Most Holy Menu. The man was preternaturally tall, while the woman’s most striking feature was the eyepatch covering a glassy, scoured Brand on her left eye.
“Ah, yet another day at the old haberdashery,” Jelena Turandot said with a smirk. “I’m feeling like a million gold. Hell, once we find some place to pawn all this off, we should have close to a million gold already. Going to have to celebrate, aren’t we, ‘Kido?”
“Your new recruit.” Enkidu growled, towering over Jelena. “Hope he knows what he’s doing.”
“It’s his third job,” Jelena said.
“His first job alone.”
“He’s a fast learner.” Jelena pursed her lips knowingly. “More than capable of performing any task I need him to. And so attentive.”
Enkidu held his hand out and stopped her at the door.
“What?”
“You do seem… happier, now,” Enkidu admitted.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
The woman’s cheeks flushed a shade darker than her already generous complexion. Her lips cracked into a smile.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Just remain careful. Overconfidence is often a swift and immediate killer.”
Jelena’s good eye caught another pair of wanted posters to the right of the swinging doors. With no Brand or Interface by which to observe the world, it was just a plain paper and words to her. For anyone Of the Menu, these posters were arranged thus:
And…
Jelena chuckled to herself. “Bounties are going up. Let’s go be bad guys.”
“Your relics to these false heroes shall be broken underfoot!” proclaimed a crazy woman with an eyepatch, having marched into Rory’s Emporium and instantly disabled the token private security with twin Throwing Knives of Paralysis.
Her partner, the towering feral barbarian Enkidu, mashed the pedestal containing the Cleric’s Besainted Footbalm with a mighty blow from his ancient sword. Jelena followed up by slicing the blinds sheltering this darkroom from the bright plains sun with her knives. Light flooded the chamber, blinding most of the reliquary revelers.
“Flee!” Jelena Turandot yelled. “Flee for your lives, god botherers!”
With no need to be told twice, two dozen pilgrims fled out the back, knocking over a relic podium or two in their retreat.
In the light of day, the shoddy construction of many of their relics was more obvious.
“Whew.” Jelena exhaled. “It’s more fun now that we’re hamming it up to match our reputations.”
“Some of these are made of paper maché,” said Enkidu.
Jelena adjusted her eyepatch. “We’ve got our targets. Just get ‘em ready for when he gets here.
Commotion filled the emporium as all were in a state of terror. Beleaguered faithful ran to and fro, searching madly for the exit. Rory was nowhere to be found. Someone had set a fire somewhere near the entrance, preventing the crowd’s escape.
The exit was forced open, and a brave Squire – still a dozen or more levels from achieving Paladin status – held it open with his spear.
By the Menu, his designation was thus:
“Into the alleyway! Follow me!” proclaimed Caelus, Wandering Do-Gooder.
The thankful crowd piled out, remaining single-file only at the Squire’s insistence.
“Yes, go, go!” he said. “Flee as far as you can, then take cover and remain quiet. I shall cover your escape.”
When the last civilian left the premises, ‘Caelus’ gently shut the door behind him.
“Jelena. All clear!” Calaf, former Riverglen do-gooder, rushed into the emporium.
“Good going.” Jelena’s smile widened as she laid her eye on Calaf. “Now come over here, dear. We need someone with an Inventory to properly filch these things.”
Calaf rushed into the once-dark room and stashed the items Zilara had targeted for them. He selected them with the Interface provided to him per his status as Branded. The Brand of the Menu on Calaf’s left arm itched slightly, perhaps sensing the sinful deeds it was being tasked with accommodating, but it vanished three legitimate holy relics into the quiet and stealthy nonspace of Calaf’s Inventory all the same.
The last relic remained on a podium in the far back. Calaf paid careful attention to this one.
Prodigious stat requirements. It would be ages before even Calaf had stats enough to wield this thing. And as the Paladin Roland’s shield, it would sell for a fortune – possibly hundreds of thousands of gold at any black market. Hell, the church would be begging to pay for its safe return. And yet, Calaf couldn’t help but fantasize about using it one day.
