Second Floor, Northwestern Wing, Olton Mountain Shrine

Awaiting me in the corridor is a sedate Ixilotte, changed into formal attire more befitting the high priest of a major centre of worship for the Gods. It takes a moment for her to form a proper response to my emergence, "You're finished."

"Yes," I nod briefly, "Is there something you needed from me?"

"The Ahtni Rea-Horolt is expecting you," Ixilotte states bluntly, brooking no arguments, "Follow."

"I didn't take you for his errand girl," I quirk a brow, complying all the same, although I recall him specifically setting the appointment for after the evening meal.

"I am no such thing," she snaps, a little more sensitive to the joke than expected, "It is simply the respect one such as you is due. The same would be done for any other Favoured Soul."

"...I sincerely question that," I snort, recalling how I was treated in the past.

Ixilotte doesn't deign to answer back in her defence. The general atmosphere between us quickly turns awkward, and it causes a few heads to turn as we walk by, the priests in particular look to be on edge. I don't really need a chaperone to find his office, on the fourth floor of the Southwestern Wing, but she cuts the shortest route there.

If I had to say, I'm more familiar with Arrent Cliff Shrine in the Kingdom of Fierdro, as that was the area my former Guild based our modest Headquarters, but I underwent the Challengers' Pilgrimage myself, so I can claim a modicum of familiarity with each of the major stops on that journey, as well as some interesting characters I met along the way. Some of whom I didn't kill.

Hah.

While I reminisce, I don't notice that we've come to a stop in front of Djash's quarters, and it takes the polite cough of Ixilotte to bring me back to the waking world. Aware of my surroundings once more, she knocks on the door and enters without waiting for an invitation to grant permission, leaving it open behind her with the expectation I follow behind her.

His office is fairly crowded by shelves lining each wall of the room save for a small gap to accommodate a door to his private chambers. Most of these shelves house books, scroll cases and rolls of parchment, but even amongst them small knick-knacks have found a home, finding what space they can amongst the clutter. Rather telling of the identity of the person who works and lives here, however, is the many, many bottles of liquor stored away.

Not to the same extreme as Pollock who base their business off their possession wide variety of alcoholic beverages, but his collection definitely wouldn't lose out in sheer value or potency. In fact, the more potent it is, the better in Djash's eyes. His constitution is simply far too sturdy for anything to phase him if it can't be used to cut through the latest innovations in bank vault design like a hot knife through butter.

Or so he claims, but he's just making excuses.

High-grade alcohols are no less potent to people of his attainment, assuming they were created by a Brewer - a specialisation of Chef - of sufficient proficiency. Even the powerful might want to forget their worries and drink themselves into oblivion from time to time, should they desire it. Same as with higher grade foods, alcohols and other beverages can impart benefits to the consumer.

Djash sits at his desk, a glass of green-coloured liquor in hand. Ojea? If I'm recalling my spirits correctly. Meeting my eyes for a moment, he chugs down the entire shot with a grimace, then immediately reaches for the bottle to pour himself some more. His behaviour is a little offputting.

"That's enough," Ixilotte asserts, the bottle appearing in her hand in the blink of an eye, "It besmirches the dignity of your station as Ahtni."

He doesn't take the scolding too kindly, "And right now, I can't concentrate sober. Give it back."

"If you can catch me, perhaps I'll consider it, but if you move from that chair, I assure you the contents of every bottle will be emptied into The Narrows in a breath," she threatens, "Now, greet our esteemed guest."

Looking between them idly while Djash wrestles with indecision, I can't help but wonder which of them is really in charge around here. Though, the Ahtni appellation simply means that his colleagues amongst the Rea-Horolt chose him to be their representative and head caretaker of the shrine, which doesn't preclude them from giving him a hard time when he acts out. He enjoys his position by their consensus, no more, no less.

Drawing himself up, the pitiful Djash becomes Ahtni Rea-Horolt Djash Milltinson, the only evidence of his facade is the pallid colour of his cheeks and the strong smell of spirits, "Greetings, Honoured Blade of the Lady of Steel's Ambition, I welcome you to Olton Mountain Shrine. Truthfully, this would be the first time I have encountered someone so favoured by a God that Their Presence could be felt so keenly."

I frown, folding my arms, "I feel as if I am missing something."

"Not just anyone is directly taken to the Domain of a God, serte," Djash steeples his fingers, "And when you were, we, all of us, felt it. It was unmistakable in its profundity. Not only that, but you appear to be holding onto something that has an echo of the same..."

