Tycho Interview

"Okay... I think we're set up."

The scene is a bastion of warmth in a very cold place. Even in the summer, the snow never seems to melt here, but it's the dead of winter. I chose to make this trek when the Brook Watch were at their most active, in the season of their God. It's one of many cabins all dotted about Bailly Creek, a little stream that runs purer than I've ever seen any water. It's almost crystalline; it flows so smoothly that sometimes it's hard to tell that it hasn't frozen like everything else here. Tycho, the adherent who has graciously offered to host me, has a quaint little cabin closer to the lake. He is tall, and imposing, like any Khesil, but he moves deliberately and gently, and whenever he speaks to me he dips his head down so that we may better see each other.

"You have come a long way to talk to us. It is strange... I know we are not known well for conversation," he says. His tone is almost apologetic; many of the other devout have been too busy to speak with me.

"Well, of course. But you have to know, y'know... there's a lot of curiosity around your line of work. It was worth the trek if I can learn even a little bit about it."

"Then I won't waste your time. Please, feel free to ask your first question. I will prepare you some Graveroot Tea." Tycho raises to his full height, but turns his back to me, a sign of equal trust in Khesil body language. He sets a simple and well-worn teapot atop a warm stove, and begins to set up a little strainer over a small cup, containing all manner of dried herbs. Most striking among them are small blue leaves, almost ethereally thin; I would be surprised if they didn't simply dissolve away when the water hit them.

"Ah... thank you. Do you make tea out of Graveroot often...?"

"We have a whole garden of it. The flavor all depends on the grave it arose from... each plant is different. Gnarled, thorny bushes offer bitter leaves. Brilliant, flaring ones give you some spice. The simplest are sweet and smooth. We see the consumption of this Graveroot as an act of respect; a reassurance that, even in death, and even those whose names have drowned in the sands of time, there is someone whose life you've touched. Even through something as simple as a... cup of tea." The teapot begins to boil, and he pours it through the strainer; the tea that comes out is almost blue, hazy and strange looking, but the aroma is sweet. He gingerly sets it down in front of me, and sits back down, a shy smile on his face.

"Thank you," I say. I blow gently on it, and begin my line of questioning.

"Why did you decide to join the Brook Watch?"

"Well... it was a natural thing. My mother, may she rest well in the Stag's countenance, had died suddenly on the trails." I begin to offer my condolences, but he gently hushes me. "No, no... it was long ago, and I know she enjoys her life where she is now. This is because one of the Brook Watch came to me, carrying with her one of the bottles I've come to know so well. She handed it to me, and told me that my mother had sent me well wishes. The message was... personal. I cannot speak of its contents, but in my grief, I was profoundly touched by the acolyte who had brought it to me. She comforted me, and told me stories of the glimpses she had been afforded of the Next Life. I knew then and there what I was meant to do. I took her hand, and asked her to take me back with her, and she nodded."

"You didn't have anywhere else to be?"

"No. Without my mother, I was alone. I was still so young, but even then I had the wisdom to recognize where I belonged when it came looking for me. Never once in my life have I regretted that decision. The Brook Watch are the kindest, warmest friends I could ask for, and I would give my life for them just as they would for me."

"Does everyone elect to join the Brook Watch? Are people born into it?"

"We cannot allow our members to raise children here. It is too harsh an environment; the winters are biting and relentless, even if they are Her gift. Moreover, to doom a child to a life dealing with death from the very beginning is cruel. If one should bear a child, we ask them to offer it to a family who needs one, or to seek a new life away from Her Lake. We are all resigned to being the messengers for the Next Life until we too pass on. It is an honor for us, but it is an honor we chose for ourselves. No one should be forced to carry that burden."

I nod quietly, and take a sip of the tea. It is unlike anything I've tasted; the flavor is sweet and floral, but there's something I can't quite describe. It's an almost ethereal texture, and it leaves a lingering sensation throughout my entire body. A sort of warmth, but a prickly, strange one.

"How does this whole process... work? I know that's a broad question, sorry—I just don't know where to start."

