Ringing Bells[Black Ticket]

[Plot Device]

The Etrurian town was bustling as ever, people rushing to and fro, shouting at each other. It had been some time since any sort of garrison had patrolled the streets, and it showed in the carefree life each man and woman managed.


The Church in town had been renovated a year before. A generous donation from the local lord had insulated the worn steeple, raised the towers, bought new pews. The lord’s fallen son’s name was inscribed on a brick at the feet of Elimine, “To the Son of Lord Morwith MacFaren, Mikhail Macfaren, who died a hero.” It was a sentiment that was felt among the clergy, albeit with some minor reservations. The brick had been laid more as a thank you to the lord for the renovations more than it was for any deep love for the man himself. He’d been a troubled man, one with many issues that he’d carried to his early grave. His bones were kept in the crypt down below, with those of other holy men from the town.



At the present time, a young woman kneeled just before the stone, looking up at the statue. She prayed for peace, as her husband was off at war, fighting in Ilia under the Sage general that in his letters home apparently threw lives away like nothing. One of the Fathers helped her to her feet, and she was shown out of the church with a blessing. The church was open for prayer, any passing pilgrim could step through.

[Remus]

Remus had only recently gotten used to the weight of his new staff. While the aesthetic of it had swiftly grown on him, the staff still felt...strange in his grip. The white wood never heated nor cooled. It seemed to remain a universal temperature. Occasionally, though he was quite sure it was all in his head, when Remus gripped it he could feel the staff stirring. As if a consciousness responded to his touch. A perplexing thing to even think really, since he could not connect to the mind of another being. Let alone some how to that of an inanimate object.

The sensation had been on going for quite a while. He'd even been prone to day-dreaming quite vivid but brief erratic dreams of scenes he couldn't quite understand. It truly came from the fact that he just wasn't able to actually comprehend the scenes themselves. It was like a dream. The harder he tried to remember the more he seemed to forget. It had certainly made the travel from Ilia back to Etruria easier though. The priest quietly moved into one of the many towns which dotted Etruria's proper maps. The liveliness of it was a pleasant surprise. The first few towns had been heavily downtrodden or hidden as the Etrurian Occupation Force which had moved through hadn't been entirely gentle towards the population of the fringe towns.

The church was the first place he visited though. Shockingly, no doubt. The priests snowy white staff letting out faint wooden rapping sounds when ever the tip hit stone flooring. It was all in rhythm with his steps. The scruffy blue haired priest quietly strode into the central part of the fairly impressive church, at-least for such a town, before approaching the statue of Elimine. His face lit up with warmth and adoration before he quietly bowed his head and leaned upon his staff, hands clasping both near the lower layer of wings while he mentally said a faint prayer. Seldom did the priest pray aloud. It was the thoughts that mattered, not the word of lip.

[Plot Device]

Young Father Claudius was lighting the candles on the altar when he heard a faint tapping growing louder and louder. He turned and saw a priest, one unfamiliar to the church, walking with what appeared to be a rather elaborate stave. He approached the statue of the Saint, and bowed his head. Claudius watched as the older priest, Father Crassus, waited beside the young blue haired pilgrim with a wide smile. When Crassus turned his eyes towards the younger man however, they were less jovial, and Claudius quickly returned to lighting the candles on the altar. That was certainly far more interesting than anything happening with the gentleman with the fantastical stave, that was for sure.

When the blue haired priest raised his head, Crassus smiled once more, and drew closer to him. "Hello, my brother. It is a pleasure to see a fellow man of the cloth, even if his face is unfamiliar. Actually, especially if his face is unfamiliar. I am afraid it seems rare to find clergy men not off aiding the Inquisition or some other effort far larger than passing through our little town. You appear tired," the tall priest turned and looked at his younger companion, "Brother Claudius, if you would, go and fetch some wine and food for our friend from the kitchens, and do be quick about it."

The young priest was away in the drop of a hat, leaving three of the candles without flame to burn. "I am called Crassus," the tall priest continued, "I lead the longer masses here. Please, tell me traveler, what is it that brings you here, and what might we greet you as?" Not a few moments after the question was asked and Claudius was back, with three goblets of wine and a jug of water on one platter, two blocks of cheese with a knife and a large handful of grapes on the other. "Yes," the young priest exclaimed. "Tell us about what's been happening outside if you can?"

