“Have you managed to get some rest?” Elsbeth asked.

Munhilde grimaced. Despite her agelessness, a gift from the Three, even the old Priestess was looking fatigued. Sometimes Elsbeth wondered just what price her teacher had paid for her long life. She had no idea how old the woman, who she now counted as a friend, really was, seemingly perpetually locked in middle age, and she knew better than to ask.

Through her own work as a Priestess and her growing familiarity with these Gods she had found, or had found her, Elsbeth knew it was a blessing from the Crone, the God who most involved herself with the humans who lived in this realm.

Rot and Raven were interested in… other things, for the most part.

“I managed to snatch a few hours of sleep yesterday,” the old Priestess replied. “It’s not enough, but it’s better than nothing. Have you spoken to Rolan today?”

Elsbeth grimaced, which was all the answer Munhilde needed.

“You can’t keep avoiding him forever,” she chuckled.

Elsbeth sighed.

“I know. It’s just… unpleasant.”

It had taken Elsbeth a long time to get used to her own blessing. Her first, received upon her ascension to bronze rank at level twenty, had been a minor thing. Now that she was silver, the power the Gods were willing to invest in her had grown, and with it, the strength of the blessings they were willing to offer.

When the Raven had made his offer, she had seen the light of knowledge in his eye, or perhaps she had only thought she did. The Ancient God was a knower of things and a worker of storms. It shouldn’t be surprising that he knew about her as well, and knew that his offering would be too tempting for her to resist.

“Fool girl,” Munhilde scoffed with genuine affection. She reached out and cuffed Elsbeth lightly over the head, as she had often done while the two rode her wagon from village to village, ministering to the remote communities. “You should have just taken youth.”

Elsbeth blinked. Did Munhilde know? … She shouldn’t. As usual, Elsbeth chose to go with the truth.

“I wasn’t sure I would be willing to pay the price,” she admitted.

If her teacher hadn’t known that it was offered before, she did now, along with the reluctance she felt towards the gift. The blessings were powerful, but the Gods, as they did with all things, demanded a price, which they would only tell you after you had selected. Amongst the Priesthood, discussing what they had been forced to give up simply wasn’t done, but she had picked up enough to know that different people were asked for different things.

The Venerable had given up everything he could, hollowing himself out in order to pour out a bounty to the rest of his people. Despite his warning, Elsbeth still thought of the gnarled and crooked old man as an inspiring figure.

Munhilde nodded slowly.

“It isn’t cheap,” she said simply.

A silence fell between them for a long moment, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Eventually, Elsbeth reached out and patted her friend on the shoulder.

“Get some rest,” she told her. “You look like you’re about to fall over. I’ll make sure your duties are tended to.”

“As if you look any better,” Munhilde snorted, waving the younger woman away. “Fine, fine. I’ll get some soup and go to bed. I don’t want to hear you complaining tomorrow.”

“Leave the pot on over the coals,” Elsbeth told her. “If I have something warm to eat when I get home, there’ll be no complaints from me.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

The two had shared a residence for some time, a small place they had continued to repair close to the centre of the city. With a final squeeze of the arm, Munhilde headed home, and Elsbeth braced herself to face the rest of the day.

Much of the Priesthood had survived the exodus from the Western Province, forewarned by their Gods and armed with the support necessary to survive the journey. It hadn’t hurt that almost all of them had been gathered in Cragwhistle at the time the invasion had started. Now they did their best to administer to the refugees, just as they had in the mountains, though it was a hopeless task. The followers of The Three had always been a secretive and furtive community, and the Priests and Priestesses had been actively hunted for thousands of years. Now, as the survivors, hundreds of thousands of people, if not more, tried to eke out an existence in the ruins of a fallen empire, it fell to only a few thousand of Elsbeth’s colleagues to try to give spiritual guidance and comfort.

A hopeless task indeed.

The bulk of the Priesthood operated out of what she suspected had once been a bank, its sturdy stone foundations and pillars proving to be strong enough to keep the building largely intact over the hundreds of years since Granin had fallen. Swept out, repaired and cleaned, a little of the structure’s former grandeur was starting to return. The elegant stonework and buttresses overhead were far from perfect condition, but even so, they were impressive.

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If she lurked in the shadows near the entrance any longer, she’d look like she was here to seek guidance, rather than provide it. Elsbeth squared her shoulders and marched inside. The entrance to the ground floor was a large open foyer, with the pillars rising high to hold up the roof three stories above. It created an impressive open space, in which many gathered, seeking aid from The Three. Some found themselves organised into lines, sorted by the greeters stationed at the entrance. A line for food, another for work, another for blessing, another for conflict resolution.

