[Game Thread] Final Round Showdown!

[Aethera]

When the opportunity finally arrived to pass through the Mirror of Opposition, the experience was somewhat anticlimactic compared to that of traveling through the Flux Arcana Rift Transducer. It was also much more pleasant and could be related to the experience of walking under a waterfall, except the part about getting wet. Once through, a large room spread out ahead. The most obvious feature was a round dinner table in the center of the room with seating for six. The floors were made of a polished dark stone, as were the walls of this massive hall. The room itself was not quite circular. It had many flat walls on the sides which lead to portals much like the one you had just passed through. Almost in sequence four travelers entered from multiple sides of the room. All stared at one other for a moment before the host of this dinner party spoke.

An old man whose face resembled Follaus' so much that he could have been his brother sat at the head of the table. As he stood, however, it was apparent that the host was much older than Follaus, larger of stature, and had long silvery hair. He wore dark robes with blue trim, but something about his smile was bothering. "Ahh! Follaus’ heroes have arrived exactly as I thought you would. I suppose you are going to try and talk me out of awakening my friends here." The old man pointed upwards, and it was only then that you noticed high above you along the walls were oblong bubbles of a material similar to the dark stone walls, with a window in each revealing the face of a wide variety of forms. Some looked humanoid, others like monsters. The figures inside their tombs were immersed in a light blue liquid that shone out the window and shed light into this otherwise dark room. Above the table where a chandelier would traditionally be placed, there was instead a large crystal pendulum swinging back and forth. "Well then, have a seat. Let's enjoy a meal and see if you can give me a good reason to not do what you think I am about to do." He sat down and instantly the table was filled with exotic and fine culinary treats the likes of which would cause even the pickiest of eaters stuffed after a holiday feast to salivate.

OODM Congratulations, my fine finalists, in making it to the final round. Here you will use no mechanics, no dice, only what creative inspiration you can come up with to finish this, hopefully with a happy ending. The ending will depend on what your characters say or do here, and what agreement you do or don't reach. Please think outside the box, for the job of your host is going to be to confound you as best he can! Cast of Characters << Bhelogan >> Avner's Thomas Templeton Khelbiros' Rimoka pianoman90's Jorgum wodine's Ignatius C. Hypatius III The winner of this round will be the Outplay 2016 Champion! Good luck to you all, may the best player win!

[wodine]

Danse de la Fée-Dragée Ignatius remembered stepping through the mirror together, arm in arm with his companion, Elgrim, but it would appear that they were not destined to appear together on the other side. The sensations that Ignatius felt while traveling through the magical looking glass were similar to what he was accustomed to. The shocking abruptness of the Flux Arcana Rift Transducer had been jarring to the senses, but this was calmer and more refreshing. The simple pleasures of using teleport or dimension door were not lost on the divine dramatist, as he had recently felt the repercussions of magicks far more crude. The room in which Ignatius found himself standing was rather magnificent. Polished stone of a deep black, almost as dark as midnight, a massive circular table, and a soft glowing light, the shade of a summer sky. As Ignatius’ trained eye moved along the architecture and aesthetic of the room, he was found, yet again, to be standing amongst strangers. Still nursing his wounds from just moments before, the cleric could only hope that these are friendlier peoples. Looking from person to person, the armored man’s gaze finally rested on the man who was quite similar in appearance to Follaus. This one was different, however, as he had been faced with twisted versions of himself and Elgrim earlier, Ignatius could not help but wonder if this being be some malevolent form of the chrono-magician. Only time will tell…if time still exists in this place. Ignatius thinks to himself as he warily eyes the other three entrants. Ignatius couldn’t help but look to the strange portals to which his [i]host[/t] indicated, his eyes drinking in each of the strange images within. Some were mundane, albeit strange, for instance there was a beautiful girl, eight perhaps, with flowing blond curls – a perfect ingénue. Her blue and white dress, of a strange design, but clearly indicating she was well bred and most likely well mannered. Surely she cannot be so threatening as to collapse the multiverse itself? As his eyes drifted to the next window, however, disgust and shock replaced the feeling of calm which had been inspired by the young girl. Within that second window was a winged, immaterial atrocity. It was a grisly, perfidious, corpse like beastly abomination, the creature’s very visage was enough to make Ignatius look away, no longer curious about the righteousness of the cause. This keeper of the keys, this host of their little dinner party must be stopped, if only to ensure that such a being remains locked in whatever prison was capable of holding it. As wretched as the creature was, Ignatius could not help but dream a tale for another time, of swirling mists and dark places lost through time and space, of tentacled nightmares reaching out to touch faith. His mind spiraling into some unknown darkness, the priest utters a small prayer to the Lady Poet under his breath and dismisses the nightmarish thoughts, for now. His attentions refocused on the host and his feast, Ignatius removes his shining mithal helm, and places it under his arm. His shining blond hair, slightly matted with sweat, sticks to his head, as the fight to enter this chamber had been quite taxing. His green eyes, shining like jade sparkle as he takes in the inspiration all around him. The people, the place, the strange creatures all around, even the food was worthy of poetry. It was an honor above all else to bear witness to such events, but it was now time to begin saving the multiverse, since there was no point penning a magnum opus if there was no audience to see it. The priest makes his way to the table, favoring his left side, as the memories of the earlier fights were all too recent. Reaching the chair nearest him, he takes his seat at the table, My name is Ignatius Constantine Hypatius III Divine Dramatist of the Lady Poet, but you may call me Ignatius. If we are going to be discussing the fate of the galactic multiverse we may as well be on friendly terms. How may I address you? Ignatius was aware of the vulnerable position he was putting himself in taking a seat first, but hopefully the fighting would not spill over to this chamber, there were clearly more pressing matters, with each swing of the crystalline pendulum above their heads, ticking like some baleful metronome, the worlds, all of them, came closer to oblivion.

 

Statblock Ignatius HP: 37/62 Senses: Initiative: +1; Spot: +9; Search: +3; Listen: +8 AC (Normal, Touch, Flat): 25; 11; 24 Saves (Fort, Ref, Will): +11; +6; +13 Turn Undead: 5/5 (daily) Orisons: Cure Minor, Detect Magic, Guidance, Light, Read Magic, Mending Spells Level 1: Comprehend Languages, Divine Favor, Sanctuary, Command, Bless, Cure Light Wounds + Longstrider Spells Level 2: Find Traps, Restoration – Lesser, Spiritual Weapon, Eagle’s Splendor, Sound Burst + Identify Spells Level 3: Dispel Magic, Prayer, Searing Light, Summon Monster III, Create Food and Water + Fly Spells Level 4: Neutralize Poison, Restoration, Sending, Tongues + Dimension Door Spells Level 5: Flame Strike, Righteous Might + Teleport Spells Level 6: Heal + Antimagic Field Wands: CLW 50/50; Bull’s Strength 50/50 Scrolls: Spider Climb, Restoration x2; Summon Monster IV; Lightning Bolt; Fireball; Haste; Knock; Shatter; Invisibility; Disguise Self; Identify; Message x2 Languages: Common, Elven Notes: Alignment Aura; Hand of the Mage; Mithral Full Plate of Speed 3/10 rounds.

