Chapter B3C73 - The Wight Which Rises

Chapter B3C73 - The Wight Which Rises

Youre looking tired, Master Almsfield.

Tyron blinked, then turned to look at his apprentice questioningly.

More than usual, I mean, Flynn hurriedly added. I mean, you always look tired, but right now Im not trying to be rude, Im merely observing

His master did nothing but maintain that steady stare until the younger man wilted entirely.

Im sorry, Master Almsfield. I spoke out of turn.

Finally, Tyron relented.

Its fine. I am fatigued. The past few weeks have been extremely busy, and Ive found my nights to be filled with work and study. More so than usual. Im hoping to return to a more normal schedule soon, before I have to leave again.

Flynn chuckled nervously, visibly pleased to be let off the hook for his impolite observations.

That work ethic is what made you into what you are today. Even Master Willhem has acknowledged your dedication and skill, and he was famous for his single-minded pursuit of the Arcanists art.

At the mention of his own Master, Tyron could only smile wearily.

My own passion for enchanting is like a candle compared to Master Willhems roaring bonfire. Perhaps there is such a thing as being too dedicated. He lives for nothing else. Despite all the money and fame he has accumulated, he still burns to perfect his art and nothing else can satisfy him.

I recommend you work hard, study hard, especially now in your youth, but if you wish to be happy, then do not seek to emulate my, or my Masters example. When you have achieved success, stop pushing, and cultivate other aspects of your life. You want to get married sometime, dont you?

His apprentice froze and blushed. How could anyone be this transparent?

I do, Flynn squeeked, then coughed and repeated himself in a lower tone, ahem I do, yes.

Tyron nodded.

You cant be married to enchanting and Cerri at the same time. As an example.

A flustered Flynn, began to try and deflect, but Tyron just waved his bluster away.

Focus. I want us to finish this batch of cores before we close for the night.Updated from novelbIn.(c)om

R-right. Sorry.

The two fell back to work, each scraping away at the cores before them with their pliance, engraving the sigils that would enable them to function for their intended purpose. These particular cores were intended for water-condensing implements, enchanted to draw in water from the air, which was cheaper, magickally, than turning raw magick into a drinkable liquid.

For another two hours, they worked, Tyron keeping a close eye on his apprentice, catching mistakes as they happened and providing instruction. For his part, Flynn was extremely grateful for the attention of his Master.

Despite his somewhat weak personality, Tyron was pleased with Flynn. The young man was a good student, a hard worker, when pushed, and had a genuine affinity for the art of enchanting. As the sun dipped over the horizon and the noise downstairs began to die down, they wrapped up, cleaning down their benches, putting away the tools, and settling the cores they had finished into a neat tray, ready to be set the following day.

With a pat on the shoulder and a slight nod, Tyron sent his apprentice on his way and farewelled the rest of his staff before he locked the front door and turned back to his now empty shop.

He was exhausted. Eyes that felt like hed rubbed them down with sand. A slight trembling in his limbs. Pain in his joints. A permanent sense of fuzz, hovering around the edges of his awareness. All the signs were there, and he knew it well. Right here, in this moment, he should choose to rest.

However, thats not what he did. Rather than going upstairs for food and sleep, he went into the storeroom, uncovered the secret stairs, and made his way down into his study.

Even in his deprived state, Tyron was self-aware enough to give a wry chuckle at his own choices. It was unfortunate, but he and Master Willhem were similar in more ways than one. Willhem had dedicated himself to enchanting and cut almost everything else from his life. The acclaim he received was merely evidence of his mastery, and served no other purpose.

Tyron loved magick, in all its forms, but he was fascinated by Necromancy. Unlike any other form of the magickal arts, it was a puzzle he had to assemble himself, without guidance, without reference. In fact, the complexity was a level above cobbling together a simple puzzle. Tyron was trying to fit the pieces together in the dark, unable to even see their shape, or gain a clue as to what the final picture was meant to be. Everytime the Unseen granted him knowledge, it was like a tiny flash of light, giving him a glimpse of the possibilities, then he was plunged back into the darkness, left to feel his way forward once again.

With a frustrated grunt, Tyron slumped in his chair, rubbing at his eyes with his palms. He was exhausted, drained, there was almost no way he would make a breakthrough in this condition. It was time to go to bed.

However, there was one thing he needed to do first.

His fingers danced in the air and words flowed from his lips as he bent his magick, bent the world itself, to a shape that was more pleasing.

Once again, the pillar of mist took shape, the baleful shade of Filetta contained within.

Release me, she demanded. I have done as you wished. Answered all of your questions. Release me!

Tyron nodded slowly.

Its true, he said, youve cooperated to the best of your ability, as far as Im aware. All of your former partners have been dealt with. You have my thanks.

Of course, Tyron had done his best to verify her words with every other member hed captured, just to ensure she didnt omit anything crucial. Despite his efforts, nothing had shaken loose. Filetta, it appeared, had dealt straight with him.

Its almost strange how quickly the docks settled. Afterwards, I mean. A powerful group like the Guild, built up over years, vanished overnight. Youd think thered be more of a disturbance, but life goes on, apparently. All of the territories and businesses you had your fingers in has been snapped up by others. Things are running so smoothly that I wonder if the Marshalls even noticed a change.

I dont care, the spectre rasped at him, I am dead. Set me free.

Tyron leaned back in his chair.

I always wonder about this, so I might ask the question, if youll forgive me. Why are you spectres so eager to move on to your next destination? Do you really believe it's going to be better than where you are now?

Even if I released you, no longer called upon your spirit, where do you think youre going to go? I know for a fact your spirit will remain here, in this realm, for some time, before it finally slips away. So whether I summon you or not, youre stuck here for the time being, Filetta.

The spectre hissed angrily at him.

Your call strengthens my bond to this realm. I can feel it. Every time we speak, you delay my eventual departure. I no longer want to be here, Tyron. I dont care where I go, it has to be better than this.

As he understood it, ghosts lived a fairly miserable existence. Every time he looked through the eyes of his own spirit minions, he caught a glimpse of it. Drifting through that mist-filled wasteland, unable to interact with the material world at all. It was little wonder they were so hateful toward the living.

When you leave this place, you will only find yourself within the realm of the dead, Tyron said softly. There will be no warm embrace of the Goddess for you, Filetta. I dont know much about that place, not yet, but I dont think its any better than what you are going through now.

Ill take my chances.

Tyron nodded, slowly. Then paused.

There is an alternative. Not a solution, but a way to lengthen your existence, delay your eventual fall to the realm of death.

Like them? The spectre hissed, gesturing toward Dags and the like. Bound to your will like a slave? No thanks, Tyron. I have been bound before, and I swore I wouldnt be again.

Not like them, Tyron corrected her. Those are Revenants, and as you say, they are subservient to my will. They cant even think about opposing me. That is their fate. However, there is another form of undead. A Wight. Youll have a greater degree of independence. And I think I can give you access to the Unseen again. Youll be able to gain a Class and level, though it wont be the same as what you had before.

Filetta, or at least, her ghost, hesitated for a moment.

What would be the point? For what reason would I exist? I have already lived my life and died. I have no great purpose left unfulfilled.

I do, Tyron said quietly.

His true obsession, the endless hunger for vengeance, to see the Magisters dead, burned as bright within him now as it had five years ago above Cragwhistle.

Let me tell you a little story, he said, about my real name, and what we might be able to do together.