VWORP
VWORP
K-CHUNK!

The TARDIS door opens and Trav pokes her head out, expecting to find a disused part of the cave system where the Sisters of Karn dwell and tend the Eternal Flame.

What she finds is something very different.  It looks like the vestibule to an expensively built museum.  The floor is tiled in carved and polished granite, as are the walls.  It's definitely underground somewhere, as there is a telltale cool in the air, but the place is lit from flames burning with a warm golden glow in gorgeously cut crystal lamps.

There's an indefinable susurration that comes to everyone as they look out.  To Trav it seems familar

From ahead, everyone hears the clack of heels against the stone, and from the hallway leading ahead, a woman approaches.  She's dressed in a curve-hugging rust-red sheath dress with matching bolero jacket and knee-high boots; her hair is elaborately coiffed and sigils in henna paint her cheeks, and she wears an Eastern-styled headdress and necklace with hanging beads.

She studies the group for a moment before noting the TARDIS and Trav with a bit of surprise.  "Welcome to Karn," she says, "welcome back to Karn.  My name is Lasca.  What may I do for you?"

The whispering in the background grows clearer:

sacred flame
sacred fire
sacred flame
sacred fire
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:50, Wed 04 June 2014.

Trav has her pistols on her hips. She takes off her hat. She licks her lips a little, finding the Sister who greets them attractive. Back when she was the 2nd Traveller she was always intimidated by the sisters and found Karn creepy and offputting - now, she finds it fascinating. Of course, the Marshall dismissed their religious faith as superstitious nonsense - one uses science, one does not worship it. But having lived a life as a practicing Catholic, the 5th Traveller now understands the sisters in a way that her two prior selves never did.

"Wow, you ladies have fixed the place up since I was last here. Also, *loving* the outfit and fashion sense. You should know who I am." The last time she was here was when she tried to recruit the Witches of Karn into the war effort, but she respected their decision to stand aside. She was literally a different woman back then. "But for the record, I'm now called the Traveller, Time Lord of the Prydonian College, and I respectfully seek audience."

"Pleased to meet you, Lasca. This is Warlock. He's a rather unique case. Your order are the masters of Gallifreyan biological sciences. He is a victim of the Time War and it's consequences, and perhaps our best hope for the future. These are my other companions." She introduces whoever else chose to come along.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:02, Wed 04 June 2014.

Smoke Alarm crept out of the talkiphone box and into the Karn place, outlooking around in wariness. It was all very shiny and icehot, but the Kang wasn't uncomfortable. In all the grandness, she felt like a very small mouse in a very big hall. And there were no windows, no sky. She could tell they were deep downstairs, in a basement. Bad things happened in Basements.

And this one had a furnace of fire. There were fires everywhere, in the lamps, in the fabshion. Sacred flame, sacred fire. Fire was one of the great terrors of the Towers, she knew, all those safety signs warned of it. Fire escape, fire alarm, fire extinguisher, sprinkler system, water hose, drop and roll, duck and crawl. 'Ware fire. And she was Smoke Alarm, the early warning, natural enemy of fire.

She peered out from behind Traveller at Lasca, who looked almost like a Red Kang but dressed like a Rezzie. But brave and bold, Smoke Alarm stepped out and held open a plastic bag for Lasca. 'How you do. Frapple pie?'

Lasca takes the frapple pie from Smoke Alarm gravely.  "'How you do'."  She holds it up in both hands and bows deeply.  "The gift is honored," she intones, "the petitioner shall be heard.  Please, follow me."

She makes a precise half-turn away from Trav and her friends, and begins to move in measured strides back the way she came.

Warlock bends close to Trav's ear and murmurs, "That woman is... something else.  And I thought some of the Fists were strange...."

"Did you, now?" Erysk says mildly.

As Trav and the others follow Lasca farther on, they see that the hallways of the temple, or dwelling, or complex match that first room in immaculate yet understated design.  They pass several other women as they go, who vary in appearance and dress, but all are clothed in some variation of the same hue and the same sort of precise elegance.  None of them hurry; none of them seem notably marked by age, but all of them move with extreme self-possession and dignity.  Although they note the passing of the newcomers, nodding courteously, they make no great sign of surprise.

Lasca leads them to a larger chamber where a dozen Sisters are arrayed in a circle, sitting with their legs folded beneath them on mats, around a thirteenth who sits in the lotus position with her hands folded in her lap.  She wears a wimple of red silk embroided in silver.  Lasca repeats the bow and places the frapple-pie in the woman's hands.

The sisters in the circle have been chanting: sacred flame, sacred fire, but they hush as Herrensas takes the pie.

"Matriarch Herrensas," Lasca says, "I present the one known as the Traveller, of the Prydonian House.  She makes petition for counsel."

Herrensas breaks the pie in two, separates the halves deliberately without spilling any of the gooey sweet-smelling filling, and takes an almost ritual bite which she chews and swallows.

"Daughter of Gallifrey, make your petition."
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:31, Thu 05 June 2014.

Smoke Alarm watched bemused as the pie was taken with great care and reverence. Why not just eat it? She footed after the others as they followed the red rezzie, but lingered at the back, as she remembered each turn and peered down various carrydoors they passed, remembered how to track back to the talkiphone box.

