The early morning farmer's market in Greenbeard Square was active as ever, though patrons took care to avoid the southwest corner—that's where that weird Elvish Orthodox street preacher usually set up his camp.
“Blood! Firestorm! The plague of irreligion is forever upon you!”
A middle-aged elf with a thick black beard stood there in his unwashed pilgrim's robes. His black glasses and white cane indicated his blindness, but he seemed to know exactly the direction to yell to make people uncomfortable.
“Celsior has declared their hateful war against the Gods, and through your inaction, you are complicit! The false light will consume all followers of the idolatrous sun-demon Rafeth, and the Everlasting Wheel will glut in your suffering! Repent, repent, for—”
[The Cycle Has Broken!]
That's when he felt it. The feeling was unmistakable; the Jade Crown was no more.
“I will return shortly,” bellowed the preacher, “so if anyone feels like converting to Northwestern Orthodoxy, please take one of the flyers on the ground. Das'voi, you heathen, sun-loving midgets!”
With that, the preacher clapped twice. His attendant, also dressed in a pilgrim's uniform, guided him back to his tent in an alleyway.
In the tent, the preacher met with three other attendants. They were all elvish men, and if one looked closely under their robes, they wore Rosencracian royal guard uniforms. It wasn't exactly comfortable in the heat of Dunngate, but Galgalim said nobody's allowed to have a good time, so hmph.
“Did you feel that?” asked the preacher.
“Yes, Your Holiness,” said one of the guards. “The Jade Crown is gone.”
The preacher sighed. “Then the Island will soon be exposed. All the pieces are falling together. And when that happens...” He stopped, lost in thoughts.
“Your Holiness?”
And when that happens, may my Ofelia forgive me.
Meanwhile, in the Myth Archive...
It was a merciless six hours before the Mythkeeper usually woke up, but the plasma cannon on the tip of the beast's tail—the dreaded Fangzoblaster—had been showing signs of overheating damage. If he had to murder anything in his sleep, the last thing Fangzor wanted to wake him up was a Neverstone extraction coil melting onto his scales.
Leaning against a makeshift desk built from his precious hoard of dehumidifiers, the giant snake pried open a panel on the side of the gun with his teeth. Sure enough, the coolant fluids had been reduced to toxic steam, and the metal Neverstone chamber was warped from heat.
[The Cycle Has Broken!]
That's the Jade Crown, Fangzor said to himself.
Its curse is dying, and its power is fading.
And the crown's letting me know.
Fangzor scowled.
Because it thinks I'm obligated to care.
“Blow it out your ass, ya head-sittin' tiara-lookin' loser!” roared the snake.
A few rat spirits giggled in the corners, hearing their bestest friend's voice once more. Fangzor wasn't about to get any sleep today.
The sky was pale red from the Kobalheiman morning, and pink and green wooly bats flew through the tall red grass. The Doomwagon ploughed a slow and steady path through the weeds—hungry goblins had filled the giant centipede passage, and the heroes had more than their fill of fighting for that trip.
The wind flew through Ofelia's hair as she sat on the roof of the bus, meditating, in her peacetime outfit. Branwen's taser sat in her hand, but she hadn't used it once. Perhaps she was still debating on that first shock.
The sound of steps came from the crow's nest stairway behind them—Era.
“Hey,” said Era, “did I do something to—”
“I am happy to see you alive and well,” said Ofelia.
“But you don't sound too thrilled about something else.”
She stood up and turned to him. “Era, I've made a terrible realization. We can make this public in due course, but for the time being, this must stay secret between us, brother to sister. You mustn't even tell anyone on this bus. Do you promise?”
“I mean, sure, but now I'm curious about what kind of secret we're dealing with. Not saying I would, but what would happen if I let it slip?”
“Nuclear war.”
“Figuratively?”
“Literally, Era. There are many countries outside of the Empire of Aries, especially Tuarez, Phiscaea, and Skhorpestan, that would consider a retaliatory strike if they knew what I know now.”
Era's eyes widened. “So, should you be telling me this?”
