Off to see Tyron. Elsbeth might have thought of it as a good thing, once. Despite everything that had happened, she still liked Tyron, and they had a lot of history together. She’d known him almost as long as she could rember.
However, being around him now was… challenging. At least it was more pleasant than being near Rolan. Tyron may have harboured romantic feelings for her once upon a ti, but they were dead and buried at this point. Ironically, one of the few things he had no interest in resurrecting.
She let a few of the Priesthood working on the desks in the downstairs lobby know where she was going, stopped to chat with so of the people she recognised waiting in line and exchanged news with them. It was amazing how much she could learn just from speaking with people, getting to know them and hearing their stories. There were many who were reluctant to co to a Priestess for assistance in the city. So were devout followers of the Five before fleeing the Western Province, and even if their faith had died, they didn’t want to associate with ‘heathens’. Others just didn’t want to be a bother, or were determined to deal with their problems on their own.
Many followers of the Three were like this, as self-sufficiency was a virtue dearly held by the faithful.
But Elsbeth could find out who was struggling and hunt them down like a hawk going after prey. She swooped down and sank in her claws with a warm smile and gentle words. They didn’t always relent and ask for aid, so were determined to earn the favour of the Gods, and she was hardly in a position to tell them ‘no’, but at least she was able to keep an eye on them and make sure they were alright.
Conversations finished, she was out into the street. The roads were always busy this close to the field. Being the central hub of the city was one thing, but the magickally enriched and watered soil here was still the main source of fresh vegetables for the population. Distribution points had been set up to allow people to collect rations, and there was a steady stream of folk coming and going day and night.
Recently, so had been allowed to take portions of soil to create communal gardens dotted around the ruins. In another few months, there would be small vegetable patches everywhere, households banding together to grow their own food.
Sothing like that had seed impossible when they’d first arrived. The ruins and surrounding wasteland had been so devoid of natural life, survival seed like such a distant possibility. Slowly, piece by piece, vitality was being returned to these devastated lands. If they were given ten years, perhaps they could revive the entire city and the surrounding plains. Grow crops in the fields, tend to animals, create forests. It would be possible, if only they were given the ti.
It was difficult for Elsbeth to go anywhere without running into people she knew, and this was no different. Between the Priesthood and the Temple where Tyron lived, she was stopped a dozen tis for quick conversations. Each ti she needed to excuse herself after a few minutes, only to be stopped again.
She didn’t mind it, in fact it gave her great joy to be in a position to help so many people. Things hadn’t exactly worked out the way she’d planned; she’d spent her childhood hoping to serve as a Priestess of Selene, Goddess of healing, light and purity. Despite the Three’s… unsympathetic views on charity, she had still been able to live out her childhood dream.
The Temple complex in which Tyron made his ho was a hive of activity, as always. There were only a few entrances, each guarded by skeletons day and night, but there were always people going in and out. There were hundreds living and working down there, after all.
She braced herself, nodded to the skeletons and revenant watching the entrance, then headed down the stairs into the belowground corridors. She was always surprised at the lack of dust and mildew. Perhaps Tyron could explain just how the airflow down here worked? He had to know. He wasn’t soone who could let a mystery sit right under his nose and not try to figure it out.
As much as she wanted to get sidetracked, strike up a few conversations and let herself be distracted, she mastered the impulse and headed straight to Tyron’s rooms. As she predicted, knocking on the door did not elicit a response. Not the first, nor the second, nor the third. She opened it herself, pushing open the door to reveal his cozy sitting room, the door to the study open beyond, revealing her old friend seated at his desk, scratching away in a book.
Even this close, she could feel it. Her blessing from the Raven was one of insight. It didn’t allow her to see a person's thoughts, or predict their actions. The words of Raven were always hard to understand, but she believed the blessing revealed a person's intentions, or perhaps their desires.
It didn’t always relate to her, though it was only natural that a person's intentions toward her were revealed when she stood in front of them.
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Tyron Steelarm, sitting at his desk, to her, appeared as if a deep, sucking void of death surrounded him. A freezing cold dragged the warmth from her limbs, and the light faded around him. So deep was the darkness she almost couldn’t make out the details of his face.
