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It is important to note at this point that Tystus was not, by any stretch of the imagination, as cowardly or feckless as the previous incidents might indicate. On the contrary, Tystus truly was a brave and good man, but one easily given to distraction and possessed of rather poor luck. He would lay his life down for the greater good easily, just as any of the multitude of great heroes that preceded him
but he sadly possessed the unfortunate habit of letting his attention be diverted by the medieval equivalent of a bright and shiny object. He also rather liked pie.
After his disgrace, the Chronomancer resolved to seek out and find some great evil in the land, for the dual purpose of doing good in the world and redeeming himself personally. So it was that Tystus left Cedarleaf to travel the realms of Asler, learning what he could, mapping everything of note, and seeking out good deeds to add to his record. Tystus traveled for years across the face of the continent, and if truth be told, he had a wonderful time. True, he did in the vein of "noble deeds" little more than rescue a few kittens who'd climbed too high up certain trees (usually by moving the tree several seconds into the future, after which the surprised cat would fall into his arms, land safely, and scratch him quite badly), but it didn't matter at this point: the joy was in the journey. Tystus completed a more detailed survey of the lands than any before him, journeying all the way from Thrum, the land of the Orcs, to the faraway Mount Katak, and back to the grand fortress of Redring, where he dined with the Dwarves (who had heard of his past exploits, but thought public nudity quite funny, so they were happy to have him).
Throughout the years, Tystus periodically used his temporal magic to peer into his own future in the hopes of Finding the Foe he Felt he was Formed to Fight. Sadly, his search was generally Fruitless. The future, as always, was vague and shadowy, and little could be clearly made out (save next week's price of options in Pruet and Company's Delectable Foodstuffs Corporation, but his days of cheating gold out of the markets was behind him). Tystus could tell that a great and terrible menace would fall upon the land some day, and that he would be called upon to lead the charge against it. Nothing else could be determined about the shadowy menace, so Tystus continued his travels.
One would think that the escape of the Lord of Terror, one of the three unholy rulers of Hell, would have been the perfect opportunity for Tystus to prove his worth. However, as luck would have it, at the very time that the Lord and his Damned Brothers were terrorizing the Western Reaches of Asler, Tystus was rather enjoying himself in the Far Eastern Reaches, in the mostly unexplored lands beyond the Undead Nations and the Pale Tower. By the time word reached him of the threat, the danger had passed the Lords of Hell had already been defeated by an unlikely group of five mismatched heroes.
The night he learned of the fall of the Brothers, Tystus despaired of ever finding an opponent to match himself against. He cast his temporal magicks and once more sought desperately into his future and that very night, he at last saw what he'd been waiting so long for. A great threat was coming, and Tystus was destined to be in his old home of Cedarleaf in three months to prepare for it.
The Chronomancer set off immediately with great excitement. Ten years had passed since he'd seen Cedarleaf (technically, Newest Cedarleaf by this point, but again, that's a whole other story), and he looked forward to seeing what had become of the town. He made it to the grand city with two weeks to spare after a harrowing hellride through the ShadowMoors, chased all the way by zombie beasts, skeletal gladiators, and undead purveyors of fortress insurance.
And so it was, weary but hopeful, that Tystus entered the city of Cedarleaf for the last time in his life.
"So what do you make of it, Tystus?" asked Hawkslayer after a pull from his mug. "Is this 'Lord Death' character the one you've been warning us about for the last few weeks?"
"It could very well be, old friend," replied the Chronomancer with concern and, to be honest, a fair amount of excitement. Normally he wouldn't have let it show, but with these two, his closest friends, he could allow himself to be brutally honest.
The three of them sat at a private booth in the Tavern of the Last Homestead two decorated war heroes and a prodigal wizard returned from exile. The barrel-chested Hawkslayer sat nearest the bar, the quick, slender Alendar beside him, and Tystus across the table. Alendar and Hawkslayer were both veteran heroes of the Mad God Wars Alendar had led the Gelidian campaigns, and Hawkslayer had been one of those legendary adventurers who struck down the Mad God himself. Few in all Asler were honored as highly as the mighty Hawkslayer the Paladin and the sharpshooter Alendar of the Many Arrows.
