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“Can you hear them calling you?” The stone caves were cold- he had forgotten that each time he’d come here before he’d come with others. “The hunters of souls call for ours.” Fever had caught hold of Tyleril some time ago. When he wasn’t certain. But no cave had a right to feel this cold or this empty.
“The doorkeep needs close the door.” The baby had grown quiet. It had heightened his fear and anxiety even though his hand could feel the rise and fall of the baby’s tiny chest. He hoped that his words kept the baby tethered to life. As angry and unwilling as the baby was to go into the long night it wasn’t enough.
“Armand! Dornall- anyone.” Were there undead here? It was surprisingly clean of the smell of rot. Like fresh water and green plants. Maybe old wards still held or this was not found when the Fall came. “It’s me, Tyleril. I’ve returned. I-” What could he say to ghosts?
As he wandered down the cave tunnel with only a flcikering candlelight and memory to guide him he was unsure. “I know I refused the first time. You said it would change me to take on the blessing. I wasn’t willing to take it then and- if it’s not late now I would like to try.” Nothing responded to his words as his candle sputtered. He still remembered Armand’s face, peppered hair and skin like leather. The smell of cologne and his glasses.
Armond shrugged, tossing another handful of gathered twigs into the fire. Tyleril had never spent much time around humans before he left Quel’thalas and something about how quickly Armond had aged in their short time together bothered him. When their jokes and conversation failed to distract his mind he was often studying his mentor.
“You don’t ever use the blessing you have.” He remarked to Armond casually. “Why?”
Armond tapped his chest. “My heart is weak. Using it again could possibly kill me. It is not that i can’t but rather whether the strain of it will overwhelm my heart.” His face was so often impish that the sudden serious expression looked off. “Mine is battle related sooo…” He shrugged and gave the young elf a sly smile. “Each of them are different. Some are purely combat oriented, others are good for healing or enchanting- the Gods are wise enough to understand that not all of us have the same skillsets.”
“You won’t tell me how you got your blessing.” Tyleril guessed. It wasn’t a question and something gleamed in his mentor’s eye. Amusement?
“No. When you graduate from being a novice you’ll learn it. Since you’re the only elf they might even allow you to try right away. It’s only a year Tyleril. Then when you are on your own I can retire and you can take up where I left off.”
“What happens when I do take one?” They were all so very vague whenever those blessings came up. But the promise of power was alluring and it was not something he could easily let go.
Armond was silent for a long time.
“That’s up to the Gods if you survive it.”
It was their last conversation and the last time he’d seen his mentor alive was his mentor leaving to go to his room at the inn they stayed at. The promise of power had kept Tyleril with the circle for a while longer until he returned to Quel’thalas. He forgot how quickly humans aged and when he returned, expecting to see them all again he had found only their graves and whispers of their passing.
Now when he returned again it was to walk where the ghosts of his memories stayed. The tunnel he followed whispered with each step of his leather boots. The darkness leeched at his candle light with each step, intent on denying him his sight. The sharp pangs continued to claw at his soul to leave a hunger he couldn’t feed and pain that wouldn’t dull. With a soft hiss the candle died, leaving Tyleril and the baby immersed in total darkness.
The warhammer had to be put away so he could reach out and feel clumsily. “Hold on.” He whispered to the child. “Please keep breathing. Stay from the shadows a bit longer.” Moving slowly as he blindly felt his way through the halls Tyleril found himself straining to call upon the Light. He called out for it in whispers, repeating his prayers loudly in his mind.
How long had he casually called upon the Light and taken it for granted? His healing, spells used in righteous anger, casually levitating. The Light was always there, he’d assumed. He was a Priest in title but had he really been a good priest? The thought stung.
He didn’t know the answer.
“We closed the door to so the keep stays safe. The mead fires will burn till dawn.” For all of his efforts it felt like claws were digging into his chest but a dim glow came to life on the hand that held the baby swaddled in blankets. In the dark he didn’t notice his flushed skin, the sound of comforting whispers becoming feverish and delusional.
“Far away… far away.”
The holy magic sank into blue and gold cloth. If there was a flesh wound the skin would knit together. If there was sickness the Light would ease it. The Light could be directed to heal and soothe many things that bothered the physical coil. In the hands of a stronger Priest, a better one the Light would have given strength.
It simply drained Tyleril further.
“I’m fine.”
The baby didn’t respond to his talk but Tyleril told himself the baby was only asleep.
The last site that belonged to the Spiral was nothing- not, compared to the groves and few temples Tyleril had known from his time as a novice. What had compelled them to move the stones that held their prized ‘blessings’ he never knew. Perhaps a religion that was slowly dying lacked the security a grand temple once had and they were forced to move them.
Whatever the answer was it was lost to history now. The groves lost and the temples were gone. Even the bodies of the Spiral priests had become dust. The cavern he sought now simply held the last few reminders that the Spiral had ever existed.
Tyleril Silversword 