The Roland Campaign
Episode 39
“The Master Clock of Time, Part III”

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                                    Roland, Chaos Lord of Oard:  Human Soulknife
                                    Phoebe: Human Sorceress
                                    Khrenikath:  Sahuagin
                                    Gaspar: Human Cleric
                                    Xarxersuna: Xalandra's Sister
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The Time: Summer, Nemed 14, 7^th year, 8^th Age
The Place: Oard
 
            New statues stood in the city of Oard, statues that honored those who died fighting the mind flayers on Samat Isle.  Roland, the Chaos Lord of Oard, repressed a shudder, remembering the horrific things he had seen in the mind flayer community after they killed the elder brain.  Women had been converted into horrible bloated wombs that grew new mind flayers, biological factories far more sophisticated than any technology ever seen or hinted at by humanity.  Mind flayers harvested women from captive populations, linking and wiring each fleshy, turgid container to pulsing, throbbing instruments.  Their skins took on an orange color, their eyes were flat and spiritless, but one could still detect terror deep within their lost minds, knowledge that they could live forever like this.  They destroyed the horrible cocoons, but the memory was one Roland did not enjoy.  Still, he had lost companions and they needed to be remembered.
            All across Inzeladun, he heard reports of the mind flayers being pushed back, defeated.  The armies of Drychtnoth had rallied under General Imdpra(xh)ith and destroyed armies of sheens and thralls.  Nyandar had fought back using guerrilla tactics and now rejoiced over the broken shells of the mind flayer sheens.  Ahmn had finally been freed by forces led by the paladin Gaowyn Dirgon.  Although the capital of Ahmn had been retaken some time ago, the rest of the country had finally been cleared of mind flayers only recently.
            Roland, Chaos Lord of Oard, had declared a city-wide celebration, and his friend, Phoebe, had issued the declaration, and the people were loudly celebrating in the streets.  Roland, although lord of this city, wore an old wide-brimmed hat, a worn and threaded cloak, a loose shirt with wide sleeves, a dusty pair of trousers, and a dirty pair of well-worn work boots.  A crystal on a leather string dangled around his neck.  His eyes held a depth of almost cosmic proportions, a depth many found uncomfortable, and more than a few had called demonic.  His haggard aspect held mystic awe and awfulness, for all who looked upon him could sense the ancient aura of strange power that surrounded him despite his unkempt appearance.
            As the Chaos Lord looked out upon his city the people seemed to stop in mid-motion.  Looking around in alarm, Roland saw the birds had halted in mid-flight and hung in the air like toys on a mobile.   Only he, it seemed, had motion.  Then, as if nothing had happened, the world went into motion again.
            As he watched, he noticed that certain people stopped, and then started again.  Occasionally a bird would halt on the wing and hover, then resume flying.  "Someone is messing with time," said Roland to no one in particular.  Khrenikath heard.
            Even Roland had to suppress a shudder when Khrenikath neared.  Khrenikath had once been Spaulding, a human.   That was a time before Spaulding had entered an Angustian ruin.  No longer could Khrenikath be described as human.  His predominant color was a greyish-green, with a sickening white belly.  Shiny, slippery, his back was scaly, and he had the head of something fishlike.  His eyes bulged, never closing, holding within them horrible truths about the universe, truths that even Roland chose not to ask about. Palpitating gills lifted from his scaled neck, and a large fin ran down his back.  He had a croaking, horrible voice that brought nightmares to those that had to listen too long.  Khrenikath said, "I shall fly up and take a look around.  I shall see what cannot be seen."
            Khrenikath jumped and flew through the air. He cast the spells necessary to see things invisible, and witnessed something even he did not expect.  Hundreds of invisible things roamed the streets below, weaving among the people.  The things were mostly liquescent anthropoids of horrible aspect.
            A loud popping sound alerted Khrenikath.  He was not alone above the city.  Skellum, a powerful white slaad, hovered next to him.  The slaad was as pale as snow, and glowed even in the dimmest light.  It was a huge creature that was nearing its time to become a black slaad.  Skellum functioned as the head of security for Oard.
            "Can you see them?" croaked Khrenikath.
            "Of course," hissed Skellum.  "Can you?"  The slaad seemed surprised.
            "Are they always here?"
            "Yes.  I cannot determine their purpose, however."
            "Interesting."

            A representative of the temple of Marush Hob walked toward Phoebe and Roland.  She was a stunningly beautiful woman.  Her nose was cute, her eyes were cobalt-blue, slightly slanted, very Odhirran.  Her lips were glossed with crimson, as the Khemians.  Her nails were long and perfect.  She swayed as she moved, and everyone watching noticed the narrowness of her waist and the full sway of her breasts.  Everyone knew she was naked underneath her white dress.  A stray wind lifted up her long brunette hair in a gorgeous display.  Her skin was pale and utterly flawless.  A gorgeous white cloak was draped over lovely bare shoulders, but hid nothing of her figure.  Indeed, somehow she was enhanced by the cloak.  People stood and stared as she passed, awed and lovestruck.  Roland was used to the look.  It was the same look the people gave to Phoebe as she passed.  
            Daily, the nobles of Oard sent requests to the court for permission to court Phoebe, all of which she turned down.  Of course, she was cursed, but the nobles did not know that.  Phoebe had exquisitely fine and soft blonde hair and could mesmerize men by her poise and lubricity.  Her elegant dress enhanced her beauty.  She was slender, and wonderfully graceful, despite a certain languidness in her movements.  Her complexion was rich and brilliant and her eyes were large, dark, and lustrous.  Her smile was pretty, but unexplainably melancholy. 
            "I am Kayme," said the lady in white when she reached Roland and Phoebe. "I am from the Temple, as requested."  She took Phoebe's hand and kissed it.  Kayme looked at Phoebe.  She was just too incredibly sexy to be true.  She felt nervous.
            "I am Phoebe," she answered.  "This is Roland, Lord of Oard." 
            "A pleasure to meet you."  Kayme felt as if she were unable to breathe.  She had never experienced anything like this, a kind of panic with the extraordinary component of erotic compulsion.  Natokzu would love to have her join the Temple.  Roland saw Khrenikath and excused himself, not terribly interested in Kayme or her hedonistic temple.  He had nothing against sex, but religious sex seemed terribly silly.
            "I would like to know more about your temple," said Phoebe.
            "Are you interested in joining?"
            "Yes," said Phoebe.  Kayme smiled despite herself.  She felt herself becoming aroused.
            "Initiation is a simple thing; a matter of having sex with the high priests and priestesses in a ritualized setting.  It is quite pleasant."
            "I cannot have sex," said Phoebe in a whisper.  "I have been cursed by Wemusa."
            "We have rituals that can end your curse, for our goddess is a relative of Wemusa's, and she can intercede for you."  Kayme smiled.  She felt she was falling in love with Phoebe, and wondered at her power, her beauty, her inner shining soul.
            "What would I have to do?" asked Phoebe.
            "Consecrate your soul to our goddess.  Once you have agreed to serve her, by binding your soul to her, she will intercede on your behalf."
            "Does that mean I will die and have to be resurrected?"
            "Not at all," said Kayme.  "It is a simple binding ceremony.  It means that when you die, at some unknown time in the future, then your soul will go to her, and it is up to her whether or not you can ever come back or not, resurrection or reincarnation.  Most of our followers who have bound their soul to her are made into her heavenly hand-maidens, like unto angels in glory and power."
            "I would like that," said Phoebe.  "When can it be done?"
            "The ceremony lasts an hour.  Our high priest and our priestesses must engage in holy intercourse with you, and a gem will be placed in our goddess' crown to represent you and your dedication.  We can even educate you and sponsor your training as a priestess if you so desire."
            "I would like that," said Phoebe.  "Can we schedule the ceremony soon?"
            "Whenever you would like," promised Kayme.
            "Tomorrow," said Phoebe.
            "Tomorrow then.  I will make the arrangements."  Kayme bowed and left.