"You would be surprised. It's a somewhat simple process. There are sixty seven of us here, and we receive about two hundred and seventy Missives a year; about one per day, and so, about four Missives per person a year. Every day, one person must come out at dawn and scour the Brook, searching for messages. Usually, it comes dancing down the stream just as we come close, and we scoop it right out of the water. That Missive is theirs, and the regularity with which we carry out this ceremony means that most are suited for a particular person. Most Missives may take only a few days to complete, some may take so long that they are redistributed. Ultimately, we find the time for all of them; each Missive comes with instructions, and the bottles and papers are usually enchanted to help us complete the task, usually as tools to find what we need to find."

"What happens if there is a Missive that you can't complete, or one that would take a long time?"

"Ah... well. Haija, in her wisdom, offers us few contracts that are simply impossible. If they are unreasonable requests, she asks the departed to choose another. But those that are difficult, or time consuming... they come with the Ivory Pin, a sign of incredible respect and honor among us. These Pins indicate Missives that may take years to carry out, or may be... lethal. But those who choose to carry out these Missives may 'retire', so to speak, if they wish. We find a new adherent, and they get to live in peace, honored and cared for by the rest of us. Only one or two such Missives arrive each year. As for those contracts we cannot carry out whatsoever..." Tycho shakes his head, and gives me a solemn look. "Most would rather perish trying to accomplish them, than dare dishonor Haija by rejecting them. But requests that we truly think unreasonable may be cast back into Her Lake, with the awareness that it will cause her to... adjust her expectations. Her disappointment is not felt easily."

I nod quietly. "What do you do in your downtime, then? If many of these Missives are easy to complete, surely there is plenty of time in between."

"Yes, indeed." Tycho perks up a bit, smiling more brightly at me. "Honestly... it is the down time I prefer. Not because I am lazy, of course. ... Maybe a little bit. But in the quiet spaces, we simply live our lives; pursue our art, take care of the community, fish and hunt and gather. Most of all, we worship; small rituals and ceremonies to honor Haija, and the tending to the Library of the Dead, where we display messages and trinkets from the Next Life and keep the Graveroot Garden, the most sacred place of worship to Her of all. People come from thousands of miles away to kneel among the words and offerings of the Dead, overlooking Her Lake, where the connection is at its strongest."

"What is it like living in a place like this? How close are you to your fellow devout?"

"It is... deceptively lively. I know they did not have much time to talk, but the other adherents are lovely people. This is a life of charity, after all, and one spent in a harsh place. We do hard work for little reward, because it is important to us. Our reward is the happiness and resolution we bring both to the departed and to those still with us. Those of us not busied with Missives spend many hours together in the Main Hall, sharing stories, talking about our creative endeavors, and staving off the cold with drinks."

"I see. What would you say is important to joining?"

"Power."

"Ha... that's a straightforward answer."

"It is true! I will be honest with you; the journeys we take and the tasks we carry out can be so taxing. Some of us spend much of our lives on the road. Both physical and mental fortitude is necessary; some Missives may be easy, but some may be hard in ways you wouldn't expect. I have... not yet been sent to strike anyone down, but the others here have. It is important to have strong faith in Haija; all Missives she passes on were judged as right and fair by she herself, and thus, we must have faith that they are the right thing to do. Even if it means spilling blood. I have seen many affected by the things they were asked to do, but confidence in Haija's judgment helps us ease our minds. If nothing else, the most straightforward kind of power is necessary; those who have the power to inflict such evils upon people that their victims were granted a Missive are not to be treated lightly. A degree of combat prowess helps, even if we never wish to use it."

"Hrm... okay, here's a strange question. The Missives come in bottles; do those bottles carry any special properties?"

"Often, as I said, they are enchanted to help us discern our targets and follow the path that Haija wants for us. Otherwise, they are usually devoid of magic; at the conclusion of the Missive, we cast the bottles back into the lake with a small offering for the departed inside, a sort of confirmation of the completion of their Missive."

"Okay, okay. You mentioned the Main Hall, and now I'm curious. Could you take me there?"

Tycho smiles again, and rises to his full height. He offers me his hand, and nods. "Of course. I am sure the others will be interested to meet you. We are always happy to have newcomers."

I take his hand, and he leads me out of his cabin and into the snow again.