In the ecosystem of the multiverse, the being presently before them was a parasite, no two ways about it.  But one that apparently wanted to survive as much as most others.

Nightmare grinned at Mark's words, but the expression faded swiftly.  "Steering people wrong is something of a specialty.   And also a luxury I can't afford here.   So, listen because time is of the essence:  there is one whose abode is accessible down here, if you know the trick of getting in.  He goes by the name of the Brimstone Cowboy, but don't let that put you off.  His moral compass is much nearer to you lot." 

"No one knows better the secrets of this city's upper echelons, its eclectic underbelly, and the hidden repositories of magic that aren't supposed to exist here at all.  Probably, if anyone can, he can tell you the most probable hidey holes for the shard of Eternity, and the one who pilfered it."  He paused, looking toward the one party had met before Nightmare, who was yet milling about.

John Jameson, in his tattered, Spider-Man like outfit, who himself was looking more sober since Nightmare's matrix was broken. "You crafty, rotten son of a bitch..."

"Never mind the complements.  I've no more interest in toying with anyone, right now. Make yourself useful, for once! Escort this quartet to the Cowboy's den, if they're so willing to meet with him."   

The illusion faded like predawn’s mist before the first light of day. Valkyrie strode up beside Kid Hyperion with Dragonfang displayed in hand. She watched Nightmare through narrowed eyes, aware of the demon’s reputation even in her world. “Any tricks, and I’m mounting your head on my bike.” Val gave a moment to let her warning sink in.

“We’ll go with this ‘Brimstone Cowboy’, but first…what was that crack about Stephen? What did you mean about him ‘going that far’?”

Nightmare grinned again, "Ah, that's good!  You're a dreamer, aren't you?   But," he waved his hand negatingly, "it was not Strange that I meant.  Rather, the one who stole Eternity's 'heart,' and is willing to go to oblivion with this universe, when it collapses."  Nightmare grimaced. "That kind of insanity baffles even me."

Mordred, still reeling from "Morgan"'s mental attack, was still on his knees. His head drooped, and spittle dripped from the sides of his mouth. The knight groaned before raising himself to his feet with the help of his staff. His eyes locked onto Nightmare, his glare full of white hot fury at the indignity of being bested.

"I've known villains to parley with the valiant to save their own skins," he growled. "And I suspect this one speaks true when offering his aid.

"I am not so naive to expect our accord to extend beyond the scope of what benefits you, Master of Nightmares," Mordred added. "But now that you know the severity of our task and what is at stake should we fail, let that grim knowledge curb any temptation to cut short this truce."

Nightmare spread his hands magnanimously. "Fair enough, sir knight. Fair enough!  And please, don't begrudge me my pastimes.   Immortality is quite unbearable without a good hobby!"

It was probably safe to say no one in any corner of any universe had anything nice to say about Nightmare...

Pausing for any last concerns, quips or questions, after which I'll move this thing forward.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:21, Fri 05 May 2023.

Scott hung back, listening to the others interrogate and chastise the demon. He was more rattled by Nightmare's visions than he cared to let on, and worse than that, annoyed with himself for not being of greater use in breaking the illusion. Who knew what the others had been forced to suffer through while he wrestled with his capricious powers?

But he could stew on it later. Trusting that the others' questions and threats had been sufficient, he chose to simply ignore Nightmare.

"If you're all okay after that little nap we took," he said, injecting a little more warmth into his voice than had been there before, "I think we're ready to move on."

Regret sat in his stomach as certain images stirred up by the vision played through his mind again-- a burning mansion, a wheelchair lying on its side, a heap of bodies in blue and gold uniforms. He clutched at his head, clearing his throat as he added:

"And, um... Sorry. For being a jerk earlier."

What followed afterward was a bit more trekking.

Certainly, losing Nightmare only served to lighten the atmosphere, at least a little.   But John Jameson, who was now leading them per the latter's request, wasn't the most chipper company.   He was more lucid and focused, yet seemed almost disconsolate, initiating no real conversation on his own.

