4 – NPCs can Cry

“Horny Celestine?” Her cheeks went red before the words were even out.

“I beg your pardon, your holiness?” Something moved in Aury’s voice. It was subtle. Not flat, this time. It almost sounded like a hint of amusement.

“I mean… Celestine has horns. Look.”

“Ah. You mean your image. It appears so, mistress.”

Ashley stared at the mosaic. The tiles were jagged and the grout had long since turned to dust, but the image held. The horns had been added in crude, violent strokes of paint. They looked intentional.

Do NPCs commit vandalism? Or is this just how abandoned quests degrade?

“I told you, we are not a hospital.” A voice came from somewhere deeper in the nave. It bounced off the marble. “How many times do I have to tell you? It is your job to take care of the sick.”

“Excuse me? Are you talking to me?” Ashley asked, squinting into the dark. The speaker was still far away and masked by heavy shadows.

“Of course I am talking to you, old hag.”

Footsteps echoed: quick and closing. Ashley stepped forward. A long time ago, she would have waited, as you never knew how to read a hidden enemy in a game like this.

Now, she moved anyway. The poison threading through her veins made her lightheaded, but it did not slow her down.

“You should take care of them until their last breath. I do after…” The voice trailed off. A grey-haired man rounded the corner. He wore a black robe cut to mimic Celestine’s own attire.

Well. Almost. Her own robe fit much better.

The man stopped. He stared at her, his jaw dropping so low it seemed it might unhinge.

Simon Tieton stopped. He was a man of faith. Or, at least, he used to be.

He often taught that life has a strange way of moving in circles. Long ago, as an adventurer, he had not believed in anything beyond his own body. He fought with sword and shield the old way. His muscles were his only answer to everything. Goblins? A slash and a cut. Griffons? Perhaps a few stabs and a hard sweat. He could come away with only a few scratches and bruises.

But when he joined a party and fell in love with one of his companions, he had to find something else. He needed a way to protect and cure her when the worst came to pass. And it always did.

He became a cleric. He saved her many times from the brink of death. Now they were married and settled here in Rastabon. He believed. Once.

Then his powers faded. Rumors started to spread. The Saint had forsaken her servants and… and now this?

She was here. This girl with the halo, the wings, and everything else. She was her.

He looked at the girl. His eyes hardened.

“It is not polite to call a lady ‘old’,” the girl said, her voice dripping with pure indignation.

The resemblance to the mosaic was unsettling, but her attitude was… wrong. It was not what he had expected from a legend.

“Old hag, at that. I am younger than you.” She looked him up and down. She tilted her chin and crossed her arms. “Much, much younger,” she said.

Simon’s mouth went dry. The likeness was astonishing. But this did not quite match. That girlish defiance in her posture. The way she crossed her arms.

Could the fallen Saint be so immature?

How could she be here? After all that had happened. Given everything we had heard in the last ten years.

He studied the girl for a second. He did not see horns. He saw a halo. There were no demon wings either, but pure, almost translucent feathers.

No. This is not her. Just a foul girl imitating the old image of Saint Celestine. These are just… props. Yes, props.

They were quality props, but fake nonetheless. She had an immature aura about her. It did not fit with the tales of Celestine the Devil, or Celestine the Witch, that had doomed the kingdom since her turning.

No. This was an impostor. He chose to believe it because the alternative was unthinkable. If this was truly her, then they were all doomed. And there was nothing he could do.

“Oh, my poor heart.” Simon’s hand gripped the black robe over his chest. “I was about to call you ‘devil’, miss. But I shall refrain. You scared me, I will give you that. What are you doing here? And why in heaven’s name are you dressed like her?”

The girl raised one eyebrow, then the other. After a second, she waved a dismissive hand.

“You see, Father, I was debuffed by a…” The girl looked at her feet. “…very, extremely powerful foe. I couldn’t fast-travel to my usual area. All my inventory is unserviceable. So, I came…”

She paused. She was searching for words. Simon watched her and tried to parse the sounds. It was like a foreign language. Some words were familiar, but the context was missing.

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Is this some kind of dialect from the north? I only understand half of what she says.

If she was from so far away, perhaps that explained why she did not understand how irreverent her clothing was. Maybe she had arrived in a foreign land and someone had cheated her: selling her these clothes and this costume to make fun of an unfortunate child.

“I know what you’re thinking, Father. How can a player go questing solo? But you see…” The girl’s eyes sparkled. Her chin came back up. “I’m kind of maxed out. I am a bit OP for this. Just a bit.”

“OP?” Simon moved his hand to his chin, pondering. Where had he heard that? “OP. Ah! Of course, my dear. Opera Parva, the city in the north. Poor little thing. You are quite far from home.”

The priest moved closer. He pressed a palm to her back, steering her forward, careful not to touch the wings lest he break what were surely costly fakes. Body language was the surest bridge when words failed.

“Come, come. It must have been tough on the road.”

They started to walk.

“Don’t worry. I can help you somehow. The road is tough, especially if you cannot communicate. Many people may take advantage of you. I know something about it. I was a traveller myself many years ago.”

The girl looked at him while walking. Her face contorted in an expression of absolute puzzlement. She was clearly lost in the tangle of Simon’s complicated words.

“It is not always easy to find food and a roof,” Simon continued. “But first, tell me. This ‘debub’ you were talking about. Is it contagious? We have some sick people here. I can’t have them worsen, you see.”