Chương 74: Services (with Gameplay Interlude)

On Sevenday I could leave the campus to go to any church I wanted. Not that they could stop me. Well, I know which church I want. I woke up early, washed thoroughly, dressed quickly, using curved air to lace up my corsets instead of bothering Elica who was busy dressing herself as fast as she could. Unlike yesterday's well-executed maneuver of sneaking out through my own private exit, today we all had a pass to town that expired at noon. So everyone was getting ready to go with no time to spare at all.

I'm pretty sure Elica was headed to a communion service at the First Church of Doorbuster Buy-One-Get-One-Half-Off First-Come-First-Served Sales. I was headed home. See, I never did get a chance to see Meadwhite Castle. It's in the east side of Meadowtam, near Hartrend. It's a long way away from the burned-out site of Harigold Manor. So the family moved east, and they started attending services at the church nearest the Castle. So, I was not worried about running into Mother or Father.

All I wanted was the same church I had been to every Sevenday for my childhood, from my days as a toddler up until the day my home burned down. So I curved void, and I stepped inside. I stepped out near the main entrance to Skydown Community Church, and I reflexively blushed when I saw about a hundred people staring at me like I'd landed a flying saucer. I chose that analogy because it's close to what happened, after all.

I blushed because I was struck by the impression I'd made, these were normal village folk, the common clay of the New West. They were in their town doing their normal activities and I just opened a giant glowing portal and stepped out wearing my Sevenday best. I couldn't help feeling like I had gotten caught showing off. And, whether they would even discern me at all. I had changed a lot from the Natalie they knew. When they had all seen me last, I was deeply tanned and red-haired. In Lady Hanje's terms, a spring.

I wore a lot of pastels to church back then. And I had done the same today dressing in hydrangea colors like I used to, clashing with my hair and complexion now. I'm a few inches taller, years tireder, with a wiry frame but the distinctive, recognizable eyes of the Harigold twins, blazing bright and bold in my face. Nobody in this town could fail to recognize those eyes, I hoped. Some of the onlookers were still blinking sparks out of their eyes when someone first spotted them.

"Princess," someone breathed, and the word rippled around the town square like a leaf falling onto still water. I looked around, nervous now. Not a hostile face in sight. Nobody here was mad at me, or afraid, or disappointed. Some were happy, some were awed, even. I curtseyed to the assembled villagers, and a rustle moved through the plaza as a hundred villagers bowed and curtseyed back. Holding my skirts, I walked to the steps and up to the nave, holding my breath.

My old pastor was right there, and he looked confused until he saw the eyes and his face broke open a smile like it had been waiting for me. He took my hands and kissed both my cheeks while he told me how good it was to see even one of the lord's kin here again for services. I recognized a deacon and shared a few quick words, clearing the nave for the other parishioners that were trying to enter. None of them crowded me, but I did not want anything held up on my account.

Nobody was holding my family's old spot in the pews for us anymore. Years had passed. The pastor's wife was in the seat of honor, but as soon as she saw me she scooted over and patted to welcome me, and I nodded deeply to her before I sat. I patted the back of her hand and in response to her questions I had to tell her no, I'm sorry, unfortunately I am not moving back at this time- I am enrolled at the Academy and I am resident there, it will be years yet before I can choose where to live next.

And then people shuffling in through the nave began to move up the aisle to my side, and most of them paused for a few words. I shared them gladly. I reiterated that I was not moving back yet, that I was at school still. I was told how good it was to see me and I returned in kind. When I recognized someone well enough to name them I would do so, otherwise I just told them how good it is to see a familiar face. How much I've missed everyone. And it was true each time.

A lump was swelling in my throat, and with each new well-wisher it got harder to speak. I did not realize how much I missed them. Between prison and Academy I had taken church in Hearstcliff, the big-city cathedrals with the gold trim and luminous crystals. Here we had stained glass and varnished wood. It pulled me back through time and I was a child again in church, no fire, no vendetta, no time had passed, no trauma taking my skin from me.

It felt like I could look over my shoulder and my mother would be beside me smiling. I avoided looking over my shoulder. The illusion was too precious to risk it. Meadwhite Castle is never going to be my home. When I have my time and my chance, I'll build my house here. I will rebuild the manor house with my own mana, my own hands if necessary. I have given up too many homes, I can't do it again. One warm hand too many, the lump in my throat crumbled and tears spilled down my face.