He led them on through the labyrinth of the Underground, past several intersections and down a pair of side passages.   Until coming to a halt at a particular spot in a short hallway.  At which point he did speak:

"The Cowboy's easy going enough, just don't go out of your way to annoy him.  We know each other, but we're not friends, let's say.   I'll make this introduction, and then I've got other places to be."   

So said, Jameson raised his fist -- and knocked six times over a barely visible scuff mark on the wall.   Nothing happened for a moment.

And then a door-sized portion of the wall vanished.   He waved everyone in, whereupon the group found themselves standing in a stairwell with a spiral case.   They walked it up to its top -- the distance suggesting they were still below ground.

Facing them was a large, mahogany door, carved with a set of sigils.  In its center, a brass, gargoyle-style doorknocker that Jameson proceeded to grasp and rap with.

Some delay followed, but not too long.   Soon enough the door opened...

Tall, red haired, the man definitely had on cowboy-esque attire; including a suede-leather vest, a western-style belt with a red carnelian stone set in the buckle, and a pair of Lucchese boots even John Wayne might covet.

He looked mildly surprised, but not alarmed.   His gaze took in those before him, but stopped in particular on the party's warrior woman.

"Valkyrie? Well, this is unexpected.  I've not seen any of version of you here before."

And Hellstrom wasn't the only redhead to confront the group.    The other being a fit, vivacious looking woman, who likewise took in the party with open curiosity.

And likewise focused initially on the same member, "Oh, wow!  Barb?"

“Yeah, it’s me. Barbara,” Valkyrie said with a tentative half-smile. She recognized the man and woman who greeted them. At least, their faces looked familiar. Val thought of a vibrant young woman with red hair and an easy laugh. The Patsy she knew had just started riding with the Defenders after foiling the cult of the Red Rajah.

“You know Daimon? That’s new.” In her world, Patsy and Daimon were not lovers, or even acquainted. The man she’d met busting up the Sons of The Serpent remained back East, splitting his time between teaching Theology courses and exorcising demons of the Biblical variety from innocent victims. Her lips twitched in a slight grin at the thought of these two crossing paths.

“Speaking of surprises, what you doing here, Hellstrom?”

"Yeah, you know, I didn't know him, back where I originally came from," she supplied. "But I ran into him here, and found out we were partners in his world, where I went by the alias Blazing Belle." Pasty laughed, "Can you imagine?"    She looked at the Valkyrie again -- most specifically, the weapon she bore, this time.

"Daimon told you me you had a sword when he knew you, and that it was 'Valkyrie.'  Which is kind of funny, 'cause in my world, you and I were both agents of BLADE.  And that's an acronym. We had guns."

Hellstrom gestured a bit helplessly when she laughed at her pseudonym in his world, "Well, what can I say?  It's good to have a motif."   Then addressing Val's question:

"I've been in Sundown City for some time, now.  Something of a long story. But basically you could say it was a recareering move, and a means to foil one of my dear father's plans."

He'd already noted Jameson, who'd brought the group in, but his gaze swept the other three -- and there might have been some recognition when he looked at Mark, and even Mordred, but it was Specter that he stopped on.

"Ah. And you're in the company of one of those, no less?"  The levity was gone from his tone. "Something serious must be afoot, then."

"Oh yeah, for sure," Jameson spoke up. "Enough that even ol' Bad-dreams Bob got scared, and told me to bring them here.  They need help finding something, quickly, and he thought you might be that help."   

"Well?" Scott grunted after a pause, looking at the Brimstone Cowboy. "Are you? We don't have all day."

He gestured to the group with him. "We're looking for a Shard of Eternity. Heard of it?"
This message was last edited by the player at 21:51, Fri 26 May 2023.

Mordred raised an eyebrow when Specter apologized. The turn of phrase was unfamiliar, but he recognized the sentiment. It caught him by surprise.

