Brand-Bound: Hallowed Be The Menu [Rivals-to-Lovers Slowburn Fantasy Romance]

Calaf panicked and activated his ring of glamour spoofing. He cycled through the more subtle disguises until he had bright orange-red hair and a nose with a massive ridge. None seemed to notice the rapid-fire glamour spells. His alias remained 'Caelus' in the Interface, reasonably certain that Deacon had never encountered this disguise.

Of course, Deacon would be at the Grand Cathedral for the conclave. He'd been de facto Bishop of Port Town for a year, now. But as a ranking churchman, he ought to be sequestered up in the Demon Lord's Fall cranium for the duration of the election process.

Deacon made for the banquet table and downed some sacramental wine. He wiped his brow and sighed. It was a side of Deacon that Calaf had never seen before—and would not have, were Deacon aware that he was in familiar company.

"I say, good sir Bishop," Jelena said, acting casual. "What news of the conclave?"

Calaf did a sharp inhale and then held his breath. While he was in disguise now, the unbranded Jelena had only her fake Interface designation and a colored contact over her damaged eye. Calaf prayed that the good Deacon did not know Jelena's face well enough to make the inference.

"The conclave…" Deacon stifled a chuckle. "Well, my child, I am flabbergasted. I know not what this means. To be concluded so early. None considered Bede a contender at all. Why, the doors nearly sealed without him. And that strange ability… does it even count as an election? "

"Wait," Calaf, making token effort to mask his voice, continued. "Good sir Bishop, are you saying…"

Chandeliers above dimmed, controlled by Interface from somewhere away from the soaring, bone-walled meeting hall. A figure, flanked by various high clerics of the ecumenical council, emerged from the foramen.

"Ladies and gentlemen," came a voice whose drive cut through the strain of old age.

"All rise for the… duly… elected archpope," said a rather ambivalent councilmember.

The new archpope was already wearing his Archpope Vestements +15, a fine gold-trimmed robe with prodigious stat requirements. But his title had yet to update in the Menu.

Well, Calaf was drawing blanks. The name, Bede, sounded strangely familiar. But from where?

"Ay, that's the archbishop of Riverglen," Deacon said. "Knew him from my time at a monastic institution far south of that lonely outpost. But even then, he was a relatively recent addition to the cloister. His rise up the ranks…"

Deacon went for another drink. "His rise… too rapid. The council never votes for someone who transparently wants the role. But when they went to the Interface to use their ballots, why, there was no other option."

"They were greyed out?" Calaf said, betraying familiarity with the concept.

It was exactly what he'd encountered mere minutes before, when checking his spoofing rings. Whatever had greyed out the Interface must have affected the entire cathedral. Likely to rig the vote for this Bede.

"Indeed." Deacon sighed. "I very much wish to get back to my flock. But now that the Menu is responding again, surely there will be a recount."

While young for an archpope, the grey-haired Archbishop Bede was still north of sixty. Even so, his voice boomed with vigor and a cocky triumph to it:

"It is said that the archpopes of yore seldom came down from the Cranial Halls after their election. A prepared speech room, a balcony on the philtrim, and a dias on the long march to the pilgrimage's start, but no speech to the good people who came to this holiest of battlefields to witness their ascension. Perish the thought!"

Bede made a motion with his hand. Armed men, Riverglen personnel per their Interface, but all at endgame level, pushed some rolling platforms in from servants' chambers in the wings.

Calaf and Jelena gasped when they saw the figures tied to each platform.

"It is said that in the time before the Demon Age, great leaders would jockey for favor with ceremonies involving a conspicuous display of wealth and triumphs." Bede motioned with his hands. "Behold, my offering."

On the leftmost platform sat Audrey, an infamous lady-thief, briefly of the second thieves guild. She sat bound to the main stake, while her party of high-level thief and mage classes sat staked to a low tier of the platform below her. Duplicate Interface windows overlapped, for all were Branded on every limb of their body.

This peculiar crucifixion was a punishment Calaf had seen only once before; performed on Paladin Joan and former Monk Cayo. It was meant to be a punishment for only the most heinous of heretics.

Audrey, the lady thief, stood tied to the pole with the rest of her retinue similarly bound, petrified and pained by the overabundance of Interface Brands. They stared straight ahead, scarcely even able to close their Branded eyes. They would never move again unaided.