            As Phoebe spoke with Kayme, Roland concentrated his mind and summoned forth a divination about what was happening.  Still people were stopping and going like a bizarre marionette show.  The answer came to him.  The Lord of Time now struggles against the Lord of Time then.  You can help now and find the present Lord of Time.
            Khrenikath and Skellum landed near Roland.  Khrenikath reported the invisible things to Roland.  Roland shared the divination with both.
            "Obviously, the Lord of Time now is Merandius.  The Lord of Time then is Groll," said Roland.
            "Both have been here recently," said Skellum offhandedly.  Roland jumped on the information.  "Where?"
            Skellum shrugged.  "Nowhere now.  The Apothoker captured them."


            Roland summoned Gaspar to join him, Phoebe, and Khrenikath.  Gaspar arrived quickly, coming from his newly completed temple to Byleth Hob, the dreaming god.  Gaspar was dressed in his plate armor, and clerical vestments.  Roland filled Gaspar in, and the party rushed through the large city toward the Apothecary.
            As Roland, Phoebe, Gaspar, and Khrenikath reached the Apothecary, a young woman reached them at the same time. She was a short, fit woman with long, flowing light brown hair.  Roland guessed the attractive girl was about 19 years old.  Her emerald green eyes seemed to dance as they darted to and fro, taking in all the sights available in the city of Oard. A crystal light crossbow hung across her back, and wore a silvered dagger in a wide belt.  Her traveler's outfit was cut in Nyandaran style, showing a bared, toned midriff, and prettily cut with multi-colored cloth.  The skirt was short, also in the Nyandaran style. Her skin tones were interesting, and different colors seemed to dominate, shifting moment by moment.  Roland assumed she was wearing a psychoactive skin.  He had seen such before.  A pretty headband held back her hair, revealing an emerald on her forehead.  An Ioun stone whirled in orbit around her head.
            "I am Xarxersuna," she said.  "I am looking for Roland.  You look to be him."
            "I am," said Roland, a little perplexed, wondering if this was a henchman of the Apothoker's.
            "I am Xalandra's sister.  I have come to visit her, but upon arriving, I learned she had fallen in battle."
            "Yes, I am sorry."
            "She would have wanted to fall thusly.  I am, however, pleased to meet you.  My sister spoke of each of you in her correspondence."
            "I am pleased to meet you as well, but we are rather busy right now."
            "Do not allow me to hinder you, then," she said.
            "Come with us," invited Phoebe.
            "Thank you," said Xarxersuna.  Roland shrugged, and walked down the four steps to the Apothecary door.


            The Apothecary was, as usual, a chaotic mess of eclectic items, dust, and cobwebs.  Books were piled everywhere:  ancient volumes bound in serpent-skin, with verdigris-eaten clasps, that held the frightful lore of bygone eras and alternate planes, all written in long forgotten languages. All around were scattered baleful things of occult power: the skulls of men and monsters; phials filled with black or amber liquids; little drums of human skin; and rattles made of the bones and teeth of children.  Above the door hung the stuffed head of a unicorn, and on a nearby table rattled a covered cage, a cage which held a very singular monster.  Ebony shelves held caskets with locks of gold or brass or electrum, and dark censers contained incense that smoked the air.  Long, narrow scrolls of vellum spilled from shelf to shelf, and lay discarded in the corners of the cluttered room.  Fumes from unseen thuribles arose in thick clouds, giving the room a preternatural light.
            From the back of the Apothecary floated the horrible Apothoker.    The Apothoker, Kalmal, was old, and commanded curious demons that watched over him.  Skeletal and deeply robed, he could pass through the cobwebs of his shop unhampered, not disturbing the spiders or their homes.  His black robes clung to his skeletal form like a shroud, and he smelled of incense and medicinal fumes.  He carefully placed a golden goblet on a dusty shelf, a goblet filled with dire poison.  He was a darkness upon the earth, and his vile aura was strong enough to drive a common man insane.
            "I have been expecting you," whispered Kalmal in a slow tone.
            "What do you know of the Master Clock of Time, Groll, and Merandius?" demanded Roland.
            "Much," hissed Kalmal.
            Roland rolled his eyes.  He hated answers like that.  Why wouldn't people just get to the damn point?  He was tired of circumspection. "Why did you capture them?  What is going on?"
            "Information like that has a price," the undead healer hissed.
            "What do you want?" asked Roland, tired of this ritual too.
            "Gaspar's soul."
            Roland smiled.  The Apothoker at least had a sense of humor.
            "We've been through that before.  What else can we do for you?"
            "I want the next of the revived Angustian cities."
            Roland's eyebrows went up.  That was interesting.  The Apothoker, a Chaos Lord?  He weighed the situation.  Kalmal was extremely powerful, according to reputation.  He would make a good ally.
            "To rule a chaos city, you must become a Chaos Lord," said Roland.
            "So be it," whispered Kalmal. "I accept the price."
            "As do I," said Roland.  Inside he was jumping with joy.  Another chaos lord!
            "They were going to fight," whispered the Apothoker.  "And the fight would have destroyed Oard.  I stopped them."
            "Why were they fighting?"
            "I do not know.  Something about a girl."  The Apothoker took a sip of thick venom from the goblet, then set it back down. 
            "What girl?" asked Roland.
            "I do not know for sure, but probably Siemma, Groll's favorite," said the Apothoker.  "I received a warning from a man named Zemander that Groll had finally decided to do away with Merandius, and the battle would be fought here.  I have helped both entities out many times, and they have helped me just as often.  Likewise between you and me.  I would not have your city destroyed, although I am sure the destruction would be an accident of fate, not an intention of either Groll or Merandius.  Zemander guards the Sleeping Historian, and knows much of future possibilities.  I tricked both Groll and Merandius, and captured them, imprisoning them."
            "I want their prisons," said Roland.
            "The price for that would be more than you can bear.  Trust that they are in safe keeping with me."
            "You have not told me what you know about the Master Clock of Time and what is going on.  That was part of the bargain."
            "Of course."  Kalmal did not renege on bargains.  It was bad for business.  "The time stoppages are what you suspect – tampering of the Master Clock of Time.  Indeed, it is more than a mere tampering, it is a destruction.  Someone is taking apart the Master Clock."
            "Why?"
            "Because it can be rebuilt and time can be re-ordered, rearranged.  A different potentiality can be chosen, a different path for the universe."
            "Then why hasn't that path been taken yet?"
            "Because once the damage starts, the door awakens, and that jolts the dreamer out of the Clock.  It takes time and vile rituals to damage the Clock."
            "So we need to get to the Clock."
            "Yes."
            "How?"
            "There are only a few doors.  One is through the Tree of the Universe.  Another is through Groll's dreams, I understand.  But I know little more than that.  The actual rituals needed are not known to me… yet."
            "Will you accompany us?"
            "No."
            "The best way to learn the ways of the Chaos Lords is to come with us."
            "Very well, then."
            "Who is the girl they were arguing about?" asked Gaspar.
            "I don't know," said Roland.
            "Burn up another divination," said Xarxersuna.  She had heard of such powers from her sister's correspondence.
            Roland smiled. "I don't actually burn up my dorjes.  I can use them as much as I need to."  He took out his dorje, a small crystal, and concentrated on it.  A voice in his head echoed, saying, Blue eyed and blonde, she has betrayed her teacher, for he betrayed her when he died yet remained.  She intends to steal his power and tricked Kalmal into catching her masters.
            "Interesting," said Roland.  He repeated the words to the others.
            "I have been tricked," hissed the Apothoker.  "Perhaps I should just release Groll and his lich now."
            "Don't get hasty," said Roland.  "That may not be the best thing to do."
            "We know something about the girl now," said Phoebe.  "Perhaps Svaergith could scry upon her."
            "That is a good idea," said Roland.  He had forgotten about Phoebe's copper dragon cohort.  "Bring the dragon here."