[Remus]

When the priest opened his eyes, there was a man approaching. A kindly man, by the looks of it. A man of the cloth. A welcome sight indeed even if it was expected, given the setting. The blue haired young Etrurian responded in kind with a small nod of the head even as he shifted to rest his hands upon the staff further and let his weight allocate upon it. Kind gaze and wide smile plastered upon his expression while he returned the man's kindness. Even if his mind weighed heavily with the mention of the ilian

"Ah, and you as well Brother. Ah..yes the occupation has taken many of our faith to other places, and often places of war. I myself was one such until recently. It is...a troubling prospect. Though we can only hope to live by Elimine's example and spread good will where ever we find opportunity to. Ahah, worry not though. I am but weary in body alone. My spirit is restless and ready to continue it's travels if it can bring good to any."

He nodded his head once more upon the man's introduction, and while he sent the other man off Remus quietly observed. Gaze following the man who sought refreshment while feeling a slight unease. He did not like others bringing such to him, for it meant others were waiting upon him instead of his preference to the contrary. Despite this, when the young man returned the priest greeted them with a name and his thoughts.

"Ah, I am Remus. Simple man of the faith as we all can ever be, and I confess I am sadly uncertain as towards the fate of the outside world bar the efforts to occupation Remi. I've only recently returned, as I said."

Though he did partake of the water, to soothe his parched throat he did not indulge in the wine.

[Plot Device]

Crassus nodded as the young priest answered him, a smile softly taking his lips upwards. He gestured for the priest to follow him to a pair of chairs next to the statue of their savior and went to sit down. "Absolutely my boy, war is never something which we can allow to rest in our mind. It is a poor follower of her way that does not see bloodshed and weep, even if there are those among us who see it as necessary. Many young men in this town alone have gone of to fight in the holy war, and I fear I may never see them smiling back at me during a service again. Very troubling." Crassus cut himself a slice from the block of Gouda held out by Claudius, while the younger priest continued to examine the blue haired man's staff.


"So, will you tell me where home is my friend? You have left the front but where do you return to? I must confess, though he speaks far too freely, Claudius here is at least being honest. Here in our town life has been much the same since the Garrion pulled out two years ago. I scarce imagine how different things would be had Lord MacFaren not put his foot down. But you must Imagine, with so little changing on the inside, even an outsider who wears the robes of our order seems a strange sight. Little reaches us here I’m afraid, and the world must be very different.” Crassus kept his smile friendly. He exaggerated of course, soldiers still passed through, and news reached them at the same rate as any other town in Etruria, but the older priest was as curious as the younger. Though neigher longed to stand on the front lines, they did wish for word of the war, how the expansion went and how soon it would come to an end.


Claudius popped a grape in his mouth as he stood and listened, keeping his eyes on the staff. He stood just on the opposite side of the brick that lay at Elimine’s feet.

[Remus]

Remus knew all too well, the sorrows of war. He remembered the injured. Both from the disaster of Fort Modlin as well as the incidents through out the five villages they occupied on the approach to Remi. The Etrurian forces hadn't precisely treated the ilians with the grace that an occupying host should have. He remembered how had he had to struggle to get permission to heal the wounded Ilian citizens and soldiers. The priest had to defend the wounded from Etrurian soldiers, and just setting up a tent within a small town to heal the injured civilians was met with fierce opposition. He could still recall the blood that stained his robes and hands. The wounded screams and shouts. Then there was the failed bombing. The burn wounds. The tireless warping and barriers, getting the injured wyvern riders out of the sky and to the wounded words. Trying to mend wyvern and rider, trying to save both. For if one lived but the other died it could adversely effect them. Obviously they hadn't saved them all, but that was simply a sad fact he'd had to grow accustomed to.

The priests frown etched upon his features as he gazed up to the statue of the Saint. His words reminiscent of thoughts some time prior.

"War is sad. An Unnecessary war is cruel. So many will die, so far from home."


The priest thought to his home. The fields and orchards between rolling hills. The fields of tall grass. Tumbling and rolling about them. The priest thought fondly of the orphanage and the children running around while he helped tend to them and play with them, his father and mother watching over them all. He smiled once more, even if it was a fainter smile while he looked to the older man.

"Ah. I lived in a small community between Ligure and Aquleia. It is there I return, though I've some way to go yet."

The priest pondered quietly. Gazing towards the wonderfully detailed statue of Elimine with thoughtful expression briefly before averting his eyes back to the other holy man with a bit of a lessened smile now opposing his previously warm one.