At the end, she outlooked in awe as the frapple pie was presented to the chief red rezzie. So, they were going to share them out. That was good, Smoke didn't want to give away all her frapple pies.

Trav finds herself rankling at the ritual. Parst of her understands, but there are other parts of her that do not. This brings her home - the life lived in stifling ritual. She's struggling not to judge them, and she has to bite her own tongue. They are not the Time Lords, she tells herself.l She chides herself for seeing herself in them, the stultifying rituals of life she lived before she ran away. At least there's was a living faith.

But, fuck it. She was the Traveller. "Ladies, I was considering being all sanctimonious about this crap, but fuck it. I need your help. Let me introduce Warlock. He was originally a terran named Phillipe, but he has been subjected to the Rassilon Imprimatur, and has regenerated at least once. Please accept his biodata and artron signature." She presents her Ipad. "He bears a device called a TAROT - a living vortex craft even more advanced than any of the type 102 War Tardis variants. It is young, and so is he. This is not my work." She finds herself simmering with resentment. The Doctor died here on Karn.  The Doctor could have come up with something else aside from the Time Lock and the Moment, but these witches meddled.

"All of the people that I know of who could have changed him are dead. However, something from the far end of time is working to influence his biodata for it's own ends - a future that is struggling to be fulfilled. I need to know who did this, and I need to know how to unlock the ciphers that conceal his biodata sequence from me. I want him to be able to decide his own future. He may be the last son of Gallifrey in every sense. If someone who is not a Time Lord somehow accomplished this, I will do to them what I did to the Daleks. If a Time Lord did this, I'll still probably do to them what I did to the Daleks."

She's considering the possibility that the witches themselves may have been responsisble, but the witches were far too crafty to places themselves at the knee of any power, much less any great beast. Only because of what the Doctor told her, all those years ago, is she willing to trust them.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:44, Thu 05 June 2014.

She smiles at Smoke, whose offering was more important than she realizes at the moment. She winks at her.

The elder Sister hands the halves of the pie back to Lasca, who gives one each to the sisters sitting on either side of the "six-o-clock" position in the circle, relative to where Trav is standing.  In eerie unison, each sister takes a piece to eat and passes the pie around the circle.

Herrensas takes the iPad from Trav and glances over it briefly before handing it back -- too briefly for Trav to believe she has given it proper consideration.  "If giving an answer will set you on a path of anger and destruction either way, perhaps silence is the wisest response I can give," she observes.  "Never mind."

She rises smoothly, and as she does the first two sisters rise as well.  One of them reaches out to take Warlock's left hand and the other his right.  "Come," says Herrensas.  She sweeps out of a side hallway, followed first by Lasca, then by the two sisters flanking Warlock.  Erysk gives Trav and the others an uncertain look as the group follows after.  Something about the procession makes Trav uneasy -- it reminds her too much of a lamb being led to a sacrifice.

The group ends in another chamber with a wide stone table at its center.  Across the room, set into the wall and off the floor, is a door of polished steel about a meter high, and Sisters stand placidly to either side of it.

On the table is a wide silver bowl filled with a slightly iridescent fluid, with a semicircle of six goblets in different metallic colors arrayed behind it.  Herrensas approaches the table and takes up the third clockwise cup, of a green tint, and the fifth one, reddish in color.  She dips a bit of liquid from the bowl with the green cup, does the same with the red, then pours the green into the red.  There's a puff of vapor from it.

Herrensas looks at Warlock, who still has Sisters clasping his hands.  "Step forward."

OOC: Stopping here to give everyone a fair chance to intervene.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:43, Fri 06 June 2014.

Trav makes sures that she's always at Warlock's side. She looks like she's ready to punch one of these Sisters, but she keeps her counsel and politeness.

"Being peaceable is a more effecient option when others do the fighting for you. The only answers I'm interested is what is in his best interest. If being peaceful will help him, then I'll listen - but I feel responsible for him." She also now remembers the deep, deep differences as to why the Witches left Gallifrey.



Trav grits her teeth. She wants to yell, intervene... but the Witches certainly know how she feels. She keeps her mouth shut, for now. Her eyes meet those of Warlock's.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:28, Fri 06 June 2014.

Smoke Alarm outlooked at all the how-you-do and business with the pie, fascinated by the red rezzies' ritual, not unlike a Kang's own how-you-do or scrap-heap chant. But Traveller's discomfort and the way they grabbed Wall Lock kept Smoke wary. It all seemed like they were taking him to the cleaners.

She outlooked to Traveller and nodded slightly, her small face serious. She would track Traveller's lead in this, and would have her back.

Trav, making sure that her eyes do not leave those of Warlock, steps back. She slips next to Smoke, and slips an arm around the blue Kang.

It wasn't often she was scared. She hated asking for help like this, she hated being the dumbest person in the room. A small part of her was praying.

Herresas nods to Lasca, who produces from within her jacket a clean white cloth, and a small-bladed knife.

When Trav and Smoke Alarm and Warlock and the others all flinch in surprise, Herresas fixes Trav with a look that says that she knows precisely who and what the Traveller is and has been and is not cowed by that.  "Biodata," she says sharply.  "You know our methods, Time Lord, and yet you brought him to us.  This is what must be done to delve below the craft that hides the truth of him.  Be calm.  He will not be badly harmed."

