Book of The Dead

Tyron cursed the downpour as he crept through the empty streets. At least he'd remembered to wear his cloak which kept him relatively dry. Despite his discomfort, the downpour would at least help conceal him from prying eyes. He crept around the back of his parents' property and looked about. Greys Street was dead at this time of night, unsurprising, given the weather. Even so, his steps were slow and careful as he stepped out from the stone wall and made his way across the cobblestones. In this manner he crept cautiously through town until he found himself staring out into pitch black darkness as rain poured down onto his hood, plastering it to his head.

"How the hell am I supposed to find my way?" he muttered to himself.

He roughly knew the right direction, he'd made three trips to the cemetery in the dark already, but without even moonlight to guide him and the slippery conditions he was likely to break his leg in a ditch. That'd be a glorious start to his life on the run! Caught by the marshals, shivering on the side of the road clutching at his broken limb. At least his father would get a good laugh out of it. He was always good at finding the humour in a situation.

As he clung to the side of the Wissen brewery storehouse on the edge of town thinking, a new awareness nudged to the forefront of his mind. His skeletons! They were still there, inside the mausoleum, following the last command he had given them, to wait without moving. He was connected to them now, a whisper thin thread of magic connected him to them. If he concentrated, he would be able to follow it through the dark and it would lead him straight to them!

Breathing deep, he focused on that miniscule connection and began to walk. It was slow going, and he wasn't able to keep an eye on his surroundings as much as he would like, but he did it. An hour later, he slumped onto the door of the crypt and pushed it open, the connection with his minions a steady pulse at this close range. With a tired grin, unbuckled two of the swords and pressed them into the skeletal hands of his creations. They had little by way of minds, these creatures, but they had enough awareness to close their fingers around the hilt of the weapon and hold it steady. Tyron could feel the drain on his magic increase with even this slight movement, the aided strain of holding the weight of the swords enough to make a noticeable difference. The two spare cloaks he had brought went over the two skeletons and he tied them around their bony necks. They wouldn't do much to conceal the nature of his minions up close, but perhaps from a distance they might help. He also removed his own sword and leaned it against the wall, less weight for the trip.

A moment of rest was required before he felt confident to head back. The return trip was even worse, as he didn't have that magical signpost to guide him in the dark, but by crouching low and feeling out each step before he took it, he was able to make it back to town in one piece. Drained and with a headache developing in his temples, he was almost caught when he stumbled against the stone fence of his house, drawing the attention of a marshal passing nearby.

The downpour had forced the patrols to light their lamps in order to see in the dark and Tyron panicked when he saw the blurred glow approaching through the rain. With no time to think, he turned and leapt, grabbing onto the top of the fence and hauling himself over with adrenaline fuelled desperation. As he tumbled and fell on the other side he scored his knee badly on a stone, causing him to hiss as the pain flared. Over the fence he could hear someone approach and inspect the wall, no doubt seeing the footprints he'd left in the mud on the other side. He judged they wouldn't bother investigating, they were out to prevent escaping the town, not sneaking in.

Even so, he resolved that he would need to take another exit when he left. He couldn't risk that they might lie in wait for him, he didn't get a second chance at this.

For the last time, he opened the backdoor of his family home and wandered into the kitchen. He didn't allow the sentimentality to touch him, he couldn't afford to, though it was difficult to keep his eyes dry as strapped the pack onto his shoulders and secured it firmly. One more time he cast his eyes around the empty kitchen, over the table and chairs that had hosted so few family dinners as he had grown up, but each one was a precious memory.

He would be back. When he had proved his worth and made his name fighting the rifts in the borderlands he was sure that his class would be overlooked. In ten years, no, in five years, he would return to Foxbridge a hero, not an outcast. Life would be hard until then, but he could do it, he was a Steelarm after all. Resolve hardened within the young man and he extinguished his globe of light with a gesture and walked out the front door with sure steps. This was just the beginning for him, it wouldn't end here.

