B4C9 - What It Takes (Patreon)

Richard staggered out of the cave and into the light, blinking owlishly. It took a few seconds for his brain to register the glare of the light stabbing his brain. He closed his eyes and flinched back awkwardly, almost stumbling over his own feet. How long had it been since he’d slept? Since he’d been allowed to sleep?

“Hurry up and piss!” Tyron snapped from within the cave. “You’ve got more work to do on your threading!”

At the sound of the Necromancer’s voice, the young man flinched, then slumped in despair. With slow, staggered steps, he began to make his way into the woods so he could find a likely tree. Leaning against the wood as he did his business, he felt as if he might have dozed off for a second. He was so exhausted, he could have fallen face first into an ants nest and slept soundly as they repeatedly stung his face. He’d never known fatigue like this before, or anything remotely close.

His thoughts moved though bogged down in molasses. Slowly. Each thought struggled to connect to the next. It took him several moments to recall that he was supposed to return to the cave and continue practising. In that moment, he almost wept.

It took all of his willpower, but Richard mastered himself and began the slow walk back to the cave. As long as he kept going, it would end. All he had to do was keep working, and eventually the nightmare would stop and he would at last be allowed to sleep.

“Is that… Richard? Are you still up here?”

A voice called out to him, and Richard, for a moment, wondered if he’d begun to hallucinate. Was there really another person here? Someone come to rescue them from their relentless teacher? He turned his head and saw that yes indeed, someone was there, the blonde priestess who he’d met shortly after the Awakening.

“Uh. El… Elsbeth?” he mumbled.

“That’s me,” she smiled, walking up to him. As she drew closer, her expression began to shift from bright and warm, to show increasing concern. Once she reached his side, she was clearly worried, extending a hand to grab him by the arm.

“Are you alright, Richard? You look dreadful! Look at your eyes, they’re practically red! When was the last time you slept?”

When was the last time he’d slept? He wasn’t sure. He tried to count the number of times it had been dark outside since they’d started working on threading, but couldn’t quite trust he had the numbers right.

“Three… I think… I think it’s been three days?” he said, not sounding confident at all.

“Three days!” Elsbeth gasped. “That’s dreadful. I know your Constitution gains can help you endure a lack of sleep, but this is ridiculous. You could only have levelled once or twice. Don’t fall into bad habits this early into your life as an Awakened.”

She continued to lecture him while Richard’s fuzzy brain tried to work out why she could possibly imagine any of this was his idea. Elsbeth held onto his arm and guided him towards a seat, speaking all the while. When she eventually asked him a question, Richard had no idea what it was, he could finally get a thought out.

“I didn’t want to be up this long,” he said.

A moment later, he realised those words could possibly constitute a kind of betrayal by his teacher. He opened his mouth to try and correct himself, but closed it again when he realised that Elsbeth was no longer in front of him. Where had she gone? Was it some kind of magick?!

“TYRON!” she bellowed from behind him, causing the young man to jump in his seat.

What confronted Elsbeth inside the cave was equal parts comedy and tragedy. Tyron sat at the head of the table, feverishly scrawling into his notes, eyes half bulging from his head, while at the same time performing a one-handed weave using magick threads with his free hand. As if that weren’t enough, he somehow also had the capacity to rant at the two students who sat at the table with him, each hollow-eyed and sluggish, slowly working their hands as they practised some form of magick or another.

At her shout, Tyron cut off immediately, turning a baleful glare on her, whereas it took the students a couple of seconds to register her presence.

“What are you doing interrupting my teaching, Elsbeth?” Tyron snapped. “We were just starting to get somewhere.”

She looked from him to the near corpses that were his students, then back to him.

“Are you out of your mind, Tyron?! They’re so exhausted they can barely move! Look at them! No, really look at them!”

At first, Tyron had flicked them a dismissive glance and looked away, but at her demand, he actually took a second to properly assess them. Then, he squinted a little.

“Oh,” he said, sounding surprised.

“Is that really all you have to say?” Elsbeth said acidly. “You’ve worked them into a stupor. They’ll be lucky if they remember anything from the last day. Three days without sleep? What in the name of the Dark Ones were you thinking?”

“Three days?” Tyron blinked, visibly confused. “Hasn’t it been four?”

“What?!”

After more shouting and hollering, Georg and Briss were eventually ejected from the cave, emerging into the sunlight to join Richard, who sat awkwardly nearby while the priestess continued to scold the Necromancer inside.

“How dare you treat them like this?”

Something unintelligible.

“People need sleep!”

More muttering.

“No you are not normal!”

It would go on like this for some time before a dishevelled-looking Tyron walked out of the cave. He appeared somewhat irritated though there may have been an element of embarrassment underneath. With one hand scratching his cheek, he addressed the three students somewhat sheepishly.

“Uh… Apparently… I’ve been working you too hard?” He sounded a little doubtful.

“You have,” Elsbeth insisted, emerging from the cave with her arms crossed across her chest, glaring.

“Fine. Go back to town and get some sleep. I’ll call on you again in a few days. Don’t forget to practise.”

It took a moment for the three students to realise what had taken place. As soon as they realised they were finally free, they reacted with strong emotions. Georg slumped over, uttering a prayer to the Three. Richard simply fell over and began to crawl/roll down the mountain. Briss silently wept.

Tyron shifted uncomfortably. 