“I wouldn't trust anyone else. Besides, it does concern you, and why you can absorb the Light of the Gods.”
He couldn't help but chuckle. “All right, all right, no more hype. What's this world-shattering secret?”
Ofelia came up to Era, struggling to balance on the moving bus for a second, but finally rested a hand against his shoulder. “Five years ago, I saw the source of the Light when it hit San Cyro. Perhaps it was foolish to ignore all the warnings, but it didn't blind me; that's a lie to cover up the sick truth. I never really understood what I saw, and for years, thought I may have misidentified it. That was until last night, when I saw it again.”
“What did you see?”
“The Prime Neverstone—the largest and most powerful. It was sitting in the center of a man-made energy weapon. What's more, my father's spies tracked the Neverstones, including Prime…”
[Ofelia — The Reveal]
“It's with Celsior.”
[CRITICAL HIT!]
Something inside Era's chest screamed, threw up, choked itself to death, and died.
“So...it wasn't the Gods at all,” said Era. “It’s just a Celsioran weapon?”
“I'm sorry you had to hear this from me,” she said. “But the Light of the Gods has been used over a thousand times in the last five hundred years.”
“And Gregor became king of Celsior five hundred years ago,” said Era. “Gods...Ofelia, this was not a puzzle I'd ever wanted to solve, but hell if you didn't just solve the vog out of it.”
She nodded. “Now do you see why we can't tell anyone, Era? How many times have the Gods supposedly condemned cities in countries like Tuarez? If they heard who really did it, the first thing on their mind would be revenge on the Ariesian Empire, not just Celsior.”
“Ofelia...I don't know what to say. We should tell someone.”
“I'm sorry. The burden of truth is not an easy one to carry. Perhaps it was selfish of me, but I can't carry it alone.”
He sighed. “No, it's fine. You're my sister—well, half-sister, same difference—and I wanna help. I'm glad you told me.”
[Ofelia — Normal Hug, Except It's from Royalty]
“Era...thank you.”
[Era's Addison's disease was cured!]
“I have Addison's disease?”
“You had Addison's disease. Look, someday we can, and will, be able to spread the truth safely. Until then, our thoughts must turn to avenging the people of Rosencrace.”
Era nodded. “Damn straight. Thanks to this so-called 'Light,' I lost everything, and spent the last five years thinking the Gods wanted me dead. I don't care how long it takes. I am gonna tear down everything Gregor Koschei has ever built.”
She grinned. “That's a heavy thing to swear. Care to make it official?”
[Era — Colibrian Oath]
Era drew his sword, faced a flat side of the blade towards him, and kissed it. “I've always wanted to do one of these, anyway.”
“Then I'll make it official, too.” Ofelia lifted the edge of her sweater, exposing her pain amplification rune. “Self-destruction can serve us no longer; it will only work to help the enemy. Now, pull it off.”
Era tilted his head. “Your pain sigil?”
“Yes. It's my sigil, so I can't pull it off without killing myself.”
“But...it's a tattoo.”
She laughed. “It's magic, you simpleton. Just grab it, already.”
He shrugg
ed, pinched the end of the tattoo, and yanked it.
[Era — Liberate]
Ofelia shrieked, clutching her stomach. Tears came down her cheeks.
“Ofelia!”
She raised her hand. “It's fine—slower would have been worse. Like a bandage. Is it off?”
Era looked in his hand, and saw a thin, black streak of dry ink sitting limp in his grasp, like freshly-plucked seaweed. “Yeah.”
“Then cast it into the wind. May it never harm us again!”
And so he did.
[Era — Throw]
Though, it would have been more effective if Era checked the direction the wind was blowing.
[Transferred the sigil to Era's face!]
“Huh,” said Era.
“Um, you can also get it off with lemon juice baths,” said Ofelia, “though it takes a few weeks.”
“Yeah, no, I'mma get Dad.”
