"Sounds like a long of stupidity to me," Priscilla said as Bishop Luis handed her a tray full of bowls before taking a tray himself. "Let us head back. Gretchen, have your husband and your son take the soup upstairs, please."
"Right away!" Gretchen responded over her shoulder as she worked several pots.
"Of course it is," Bishop Luis responded to Priscilla's comment. "But Bishops are only in charge of the major cities. We are 'grunts' within the church. The actual higher-ups are called the Inquisition."
"How come I hadn't heard of this before?" Priscilla commented as she followed the Bishop back through the corridors.
"Because the Empire only tolerates us," Bishop Luis said. "I'm sure they do not teach you much in the way of religion, other than the Emperor is a god."
"They haven't taught that in several years," Priscilla said. "We recently gained a Theology course within the Academy. I've always wanted to join it..." Her voice grew smaller as the memories of her friends surfaced. She hadn't done much of anything so they all could take classes together. Their schedules had been a mutant of compromises between the group.
"And why haven't you?" The Bishop stopped, sensing the change in her voice.
Priscilla nearly bumped into him. She managed to stop and balanced the bowls to keep them from clattering to the floor. She looked up to him. He saw her eyes held a vastness he'd only seen in the old soldiers. Bishop Luis felt his heart soften when he saw it. He may not have been the best person, but like others, he believed a child's eyes should be bright; full of naive hope and wonder.
"Because I wanted to be with my friends..." Priscilla said with a sobering quietness as she pushed past him and into the main hall.
∇
Old bricks held underneath the weight of centuries. They still bore the signs of war. Genocide. Destruction. Not even moss had dared to grow within the forgotten tunnels of Gulley's port. Commander Jogun did not know it by that name; he knew it by a much older name. A name long tarnished by the barbaric transgressions of humans and beastmen.
"Etheral Sands." The draugr spat with a snarl.
Flanked by several Black Ones and the tens of undead, they marched near silently through the dry underground. Tunnels that'd been built with elven stone by the eastern dwarves. Etheral Sands had been one of the first cities where the two races could co-exist. It'd been beautiful when Commander Jogun had been alive. In fact, he had walked these very tunnels.
The anger in him had been bitter memories turned red.
He could still hear the laughter of children. The bustle of those annoying, but honest dwarves. The sweet singing of High Elves. He could no longer taste. No longer feel. The memories had turned to ash in his mouth regardless. The last time he'd been through, they were running for their lives. Running from the host of invading humans who, despite the city's elite guards and magical powers, fell underneath the sheer numbers the humans threw at them.
He could see the phantoms of women and children. The old and the sick. He could not remember their individual faces, but he could still remember the fear that hung in the air. Thicker than the smoke that rose from the falling city. The tunnels they marched through now had been the emergency tunnel for dwarves. It'd been tunneled for when the sea eventually poured into their caverns. Only by the grace of the superior elven stones had it never collapsed anywhere. He had once complained about the cost of it.
Now he was happy they had built it so strong. Because now he was marching back into it to slaughter the invaders. As if the undead behind him could feel his anger, his hate, their eyes glowed a bright blue within the inky black tunnel.
Then, Commander Jogun had sensed it. The tunnel had a constant temperature to it. Cool and dry. Now the ambient temperature had begun to warm ever slightly. As they continued their advance, the tunnel began to change. There were bones. They were of the elves and dwarves who hadn't made it. The ones who'd been injured. Marching past them, they finally began to find signs of life. Mold. Moss. Small critters.
Commander Jogun could feel the moisture on his leathery brown skin. Eventually, they came to the end of the tunnel. A light flickered through several holes in the mortar. Possibly from where the humans had tried to break through the stone. Maybe they had tried to expand. Whichever it was, it didn't matter.
Jogun pressed his hand against the warm stone and uttered an incantation. The lines between the stones glowed a faint blue. Then, they died down. Two Black ones appeared at his sides and began to push the stones out. With each one, they clattered onto things. Wood and metal. Several bricks later, they had to pull them as they found themselves behind a large shelf. The light poured around its contents and once they had gotten down to their hips in height, they pushed it over.
The shelf clattered to the stone below and glass shattered, along with clay pots. The draugr had been the first through the opening. He kicked the shelving aside and found himself with a shocked audience. There were a few young human males, bulky and wide-eyed. There was an older man in white robes, adorned with a sun. The sun stolen from their God Madin. They had reached their target, and even better, found their most hated enemy.
The draugr gave a wicked grin and drew his weapon.
, it'd been easy with her training. Mages were a profession that was often known for its repetitive courses, training, and work. It was also a highly prized position. Mana was not a hard thing to grasp, but it was not also an easy thing to master.
Priscilla would have loved to use the moment of respite to plan. Think of what came next. However, she drew blank thoughts on the subject and found herself wondering if she'd live through the night. She wondered if they knew the danger they were all in. She wondered if she knew the extent of danger she was in.
"How are you, Lady Priscilla?" Bishop Luis appeared beside her.
She looked up, panicked by his sudden appearance.