Perhaps, now, he could see that he had gotten carried away and pushed the young people too far. With the help of some skeletons, he managed to get the three of them home while Elsbeth watched him disapprovingly.

“I said I was sorry,” he grumbled.

“That’s not good enough and you know it,” she sniffed. “I thought you were finally starting to take care of yourself, but not only do I find you slipping back into your worst habits, I find you forcing them onto others who are not equipped to deal with it like you are! Honestly, Tyron. What was going to happen if I didn’t intervene? Would they have just worked until they literally collapsed?”

“They didn’t say anything!” Tyron defended himself, a little lamely. “I would’ve thought they would mention it if they were being pushed beyond their limits.”

Elsbeth scowled.

“I notice you said ‘would’ve’ thought. You didn’t actually think about it, did you? Not even once.”

He hadn’t. Caught up in the work, he’d paid little mind to his students save that they were practising, or helping him work on his new threading technique. Especially at first, it was easier to use the methods Georg had recalled with more than one person, which had led to a whole new area of study which was weaving with more than one Necromancer’s threads at the same time. There had been a few revelations come out of that exercise, each of which had pushed his understanding of this new weaving technique further.

“I got a little carried away,” he admitted.

“A little?”

“Yes, a little. This might seem absurd to them, but I’ve done this sort of thing all the time. Going a week without sleep isn’t that a big a deal for an Awakened.”

“For someone like you, with a level over forty, sure. They’re level TWO!”

“Alright! I get it! I’ll be more careful in future.” Tyron felt his temper flaring and worked to tamp it down before he turned back to Elsbeth, the only one of his childhood companions who wasn’t an undead in his service. “What did you come up here for, Elsbeth? Is there a problem?”

She shot him a look to let him know she wasn’t done arguing with him, but moved on for the sake of furthering the conversation. 

“I came up here for a few reasons. One, to check on you and your students.”

Another glare.

“And to see if the Slayers had been up to meet you yet. I know they wanted to see you after you returned, but I have no idea why.”

Tyron grunted. The local Slayers were more of a pain than they were a help, but that would change if they were willing to commit to the fight against the Magisters. If they did, he would have a reason to invest in them, even if they only paid lip service to start with. It wouldn’t take much to turn them into traitors in the eyes of those in charge of the purge. In fact, they likely already were, given the number of ‘heretics’ out here in Cragwhistle. When they eventually reached this place, the Magisters and priests would burn the whole city to the ground and kill everyone here, without exception. 

The only chance they had was a general uprising. If it also helped him achieve his goals, Tyron was willing to play along and help foment such a rebellion. 

“I haven’t spoken to them since I returned,” he said. “I’ve been… busy.”

“So I see,” Elsbeth stated tartly.

“I’ve made a major breakthrough, Elsbeth! Georg told me about rope making and, although a lot of the methods involved can’t be directly applied, the fundamental principles still apply to bone weaving. With some further refinement, I believe I’ll be able to strengthen the sinews of my skeletons by as much as half! 

“With some time and practice, I should be able to completely restructure my weaving methods to work with the thicker strands and produce Revenants capable of utilising their full range of abilities! Do you know what that means?”

Getting swept up in the moment, Tyron’s eyes were gleaming with manic light. Elsbeth simply nodded.

“Well, that’s nice, I suppose,” she said. 

“Nice?” Tyron said, spinning to face her. “‘Beth, this is a huge step forward in the field of Necromancy! This could unlock all sorts of possibilities!”

“Just keep in mind that your students can’t help you if you kill them, or scare them off.”

Well, that was a good point.

“Now are you going to sleep?” she asked him pointedly. “You've been working for what, four, five days? Don’t you think it’s time for some rest?”

It wasn’t what he wanted to hear. The Necromancer’s mind reeled with all of the things he wanted to do. Further development of the ‘rope thread’ method was critical. Getting the greatest improvement in strength for the smallest increase in width was an inexact science and he had several different weaves to try. Then there were the many, multi-faceted applications of the ‘rope thread’. How to best form tougher, stronger musculature? How to shape and forge more durable joints? Which joints would benefit the most? Fingers would probably need to still be made of the thinnest, finest threads, but shoulders, hips, knees and ankles could all do with being able to handle a higher load.

And to determine the best course of action, experimentation was required! Exhaustive, repetitive experimentation! He had to get skeletons onto the Altar and re-weave their threads. Perhaps ten at a time, to have a good size group with each different thread configuration. His weaving Skill was going to be maxed out in no time at this rate.

“Tyron?” Elsbeth pointedly interrupted his thoughts.

He rolled back his head and groaned.

“Fine! You’re right, I know you’re right. I’ll eat and sleep and all of that nonsense.”

She’d convinced him it was necessary back in Kenmor that resting was more efficient, since his work got worse and worse the less he slept, and that argument still held true. Despite being able to endure more privation than ever before, after five days of consecutive work, he was getting worn down. It was time to rest. 

Though she wasn’t pleased to hear the necessity of sleep and food ‘all that nonsense’, Elsbeth still nodded in satisfaction.

“Good. Don’t forget to wash yourself also. And probably change your close while you’re at it.”

It was difficult not to roll his eyes. Here we was trying to further the advancement of a totally undeveloped field of magick, largely by himself, and he was getting henpecked about his clothing.

“Alright, Elsbeth. Will there be anything else?”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll come back and speak to you tomorrow.”