LNN—“It Sure Is the News!”—est. 4309 A.L.
http://lnn.co.ari/103111cft.html
BREAKING — Chosen Three Leader Indicted for War Crimes, Tetrabunal Scheduled for November 16th
[Uploaded 11/14/11]
TARLYNN — Erasmus Gualtieri, winning leader of the latest Chosen Three campaign against Dark Lord Monostatos, was arrested by local Templars in his vehicle on 11/13/5211 at 2:39 PM ArProST.
The vehicle, a modified tour bus nicknamed “the Doom Wagon” by Gualtieri and his accomplices, was double-parked outside of a Cheeseburg Food Embassy at the time of the arrest. Templar Inquisitor Horace Kowalski charged Gualtieri with a vast assortment of crimes, including but not limited to: violation of the DLNI act, first-degree murder, property damage, and unheroic conduct.
“This marks a shameful chapter in the history of the Dark Lord cycle,” said General Henry Graveberry of the Knights Templar, in a press conference following the arrest. “Though the curse of the Jade Crown has been lifted, the curse of corruption in the hearts of promising young men evidently remains.”
“Such a ruffianly chap,” added General Graveberry.
As per Article 27 of the DLNI act, Gualtieri, as the leader, is the only member of the Chosen Three that can be indicted, punished, and otherwise be held responsible for the events of the campaign.
Olivia-Mae Matapang, a member of Gualtieri's Chosen Three, was interviewed following the arrest. When questioned about her involvement with Gualtieri's war crimes, she told LNN reporter Garribellum Schultz: “[expletive],” then broke all ten of Mr. Schultz's fingers one by one.
Mr. Schultz has declined to press charges for the assault, citing the nonzero chance that Ms. Matapang knows where he sleeps.
While the alleged war criminal has not been detained, Gualtieri has been enchanted with a Level 9 indictment curse, meaning that if he does not appear for his tetrabunal on 11/16 at 2:00 PM, ArProST, he will be teleported to a third party private retributionary firm—likely Koschei Metaphysical Torture Solutions, LLC.
A tetrabunal, as defined by the Codex of Amalgamated Civility Keeping, is a form of bench trial reserved for the most heinous crimes against the Empire. In lieu of attorneys and judges, the trial is presided by all four current monarchs of the province-kingdoms of Aries and moderated by the commander of the Knights Templar. Only five tetrabunals have been held previously since the start of the Dark Lord Cycle, the most recent being for the notorious serial killer Jimmerthy “Baby-Stapler” Stumpkins in 5038, where he was acquitted on a technicality.
The whereabouts of former Dark Lord Monostatos are currently unknown, though he has been declared killed in action by the Knights Templar.
The night after Era's indictment, Branwen and Ofelia were gone. Both of them snuck out of the Doomwagon late at night, leaving a note. For Ofelia, this was hardly anything new, but Era was impressed that Branwen knew how to write at a 3rd grade level.
To my dear friends, and brother,
Regrettably, my time with you must come to an end. I realize that this is a tad sudden, so I will be as specific as I can.
It would seem that a revolution is brewing in my homeland. (They call themselves AKSL, pronounced “axle”) the Anti-Koschei Salvation League. Social media indicates that their numbers are more massive than I imagined.
Knowing well who my father is, their leader (a simply ravishing dwarven knight by the name of Leona Cloudbreaker) nonetheless extended an invitation for me to join their cause to stop King Gregor's tyranny. While I don't agree with their politics—you'd sooner catch me dead than calling myself a (must I write down this horrid word?) anarchist—I do believe they hold the elvish people's best interests at heart. “The enemy of my enemy” comes to mind.
Brother—you should look into AKSL. They hold you in an almost saintly regard. Half the intake questions they asked me were variations of, “what was it like to work with The Era?”
Leona says she met you in a dueling car last May, so you know her. That, and these feelings I’m having about this dwarf are getting complicated and…irreligious. My point is this: if you come, when you get the chance, I may need you to be my Man of Wings, or however it’s called.
I hate to have my exit in La Toza repeat itself, but secrecy dictates I go to their Imperial City safehouse under cover of darkness.
