DAY 750

Gilda Highbranch sips gently from her tea, doing her best to mentally shake the rust off of her etiquette skills. As the ranking noble of the Grassbrook region - standing in for her father, Duke Highbranch - it's Gilda's job to greet and entertain all high-ranking visitors to the region. As it's worked out however there's been practically none of those since her current estate finally finished construction. She does host Commander Paulados every other month or so, just to catch up. The commander of the local army garrison is far less skilled in noble etiquette than the half-elf is, however, and Gilda had never felt much pressure to perform in front of him.

Beyond that there had been occasional visits with Bountiful Mother Elance Hammerdown, of the Church of Bounty, and Administrator Alizz of the Challenger's Association, who are otherwise the most important local leaders of the Grassbrook community. Thanks to Worthy Dungeon's particular proclivities, the Church of Bounty is far and away the most popular and powerful religious organization in the town. A collective shrine had been put together for some of the other popular gods, but none have even so much as an independent building let alone the entire compound the Church had put together. Meanwhile Alizz basically single-handedly controls the town's economic lifeblood, as the one who manages the Challengers who delve the dungeon itself. Treasure and magical artifacts are extracted from the dungeon every day, some of which make their way into the local economy, and all of which are taxed.

Those visits are rare however, and the ones involving the Administrator usually feel more like business meetings than social calls. So it is that Gilda's current guest is her first new high-ranking visitor in months, and the lady feels the need to put on her best performance.

Or at least, she's fairly certain her guest is high-ranking. Not...entirely, however.

"So...Weaver Pizola, you must forgive me, but I'm not certain I understand all the implications of your title. I'm aware that you're not literally a weaver of cloth, but I'm not sure what the specifics mean beyond that it indicates a high rank in drider society. Is that correct?"

Pizola smiles as she sips her own tea. Fortunately the estate does in fact have drider-sized couches for the occasion, acquired to ensure that Alizz feels comfortable on her own visits, but the drider sitting before Gilda today looks much more aged than the Association official. Whereas most driders have shiny black exoskeletons and dark grey skin, Pizola has aged to a much lighter shade on both accounts. White hair for driders is not at all unusual, so Gilda can't judge her age from that aspect, but the wrinkles on her face certainly tell quite a story. Driders only live a little longer than humans on average, much less than dwarves or half-elves like herself, but Gilda guesses that the woman before her is well into her nineties; an advanced age for her species. Makeup fails to cover most of it, although it has been applied in a style that implies a personality that's more at home under a layer of cosmetics than without it.

The woman's dress is also rather unusual, from what Gilda knows of Valleylander drider fashion. Her tight corset and jacket almost seem to be inspired more by military fashion than the traditional simple garments most drider wear, with bright blue colors and polished buttons. Put all together, Gilda can't even begin to guess what class of society Pizola actually represents.

"Ah, somewhat, somewhat. You may be thinking of the Mana Weavers in particular, my dear. Our mystics and sages are highly respected for their spellwork and their divinations, which occasionally even work. I am not one of those, however. As a simple 'Weaver', my title simply represents the undeniable." The woman grins, showing off teeth that are remarkably white for her age. "I am gods-damned old."

Gilda tries not to choke on her tea at the sudden profanity. "Ah, ahum - why, you look quite...spry, if I do say so myself, not at all - "

Pizola interrupts her with a harrumph. "Hrmph, you don't need to butter me up. You bipeds are lucky, you know. I have seven sore knees these days, and the only reason it's not eight is because one of them is fake." She pats the knee in question, and Gilda is surprised to notice that it does indeed appear to be a magical prosthetic, now that she looks closely. It blends in so well that she hadn't picked up on it at first, a sign of expensive work. "Besides, I don't think I'd have much reason to be here if I was twenty years younger, now would I?"

"Well, that is a logical factor, although not all of the dungeon's, ah, recruits have been all that senior in age." Gilda returns her eyes to Pizola's, attempting to regain control of the conversation. "I do wonder what other titles you may possess, however. The letters I received concerning your application neglected to mention your Challenger rank?"

"Eh?" The drider raises a white eyebrow. "No, they didn't neglect a thing, dear. I have no Challenger rank."

That almost makes Gilda spit out her tea again, and she's not even drinking any of it at the moment. "I'm sorry!? You - you are aware of what 'joining' with the dungeon involves, yes? And we're talking here about becoming possibly the Floor Guardian of Floor Ten, which is currently the deepest part of the dungeon. You would be expected to compete against Masters, possibly even Supreme-tier Challengers."

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Pizola doesn't seem the least put off by the question. "There's more to this world than the Association, my girl. I know you Rainlander nobles have to put in an appearance, earning at least a few ranks to 'prove' yourselves, but one can do such things without filling out reams of paperwork proving every little slime you've slain. Why, even an average farmer could probably kick the tail of an Initiate up and down his field all day long."

"Forgive me for saying so, but a particularly ferocious rabbit could chase an Initiate up and down a field. The challenges placed before you will be somewhat more difficult than that."