"Fort Modlin fell, and prior to my departure they were laying siege to Remi. The Ilian army, as far as our informants had confirmed, was still crossing the mountains to arrive at Carrhae. Though Remi was defended, it wasn't enough to resist the force of four thousand strong preparing to lay siege. I truly fear for the city's inhabitants. "

[Plot Device]

As the young pilgrim spoke, both the other priests listened in silence. They ate up each and every word, nodding in solemn agreement at his description of war, smiling with support as he recalled home, and nodded once more at the end of his update. Crassus spoke, with weight behind his soft voice, "Aye my brother, it is always hard when war is waged. Innocents die all around us, and for what. Truly I wish we could all wake up tomorrow in the light of our Saint, if all of us had been born Etrurian or not this war would have no cause." He then shook his face and made a hand sign. A pair of young men entered the Church, looking around. "Excuse me." Crassus stood, and hurried towards the pair who'd only barely crossed the threshold.

Not a second after he was gone and Claudius had taken his seat, looking intensely at the other young priest. "So, your staff. I'm sorry, but I wanted to learn it, but never had the chance to learn the healing arts. It's okay if you don't want to tell me about it, but what is it that your staff can do? It looks nicer than a regular stave." He popped another grape into his mouth as he waited for the answer, then looked over at Crassus. The older priest was consoling one of the young men, a pair of men that Claudius recognized, then he began to direct the pair forward towards the statue. He had a guess on what the pair were there to pray over.

[Remus]

Remus agreed with the man, certainly. Loss of life was a sadness and he couldn't ever feel he'd done enough to alleviate the woes of the realm. However the priest quizzically gazed upwards to the statue of the saint. Expression unchanging while he mentally noted the mans comment as to the births of Elibe. A faint disagreement echoed in his mind. Conversations with Nayru within that quiet Ilian Inn coming to mind, concerning the religious beliefs of Elibe and the zealotry it brought. It reminded him as well, of his personal difference. How he merely believed it a philosophy as his view had sculpted and shifted. Elimine served as an example to humanity in her paths walked, and he believed Eliminism was a series of ways to follow this example. He was perhaps one of the few within his faith who did not idolize her as a deity. Merely a champion representing the best they could aspire to be.

Ahh, but if he asked Nayru he was positive she'd have a different perspective on the path Elimine walked. Before the blue haired priest could respond though in affirmation of the first part for the mans statement, he excused himself and moved towards the entrance. However the other man moved replace this priests spot and gave an intent filled look to the priest while plying him with questions. The arts of the staff. Probably one of the few questions he was actually legitimately qualified to answer with any depth of knowledge or worldly experience. It merely served to reveal to the priest, as he dwelt upon that notion, that he was still sorely lacking in worldly experience.

"Ah....admittedly..I've only recently acquired this particular staff. It's potential remains unknown to me. However what I am capable of I could be more precise. "

The priest lightly shifted his weight upon the staff itself while digits coiled securely around it at its mention with familiarity he couldn't quite yet justify.

"I've been able to heal from afar. Heal many of those directly around me at once. Heal a various assortment of injuries from critically fatal ones to minior ones, though the strain and difficulty depends on the injury. I can project fields to protect others from harm or lessen injuries they may take, along with various other imbuements upon the body. It is, perhaps, my only real talent aha!"

The priest smiled brightly towards the man, clasping the back of his neck with his back palm and rubbing lightly while fingers wove through messy blue hair; sheepish to speak of himself in any way that could be considered boasting.

[Plot Device]

Crassus led the pair to Elimine's feet, where the taller of the pair knelt first. He murmured a pair too low to be heard, but Crassus knew its meaning. It was a prayer to the Saint to watch over his fallen young commander, whom he'd loved as a brother. The pair came to the church once a month outside of services to give their prayer, but it had grown harder since the renovations. Now as they bowed their heads, they were always forced to look at the name of the man who'd given his life to try and save their town from being crushed by the fist of the Etrurian army in retribution for killing Inquisition forces. It filled the pair with regret. The shorter one bent his knees next, and it always seemed to hit him even harder. He'd still been with the army when the riot had broken out. He was in the garrison the townsfolk were rioting against.

While the prayers played out before them, Claudius nodded feverishly through Remus' description. "That sounds amazing! I've always heard of how many things people could do with their staff, but I've never heard of making shields for other people. I wonder what else you could do with it if you tried." The young priest threw his eyes to the young men, then to the brick below the shorter man's head. An idea formed in his head. One that had been germinating since he'd been sent to this church a little under a year ago. "Could it possibly... bring someone back from the dead?"

