Last Lord of the Fey (Progression Fantasy)

B3 - Chapter 10: What happens after death?


Tristan had gathered up several tomes and went back to Betty to check them out, only for her to dismissively wave a tendril towards him. I know which books I told you to get. You can keep them for a week before they are overdue. Lose them, and you have to repay the cost!

"Thanks," Tristan replied as he looked over at Eloise who was holding several of the books, as Tristan's arms were already laden. "Mind helping me drop these off in my quarters?"

She grunted out a reply, "Sure. Least I can do, since it's just you and Felicity I gotta worry about." Her wiry tail, tipped with a small, sharp spike, gripped her staff tightly. As she tapped it, the world around the two warped and Tristan was standing before his door. Leaning forward, he touched his pin to the wooden opening. The door flared a slight blue before cracking open ever-so-slightly. Shoving a toe in, he wedged the door open, set the books down inside, and then turned back to grab the other books from Eloise.

"Thank you," he said softly as he saw the dim-lit oil lamps deeper into the quarters.

Eloise straightened her robes and switched her staff from her tail to her hand. "Happy to help. Tomorrow there is a field trip that Bertram and Rory are escorting. An expedition to the Elemental Realm of Lightning. If you are interested, I can advise the professor in charge of the day trip."

The idea of spending time with his half-brother was too enticing, and even though Tristan really wanted to study these new spells, he wanted to reconnect with his brother he had not spent time with in two years more. "We'll come along." He set the other books down on top of the first set, making a neat pile in the entry hall near the clothing pins.

"Excellent," Eloise replied. "Mid-morning, ten-o'clock, head to the marketplace and the portals on the far side" She looked him up and down, "With your gear." She tapped her staff and vanished.

Tristan shut the door behind him. As he walked back to the bedroom, he saw that Felicity had acquired flower petals from somewhere and had strewn them in a delicate pathway leading from the middle of the entry hall to the bedroom proper – the flickering oil lamps casting dancing shadows.

The bedroom was awash in colored flower petals, and Felicity was laid back in her elfanoid form, in the same appearance as their first intimate night together. She rolled over ever so slightly and let her arm drape across her bosom. "You kept me waiting."

Tristan quickly disrobed and joined her in the bed, losing himself in her embrace. The warmth of her hands clasping his own as their lips locked in a passionate grip.

Tristan woke up early. He knew it was far earlier than he normally woke. The prior night was fantastic, and he looked back at the still-quite-asleep form of his female companion. I've got to be one of the luckiest people in the Mortal Realm, he thought as he gently got up as to not disturb her.

The pile of books on the floor next to the entry hall practically called to him. Well, he thought, since I'm already up. I might as well get a head start on this. He tip-toed to his clothes and rummaged for his belt pouch, pulling the Omnitome out of it. One by one, he touched each spell book he had checked out to the Omnitome. Up to Thirteenth Order in ice, fire, and smoke elementalism, artifice, flora, illusion, imbuement, enchantment, and fortune.

The spells started out being vast in number for the lower Orders – First through Third. But then as they went up from there, the number dwindled until he only had one spell per Order at Twelfth and higher. That struck him as particularly strange, as his grandfather's manual had spells figured out and written down all the way to Twentieth Order. Maybe, he thought, that Jacoby fellow that grandfather Hurvun traveled with was extremely capable…and never wrote down his spells. It makes some sense, also, that the most powerful spells in existence would be very restricted in who can access them. I know if I developed a high Order spell that could drastically alter the world, I'd keep that knowledge to myself.

He had never seen someone use a Twentieth Order spell, but if his grandfather's manual was to be believed, it was possible. But then another thought struck him. What if it is all theoretical? Grandfather never grew his crucible to that extent. As far as I know, I have the most essence capacity out of any with the Dragonslayer bloodline.

Suddenly he was questioning some of the contents, and as he held a tome containing fortune spells to the back of the Omnitome, he flipped it open to the section on dragonslaying spells. Knowing what I know about essence-weaving and making spells, it takes a lot of testing. Grandfather would not have been able to test these spells. But if he never had the essence capacity, how could he? And this Jacoby was not part of our family since he was adventuring with grandfather before he had children. So he couldn't have tested and experimented.