The oppressive rain continued to drench the streets, and turned the cobblestone roads slick. Visibility was awful, but that was to his favour and Tyron wasted no time making his way into the alleys. When he passed by the back of his house he was unsurprised and more than a little nervous to see a cluster of lights gathered by the back wall. He couldn't hear them over the constant downpour, but he was certain they had gathered to investigate the disturbance he'd made.

He swallowed heavily and moved as silently as he could, circling wide around the gathering as he felt his way between a few buildings and through to the other side of town. Again he relied on the vague sense of direction he gained from his minions, the connection between them, so faint at this distance, his guidepost in the near total darkness.

Despite the cold, he felt drenched in sweat beneath the layers of clothing he wore and his heart pounded in his chest all the way from town until at last he collapsed inside the mausoleum, exhausted from the tension.

"That was stressful as all hell," he muttered to himself as he pushed back his hood and shook out his damp hair. In moments a puddle of water had accumulated around his feet as he stood inside the entrance and took a moment to breathe.

"Light," he mumbled.

Thankfully his mastery of this basic spell form was enough that even when fatigued and distracted there was no deviation in the magick and a soft globe of light bloomed over his head, banishing the darkness and revealing the interior once more.

After a minute of calming himself and gathering his strength, he rolled the pack off his shoulders and removed his sopping wet cloak, careful to ensure no water dripped into the dry interior. With a shrug, he hung the clothing from a winged cherub carved into the arch above the entrance before turning back and making his way deeper into the crypt.

His two minions remained as they had been and he had to admit that the addition of the cloaks, when standing this close, didn't do much to make them less intimidating. In fact, it probably made them look even more creepy. With the hoods pulled up it was difficult to see their faces but the soft glow of purple light that emanated from their empty sockets cast their features in a frightening way. Tyron was almost tempted to check his connection to the two undead remained sound but resisted with an effort of will. It was fine, they remained under his control, there was no need to be spooked by his own creations!

Seeing that everything was fine, he walked back to pack and removed some tack that he'd packed, the hard biscuit giving him a little energy back, particularly after he washed it down with fresh water from his canteen.

"No need to delay, Tyron. The rain won't let up for hours and you need to move as far as possible while it's still dark," he told himself.

It was true, he didn't have time to waste, and yet he still had to force himself to get moving. He grabbed his sword and strapped it onto his belt, fumbled out another chunk of mage candy and carefully placed it under his tongue before he pulled down his cloak and put it back over his shoulders. The trickle of power through the rock in his mouth energised him once again and began to replenish his reserves even as his stomach heaved.

Using it again so soon after the last time was foolish, but he didn't have a choice if he wanted to bring his two skeletons with him. It would take long days, possibly more than a week of travel before he made it to the Allthorn Forest. Dodging the patrols and staying off the roads would make the journey that much more difficult. He grabbed his pack and tied it on, grunting slightly at the weight.

His constitution had improved considerably from his recent stat gain, but his strength was as insipid as ever. Perhaps he could deal with that issue with his second sub class slot? It was far too early to be worrying about that, he scolded himself. Until he had a better handle on the strengths and weaknesses of his primary class, choosing a secondary would be idiotic. Though he'd already had one chosen for him, not that he liked to think about it much.

He was almost ready to depart, a few final checks and then it would be back out into the rain and on to adventure.

"… he's coming out?" he heard through the door.

SHIT.

In a second he snuffed out the light and ordered his servants to gather closer with a sharp mental command. They obeyed, as they had to, the two skeletons walking smoothly to his sides as he watched and listened.

"Give me a minute," a different voice this time, a male.

Muffled noises could be heard from the other side before someone cursed and a trickle of light flickered through a crack. A torch had been lit, they were coming in! Suddenly flushed with adrenaline, Tyron's hand fumbled at his waist before he managed to grip the hilt of his sword. He moved slowly and drew the blade from the sheath as quietly as he could.

The door creaked open a touch.

"Tyron? Are you in there?" Elsbeth's voice drifted through the gap.

