Once upon a time, a boss was cleaning up his cafe after a long but rewarding day. Taking stock of his establishment, the boss was acutely aware of how much he had done in such a short time. Adorning the walls were beautiful works of art for sale. The place was steeped in aromas of exotic coffees and herbal teas harvested in distant lands. The falafel fryers were still cooling in the kitchen and the last wisps of their culinary delights could still be picked out by the trained nose. These sweet scents only enhanced the air of tranquility one felt when strolling through the cafe and art gallery.
The boss had his art, his shop, and his days spent making others happy. He also had a monk who was currently trying out his 30th knock-knock joke of the day, but that too was OK. It was times like these that he almost wondered if the last few months had been a dream. Certainly nothing as awful as an undead invasion orchestrated by a dark god could be real as long as this place existed. The boss reveled in the peace of his shop as he watched the sun set over the mountainside.
“This is the life,” he mused.
Suddenly a shadow was cast over the boss, interrupting his view. The boss looked up and sighed. It seemed his past was not so easily escaped after all. Darkening his doorway stood the brooding form of the archer, his impassive face a stark contrast to the glittering mountaintops. Behind the archer stood the druid, giggling to herself, her half-closed eyes unable to hide their bloodshot redness.
“We need to talk,” the archer growled. He pointed to the druid. “She has information you need to hear.”
The boss sighed once more. He had a feeling that the next words he heard were going to ruin his peaceful day.
“Oh, I have another one! Knock knock…” shouted the monk from the back of the shop.
“They’re here,” the druid explained. “I know we hoped we would escape the undead hordes here on this island, but they made it all the same. I was walking with a dear friend along the shore just the other day when a zombie came shambling out of the ocean. It’s likely that more are already here.”
The boss turned to the archer. “Can the school offer us any aid?”
The archer shook his head. “Unlikely. Those who aren’t more interested in protecting their own are marching into the mountains to the north. What they’re hoping to find is still a mystery but it has to be something important. This must be one of the biggest expeditions they’ve ever conducted!”
The boss considered these new developments. Undead horrors and trouble in the north would likely involve his longtime friend, Karl McGregor. If he was in danger then there wasn’t a moment to lose. He was prepared to find Karl himself if that’s what it took. If anyone could give him more information, it was Karl’s wife, Xan. The boss needed to send a message, and quickly. Reaching out across time and space was no easy feat and the necessary strength of will, raw charisma, and distracting handsomeness could only be found in a select few.
It was obvious what had to be done. “Bring me…” the boss paused dramatically, “The Bard!”
The front door of the shop blew open and a quiet hush fell over the cafe. There in the doorway stood The Bard and probably some other people. The Bard had been called for a mission, sure, but business would have to wait. First, he rushed across the room and enveloped his companions in his most magnificent hug. This reunion had been too long delayed! (After all, when The Bard tried to visit earlier, the boss was nowhere to be found.*) Second, The Bard had tales to tell! Before anyone could stop him, his words tumbled out like the aftermath of a pie eating contest.
“Tales speak of the Devouring Eye, yes, but also of its great rival, the Mad Tyrant. Most of its descriptions come from ancient myth and separating fact from fiction is difficult, but ultimately it seems to be a powerful entity, possibly even a god. It likes to influence the dreams of those it wishes to communicate with and work with. Some say it got its name from the seeming fact that nearly everyone who claims to have been contacted by it has gone insane.”
The warlock added, “Speaking of terrible history, in my own travels I’ve discovered something equally concerning. Some 17 years ago, a great beast arose and destroyed lands far from here. Despite the total destruction, few know any details, only that it can be summoned at the beck and call of a vengeful deity. It would truly be disastrous if this happened again.”
“Amazing,” said the boss.
“Disturbing,” said the archer.
“What’s wrong with your face?” asked the monk.
Everyone had been trying not to stare, but it was true, the corruption stemming from the warlock’s red eye had spread across half his face and well past his shoulders. “Er… yes,” he stammered awkwardly, “I suppose I could go see a healer about this.”
“And we could use some supplies,” said the druid and archer as one.
The Bard, who had been in a communication trance, perked up. “Hey guys, I just heard back from Xan. Karl is there! In Clifton! I didn’t get much more information, though she sounded very concerned and said he was acting strangely.”
“It’s settled,” said the boss. “I would like a moment to inform the town council about the potential undead invasion, but then we should travel back to Clifton.”
The druid looked up from a plate of nachos she had somehow mysteriously obtained. She pushed back her dreads, paused her Bob Marley CD, and exclaimed that she could get them back to Clifton in a jiffy!
So, once all the tasks were done, the group traveled deep into the woods to a tree that they might use to teleport back to the mountainous city. As they opened up a gateway and blasted off to their destination they each felt something akin to homesickness. They had been absent a long time and had grown to miss the city that had been their only sanctuary months earlier. The twinkling lights of the Tippy Top, the charming Pilst, and even the morose Jeeves would be a welcome sight. They exited the portal into the familiar woods that bordered the outskirts of the town.
What was also familiar, sadly, were the swarms of zombies that seemed to be crawling towards the nest of a rampaging mother roc.
No! Not Clifton too! It was the one place they had hoped would be safe from zombie hordes. Leaping into battle, the heroes slayed each fiend one by one. Their training these last couple months had paid off and they made quick work of the undead. They had defended the giant bird, though it would not let them near enough to see if they’d arrived in time to defend its eggs. And their arrival had not been quick enough to save a woman that they found under a particularly large pile of zombies.
After examining the body, the druid recognized Salendra, the roc’s caretaker. It was obvious that there was nothing more they could do. It could almost be deemed a mercy when they discovered a familiar assassin’s arrow near her body, indicating she’d likely died before the undead got to her. However, who knows if this powerful druid might have been able to repel the undead single-handedly? The adventurers may not have been able to save the woman, but they could certainly save the roc! But, how best to do that?
The heroes attempted their best “shoo,” hoping it would go somewhere safer, but the roc stood firm in its nest… glaring. Well, if the bird would not leave then neither would the brave adventurers, not before they were sure it was safe! It was decided that the boss and the monk would travel into Clifton to search for Xan and possibly bring back help.
As the duo sprinted towards the city, they both wondered if the zombies fought at the roc’s nest had been the first zombies heading to Clifton… or the trailing end of a much larger force.
* The monk would later explain to The Bard that his earlier visit coincided with a strange occurrence in which the boss was found indisposed. The monk discovered him in this state and helped him out of his compromised position. “The boss has a weakness for a certain woman — ‘The Woman’ — who’s nothing but trouble. I hope she didn’t… you know what, I’ve said too much already.”
2019-01-07
“Remi, beneath this pillow lies the key to my release.”
“Um, that’s OK boss… I’ve got my tools… I’ll just pick the locks.”