Links to other sites on the Web3. THE DUNGEON MASTER: Enolc Det, Paladin of the Forgotten Shadow World, stoops and gently cradles the broken body of his beloved. He says nothing.
The Samurai turns his head and strains to hear what direction the laughter came from. Informing the White Wolf and Logan that he is going to seek the source of the Hellish mirth and insisting that he travel alone, the warrior departs toward the darkness.
The Mage and Paladin think him suicidal even by Samurai standards.
Staring at the remains of the elven princess with whom he once travelled, the Mana Mage Tim makes a prophecy: "Ugh... I think... I'm gonna be... sick." He leans against the corridor wall opposite the WorldVoid and slowly sits down. The Wizard closes his eyes and relaxes, taking long, slow breaths. Quietly, he mumbles:
"How long will we have to suffer for? This senseless war will continue no matter what we do... and now an outside force may threaten our existence. How could we handle something like that when all we do is kill each other? What would be the point of fighting it? Different path, same result."
Zephyr, suddenly feeling an odd connection to Tim, approaches and kneels next to the corpse of the Paladin's true love. "What happened to her?" she asks. "Did the orb do this to her?"
The Paladin sighs deeply, as though he emits the lost world's suffering in his one breath. "She was slain....in combat....as is its wont." he replies. After a long pause, he continues. "The Orb was simply very....selective....as to which parts of her....were sent....to Hell."
"Why would the orb send her, could it mean something?"
Eno considers before responding. "Could that....world the Dragon destroyed....have been....ours?"
This time it is the dark and mysterious Paladin Valhalla Geode who responds. "It would mean perhaps that our fleshy bodies are all the living matter that is left from the world for which we fought for so long. One is left to wonder: is this Armageddon, or Apocalypse, or merely another fell grain of sand in an endless desert?"
Life Force, 1rst-Level Paladin in Hell, gasps. Staring about at the shadows apprehensively, he whispers:
The narrow corridor which you presently occupy, doubtless one of a multitude of such passages in Labyrinthus, does not afford much movement to any in your large group. Farian Shadowstorm presses through the group, however, and stares at Eno for a moment before passing his gaze over Zyriel. At that moment he begins to chuckle, a low sadistic form of laughter that only one of a shattered mind could possess. "Heh....heh....heh...." He turns his back on Eno, staring towards the fiendish laughter. As he approaches it, he states, "The game has just begun.... Only we're playing by my rules now." He is not afraid, for what should an immortal Valarkian like him ever fear? After all, should he die.... He would just be reborn, like the phoenix emblazoned on his shield, and like he has in the past. Before heading toward the hall's end, Farian touches the adjacent WorldOrb. He takes the crown produced by it and wears it; the lord of a dead realm.
"No...." Savanna protests meekly. "The world...."
The death of another world causes you to be enveloped by a strange haze of foreign recollections. In this haze, some of you find yourselves staring at the nameless man in black who is among your reinforcements. He wears black denim cargo pants, a plain black t-shirt, a black trenchcoat, and mirrored goggles. For reasons unknown, the word 'matrix' enter's the mind of Tim the enchanter. But wait, that can't be right: the matrix is the essence of a good deity, used by a race of silicon-based lifeforms to destroy a planet-devouring dark god.
Taking into account the dark skin of the man in black, the White Wolf thinks of the Greek deity Morpheus. However, Morpheus is a pale-skinned creature with jauntily-spiked hair who, like his elder sister, goes for years at a time without seeing even his closest friends....as though he is a Seraphim....
Dual-worldly endeavours, from Seraphim to the White Wolf....good luck in your quest....you will need it....so that is the case with our most special world....intriguing information....my thanks Soaldara, the Paladin Hunter....hmmm....the Seventh Floor....
"The Hall of Worlds is driving us all mad!" notes Tim.
"Let's get out of here before it's too late!" suggests Abadon, making the logical next step.
"Descending deeper into Labyrinthus may not be the most logical course of action to take if you wish to invoid -sorry, *avoid*- insanity," points out Valhalla, "but it appears to be our only possible choice."
"Indeed." concurs Eno. "Just as time only flows forward, so too can we only travel in that direction." The Paladin stands, still holding the corpse of the elven princess.