On the rightmost platform, nearer to Zilara and Enkidu's position, knelt a group of four. Still in chains, this party was labeled:

Hour-old Brands sat embedded in vital spots on their bodies, typically the neck. Liu's was square on his forehead. The foreigners were unwilling converts now. There'd been more than four of these unbranded foreign thieves, the others were likely killed as they were apprehended. The party would be released after the ceremonies—a death sentence, given the level delta with the weakest Fellmarsh dire-beast.

"These thieves infiltrated the Demon King's Fall itself, your ecumenical council none the wiser." Bede looked mockingly at the council members at his flank. "But they did not escape my men. Proof of my effectiveness and the competence that will mark my reign. Give it up for the Arbitral Auxiliary, everyone."

Modest clapping ensued, echoing off the sloped ceiling. Jelena inched closer to Calaf. Her hand sought his, cover be damned. That could just as easily be them up on the podium.

"We should find Zil and 'Kidu," Calaf whispered. "Abort mission and get out of here. Something's up."

A council member, still scowling and unhappy with events, placed a jeweled tiara crown upon Bede's head. This was actually an elaborate Trade sequence, but it appeared seamless to onlookers. Bede's Interface designation updated:

The archpope's coronation was official in a rare, Item-based class change. He owned Cleric Mia' s inauguration crown, and so the status of Archpope was his.

"That title…" Deacon said from Calaf's shoulder. "First of his name. Most archpopes chose a name based on some aspect of the Holy Menu…"

Bede—rather, Archpope Breakspear the first, clapped his hands. The lights dimmed further.

"I know the Conclave's conclusion in round one of voting was a surprise to many, who expected to camp out here for perhaps months. But, true to my efforts to root out corruption from this realm, allow me to ring in the celebratory feast with one more surprise…"

Breakspear clapped his hands. A spell was cast…

Calaf's hair returned to its natural blonde in an instant, as did the edits to his Interface designation and face. Jelena's contact, being a physical item, was unaffected. But the ring she wore to pass as Under the Menu shorted out.

Throughout the room, little bits of glamour gave out here and there. A deaconess's beauty mark disappeared, another's corset revealed itself to be held together by a spell. Enkidu's ring, too, would have sorted out. And Zilara would require a new disguise. Glamour Failure caused many a gasp and shout of surprise.

Over at the far wall, Oromund snickered. He was quite enjoying the panic running through the crowd.

"May we have no secrets between us," proclaimed the new archpope with a guttural chuckle. "Now, I do have an organization to run. Many big plans are already underway. On the morrow, we will depart for—"

Another gasp filled the room, starting from the east wall and spreading to the west. Gasps were replaced with murmurs, then whispers.

"Is it her?"

"By the wall? The brands…"

"Same as the Holy Priestess."

Zilara's elaborate glamour and title-spoofing had sputtered out, the same as all the others. This revealed her silver hair, her true role as a 'Custom Class,' and most importantly…

"Behold!" Pilgrims knelt there on the ballroom rug. "Twinbrand eyes!"

… were Zilara's Brands, birthmark of the holy bloodline.

Enkidu and Jelena were without disguise and unbranded, intruders in the Grand Cathedral. But that fact was ignored by all in favor of the sudden appearance of the holy child.

"An heir. An unknown heir!" yelled a bishop from up ahead.

"That girl…" Deacon managed.

Such a bedlam had occurred in such a short time that Deacon overlooked the familiar Paladin and rogue standing just off his shoulder.

Calaf grabbed Jelena's hand and began the slow process of wading through the crowd. A difficult task, as the crowd quickly moved in to surround Zilara.

Over near the back of the ballroom, members of the ecumenical council confronted Breakspear.

"Not all candidates were presented," said a councilor.

"All the candidates that were available for selection were present," Breakspear said, his own twinbrand flashing in the low light. "Per the rules we all agreed to, yes?"

"This child must be considered."

"What, you want a recount? A runoff election with a ten-year-old?"

Suddenly, Jelena's idea to put Zilara on the throne grew ever-so slightly more plausible. There was little time to dwell on this, as guards began to mill about in the wings.

The garrison at the Demon Lord's Fall took orders from the ecumenical council. But there were others – wearing high-tier chainmail amidst the crowd. Bede's personal guard. Loyal auxiliary arbiters.