"What I don't get is who the bloody hell decides to call himself 'Lord Death'," mused Alendar. "I mean, I can see wanting to give yourself some kind of name that frightens people, but 'Lord Death'? That's a bit much, isn't it?"
"But if the rumors are true, my comrade, then he has well lived up to the name!" said Hawkslayer. "They say he's the most powerful Lich Lord that's ever roamed the continent, and the most powerful creature to roam Asler since the Lord of Terror was defeated."
"I have heard the rumors, Hawkslayer, but that's beside the point. Is this Lich trying to compensate for something? Were I to meet him in battle, I doubt I could keep a straight face before him, with such a ridiculous name!" replied the archer.
"Hopefully you'll get your chance to laugh in his face and spit in his eye," said Tystus. "The latest word from Ravina hints that Lord Death has assumed leadership of the Undead Nations. Combine that with his kidnapping of the Princess, and it becomes apparent that he's up to something big. And dangerous."
"Ah, maybe he's just trying to get your attention, Tystus!" suggested the jovial Hawkslayer, slamming down his mug, spilling quite a bit of ale, and delighting the halflings who had been circling the table waiting for just such an event.
"If that is his aim, then he has succeeded," replied the Chronomancer, ever serious despite the slurping noise coming from the floor. "With the forces of Ravina behind him, he is in a position of great power and who knows what he intends to do with the Princess!"
"Maybe he means to sacrifice her as part of that Ultimate Power ritual," mused Alendar. "You remember, Hawk, the one the Blood Wizard was trying with that captured Princess in Tenebrosia?"
"Hmmm
more likely he means to sacrifice her as part of the Undead Invincibility ritual. Remember, like that vampire in Malefia tried?"
"No, old friend, he wouldn't need the Undead Nations for that. Maybe it's for that old 'heart of a Princess for control over the souls of the damned' ritual?"
"Bah!" scoffed Hawkslayer, ale dribbling from his curly beard. "Too many bloody Princess rituals."
"Indeed, my friends, and that is why I fear further delay," interrupted Tystus. "I propose we head out tomorrow morning, at first light. We shall make our way to the Pale Tower, and there find out just what this Lord Death character has planned."
The jovial mood suddenly left the booth. Underneath the table, the slurping continued.
"Are you sure, Tystus?" asked Alendar. "Is it time?"
"Yes, I believe it is. I know I am destined to go forth and face Lord Death. Will you come with me, my friends?"
"You know we will, Tystus."
"And about time we got some action! I look forward to cracking some undead skulls again!" added Hawkslayer.
"Then it is decided," said Tystus. "Tonight, we shall enjoy our revelry, and tomorrow, we shall begin our campaign against the Lich Lord. A toast, my friends: to victory!"
A great cheer arose from the table as three mugs slammed into each other, Hawkslayer's with a bit more force than those of his comrades, causing a small explosion of pottery and strong ale (the latter of which, again, delighted the halflings).
The next morning Tystus the Chronomancer, Hawkslayer the Paladin, and Alendar of the Many Arrows set off for the Shadowmoors with little fanfare.
"We're being followed."
Hawkslayer looked about in surprise for the unexpected voice. "Wha... who? Oh, it's you, Alendar. Thought you were scouting the path ahead."
From the trees off to the left of the weatherbeaten path came the voice of the archer. "I was. Then I took a look behind us. We're not alone."
It had been a pleasant enough week for the intrepid trio of adventurers. The journey had so far been memorable only in how very forgettable it was - no monsters to slay, no damsels to rescue, no artifacts to recover. In fact, the only truly interesting moment in the entire week had come late one night, when Alendar was exploring the area surrounding the campsite and the remaining two members of the band were carousing by the fire. One thing led to another, as things naturally do when copious amounts of alcohol have been absorbed into bloodstreams, so it was a perfectly understandable thing when Hawkslayer asked Tystus to enchant his beard with an alchemical spell that could transform lice into gallons of whiskey.
Unfortunately for Hawkslayer, Tystus had never really handled his ale all that well, so the Chronomancer agreed.
At first, of course, it had seemed to work out wonderfully. The spell was cast, flagons were held close to Hawkslayer's chest, and the golden brew flowed freely. The problem had come when the warrior wondered aloud at the quality of the drink, and the mage had replied that of course the drink could only be of the highest quality, coming, as it did, from the mage's own flawless magic. The warrior had given the matter some thought, and then responded by farting loudly.