            Svaergith flew toward the Apothecary.  It landed outside and shifted into a handsome humanoid figure.  He walked into the dusty place and could not repress a smile when Phoebe came up to him.  He very much loved her. 
            "Svaergith, we need you to scry on a person.  She has blue eyes and blonde hair.  Her name is Siemma."
            Svaergith closed his eyes and sent his mind's eye casting through the multiverse, looking for Siemma…
           

            Siemma sat in a huge white room on a large white throne.  Several time lords in their high-collared capes and tall crowns stood in attendance.  Also there stood an ice devil, a horrific monster with a towering, repugnant, insect-like body, twelve feet tall.  He had nightmarishly great claws on his hands and feet and large, putrid, sharp pinchers at his beaked mouth.  His head bulged with great, multi-faceted eyes that never blinked, and he had a long, unwholesome tail covered with razor-sharp spikes.  He was a leering, abhorrent travesty, a compound of all that was unclean, abnormal, and detestable.  His presence alone commanded respect.  Next to Larbius stood a beautiful female with beautiful white feathered wings.  From the conversation, the dragon quickly learned her name was Sharyss.  Another man, dressed wholly in red, stood in the back, but the dragon did not recognize him.  Next to the man in red stood a mind flayer.  Observation identified the illithid as "The Speaker in Dreams."  Siemma addressed the mind flayer after a short pause in the conversation.  "Have you discovered the real speaker in dreams, or her purpose?"
            The mind flayer shook its head.  "We continue to capture the children who admit to hearing her.  We have taken them to a doctor in Lamapacher for dissection, but to no avail.  Even under torture, the children reveal nothing beyond the statement that 'she is coming.'"
            "Many things from the First Age are being reborn," said Siemma. "We need latter-age Angustians now."  She looked at the man in red, who merely nodded.
            "With my former lover trapped," said Siemma.  "I can enter his dreams at will, but he will not be trapped for long.  Larbius, I hope your method will work once he is freed."
            Larbius spoke, and his voice was terrible to hear.  There are sounds that are normal for a humanoid to make, and there were sounds that were normal for beasts to make.  To hear a beast-like, insect-like mouth utter humanoid sounds was horrible, chilling all who heard that chittering, unholy voice.  "I have told you something of the forbidden horrors, age-old things that even now are festering in out-of-the-way corners with a few monstrous priests to keep them alive.  I have shown you how to possess your past self, and taught you how to use the Master Clock of Time.  I do not do these things…"
            Siemma put up a hand and interrupted the frightening fiend.  "And the mind flayer incursion failed, do not forget."
            "That was not my doing.  I instigated the war, but I did not fight it, nor plot it.  I did as asked, no more, no less."
            "Damn literalist," cursed Siemma.
            "Damn right," hissed Larbius.
            The mind flayer spoke, "And what of Lord Nadam?  He can destroy us."
            Siemma shook her head.  "I doubt they will find the Clock in time to save him. The Entity nearly has him dead even as we speak.  The mind seed has taken root in Nadam's counselor, and there is little that the lizard can do about it."


            "Should we release Merandius and Groll?" asked Gaspar after Svaergith reported on what he saw and heard through his scrying.
            "I don't know," answered Roland.  "I trust Merandius, but not Groll."
            "I have a few questions," croaked Khrenikath.  "What's Merandius' relationship to Groll?  Are they sort of the same person?"
            "Yes," whispered the Apothoker.  "Merandius is the lich of Groll."
            "Then Groll is dead?" asked the gill-man.
            "Yes, and no.  Since he travels time, past, present, and future, he may still be encountered at any time.  In a sense, he will never die until we reach a point in history that he has not visited beyond.  Groll became Merandius when he sacrificed his humanity to save Inzeladun.  Groll supports Grindill and his plans, but Merandius does not."
            "Why would someone want Groll and Merandius to be captured?" asked Khrenikath.
            "Because, in the world they are trapped in, they are essentially asleep… and Groll can dream."
            "Will freeing Merandius and Groll bring them together?  Won't they just fight again?" asked Phoebe.
            The Apothoker nodded, "I can bring one here, and cause another to be free far from here."
            "I am inclined to trust Merandius," said Roland.
            "As am I," croaked Khrenikath.  "I brought him to you once, but you did not appreciate it then."
            "I think he misunderstood our motives," said Roland.  He did an inkling to see if releasing the pair would be good or bad.  He got a good feeling.
            "Free them," said Roland.  "And have Merandius appear here when you do it."