[pianoman90]

Jorgum of the Sharp Fang Jorgum blinked his eyes, adjusting them to the new sight in front of him. Moments before, he had slayed a dragon and a demon with nary a thought to his own safety. Haluk had been with him, and the inimitable Corrivander, and he was on top of the world. In his element, he stormed through the portal, calling back over his shoulder to his friends and comrades to look after each other. Jorgum knew their safety mattered little if he was not to succeed here. This was finally his chance, his one chance to pull everything together and bring closure to his life. The hobgoblin looked around as the shiny one spoke. Four more worlds had collided, folding in on top of each other like origami in the hands of a master. As Jorgum watched, he wondered whether they had finally come face to face with that very master, and indeed, who they were. Eyes flew over the newcomers, spewed forth from their own portals. Training came good, and Jorgum's observations filtered into his brain quickly, dissecting the slivers of information he could garner. His eyes rested briefly on Ignatius. "Hah." A grunt, half-said under his breath, was all that accompanied the end of the man's short speech. The man looked too perfect, too pristine to be standing here in his shining glory. Jorgum, covered in scratches, dust and sweat must have looked so feral standing there-had this Ignatius creature even seen half of what Jorgum had? Never mind that the gathered chosen were, bar him human. Jorgum's eyes rested on Thomas for a moment, then reconsidered his thoughts-mostly human. It surprised Jorgum, perhaps only because, up until now he had journeyed with such variety. Another grunt, and Jorgum's mind shot back to present. No sense wasting precious moments on the good times now... It shouldn't have surprised him that once again he found himself surrounded by strangers. This seemed to be the puppet master's Modus Operandus. Perhaps they took delight at throwing strangers into a pool, then sticking their fingers in and stirring the mix? Ah, but now Jorgum had finally reached the end of this candy trail, only the evil witch was left to destroy. He had been so ready to die in the void, ready for his life to be given to the dragon for a means far greater than his own, but he was so intensely glad he had not thrown his hand. For here he had finally found the root of all evil-he could now prevent this old man enacting his desires and be the hero he had always wished to be. Jorgum took a few steps forward, then realised his weapon was still drawn, blood covering the blade. His mind shot back to Follaus and Nila, words echoing in his head. You are the form of the destroyer. You shall not pass. Something clicked inside Jorgum's head, and he sheathed his weapon in a well-practised move. Striding around the table, he chose a seat to the left of the old man and sat in it, beckoning the others to join. "Well met Ignatius Constantine Hypatius III Divine Dramatist of the Lady Poet." He held back a snort, a pompous name for a pompous shiny knight. "I am Jorgum-for now, just Jorgum. It matters little where we have come from, yes? It only matters that now we are all here, in this meeting place between the worlds." Jorgum looked skyward and watched each floating face, the pale liquid casting strange patterns of light across the ever-swinging pendulum. All very mythic. All typical of a showman, a conjuror of cheap tricks designed to fool an unsuspecting mind. Jorgum smiled, though there was no humor in his grin, and turned back to the old man. "Well met to you too, caretaker of the kingdom of time. You knew of our coming, of Follaus' plans to stop you. Does this mean you know the outcome of this trial also? And why would you wish to awaken your friends anyway? I was told that they locked themselves away, awaiting the end of the universe. That time has not come-who are you to release them before their time?" Before their time indeed. What does time even mean to a man such as he? Eyes narrowed at the old man, intent on learning more than just a handful of gut feelings about the strange creature.

OOC Hello to you all! Very excited to be here in the final with each of you-nice to play with you and good luck! I am going to make a few cursory rolls, I know it was mentioned that rolls were not necessary, and I understand the difficulties with dealing with 4 different systems, so if rolls are truly off the cards, you can ignore the following and that is fine with me Knowledge Planes: On the old man-searching for anything Jorgum might know about this creature. This is of course, presuming he is planar in nature in the first place. Dice Roll: 1d20+18 (17)+18 Total = 35 (35) Knowledge Planes: On the faces above-do they have names? Are they representative of particular groups of creatures? The kings of time may well have been mentioned before in texts or referenced somewhere. Dice Roll: 1d20+18 (14)+18 Total = 32 (32) Diplomacy: To influence the mood of the old man. Dice Roll: 1d20+13 (18)+13 Total = 31 (31)

 

Jorgum
Speed: 30ft
HP: 37/87
AC: (28) Flat-Footed: (15) Touch: (25)

 

Base:10
Armor: +3 - Bracers of Armor
Deflection: +2 - Ring of Protection
Dexterity: +6
Dodge: +7 - Canny defense (+5), Dodge (+1) and Swashbuckler's Nimble (+1)
Armor and Deflection contribute towards FF, Dexterity and Dodge contribute towards Touch.

Fort: +11 Ref: +15 Will: +10
BAB: +9/+4 CMB: (+15) CMD: (35)

 

CMB: Base Attack Bonus: +9
Dexterity: +6 - Agile Maneuvers Feat

CMD: Base: 10
Base Attack Bonus: +9
Strength: +1
Dexterity: +6
Deflection: +2 - Ring of Protection
Dodge bonus: +7 - Carried over from AC

Melee:
+1 Spell Storing Rapier (Chill Touch)
+17/+12, 1d6+9 Damage, 15-20 Critical Threat

 

Attack Base Attack Bonus: +9/+4
Dexterity: +6 - Weapon Finesse
Magic Enhancement: +1
Rapier Weapon Training: +1

Damage: Rapier Base damage: 1d6
Dexterity: +6 - Slashing Grace feat
Magic Enhancement: +1
Rapier Weapon Training: +2
Spell Storing Quality: On a successful hit, as a free action I can cast the spell stored within the blade. This will discharge the Chill Touch spell at CL 5. Charge used.

Spells Prepared:
Level 0: Acid Splash, Arcane Mark, Light, Ghost Sound
Level 1: Chill Touch, Vanish, Shocking Touch, Feather Fall
Level 2: Web, Mirror Image

Equipment: Belt of Incredible Dexterity (+4), Headband of Alluring Charisma (+4), Cloak of Resistance (+3), Flawed Crimson Sphere Ioun Stone (+2), Quick Runner's Shirt, Scabbard of Valor with +1 Scimitar in its sheath

[Khelbiros]

As always when her rage ebbs away, Rimoka has the worst headache imaginable. Pain throbs behind her eyes and every little movement of her skull is agony. Her body aches from the efforts of her exertions battling the Chaos Horde; she's torn muscles and is covered in bruises. Her once clean wolfskin clothes and furs are now tattered and she's covered with reeking gore and viscera from dealing the deathblow to the Chaos Behemoth. There's a yellow pulpy thing on the end of her dragon fang spear that could be an eyeball or a heart. It slowly pulses, as if still alive.