There wasn’t really any sort of law enforcement in the city, nothing official, anyway. The people were distrustful of Guards and Marshalls now, after what those Classes normally charged with keeping the peace had done to them during the purge. In their place, community groups had organised, and Tyron regularly sent out patrols of skeletons to sweep the streets. Intimidated by the undead and their eerie Wight leaders, most of the survivors were too afraid to put a toe out of line.

After working out in the city, she was expected to return to the Priest who had been put in charge of trying to keep them organised, Rolan, who kept an office on the second floor. She moved with purpose, striding up the stone spiral staircase and walked to the open door. The open doorframe, anyway. Most wooden doors had long rotted away or been smashed by the roving kin, and there weren’t any trees to replace them with. Tyron had doors, the underground complex had proven safe from the elements and roving monsters, but almost nobody else was able to afford such a luxury.

“Rolan, are you in there?” Elsbeth called, poking her head around the corner.

A swarthy man, with his long brown hair tied back at the nape of his neck, looked up as he heard his name. Seeing the shining blond-haired head looking in, he smiled broadly.

“Elsbeth,” he said warmly, “please, come in and make yourself comfortable. Well, as comfortable as you can manage.”

He chuckled and gestured proudly to his furniture, which didn’t amount to much other than salvaged pieces and carved stone. After all, it wasn’t hard to get one's hands on stone around the city, but anything else was tricky.

Elsbeth resolved to ask Tyron if he could send his undead to the mountains to gather some lumber. It wouldn’t be all that difficult for him, but it would mean so much to a lot of people if they had just a little wood to work with. Chairs, tables, doors, they would make a huge difference to people’s lives.

Not to say that her old friend had neglected the people. His undead produced a steady stream of enchanted goods which they distributed for free. Nobody had wood to burn, but almost everyone had a simple device that produced magickal fire when fed shards of crystal. A luxury for most people before was now a commonplace item, helping them cook and heat their homes.

Even as she stepped into the room, Elsbeth could feel her blessing at work. While Rolan sat behind his rudimentary desk, a pleasant expression on his face and a friendly demeanour, she could feel waves of… something else rising from the man.

Sometimes she wondered how people were able to keep such strong emotions from showing on their faces. She suppressed her rising revulsion as she entered the room and sat down.

Maintaining his warm, even charming manner, Rolan smiled at her.

“I haven’t seen you in some time. Busy in the city, I presume? You’ve been working hard for the people and for the Three, Elsbeth. I hope you know just how much we appreciate it. You aren’t considered a rising star amongst us for no reason.”

It was impossible to keep the frown off her face hearing that. Elsbeth had

risen quickly, gaining levels and favour with the Gods much faster than was considered normal. She didn’t believe that was due to her exceptional talent, but rather the circumstances they found themselves in. She hadn’t risen that quickly while ministering to the remote villages, but tragedy after tragedy tended to create much more work for a Priestess.

“I just came to let you know that I was available for assignment,” she said quickly. “Is there anything pressing to be done, or should I work on blessings?”

Elsbeth did have one thing going for her: an unusually high strike-rate when calling on the Old Gods for blessings. If she could claim a feather in her cap, that was it.

“Oh, you’re available, are you?” Rolan asked with a raised brow, then laughed and held up a hand to indicate he was joking. “Not a problem, let me just check the register.”

He began to flick through the large open volume in front of him in which he tracked who was working on what. With so many needs to be met, it had become necessary for the Priesthood to organise more than they had in the past. To be fair to him, Rolan had stepped into the role voluntarily, and did an excellent job of it.

Elsbeth shuddered. Every second she was in the room with this man felt like invisible hands were pawing at her flesh. No matter how he managed to mask his intentions, Elsbeth was all too aware of what Rolan really wanted from her.

“Ah, that reminds me,” he said, “there was actually a request to see you. Our resident undead overlord sent a message over. Delivered by one of his lich creatures. Gave me quite the fright, I don’t mind saying.”

He shuffled through the loose pages on his desk until he found what he wanted, gathered it and held it out to her. Elsbeth snatched it out of his hand, well aware he would try to brush his fingers against hers when she did so.

On the page, there was only a single sentence written: Come and see me at your earliest convenience.

“Not a man of many words,” Rolan noted with a chuckle.

“He never was,” she said distractedly. What did Tyron want with her?

“That reminds me, I heard you knew him when you were younger. Any truth to that rumour?”

Elsbeth levelled a flat stare at the Priest.

“Is that any business of yours?” she asked bluntly.

Rolan blinked and smiled.

“Very well, I won’t pry. I didn’t mean any offence.”

He picked up his pen and scribbled a quick line down in the ledger.

“I’ve written you in as occupied for the next two days. Hopefully that’s enough time to deal with whatever the Necromancer has in mind for you. If not, take a little time to refresh yourself. You look tired.”

His voice was filled with sympathy, but Elsbeth could still feel those invisible hands grasping at her. It made her sick.

“Thank you,” she forced herself to say, then turned and stepped rather faster than normal out of the room.