            Merandius appeared in the room, magically summoned by the Apothoker.  Merandius stood tall and gaunt, and shrouded from head to foot in ragged gray robes.  His countenance resembled a stiffened corpse, save for the glowing pinpricks of red light that shone from the collapsed holes where his eyes should have been.  A high collared cape draped his shoulders.  He moved slowly, deliberately, as if time meant nothing to him.  The stench of decaying flesh clung to the air around him, filling the room with the aroma of the grave. He was a monster whose heart could not be touched with soft emotions.  The red pinpricks of light settled first on Phoebe, then on Gaspar, then on Roland.  The monster ignored the others.
            "Do you realize that you and Groll were tricked?" asked Roland.
            Merandius nodded.  Roland tried reading its face, but could determine nothing.  Merandius knew what Roland and the others were trying, but it could not help them.  A lot of concentration was necessary to just move and speak.  The concentration to actually change the expression on its dead face was so intense Merandius rarely bothered.
            "We need to know about the Master Clock of Time," said Roland. "Can you tell us anything about it?"
            Merandius was surprised, although his dead face showed no reaction.  His red eye-lights flickered toward Phoebe, then back to Roland.  Did Phoebe know her true lineage?  It nodded its head slowly in response to Roland's query.  He focused his mind on forming words.  He could not breathe, so his voice did not come from breath, but from eldritch necromancy.  "Yes," he intoned, his voice sounding hollow and horrible.  "The Master Clock of Time was hidden within the dreams of Groll, where I cannot go.  Groll knows not it is hidden there."  It did not like discussing its past life. "What is your interest in the Master Clock of Time?"
            Roland wondered when it would come down to this: the laying down of everyone's cards.  Roland answered directly, not wanting to try to skirt the issue or try to be circumspect.  He said, "I merely want to see the truth in our history."
            "You do not intend to use the Master Clock of Time to set things to your advantage?"
            "No, I simply want to see the truth."
            "I wish I had known that earlier.  Thank you for the direct honesty."
            "I find that is the best way to get things done quickly.  I have more questions though."
            "Proceed.  Now that I understand your motivation, I need not hide information."
            "Who is the woman who is breaking down the Clock?"
            "Her name is Siemma.  She was Groll's lover and confidant."  It did not mention that Groll later would marry her and she would bear three children.  It never suspected her or her treachery even back then.  "There is little else I can tell you about her and the Clock, except that if she succeeds, then all of time will break down and she can choose the reality she wishes for herself and all of us.  The Clock keeps track of multiple realities in time.  What one sees with the Clock may not always be true for this reality, but it can possibly be made so.  Certainly the Clock's history is strange and obscure enough to whet the mental appetite of any lover of mysteries or would-be sounder of unfathomable wonders.  It is a doorway on all space and time, and even I do not fully understand it.  How it came into Grindill's hands I do not know, but he was determined to study it and master it.  Little by little he discovered the Clock's peculiar secrets, learned how to attune himself with it, so that he essentially joined with it.  What he planned to do with it was monstrous, and Killren, a mage with a cape of feathers, and a red-dragon helm, created the Keys of Infinity, and locked it from Grindill."
            "Where?" asked Roland.
            "In the dreams of Groll.  Metaphorically at the base of the tree that holds up the universe.  Literally in a permanent portion of dream, a portion that can only be safely accessed through the dreams of Groll.  I had traveled back in time to warn the Chaos Lords of a coming horror and to steal the Key to the Gate.  But before I could steal it, the Entity broke it into three parts and they were hidden with dragons that had been charged to protect Groll's children.  Although one eventually went mad and dwelt in Dream, I managed to restore things by sending another dragon to rescue one of his descendants."  One of my descendants, added Merandius mentally.  Sometimes even it thought of itself as two different people.  It often visited that black dragon in the Great Swamp to make sure those keys were safe.  That dragon had guarded two of Keys for Merandius.  Killren had hidden the third Key beneath N'Gark Castle, but Merandius had been charged with guarding it.
            "Where did the Clock come from?"  Roland's question brought Merandius back from his mental side-trek.
            "The dreams of a god," whispered Merandius.  "It is a symbol of power from a god slain.  The Clock will allow a mortal to assume the powers of an Old One.  The Master Clock of Time is a focal charm, which allows one to assume the mantle of a god, if one knows the dark and vile rituals.  Do you realize how many of the gods in our world are actually ancient creations of the people that came before the Angustians?"
            "What about the splitting open a dream-world psi-gate?"
            "That is a method to reach the place, but it is dangerous.  The safest route is through Groll's dreams.  The key is to have sex with his dream image.  That, unknown to him, unlocks the path.  That is why Groll cannot reach it."
            "Phoebe?" asked Roland.  "Are you prepared to do some dream-seducing?"


            Roland, Gaspar, Phoebe, the Apothoker, Khrenikath, and Xarxersuna went into Dream.  They appeared in a room filled with shelves.  The shelves were filled with crystal tablets.  Roland took down one of the tablets, and saw that electricity arced throughout the crystal, and formed words.
            "We are in Groll's memory," said Gaspar, interpreting the dream.
            "How do we find anything?" asked Roland.  He looked around.  He saw a few females.  They seemed to be searching through the tablets.
            "How do we find specific volumes?" asked Roland of the women.  They said they could not help.
            "Who can help?"
            "The organizer," said one woman.  "The dragon."
            Looking up, they saw a dragon looking down on them.
            "We need to speak to Groll," said Roland.
            "No one can speak to Groll," answered the dragon.
            "Please," said Phoebe.  "We need to speak to him."  She put forth her best effort, wanting to charm the dragon.  The dragon finally agreed, allowing Phoebe, but not the others, in to see Groll.  The dragon showed her the door to use.
            Phoebe walked through the door and saw she was in a white throne room.  Before her stood a large white throne, inset with terrible cryptic runes of clear crystal, and upon this strange throne sat a man dressed in light grey robes and cloaks.  A high collar rose around the back of his head.  The robes and collar were embroidered with writhing serpentine characters.  His eyebrows were thick, and beneath them glimmered eyes that were as cold and green as the ice of ancient glaciers, eyes that reflected immitigable melancholy and deep weariness.  His brown hair was long and curly, falling around his shoulders like a dark cloud.  An ornate staff leaned against the arm of the throne.  The grey man was Groll, the Lord of Time.
            "Why are you here?" asked Groll.
            "My companions and I want to speak to you."
            "No," said Groll.
            "Why not?"
            "Why should I?"
            "Because we need to speak to you."
            "So?  I have no need to speak to you or your friends."
            "It's about the Master Clock of Time."
            This grabbed Groll's attention.  Immediately he grew suspicious.  "What do you know about that?"
            "Much.  We need to talk to you."
            "No.  I will talk to you, but I will not allow myself to be outnumbered."  He knew that powerful forces always lurked, waiting to take him out.  No matter how powerful he was, a group of strong wizards, psions, and such could possibly take him out.
            Phoebe took a place in front of the grand throne.  She calmly shrugged off her robe.  She was naked, except for thin string of silver that circled her waist, holding a thin strip of silk that hid her sex.  Swiftly, she pulled the pins from her hair, and the mass of blonde, thick tresses tumbled down her back.  She began to dance.
            She danced slowly, sensuously, her hips rotating lazily, her large breasts barely jiggling.  Phoebe began to dance faster.  Her hair whirled around her face, and her nipples hardened visibly as her breasts began to bounce.  Throwing her head back, she closed her eyes and bent backward from the waist until her long hair touched the floor.  Faster and faster her belly and hips shook, as though some mighty god was bringing her to orgasm.
            Phoebe's feet moved so quickly that they became no more than a blur.  Her breasts seemed to have a life of their own.  Her hips jerked furiously in orgasmic rhythm, from side to side, then in and out.  Suddenly she reached behind herself and broke the silver string of the cloth that hid her sex.  She whipped it off, threw it directly at Groll, and stood totally naked, her legs spread wide as though she had been fucked by Olanigan himself.  But Groll's face was cold and impassive.  He wanted her, but he would not compromise.
            "No," he said. "I will not allow your friends in, no matter how beautiful and sexy you are."