The blessing laid his inventions clear, his desires. He wanted death. He wanted so much death.
Every ti she had seen him since receiving her blessing, he had appeared this way. Sotis it was stronger than others, sotis worse. Always, it beca too difficult to stay near him for long.
“T-Tyron? Hello?” she called, her voice forming after her initial stumble.
He still didn’t respond, though it was difficult to tell. Perhaps he had glanced her way? But he didn’t say anything. Drawing in a breath, she stepped closer.
“It’s Elsbeth. Hello?”
Finally, a response.
“What?” he demanded irritably. The darkness around him thickened, the cold sharpened, then he turned toward her. “Elsbeth?”
The darkness receded sharply, the void weakening and a hint of warmth returned to the room. She could see his face, drawn and pale, yet his gaze was as sharp as bared steel, that fierce intelligence burning within.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, still clearly wanting to turn back to his work, his thoughts still caught up in the winding pathways of the magick.
“You asked for ,” she said, forcing a smile. “I heard from Rolan, he passed on your ssage.”
“Rolan?” he frowned. “You should stay away from him.”
Elsbeth was so surprised by this statent, she blurted out a reply before she took a mont to think.
“I know.”
His eyes were back on her again, cold, piercing, the void thickened, then drew back again.
“Yes, I suppose you do. Give a mont to collect my thoughts. Take a seat in the other room and see if you can stir up the coals. I’ll see if I have any tea.”
Disturbed by what he had said, she was only too happy to withdraw and take the iron poker from its place leaning against the wall. Doubtless, Tyron had been working much longer than he thought he had, but there were still so coals with a little life to them. Soon, Tyron joined her and took his kettle, heating it with magick.
The tal glowed cherry red for a mont, steam rising from the spout. As Elsbeth sat, he poured them both a cup, placing it down on the low table in front of her before he sat down himself.
“I hope these are clean,” she said.
Tyron only grunted.
She doubted his students would let him sit around with dirty cups and utensils. The cleanliness of his room said that they continued to tend to him as he was working.
“How’ve you been, Elsbeth?” Tyron said as he lowered himself into his chair. “Busy, I presu.”
“Of course,” she said. “There are many people in the city who need help. Too many to ever manage to find them all.”
“Your heart has always been too big, Elsbeth. You spend more ti thinking about everyone else's problems than you do your own.”
“You’re going to criticise for caring too much?” Elsbeth shook her head, her golden hair shimring in the flickering light. “Should I say that you have always cared too little?”
“True enough,” he noted, taking a sip from his cup. “There have been very few people I ever genuinely cared about. You remain one of them. If you need help in any way, you can always ask .”
“If I ask you to help other people, will you do that?” she asked.
“No. I an help for you. I don’t need you to approach on behalf of others, I do plenty to help the city already.”
You could do more.
She wanted to say it, but knew it was pointless. Tyron did do a lot for the city. In fact, almost everyone here would be dead without him. He’d created the chanisms that protected them from the magick storms, that harnessed the abundant energy here to create water and heat. His undead had worked tirelessly to clear away rubble and make space for people to live. Even now, the undead patrolled the city, keeping the peace and continuing to work on the outer districts.
Still, if he really wanted to, he could do so much more, but his focus was elsewhere. She didn’t need to feel the freezing cold aura of death emanating from him to know that.
“I… thanks for your concern. I’m alright, for the mont.”
It was difficult to say that Tyron’s help would be sothing she would ever want for herself. She knew he had Rufus, had his soul bound in eternal servitude. Laurel as well. How much pain had they suffered since their death? How much torture could their souls endure?
Was it right that she didn’t feel sorry for them?
“Well, I suppose I’d better get down to business and let you know why I asked for you, then,” Tyron sighed. He massaged his fingers absentmindedly, his gaze captured by the low flas. “I guess, I need a Priestess.”
“You… what?” she said, confused. “Are you going to ask for a blessing?”
Surely kin would sit down for a picnic with sheep before Tyron beca a follower of the Three.
“In a sense, yes,” he said, shocking her further. “I can reach out to them myself, of course, but I feel like certain requests are better when they co from soone they trust.”
This was just as confusing.
“Tyron… what do you want to ask them to do?”
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