Herresas turns to Warlock.  "The choice is yours.  A small bloodletting, only."

Warlock shakes himself free of the Sisters to either side of him and gives Herresas a mulish look.  "Worse has been done to me," he says, holding out his arm.  "Do it."

Herresas draws the blade across his forearm.  It's enough of a cut that blood wells up and sits thick on the knife, but Lasca immediately clasps the cloth over the cut to stanch it.  Meanwhile, Herresas holds the blade over the cup she holds, and there is a drip, drip, drip of red into the liquid.

For a few moments, nothing happens.  Then the room brightens as a small shower of light and energy bursts up from the cup.  Trav recognizes a tiny release of latent regenerative energy -- a trifle compared to the usual regeneration cycle; perhaps the Sisters' concoction is what released it?

As the radiance hangs in the air and slowly starts to fade, Herresas wafts a hand through the space over the cup, inhaling deeply.  "Strange," she says.  "But--"

She breaks off and all the Sisters in the room, and Warlock, stand stock still as Trav feels a raw psychic cry rip through her mind.

The suspended energy seems to ripple with that shock, and words form out of the waves in the pattern:

TARDIS ANGELS,
FLY!

As the knife was pulled out, Smoke Alarm reached for her arrowgun, to shoot it away, but Wall Lock seemed sound-and-safe with it. She watched the rest of the rite in awe, especially as the neon glow-fire burst out. Then it turned into an icehot air-scrawl. Smoke Alarm jumped out of Traveller's arm, laughing and cheering for the sight of it.

"I bet you said the same words to the Doctor, before you made him into the Warrior. But I'll trust you. It's not as if I have a choice."



She finds herself smiling slightly and looking on him like she did when her grandson Little Josh faced down 3 coalition soldiers - him 13, and them a sergeant and 2 Dog Boys. She nods to him.



Trav hugs Smoke, and shields her from the blinding glow.



The Traveller screams, as she clutches the sides of her head and she drops to her knees. The words burn in her mind!

The psychic burst fades away, as does the residual energy.  Trav feels staggered and shaken in its wake.

(Oddly, Smoke Alarm and Trav's other companions don't seem to have been so strongly affected.  Smoke just feels as if she's binged on too much fizz-ade.)

"I did not expect that," Herresas says slowly.  "But I did see what it means, in the flavor of Warlock's past and his future.  The block transfer device -- the TAROT.  His genes hold an interface to it, and it to him, but there is a great time differential in the symbiotic link.  That TAROT is from his future: it is likely to be far more experienced and subtle than he is, following its own agenda.  But what was that message?  Was it perhaps fighting itself?  Trying to warn you to flee?"

Trav stands. She remembers thundering through her head the soft, subtle images of when she interfaced with Ever's TAROT.

"Oh. Oh, fuck. I have a bad headache." Those who are psychic senses might see impressions of both past and future Travellers, superimposed over this one - one with brown hair, droopy eyes and a wise smirk, one with purple hair with a Rassilon Orobouros on each wrist, the young-wise face of the first traveller.






"I... I think I have a clue as to what is happening. First, sister, you're not using entirely correct language - TARDISes and other vortex craft created using the Omega model exist in all points in time. The TAROT here is the same TAROT of Warlock's future self. It... was kind and gentle to me, after being a bit trepidatious. It said I had freed all of it's kind, before the block-matrix identification protocols granted me War Council clearance."

She looks sadly at the deck of cards. "There could be more TAROTS out there, or it could mean every instance of that one TAROT. I think it's asking for, and needs, our help."

Trav explains - "We've received a number of clues, all cryptic. I resided for a long time in another universe in which making miracles was a craft - what we would call magic. I bent every bit of my Time Lord intellect towards figuring out how the 'magic' there worked, and I was baffled from day one. I like to think I'm pretty smart. Anyway, one thing I learned is that when presented with cryptic things, the way to interpret them is not to try to solve them like a puzzle, but instead take them on their own terms. Visions can sometimes only be interpreted by by intuition, metaphor, simile, poetry. I'm sure you ladies would appreciate that."

"Maybe we should assemble the visions, the clues, the cryptic words, and try to put them together. I'd also be interested in the technical details of what you may have found. I apologize for my earlier rudeness but... the War still lingers in me. I don't think it's ever going to go away. Thank you for your assistance, Elder Sister Herresas."
This message was last edited by the player at 04:52, Sat 07 June 2014.

Settling down now, Smoke blinked away the bright light and finding her tummy felt funny. 'Erg. Fast and silly. she groaned, then looked to where Traveller had gone all dizzy. Grabbing her friend to support her, Smoke helped her to the ground, grunting with the effort. 'Yerg. Fall and sits.' she said kindly. But Smoke Alarm seemed to be talking strangely. Strangely even for Smoke Alarm. 'Lady falters, sing. Falling dry seats.'