[Remus]

The Priest gazed on with curiosity to the brother Claudius who spoke of his amazement of staffs. The lapis haired Etrurian Priest quietly gazed to the state of Elimine, as the man spoke of what else he could possibly do. Long had he pondered this. Legends spoke of Elimine's thousands of great feats. No small number of which were with magic of the stave. So if he wanted to aspire to be like her, would he not have to try and emulate such feats? Yet reality and myth were often blurred when it came to figures revered as deities. Even he understood this. The notion did not lose any appeal despite the logic behind it. Remus quietly turned to clasp at his staff while tilting his head and gazing towards the man. Remus rested his weight upon the staff and pondered, before he looked to the ornate textures and gilded designs upon his pale healing instrument. It...certainly gave him a feeling beyond a normal staff. A feeling he could not quite describe.

Remus thought to those who he may have saved, if he very well could revive the dead. It occurred to him, that the priest had never actually tried prior. He'd never tried. What if he had this power all along and simply did not know it? What would that mean for him. What if he could've saved others? What if...he could've saved Carter... The priest quietly shook his head and dismissed the thought. He could not dwell on what was not. His friend was dead. It saddened him to think it though. Flynn and Carter had been the first two to accompany him. They'd traveled with him through Ilia's colds. Both Flynn and Carter entertaining the children so they did not dwell upon the ice and snow. Then Sacae.

Perhaps...with the time and lives that Carter had helped buy, Remus could make that worth while. Maybe he could make something out of it. The priest held his staff aloft and gazed to the man while nodding quietly.

"I know not if it can..but know that I shall try."

[Plot Device]

As the short man rose from his position at prayer, he had tears welling in his eyes. He strained to prevent even a single one from rolling down his cheeks. He was a hard man, a proud man. Even in a holy place, it would do his honor poor service to shed tears. The pair thanked Crassus, and slowly made their way from the church. The old priest had mixed emotions when that particular prayer brought men and women to the church, and it often did. He respected the lord's son in death, but had loathed the man in life. He was in no way a true follower of Elimine's light, and yet here he was immortalized as one, even though his life had been lived largely in contradiction to her aims for this world and the sheep of her flock. Not that he would ever utter such in front of any but the other brothers of the church who had known him, and who shared his feelings about the young man with a warriors spirit and a scoundrels heart. The younger brothers like Claudius, who had only heard of him in stories, seemed to believe that he was a sterling knight of the church. He was held in such great esteem by most in the town besides the upper crust that to utter any of his true vices would be viewed as blasphemy. No, better for Crassus to keep quiet.

When he returned Claudius was bouncing in his seat. "What has you so riled Claudius?" He asked only assuming that there was some grand piece of news that titillated the young man. When the excited youngster turned to him, the look in his eyes told that the news must have been grand indeed. The man jumped from his chair, almost spilling the platter he still gripped, and took Crassus' arm with his free hand. "Brother Crassus, Remus' staff may just be able to raise the dead. Do you know what that means?" Oh no. "We can raise him! We can bring back one of the greatest men beneath Elimine's cloth." The stories had been exaggerated. "He'll come back, and so many people will be able to thank him for his role in securing this town independence, and I'm sure those he helped as a priest of our saint will love him just the same on his return."

Crassus wanted to scream. Bringing someone back from the dead was impossible, and if they could, it certainly should not be wasted on the Rogue in the crypt below. Claudius however was not to be stopped it seemed. He whirled around to Remus, and said, "Brother Remus! Please, you must try and raise Mikhail, his bones rest in the crypt below the church. He was a hero, who died attempting to halt a riot which would have killed many in our town. In his time before that, he was a follower of our saint the same as us." He certainly was not, thought Crassus, but it had always been his policy not to speak ill of the dead. "Right brother Crassus?"

Ah, there it was. He would not say anything that disparaged a dead man, but he also would not lie to protect him. Backed into a proverbial corner, Crassus spoke in a measured voice. "He learned the ways of our order, and died to keep others from losing their own life." Claudius whirled about to look again at Remus, his heart thumping.

[Remus]

Ah. So this was someone that was er...long-dead. Now recently dead. He felt far more confident in his futile efforts if the person's body was still...well...present. However he had told them he would make an attempt, and if he could not succeed then what was the worst possible result? That he'd fail? He'd failed far worse at things with much less noble a cause. The priest quietly pondered it while listening to the descriptions of this apparent fallen man and thought to himself that he'd likely been a truly good person to have suffered such an end.

