Thomas had stayed up far too late
waiting for news from Kelloran and Stone. He had drifted asleep at his desk
until he was awoken by a russling noise outside his shop. Beneath the
winter's moon, Thomas swung open his door and saw albino, vine-covered arms
holding the limp form of Chells. In the blink of an eye, the uncanny arms
and Chells vanished into the distance.
Utterly stunned, Thomas muttered.
''What the Hell...."
The alchemist rooted around and found
a Spirit Caller Dust and swiftly through it in the air. At the moment it
turned iridescent and active, Thomas called “Chells!” There was no reply.
He thought to beseech Allahn for news of Chells’s welfare. Thomas lit one
of his sun candles and started to kneel to begin his prayer, when a voice
filled his mind.
“Thomas I have heard your orison come
to the White Stone.”
Thomas wondered at Allahn’s
miraculous recovery from his cursed sleep. The Candleman could now hear his
prayers before he even said them. Bundled up, Thomas strode across the
crunching snow to the shadowy White Stone cemetery. There he saw the
Candleman hovering over the ice-shrouded grave of the Telltaler. Before
Thomas could greet his lord, Allahn addressed him.
“Thomas time is of the essence. Ymir
is blocking all divine prayers connected to the wintery wastes outside of
town. The ice covering this grave is a magic binding to block your spells
from reaching your friends. Swear on your honor to serve my cause and
channel your virtue of honor into your blade and strike NOW!”
Thomas had no time to react. He did
as his god asked of him and swore by his honor and slammed his blade upon
the ice. His blue-glowing blade shattered the ice in spray of frozen
shards. Thomas turned to Allahn and saw the Candleman’s face had cracked
like a mask. The god stretched out his hand and intoned “SLEEP.”
Thomas’ world went black.
Hours later in the Forest of the
Condemned, the three chilled men debated their course of action.
“I say we go for Ymir.” Stone decided
for himself.
“Dddidn’t he freeze you into an ice
crystal and force you to take us to the Vernal Hall?” asked the
teeth-chattering Chells.
“When was this?” Kelloran asked
intrigued.
“Back in like ’98 or so. When Ymir
insisted he leave town, tromp through the snow and restore the Sleep of the
Dead.” Chells replied trying to warm himself after the gust of cold Stone
let in.
“Well the reason he flash froze me is
the reason I say we go with Ymir. I swore to serve him and gained his
divine blessing so I have it an in with him. Of course Ymir is not one to
give something for nothing, so we need to be willing to pay the piper when
we are done.”
“Not me, man, YOU! You have the
blessing; you pick up the tab.” Kelloran snickered, only half-joking.
“Well whoever takes the icicle in the
ass, it’s better than freezing here. Besides, I think Death-Warmed-Over
here” Stone said pointing to Chells. “Could use some divine intervention.”
Kelloran grabbed Chells’ and Stone’s
hands and instructed them to “Link up!” In the tiny tree-bough shelter, the
three men closed their eyes, centered their thoughts and silently prayed to
Ymir.
A few moments passed before the Lord
of Ice answered their prayers in a most dramatic fashion. A howling
northwind stripped the pine boughs of their snow cover, exposing the three
to brutal, icy gusts. Like a leaf blown across the wastes, Ymir floated
swiftly across the snowpack toward them. In his wake, fine powder and
frozen pellets were whipped up into a squall and then scattered across the
frozen crust. Stripped of all snowy insulation as well as camouflage, the
friends could only stare in awe at the approaching god. None of them had
expected such a powerful manifestation and all were speechless as the
Winterlord alighted before them. Feeling like children caught ineptly
hiding and huddled together, they peeked their heads out from beneath the
pine branches.
Stone began his usual blundering when
facing a divine being. “Hi… I mean greetings… ah… mighty Ymir. We wanted
to ask you… ah, beseech you… if …”
“Spit it out, Druid!” Ymir blustered.