            Phoebe was angry.  "Should I have just walked in and said, 'Hey, wanna fuck?'"
            "Yes," laughed Roland.  "That would have worked, and wouldn't have raised his suspicions.  After all, he was dreaming, and that is the way it works in a man's dreams."
            "How is Siemma getting in?" asked Phoebe, annoyed.
            "I don't know."
            "She must have some way of knowing when he is asleep," said Phoebe.  "I want Svaergith to spy on her again."
            "Do it," said Roland.
            Svaergith was happy to do it.  He loved doing things for his mistress.  He just wished she reciprocated the feelings.  Of course, being a different species might be problematic for her.  Svaergith glanced covertly sideways, first at Phoebe's thighs, lovingly displayed by her costume, then more boldly at her face.  She was beautiful.  He wished she looked upon him as she looked upon Roland.  Too bad that bastard wouldn't appreciate it.  Quickly dashing the anger he felt rising, he shoved the thoughts to the back of his mind and summoned his mental eye and searched for Siemma.  This time the woman was different.  She looked younger, but was definitely the same woman.  She had finished having sex with Groll, and she was laying back, entering Dream as her lover dozed off.  He reported that to Phoebe.  Suddenly Groll awakened, as from a nightmare.  He stood and walked out of the room.  Siemma looked angry, then she looked completely blank.  Softness entered her eyes, and she called out for Groll.  She stood and wrapped a robe around herself and took off running, a look of stark terror on her face.  She called for Groll repeatedly.
            "So that is how she does it!" exclaimed Phoebe.  "She sleeps with Groll, so she knows exactly when he is asleep!"


            Siemma ran in a panic.  Stark, utter horror burst over her and grasped her spirit with a black, clutching panic that she felt she would never shake free.  Again the dream that she lay in a coffin, unable to move, unable to scream, buried alive, plagued her.  The dream seemed so real.  What was happening to her?  She yelled again for Groll.  The dream was even worse than a mere buried-alive-type dream.  She was dead in that dream.  Her consciousness was there, but she was dead.  What did it mean?  Was something seizing her body and putting her mind in a corpse?  To what end?


            Roland nodded, thinking.  "Someone needs to seduce Groll then.  In real time."
            "Yes," said Merandius.  "Siemma was his favorite, and would later become his wife and the mother of his children, but he had a harem."
            "Are we seeing him in the past?"
            "I believe so," said Merandius.
            Svaergith shook his head.  "I cannot scry temporally, I think.  I searched for the modern Siemma."
            "Siemma should be dead in this time period," said Merandius.  "Although trained in chronomancy, she rarely jumped into the far-flung future.  Perhaps something is going on that I know nothing of.  I do not think the Siemma who loved Groll would betray him, as Siemma seems to be doing."
            "I scryed the modern Siemma," repeated the copper dragon.  "And saw into the past.  I don't understand."
            "It doesn't matter," whispered Kalmal.  "We know what must be done.  Groll must be seduced.  Physically."
            Roland said, "Yes.  Phoebe can't do it.  She is cursed.  Perhaps Xarxersuna?"
            Xarxersuna shrugged.  "If it would help."  She was uncertain of her ability to seduce, however.
            Phoebe said, "No.  Let me do it.  Kayme told me her church can free me from my curse."
            "How is that possible?" asked Gaspar.  "The gods do not let go of their curses lightly."
            "Is there a price?" asked Roland.
            "Always there is a price," hissed the Apothoker.
            "Not really," said Phoebe.  "I just have to promise my soul to Marush Hob, promise to let her decide my fate when I die."
            "That makes me nervous," said Roland and Gaspar at the same time. "But if you are certain, go ahead."
            "I am certain," said Phoebe.  She left for the Temple of Marush Hob.