But she wasn't unbrave or unbold, just smiling and happy like she had all the knowhow. Mayhaps the Kang's child-like mind had received the message too, or mayhaps it was just the Kangs' scrambled speech patterns, their love of children's games, or just long practice at deciphering their text messages that helped Smoke Alarm knowhow the message. 'Don't outlook, eyespy! Something beginning with G.' Smoke pulled out her spray-paint and scrawled big letters on the floor:

GALLYFREI STANDS

'It's an amagran!'
This message was last edited by the player at 08:43, Fri 11 July 2014.

Trav blinks. "Gallifrey? Did I ever tell you about Gallifrey, baby?" She is still kneeling, now her gloved hands running carefully along the freshly tagged floor. She looks up at everyone. "Gallifrey is *dead*. I saw it burn with my own eyes." A pause. "What does this mean?"

"I suspect it means it's not as dead as you think. Not even you are perfect, I suspect."

The Draconian had been quiet, but observing.

Trav sits on the floor, staring at the letters. "Understatement of a billion years, baby." She looks up at the Sisters.

She goes white as the implications go through her mind. "Oh, no. If somehow Gallifrey has survived...that would mean...that the War would would return. That means the Doctor died for nothing. That means that the cosmos is in dire, dire peril."

If anything could be worse than her home gone, this was worse. This meant that, if Rassilon and the maddened high council of the Time Lords had survived, she'd have to go to war with her own people. And if the Time Lords could return, then so could The Daleks.

She's leaning back on the floor, trying to catch her breath. She was strong, but even this was all too much to take in all at once.

But she was The Traveller, dammit. She was not going to fucking panic.

She gratefully take's Smoke's proffered hand. "Thank you, sweety. This can mean a lot of things." She starts lining things up in her mind. Certainly, Rassilon could do something like this. But, for all his brilliance, the founder of Time Lord society was blunt. That's part of the reason that he had the Marshall and the Master prosecute his war for him, he had no head for military style tactics, and certainly would find using devil imagery laughable.

"Waitasec. Something just occured to me. Tarot cards are native to *Earth*. Why on Earth would a Time Lord artifact take on the form of a deck of Terran playing cards? Warlock, in your last life, did you ever dabble in the occult, do tarot, practice chaos magick or were a pagan or anything like that?"
This message was last edited by the player at 05:52, Sat 07 June 2014.

'You did! On our first lights-on in the talkiphone box. After I made the scrap-heap. You told me about Gallifrey and the Doctor.' she reminded Traveller of their first morning, eating doughnuts and looking at the picture-spout on the ceiling. 'Caution. Wet paint.' she warned. She didn't get why Traveller wasn't happy about this. Wasn't it good news? 'It means the towers still stand. Mayhaps the peoples aren't unalive. Mayhaps the Doctor.'

As Traveller starting about the magic cards again, Smoke outlooked back down at her wall-scrawl, hoping she had it right. Sly lifts a danger.

Warlock looks a trifle irked by the question, but when he answers, it's in a patient tone.

"Absolutely not," he says.  "I was studying for my bachelor's in physics, and before all this happened, you'd have been hard pressed to convince me of much that you couldn't prove.  I only ended up at that 'fair' you found me at because it was a dull Sunday, and I happened to be passing by.

"And I thought you were supposed to practice science too, Traveller.  At least enough to not mistake correlation for causation.  You remember what TAROT stands for, right?"  He holds out his hand and the deck is there, slightly buzzing with power, and he looks at it warily.  "'Transformational Archetypes Refactoring Orthogonal Time.'  Those images represent structures in the underlying mathematical basis of the universe, but the images aren't hard-coded into the device: they emerge from the numbers.  My theory -- scratch that; my hypothesis -- is that the cards and the symbology that go into them, the ones that eventually got adopted by occult traditions on Earth, derived from the way that those numeric structures shaped the human collective unconscious."

"Oh, I'm sorry baby. It's been a long time since I hung out with Pythagoras. This stress is making me sloppy."

She rubs her temples. "So, sisters. What are your findings? What do you think of all of this?"
This message was last edited by the player at 21:11, Sat 07 June 2014.

"Think of what, exactly?" Herresas asks.

"It does not appear to me that Warlock's genetic makeup has been manipulated since he was created or born.  If he has been, then it would have been done with a subtlety equal to that with which the Gallifreyan nuclei were grafted to the human.  The self-defending code seems to have been always meant to behave that way.

"Second... I am likely not as familiar with the omnitemporal nature of Warlock's symbiont device as you would be, Traveller.  I am a student and architect of life, not of vortex technology or hypermathematics.  But just going by your story and what we have just witnessed, I believe that it was designed with inbuilt protocols to protect its own secrets and those of Warlock, but has been struggling to give you the key to unlock those protocols for some time now.

"That key does not, to me, clearly show anything about the identity or the nature of Warlock's designers.  Obviously the key phrase which your young human friend--" (Herresas indicates Smoke Alarm) "--uncovered, seems to confirm that a Time Lord or Time Lords were behind his creation and would seem to trace him to the period of the War.  I doubt that it identifies an individual, as that was such a common rallying cry.  Even if it did, it might merely point to the one who implanted the key phrase, not the one who developed the entirety of the code.