So here Remus stood, with two choices. Two, simple ones. Decline, never knowing for sure if it might've worked. Thinking back for all his days to come, of that one time he could've tried to restore a man's life but hadn't because he thought he couldn't. Accept, knowing he may look a tad the fool but would have given it an effort his heart could be proud of and his mind could recall with out the smallest modicum of shame. Truly, an easy path for him.

The priest turned his gaze to the older man as the man spoke about this fallen man's choices and his demise. He needed no further approaches or convincing on the matter. Smiling softly with a warmness about him, the blue haired young priest tapped the butt of his staff to the ground and gazed brightly to either man before speaking in his normally upbeat tone with that normal vibrancy.

"Ahah, I shall certainly do my best. Can you er...lead me to his remains? I shall see what I can do from there."

[Plot Device]

Claudius leaped from his seat, and rushed away, leaving Crassus with Remus alone. He longed to beg the man not to follow through. Not that it would work of course, but if it somehow did, well then, it would be far better used on anyone else in the crypt. When Claudius appeared from the chamber in which several items of utility were stored with a torch in one hand and a crowbar in the other, the older priest sighed. He turned, and made the trek to the front of the church, to close the door to prayer. They would need to take time from the day to do this. This useless attempt to embarrass a visitor.

Claudius had already unlocked the door to the crypt by the time Crassus was back to stand beside the statue. He took up a candelabra, lighting it against a candle on the altar, and then followed the excited young man down, the Blue haired priest in between them. They went down in silence, but the back of Claudius' head radiated excitement in the dim light of the torch he carried. The fool believed today he would see a miracle. It would be a pity to see that hope dashed. Maybe he should stop it before...

The second they were down the steps, in the crypt, Claudius was off. It was the second closest tomb, a raised wood coffin next to the stone one that held the priest Crassus had served under as a young man. It had almost been too much to let them store the young fool next to a man who had shaped Crassus so. Claudius however, was determined to raise the lord's son. A selfless man he believed. He held the torch out, and Claudius took it. Then, with great care, he used the bar to pry the lid off the coffin. Inside were the bones of the young lord, given to the church by his father, who knew it would give his wife peace to know their son had been layed to rest in the house of the saint.

"Okay! Ready when you are."

[Remus]

Remus quietly followed Claudius as the man opened the door, and slowly followed him through the lower crypt paths. Perhaps it was his experience with that dark..dark temple ruin in Vinland, but Remus instinctively lifted his palm upwards and quietly began to exude a faint light from his palm. The orb of light magic that appeared at his conjuring was faint but easy to maintain without any noticeable loss in stamina and better lit the dark corners of their path. He'd gotten used to, as Nayru put it, being a "little blue walking torch".

The path was not long. Once the boy had dashed for the second tomb, Remus quietly directed himself to follow. Eyes lingering on the coffin while the lid was pried open, and body slowly moving to the front of it while he gazed down through that dark place towards the contents. His kindly gaze scanning it while the young Etrurian priest tried to fully comprehend the scope of what he was about to attempt. It was certainly a fruitless endeavor seemingly, upon first speculation. Again though, the priest was there to try. His lips parted, tongue darting along and wetting them as he inhaled slowly, to steady himself. Gaze directing to the bones as he took in the atmosphere. The cold, wet, damp crypt with palms quietly lifting his staff aloft. He'd no idea how to even attempt it...but his greatest trade was healing so..

"Nothing Ventured, nothing gained..."

He stepped forwards quietly. Staff risen aloft, and called upon the magical powers he'd come to know so well within himself. It started like a faint wind. Slowly sweeping through the space around him as lapis robes rustled. The drifting currents stirring about while his staff began to pulse with a heart-beat like light. Every moment it thrummed before expanding with the intensity growing every passing moment. The bright blue light blossoming outwards and imbuing around the bones. The priest leaning forwards as he tried to strain harder over his fruitless struggle.

Light built. Swelled. Filled. Yet nothing. Bones remained just that.

The priest paused briefly as his first attempted failed. Frowning and feeling a well of dismay. How he longed to do this one thing. How he'd fooled himself into believing he'd bring back this dead, good man. He frowned further before he figured he would try again. Putting every hope, every aspiration into this one moment. He lifted his staff, resolved to manage it this time. As he lifted a staff, a voice echoed through his mind. It sounded like his own but it felt...like someone elses. As if he heard someone speak instead of thought the thought.


