It Won't Be Long - Season 7
BA - NA - NA - NA NA!
Roger Glipglorp: “Good evening my guys, gals, and nonbinary pals - it’s time for Roger Glipglorp! I’m Roger Glipglorp, your host, here with another shattering piece of news coming out of the Pact Worlds. First — the news that’s on everybody’s feeds! The Dream Team is back! The wards around Ezorod have fallen, the smog around Safarae has faded, the Forge has moved to orbit it, the Hellknights are on the move, the Starfinder Society has returned /deep breath/ AND IT WAS ALL THE DREAM TEAM! While there’s been no official word from the Council on their standing warrants, we can only imagine the Stewards will be making their move soon!"
Roger Glipglorp: "In other news, several civilizations have reported sightings of Valentina Terris, who is still at large. Director Marcus has announced a task force dedicated to her capture, and all other accomplices suspected of being Reptoids. Of particular note, it seems that Grandmaster Nawa Jin has found himself on that list, after his startling comments against House Marcus in recent weeks, and his absence from the Idari since his brief visit last week, where the Doyenate of Idari attempted to place him back on bed rest."
Roger Glipglorp: "Spreading our view out to the Vast, we continue our daily coverage of the war between the Azlanti Star Empire and the Shadari Confederacy. While yesterday experts gave the Confederacy two weeks, this morning we received news of a terrible defeat on behalf of the Empire. While information is still coming in, our Vast reporters are describing sightings of mercenaries in nondescript clothing, which claim allegiance to the Shadari. We’re looking for more…"
There is a warble in the transmission, and for a moment, we step outside the dream entirely, and go somewhere beyond… A vision full of warnings, as hope returns on the horizon, hounded by pain, despair, and fear.
We begin in the Void, where four figures now stand alone, their ghostly bodies rebuilding themselves after a recent battle.
Delikul: “A passing mark.”
Siren: “You think so?”
David: “They aren’t there yet. But they have the potential.”
Tommen: “We’ll see… There is much Mist has yet to share. But—“ A ripple in the Void, and then a full tear, as a body tumbles into the Nothing. A loud huff sounds from the pile of cloth, and then a sliver of a man steps from within it, dusting off his pants. Caesura: “Ow… That was fun.” Then the man recognizes that he is not alone, and turns to the Dark Walkers. Tommen: “Well, well… What do we have here?”
Caesura: “Actually — it’s who.” We shift to the planes of the Abyss, where Chaos folds against itself, spraying shards of entropy towards the lawful nature of the universe inside it. We see the Spire, nearly hidden in the darkness, and a large Oni sitting out in front of it, nursing a wounded arm. As the Dreamer approaches, Vaughn gives an annoyed wave, addressing the camera directly. Vaughn: “Zandeer! Perfect timing… Who is this one for? Ah. Flay, this White Flame smarts! I don’t recall doing anything worthy of a flesh wound.” The Oni waves his working hand over the oozing flesh, which knits itself back together before your eyes. Vaughn: “I hope you’re enjoying your Silent Drive, little dreamers. Never let it be said that I don’t keep my end of the bargain. That Heart probably didn’t feel good to be around, but I never directed it at you…” A portal opens up at the edge of the clearing, and three figures walk out. Vaughn regards them calmly, but was clearly not expecting guests. As the figures step closer, we see their familiar faces. Mikhael the Gorgon, Roarin' Ruby, and Crimson — prominent members of the Cult of the Elder Mythos. Vaughn: “Mikhael. How pleasant to see you. Are you here on business?” Mikhael’s arm shifted at the elbow, a weighty blade appearing in his hand. Mikhael: “You could say that.”
Vaughn: “Run along, Dreamer.” The three figures descend on Vaughn, and the vision shifts. We see the Dawnshore spaceport, where a group of Stewards navy ships are coming into dock. A group of officers step from the first to arrive, heading right through processing without being scanned, and to where a small procession of diplomats are waiting. We see Captain Hamat and Imryll Novaheart, their faces set like stone. Officer: “Councilor, Ambassador. I’m afraid you’ll need to step aside. I have a warrant from the Director, we have authority to search the entire Protectorate, and you have no right to deny us access to Mataras at large.”
Hamat: “Ezorod is an allied monarchy of the Pact Worlds, officer. Not a protectorate, and outside the rulership of the Council. Unless your intention is to break the Dawnflame Treaty?” The officer purses his lips, but the rest of the Stewards remain silent. Imryll: “You are welcome to search the Archipelago, but my authority stretches no further. Perhaps we could start by providing you a room?” The Stewards glare at Hamat, who responds with a coy smile. Then the officers follow Novaheart out, and we shift to our next destination. An office on a forgotten moon, long split from its foster parent, fallen into a realm between realms. We see Valentina Terris, heavy bags under her eyes, hair in disarray, her makeup aged and smeared. She sits in front of a series of monitors, showing dozens of different viewpoints, mostly of various law offices and court rooms. The shadows behind her shift, and then a large eye opens, an aura of ice spreading across the area. Ceres: “Sweet sister, it’s time to stop. Your chosen have returned.”