Unclenching my hand, I hold up the crystal, then leave it on the desk for him to inspect. His eyes glaze over for a moment, looking for all the world as though he was receiving enlightenment. When he comes to, the crystal fades away into nothingness, and leaves Djash with a look of thoughtful understanding, "I see. To hear the voice of a Goddess, I can consider myself truly blessed this day. The Lady of Steel's Ambition has ordered that you be allowed access to The Keepsake's deepest reaches. A curious stipulation, but I shan't deny it. What do you intend to accomplish in such a place, if you do not mind me asking?"

"I wish to receive an Aspirant's Legacy," I reveal calmly, "The Iron Lord, to be specific. Worry not, I do not mean to empty the Keepsake of it's contents. I am well aware of the significance of The Keepsake."

Not today, at least. I will keep it in mind for the future all the same, but I'm already diverging heavily from the original timeline by taking this Legacy for myself. Fortunately, this is a case of 'better me than the intended recipient'.

Djash smiles, relieved, "That is good to hear. The Keepsakes are not intended to benefit just one man, but to help many find and continue their Paths. That a close follower of Lady Jannis would seek to walk the Path of another is most unusual, however."

"Historically speaking, that might be true," I concede, "However, it has ever been her philosophy that one should seek to improve themselves through the means best available to them. I find no shame in accepting the strengths and preferences of another, that I might make up for my lack. There is little difference in learning a new style of swordsmanship from a stranger to enhance one's own self-created style. If I might add, the years have bred a stigma with no true basis in fact amongst her worshippers."

This isn't to ignore her misgivings, per se, but Jannis is above most things pragmatic. An attitude I didn't understand the full extent of which applied to her until the revelation that she implanted a chunk of her soul into me just for the sake of fact-checking my off-hand claim about The Astral Eclipse, but that's neither here nor there.

"If one such as you claims as much, perhaps there is some wisdom to be found there," Djash nods solemnly, "But it is not my place to speak on the doctrine of Her followers. Is there aught else that I can assist you with, serte?"

I inhale deeply, "As a matter of fact, yes..."

---

 

Storeroom 4, Southeastern Wing, Olton Mountain Shrine

"-want me to help you break in the new Class, huuuh?" my escort, Yanse drawls, "Hmmmm...sure! Makes sense to me, hehahaha!"

Given the nature of where we're going, it was only fitting that the person responsible for keeping an eye on me would be the most competent fighter the Shrine has to offer. Not that her fellow Rea-Horolt are slouches, but the only ones that can give her a run for her money are Djash and Rea-Horolt Chost Annerin, a follower of Avosol, Goddess of Tenacity and Windy's Guide.

Looking at the sort of people that find themselves here you might find yourself wondering if the amount of overlap between the Gods honoured here made several of them redundant, and you'd be entirely correct in that. Not that I'd ever say as much out loud, but I'm not about to pass comment on how the system up there works exactly. I've heard speculation once or twice that Ascended Heroes can find themselves 'promoted' to a true deity after enough time passes, which might be contributing to the mess.

There are still differences to be found, though. Numh, the Challenger might sound he'd have the same general feel as Jannis as Goddess of Duellists, but the key difference I feel is that Numh is more about 'challenging the world', no matter how many times you're knocked down, while Jannis is more interested in mutual self-improvement. Avosol, by further contrast, isn't as much about bouncing back as she is powering through adversity by any means necessary, regardless of the cost to oneself, in pursuit of a goal.

It's the little things that set them apart, once you look past the surface.

I follow along behind Yanse as she leads us to a section of wall and, well. Sticks her fingers into a vent at the bottom and lifts an entire portion of it like a garage door, revealing a passageway beyond. Seeing my stupefaction, she grins, "More secure than some mechanism a Thief could pick 'n' tinker their way through."

I don't really have anything to say to that confident smile. In my heart I understand that to any would-be thief that has an inkling of where to look and the means to get away with it wouldn't be dissuaded by such a primitive security measure, but I don't feel like breaking it to her when she looks so proud of herself.

While she holds up the heavy stone shutter, I duck my head through and walk to the end of the passage until I enter a rectangular room. Crystalline fixtures in the walls light up to herald my approach, and I realise that I'm stood atop a platform-style elevator. A thick metal lever seems to indicate the control method.

Behind me, a thud causes the whole room to vibrate, and Yanse joins me on the elevator platform, "Betcha never seen tech like this~"

She grips the lever and yanks it towards her. The floor jolts, dust escaping from the walls and ceiling as the machine creaks and screeches into life for the first time in who knows how long. A magic array diagram lights up beneath my feet, which at the exact same time find themselves incapable of moving, completely glued to the floor. I feel a gnawing sense of dread that puts me immediately in mind of the time I took Taylor to Thorpe Park to celebrate her release.

Yanse grins toothily, "Going down~!"

We drop. Hard.

Wind rushes past me, headed upwards and trying to take our hair with it, and I feel my blood beginning to pool beneath my scalp, draining from my legs and feet. After about 10 seconds of that, the array sparks and everything returns to normal, but the speed at which we're descending doesn't change.