But still, she's saved the lives of the two girls: Shilantris and her other self. Shilantris takes Rimoka's hand, and Rimoka can feel how soft the bard's hands are in comparison to her scarred, leathery grip, even allowing for Shilantris's instrumental and fencing backgrounds. She holds the small bottle in her other hand tightly. It feels like the apple she gave Max. She smiles and slips it into a belt pouch.

"On three?" Shilantris glances at Rimoka.

Rimoka nods.

"One... Two..."

"Three," Rimoka mutters and steps forward. She tries not to feel sick as she travels through the portal. Then when her feet touch stone again, she around.

She's somewhere else.

And Shilantris isn't here at all. Not either of them.

Rimoka nearly goes berserk again, screaming her fury to the high ceiling and striking out with her spear. This is not fair! Not fair! These trials have introduced her to companions she would not have met otherwise had she stayed in her lonely wilderness, and then, cruelly, taken them away from her. She wants to see Max again, her oath-friend. And even though she did not spend as much time with Shilantris, the fierce battle together had given them a close connection. She wants to talk to the bard again, find out what has happened in the courts of the world before her imprisonment. She feels great loneliness and a hunger for other people. Perhaps if she survives her final battle with the Kings of Time, she will properly return to civilisation again, and see how the world has changed. She wishes Max and Shilantris well, as well as her lost companions Stand and Talzim. She hopes that they are somewhere out there in the world as Follaus promised, helping to save others while she confronts the Kings of Time...

Then, she sees where she is. A banquet hall? Three other people? But her attention is caught by the old man, and her fingers grip the blood-slicked halt of her spear.

"Ahh! Follaus’ heroes have arrived exactly as I thought you would. I suppose you are going to try and talk me out of awakening my friends here." The old man pointed out the monsters imprisoned on the walls. Rimoka stares at the pendulum above her, uncomprehending.

"Well then, have a seat. Let's enjoy a meal and see if you can give me a good reason to not do what you think I am about to do." The old man gestures and the banquet table is filled with food.

Rimoka's stomach rumbles as sees the delights on the table. Slices of pork roast, silver trays full of gravy, bottles of fine wine she remembers from her days in court. She can smell the spices on the roasted meat. The smell is almost good enough to make her forget her pounding headache. But this man is likely a wizard and she's learned not to trust those through bitter experience.

“What?” she asked, staring at the old man. He wants to be talked out of doing something stupid? Why isn't Shilantris here with her clever tongue? Why did the gods pick an old, scarred warrior woman? She takes a deep breath. What would Shilantris do? Introduce herself rather than flying off the handle, try and get more information out of the old man; try and ally with these other (hopefully) heroes. She listens as they introduce themselves.

Rimoka clears her throat. "I am Rimoka, a wanderer of the Scarred Tundra." She's conscious of the filth covering her body, but not ashamed of her battle against the Chaos Behemoth.

She slams the butt of her spear on the ground, spattering the tiles around her with drops of gore. "Greetings, Ignatius." Is he a warrior? A talker? His armour gleams; she resolves to observe him for longer before making a judgement. He looks like he's a dream. Or from one, Rimoka can't tell. Like one of those court ballads she had believed in when she was a young princess. Her lip curl slightly in bitterness.

"Greetings, Jorgum," she says, nodding. The hobgoblin looks like he's been in a proper battle, and instinctively she feels he is made of true steel. He's lightly armoured and lithe, indicating a quick and dextrous combat style,

She tilts her head, listening and agreeing with Jorgum's line of questioning to the old man. Perhaps he's moving forward for an opening feint, testing the old man's defenses.

Rimoka listens but seeks greater clarity, just like she demanded from Follaus. "I've fought through hell to get here but I'm none the wiser. Were those your Chaos Beasts? Are you the King of Time? And why are you going to unleash these beasts upon the world?" Rimoka shakes her head. "I can't see why you'd do such a thing."

[Avner]

For a moment all Thomas could see was the flame. Jumping into an ancient dragon’s maw typically isn’t what one would can an intelligent plan. Thomas guessed that the success rate of such things could be measured by the amount of people who didn’t brag about it. No, he had never heard a story about a man who had successful jumped into a dragon’s maw.

Then again, he was not a man.

The little blue demon boy grabbed the crystal draped around the dragon’s neck as he dove in, the fire carving his way as he pushed onward into the great abyss. The frost that has been forming in the creature’s breath seemed to melt under his assault. The fire burned at him his demon like skin resisting the flames until finally he was once again greeted by a fresh gasp of air on the backside of the dragon. Channeling a power he did not realize he had he burned a hole straight through the dragon. Clutching the key to activate the portal he patted out the flames on his cloak as he looked back at his friend and mentor.

"Go boy… save the Feckin’ world!" the bard called to him.

Giving the old man a tooth grin he turned with the swish of a cape and rushed into the unknown portal of the mirror. Thomas clinched up as he made the leap expecting the torment of the F.A.R.T. but it never happened. Instead he was met with a brief tingling sensation before he was on the other side.

Stumbling forward Thomas tucked his body into a roll making a somersault into the room before standing up. Yes, this was very different from before. He was met with three more completely foreign faces and Follaus? Well not quite, he was older and a bit different, but they were certainly kin of some sort. That might explain how Follaus knew so much.

Ahh! Follaus’ heroes have arrived exactly as I thought you would. I suppose you are going to try and talk me out of awakening my friends here.

Yup. Definitely related.

Well then, have a seat. Let's enjoy a meal and see if you can give me a good reason to not do what you think I am about to do.

Thomas had learned his lesson about hastily jumping into things, by about a thousand sharp daggers, he was not about to make the same mistake twice. Instead he took a moment to observe. Ignatius seemed very similar to Edison, the mirror image of himself. Very pristine and noble but there was something overtly aggressive about him. As the man took the first seat and placed down his helmet Thomas was sure that this man thought he could kill anything that stood in his way. Then there was the blood covered woman who looked like she was going to kill everyone in the room. Looking desperately for some form of welcome, a kind ally among those who stood before him his golden eyes fell on the hobgoblin. The creature was covered in scars and had obviously been through some trials himself. As Jorgum sat down he seemed a bit wiser than Thomas had expected, suddenly guilt flustered him realizing he was judging those among him merely by appearance. He had fought that very thing for so long.

He took a quick glance up at the 'friends' of their new host before finding the seat at the table next to the hobgobblin.

"Uh.. Hello. I'm Thomas, Demon boy of Bauerburg. Of course you probably know that..." he said to the king of time. Looking over at the others he greeted them. "Hi.. everybody nice to meet you.. Jorgum, Ignatius, Rimoka." Thomas then having been settled listens to the questions the others provide before adding his own.

"They have a point. You know why were here, we are the heroes who have come to save the multiverse... what we don't know is why you would want to destroy it? My father always said seek first to understand and then to be understood, so uh... King of Time is it? Help us understand, then maybe we can explain what exactly it is that's at stake."