He sagged in relief for a moment before he caught himself. She wasn't alone, Rufus and Laurel were likely there with him as well. Had they come to stop him? He hesitated before he sheathed his weapon and ordered the skeletons to turn around, their cloaks concealing their undead frames.

"I'm here," he hissed, "what is it?"

"Oh thank the goddess," she said and the door swung open to reveal his three friends huddled in the entrance to stay out of the rain.

The moment she saw him, Elsbeth ran the few short steps between them and threw her arms around him.

"Tyron!" she sobbed, "what have you gotten yourself into?"

"What do you mean?" he mumbled, a little dazed as he awkwardly gave her a one armed hug in return.

"Interesting place, Ty," Laurel said archly as she stepped into the mausoleum. "Not sure the mayor would approve."

"What are you doing here?" Tyron demanded as he gathered his thoughts. He pushed Elsbeth away and held onto her shoulders as he looked her in the eyes. "Tell me why you've come?"

His one-time crush glanced askance from him.

"We were worried about you," she said.

"We're here because we were looking for you," Rufus said as he stepped through the entrance. "I think a more relevant question would be, why are you here?"

Something in the tone of his voice triggered Tyron to flick his eyes to his friend’s hands, one of which, he realised with shock, was resting on the hilt of his sword, as if he were prepared to draw it at any moment. Tyron looked back at Elsbeth disbelievingly, a creeping sense of betrayal burning in the back of his throat.

"You really came here to capture me?" he whispered. "You want to drag me back to town and have them strip my class, my future from me?"

Tears brimmed in the priestess' blue eyes as she shook her head weakly.

"No! It's not like that! I wanted to convince you -"

"To what? Throw my life away?! Tyron growled as his grip on her shoulders tightened, “you think you can decide for me? The choice is mine!”

"You're hurting me," she whispered.

He released his hands with a start and took a step back, not that there was much space to move in. With the four of them inside the first chamber of the mausoleum, there was barely room to swing a cat. Six of them, he should say. He looked at Laurel as she leaned against the stone wall and she just smiled back at him, one brow raised. Rufus was battling hard to keep the smile of his face, he could tell, though he was still wary of the cloaked figures behind him.

A harsh laugh ripped out of his throat.

"Some friends I had. I cannot believe, of all the people, that you three came out here to drag me back. For what? A bit of coin? A little satisfaction?" he spat in Rufus' direction.

Laurel just shrugged as Rufus stepped forward.

"So you don't deny that you have a forbidden class?" he said solemnly.

"You don't deny that you're a sour sack of shit?" Tyron matched his tone. "If you don't think my class is illegal, why would you even be out here?"

"I can't believe it," Elsbeth said. "You're really planning on running away? Breaking the law?"

Her pleading gaze might have moved him a few days ago, but in this moment his blood was up and his entire future was crumbling before his eyes. Her entreaty fell on deaf ears.

"Yes. Obviously," he said sarcastically, gesturing to his clothes and pack. "And if you're wondering why I didn't say anything to you, maybe have a look at the situation we are currently in right now."

"We just want to bring you back so you can be safe!" she said. "You're making a huge mistake!"

"No," he replied, "I'm not. And if you think the pair behind you feel the same as you do, then you might just be beyond hope Elsbeth."

"I don't know what you mean," she said, "we came here together. To help you."

Rather than waste his breath on her, Tyron just shook his head. She always saw the best in people, that was her blessing and her curse. She'd always seen the best in him too, that was what had attracted him to her in the first place.

"Well this is how it's going to go," his eyes firmed as he declared. "I'm leaving and I'm not coming back. If you want to stop me, then you'd better pull steel. Though I think my two friends might have something to say about that."

Rufus eyed the two figures warily, his hand still on the hilt of his sword and Laurel eased off the wall as she readied her bow.

"I don't think there's any need for that," he said slowly. "Your two friends likely weren't paid enough to justify a fight, right? How about you two just walk away and we take our friend back to town."

Tyron grinned as the young swordsman tried to talk his two skeletons down. The two minions, naturally, didn't respond, and Rufus' expression hardened.