“Okay we need your help in dealing
with a bunch of problems.” Stone blurted and then went quiet. The audible
chattering of Chell’s teeth was all that could be heard.
The Lord of Ice gestured at Chells
and the Believer’s threadbare sleeping clothes were replaced by a heavy,
hooded coat of white fur that all but enveloped him.
Peering into the tiny opening of the
hood, Kelloran quietly asked “You okay?”
Chells only offered a muffled reply.
“Warm… very warm.”
When the Restorer returned him
attention to Stone, he saw the druid was speaking to Ymir and pointing up
toward the summit of the Far Hill. The Winterlords glittering, frozen form
made him hard to look at in the bright morning sunlight but Kelloran could
read an _expression of anger there and heard a sharp inhale before he spoke
in a powerful voice. “They are the Breakers of Time and seekers of the
inert! They are enemy to my brethren and me! You would do best to avoid
their foul den.”
Stone lapsed into his usual
insatiable curiosity and let his thin pretense of reverence drop. “Really,
you hate the Nihilists? I thought you would be their ally after all you are
all about freezing stuff and stasis and they want time to stop the Wheel of
Time from ticking so I naturally thought tha….”
A boreal blast of air took Stone off
his feet and hurled him many yards away into a snow drift. Ymir raised his
hand to further smite the impudent druid when Kelloran intervened. Dropping
to a knee, averting his eyes and speaking in tomes of pure veneration,
Kelloran inquired “May I ask O’ Ymir who are your brethren?”
Distracted, the Lord of Ice lowered
his hand and turned to address Kelloran and the fur-encased Chells. In
formal tenor, the god replied. “My brethren are the other three Keepers of
the Seasons.”
Chells mumbled something
unintelligible that indicated he wanted to know more and Ymir obliged him.
“As you know, one of my many titles
is Ymir, Keeper of Winter. The current Keeper of Spring is none other than
Vine the Greenman. The Keeper of the fire of Summer is my fellow Aesir-usurper
Surtur and the title of Keeper of Autumn has been passed down to the Jack
O’Lantern. As Keeper of the Seasons, our role is to mark the comings and
goings of each of our respective seasons. Like the Phoenix turns the Wheels
of Ages, light to dark and back again, we work on a smaller scale and denote
the turning of the Cogs of the Year. The Nihilists would shatter the entire
Clock of Time if they enacted their will and destroy all seasons, years,
ages, epochs, eras… They would let it all fall to ruin… They are my foes in
much the same manner as the Telltaler has made himself an enemy of the
Keepers with his repeated dredging up of the past.”
“Stone was wrong. I do enjoy the
calm and deep sleep of winter, but I do not seek it to remain that way
forever. Without change, without seasons, our time in the worlds would be a
hellish, uniform eternal limbo.”
Chells struggled with his hood but
eventually his sallow face emerged. “Ymir, how come we never heard of these
titles and roles before now?”
“Because you are mortals and mortals
are fools. Better to ask yourself why you never heard of the four Ladies of
the Seasons.”
Meanwhile in Fallenstar, the east was
bright with the late morning sun sun. At the sound of explosions and a
brilliant flash of blue light, Thomas sat bolt upright from his bed of
snow. Half awake, he shouted ''Chells don't mix those two!"
Convinced that the Believer had
finally done himself in by once-again screwing around with the Alchemist's
re-agents, Thomas staggered to his feet.
Allahn still hung above the grave in
reverie. The cracks again appeared on the Candleman’s face and Thomas
called upon all his virtue of Truth to see what was hidden the night
before. Allahn’s false visage crumbled before him and an uncanny spirit
hung in the air.