Valentina: “Just one more hour, darling. I’m almost done.”
Ceres: “It wasn’t a request, sister.” Ice spreads across the table, freezing the monitors, and Valentina swivels in her chair, her head lilting dangerously to one side. A claw reaches out to support her, which shrinks to a sliver of its form size, and then into a humanoid hand. Valentina crumbles into Ceres, already asleep. Finally, we go to a twisted planet, where green starships fire on rotting husks, the Azlanti Star Empire against the Shadari Confederacy. As the two clash, another wave of ships arrive, flanking the Empire, the symbol of their order hidden, but seen through by the Haze. The Chessboard Conclave rides again at the edge of the world. But unseen to them, a new party joins the fray. A tear between the stars, as over a dozen black ships wade into the fight, followed by a black, flesh mech, whose wail dominates the dream, and shatters it to pieces.
Siren: “You think so?”
David: “They aren’t there yet. But they have the potential.”
Tommen: “We’ll see… There is much Mist has yet to share. But—“ A ripple in the Void, and then a full tear, as a body tumbles into the Nothing. A loud huff sounds from the pile of cloth, and then a sliver of a man steps from within it, dusting off his pants. Caesura: “Ow… That was fun.” Then the man recognizes that he is not alone, and turns to the Dark Walkers. Tommen: “Well, well… What do we have here?”
Caesura: “Actually — it’s who.” We shift to the planes of the Abyss, where Chaos folds against itself, spraying shards of entropy towards the lawful nature of the universe inside it. We see the Spire, nearly hidden in the darkness, and a large Oni sitting out in front of it, nursing a wounded arm. As the Dreamer approaches, Vaughn gives an annoyed wave, addressing the camera directly. Vaughn: “Zandeer! Perfect timing… Who is this one for? Ah. Flay, this White Flame smarts! I don’t recall doing anything worthy of a flesh wound.” The Oni waves his working hand over the oozing flesh, which knits itself back together before your eyes. Vaughn: “I hope you’re enjoying your Silent Drive, little dreamers. Never let it be said that I don’t keep my end of the bargain. That Heart probably didn’t feel good to be around, but I never directed it at you…” A portal opens up at the edge of the clearing, and three figures walk out. Vaughn regards them calmly, but was clearly not expecting guests. As the figures step closer, we see their familiar faces. Mikhael the Gorgon, Roarin' Ruby, and Crimson — prominent members of the Cult of the Elder Mythos. Vaughn: “Mikhael. How pleasant to see you. Are you here on business?” Mikhael’s arm shifted at the elbow, a weighty blade appearing in his hand. Mikhael: “You could say that.”
Vaughn: “Run along, Dreamer.” The three figures descend on Vaughn, and the vision shifts. We see the Dawnshore spaceport, where a group of Stewards navy ships are coming into dock. A group of officers step from the first to arrive, heading right through processing without being scanned, and to where a small procession of diplomats are waiting. We see Captain Hamat and Imryll Novaheart, their faces set like stone. Officer: “Councilor, Ambassador. I’m afraid you’ll need to step aside. I have a warrant from the Director, we have authority to search the entire Protectorate, and you have no right to deny us access to Mataras at large.”
Hamat: “Ezorod is an allied monarchy of the Pact Worlds, officer. Not a protectorate, and outside the rulership of the Council. Unless your intention is to break the Dawnflame Treaty?” The officer purses his lips, but the rest of the Stewards remain silent. Imryll: “You are welcome to search the Archipelago, but my authority stretches no further. Perhaps we could start by providing you a room?” The Stewards glare at Hamat, who responds with a coy smile. Then the officers follow Novaheart out, and we shift to our next destination. An office on a forgotten moon, long split from its foster parent, fallen into a realm between realms. We see Valentina Terris, heavy bags under her eyes, hair in disarray, her makeup aged and smeared. She sits in front of a series of monitors, showing dozens of different viewpoints, mostly of various law offices and court rooms. The shadows behind her shift, and then a large eye opens, an aura of ice spreading across the area. Ceres: “Sweet sister, it’s time to stop. Your chosen have returned.”
Valentina: “Just one more hour, darling. I’m almost done.”
Ceres: “It wasn’t a request, sister.” Ice spreads across the table, freezing the monitors, and Valentina swivels in her chair, her head lilting dangerously to one side. A claw reaches out to support her, which shrinks to a sliver of its form size, and then into a humanoid hand. Valentina crumbles into Ceres, already asleep. Finally, we go to a twisted planet, where green starships fire on rotting husks, the Azlanti Star Empire against the Shadari Confederacy. As the two clash, another wave of ships arrive, flanking the Empire, the symbol of their order hidden, but seen through by the Haze. The Chessboard Conclave rides again at the edge of the world. But unseen to them, a new party joins the fray. A tear between the stars, as over a dozen black ships wade into the fight, followed by a black, flesh mech, whose wail dominates the dream, and shatters it to pieces.
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