[Admin Bhelogan]

OODM Welcome everyone! It will be my great privladge to try and keep you all corraled this round. Wish me luck! No rolls are required this round. If you feel like making them in order to help determine the success of something you want to try, like juggling for example, or if you think it will add to the story, free free. Otherwise, post away. I will do my best to answer any OOC questions you have.

The ‘Host’ took his sat back down at the head of the table as the newly arrived travelers entered. He grabbed a large turkey leg and began to chew on it, sending spurts of juice flying over his shoulder every time he bit down. His eyes widened as he chewed on the meat, showing his satisfaction in the meal. Jorgum took a seat to his left. Thomas sat next to Jorgum. Ignatius was seated opposite Thomas. This left the seat directly across from the Host, and the seat directly to his right open.

"So many questions, Hrm?" The Host said in a mocking tone as he slowly looked around the table and eyed over everyone individually. "I expected as much. Well first… you can count, can’t you? Six chairs. Four of them are occupied. Won’t you have a seat dear? Rimoka? Please, we have to know which seat will be left open. You see, I have yet another very special guest. I am sure she would like to know where she should be sitting… whenever she decides to arrive." He waved his hand in the air and gave it a little twirl, indicating that his other guest was somewhat out of his control. His eyes had widened even more as he spoke of the chairs, but now they narrowed.

The old man put his food down for a moment and let out a half giggle. "Well, I suppose you would like to know what to call me then. I am partial to the name ‘Master of the Universe’, but it is hardly fitting. No, you can simply call me Steward. That is all I am after all. Alas, I am just a caretaker of my friends. But, things have gotten out of hand. That is why their rest must be interrupted. Please, do eat!" Steward insisted again. His last sentence was spoken forcefully with a raised voice and accented by pounding his fist on the table. He calmed himself, then asked a question. "Perhaps you could divulge to me what stories and lies Follaus has told you this time?"

Observing their mannerism, Follaus and Steward seemed nearly polar opposites. Follaus’ face was stern and set when he spoke. He was the epitome of emotionless logic. Steward on the other was overly dramatic when he spoke. He used his hands and inflections of the voice when he spoke with the skill to match that of a great actor. He did not seem malevolent. His sanity, however, could be questioned.

 

  S
O███J
I███T
  O

S - Steward (The Host)
J - Jorgum
I - Ignatius
T - Thomas
R - Rimoka (location ???)
O - Open Seat
█ - Table

[Avner]

Thomas looked down at the end of the table as Steward spoke. It was among one of the strangest conversations he had ever had and that included a temporal device named after one of the two things his mother old him never to do in public. He apparently had some sort of visitor joining them who he seemed almost intimidated by, if that were even possible.

"Well uh.. Mr. Steward sir, how exactly do you mean they got out of hand? Things I mean? Have the Kings of Time changed somehow? Your brother told us that he could not come himself but you were not to be trusted, no matter what you said. Sounds like there might be some bad blood there, sibling rivalry maybe? Well I wouldn’t know much about that. He also mentioned the Kings wanting to fold time in on itself? He says that would bring the end of the multi-verse." Thomas knew he had slipped in the fact about Follaus being his brother. He could be a mirror image as it were, he seemed to fit the type for it. Judging his reaction Thomas went a bit further.

"He also said that the heroes before us failed. Fifteen years ago by our time. It may just be a heartbeat for you, but that was most of my life. Tell me Steward… Did you kill Ivan?"

[pianoman90]

Jorgum of the Sharp Fang The glib nature of their host unnerved Jorgum slightly. That Thomas had acknowledged the Steward as Follaus' brother was surprising, to say the least. The two could not have been more different in Jorgum's eyes. The hobgoblin grimly remembered Follaus' impassivity even when he was being bodily thrown onto the table in front of him, whereas the Steward would most likely burst into tears if a profiterole on the table was squashed by an errant hand. Dramatists... Jorgum revelled in war, didn't mind politics and even tolerated the fool who didn't seem to care about any of it, but one thing he had very little time for were dramatists. This man loved the attention, loved the atmosphere he created, but Jorgum knew that there was always something more to the charade, if they could just penetrate the Steward's defenses. "Follaus, your... brother, told me no lies at all. He was too busy getting his head beaten in by a particularly angry gobliness. Follaus bled just like any other. Tell me, Steward, do you bleed too?" The threat was left hanging in the air for a moment, until Jorgum smiled and reached for a plate of cured meats. He piled salami, proscuitto and other, stranger meats Jorgum had no name for as he continued to talk, menace gone from his voice... for now. "And what of your role in this? You are a Steward, nothing more-you said yourself you would wish to be the Master of the Universe, but presumably that title is taken by someone else. Stewards are the chief servants, caretakers only of a greater lord. You have taken care of these creatures above for so long, what right do you have to release them early? What has changed? Certainly not the outside worlds. Wars come, they crash on the high walls of old cities. Sometimes they tear them down, sometimes the fighters dribble home, those that can still walk. Thousands die from famine and pestilence, year in and year out. Poverty has existed for centuries, despite many a benevolent ruler's best intentions. Corruption seeds and buries deep, grows tall and strong, wrapping around every corner of civilization before being cut down by a band of heroes. Empires rise, they fall. Kings come and go. Nothing changes-the cycle of life continues ever on." Jorgum sighed, the trials of his homeworld seemed like a different life now. How had he so casually been a part of this vicious repetitive cycle without realizing what he was perpetuating? The end of Thomas' speech finally filtered into the hobgoblin's ears. He also said that the heroes before us failed... Haluk? How had they failed? Failed in what, perhaps? Maybe they had been sent to kill the old man. Another reason for Jorgum to guard himself and prepare for the worst. "I too had a brother who came here fifteen years ago. Haluk was his name, though perhaps names are not remembered by ones such as you. If he came here, and failed, what became of him?" Jorgum picked up a thin piece of salami, sniffed it for a moment before throwing it into his mouth. Chewing thoughtfully, he had one more question before he finished his piece. "And what of this sixth guest? who is she? Or do you intend to play your hand close to your heart?" Dramatists. Gods-be-damned...

 

Jorgum
Speed: 30ft
HP: 37/87
AC: (28) Flat-Footed: (15) Touch: (25)

 

Base:10
Armor: +3 - Bracers of Armor
Deflection: +2 - Ring of Protection
Dexterity: +6
Dodge: +7 - Canny defense (+5), Dodge (+1) and Swashbuckler's Nimble (+1)
Armor and Deflection contribute towards FF, Dexterity and Dodge contribute towards Touch.