"I feel as if this device is in sore need of maintenance," I grumble, rubbing my throbbing head with tingling fingers.

"Probably," Yanse concedes, laughing her head off, "Doesn't bother me at all, and it's not like anyone else ever goes down here these days. You'd be the first in, hmm, 15 years? There about."

"They must be getting rather lonely down there if it's that bad," I frown, disapproving, "They didn't entrust their Legacies to see them rot away in the dark unused."

"Ah, well, we don't get as many visitors as we used to," she smiles sadly, "'bout time for a new generation of Challengers to start makin' the rounds though, so I expect there'll be more in the days to come. Oh, you might want to brace yourself-"

With a heavy clank, we abruptly stop and I feel like my internal organs just got to the recoil stage of a bungee diving session. The array sputters out at more or less the exact same time, meaning that my knees buckle under the sudden shift in momentum and I get flattened to the floor. Not my proudest moment.

"Ughhhh...." I moan, peeling myself from the floor with Yanse's assistance, "That...was deeply unpleasant. How far down are we?"

"Dunno," Yanse shrugs, "Not so deep that we've reached The Buried World, though. Those Enduring graverobbers wouldn't leave this place alone if it crossed into their territory. I still check every now and again to make sure it stays that way, though."

"I see," I puff my cheeks out and shake myself off to get my blood flow back where it belongs. I feel like a wrung-out dishcloth.

"Mm. I'll have to ask you to wait here a moment while I get it unlocked. Can't have the entry method known to outsiders, even for someone like you," Yanse smiles apologetically. At some point, I realise, she dropped the persona for a respectful tone of voice.

"I can barely muster the strength to walk right now, so, that's fine by me," I wave her off, "I...I'm gonna need a minute to catch my breath."

She nods, then turns to leave down the new corridor, disappearing from view. Her concerns are completely understandable, though I do personally believe that locking up so much so tightly defeats the purpose of constructing and overseeing a Keepsake.

When certain individuals feel the end of their lives or Path coming near, they might take it upon themselves to construct a Legacy Trial that their experiences and power might be passed on to another in their stead. Many are hidden away such that even to get to the Trial itself requires you to have the qualities it's creator is looking for - in theory at least - or to keep their enemies from exploiting the opportunity.

But in most cases, for one reason or another, that individual will leave the custody of the Legacy in the hands of another. The largest repositories are called Keepsakes and are usually overseen by organisations with a specific niche that the Legacy falls under, nations and in this case, a Church as part of the funeral procedures.

The motive for doing so will change from person to person, but they are at their core intended to be used to help a likeminded soul. Usually. Sometimes, just like a Reminiscence, you'll get someone who desires to screw over the person that finds it as a final 'fuck you' to the world or a hackneyed attempt at self-resurrection with the unfortunate sod's body as the medium. It rarely if ever works out, and never completely when that's the case.

Discretion and cautious curiosity is the name of the game when it comes to any mechanism for gaining power not directly granted by one's Level or Class. The worst offenders are weapons and other items that have been imbued with a semblance of sentience. It sounds like a cool idea...until your sword decides that the guy you're fighting against is a better match for it and turns it's Active Effect on you at the worst possible moment or denies you it's usage.

I can recount a few horror stories on the subject, such as where a woman thought she befriended the spirit inside her ring  - only for it to one day suck her body dry of magic and manifest itself physically, killing her party in the middle of a Lair and locking them out for a week after eating a chunk of their souls as well.

Out of respect, I do my level best to ignore the various noises that are echoing down the corridors, focusing instead on calming my breathing and recovering from the sharp drop. By the time Yanse returns to collect me, I myself am far more collected. Not looking forward to the return trip back to the Shrine, if this was anything to go by.

"All done. We have about two minutes before the security resets and the doors shut," Yance walks hurriedly ahead, "Aaand I don't want to have to go through the whole opening procedure again."

The air down here smells damp, and carries a chill that strangely lessens as we move along the corridor to The Keepsake. The room before it has several mechanical and enchanted mechanisms lining the walls, some exposed and obviously deactivated, others only partially revealed. I don't bother looking too intensely at it all nor do I go out of my way to commit the scene to memory. Should I need to return here, I can just ask for permission and they'll likely grant it with my position, so long as the reason isn't too objectionable.

It's still rather intimidating from what I do observe, however. Anything trying to break through here unprepared would need to be past Level 100 to stand a chance of walking away, and odds are high that there are more Traps inside. Whoever created this place was definitely not shy about spending money on safeguarding the contents.

Beyond the entryway, a pair of open purple-ish metal doors 19 inches thick, a vast open hall lined with bowls of blazing oil lies, split apart by metal bar covered glass cages at even intervals like support pillars. Within each display is an item of no doubt significant value sat atop a small cushion. Brooches, fist-sized gemstones and oddities like a preserved human arm.