Meanwhile, the Samurai has travelled the five feet necessary to reach the end of the hallway, made a 90-degree left turn (all turns made in Labyrinthus so far have been 90-degree ones) for five feet followed by a 90-degree right one, and progressed straight ahead for thirty-five feet down a corridor five feet wide. There he stopped, for at that point the Celestial light falters and Labyrinthus becomes as dark as an unlit room with the curtains drawn on an overcast day.
This allowed Farian Shadowstorm to catch up to him. "Shh...." ordered the Pang Chungese Knight upon the wood elf's arrival. "I sense that the daimon with whom we must duel lies in the darkness beyond. I shall go and smite it."
"Don't be a fool!" advised the fellow Ranger. "Death has always been dealt liberally to us Valarkians; especially where Outsiders are concerned. When we voyage into the darkness, we voyage as a complete party."
Thus the two warriors instead turned right down a thirty-foot corridor. Upon reaching its end, they turned right for five feet, then left for five feet, and finally right once more. This placed them at the end of another long passageway, twenty feet of which they traversed before hearing a scream and hastily turning right for ten feet before making a final right turn.
There they silently watch the source of the scream, who is also the final member of the Samurai's Magic-User reinforcement party, as she watches the death of a world.
Kilgore Trout, Valarkian Wanderer and thus now a beauteous maiden in two worlds simultaneously, stares in horror as the planet within the starsea orb before her is cleaved in twain by an unseen sword. As the dying azure fragments fall away into the midnight void, the elven Magi catches a quick glimpse of an ArchFiend. It is an armored humynoid figure, shrouded in shadows, with a tattered mantle of stars and the rotted wings of a dragon. It rockets directly toward its viewer at such an intense speed that the Laurencian lady involuntarily vaults backward against the wall five feet behind her. Clinging to her consciousness as a starving hawk to its prey, Kilgore slides down the wall to the stone floor, chest heaving.
The two men find themselves almost transfixed by the beauty of the fair convulsing maiden. Her graceful elven form....contained so adeptly within her low-cut, slashed-skirted gown and snake-strapped sandals....The Rangers find it quite easy indeed to wait in silence until her attention can be wrenched from the WorldOrb's macabre display.
"Oh, hi Manji...." greets Kilgore, lifting her head in the direction of the Samurai. Noticing his companion, she adds, "And you must be...."
"Farian Shadowstorm." replies Farian Shadowstorm. "And you are?"
"Trout. Kilgore Trout. By the way, do you know where we are?"
"We are in a world where all worlds transcend and unite." comes the awesome, echoing thunderclap of a voice possessed by the Paladin Slayer. "We are where azure sky and ashen field are one, and meaningless. We are the champions of a fallen world, summoned here to battle and journey where all things end. We are in Hell's dungeon, wench, and demons are everywhere."
"And there you have it." offers Eno the Paladin sympathetically. The rest of the party has caught up to the Rangers and Mage.
"That's Paladin Slayer." states the Paladin Logan, indicating the warrior who just called Kilgore 'wench'.
"He has yet to slay any Paladins." adds Dame Valhalla Geode, the Paladin. {Although he is still packing exactly 666 Experience Points. -TDM (The Dungeon Master).}
"He's our resident ultra-evil individual." concludes the Paladin Marissa.
Hmmph. We'll see about that! The White Wolf thinks to himself. Gazing into the now-empty WorldOrb, he sees his reflection and is not satisfied with his present appearance (especially now that the handsome Samurai Manji has arrived). Weaving his powerful magic, the White Wolf Polymorphs himself, yet only to a small extent. Rather than altering his shape to become any of the myriad of beings at his option, he remains humyn, and instead meticulously re-chisels his facial features to more suit his liking. Using only his mind, the Wizard of legendary power vastly improves his appearance, even giving his hair more fullness than it had previously. The end result is a 10-point increase in his Beauty score, placing him on par with Kilgore.
Suddenly Kilgore notices a piece of paper lying on the floor below the WorldVoid. Taking it in her hands, the Mage notes: "This sheet wasn't here when I touched the Orb. It's got weird writing all over it."
"Let me see that." requests Valhalla, walking over and examining it. "Strange....It is a language from another world, and yet I believe....that I can read it. Shall I?"
This was the last scenario playing turn before the towers fell on September 11 of 2001.
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