Greed. Another emotion he was unaccustomed to. He and Jelena had gotten lust down pat, but these other vices didn’t always sit well on his conscience. Nevertheless, he looted the Greatshield all the same. Desire to please Jelena won out over any vestigial sense of chivalry.
“Right on par,” Jelena announced, still gazing warmly at Calaf. “C’mon, let’s mosey.”
Jelena and Enkidu raced down the alleyway. Calaf was close behind; his alibi would remain that he was in pursuit of these bandits, should they require a bluff to cover the group’s escape. Zilara should be waiting in a dire-horse-drawn traveler’s cart not too far from the emporium.
“Stop right there, criminal scum!”
The taunt was addressed to him.
“Yes, you!” proclaimed a voice from behind. “I saw you cavorting with those vile unbranded heretics!”
Calaf – name and titles still masked by that ‘Caelus’ designation – turned. He found a man with a pasty Port Town countenance about him and basic shielder-type garb.
A low-level along the path to Paladin. Hadn’t even bothered upgrading weapons or armor from its most basic configuration. No doubt a recent convert or young initiate in route to Riverglen now to begin their first official pilgrimage.
“Go home. You’re too low-level to deal with these criminals,” Calaf bluffed.
Josiah puffed his chest up, too self-righteous to back down. “You don’t fool me, ‘Caelus’, if that really is your name. I see that name-spoofing ring on your finger. You accomplice!”
A new status effect appeared next to Josiah’s hit points. Righteous Fury. A buff, granting -5 to Dialogue-based categories; +10 to Combat. General debuff to agreeableness and reason. +15 to Overconfidence and Bravado. It was a status Calaf was well familiar with. There’d be no reasoning with this would-be Paladin.
“Have at you!” Josiah screamed. He pulled out a sword – the other Paladin signature weapon – and swung at Calaf.
A Redstone Shield of the Desert Wastes blocked the blow effortlessly. Again, Calaf blocked, then pushed his unwanted foe away with a Shield Bash.
“Bah.” At such a low level, Josiah was thrown back against the wall, to his knees. “You fiend.”
A commotion sounded from the front of the emporium. Authorities had arrived. It wouldn’t be long now before they’d investigate the darkened alleyways.
“Face me!” Josiah yelled, defiant, ignoring the fact that backup was just around the corner. He swung again.
There was no time for this. Calaf had to catch up with Jelena and the others, and fast. Fighting his way out through a legion of Plains Junction guards would only ruin the stealth-based spirit of the operation.
He jutted his left hand out, Redstone Spear of the Desert Wastes cutting through the young Stalwart’s guard. Though it was a measured thrust, the strength values were simply too much. Damage was immediate and catastrophic.
And there was some lag time between when the System called the slaying and when the victim noticed it. Change any number of factors and the blow may have rounded up to 1, saved the poor young man. Instead, he collapsed backwards, blood spurting from the wound as his own Interface registered the hit.
“I just wanted to… walk the path,” Josiah stammered before his head fell back.
Level up!
Calaf grimaced. Another level he wished he could take back. It just had to happen now. Even the skill increases were paltry.
The dead do-gooder remained, his health ticking down to -1/35, a representation of gradually encroaching decay. If it got to minus-five, the corpse would no longer be viable for consecration and burial in the church’s cathedral crypts. All who bore the Menu were promised internment in these holy vaults.
There would be no saving this prospective Paladin. Dead was dead, until the church’s promised day by which the mass resurrection spell would defeat death for good, raising all faithful forevermore.
Calaf looked to the Brand on his left forearm. It itched, as it often did these days when his conscience broke through and started gnawing at his soul. Church guards would find this corpse in time. In the cool but arid environment of this shaded alley, young Josiah was not at risk of having his corpse spoiled. He would be interned, as promised, no effort required on his murderer’s part.
Even so, Calaf stashed his spear and raised his hand. He muttered out a prayer and an incantation all at once. The Hallowed Interface registered a spell.
Josiah’s corpse took on a slight glow. ‘Consecrated’ appeared as a status on his now-frozen HP menu. This ritual complete, Calaf heard the sound of footsteps in the emporium. He took off running. Along the way, he couldn’t help but notice one last poster.