"The upper layers are used mainly to store dangerous items that are troublesome to destroy," Yanse supplies, "The catacombs start from the 4th layer down."

"Cursed items, essentially?" I ask politely, in the name of conversation. Never had cause to come down here before, so this is all refreshingly new to me.

"Yup. They're all Platinum-tier Cursed Legacy items. The circumstances differ for each one, but contending with the Corruption within would likely kill anyone that made the attempt in exchange," she continues solemnly, "As well as cause one heck of a mess in the process. We keep them with the other Legacies on the off-chance someone can handle them, but I ain't gonna hold my breath."

"If I come across something that can cleanse them, I might stop by in the future to see if there's anything worth taking," I muse, thinking of a few possibilities.

"Getting rid of even one of the bloody things would be an enormous help for my peace of mind," Yanse declares, "But, no offence meant, I doubt you'll find much. Not any time soon, anyway."

"We'll see," I smile mildly, sparing a lingering look for a crown that looks oddly familiar but that I can't seem to place. I think I saw an Apostle of Truth player wearing it once. If I had the time, I could probably point out a few other examples of items from here that found their way into the hands of players.

"If you do, let me know, might lend a hand," Yanse adds as an afterthought. I half-expect a Quest to pop up, but no such luck.

"Sure."

---

 

The Olton Keepsake 20F, Olton Mountain Shrine

A muddy Presence permeates the lowest levels of the Keepsake, alongside a far higher than normal mana density in the atmospheric magical energies. Sarcophagi formed from Onerisths, separated by walls into individual alcoves, are lined up along the walls as we pass through the centre. A plaque and a stone bust adorn the front of each alcove, memorialising the individual entombed there. On the higher levels of the catacombs, these are primarily for the resident Horolts' usage, and even then it's an honour and privilege reserved for those who served the Shrine and their patron deity with distinction. Even Rea-Horolt aren't guaranteed entry.

As you descend deeper, the air getting warmer and the oppressive atmosphere intensifies, you come across people more worthy of note. Mercenaries of great repute, duellists with a win record that make professional athletes in Reality look like rank amateurs and others of that nature occupy the middle strata. They'll have built up and paid a great deal in both influence and valuables to reserve a place for themselves here.

The lowest reaches are the resting place of the truly talented and their most valued treasures. While you won't find the remains of any Heroes here, there are at least 9 Aspirants entombed here - people who didn't quite make the cut to be considered a Hero, whether because they didn't reach the Level 200 cap before their deaths or something else I'm not privy to when it comes to the definitions. Still, in my humble opinion, even if they don't meet the strictest definition for a 'Hero', they aren't any less ludicrously gifted in practice.

Henna, for instance, is the seed form of an Aspirant at the very least. The barrier between 8.9 Potential and 9.0 Potential is a cruel thing, but I'm confident I can help her to overcome it should she run into difficulties on her own.

Tellingly, the feeling of something watching me arises from each alcove on this floor, the incumbent will of the preserved Legacy potent enough to possess awareness beyond it's confines to some degree. They feel cautious and curious in equal measure, like animals encountering a larger predator. As soul-formed existences born of Aspirants, it might very well be that they can sense the echo of Divinity on mine, even if they won't be capable of peering past the ward Jannis placed - that ward itself is already rather telling.

"Here we are," Yanse stops in front of the bust of an excessively handsome Firm man with a cold stare and deep frown. The plaque beneath it reads:

"Here lies entombed for the sake of kindred spirits future,

Count Geronil Erment,

The Iron Lord.

1380th Year, 19th A.E - 2nd Year, 20th A.E"

"'Geronil', huh?" I can't help but quietly laugh at the irony.

"Not a very common name, these days," Yanse comments, ignorant of the context for my amusement.

"Neither is Yanse," I point out, still smiling.

"Eh, it's more common out east, I hear," she shrugs, uncaring, "But enough of that. Go ahead and introduce yourself to the Count, I'm sure he's dying to know who you are and what you're here for."

I let the pun slide, and address the air past the bust, "Greetings, Count Erment. My name is Lord Silver Nosster, Beloved Blade of Lady Jannis, of Steel's Ambition. I wish to undertake your Trial and merge our Paths together, that we might both see the true end of the road this time."

The bust's eyes slowly illuminate, and it's lips part, "So be it. Place your hand upon this visage when you are ready to begin, and a portal shall open, admitting you and you alone entry."

Creepy.

 

Yanse pats me a little too hard on the back, trying to be encouraging, "Looks like he approves of you. Good luck in there."

"Thanks," I take a deep breath and extend my arm. At Platinum-Tier, I could definitely use some.