Tristan suddenly had a very odd question to ask his grandfather the next time he was in the Fey Realm. He continued feeding the Omnitome each spell book until they were all stored, and checking the time in the front he saw that there were still a few hours left before the sun would rise. Slipping on his clothes, he peeked back into the bedroom. Felicity did not stir. Might as well return the books really quickly, then pop over to the Fey Realm to grab my arm- he paused, and cursed at himself under his breath. I gave the Gnomes my armor. Well…I do have grandfather's set…and Fawkes' as well. Same with the swords. I'll just have to use one of theirs.

He spun his essence crucible as he piled up the books under each arm. It was quite unwieldy, but he managed, and used the stored teleportation spell in the pin to travel to the Archives. There was a drop box for books to be returned, and he set the stacks on the ground before feeding them in. You know, maybe I can also ask Betty.

He headed to the central desk. Very few students were present, but there were a handful – from all different Realms of existence. Once more, Tristan was struck by the sheer number of different essence-weavers who were so incredibly diverse. In particular, a floating sphere made of spikes looked to be staring down at a book on a podium. Small wisps of black emanations pushed down, seeming to keep it aloft.

Ah, I see you're looking at Seymour, Betty said in his mind as he approached.

"That's the spike-ball-thing's name?" he asked in a whisper.

Yes. He's a sphere of torment, from Hell.

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That caused Tristan to stand upright and look at the orb with further fear and awe. Hell, or The Hells, was a Realm rumored to be filled with nothing but pain and misery. A place where the dead went if they were evil in life. Seeing the orb here, seeing proof of The Hells, sent shivers through his spine.

Seymour is harmless, Betty stated in his mind. Just a student here, like you. And that whole nonsense about the dead going to The Hells if they are evil? Pure poppycock.

"What happens after we die?" Tristan asked, now even more intrigued by the conversation at hand.

That is difficult to say. There are many different scholars who have different theories. The most popular is that the Realm Protector of the Realm you die on will hoard your consciousness – sometimes referred to as a soul – for their own ends. For some, such as those who believe in the gods of The Mortal Realm, that entity is Froyr – he who awaits the end.

"I've heard of those with necromancy as a spell type able to recall the dead," Tristan said as he remembered Obadai discussing how he had brought recently deceased back to life. And not just as undead creatures for dumb labor and tasks, but actual full resurrection. "How does that work?"

The consciousness lingers near the body of the deceased for a short time. No longer than an hour, given the necromantic studies performed in controlled environments here at The Citadel. The more sudden the death, the longer it seems to linger, though times vary. One who dies of old age and their mortality will be impossible to resurrect, for the consciousness departs immediately.

The topic of where people went when they died was fascinating to Tristan, and he replied, "Is there a book that has more information?"

Several. I would be happy to point them out for you, but I am reading in your subconscious that you have an errand to run before it gets too late in the morning.

Tristan kicked himself mentally, "Right. Yeah. I'll have to check back with you on the whole "death" thing." He gave a slight wave – which Betty returned with one of her tendrils, and Tristan used his pin to teleport back to his room. Quietly entering, he was pleased to see that Felicity was still fast asleep and he had not disturbed her.

Gently sitting on the bed he pulled down the chained-to-the-wall writing desk and wrote a short message. "Went to the Fey Realm to get gear. We are going on a field trip. Be ready to leave by mid-morning."

Spinning his essence crucible while he pondered the concept of death and what would happen when he died, Tristan lost himself in thoughts. If what Betty said the theories suppose is correct, then I should really avoid dying in any Realm except The Mortal Realm and the Fey Realm. Froyr would judge me as deserving, I think. I mean…I've tried to be a good person. To do the right thing.

Tristan was never particularly devout as his whole family merely showed appropriate worship when events called for it. But he knew enough about the seven gods who functioned as a singular pantheon. Everyone knew the stories. Four Humans – Traft, Vil, Wesker, and Albert, and three Demihumans – Pila, Monu, and Froyr. All of them were mighty essence-weavers in an ancient era, and helped to shape the world. They worked together, each a seventh of the role of Realm Protector.

Some Realm Protectors, Tristan thought as he kept pushing essence into his ring. Didn't even respond to a Delve to seal it off. And I've never seen the gods take actions in my lifetime. Sure, occasional miracles whispered of, but no divine power on display. And they can't be too powerful if they are each one-seventh of the Realm Protector. Heck, grandfather killed one of those!