I was still smiling while I cried. I remembered the oxen. When I was arrested here I was towed away in oxcarts lashed to horses because the Royal Cavalry Guard only brought horses. They thought they would buy oxen to tow the carts. Instead, they found that nobody in the town would sell them an ox when word got out that I was arrested. And they spread the word northward, nobody in all of Meadowtam would sell an ox to the crown's soldiers. They defended me immediately, without question.

These people had my back without ever hesitating. It hurt me inside, how much I needed to have someone that would have my back, before ever asking a single question. These were people that I could count on, solid, loyal, and in my corner. Their faces, names, their lives- those are my bedrock. And when anyone asked, yes, I will be right back here next week. This is home. The manor is gone. The servants are either dead, dispersed, or moved out east. My mother and father are living in that stone mausoleum.

Nathan is back in Hearstcliff. Ymily is dead. Hertyce is with the castle. But this town, this church, this community was still exactly what I remembered. A little poorer. A little older. Not as much trade, not as much money pouring down from the big house. But the money my family spent never mattered here. One familiar face after another smiled, and reminded me that I had their prayers, and to commend my best to my family when I see them, and never forget that I'm welcome here.

When you have the right church, you don't even need anyone standing at the pulpit to have a spiritual experience. I ate lunch in town, paying my way over protests. Mutton with acorn bread, and I could not explain to anyone why I found that so side-achingly hilarious. Nobody asked me questions, they knew my past was painful. I sat with locals and I asked about their years. Retired or married, moved to a new house, whose child was in apprenticeship or had their own shop now.

Farms merged with marriage or divided among heirs. Who was doing well these days, who was missing the better days. And periodically, furtively, I had to blurt it out. No berries. If you have berry bushes tear them out. If you have berries harvested throw them out. Burn them to ash and get rid of the ashes. Import what you need to, trade for what you must. Order seeds and plant them, grow fruit orchards. No. Berries. I don't worry about taxonomic berries because nobody else does.

Nobody in charge of the script, the plotting, or the bad guys has my education in vegetal taxonomy. They don't care that bananas and watermelons are actually berries and strawberries and raspberries and cranberries aren't technically berries. Look, ignore the cladistic charts. If you're a farmer you know what's a berry and what's not. You might argue about cherries. But get rid of them. Because the people behind this blight are targeting those, not bananas and watermelons.

I warned the villagers of Skydown, as best I could without making a big display of it. They hesitated, but I did a good job impressing them with my sincerity. When the world thought I was mad or a murderer, these were the people that remembered the sad and serious little girl who knew too much and wished she could tell more than she did. After lunch, I went flying. I found the warm thermals and the bright light of day, and I soaked it up like I could store all this sunshine for the rest of my star-crossed week.

Below, I could smell new fires starting. Shrubs and scrubs and thickets and spinneys ripped up at the root and thrust onto the bonfire. This place would be missed and saved. There was no time for everyone, the damage was already done and spreading. And I could not warn everyone without starting a panic. Man, I used to hate that excuse in movies. It seemed like every time the protagonist of a show would suggest something sensible, the obstructionist authorities would protest that this would "cause a panic".

Since then, I've seen a panic. Cleaned up after a few. I don't recommend it. I hovered up here, warm and content. The welcome home had been healing. It helped my thoughts, straightened me out. Yesterday's chocolate binge helped too. A week immersed in the Hearstcliff Academy had been fucking with my brain. I could not think there. I needed time, treats and a village before I could really find my own mind again. And from here, I could plan.

What I needed to change, what I needed to cut short, what I could double-down on, where I needed to stay the course. I know that I'm coming back here every week. Church in the morning. Lunch with the locals. And a long, slow, healing flight above the lands. In a vague way I could feel that people stared up at me. They had never known me to fly before, and it must seem odd that I just swooped up to a vantage and hung there, hovered there.