Her guest grins. "Well I certainly hope so. I suppose I should move on to my more relevant title, then - Mistress of Festivities. I've worked in the entertainment industry for over sixty years, with more than forty of them spent on the road. A few minor traveling troupes here and there, but three major festival and circus outfits, and I spent twenty years in charge of the last before retiring a decade ago."

Gilda takes that in. "Well, you certainly have the resume for the 'stage performance' requirement the dungeon has requested for its current round of candidates. And I'm aware you have no children, which is the other firm requirement placed by the Goddess of Fertility. But that would still seem to leave something of a, ah...gap when it comes to more...martial experience."

"You've done some background checks on me, my lady, but I've done my share on the dungeon in turn. Word's gotten out about this new 'underground circus' your dungeon's put together, and the sort of things it puts on. From what I've heard, the place sounds perfectly suited for my skills - unless you've heard something I haven't?" Pizola raises an eyebrow.

The lady shakes her head. "I've not been in the dungeon myself for quite some time - I have a newborn to take care of, which is challenging enough. And I never did explore the deepest levels, beyond a bit of Floor Nine. However, I have heard the reports from the few teams to attempt Floor Ten - and the rather larger number of Challengers who have spectated the events there. Three levels, one focused around agility-based combat, one based around a sort of...exhibition match arena sort of thing, and one based around skill and mental challenges. All of which are themed around clowns and other performers of various sorts."

Pizola nods vigorously. "Which is exactly the sort of thing I've been part of my entire adult life! Now, do you imagine that because I'm not a Challenger or a soldier, that I have no magical talent? I assure you, I've learned many a trick. Nevermind that I'm a drider woman, which as you know makes me a part of one of the most magically-inclined groups on the continent."

The half-elf is not particularly impressed by the latter claim. "A cultural trait, not an inborn one. If you've spent your entire life on the road, then I doubt you've had much time to enlighten yourself on the details of mystical drider secrets."

The woman's grin stretches wider. "Oh, you might be surprised." With that said the woman fades from view - and then immediately reappears behind the couch Gilda is sitting on, perfectly placed to whisper into her host's ear.

"After all, appearances can be deceiving, my dear."

This time Gilda does actually spill some of her tea, as she almost hops out of her seat. She does quickly regain control of herself, but she can't stop herself from glancing back and forth between Pizola and the seat she occupied a moment earlier. "Teleportation magic!? But that was so silent! Not to mention extremely rare, to my knowledge."

Pizola rolls her eyes as she moves to return to her seat - if she had ever been sitting there in the first place. "While that would be a nifty spell to pick up, no, you're right about that. Illusions, my dear. Misdirection, smoke and mirrors. Invisibility, for one, also you've been talking to a woman who didn't exist since I walked into the room. But that's simply the subtle aspects." She sits back down and with a wave of her hand a bouquet of golden roses appears in it - literally golden, from their shiny luster. With another flick of her wrist the flowers ignite into flame, at which point Pizola tosses the whole bunch into the air, upon which they transform into a swarm of glowing butterflies.

As the butterflies slowly fade out, Gilda again takes stock of her guest. "An impressive display."

She gets a scoff in return. "Pah, that was nothing. If I had a proper field, I could put on an entire performance for you, all on my lonesome! My last troupe had about forty performers on average, but I could run a show with as few as a dozen in a pinch - without the audience ever knowing the difference!"

"That does sound like quite the display of power." Gilda's eyes narrow as she turns to harder questions. "But, I would assume that your performances don't usually involve killing members of your audience. Any reason you've decided to take up that particular pastime in your...'retirement'?"

She's answered with a shrug. "As far as I see it, any fool who gets ten floors deep into a dungeon knows what they're getting into. As for myself, it's a simple matter, my deal - as gods-damned old as I may be, I've not yet perfected my craft."

"Oh? In what way do you believe you're lacking?"

Pizola sighs. "For one thing, even before I retired my magical endurance began to abandon me. Yes, I could still put on a show on my lonesome if need be - but ten minutes of such would likely be all I'd manage at this stage. But more importantly?" She places a hand over her chest. "I never became Mistress of the most famous circus in the New Continent, as I once swore I would. Top five, if I may say so myself - maybe top three at our best. But a dungeon circus?" The smile returns to her face. "Now that's a real opportunity I could never pass up."

Gilda nods in understanding. "I suppose that does sound like a fair response. I don't think I have much reason to deny your request on my end - but the dungeon will still wish to test you herself, I imagine."

"Oh, don't think I'm sold on this myself yet, my dear. If I'm going to be signing up for an eternal job, I'm going to want to see the damn workplace with my own eyes first."

Her host furrows her brow. "You'd like a tour? I suppose the dungeon would likely agree to that."

"A tour? Pssht!" Pizola chuckles. "You've got enough guards and mercenaries here to run a dungeon team with, aye? I want to run this dungeon for myself."

"...I'll see what we can arrange."

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