Fort: +11 Ref: +15 Will: +10
BAB: +9/+4 CMB: (+15) CMD: (35)

 

CMB: Base Attack Bonus: +9
Dexterity: +6 - Agile Maneuvers Feat

CMD: Base: 10
Base Attack Bonus: +9
Strength: +1
Dexterity: +6
Deflection: +2 - Ring of Protection
Dodge bonus: +7 - Carried over from AC

Melee:
+1 Spell Storing Rapier (Chill Touch)
+17/+12, 1d6+9 Damage, 15-20 Critical Threat

 

Attack Base Attack Bonus: +9/+4
Dexterity: +6 - Weapon Finesse
Magic Enhancement: +1
Rapier Weapon Training: +1

Damage: Rapier Base damage: 1d6
Dexterity: +6 - Slashing Grace feat
Magic Enhancement: +1
Rapier Weapon Training: +2
Spell Storing Quality: On a successful hit, as a free action I can cast the spell stored within the blade. This will discharge the Chill Touch spell at CL 5. Charge used.

Spells Prepared:
Level 0: Acid Splash, Arcane Mark, Light, Ghost Sound
Level 1: Chill Touch, Vanish, Shocking Touch, Feather Fall
Level 2: Web, Mirror Image

Equipment: Belt of Incredible Dexterity (+4), Headband of Alluring Charisma (+4), Cloak of Resistance (+3), Flawed Crimson Sphere Ioun Stone (+2), Quick Runner's Shirt, Scabbard of Valor with +1 Scimitar in its sheath

[wodine]

Largo al Factotum Ignatius was enjoying the fact that he was sitting, in a chair, not running down some constantly shifting chasm, not fighting strange versions of himself and others, not arguing his way in circles, just sitting. It had been a very stressful day, and it was beginning to take its toll on the cleric. While Ignatius had greedily drank in the surroundings and environment he had not taken time to study his fellow portal travelers, who like him, have journeyed far from home. From his position at the table he was able to see them one by one as they moved closer. The first to come closer was a hobgoblin, or so, Ignatius thought. Perhaps it had been crossbred with a dwarf? – a horrifying thought. Hobgoblins were a menace in many places throughout Oerth their brutish militaristic strength allowed them to survive in harsh climes, and their rudimentary intelligence kept them free of the other pestering goblinoids. Often they stood a full head taller than Ignatius, perhaps more, but this one stood shorter than him. There was something about this Jorgum, aside from his strange ancestry, that bothered Ignatius. Something he had read in some text, a reading that seemed like it had happened eons ago. It was the tale of one of their twisted gods, Nomog-Geaya. A vile commanding figure, Nomog-Geaya is said to have no expressions other than a grim, tight-lipped look of domineering authority, which would currently describe this Jorgum. The legends tell of an avatar following the tenants of The General which are fivefold. The first is to arm yourself with fire and steel. Second, rally all hobgoblin tribes. Third, hunt elves and goblins and put them to the sword. Fourth, burn prisoners alive in sacrifice to Nomog-Geaya, He accepts no other sacrifice. Finally, honor no god above Nomog-Geaya. When those tenants are upheld Nomog-Geaya himself will appear on Oerth and bring about a new age of war, fire, and despair for the enlightened races. Yes, that is what Ignatius finds most bothersome, this Jorgum, could quite possibly bring fire and despair to all worlds, not only Oerth, he was not to be trusted. Next came Rimoka, wanderer of the Scarred Tundra. Clearly a strong woman, covered in grit and sinew from whatever hell she had had to face to arrive here. Chaos Beasts? Ignatius cocks his head at the mention of such things, so we all didn’t face the same things to arrive here? Interesting. The woman claimed to be of little learning, and yet, she asked questions wiser than she claimed to be. Standing there; her spear turned upright, a visage of Ehlonna in all her glory. This was truly turning into a meeting fit for the gods – but then who would that leave Ignatius as, the Avatar of his Lady, or something more? Then came Thomas, the Demon boy of Bauerburg - His voice was timid, his manner mild. He seldom laughed but he often smiled. He'd seen how righteous men behaved. He never forgot and he never forgave. Not Thomas... The Demon boy of Bauerburg. It had a catchy tune to it, there was no doubt, but it would need refinement and reworking, the rhythm was slightly off and a tempo would need to be chosen. Much like the boy. He was meek and noncommittal to his opinions. It would be interesting to see how his thoughts of the boy shifted. If it shifted. Then the Steward spoke, in a very domineering manner, which Ignatius was not expecting. A forceful narrator for the second act, that was to be certain. He spewed nothing but half truths and whole lies much as Follaus had, and Ignatius was skeptical of his true intention. Ignatius had never trusted Follaus’ motives and now the Steward was just as untrustworthy. What Ignatius did know, was that he was determined to keep those things locked up. Before Ignatius had a chance to speak up the Demon Boy did. The boy prattled on a bit, but here were a few useful questions scattered in with the unnecessary information. Wait… who the hell is Ivan? Then the hobgoblin began his rant. Starting off with violence and bloodshed, how typical of his kind. Threatening a creature of unknown, but clearly great power, when he himself was wounded. Ignatius couldn’t help but smile at the bravado. As the hobgoblin concluded his depressing and unbearably skewed summary of his miserable world view Ignatius couldn’t help but speak up. Do not surmise that your existential ennui is the truth of the all the worlds we are here to save. The world you describe would hardly be worth saving. You speak of nothing but darkness, but within that darkness there are always seeds of light which will never be extinguished. Life, truth, beauty, freedom, love – these are the tenants that are worth saving. If these things did not exist, then why go through all the bother of saving the multiverse after all? Petrichor, a sunset in the summer, holding the one you love, seeing your children grow old and happy, a festival of life and light, a flute solo, rain drops on roses, and whiskers on kittens, those are the reasons we must save the multiverse, and if all you see is darkness, corruption, plague, pestilence, and death then perhaps your world is already lost, but Mine. Is. Not. Ignatius punctuated the last three world very intently to drive home his point. Ignatius grabbed a goblet and a golden pitcher filled with red wine and poured himself a glass while he waited for what he was certain would be a charmingly eloquent response from the goblin-kin. Come Rimoka, have a seat, your standing is making me uneasy. Ignatius invites the woman to the table, hoping she could serve as another voice of reason. Drinking some of the wine, as it danced upon his palette, a thought crosses Ignatius’ mind. I must admit, I am also curious, will one of the Myst sisters be joining us for a reprise, or will a new player enter?

 

Statblock Ignatius HP: 37/62 Senses: Initiative: +1; Spot: +9; Search: +3; Listen: +8 AC (Normal, Touch, Flat): 25; 11; 24 Saves (Fort, Ref, Will): +11; +6; +13 Turn Undead: 5/5 (daily) Orisons: Cure Minor, Detect Magic, Guidance, Light, Read Magic, Mending Spells Level 1: Comprehend Languages, Divine Favor, Sanctuary, Command, Bless, Cure Light Wounds + Longstrider Spells Level 2: Find Traps, Restoration – Lesser, Spiritual Weapon, Eagle’s Splendor, Sound Burst + Identify Spells Level 3: Dispel Magic, Prayer, Searing Light, Summon Monster III, Create Food and Water + Fly Spells Level 4: Neutralize Poison, Restoration, Sending, Tongues + Dimension Door Spells Level 5: Flame Strike, Righteous Might + Teleport Spells Level 6: Heal + Antimagic Field Wands: CLW 50/50; Bull’s Strength 50/50 Scrolls: Spider Climb, Restoration x2; Summon Monster IV; Lightning Bolt; Fireball; Haste; Knock; Shatter; Invisibility; Disguise Self; Identify; Message x2 Languages: Common, Elven Notes: Alignment Aura; Hand of the Mage; Mithral Full Plate of Speed 3/10 rounds.