I was suspended where I could see the fields and the pastures, the herds and orchards. This was real. This was honest. This was the bones that Hearstcliff painted itself on top of. This is where wealth comes from, where lives are lived and food is raised. Hearstcliff society thinks that the world ends at their city limits and that nothing worth knowing about has ever happened in "the provinces". And for weeks, I let myself think that way. I need to remind myself that Harigold is Meadowtam, always.

This land was powerful before my family took custody of its people, before Meadwhite ruled over it. This land had power that would outlive us all. Below me, the footprint of a burned manor. A winding stream with orchard lands flanking it. And hundreds of miles away, a very busy cave that thought my home did not matter. Interlude: Gameplay This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. I took a sip of my soda and put the chilled can back on the coaster next to my laptop.

Outside, someone opened a fence latch and a dog started barking. It was late, but my shift had ended late and if I was going to get any gaming in at all, it was going to be after the streetlights had come on. No big deal. I didn't need to be in tomorrow until after 3pm anyway. Thursdays are hella chill. Someone's feet were pounding up the stairs outside the apartment, I paused to see if they were going to bang on my door or keep going.

I sat at the laptop, half-turned in my seat, paused for a minute, listening past the music coming through the speakers. The game's music is all right, the kind of thing you don't mind looping every few hours, just enough variation to keep it from being annoying but low-key so it doesn't call your attention to it. The artwork is good too, someone paid for matte painting and used a light-slide to introduce some animation cycles.

The character models are kind of same-faced, but as long as the hairstyles and clothes are unique enough you can tell characters apart, right? Besides, this visual novel thrived off its in-depth story and replay value, not the actual waifus. This isn't one of those games where obsessed fan artists flood every booru site with 34s or redraws- the characters are there more for story than for rabid basementers to yell about best-girl.

Harigold Glitter had an absurd amount of storylines all packed in, running parallel; some would interact and some would intersect, others would block each other out. If you get the dean fired in Year 1, he can't get blackmailed in Year 2. Other than that, pretty standard for its genre. Each character had like four body poses and a dozen expressions, but hundreds of lines of dialogue and almost none of them were "..." The cut scenes were voice-acted, and there was even some mo-cap action.

If the devs had left out the voice and motion and turned down the resolution on the backgrounds, this could have been a top-selling mobile game for its generation. Still, it was one of my best Steam Sale picks ever. After two years of playing it at least some few hours every week, I had still not picked up every story and plotline. The dog stopped barking outside, and the feet kept going up the stairs to someone else's apartment. I turned back and took my mouse, started down the next path.

We were in the aftermath of the Rapier Revolt, and the city of Hearstcliff was in disarray. I was guiding Nathan through the back streets of Old Town, the part of the city where the architecture gets weird; alien shapes and aesthetics. Currently I was faced with options. 1: Over the fence? 2: Down the alley? 3: Through the shop? 4: (Gymnastics 5+) Across the roofs? Fortunately, Nathan was a thief for this playthrough, and had lots of mobility options.

I had put him into gymnastics classes to make sure he could get around. If you're not playing as a warrior-class, mobility is always more important than combat ability. This game thrives on options and opportunities. Some of which is a trap. I avoided the roof because the Dominionists had archers posted, and I was escorting Zauria Uncin to safety. She could follow me to the roofs but she'd be spotted and shot. Bad ending. If you've got Zauria in tow, you gotta stay on the side streets.

I had the benefit of experience, which means that I've fucked this up before, and I selected 2, the alleyway. Sure there's an encounter here but it's easy enough. Confronted by a Blazing Bottle Rebel! Rebel: "I've got you now, Faction scum!" 1: Run away 2: Yell for help 3: Fight him off 4: (Deception 5+) Distract him Always level up Deception. It's invaluable in every stage of the game.

The Blazing Bottle Rebel is a wild-eyed fanatic with two glass cocktail bottles pouring flames out of their rag-stoppered necks, and he can do a ton of damage if you make the wrong moves. He's poorly dressed, with a messy cap pulled down over his disheveled hair, and he is literally frothing mad. Like you'd have to be if you're gonna carry two Molotov cocktails while you're running through an alleyway. If you run away, he targets your escorted ally, and Zauria is not going to survive that.