Where one falls short, Two shall stand.

He hesitated. Unsure what would prompt him to think this. It felt odd. Like a thought placed into his mind but foreign to his own. None the less, he pressed on to try again. Staff raising high. He went to draw on his magic once more..and....


Instantly a near blinding blast of light permeated from the Etrurian priest. His eyes alight with holy magic and his entire body enveloped in a blue warm hue before his staff's gem within the center crest atop its peak brilliantly burned with a nebulous radiance. A swirling mass that seemed to contain the internal details as if a tiny celestial embodiment before the light focused and enveloped the coffin in it's entirety. The overwhelming magic imbued within and making vision impossible around the coffin and the contents within for a moment before the light began to simmer and fade. Even as it did, the light within the priests body and eyes instantly faded and he felt a colossal pressure over-take him. So much so, that he instantly dropped while his knee's buckled and he hit the ground as hard as if he'd been thrown to it. The effort to keep himself up such a strain that he felt like someone was trying to press him down, before he shakily began to rise with heart racing so ludicrously fast that his body felt numb and prickly at once.

His muscles ached and his body was weary. A small trail of crimson trickling down his nose as his body began to catch up to what had gone over him, and the priests breathing ragged and wild. Chest rising and falling with lungs unable to seemingly get enough air. As if he was on the cusp of hyperventilation. The priest slowly gazed up to the coffin with eyes finally adjusting from brightness to the overwhelming dark, absolutely silent.

[Nathaniel]

“Elimine’s t*ts what the F**K was that?” A shock of blonde hair in full tangle sprung from the coffin, as Mikhail Nathaniel MacFaren sat up, shocked awake. He’d known it was real, he’d gone to stop a riot without a second thought, and been stabbed by a woman he’d once loved before she knew it was him. Then, only seconds after he fell to the ground, his blood drained and his light fading, a great light had suddenly enveloped him, and he was no more, only a case of bone that was suddenly filling with new organs and fluid, then covered by sinew and tissue. Then he’d woken up. In a coffin.

He was alive again. The Light Mage rubbed his hands across his face, checking that he was still there, and that he was still him. From what he could tell, he was his mother’s gray eyed boy, and he was very real. As real as real could get for a dead man. Finally he looked between the men around him. Priests. Fantastic, priests. However long he was dead and the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is a bunch of stuffy priests, here to tell him why he shouldn’t drink, or galavant, or do anything that made being alive worth it. Out of the grave and here he was, back under another roof of Elimine, no matter how hard he tried to get away from her he always got dragged back somehow.

He cleared his throat, good lord, was his mouth dry. He needed a stiff drink, he’d been sober for however the hell long he’d been in this wooden box beneath the earth. “Which one of you wants to tell me what the hell just happened?” The young man looked down. “And get me a pair of trousers.” Nathaniel’s mind raced. How long had he been gone? What had happened in the world while he’d been away. Had the war ended? Were the monsters crushed under foot? Had people finally realized that vodka was a drink they shouldn’t even force mules to drink? So many questions.

He ran his hands through his hair as his face fluctuated with heat and cool as a wave of different feelings hit him. How long had he been gone? Even a day dead was too long. A priest, a young one who seemed both elated and confused spoke cautiously. “Lord Mikhail, you’ve been brought back from beyond the grave.” Nathaniel’s face twisted and he threw his hand away, “Don’t call me that. I’m Nathaniel, that’s what everyone but my mother calls me. How did I… how did I come back.”

The oldest priest’s face showed shock, and almost fear, but he spoke slowly, “The young man with the blue hair brought you back. At a great expense to himself.” Nathaniel whipped his head to the side, and saw a man around his own age struggling to rise.

“I can’t believe any of this. If this is hell, it’s been a damn good trick. But if its real… I don’t. I don’t know what to say. Nothing I can do will ever be enough to make up for what you’ve done. You’ve given me a second chance to live, and that is something I will remember and puzzle over for the rest of my life. Thank you, I can’t believe that this is real.” The old priest covered his mouth with a fist and cleared his own throat.

“Claudius, go fetch a spare set of travelers clothes for Nathaniel.” The young priest quickly obliged, Crassus could see the disappointment on his face. “Perhaps, my brother, you could return to the seminary, and use this second chance to spread Elimine’s wisdom as it has saved you.

Two minutes later, Claudius returned to the crypt with a pair of travelers and a rough tunic, along with a pair of cloth boots. As he set them down, Nathaniel finally stopped laughing.