           
            The temple was fabulous.  After ascending the grand steps outside the temple and passing through the ornate doors, they had entered a long corridor.  A fountain beneath an erotic sculpture of two couples intertwined together bubbled pleasantly.  Along the walls, tucked inside of alcoves, were statues of nudes, alternating male and female.  A fresco ran the length of the hall above the alcoves depicting orgies.
            As Kayme walked with Phoebe down the long corridor of the temple, she explained some aspects of the temple.  "Although today you are binding your soul with our goddess so she will free you from Wemusa's unfair curse, we would love for you to come back and formally join our temple, going through the oath process."
            "I certainly would like to," said Phoebe.
            "I think you will like our high priest," Kayme said.  "He is powerful and knowledgeable."
            "I am a bit nervous," admitted Phoebe.  "I am a virgin."
            Kayme smiled.  "Do not worry.  He has deflowered many virgins in his time."  She pushed open another set of heavy double doors.  A round chamber was revealed.  The chamber was huge and magnificent.  About fifty women of varying ages, all dressed in long robes so diaphanous that their nakedness was enhanced, not veiled, were moving slowly and silently about the rotunda, as if performing some choral dance.  A central dais held the ornate altar, three erotic statues, two pillars carved to look like courtesans, and two pools of shimmering water.  The center statue was a tall image of a beautiful woman.  She carried a cornucopia and a flail, and her breasts were bare.  Between her legs was the intimation of immortality, the revelation of life itself, motherhood.  Kayme escorted Phoebe to the two pools in front of the statue.  The pools were lined with magnificent mosaics and filled with warm, perfumed water.  The bottom of the pool was a mosaic of Marush Hob, nude, her arms and legs spread-eagled, so that her fingers and toes touched the edges of the pools.
            "First, we must bathe you," Kayme said.  "As we do so, imagine that we are cleansing not only your body, but your soul and spirit as well."  Phoebe nodded and stepped into the left-hand pool. She found that the water was warm.
            A young male and female acolyte stepped up and bowed.  The youthful pair traced their hands along the contours of Phoebe's body, stroking her hair, teasing her skin, undressing her.  Kayme commented that her hair looked like a cascading golden waterfall, glistening in the candlelight of the chamber. 
            The two youths each took a cloth and commenced rubbing Phoebe until she was wet from head to toe.  They then used soap and began to lather her body, the soapsuds making her body appear translucent. The boy took extra time when he washed her breasts, vigorously swirling the cloth around her breasts, making the blood flow to the surface of the skin, giving them a pink glow.  Both of them pulled on her nipples, making them erect.  Together they kneaded the areolae. 
            They began to wash Phoebe's pubic mound, the soap turning her golden hairs into a white fluffy mound of bubbles.  They motioned for her to spread her legs wider, and she did, and they rubbed her vulva.  The young boy continued the washing first with an open palm, running his fingers up and down along the labia.  He then took the cloth and rubbed more vigorously as the girl washed her legs.  Phoebe could feel the blood rushing to the lips, engorging them.  She was asked to lay back in the pool of water, with her legs spread.
            Phoebe sat in the warm water, then lay back, leaning against the girl as she washed Phoebe's hair.  The boy knelt in the water between Phoebe's legs, his eyes devouring her golden pubic mound.  His hands went to her crotch.  Phoebe looked up at Kayme who stood watching, chanting beneath her breath.  Phoebe tried to stifle a cry as the youth  inserted his finger into her inner sanctum.  First one, then two fingers began their exploration.  The soap reacted with her tender pink vaginal walls, sending a tingling sensation through her body, making her long to reach down and soothe the irritation.
            He spread her lips as wide as they would go.  Then, taking a wooden ladle, he filled the cup with warm water, pouring it into the palm of his hand which had formed a trough into her open cunt.  The fluid penetrated deep into Phoebe's womb, warming her in a way she had never experienced before, the irritation soothed by the clean water.  The attention to her sexual center inflamed her clitoris, and it began to harden, pushing its bud from between the folds of her lips.
            After the bath, Phoebe sat quietly as her hair was dressed, a long, elaborate process.  The hair was divided into six parts and braided into six plaits, which were then carefully arranged in a high crown on top of Phoebe's head.  A wreath of fresh-cut flowers were added.  While the hair was being arranged, Kayme murmured into Phoebe's ear some pointers for the upcoming ceremony.  The words made Phoebe's head swim and brought blushes to her cheeks.
            Now she stood, ready for the ritual dressing for the ceremony.  She stood mute and nervous as a straight tunic woven in one piece without seams was dropped over her head.  Kayme knelt to adjust the hem so that the tunic hung evenly, then hung at Phoebe's waist a long woven woolen girdle that fastened in an Ingaran knot, a knot that could easily be undone.
            High Priest Natokzu arrived through a side door.  Beyond the door, Phoebe could see an orgy, dozens of bodies, nude, touching, writhing.  The door shut behind the priest and his two attendants.  The circling women stopped their movements, breaking off to gape at their priest.  Kayme flushed with pride and stood with the arrogance of an empress, for she was Natokzu's chosen one.  He walked toward the central dais, his bare, bronzed chest breathed calmly and confidently.  He towered over the women as he passed through their circle and climbed the steps of the dais. Phoebe could see he was handsome, and could see that he would be a sensation wherever he went.  She could see that everyone in this room admired him.  The women couldn't take their eyes off of him.  Even Phoebe stared at Natokzu boldly, and could see that he was absorbed by the joy of being the center of envious attention.  Phoebe knew that feeling at times, for she was often looked at in just that way.
            "Has Phoebe been washed thoroughly, Kayme?" asked Natokzu.
            "Yes," replied Kayme.
            Phoebe looked so lovely and innocent that Natokzu caught his breath.  He wanted to raise her tunic to expose her, but that would come later in the ceremony.  Although he did not want to, he would wait.
            "Do you understand the bargain you are about to make?  Our goddess will free you from your curse, but you must consecrate your soul to our goddess.  Once you have agreed to serve her, by binding your soul to her, she will intercede on your behalf."
            "Yes," said Phoebe.  "I understand."
            Phoebe was taken to the central altar and was asked to stand there.  The circling women stood still and began a chant.  Several male and female priestesses, higher in the ranks, thought Phoebe because of their more ornate headdresses, entered the chamber, also dressed in white.
            Natokzu stood in front of Phoebe.  She could feel his sexuality, could sense his desire.  He untied the knot, letting the woven girdle loose.  Slowly, he raised her tunic, exposing her.   He led her to the altar and she lay down on it, her tunic bunched up around her waist. He ran his fingers all the way down the flatness of her stomach to her golden-haired sex.  She was more than a dream, she was irresistible.  She was everything that anybody could desire.
            "Your vagina is consecrated and sacred," said Natakzu.  "Only those blessed of our goddess and the initiated will know you as a woman this morning.  Your mouth, your hands, your breasts, and your tightest aperture may be employed to enrich our Order in all matters spiritual and temporal."

            Soon, the ritual had taken the predicted sexual route.  As Natakzu grazed below, licking and sucking in the tangle of golden hair, Phoebe cried out.  This was paradise.  Eagerly, he licked her juices and felt her hips begin to move rhythmically under him, felt her belly bucking upward toward his mouth.  Her rapid, gasping breath told him that she was reaching ecstasy, and he redoubled his efforts.  Her gasps became stifled screams and suddenly, after a furious arching of her body, she fell back limply.
            Natakzu had only just begun.  The hardness between his legs sent shooting fires through his groin.  There was only one place to quench those fires, one oasis of moisture.  He parted her thighs and slowly inserted himself.  But he couldn't get it all in; something was blocking the way. 
            Her face contorted in pain.  Watching her intently, Natakzu  drew his penis almost all the way out, then slipped it back in, just grazing the obstruction.  Out again, then in.  Out, in.  The pain vanished from Phoebe's face, and her eyes rolled back in pleasure. 
            Suddenly, Phoebe's knees parted fully, and she wrapped her long legs around him.
            "Yes, YES!" she breathed, and he felt her hands on his buttocks, urging him deeper within her.  With one furious thrust, he was in, all of him, and it was ecstasy.  Phoebe uttered one shrill cry of pain, and then there were only moans of pleasure as they rocked together, joined into one.  They made love as the other priests and priestesses disrobed, watching, enjoying.
            When he neared his climax, Natakzu pulled out and spent himself over her stomach and pubic hair.  He stepped away.  Kayme climbed astride Phoebe's chest and sat smiling at her, her hair like a soft and mysterious veil.  "Do you like to be kissed?" she asked Phoebe.  "There are so many ways to be kissed."
            She lifted herself up and teasingly lowered her vulva so that it kissed Phoebe's lips.  Her pubic hair was silky and long.  Phoebe kissed her, hesitantly at first, then deeper, holding her open with her fingers.  Kayme gave a deep, soft murmur of pleasure and ran her fingers through Phoebe's hair.  After Phoebe began to relax and get into eating pussy, Kayme turned herself around so that she could play with Phoebe while still being pleasured herself. Kayme plunged one finger into Phoebe's rosy little anus, while another finger sought the softer, wetter pink flesh that was protected by soft golden hair.  Phoebe, racked with powerful spasms caused by the delicious probing fingers of Kayme, threw back her head and was panting with animal pleasure. 
            After Kayme, another priest had his turn with Phoebe, then another priestess.  One by one, each priest and priestess made love to Phoebe in turn.