"What you do with that key is your choice and his choice, and perhaps you should discuss that with him.  You know that we have some ability to affect his makeup, with the use of that key.  It may be possible to extract the Gallifreyan grafts and restore his unmodified human heritage.  It may be possible to remove certain incarnational sequences from his biodata.  Either seems very risky to me, particularly as so much in the way of the genetic heritage of the Gallifreyan people is lost to us as a basis for comparison and design.

"Does that help you, Traveller?  Warlock?  Or are there other concerns or questions on which you would wish my insight?"

"Thank you for your insight thus far. The tricky thing is that our friend here combines aspects of -both- things. A Time Lord and his or her TARDIS are one, when in flight and operation. TARDISes are living beings, and the relationship that we have with our time craft is intimate. I'm the last Time Lord, as far as I know - I take my responsibility to protect the Time Vortex, and the beings that live within this universe, very seriously."

"What I'm really worried about is someone trying to make him into what he essentially isn't.  He was... abused, similar to how I was at the hands of the Daleks. He barely escaped. Some agency was trying to force him into becoming a force for evil that would use his device on their behalf. It says a lot about him that he succeeded where I failed. He is a good man, I became a monster. I don't want whoever was responsible for his abuse to succeed. I suspect that their may be powers that are still trying to influence his transformation into something awful."

Trav turns the talk back to Warlock -

"As for what eventually ends up happening to you, Warlock, that's entirely up to you. If you want to become a normal human, I'm here to help. You ladies can have full access to me if you need a template for a Gallifreyan, I'm not even halfway through my entire regeneration cycle. If you want to stay how you are, and explore the universe with that partner of yours, then I'm down for that too.  Maybe an old gal like me can show him a thing or two. I only want what's best for you. It's your choice and your right. We may even be able to make give you your old face and self back, if that's what you want. I'd be happy to burn off a regeneration for that - it seems like it would be an equitable trade. I still couldn't make up for what happened to you, but at least you could return to a peaceful life on Earth.  Well, kinda peaceful, being in 2013. I'd give up all of my lives to make what happened to you not have happened."

"Ladies, do we need to worry about forces from the far end of time controlling or influencing Warlock against his will? Is that a question you can answer?"
This message was last edited by the player at 19:16, Sun 08 June 2014.

Warlock is still and quiet after Trav speaks to him.

While he thinks, Lasca takes the blue cup on the far right of the table and fills it.  She dabs a corner of the white cloth in the cup after she swirls it for a moment, and then traces it along the cut on his arm.  Unmarred skin is left behind.  Warlock doesn't seem to notice it.

At last he draws a deep breath.  "I don't think I'm quite ready to make that decision," he says.  "It's generous and brave of you to make that offer, Traveller.  I don't know that I've got the right to accept it.  In any case, I've made a great deal of unfinished work for myself.  The Fists.  I need to do what I've promised and stop what they're doing, before I can think of making any choice."

Herresas looks at Trav.

"I think we definitely need to worry about forces turning Warlock onto a darker path," she says.  "But I do not think that he is vulnerable to that because of his biology; in some ways he is uniquely armed against such interference.  I think he is in far greater danger from his own inexperience and his own uncertainty.  Traveller, you know that the greatest monster any person must overcome lives within them.  So it is with your friend."

Trav clutches her hat. "I guess that a lot of this is just as much about me as it is about him. Allright then, I'll take you at your word. Thanks for your insight, this helps a lot. Actually, it really puts my mind at ease."

She sonics the Ipad. "Here, keep this. This has information on a project I'm working on. The threat that Warlock is warning us against is quite real, I'm organizing a defense. Here's what I have so far." Included is everything that Trav has gathered since she first encountered the Chamber of Time Unwrought, including the chemical formualae for the syrette that was given to her by the Splintered Sisterhood. "Look up the Splintered Sisterhood entry. You ladies and they have a lot in common, and I'm sure you'll have a lot of interesting conversations. They're biological time-sight technique is fascinating and I'm sure it would interest you."

She also hands Herrasas a phone. "You're the closest thing I have to relatives these days, along with Warlock. I know that you ladies have your own defenses and ways of avoiding danger, but if you feel that you need me, yell. I will admit that I have my issues with you, but those can wait. You have a legacy that stretches from before the Time War, and it's an important one."

She looks around. "Speaking of legacy, this place looks awesome. You guys seem satisfied with caves when Boobie and I dropped by - that was in his celery days. Are you becoming more active or just want more plush digs?

"Awesome. I fully support any decision you make, baby. Think on this, but the Time Lord legacy is something I'd like to pass on. If you think you'd want to undertake that mantle, find me. It will be a long, hard road, especially as to make sure that whoever succeeds us do *not* repeat the mistakes of the elders of Gallifrey, but if you want, I'll begin to provide you with the education and the initiations that you need."

Trav taps her sonic against the side of her cheek, which indicates a wacky idea, incoming. "Ladies, in bizarre circumstances I've occasionally regressed to the appearance and personality of prior incarnations. Through your sciences, do you think it might be possible for Warlock to occasionally take Phillipes old face and personality? Could it cause harm? I'd love for Warlock to have both lives, instead of being forced to choose between one and the other."

