It is a cold room in the middle of nowhere. Literally, nowhere . The place does not exist in this or any realm. It is a small comfortable room, yet infinitely large in proportions. While fires licked in the myriad of fireplaces throughout the chamber, it was still a tad on the cold side. The deep chilling cold of winter, a cold that is easily banished with a blanket or the warmth of a loved one. It is a room of contradictions. A room where things best not spoken of are planned, where events that affect everything are planned. Most of all it is a place where stories are told. The room is made for it. Large armchairs, warm fireplaces, a slight chill to keep you awake. Many stories are told here, more begin here, and some even end here. It is the place where people who have seen everything gather together, to tell what they have seen. No story is too outrageous, or cliché. It is here outside of everything that they gather.

They are the Walkers, those who walk to different planes of existence. Some are powerful enough to move mountains, others just happened into the game by luck. It all is a game to the Walkers. They have seen everything, and been bored by most of it. Oddities serve them drinks, and horrors that make the most stalwart of heroes quake in fear converse intelligently. The only rule is to be polite and to listen.

The first to arrive, as always, is a man dressed in simple peasant’s cloths. His Elamonel-given Earthgift managed to take him as far from her soil as can be dreamed. He has never conquered empires, or for that matter fought even the most common of opponents, the goblin. He has though, insulted Kings, and had tea with Dragons. His coming and goings are marked by the strong scent of oak and soil. He sits and takes out a journal, to which he is finishing the transcription of his viewing the sunset on the 439 th level of the Abyss(1) .

The next to arrive cannot be more different then the first. She is a beautiful woman with ice blue eyes, with cloak and hair to match. Her low-cut performing clothes are cleverly lined with the bright sapphires of Elysuim, the plane to which so many of the Gods of Good call home. The lute at her side looks like it belongs along the side of a Goddess. It also looks like it has never been played, because it hasn’t.

"Don’t say hello to me, Trin."

"You never give me a chance, Blue."

A devilish grin, half cocked to the side picks up on the woman’s face. "And why is that, dear Trin?"

"Because, you always leave me speechless."

"A woman’s wiles still leave you speechless? Didn’t you once beg a priest to give you back your sight after looking a little too closely at a Nymph(2) ?"

"Yes."

"You’re no fun, Trin. Absolutely no sense of humor."

"You have me there, Blue. No sense of humor."

"Is Sycron coming?"

"I was speaking to him before I came. He stated that he had some important business to take care of. Involving a bugbear, I believe(3) ."

"A bugbear? My, his standards have gone down."

"Just because he spurned you, my beautiful Tiefling, is no reason to insult the High Mage."

"Imagine, not wanting me, just because my maternal grandfather was an incubus(4) . The nerve."

Behind the beautiful quasi-fiend mist begins to roll in, cloaking the dark robed image materializing behind her. The two Walkers stood in silence, awaiting the third. A deep voice echoed, as if it were deep in a crypt.

"Where are the others?"

"Not here, Lord Canaan(5) ."

The robed figure slowly turned its hooded head in the direction of the voice.

"Trin." It was a statement, not a greeting, or a question. Slowly a pair of decomposing hands straightened the highly arcane astrological signs covering the beautiful leather and blue silk robes. They were not the robes of a working magus. They were the robes of office of one of the most powerful beings in the multiverse.

"I heard that you were a little, well, bigger now, Canaan," says the tiefling, wrapping her arms around the cold corpse. Its deep red eyes flash, and the woman flies off of the creature.

"Do not touch me." The lich spoke with the authority of someone used to being obeyed. The statement was just as mechanical and lacking of emotion as his first word.

"You should know better then to seduce one of the Dragon Lichs." A drop of ink fell onto the page, leaving a smudge as the calm hearted Walker spoke to the beautiful Bard.

"Neither of you are of any use to me. I shall return." And the being slides into nothingness, as soundlessly as a grave.

"Creepy."

"I would certainly think that one such as yourself would be better to find words to describe crossing paths with Lord Canaan," said Trin. "After all, you are a bard."

"Sometimes using a bigger, or prettier word does not do a thing justice."

"Hmm."

"Hmm? Trin? What is ‘Hmm?’"

"I was just thinking."

"A ceramic for your thoughts."

"My, you bards are cheap. The smallest coin of Athas(6) you offer me? As if there was something that was actually worth something on the Desert World."

"Then tell me for nothing, Trin."

"I have been doing lots of traveling. It seems the worlds are at a nexus point. The Dwarves of Kaerith are about to march on Gagneria. The Elves of two worlds are about to go to war. On Galon with the humans, on Ronlin with the Dwarves. I watch, I listen. I hear. You hear more, Blue. What does the network of Bards say?"