This had, in turn, caused the mage to ask how he could prove to the warrior that the drink was of high quality, at which the warrior offered to move closer to the fire to get a better look at the whiskey still flowing from his long beard.
Standing over the fire did, in fact, give Hawkslayer a better view of his beard. The view only got better when the liquor spilled from his beard into the fire, and better still when the blaze lept up to envelop the warrior's beard and shirtsleeves.
Now, at this point the storyteller must reflect that he has never been greeted with the sight of his own flaming bodyhair, nor would he particularly wish to. Hawkslayer, however, had fought the flaming atronachs of Malefia, the fire demons of Tenebrosia, and the flame wielding mutants of the Tarmitian wasteland. Seeing his beard on fire was nothing new to him; in fact, through the glazing, numbing influence of the drink in his system, the dancing flames looked to him like pretty little heat nymphs.
Tystus, on the other hand, was not so experienced as his companion, and the sight was enough to sober him remarkably quickly. One conjuration and eight seconds later, Hawkslayer was soaked with magical water (much like regular water, but without all the fatty acids) and the danger was averted. The entire experience proved to be too much for the old war hero, who fell to the ground, rubbed his chin, gazed at his old friend with an oblivious but somehow satisfied expression, and fainted dead away.
Alendar returned to the camp from his patrol soon afterwards. At first he noticed nothing amiss, since Tystus had relit the fire and moved Hawkslayer to his bedroll. But as he prepared his own bedding for the night, the archer began, "Ah, Tystus...."
"Hm? Yes?"
"Did you spill something on the ground, over where you and Hawkslayer were sitting when I left?"
"Um... well, yes, actually... ah... we did... ummm... spill some water right over there. Why do you ask?"
"Oh. Just a squirrel over there, looks like he's drinking something," replied Alendar. "Hasn't moved from that spot in a while. I don't understand why it would be so thirsty - there's a stream not far from here. You must have spilled quite a bit of it."
"Well, there were quite a few lice..." murmured Tystus.
"What?!?"
"Nothing, nothing... look, it's been a long day. Good night, Alendar."
"Good night, Tystus."
That morning, while Tystus slept in, Alendar surprised Hawkslayer with a spitted squirrel, ready to cook over the remains of the fire. Neither the confused archer nor the clean-shaven warrior could explain why the squirrel, instead of cooking to a nice golden brown, suddenly exploded.
A month later, three heroes looked up through the dusky gloom at the Pale Tower. What had started so uneventfully had become a dangerous and amazing journey across Asler, one of which many stories could be told and many songs could be sung, but not here, because the important part of the tale is yet to come, and besides, the storyteller has difficulty keeping a tune.
"Well
guess this is it!" chuckled Hawkslayer. The harrowing journey across the cursed lands had done little to dampen his ever-optimistic spirits.
"Yes," said Tystus, "at last. Lord Death has much to answer for. Our journey draws to a close, my friends."
"A close for the Lich, Tystus, not for us!" said Hawkslayer with a laugh, patting the Chronomancer on the shoulder.
"Of course, my friend, of course. Alendar any trace of pursuit?"
"Yes, Tystus," replied the weary archer, who hadn't taken the long month of combat and difficult travel as well as the paladin. "I believe we are still being followed. I keep seeing something that looks very much like the glint of metal on the mountains to the south but it may just be a coincidence. After all, this land is swarming with undead."
"Best not to take chances," said Tystus. "This close to the Pale Tower, my ability to look into the future is dimmed. Some unknown force is clouding my Chronomancy. Let's hurry inside. No doubt we'll find Lord Death hidden away at the tower's highest level."
"No doubt, indeed!" laughed Hawkslayer. "Those damned wizards always prepare for their last stands at the tops of towers. Just once, my friends, just once I'd like to fight an evil wizard without having to traipse up twenty flights of stairs!"
"You exaggerate, old friend," rebuked Tystus. "Now the door is unlocked. Obviously, we're expected. Come, my friends evil awaits us."
Twenty-one flights of stairs later, after twenty floors of labyrinthine passages, desperate battles, and the occasional fire trap, the three friends would not all reach the top of the tower. But one of them would.
The Wizard's adventures continue in the thirdian part of our tale....
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