"Pease, young one." Bishop Luis smiled. "We're done here."
Priscilla looked down and found the large pot was nearly empty. The hall was no longer filled with the frantic pleas of serfs. It was now filled with a solemn peace to it as everyone delved into their meals. She wondered if they ate out of hunger, or fear.
"Come now, let us eat too," Bishop Luis gestured to the small table in front of the altar at the very back of the cathedral.
The mass of tables with food and plates had been set up under the mural of Alistair. The people ate amongst the pews with their family and friends. Priscilla and the church's hands had been segregated beyond the table before the altar. This was to keep the townsfolk from tearing into the supplies that'd been brought out for those who needed it. A few of the servants who had eaten at the beginning now walked amongst the pews. They carried bibles and read scriptures with those who wished counsel.
Priscilla was not a religious person in her mind. She found the sight touching though and sat down with the left-overs of her pot.
"Had Cyril been given food?" Priscilla asked.
"Of course," Bishop Luis smiled. "She requested more fruits. She never touched her soup."
"That's good to hear," Priscilla sighed. "She hasn't eaten much since she woke up."
"Not eating for a day will not harm her," Bishop Luis said as the rest of the servants picked a different table to give them some privacy.
Priscilla's expression tightened with amusement for a moment.
"What's so funny about that?" Bishop Luis laughed.
"It's nothing" Priscilla waved her hand dismissively.
"I know she's not mortal," Bishop Luis kept his amicable smile, her Priscilla's face cramped up. "No mortal eyes glow like hers. Silver is the eyes of Gods. Red is the eyes of Devils. Gold, however, I have never heard of. Do not get me wrong, I hold no issues with Lady Cyril herself, but I am a nosy man by nature."
"She's..." Priscilla mulled over what to say. "Special."
"Special indeed," Bishop Luis nodded encouragingly. "How did you two meet? I see the way you look to her."
"She saved me and my friends," Priscilla said as she stared the man in the eyes protectively. "I don't believe it's any of--"
"Now, now. No need to be defensive." Bishop Luis held up his hands while keeping that irritating smile on his lips. "The Light does not judge who you love. We only seek to be saved in our Lord's eyes."
"Cyril is an Angel," Priscilla confessed.
"An Angel?" Bishop Luis kept that unassuming smile. A smile that bred trust.
"We woke her up at the top of Fable's End after Prince Desmond's expedition was attacked by... By the undead and these black tendrils..." Priscilla breath shuddered. "She walked us out of that horrible place and brought us back."
"When was this?" Bishop Luis asked softly.
The rational part of Priscilla told her to shut up. Her heart demanded that someone hear her. Hear her torment - what she saw. And so, her heart won out and she laid it all out before him. He nodded his head along as she talked about how it all came to be. From her reason for signing up with the princes to the journey there. He laughed with her when she spoke up those honey-sweet times with her friends.
He held her hand when the words of death were uttered. He then rubbed her back as she spoke of the black death that rose around them. Of the undead that chased them. Of watching her friends die.
"I didn't hesitate..." Priscilla said. "When I saw those... Things... Come at us, I fought back. I was calm. I remember that. I had fought against those things with everything I had. But my friends..."
"It is okay... You can stop if you like..." Bishop Luis comforted her.
"No... My friends... They hesitated and they had died because of it. " Priscilla said in a detached manner. The horror had broken her past the point of tears. It had burned everything in her. She had been desensitized by it, or maybe she had compartmentalized it? She didn't know. Only, it was easy to talk so long as she kept her breathing steady and her voice monotone.
"We ran up the side of a small bridge to a portal," Priscilla said. "We didn't know if it would kill us or vaporize us, but we went through."
Then she spoke of the lake they found, and the wakening of Cyril. Of the wonders, she held in her home. With Bishop Luis's soft prodding, she spoke about their trip down. And how she had slain the dragon. Bishop Luis noted the sudden affectionate tone that had steeped into her voice when she spoke of Cyril. The soft smile that had blossomed when she spoke of the snow games. The grin that replaced it when she spoke of that accidental kiss on the field.
There was no question of what the girl felt for that... Goddess.
Bishop Luis was sure of it now. The ancient tomes had spoken of what lived on the summit of Fable's End. Cyril, the Creator. The City of High Elves. The tomes spoke of the war for that Goddess's resting place. But never had anything mention that she had in fact still lived. They only spoke of her as if she was dead. The story had come to its end and Priscilla looked to the Bishop.
"I believe you love her," Bishop Luis said.
"I know." Priscilla nodded.
"You know?" Bishop Luis asked.
"I know it here," Priscilla padded the top of her heart. "When we had kissed, I knew it. I may have not been meant for her, but I don't care. She is the most wonderful person I've met."
"I believe you may be suffering for what we refer to as 'Knight-In-Shining Armor syndrome," Bishop Luis said. "That is when someone saved falls in love with their savior. This may or may not be your mind trying to heal itself, but I will not tell you for certain. Just keep that in mind."
Priscilla was about to say no, but then a scream broke the peace. Then the world descended into chaos.