The spirit's gray cloak fluttered in
ethereal breezes as he manifested upon the Hill of the Dead. The
wide-brimmed hat shadowed the spirit's face, but the unmistakable tome
revealed Telltaler for who he was. The pages of the Tome of Ages rustled in
the spirit winds. The leaves of the book flipped faster and faster as the
Telltaler gazed off at some far, unseen point, on something far in the
past. His stare sharpened as he focused and the book snapped shut at that
same moment. The sound of the slamming cover echoed off of Chells' empty
home as a deep azure light emanated from the ground beneath the Telltaler
and then spread outward. The spirit stood at the epicenter of a deluge of
blue radiance. Thomas watched as all the trees on the Hill of the Dead
became increasingly thinner and shorter. Rotted limbs regenerated and then
reattached themselves to their parent trees. Dead leaves yellow, then
green, then flutter up cling once more to the canopy above.
Time continued to flow backwards as
the Archeo-Locus defused outward farther and farther, enveloping the entire
White Stone Cemetery. Thomas witnessed Bobrik the Guardsman appear, alive
and on patrol. Numerous ancient graves appeared and then disappeared on the
Hill of the Dead. Anatee was seen being berated by her companions for
referring to their band as the Fist of Fallenstar. Hyat the Thief came into
view as his spirit was damned by the spirits of Vesper, Apadzloti, Eyre
Littleman and Molly Montcalm.
Minute after minute, the blue aura of
the Archeo-Locus grew wider and wider and the time visions moved further and
further in the past. Soon, the time-quake enveloped the entire silent
town. Glimpses of the fleeing Fool and the pursuing Wild Huntsman appeared
on the town green, followed by a Wizard War raging in the town between the
Knights of the Thorn and Mechella's shades.
On the Hill of the Dead, Thomas
shook in anger. “You lying bastard! You tricked me!”
Before much thought went into his
next action, the Alchemist swung at the spirit. Thomas’ mildly enchanted
blade was magical enough to make some contact with the Telltaler. The blow
snapped the Teller of Tales out of his trance-like state and knocked his
over-sized hat cock-eyed. As surprised as Thomas was that he had taken a
swing at the powerful Elder Spirit, he was more surprised by the Telltaler’s
swift and vicious response. Swinging his massive tome into the bridge of
Thomas’s nose, the Telltaler laid out the Alchemist. Pain blossomed hot and
sharp across the Alchemist’s face and blood gushed from his nose as once
more Thomas’ world receded into darkness.
Elsewhere, time had no meaning in the
pallid fog of Stone’s thoughts. He knew that he was cold very, very cold
and he could see a diffuse all-encompassing white light. He noticed when he
looked up towards this illumination that his eyes felt wet and cold every
time he blinked. He felt a jolt and then he was pulled up into the blinding
brightness. He screeched and grasped as Kelloran dragged his head out of
the snow drift where he had been buried.
“Man, we are going to have a
fund-raiser and send you to seminary school so that you stop pissing off the
gods!” The Restorer said as he roughly patted off the snow.
“What happened? … Where’s Ymir? … Why
are my ears so cold.” The druid grumbled.
Kelloran curtly retorted. “You pissed
off a god, so he left and he stuck your head in a snow bank for being an ass
and saying he is like his mortal enemies.”
“I just asked… I mean you think he’d
hate Surtur not a bunch of spell-crackers like the Nihilists… I just wan…”
Chells interrupted Stone’s muddled
ramble. “Forget it. Surtur is Ymir’s ‘brother’ not his enemy and he hates
Nihilists. End of story.”
Kelloran continued. “Hates them
enough to offer use a big boon to figure this out if we head home and avoid
rather than trudge home to the Nihilist Glade.”
Chells piped in “And he threw in
snow-shoes to boot!”
Stone looked at his friend and sickly
brother in confusion. “How…?”
Kelloran chuckled. “We’re Templars.
When it comes to kissing God-ass and getting results, we are the guys for
the job!”
Sniggering, the three strapped
on their holy snowshoes and began to trudge up the long hill to Fallenstar.
They found walking atop the snow far easier that slogging through the drifts
but still it seemed the town was far off. Just as the town came into sight
a giant wave of blue light and power swallowed them whole. Visions of the
past swam all about the three and the only comprehensible noise was
Kelloran’s brief curse. “Ah Crap!”
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