"Have some faith," she told him as he offered a shallow bow. She gave him a slight wave of her own, then added, "There's some good in everyone, you know." Magdalyn watched him round the corner, the faintest disappointment tugging at her, asking for her attention. She would not stoop to feeding the negativity. While it would be easy to fester ill-will toward Kijin, she knew that he had done nothing wrong. It was a shame, sure, that he did not share her love for farming. It was too bad that he allowed that to cloud his judgment. But perhaps his urging her to reconsider was simply a gesture of concern. "It's nice of him to care," she whispered, then nodded in finality. That was all there was to it. The ceremony would not be held until darkness fell, still a few hours off by her best estimate. With both time and gold to burn, Magdalyn moved from shop to shop. She browsed, mostly, never one to spend frivolously. But when the sun finally slipped below the horizon, and the first stars began to blink from the cloudless sky, she made her way back to the church. The hem of her new dress swished around her knees, loose and flowing, like the autumn leaves in the wind. Even the color reflected the season, the same burnt red as the foliage. It had been perfect, and paired with black tights and brown boots, she felt appropriately dressed for the occasion. Robed men swarmed her before she had even reached the first line of pews. They offered greetings, words of encouragement, words of praise. An ornate goblet was eased into her hands, containing an amber liquid that smelled of warm, spiced apple. She drank, eyes scanning the room over the brim of the cup. Had she arrived early? Or were there only other churchmen in attendance? But the drink was good, and as she emptied the glass, she found herself less concerned with the prospect of other party-goers. As Deacon Joss emerged from the crowd, his voice rose above all others. "Magdalyn." The goblet tumbled from her hand, bouncing atop the polished stone, the clang far too loud in her head. His arms spread wide, and as her knees buckled, she thought he looked a bit like the god displayed proudly over the alter. Then, her eyes closed.
Night fell like a cool blanket over the sleepy streets of Stokbon. One after another, street lamps flickered out, coaxed into darkness by some nameless courier on his way home. When the kingdom slept, oft times it did so as a unit. Ne'er do wells rarely flourished in Falderen, when night ushered away every opportunity at even candlelight and forced people indoors. The logic behind calling a girl to church at such a late hour baffled Kijin- it flew in the face of established lore, and yet, the Church seemed content to dole out the request to Magdalyn. The words still haunted him: they shall pay, in blood and in sweat. Kijin took his place near the alleyway just beyond the cathedral, minutes before the time he had struggled to establish. Several noteworthy NPCs also managed to weasel their way into the listings. "I doubt they would do anything serious at this point," one of the premier farmers rationalized. "With the season so close at hand, and a need for our goods and services, I can't imagine we've run that far afoul-" "We can talk about this later." The swordsman watched steam roil from his lips as he spoke, indicative of the in game temperature. As if he could not already feel it in his bones. "Go ahead on, and don't worry. If anything happens or you don't come out before long, I'll be coming in after you." "Do you really think-?" It doesn't matter what I think. I might just be paranoid. I'm not taking any risks. Kijin ushered the farmer ahead, toward the cathedral.
The farmer clenched his hands into fists at his side, a gesture meant to inspire some confidence. It appeared that he had let Kijin's warnings get to him, and his gait slowed a bit as he approached the massive doors. The urge to glance over his shoulder swelled in the pit of his stomach, but he squelched it, and strode inside. The hall was empty. Flickering lights cast eerie shadows across the polished floor, and they danced in a way that the farmer could imagine as a beckoning, or a warning. "Hello?" he called out, his voice returning to him as it bounced off the high, arching ceilings. "Is there anyone here?" It was as if the robed man was formed from the shadows themselves, and he ghosted out from behind a wide pillar. "Can I help you?" he asked. The farmer blinked, then squinted against the darkness. "I-uh-I'm here for the celebration." "You are a farmer, then?" the churchman asked. "One who toils?" "Yes." The farmer nodded. "I toil." The hair on the back of his neck stood straight, and the urge to run tugged him backward. But as the churchman drifted closer, and his smile caught the candlelight, the man relaxed slightly. "Welcome, brother," the Deacon stated, offering a chalice of sweet-smelling liquid. "The party is in the back. Won't you come join us?" Three stories below the church, Magdalyn's limp body was laid carefully on the the pebbled earth.
It seemed uncharacteristically quiet for any extraordinary occasion. Kijin observed dim lighting and low, chorale chanting obscured from view by the stained glass. If there was movement beyond, it was minimal at best. He made out the shape of a small, flickering flame and assumed it indicated some form of altar. It was more like Catholic Mass than Suicide cult, if he had to draw a comparison. "What the hell sort of gaming company mirrors the mysticism of world religion so closely?" he murmured, strafing along the shingles that his boots barely gripped. He heard the muffled exchange between priest and farmer as he approached the near-perpetually open window, and seized the moment to survey the interior. "It looks like they're prepared for a feast, all right," he mused. "But that table is woefully underset if the guest list numbers above ten." He pushed at the glass until it gave, and the creaking wood slid upward to afford him an entrance. Kijin slipped through the window and stayed low, careful to hug the bannister as he descended toward the ordeal below. "Where the hell is she...?"