Smoke Alarm outlooked impressed as Lasca used the blue cup to clean the red paint and make Wall Lock unhurt. But as the Big Talky Time went on, the Kang got bit yawny and her feets wanted to move. She didn't knowhow Wall Lock, the Fists' great architect, was now Traveller's best-friend-forever. Smoke Alarm had thought that was her. Leaving the floor-scrawl where it was, she footed off to outlook around the chamber, eyespying the coloured cups on the kitchen table and inlooking inside.

But Smoke Alarm could smell smoke and burning, and followed her nose to the shiny metal cabinet between the two fire ladies...

Herresas gives the Traveller a grave nod of acknowledgment.

"We do what we can to preserve the legacy of the Time Lords.  One day, even if it is millennia hence, there will be a people in the universe that will try to rise to true mastery of Time once more, and when they come, they will need to know the mistakes that were made by those who came before.  That is why we choose to live only in the synchronous continuum, and why we restrict our contact with the universe outside.  But it is good to know that at least one daughter of Gallifrey survived, and takes that legacy seriously in her own way."


"Long ago, a man aided us with a certain unpleasantness, and he impressed on us the value of change.  It is something we must hold in balance, remembering the mission that we have set ourselves.  However, the loss of so much that we knew finally convinced us that self-mortification was not identical to one's conviction an purpose.  And so we allow ourselves this change."  She lets a slight smile slip.  "And, if I may say it, not a moment too soon."

Herresas hesitates before giving an answer, and in the space of that pause, Warlock shakes his head.  "Regardless of whether it's feasible, I'm not at all certain that it's wise," he says.  "If, as the Sister suggests, there is some imbalance between the state of the TAROT in its timeline and me in mine, confusing it further by triggering a genetic shift could scramble things up worse than a zygma beam.  I want to work out a way to tell my family I'm all right, but I don't want to wreck my biological integrity just to do it."

The two red-robed Sisters eye Smoke Alarm warily as she approaches.  The shorter of the two warns her, "Do not approach the sacred flame," she says.  "The longevity it grants us is the underpinning of our mission of preserving the old knowledge, and we cannot run the risk of an outsider interfering with it."

Smoke Alarm notes, belatedly, that the Sisters have short blades slung at their hips, though they have made no change in stance or posture that hints they might reach for those weapons.

Smoke Alarm stopped, but her head continued to jut forward. 'A flame? Can I eyespy it?' she asked curiously. She'd seen flames before, but not sacred ones.


OOC: Insatiable Curiosity, a Smoke Alarm, and a Sacred Flame...

The Sister tilts her head to look curiously at Smoke Alarm.  "It is not impossible; it is not as if you were male, after all.  Before you did, though, you would need to commit yourself to the ways of the Sisterhood, learn the sacred rituals letter-perfect, and finally put on the red robe of a full Sister.  You seem to be a bright girl.  It should not take you more than, say, twenty-five years."

Trav fans herself with her hat. "Smoke, very Yawny. They don't ever go to the big pool in the sky, but they have to be entirely unfun. I'd rather be unalive than unfun. They're nice rezzies but they don't play games or wallscrawl or run. But if they'll let you see their flame, that's groovy." She smirks, poking some fun at the Sisters the way that Boobie did, back when he wore his scarf.

Trav smiles in a way that a mother proud of a son would when he says that. And Zygma beams! He knows about Zygma beams!

"If there's anything I can do to help with that, sweety, let me know."

Trav considers for a moment. This place, once she got everything into place, could be a sanctuary. Here, she could retire. But she shook her head. She'd get bored of this place in a week. When the time came to rest, she wasn't sure what she would do.

"I'm glad to hear that things worked out. I haven't felt any survivors in the Vortex, but I'm still hoping. Ladies, if you hear any whispers, any rumours of any survivors of Gallifrey from the war, please contact me, immediately. Also, let me know when a good time is, and you can tap my brain, figuratively speaking. I'm the last Time Lord. As per the ancient agreements, I'm at your disposal."

She looks the Sisters, in their new, somewhat more sensual attire, up and down. "Whoever this fellow was, it seems like he loosened you all up a bit. Back in the old days, I'd have though that the Corsair made a visit. I'd sure like to meet him."

"OK, gang, I think we're done here, unless anyone else has anything to ask or add."
This message was last edited by the player at 05:15, Mon 09 June 2014.

Smoke Alarm thought through what the fire lady had outlined, seeing one major obstacle to her seeing the sacred flame. 'But, but I'm already a Blue Kang! Not red.' She ducked a little, wondering if mayhaps she could eyespy under the cabinet door, but it was no good. Frowning, she tried another tack.

The Kang backed off a couple of feet, then went through a full and formal how-you-do to the sacred flame in its sacred box, before ending in a curtsey. Then she pulled Puddy out of her backpack, presenting him to the Sister fire lady. 'Can Puddy eyespy it?' The worn black-and-white stuffed cat doll looked at the Sister with big, plaintive eyes matching those of the Kang behind them.

The Sisters trade a bemused look.  "Your 'Puddy' has no need to see the flame," the Sister who has been speaking says.

But the other one shifts her stance, as if this conversation has pushed her out of the comfortable sameness she has been in for day after day, year after year.  She unlatches the door and opens it a fraction, looking inside, enough for Smoke Alarm to get a glimpse.