"There are many stories. I just left the Festival of Peasants in the Imperial City on Ronlin, where I spoke to Eric and the Kobolds. Eric says that the walls between worlds are collapsing. I saw Aragon in Irelia, and he thinks that an apocalypse is coming(7) ."

"He would. He’s mad. Apocalypse, my ass. The end of the worlds at hand? He’s nuttier then an grove of peanuts."

"Not THE apocalypse. An apocalypse. The end of the worlds as we know them. But not the ultimate end. I don’t know, though, Trin. Either way it scares me."

Trin gets up and wraps his arms around Blue, and nuzzles his face into her fragrant hair.

"It will be all right, my love."

"Trin…"

"Quite, let us enjoy the moment of peace. Soon others will be here."

"Trin. Aragon brought me back Bull(8) ."

Trin pulls away from the shapely tiefling.

"So, yet again I am tossed aside for that lumbering oaf?!"

"Trin, it's not like that! Bull and I, we have a history. A connection."

"And what is that, Blue? Can it be as deep, as emotional, as what we have? We have lain together deep in the caves of the Hells! Its not like he’s your husband."

Blue just looks at him, tears welling in her eyes.

"He is. You married that overly large hunk of meat! I thought I knew you!"

"No, Trin. I am not married to Bull."

"Then what is this connection?"

"He’s my Chester’s father(9) ."

"What!? Chester? That drummer of yours! Why, he’s as old as Bull is! I know that you are old, but Bull isn’t."

"The planes play tricks on time, you know that as well as any. We have a connection, as well, Trin…"

"I don’t want to hear it! I am leaving!"

The room filled with the smell of oak and soil. Blue was left alone to her feelings, and the crackling of the fires.

"…you’re Aragon’s father, Trin Silmaron."


Footnotes:

  1. Perhaps the rarest of Earthgifts, aside from the necromantic powers shunned by Elamonel, is the ability referred to by espers as Gatemaking, which allows its possessor to step from one plane to another. Gatemaking is highly dangerous, as Earthgift energy cannot be regenerated anywhere but on Kaerith’s soil, and using the power from another plane is costlier and more difficult than doing so from Kaerith. Many Gatemakers who go too far or remain too long away from Kaerith find themselves unable to draw enough Earthgift power to return home, leaving them marooned on the planes.
  2. The beauty of nymphs is such that ordinary mortals gazing upon them run the risk of contracting nympholepsy , a temporary insanity brought about by desire for the lovely creature. A man who sees a nymph disrobed is frequently blinded by its extraordinary beauty, and in some cases even killed.
  3. The mage referred to is Sycron the Collector of Galon, although both Blue of the Seven Bards and Trin are Kaerithian. For details of Sycron’s dealings with the bugbear in question, see the "Sage Chronicles" series of stories in the Galon section of the Fiction Page.
  4. A Tiefling is a creature whose ancestry is primarily human, but at least one parent or grandparent was a native of the Lower Planes, typically (but not always) a succubus, incubus, alu-fiend, or cambion. Tieflings look mostly human, but always have a telltale feature of their exotic heritage, such as small horns, pointed ears, oddly shaped or colored eyes, cloven-hoofed feet, or a tail. They share some of the immunities of their demonic heritage, can innately use a few minor spells, have a taste for raw meat, oil, and ash, and tend to be mercurial and passionate beings with quickly-shifting tempers and a mysterious allure.
  5. Lord Canaan is the head of the Blue Oyster Cult, a powerful religious movement from Laz’s homeworld of Ronlin. He is the lich whose encounter with Gideon Al’Thor was recounted in the story Kelidno’s Game , found on the Fiction Page. For more information on Ronlin, the BOC, or Lord Canaan, contact Laz.
  6. Athas is the home of TSR’s now defunct Dark Sun campaign setting, a barren desert world in which psionics are more common than magic and metals of any kind are rare and precious.
  7. The above is a quick summary of many important events taking shape on the worlds of Galon, Kaerith, and Ronlin. Eric and the Kobolds are a plane-shifting band of bards created by Laz for Ronlin, but they have also appeared on Kaerith. Aragon, of course, is Laz’s infamous mad bard from 2nd Group . Consult Laz for more information on the Ronlinian events, and myself if you wish to know more about current events on Galon or Kaerith.
  8. This is the same Bull who made his PC debut as the first character in the Kaerithian Dreambook Group , an online campaign still running from the Library. He was last seen in that campaign being captured by an unknown individual; apparently his whereabouts have just been revealed.
  9. Chester, otherwise known as Crazy Chester the Wandering Jester, is a member of the Seven Bards, the same band to which Blue belongs. This infamous Kaerithian group of bards, scoundrels, and adventurers (depending on who you ask) was created by Laz as background for his bard PC Aragon, but later took on a life of their own and have spent considerable time on Laz’s own world of Ronlin.