[Khelbiros]

Rimoka warily surveys the people sitting down at the table, listening to their dinner conversation and more practically, making sure that no one keels over from eating or drinking from the feast.

Firstly, she's irritated that the Steward didn't answer any of her questions, and instead just responds with cryptic answers and more questions. Rather like Follaus. He took a while to get to the point.

And there there's something sweet and earnest about young Thomas that engages her. He should probably not refer to himself as the 'Demon Boy' though; surely there are more positive turns of phrases he could use? And what's this about the missing brother?

Jorgum's conversation is dark, bitter and aggressive. Rimoka wonders what his point is. Life is always about pain and survival. The trick is just not to lose yourself to that cycle; is that something Jorgum is lost in? She doesn't like hearing how Follaus was beaten up in Jorgum's strand of the time rope? Time road? The old man had been civil to Rimoka and her companions. And another missing brother. Were they harvested by the circus that Rimoka had come to hunt down? Is the Steward behind that dark legacy?

Ignatius's invitation for Rimoka to sit at the table is polite and Rimoka accepts, even if he is one of those court poets. She remembers a time long ago, when she would have giggled and simpered over Ignatius's attention, and begged him to recite his latest verses. She watches him drink deeply of the wine, and then finally prowls across the floor, and sits at the end of the table opposite the Steward. She leans her spear next to her, in arm's reach, so she can throw it directly at the Steward (or his guest to be) if things come to that. Then she picks up a jug of water, so large that a normal man might have trouble carrying it with one hand. She pauses to drink from it, and then pours most of it over her head, partially washing away the gore crusting her hair. Then she washes her hands and face in the reminder. She then places the jug back on the table, the remaining water within it all red and cloudy.

Rimoka retrieves a hooked dagger from her belt and hooks up some of spiced meats from a nearby platter, wolfing it down. The delicious taste of the pink meat fortifies her, filing her with unexpected vigour. It almost drives away her rage-induced headache. She munches on random meat and fine fruits that she can reach around the table. Perhaps giving the Steward what he wants might work if he fails to respond to Jorgum's despair.

"I'll tell you what my Follaus said to me," she said. "We didn't attack him, merely spoke." She gives a quick glare at Jorgum. "I understand we all arrived on different... time strands... to get here." She pulls a rough piece of cord from her belt and holds it up, pulling at the end so it unravels. "This the world," she said, pointing at the cord. "And it's falling apart. But we are all on different strands of the cord..." She points to the frayed ends. "And it needs to come together again to make a stronger world." She plaits the cord back together quickly.

She chews on a leg of chicken for a moment, thoughtfully. "Follaus wanted us to stop the Kings of Time. He didn't know who or what they are, only that they wanted to destroy everything. And he built this magic gate so that only people who could stop the Kings of Time would be chosen." Rimoka dips her chicken leg in some more water and chews on it some more. "That was it. I came through his gate with my companion, but only my time strand got me here in the end." She shrugs off a pang for the missing Max and Shilantris. "I thought my other companions were more worthy, but I'm here. I fought some Chaos Beasts and now I'm partaking of your hospitality." She points her chicken leg accusingly at the Steward. "I've been honest with you, so you return the favour. Who are these Kings of Time, and what are you planning to do? And I would like you to tell the truth about these missing children, for the sake of their brothers and families."

Rimoka finishes eating her chicken leg, never taking her eye off the Steward, like a hawk watching a snake wriggle across the ground.

[pianoman90]

Jorgum of the Sharp Fang Jorgum snorted as Ignatius' rebuttal came. The man had clearly never lived in the real world, never had to scrap for food, never had to fight for what he truly believed in. The man's ivory tower stance may well have assured his shiny breastplate and his hoi-polloi talk of beauty, but there was far more to Jorgum's true picture of the world than the despair he made it out to be. "Yes, I know beauty. I know love. My world may not be full of these 'flutes' you talk of, but I see just as many reasons to save my world as yours. Not that this should be in contention. We are here to save all timelines, not cherry-pick our way through strands like a weaver at their loom. Everything is worth saving, and sometimes we must get our hands a little dirty in order to achieve these goals." The man was an insufferable fool, knowing nothing of the struggles Jorgum had faced to get here. How had Ignatius even survived the same trials that Jorgum had? Perhaps he had such a friendly companion to carry him through, be his footstool and shine his armor prior to the final push into this room. But nevertheless, Jorgum's annoyance at the man was such a small part of the larger game that was being played out in front of them. Rimoka finally took her seat, leaving the seat opposite Jorgum free for their mysterious 'guest'. This pleased the hobgoblin, he would be at the business end of the table. Her words rang true, and settled Jorgum a little. She reminded him, albeit perhaps inadvertently, that he was also here for a reason. They all were, and petty squabbling would get them nowhere. Far from the epiphany he appeared to have while arguing with his companions and Follaus, he nevertheless appeared to simmer a little, his dark demeanor relaxing slightly. "I have fought long and hard to be here, this much is probably plain to see. Perhaps I represent the side of this debate that several of you would prefer not to examine too closely, for fear of what lay down the rabbit hole. But I say this-We must have free will. Without free will, we are nothing. This much, I believe we can all agree on, yes? Ah, but we cannot forget-with freedom comes turmoil. With choice comes conflict. Everything has its antithesis. You can only appreciate beauty, know it fully after you have seen ugly. When you lay down next to a dying man on the battlefield, you understand and value life without comparison. I do not pretend to be anything I am not, but I know I deserve to be here, I am required to be here. If this old man releases the Kings of time, freedom will be lost, your beauty and my values will disappear, as if they were never there." Jorgum kept his eyes on the other companions during his speech, indicating only to the Steward with a slight head nod at the end. Now looking directly at Ignatius, he added, "I may be the flip side of your coin, but I must be there for the coin to exist at all, yes?" Settling back in his chair, he spread his hands wide and looked over to the old man. "Well? We are all assembled-heroes united together around your table. Time to reveal your tricks, Steward."

 

Jorgum
Speed: 30ft
HP: 37/87
AC: (28) Flat-Footed: (15) Touch: (25)

 

Base:10
Armor: +3 - Bracers of Armor
Deflection: +2 - Ring of Protection
Dexterity: +6
Dodge: +7 - Canny defense (+5), Dodge (+1) and Swashbuckler's Nimble (+1)
Armor and Deflection contribute towards FF, Dexterity and Dodge contribute towards Touch.