He felt that little bit of doubt, though, at the corner of his mind. Every Realm had a Realm Protector. Otherwise it would become a Lost Realm. What…or who is the Protector of this one?

Tristan's thoughts continued to pester him until his ring was full. Ensuring to keep the bed out of the radius, he transported to the Fey Realm and made a beeline for the Queen's Wood. Going down the tree, to the roots, he knocked loudly on Hurvun's door. Slight rustling noises behind it told him enough, and he opened it. "Grandfather, a quick word."

The older man rolled over and mumbled, "Go get me some fried toast." Tristan went over and spun his essence crucible, venting the cool substance to instantly lower the temperature. Hurvun cracked an eye open and grumbled, "What?"

"Your dragonslaying manual. It has up to Twentieth Order spells in it. How did you and Jacoby make them without testing?"

Hurvun turned over and pulled the blankets tighter around him, "You'd have to ask Jacoby. He figured out some way to test any spell he came up with."

"That's not reassuring," Tristan replied as he crossed his arms but ceased venting his crucible.

"It's the truth. Now unless you're getting me that toast, off with you!" Hurvun threw a pillow at Tristan which the young dragonslayer easily dodged.

Tristan departed and went to the crafting area. The Gnomes were hard at work, and going past them he saw the two suits of armor. Hurvun's armor was a deep, basic, castle-forged steel color. Slightly grey and matte. Fawkes' armor, on the other hand, was a deep green. Both were about equal in size and would probably be a bit large for Tristan. Glancing to the Gnomes, he cleared his throat. "Pardon, do you think we could make some adjustments?"

Thirty minutes passed and the Gnomes were able to adjust Hurvun's set well enough. It wasn't as secure-feeling as his personalized set, but it was serviceable. The same was true for Hurvun's Greatsword, which he sheathed into place. His maul was also fully finished – and whilst one side was a flat, bludgeoning edge, the other side had been augmented with an extremely sharp dragon's tooth.

When asked, one of the Gnomes replied, "You want versatility in a pinch. Already had the flat side, just needed a pointy side." The statement was done in a matter-of-fact style, and Tristan didn't dare question the master smiths.

As he finished putting on his gear and securing it all to his person, he glanced back at Fawkes' armor. "Melt that down," he ordered. "And the weapon."

The Gnome who was helping him fasten the armor glanced over, "Ah, the father's set. Sure."

"How do you know?" Tristan asked, feeling some genuine shock, as he had not told anyone that it was his father's suit.

The Gnome pointed up to the fairy dragons lounging in the multi-colored metallic trees above, "Gossips. All of them. Constantly telling rumors."

One of the fairy dragons nodded lazily, yawned, and spoke. "Did you know, Lord Tristan, that Thallia cries every night in her grotto?"

"I didn't," Tristan replied. But if that is the truth and not just gossip…that is sad. I need to speak with her to determine if she does suffer from some internal struggle.

"Oh! That reminds me," the Gnome replied. "We have something we are working on. Come! Take a look!" He led Tristan over to a workbench with schematics for some type of smithed devices with odd, spiraling metal pieces. "We are working on a retractable shield. Something that we can give out to everyone in the Fey Realm, so that in a pinch they have a protective buckler."

"Sounds like an excellent plan," Tristan replied. He spotted a small slot on the back of the design, and an arrow pointing from that to a hollow box. "Do you plan on embedding a weapon as well?"

"Ah, yes. Well, having an extendable short sword in case of emergency is also prudent."

Tristan frowned, "You are going very military focused. Who told you to do that?"

"Thallia," he replied. "And Dorni agreed. Especially after that Skitterhold debacle. Keeping everyone armed and with some means of protection – fairy dragons included – is going to be important to keep us all safe."

"Very well," Tristan said with some apprehension. The words made sense, and keeping everyone safe was a smart priority to keep. But at the same time, he did not feel comfortable that such sweeping changes were being made without his direct permission. "When does the Fey Court meet?" he asked.

One of the fairy dragons above replied, "Every morning. You can see the watery tart arriving now."

Tristan looked to where the fairy dragon was pointing and saw Thallia ascend the Queen's Wood, followed swiftly by a slightly-larger-than-average Gnome dressed in deep, ruddy-brown clothes. "Then I guess I'm going to attend my first Fey Court meeting."

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