Small, rough hands on her arm woke her. There was a haze across her eyes as Magdalyn opened them, as if she were attempting to see underwater. Her first thought was did I sleep in my contacts again? Her second was why am I wet? If her vision gave the sensation of being surrounded by water, sitting up felt more like moving through syrup. "Whoa," she breathed, slurping in the wet, cool air. How much had she had to drink the night before? Groggily, she brought her hands to her face, and scrubbed at it. She froze at the sound of the small voice. "I am glad that you are awake." Magdalyn swung to face the source, an action that set her head to pounding, and found a young woman kneeling beside her. Woman, perhaps, was a generous term - Mags would be willing to bet that the girl was thirteen years old, perhaps younger. Her round face was splotchy, beginning to lose some of its fullness. Her golden ringlets were matted with dirt, and any childish gleam in her doe-in-the-thicket blue eyes had been dulled. The child looked a bit like a dog who had been beaten, and thrown out into the street during a particularly bad storm. It broke Magdalyn's heart. "Yeah, me too." Her maternal instincts kicked in immediately, and she tilted her head as she studied the little one. It took a lot of effort to shove through the mist, but focusing on the girl and her plight seemed to ground her. "Do you mind if I ask who you are?" The girl chewed at her bottom lip for a moment, then answered, "I am Joany." Magdalyn nodded, fighting back a wave of nausea so she could speak again. "Good, Joany. That's a great name. My name is Mags." Would she speak to her middle schoolers this way? No, probably not, but her middle schoolers did not have the same haunted expression. What trauma had this girl endured? "Joany, I don't seem to remember where we are right now. Do you know?" Hesitation flickered across Joney's face. Or was that suspicion? "We are under the church," she replied softly. Then, even softer, "In a cage." A cage?! The words did more to clear Magdalyn's mind than anything else. Now she looked around her, and, horrified, realized that Joany was not far off. They were in a cell, constructed of sturdy wood and metal rods. One wall, which appeared to be part of the original construction, was hard stone. Water from above ran down it, dripping into puddles with a plink that echoed ominously. Her hands tightened into fists as realization finally dawned. "Joany," Magdalyn began slowly. "Where are your parents?" "I-I do not know. They took them somewhere." Magdalyn used the excuse of relieving herself to shove into a far corner. When Joany's back was to her, the player called up her HUD, and shot a quick message to Kijin. Magdalyn You were right, I was wrong. Farmers being held in cells beneath church. Try to get down here, I'll look for clues. Be careful - NPC kids involved.
Heavier, quicker footsteps moved past as he leaned into the bannister, careful to keep himself compact. They whispered between each other conspiratorially, and the fervent looks in their eyes informed the swordsman they were preoccupied with something. That did not mean he could not accidentally gain their attention with a misstep. "...more will arrive soon..." he heard one of them, barely. "We must prepare..." Kijin glanced across the convocation floor and noted the drab, almost emptiness that seized it in lieu of the daily bustle. When one saw it this way, it seemed far less deceptive. The true beauty of this place was in the architecture, and nothing else. A message flickered across his HUD, and Kijin let out a short breath. "Beneath...?" His tongue darted across the edges of his lips and he considered every path forward. Where would he even begin to find access to the Cathedral underground? "Get him out of sight," the Deacon roared as he practically tossed the dazed drunkard into the arms of two monks. Kijin almost missed sight of them entirely, save for the outburst from his elderly friend. "There will be questions if a man is found drunken and asleep before dawn. We can ill afford to turn a single toiler." "Yes, father," both men replied obediently. Kijin watched as the older man turned and the two who remained began to drag his farmer friend toward the Eastern tower. He watched as the door swung open, and they slowly ambled toward a descending stairwell. He threw himself into a full sprint just to make the door before it slammed shut. It closed securely behind him. Kijin En route to your position. Sit tight.
Magdalyn Can't - going to investigate. I'll be around. Magdalyn closed the menu with a practiced flick of her hand, as if slamming the door on the matter. Sit tight? How could she? There was a faint unease scratching at the back of her consciousness, given the situation she found herself in: drugged, kidnapped, trapped. The constant drip, drip of water in the dank cell was impossibly eerie as well. The goosebumps that ran up and down her arms were certainly genuine. But Mags had an ace up her sleeve, an advantage that no one else in that basement had. She was a player. For her, death was only temporary, and any bad situation could be escaped with a simple "log out." The other farmers could not say the same. For them, this was reality. For Joany, this was a true nightmare. The bluehaired woman backed away from the corner, then turned to smile at the girl. What she found was a mask of sadness and exhaustion, as if Joany's mind was one hundred miles away. Those baby-blue eyes were dulled and distant, a dagger straight through Magdalyn's heart. "Let's take a look at this lock," Mags said conversationally, moving to the door. It took only a brief examination to see that the lock on the door was a simple, old-fashioned padlock. Under her breath, she hissed, "Easy enough." She held her hand beneath the lock, palm up, and concentrated as a tiny vine extended into the keyhole. Mags might have merely bust down the door in a burst of thorns and greenery, but she hoped to make as little noise as possible. As the lock fell away with a satisfying click, and the woman eased the door open, she called back over her shoulder. "Stay here, okay? It'll be safer." "No," came the tart response. Mags felt Joany move up behind her, pressing close; even in Terrasphere, it appeared that teenage stubbornness was very real. "I am going with you." Enough time in a middle school told Mags that there was no arguing with the girl. "Fine," she replied, shaking her head. "Looks like this is an escort mission now." If the comment confused Joany, she gave no indication. Instead, she followed behind Magdalyn as the pair picked their way into the darkness.