"Why don't you try again, Rufus?" Tyron mocked as he slowly drew his sword. "I'm sure that devilish charm will work a treat next time."

His once friend also drew his blade.

"Worked well enough with Elsbeth," he mocked.

He'd suspected, but having it confirmed was still a stab to his heart. He shook his head and the swordsman's smile grew wider as he saw the blow land. Tyron grit his teeth, anger and desperation boiled within him and he was desperate to strike back.

So he turned to the only one he knew he could hurt.

"I can't believe you literally let him fuck you out of a job," he said to her.

Elsbeth's eyes filled with tears as she watched her childhood friends draw swords on each other, her mind clouded in confusion.

"I don't know what you mean," she sobbed, "please don't do this."

"Don't listen to him Elsbeth," Rufus took a slow step forward, "he's cornered and angry. Help me bring him home."

Sensing weakness from the man, Tyron forged ahead.

"I mean, it's real hard to have the Priestess Elsbeth in your slayer team if she's serving at the temple of purity in Foxbridge. Seduce her though? Now she's damaged goods in the eyes of the goddess. A few reassuring words, a shoulder to cry on and now she might just come along with you when you leave town."

Rufus raised his sword angrily but Tyron sidestepped to put Elsbeth between them.

"That's not what happened," she denied.

"Oh, I think it is," Tyron mocked. "Tell me the truth, has he asked you to join him at the slayer academy or not?"

"Shut up, Tyron," Rufus growled.

"Yes or no question. Has he asked you?"

"I-I-I mean. We all talked about it. We talked about it with you too!"

She was growing increasingly agitated at the situation, and Tyron's stinging words played on all her doubts and her fears. He could see it too, her thoughts were written all over her face. He tasted bile as he continued to play on her emotions. The more he agitated her, the more he angered Rufus, the better his chance would be.

"The real question I have is actually for Laurel," he said as he turned toward the huntress.

"I don't think so Tyron," she said as she drew back her bowstring and aimed straight at him.

Tyron spread his hands wide.

"I do. The question I have is this: did Rufus stop sleeping with you after he tricked Elsbeth, or no?"

Rufus roared and surged forward, barrelling past Elsbeth and knocking her into the wall. Tyron brought his sword up to meet the larger man’s as he barked "LIGHT!"

A bright globe flashed into existence right in front of Laurel's face as she released her arrow. She cursed as she flinched at the sudden flare, her arms jerking to the side and sending the arrow wide. Rufus' sword swept down with crash and Tyron was barely able to angle his weapon in time. Thankfully there wasn't enough room to allow a full swing, otherwise the larger man might have swept through his guard in one blow.

Weighed down by his pack, the best he could do was deflect the blade as he was driven to one knee.

"You always were a weak piece of shit," Rufus gloated.

"And you've been a fucking moron since the day I met you," Tyron grated.

With a mental command, both skeletons turned and surged forward, blades at the ready. Faced with two undead bearing down on him, the young Swordsman went pale and stumbled backwards, giving Tyron the space to rise. He couldn't allow Laurel the time to take another shot, he wouldn't get far out of town with an arrow in him, so he commanded one skeleton to rush at her as he advanced with the other at his shoulder.

He strode directly past the dazed Elsbeth against the wall, resisting the urge to reach out and help her.

Unwilling to give up his advantage he thrust toward the retreating Rufus, forcing the other man to defend himself clumsily as the glowing eyes of the skeleton stared him down. With luck more than anything else, he was able to strike a glancing blow, tearing a shallow cut across one thigh. Surprised by the pain, Rufus bellowed and clutched at his leg, which gave Tyron the brief opening he needed.

Gripping tight to his sword and one arm on his pack, he rushed past his former friend and through the door, sprinting out into the rain drenched night. A second later, both skeletons followed, their bones clacking on the stone as they ran before they too were out into the graveyard.

The three friends were left inside the Mausoleum filled with the sounds of Rufus cursing and Elsbeth quietly sobbing. Laurel clicked her tongue as the glare finally began to fade from her eyes.

"That was different," she murmured.

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