If you yell for help he only throws one bottle before the guards come, but that does 5 damage to Nathan, brings in disappointed dialogue from Zauria, and gets you temporarily arrested so you miss the entire Whaite Square Battle. Fighting the rebel inflicts 10 damage, but Zauria really admires that choice and gets you some great options opening up afterwards, if you survive that much damage, and then survive Whaite Square with 10 damage already on you. I'm not a warrior build, that's not feasible for my Nathan.

But I've got Deception, because skill-builds always get a better workaround option. Nathan: "You're here! Great, we're the bait for the trap. She told you we're coming, right? Just hit them with both bottles and then get back to the rendezvous!" The Blazing Bottle Rebel is distracted while you and Zauria flee down the alleyway. Zauria: "What? What trap?" Nathan: "There is no trap, but it'll be a few minutes before he figures that out."

This is a risky maneuver because the same Blazing Bottle Rebel gets promoted to Blazing Bottle Rebel Leader in two days, and if you get captured by Independent forces he's suspicious and raises the skill check to bluff out from Deception 5 to Deception 10. I'm pretty sure I can advance my Deception from 9 to 10 by then, or failing that I can cash in the Snairlin favor to get the benefit of the doubt from the Aumerje organizer.

There's a wipe transition, clearing away the back-street scene and the character model, replacing them with the Abandoned Inn background, where Zauria and Nathan are going to meet the Pinking smuggler.

"Ugh," I groaned, slouching back in my seat. The Pinking smuggler is not ideal, any interaction with them is going to roll a RNG to affect the outcome, they're the most unpredictable House. I'd hoped to get the Greifir smuggler, both reliable and effective, but right now they're busy evacuating the financial district, so it would either be Pinking's smuggler or the Goodskill contact to get Zauria out of the city. I stood up from my chair and paced around my apartment for a minute, folding my hands behind me.

The problem with the Pinking smuggler is that the RNG that procs for her can give any of a lot of options, and you won't know if you got a good outcome or another until after the Revolt has been put down. So I should probably just save the game right here, just in case, and keep going. That way if Zauria gets her throat cut and her corpse dropped down a well, I can just resume here instead of restarting. Either that, or restart from my escape from the bell tower and see if I can proc the Goodskill contact instead.

"I don't feel like backtracking yet," I declared to the empty room, and sat back down. I hit save and named this slot "ZAURIA PINKING RNG 1", then activated the dialogue. Smuggler: "Ah, there you are. Just in time, too. The Dominionists are bringing in dogs to start checking crates, we've got an hour until they reach our checkpoint. You two say your goodbyes, and then I need to seal her in this crate." I spacebar-skipped past the sentimental chitchat between Nathan and Zauria.

She was gushing with gratitude, I'd made almost entirely positive interactions with her. That's damned hard to do, especially in the early chapters when she is very prickly and very slow to trust anyone from the Development Faction. But this time she held her hands clasped to her chest with her sweetest smile on her face and monologued about how great I am. How great Nathan is. Whatever. Just a recounting of every major positive plot point we've had together.

I eased off the spacebar when I saw her mention the bell tower, and that caught us up to the present. Zauria Uncin: "That bravery, dash, and wit- I know that you will triumph here, and I am ashamed of myself that I cannot be here to see it. Share a kiss with me now, Nathan, and I will see you in safer lands, back in Meadowtam!" And then, of course, the screen wipe brings us the artwork of the kiss between them in the abandoned inn, surrounded by sealed crates and loose straw.

After that, the smuggler came back to put her in a crate, and hammer the nails in to seal her up. Nathan has his usual moment of foreboding whether this is an escape hatch, or a coffin, before she is moved out to the wagons. Smuggler: "Oh, damn, I almost forgot. Satio Pinking sends his regards. Take this." [Item added to Inventory! You have Weatherbeat map!] I stared, and cackled to myself.

"Oh shit! Thank you, Pinking RNG!" That map would get me from Hearstcliff to the Anquarry Conjunction in half the usual time, and skip the Jacketed Fisherman encounter as well! Normally I'd have to romance Princess Lachel to get that map, and get to the conjunction with only half as much backup. This smuggler might have just handed me the key to the best Upheaval run I've ever had! Especially if I've got enough money to buy Starstep the best horse in the stables. I hit tab to check my inventory.

My passive pickpocketing may have put me over 1000 crowns by now....