            After the ceremony, Phoebe was again bathed.  Phoebe was glad of that, because she reeked of sex: sweat, semen, and other smells. After the bath, Kayme mentioned, "In a week, we are performing the ritual of initiation for several applicants.  Would you be interested in being bound to our temple?  We could even begin teaching you the path of the priestess.  It will be a three hour initiation ceremony."
            "Yes," said Phoebe.  She wanted to undergo the initiation. 
            Kayme smiled. "At some point you would be issued a wand of transmogrification, a modified use of polymorph that changes your sex.  We must experience sexuality in all of its aspects, thus we must experience sex as a man as well.  Likewise, the men must experience sex as a woman."
            "With other men, or with other women?"
            "Both."
            "Interesting."

            Phoebe returned to Castle Oard.  The others looked up when she arrived.  A few had knowing grins on their faces.  Phoebe felt a little embarrassed.
            "I'm ready," she said, blushing.  She felt embarrassed again.  Not only did everyone know she just had sex, but she was volunteering to have sex again, this time under the watchful scry of her copper dragon.
            "I am just concerned Groll will recognize her from the earlier dream," croaked Khrenikath.
            "That is a good point," said Phoebe.  She hadn't thought of that.  They discussed disguises and illusions.  Roland was sure Groll would see through such deceptions.
            "Groll is no idiot," repeated Roland for the hundredth time.  Then Xarxersuna had the answer.  "Switch bodies with me," she said.  "I have that power.  Then it will still be your mind and ability to seduce… your presence and everything.  But my body."
            Phoebe liked the idea.  It would also be helpful in another way.  Her body was quite sore.
            "Let's do it," said Roland.  "While you were gone, Merandius assured me he can get one person into the Citadel of Time."
            "What about Siemma?" croaked Khrenikath. "She could make a seduction difficult."
            Merandius said, "I can manipulate things so that Siemma and Groll are in different phases of the Citadel of Time.  That way you will not have to compete with Siemma."
            "Very good.  Do it," said Roland.
            Xarxersuna manifested her power, and with a glowing explosion, she found her mind in Phoebe's beautiful body.  Phoebe found herself in Xarxersuna's.    Xarxersuna had a different body type than Phoebe.  It was much more graceful, athletic, slimmer, with only the barest mounds for breasts, than Phoebe's voluptuous body.
            Roland was amazed.  Suddenly Phoebe's body didn't seem quite so attractive as before, and Xarxersuna's slimmer flesh simply radiated power and beauty.  Phoebe had taken her inner beauty with her and it now inhabited Xarxersuna's body.  He had no doubt that the transition had worked.
            Merandius opened a magical doorway in the middle of the room, and it opened into a long white corridor.  Phoebe, in Xarxersuna's body, stepped through the doorway and found herself in the corridors of the Citadel of Time.  She walked along them, not sure where to go.  She passed a female time lord who wore the standard high collared neckpiece.  Then she passed into some sort of mess hall, and then came to a guard.  The guard said, "I did not know any of you were out."
            "Well, I am," said Phoebe.
            "Do you want to go back to the harem?"
            "Yes," she said, unsure.
            The guard opened the door and she walked into a large chamber filled with baths, pools, gardens, waterfalls, and a lot of silken pillows.  Women lounged about all over. About two dozen women were naked in the pools, making love to one another, their long hair streaming behind them, their limbs shimmering in the scented water.  Around the pools stood at least twenty more young women who watched their sisters making love, waiting their turn, becoming aroused by the delicious sight before them.  A number of them stroked their own crotches to excite themselves further.  Now and then, a slender arm would beckon from the pool, and a new girl would throw off her gown and dive into the warm water and the arms of some eager lover.
            A loud sound reverberated through the room and Groll walked in.  He looked a few years younger than the dream-self of Groll Phoebe met earlier.  An aura of power radiated from him, and the girls stopped in their play to await their master's orders.  Tonight he would choose one of them.  Phoebe moved closer to the Guardian of Time and did her best to be charming.  She wished she had the larger breasts of her own body, but these tiny things would have to do.  Luckily for her, Groll actually preferred smaller breasts. 
            "I don't remember you," he said.
            "Take me tonight and you will never forget me," she promised.
            "We'll see."  He took her arm and escorted her from the harem.  She noticed that his green eyes were not cold this time.  They were warm and open.

            Light from a silver lamp played over the pair as they made love, arousing each other with kisses and bites.  He turned her over onto her belly and drew her up to her knees.  Kneeling behind her, burying his face in her buttocks, he licked and sucked at her anus and her clitoris, while his fingers teased her breasts.  When her moans and gasping cries told him she was ready, he slid himself slowly into her, letting her savor every inch of hardness.  His hips moved in a strong rhythm.  He could tell she was about to mount to her climax, so he withdrew partway and held still.  She pushed her hips back, seeking the motion, seeking to impale herself as deep as possible, begging him not to stop.  Together they came when he resumed thrusting.  In a short amount of time, Groll was asleep.
            Phoebe closed her eyes and went through the ritual to enter into Dream.  She discovered that she was in her own body in Dream.  And again she was in the white throne room.  "You again!" he said.  He recognized her from before.
            "I am a message from your subconscious," she said.  "Do you want to fuck?"