Fort: +11 Ref: +15 Will: +10
BAB: +9/+4 CMB: (+15) CMD: (35)

 

CMB: Base Attack Bonus: +9
Dexterity: +6 - Agile Maneuvers Feat

CMD: Base: 10
Base Attack Bonus: +9
Strength: +1
Dexterity: +6
Deflection: +2 - Ring of Protection
Dodge bonus: +7 - Carried over from AC

Melee:
+1 Spell Storing Rapier (Chill Touch)
+17/+12, 1d6+9 Damage, 15-20 Critical Threat

 

Attack Base Attack Bonus: +9/+4
Dexterity: +6 - Weapon Finesse
Magic Enhancement: +1
Rapier Weapon Training: +1

Damage: Rapier Base damage: 1d6
Dexterity: +6 - Slashing Grace feat
Magic Enhancement: +1
Rapier Weapon Training: +2
Spell Storing Quality: On a successful hit, as a free action I can cast the spell stored within the blade. This will discharge the Chill Touch spell at CL 5. Charge used.

Spells Prepared:
Level 0: Acid Splash, Arcane Mark, Light, Ghost Sound
Level 1: Chill Touch, Vanish, Shocking Touch, Feather Fall
Level 2: Web, Mirror Image

Equipment: Belt of Incredible Dexterity (+4), Headband of Alluring Charisma (+4), Cloak of Resistance (+3), Flawed Crimson Sphere Ioun Stone (+2), Quick Runner's Shirt, Scabbard of Valor with +1 Scimitar in its sheath

[Admin Bhelogan]

Steward smiled enthusiastically and nodded at everyone as each spoke making it impossible to tell what his actual thoughts on the matter. Was he enraged by their comments, intimidated by their demands, or entertained by their assumptions? One point, however, he had to object too. "Brother? Oh no... Follaus, or at least the ones you dealt with, could be perhaps considered an inferior copy? Nice, but flawed. Nothing like the original." A grandiose laughter accompanied this explanation. His tone then became more serious as Steward stood again from his chair.


"As for the other useless meddlers who were here last time…. It is not so much that they failed, but proved only able to delay not resolve the conflict. And so, those who were not needed, well…." Steward pointed up to the ceiling at one of the chambers. And old withered face of a human male was there, with a pipe still sticking out of his mouth. Thomas instantly recognized him as Ivan. "He actually wanted to let the bowel movements of a dog make the decision," he muttered this to himself as he shook his head, but his words were still audible in the mostly quiet chamber. "Now don’t blame me. I didn’t put him there. Not Ivan, Haluk, nor the younger Myst sister."

Steward again directed these remarks to Thomas. But then addressed all, "Or any of them for that matter. But I might be able to release them. Allow me to explain a little, and help you start to understand." Steward's tone changed to one of a lecturer explaining the details of a complex algorithm." I think Ignatius is starting to get it. Worlds! Multiverses! Not just one but many. How many of you started your quaint little day in Baurberg? Yes, all of you, but not the SAME Bauerburg. And the four of you hardly represent them all. Now, imagine a juggler. He tosses his balls in circles, keeping everything moving along nice and smoothly. Then, someone tosses him another ball. If this particular juggler is skilled, he can add this ball into his rotation and keep everything moving along smoothly. However, if you throw enough balls at him, eventually even the most talented and practice of jugglers will have their balls start to fall. Do you know what it looks like when that happens? I think you do. You have seen it today. Things are starting to crack. Something has to be done, or else EVERYTHING will be dropped."

Steward sat back down in his seat and appeared to be in a much more jovial mood now. "Of course it is much more complicated than that. We are dealing with timelines and multiverses, not balls. But who has the right to choose which balls will fall and which ones will not? Do I?" Steward pointed at himself. "Do you?" Steward pointed at his seated guests next. "Or do they?" Steward hunched his shoulders, waiting for an answer. "Tell me, please. Do you have the right to decide who will continue on in ignorance, and who will simply vanish from reality?"

 

  S
O███J
I███T
  R

S - Steward (The Host)
J - Jorgum
I - Ignatius
T - Thomas
R - Rimoka
O - Open Seat
█ - Table

[wodine]

Vesti la giubba The hobgoblin’s rebuttal came and went, as his species often does, angrily. Ignatius eyed the twisted creature with a quizzical look; the pragmatism, the lack of armor, the strength of will, yes this creature was similar indeed to Elgrim, his dwarven companion, whom Ignatius wished had passed through the gate with him. Of course Jorgum was a little taller, and uglier at least by double, and far more aggressive, but the similarities were there. You misunderstand, I have no doubt there is merit in the life of your world, to think I would suggest otherwise says more about you than it does me, my friend. Ignatius takes another drink from his goblet, before dabbing his lip with a napkin. I simply meant to say that no matter the state of the world, whether Iuz the Old is leading his cursed army of the dead into the Grand Duchy of Urnst, or Vecna the Chained God, Lord of the Rotted Tower is raising his twisted eye and hand, there is light, there is life, there is hope; that spark is what we must focus on and save. I have fought long and hard to be here, this much is probably plain to see. This phrase bothered Ignatius, not so much in what was said, but rather, what was implied. If you are suggesting that the rest of us have not fought our way to our position here, you are mistaken, and if you find your wounds so obviously insufferable, I have healing enough for everyone in present company. You need only ask. Ignatius was certain the creature would not allow his pride to be wounded by asking for help from Ignatius, but nevertheless Ignatius produces a small silvery wand tipped with a polished sky blue bead of kyanite. Ignatius places the wand on the table in front of him, prepared to heal any who ask for his assistance. I find your logic terribly flawed, and while I’ve had my fill of talking in circles about the role of time and fate and whether free will even matters, I am far more concerned with this juggler of which the steward speaks. The thought of a cosmic juggler maintaining all the different spheres of reality had never really occurred to Ignatius. It was hard enough to study all the different planes and the rotations they go through, material, ethereal, astral, elemental, inner, far, outer, abyssal there was so much life contained in each delicately balanced on top of one another – but to add another copy of each into the mix. How many lives were they dealing with now? Millions? Billions? More? Ignatius' mind imagined a tragic and lonely figure – an interlude between acts – dressed in speckled motley, set to play the fool. The audience would be both amazed and amused by his antics; juggling, leaping, and diving. Distracting them from the set changes happening behind him, making them forget for merely a moment the tragedy that was at hand. Suddenly a timpani enters, very very loudfortississimo, and all the juggling spheres crash to the ground, the harlequin caught off guard by the sudden sound. Exeunt. Refocusing on the task at hand, Ignatius looks at the Steward, a stern and steeled gaze. Do you mean to say that whatever it is that is holding the multiverses together is failing and someone must choose what realities live and which cease to exist? Ignatius finished his drink while ending this question and poured himself another. Because I will not. I can not. Who are any of us to choose and judge the validity of another life, or even our own lives? It is a job best left to the gods, who, on occasion are just as fallible when left with such duties. Ignatius looked around the table hoping that the others agreed with the very horror of the suggestion. I sit here, thinking to myself: that if I didn't believe in love and in life, if I lost faith my Lady the Divine Poet, was unable to see beauty and love, were convinced that everything described to us earlier by our charming Jorgum, if I were struck by every terror that is man's disillusionment -- still I should want to live. Having once drank from the cup of life and tasted its sweet ambrosia, I would not turn away from it till it was drained! Perhaps it is my youth and my artistry that I will to triumph over every challenge, every horror that I have seen and felt. I sit here, asking myself whether there is, in the world, any despair that could overcome my frantic thirst of life, of love, of beauty and I can think of nothing, and I imagine each have a will all the same. Who am I, who are you to take away such a thing from so many? This was incredulous, they may as well being asking Ignatius to bathe in the blood of newborns or strangle a litter of kittens. - Would he not be doing just that?