"Melehndra!" says the other one reprovingly.

The Sister who opened the door says, "Sister... our visitor's persistence made me suspicious.  It was needful to make certain that nothing unusual has befallen the flame."

For all that, the actual sight was disappointing.  The space behind the door is not large -- Smoke Alarm would have to squeeze to fit into it.  A cheerfully blazing flame fills most of it, with a few odd licks of color visible in it.  Unlike the walls of the Sisters' temple, the stone inside the space is rough, iridescent with the metallic colors of the different cups that Smoke saw on the table.

"Very well," the first Sister replies.  "I suppose no real harm has come of it."  She glares at Smoke Alarm.

Melehndra closes the door and resets the latch.

OOC: The Guardian, for the NPC Sister of Karn, rolled 10 using 2d6+7 with rolls of 2,1. Is the Sister tricked?  Resolve(4) + Subterfuge(1) + By The Book(2).

Trav laughs delightedly. "See Smoke? Yawny and Unfun. Thank you for your hospitality, ladies, Ja Ne!" She turns to walk back to the TARDIS. "Hey Warlock, you and Erysk need a lift, or can you take it from here? Stay for dinner!"

Eagerly, Puddy stretched out and peered around the door, the sacred flame reflected in its plastic eyes. And, too, Smoke Alarm craned around and got a sneaky peak at the sacred flame. Meh. She'd lit bigger fires in rubbish bins. But, before either fire lady could eyespy, she was standing upright again and looking like the kind of girl with butter in her mouth the Rezzies wished for.

But Smoke Alarm was a bit worried about what she'd seen. 'It's still burning-bright. Shouldn't you fire-extinguish it?' she pointed out. 'Safety first.'
This message was last edited by the player at 13:36, Mon 09 June 2014.

Melehndra and her unnamed associate both draw a sharp breath as one, and both reach for their daggers.

OOC: May I invite someone, anyone, to intervene at this point?  Because them's fightin' words. :)
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:17, Mon 09 June 2014.

He shook his head quietly.

"Be careful my friend. I don't think the fire does any harm, and unless I miss my guess given the words of 'Sacred Flame' it may well be sacrilege or blasphemy to even -think- about extinguishing the flame."

He then turns to the sisters and bows.

"Forgive my friend. Like myself, she knows not your customs, and I believe she comes from areas where fires getting out of control is a problem."

OOC: SEriously?

09:01, Today: Sereth rolled 10 using 2d6+8 with rolls of 1,1. Convince + Presence.

Everyone in the room fixates on the sudden tension, but with Sereth's quick words -- and the attention of the senior Sisterhood -- the guardians release their weapons and clasp their hands in front of them.  They give solemn nods to Sereth, though their expressions are stony, and Herresas and Lasca both cast troubled looks at Smoke Alarm and Trav.

"Perhaps it would be best if you and your friends moved on," Herresas suggests.  "We may call this a simple misunderstanding, and go forward from there."

OOC: All things considered, I didn't actually mean to make you folks roll for it anyway, so it was going to be an Easy (9) at worst.  Just so long as someone who wasn't Smoke spoke up.  They're not quite laughing it off, though.

Mind, I was looking for a clip of that bit from Brain of Morbius of the Sisters going death! death! death! :D

And this was, of course, hilarious.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:33, Mon 09 June 2014.

As the fire ladies reached for their knifes, Smoke Alarm backed warily away. 'Okay...' she said, mostly to Sereth's warning words. Well, they'd learn when the curtains caught fire. 'Mayhaps you could put some signs up?' she suggested helpfully to their iron faces. 'No ball-games, no fly-posts, no fire extinguishers...' She trailed off; her help was clearly not wanted. 'Burn high for happiness.' she said politely with a careful fist-over-fist gesture, still backing away. 'Be sound and safe.'

Quickly, Smoke tucked Puddy back into her backpack, zipping it up so its head could outlook, then she scampered away after Sereth.


OOC: One of you could have stopped her at any point. :p

Trav goes white when she sees this all happening, but fortunately Sereth's quick and careful words defuse the situation. "Sorry ladies, misunderstanding! All my fault, should have explained." She gets behind Smoke and everyone else. "Time to be outgoing now. Burn high for happiness! Sounds and safe." She tries to hustle her companions back to the TARDIS ASAP.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:18, Tue 10 June 2014.

Trav and the others return to the TARDIS with Lasca escorting them.

"Fare well," she says.  "Please do keep us apprised of what you may discover.  I doubt that the message young Smoke Alarm found is anything but a bit of flotsam from the war, but who knows?  Many things and many people have a habit of coming back to light when one thinks they have vanished forever.  We of the Sisterhood know that better than most."

"Yeah. I bet you weren't counting on seeing me. Aside from that, I really don't know what to say to that. I just hope that whatever washes up we can live with. Take care."

Trav pulls herself in and closes the door. In a moment, the engines begin their familiar grind, as the TARDIS disappears into the Time Vortex.

Smoke Alarm allowed Traveller to push her back into the talkiphone box, wondering what all the to-do was anyway.

Sereth was shook his head. Someone needed to teach Smoke the basics of diplomacy...