Know that I don't regret a single moment of my time with all of you. (Not even that hideous-smelling pirate.) You all have my undying gratitude; through fighting at your side, I was able to see that the best way to atone for my family's sins is to help others, rather than hurt myself.
I look forward to our next meeting!
Das'voi for now,
Ofelia Carlotta Niccolo
~ AKSL FOREVER ~
P.S.: Era, I will be in touch with you next month regarding the dangerous secret we discussed. If these revolutionaries can be trusted, I'll consider informing them.
HAY GUIZE
uhh so like I gotta pis off n do pirate stuf. redacted n expunged found me an jus sow happuns theyre alive. YAY!
nowah — sorry I kept tryna grab yer non existant bewbs, yer a nice chap even if u isnt noelle
erra — yer a worthy avversaree, good luck wif yer law suit or whatev
ofeelya — u suk
live — u only kinda suk
meesh n goblin lady n ded monky — meh
laguepe —“too eh an grond amee et mon frere from another pear” (izzat how u says it)
noelle — WRETCHED SUCCUBUS! AND YET EVEN NOW, AGAINST ALL REASON, MY POOR, WASTED SOUL WILL LOVE YOU UNTIL THE END OF TIME.
eat me bum sweat,
CAPN BRNAWEN HAMMERS MIFF
(Pee ass: erra i did one uv ur “turd paff” plan things an stole yer noyse cansellin hedfones to make sure nomandy tellin me “Anewbus” ever agan. I is now invincedable. Feer me.)
After hearing from Mischa that Templar indictment curses are notoriously prone to premature death sentencing, Era had arrived at the Palace of Justice a good six hours in advance. The indictment stamp faded from his right hand as he passed the security checkpoint at 8:00 in the morning.
Once there, he found the nearest bathroom and, for the first time in five years, put his hair in a ponytail and changed into a three-piece suit. Granted, it was a generic dark brown and white business- professional arrangement, but one look at him, compared to his appearance in the dueling car six months ago, and nine out of ten survey takers would say, “well, clearly, these are two different people, and the tuxedo guy's a prince of some sort.”
The tie was his personal addition—it was a green ascot cravat, part of his old Mt. Colibri school uniform. Pretentious? Yes. Tacky? Yes. Elvish? Very yes.
Even his prosthesis was new. Last night, a brief trip to the Imperial College of the Arts, 5,000 G, and a few product design students desperate to chip away at their tuition debt all came together for a shiny new 3D printed, peg-leggish thingamabob just his size. It was big enough to house his Neverstone, sturdy enough for combat, and by Galgalim, it came in green!
In short, for the first time in his life, Era
felt like the fanciest little bastard this side of the Obsidian Gate, and he relished every second. Later on, the way Liv none-too-subtly ogled at his new look didn't hurt, either.
That is, until he reached a bench in an antechamber outside the courtroom, and the fatigue set in.
The flash of a camera jarred Era out of his nap. Sitting back up, he found himself surrounded by photojournalists, eager for the chance to inspire a headline to the effect of, “WAR CRIMINAL IS LAZY AS HELL,” or variations thereof.
Era grumbled. “All right, show's over.”
“Quick, yes or no, are you on drugs?” said one.
“Are you?” asked Era.
[Raphael — Voice of the Savior]
“No cameras allowed! BEGONE!”
The reporters scattered from Raphael's magic, whimpering.
Sure enough, behind them stood Prince Raphael, with a sad smile. “It's good to see you again, Erasmus.”
Era said nothing. Unless I somehow come across Coach Jordy in my travels, I will never feel sicker to see someone again in my life.
“Look...” Raphael sat down next to him and sighed. “I know we didn't see eye-to-eye on a lot of issues. We both did inexcusable things to each other.”
Blow it out your ass. Your family is behind the Light of the Gods. Your family destroyed my country and blamed it on Galgalim. Either you're complicit or you just don't care, and I don't know which is worse.
Neverstone: A LitRPG Adventure (The Mad Elf Book 1) Page 48