 

Statblock Ignatius HP: 37/62 Senses: Initiative: +1; Spot: +9; Search: +3; Listen: +8 AC (Normal, Touch, Flat): 25; 11; 24 Saves (Fort, Ref, Will): +11; +6; +13 Turn Undead: 5/5 (daily) Orisons: Cure Minor, Detect Magic, Guidance, Light, Read Magic, Mending Spells Level 1: Comprehend Languages, Divine Favor, Sanctuary, Command, Bless, Cure Light Wounds + Longstrider Spells Level 2: Find Traps, Restoration – Lesser, Spiritual Weapon, Eagle’s Splendor, Sound Burst + Identify Spells Level 3: Dispel Magic, Prayer, Searing Light, Summon Monster III, Create Food and Water + Fly Spells Level 4: Neutralize Poison, Restoration, Sending, Tongues + Dimension Door Spells Level 5: Flame Strike, Righteous Might + Teleport Spells Level 6: Heal + Antimagic Field Wands: CLW 50/50; Bull’s Strength 50/50 Scrolls: Spider Climb, Restoration x2; Summon Monster IV; Lightning Bolt; Fireball; Haste; Knock; Shatter; Invisibility; Disguise Self; Identify; Message x2 Languages: Common, Elven Notes: Alignment Aura; Hand of the Mage; Mithral Full Plate of Speed 3/10 rounds.

[Frostburn]

A sudden spark appeared at a distance from the council table where five were seated. It was hard to say what kind of distance it was, clearly the fabric of reality here was a bit... wibly-wobbly. It was neither far nor close, and no matter how hard anyone tried to concentrate on it, they could not discern its nature. The spark grew in size and intensity, so large it was as if it was right next to them, but it still seemed to come from far away - from the distant reaches of a dying Multiverse. The purple-black energy began to pulse and then it erupted in a flash of purple and dark energy and... feathers. Black feathers shot out in all directions, covering the table and vanishing in a puff of purple and black smoke as soon as they touched anything.

Where there was once the spark now emerged a young woman fully clad in black. The style must have seemed somewhat peculiar to those present who had not witnessed the Goth revival of the Sixth World. Long black leather coat, thick boots, silver chains dangling from leather trousers, a black T-shirt with a red A in circle. She wore raven feather earrings and had make-up on that looked like black wings that fluttered when she blinked.

She walked towards the table as if she had always been, as if the sudden teleportation hadn't interrupted her stride at all. It didn't look like she was paying attention to anyone at the table, instead focusing on The Steward. She took her seat opposite the old man, laying herself down into the chair with the grace of a ballerina, then lifted a leg and with one of her heavy boots pushed a dish of pork away before kicking it farther with a look of disgust. After making sure any of the food in front of her was strictly kosher, she put both feet on the table and reached into her coat pocket. Her eyes never left the Steward and she finally spoke, as if to acknowledge him, with a snort.

"Stewie." She pulled out a small rectangular paper box. In it was written in an embossed golden font: Virginia Gold. "So... this the pub at the end of the Universe, is it? Anyone going to bring my order? I asked for the Halal." She took a deep drag from her cigarette and sent a puff of purple and black smoke swirling above her. The smoke seemed to hover like an image and took the shape of a nebula, a swirling mass of intergalactic dust where stars were born... from a cigarette.

At this point, she finally addressed the others at the table. "Anyone think they're hallucinating?" Her demeanour had changed all the sudden. No longer terse and combative, she was genuine, even friendly. She offered the pack of cigarettes around the table. "I did, my first time. It's fine if you do. Except... you're not." She turned back to the Steward and her smile became venomous. "Here we were, deciding the fate of the Multiverse and I thought I was trippin' balls."

"Speaking of balls... did we get to the part where he wants to be Master of the Universe yet? That's my favourite bit. Go on Stewie, I haven't heard a good joke all day, tell it again."

[Khelbiros]

Rimoka listens to the Steward and Ignatius, frowning. "So there's lots of time strands that are going to die, and you want our help to decide which ones to keep?" Rimoka puts down her chicken leg. "You still haven't given us enough information to help you, if that's what you're really after."

She frowns again and picks at her teeth with her knife. "And you said the other group couldn't give you any real assistance. They wanted to resort to random oracles or games of chance to decide, is that it?"

Rimoka thinks for a bit, puts down her knife, and looks around the table at the other dinner guests. "Do any of you have any better suggestions for the Steward? Ignatius believes this is best left for the gods to decide. What about you, Jorgum and Thomas? Surely we can come with some good ideas if we all put our heads together. We were chosen because we might be able to come up with the right solution to help the Steward and..."

She's distracted for a few moments when the young woman arrives. Rimoka's rather confused by her appearance and demeanour; she doesn't appear to be an ally of the Steward, as Rimoka had been expecting, but rather.... perhaps a foil, or a jester. Still, you can't really tell with first impressions. Rimoka remembers the first impression of her husband being a handsome, noble figure, like one of the heroes perhaps spoken of in Ignatius's poems. Her knuckles whiten as she grips the edge of the table, trying not to remember.

Rimoka calms herself down with a swig of wine, and listens to the young woman's conversation. "I am Rimoka, the Wanderer of the Scarred Tundra," she introduces herself, trying to figure out still f this woman is trustworthy. "Look, I'm trying to help the Steward solve his problem, but he won't exactly tell anything directly. I'm a simple woman, I want all of our cards laid out on the table so we can all figure out how to save the world. What do mean that you've seen this before? Are you an oracle of the gods?" Rimoka glares at the Steward again. "And can you tell us everything, please! Otherwise nothing will be saved! What's this about you wanting to become the Master of the Universe?" Rimoka's voice, while trying to be reasonable, is becoming strained with frustration.

She forces herself to eat a potato slowly, trying to prevent herself from lapsing into a satisfying but ultimately unproductive rage. It's a delicious potato, all spiced and soft. "It's alway the simple things that are best," Rimoka muses. Could there be a simple solution to this confusing situation?