He then turned to Traveller and spoke directly. "Where to now, friend?"

"Off to Space Vegas! I wish it were entirely for fun. I have to be there to be at the reading of a loved one's last will and testament." With that, the TARDIS's time rotor groans and creaks!

OOC: This is assuming that everyone has been dropped off who wants to be dropped off, and etc.

'Space Vay-gas!' Smoke Alarm cheered, remembering Traveller's earlier carry-on, then outlooked to Traveller to see if she was doing right.

Trav gets wide eyes, smiling manically. She hops up and down. "Yeah. SPACE VEGAS."

A week later in their subjective time, the TARDIS materializes back where it originally landed on Karn.

Trav steps out. She is alone, and she has that same case. She clutches it like it was the entire world.

She respectfully waits.

Some time passes, but just before Trav starts to wonder whether she should go looking for someone, Lasca approaches from down the long hallway ahead.

She inclines her head.  "Traveller.  Welcome again."  She makes a somewhat quizzical tilt to the left, as if to look around Trav at the TARDIS.  "What is it that we may do for you?  And will your... adventuresome blue friend be visiting us as well?  I would warn the sisters to be... wary, if that was the case."

She looks confused. "Blue friend? Depends which one, babe. Oh, you mean Smoke. She's having a big tub of ice cream right now - This is a personal thing.  But, bring the chief sister here. I need your safest place. I have the future here in this case. I have with me the last legacy of the Corsair."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:20, Mon 01 Sept 2014.

Lasca leads the Traveller off through the temple to where Matriarch Herrensas sits meditating with her circle.  Lasca makes a complicated ritual bow of obeisance to the elder Sister, which takes the best part of five minutes, by which time Trav is extremely fidgety.

At last Herrensas' eyes fix on Trav.  "You have returned to us again, daughter of Prydon," she says.  "And alone, this time.  May I ask your petition?"

"Mother," Lasca comments, "the Traveller tells me that she has 'the future' in the case in her hands."

"Indeed," Herrensas says dryly.  "It is a very small case, and futures, we may hope, are very large.  Explain."

Without a word, Trav carefully opens the case, showing the sample.

"I've tuned the stasis field so that you can safely scan it. The Corsair always believed in big, big scores."
This message was last edited by the player at 00:46, Tue 02 Sept 2014.

Herrensas studies the sample closely.  From within her robes, she extracts an shimmering oval pendant on a chain, which she holds over the open case.  As Trav watches the rune-written silvery weight wriggle in an eerie pattern above the sample, she realizes with a start that it is wrought from pure validium, and it is dancing to the tune of the past bound up in that fragment of living skin, and the potential of the timelines that could spring from it.

As Herrensas gathers up the chain and puts the pendant away, she lets out a breath.  "Well," she says.  "It is genuine; the tale of the Reader Shard is clear enough on that, and it plainly has the promise of new life within it.  Your friend and your comrade, it seems, hedged a bet against destiny and won it.  So what of that?  Surely you have learned as much through your own skills and sciences.  What would you have of the Sisterhood of Karn?"

Trav narrows her eyes. Even the human part of her was in near tears. Not to be alone anymore. She breathes deeply, considering the enormity of the request.

"I saw the High Council return The Master using the Eye of Harmony." She swallows. "Can it be done? Can the Corsair live again, with a full set of regenerations? If so, what do you need from me?"
This message was last edited by the player at 18:09, Tue 02 Sept 2014.

Herrensas' eyes narrow when Trav mentions the Master.

"A murderous gene-woven homunculus animated by a jumble of transcription errors," she says, scowling.  "You do not want to set anything like that loose on the universe.  As for what you have brought me...."  Her voice turns thoughtful.  "Traveller, understand: your friend's memories and personality are not anywhere in that tissue.  If you had those, somewhere, anywhere, something could be done.  As you have not, what you could bring forth would be a newborn.  There are those here who would say that the children of Gallifrey maintain their sense of self from life to life because their essence ensouls their body through the fire of regeneration.  If you brought that newborn into being... would they carry a soul like the one that left this matter behind to you?  It might be.

"As to what we would need...."  Herrensas looks at Trav sadly.  "I believe you have guessed that already.  A life for a life."

She sadly closes the case. "So, no biodata. You are absolutely right,then."

Alone, again. Forever alone.

When the Mother curses Koschei's name, she finds herself growing whistful - nostalgic. The Master tried to kill her several times, and flirted with her outrageously when she had her first face. He was dapper back then, when Boobie wore that silk cape.

"Thank you, then. To be frank, I have no idea what the hell to even use this for. I mean, I have no ambitions except to keep everyone safe, and to not be bound down to anyone place. It's just as well - I think that bringing the Corsair back to a wrecked universe with her entire people dead would be a horrible crime. This saves me from a terrible ethical crisis."

"Unless there is any other counsel that you ladies can offer, I had be best on my way then. Trouble follows me, and you've earned your peace. The safest place I can think of, for this, is with me. If this is with me travelling through time and space, it'll be that much harder to steal. As for a life for a life? If I had his biodata and *she* would come back whole? Sure, I'd i'd give up a regeneration or two."
This message was last edited by the player at 06:23, Wed 03 Sept 2014.