            Sex with Groll in Dream was considerably different than sex in the real realm.  She and he had intercourse while flying – oral, manual, and genital.  She came while flying over vast vistas of mountainous splendor, came while zipping over expansive white deserts, and came while skimming the surface of vast oceans while listening to whale-song.  As soon as he came, she shot out of his dreams and into something else entirely…  She found herself standing naked in an incredible chamber filled with clocks.
            Quickly she summoned the others.  In a short span of time, Roland, Gaspar, the Apothoker, and Xarxersuna arrived.  Only Kalmal had his clothes on.  Roland and Gaspar quickly summoned up dream-clothes for themselves; Xarxersuna didn't bother.  She liked being naked in a room full of clocks.  Phoebe didn't worry about clothes either.  She had been seen nude by so many people she didn't care anymore.
            "Is this the Master Clock of Time," Roland asked.
            "Perhaps we should look for a broken Clock," said Xarxersuna.
            Gaspar used his understanding of Dream to summon forth all the broken clocks.  There were several.  Which one?
            "This will take forever," said Roland.  "I want to see the Clock of Time."
            Gaspar bent the reality of Dream, and suddenly they all found themselves floating outside in the ether.  A great Clock hung before them, a clock with several arms that spun around in strange directions and in bizarre patterns.  Behind the Clock was a massive tree that spanned upward into infinity.   They could see possibilities within probabilities hanging on the tree like fruit.  It was unsettling to the mind, so they focused themselves on the Clock itself.
            "I want to see the damage," said Roland.  Gaspar concentrated and instantly the party found themselves within the internal gears and clockwork mechanisms that controlled space-time.  Hundreds of cogs and gears whirred and whirled, making a soothing racket, a noise that was orderly and chaotic at the same time.
            Instantly, they saw that they were not alone among the whirring gears and cogs.  Three versions of Siemma were present, as well as two blue dragons.  Gaspar looked at the Siemmas and said, "Those are not Siemma.  Those are aspects of Groll.  His dream self, his ego, and his id.  Odd forms for them to take, but that is what they are."
            The attack began.  The image of Siemma blasted a meteor swarm at the group, knocking them aside with fire and brimstone.  Another image raised her finger and pronounced that Roland's fate was sealed.  Roland was wracked with pain, but his willpower solidified his existence, and he remained.  The other image tried the same trick, and again Roland withstood the attempt to meddle in matters of life and death.
            Phoebe summoned forth the arcane energies within her and hit one of the dragons, feebleminding it.  The other dragon flew in, and attacked.  Roland used his epic staff of domination and mentally dominated the dragon, and it ceased its hostilities.
            Khrenikath ran around the back of the gears to attack from behind, and Kalmal lifted up a small doll.  He crushed the doll, and Groll's id, in the image of Siemma, vanished, destroyed.
            Siemma cast Mordenkainen's Disjunction, and freed the dragon, and ended the protective spells around much of the party.   Luckily, they were in Dream, so their magic items were safely on the Prime Material.  Xarxersuna re-dominated the dragon, and the battle continued.  Spells flung at each other, and arrows flew at the images of Siemma.
            Phoebe used force cage several times to remove various aspects of Groll from the battle.  Thus they were able to focus on single opponents, dividing them, conquering them.  Khrenikath found Groll's superego, but before the superego could be released, Groll's dream image was slain, and the superego vanished as the dreamer awoke.
            Gaspar said, "The power of the Clock is holding this place solid for now.  I don't think those images were of the Groll we know.  They couldn't have been here.  There must be a third Groll, and he was kept in constant sleep to maintain this place as permanent."
            "Then we need to repair the damage now," said Roland.  He took out the Key and asked it if it could fix the damage.
            "Of course," chimed the Key.   Roland threw the key into the room, and it split asunder into hundreds of small figures, tiny golems that ran about, fixing the damage to the Clock.  Once it was repaired, the entire party was thrust out of the gear box, and they hovered outside the Master Clock of Time.  Its many hands continued to move in patterns distinctly divorced from any chronological system known or even guessed at by man, but now the strange hieroglyphs that swept in intricate designs around the Clock's face glowed with an eldritch energy.
            Roland, Khrenikath, Xarxersuna, and Gaspar entered the Clock via the Key and the Key began to move, ripping through space and time.


            Traveling through space and time, Roland wanted to view the history of the world as it really happened.  They saw a quick kaleidoscope of historical images, one after another in rapid succession.  First a strange star-headed race came to the planet and lived beneath the seas, and they created life – shoggoths.  Their cities beneath the waves were huge, built by the enslaved shoggoths.  Later, some of them migrated to land. Cosmic octopi arrived and precipitated a monstrous war which, for a time, drove the star-headed race back beneath the sea.  The shoggoths later rose up and battled their masters, and a war of re-subjugation began and was lost.  There was an age of dinosaurs, and after millennia, the Saurians rose in power, dinosaur-people from an age unknown.  After the dinosaurs began to wane, other dinosaurs and reptiles had evolved into intelligent bipeds, the Reptile People.  There were two distinct species – the Sahuagin and the Samat, both of whom worshipped the Great Old Ones.  This was before the primates evolved.
            Millennia and entire epochs passed, and the elves and dragons discovered Inzeladun through gates in Faerie.  Hundreds of thousands of years passed and humans arrived, influenced by alien races, followed by the other races, as they escaped from the Great Empire of the Illithids.  The Sahuagin and the Samat were in decline.  Worship of the Great Old Ones were in decline, and a powerful Entity was brought down. Wars against the Sahuagin and the Samat raged across the planet.  Drow elves and primitive men fought surface elves for centuries.  Through manipulation by outside sources, men became more and more civilized. The Samat and the humans finally reached an accord, and the human empire of Angust was founded.  The empire rose and grew powerful, and the Illithids found them.  They captured and bred the humans for psionics, then released them to spread their altered genetics.  By breeding doppelgangers and using shape-changing magic, the mind flayers took positions of power among the peoples of Angust.  Chaos Lords arose from the bred psions, striving for power and prosperity.
            The mind flayers brought about the rebirth of one of the Great Old Ones, and he was horrible to behold.  By His commands, the black monoliths were created and were gifted to the Angustians.  The reborn Entity took mortal shape via mind seed, and a great King of Angust arose, one that lead them toward decadence and darkness, and Angust became a great kingdom of wizards, and they became powerful.  Power corrupted the wizards, and the road toward decadence and evil became the easier road. 
            At some point around here the Yuan Ti were created.  The Angustian King and Vulthois of the Shadow Empire were secretly allied, despite an ongoing war between Angust and the Shadow Empire. Vulthois the Samat and the Great King eventually broke from each other and battled in earnest, and the mind flayers fought for the Angustians.  Vulthois had grown so powerful that he threatened the plans of the Entity, the plans of the mind flayers, and the mind flayers, led by one known as Jehu, tried to steal Vulthois' power, but Vulthois had already retreated into slumber. 
            The Angustians, led by the Chaos Lords, began to rebel against the Angustian King, and he purchased armies of Yuan Ti to fight for his side, for the Shadow Empire had fallen.  He and his mages summoned aliens and monsters to Inzeladun and crushed the Angustian people, forcing them into further decadence.  Many cities by this time were abandoned, and the Chaos Lords were defeated by forces from the future – grey robed wizards and people calling themselves chronomancers and time lords.  The Chaos Lords refused to accept this, and hid their powers, and saved their cities, putting their powers into magical Lions and Owls.  The mind flayers and their ships, along with the Angustians, began to sweep the other human nations, conquering with fire and horror.  The Elves finally stood their ground and came to the defense of the humans and battled, and used horrible magics to seal up the Angustian cities for all time.  The Angustian King mentally fled…
            Roland wanted to see the origins of the black spires, and they were whisked to an unknown place in a far flung time… and the horrors they saw… insatiate, tenebrous monsters whose ultimate throne is chaos… ancient, blasphemous things… and they were aware that the very act of seeing these things made them become both pawn and prey of ultra-worldly powers that renders human existence both tenuous and trite…
            Madness rocked the minds of the travelers, and their minds were seared, and they knew the ancient manuscripts were right – "The Old Ones were, the Old Ones are, and the Old Ones shall remain… long after they have devoured us."