Over at the far wall, Oromund eyed the new archpope with caution, but also a fair bit of respect for a fellow iconoclast. Could the party count on their new friend if things came to blows?

Calaf did an equipment swap, trading his robes out for armor. Paladin's mail brought an undercurrent of authority to his march, and distracted ballroom patrons found themselves parting as he approached.

"Come, we're getting you out of here," Calaf said to Zilara.

While still an object of fascination for many, Zilara was one of many distractions in the room now. Many guests had since returned their attention to the branded thieves paraded in triumph. Others had noticed that Oromund was fully armored and not on the guest list, while a few smart parties sensed the tension between Breakspear's arbiters and the cathedral guards.

"Where are we going?" Zilara asked.

"Anywhere but here," Jelena said. The contact in her left eye and her church robes helped distract from the fact that she was unbranded.

"Getting some distance from the crowd would aid in stealth." Enkidu, meanwhile, was slightly more obvious as brandless.

They needed a way out at any rate. Calaf spied a door in the wings, meant for servants. They ought to be able to make a break for it if they had a distraction.

"We'll make for the latrine again," Calaf said, "sneak out while everyone is arguing amongst themselves."

Calaf grabbed Zilara's upper arm with his free hand (for his other hand still held Jelena's) and urged her towards the servant's entrance. Rather than follow, though, Zilara pulled out a porcelain snail.

"Psst. Yonah, are you still awake? Got another target for ya…"

A councilor pushed through the crowd. "Young child, come with us. Are these three your retinue? Why… why are two of them unbranded?"

"Damn." Calaf gritted his teeth.

"Balls," Jelena added.

"As for you, Bede," said a council with high-ranking gold-trimmed robes. "The proper Arbiters will deal with you. We will run another election, without interference."

"We've received word from the Fellmarsh sentries. The arbiters – true arbiters - are on their way here."

The crowd's murmurs grew more fervent still. Most eyes were off Zilara, save for that lone councilor making his way towards Zilara and company.

"Arbiters? I'm sure we will have words," Breakspear said.

A slow clap came from the far wall. It came from a figure in heavy armor and dreadlocks, leaning back against his obsidian slab of a sword.

The crowd went silent.

"Words." Oromund took a step forward. "Yes, I am here to have words."

"Huh? Who are you?" the anti-archpope asked. "Well, this is a surprise. I carefully planned this all out for ages, and still, we have an unwanted guest."

Oromund laughed once. "I am here for the Ecclesiastical Council."

"Oh?" Bede Breakspear, first of his name, looked to the nearest councilor, then back to Oromund. "I was hoping to keep some around."

"Pity." Oromund reached for his sword.

"Who is on whose side!?" Jelena rasped, too quiet to illicit a response.

Guards – both Bede's and the council's – maneuvered around Oromund. The warrior unsheathed the slab-sword. He glanced slyly at the twin triumph platforms.

"By the way, you missed a few." A twisted smile spread across Oromund's face.

Calaf and Jelena froze.

"I count at least three bands of thieves in this room right now," Oromund chuckled.

Shadows stirred, and a figure appeared, identified only as 'Fallen Cleric' in the Menu. They summoned a looped laso made of fire and swung it at the nearest archbishop. The holy man went up like a green-flame candle. A bevy of buffs appeared on the Fallen Cleric's Interface.

Dead center in the room, a column of smoke burst forth. A few dozen gold pieces disappeared from Calaf's Inventory, and every other guest in the room.

"Aha!" A red-haired figure in a combination of cleric robes and thief leather jumped from the smoke. "Stealing from the conclave. Let this be known as the day the upper echelons of the church were bamboozled by Eliwood, gentlemen cleric-thief of—oof!" There was a thud as an auxiliary arbiter shield bashed the dashing thief.

Sword out, Oromund rushed into the fray.

Everyone with a weapon was rapid-fire equipping their gear.

"No time to flee like the present," Jelena quipped.

Calaf nodded. "Agreed."

"See that marker, down near the jaw?" Zilara asked.

Sure enough, an arrow-shaped marker appeared deep in the annals of the Grand Cathedral. Calaf wondered who Yonah's Target spell was focused on. But now was not the time to ask around.

The party took off as chaos continued in the cathedral meeting hall.