"We are all struggling in this new reality," Mordred said as he acknowledged Specter's gesture, "but we are strongest when we stand together."

---

"Specter speaks true," Mordred added. "We have been sent by the Sorcerer Supreme to retrieve that shard from the villain who purloined it, and each moment we tarry places all existence at risk of annihilation."

Hellstrom in fact wasn't familiar specifically.   At least, not by that name alone.  He knew who Eternity was, but not the shard aspect.  Until one or more of the heroes explained that it was, apparently, analogous to Eternity's heart, and then it sparked a memory.

He grimaced, shook his head, started to speak but hesitated.  Then: "So.  Is that it?" He shook his head again. "So that's truly possible? I thought it no more than some nihilist's gruesome wet dream." He paused again, then said "Come inside," beckoning the group from the threshold of his home into its interior.

They were led into a comfortable den, consistent with the old west motif this version of the man seemed to identify with.

"Please, sit if you wish," he indicated the available furniture."I'll be concise as possible.  But first..."  The Cowboy performed a short spell whose purpose was to expose deceit, he explained, before casting.    "It applies to Patsy and myself as well," he added, assuring all would be on the same footing here.

Hellstrom had a trio of particulars for them:

"The first is where you are now, the Underground. Because most of Sundown City's laws are suspended here, and the kind of people that tend to tread it, most of the population won't come down here.  But the presence of the dangerous, trouble-seeking sorts it does attract make it less than ideal as a hideaway."

"The second that comes to mind is the Hall of Equity.  You've heard of the Super Friends, the loosely heroic team that steward Sundown City?  It's their headquarters.   Don't get me wrong; this is unlikely, and I'm not suggesting any of the Friends are complicit.   They all have issues, but death wishes aren't on the list. Still, the Hall is so secure from so many things it would be effective, were it done subtly enough."

"And the third...is the one I really recommend considering.  The Obscura Sanctum.   Not only because it'd be an ideal environment to hide something like that, but also because its proprietor is jaded, full of ennui, with an ego that could make her vulnerable to manipulation by someone as clever as this thief must be." 
This message was last edited by the player at 20:02, Thu 01 June 2023.

"Who is this proprietor?" Mark asked. Hellstrom seemed to be skirting the subject, but Mark wasn't having any of that. If Hellstrom knew who it was, he'd just have to tell them, too.

“Tell him,” Val said, gesturing to Mark. “Then tell us how we find the Sanctum. I think the last scenario is the likeliest one, and time is running out.”

Hellstrom smiled thinly in response.  "Is anyone here not familiar with Doom? Not the kind the cosmos is apparently threatened by.  I mean von Doom, who seems to be one of those omnipresent personas in so many realities.    This particular version shares some of the traits you might expect, yet is rather different in other ways."  He glanced toward his companion.    "Patsy is more personally acquainted than I am."   

Patsy's demeanor had changed since the revelation of why the group was here. "Victoria von Drede," she supplied, nodding, pronouncing that surname like von Dread.

"Like so many other von D's, she was into all these grandiose, big scale plots, before she wound up here.   I mean some really intense shit, this one.  But, she got good and burned out and all that stuff, and settled here to much quieter, if maybe no less eccentric, pastimes."  Patsy shrugged.

"I worked for her, for awhile, after I first got here.  And still visit, now and then.  She throws killer parties.  A lot of people jump through hoops, to get on the guest list.   Anyway, the Obscura Sanctum is easy to find.  Right at the end of Astral Lane, in the arts and district, about three miles north of here." 

"I don't know of a Von Doom or a Von Drede," Mark said, puzzled. If this person was such a universal constant, then why was Mark's world an exception? "There's a Van Damme... but he's harmless, unless you watch one of his movies.

"But anyway, we should probably try that Sanctum."

“Where I’m from, Von Doom is a Third World dictator who makes Nicolae Ceausescu look like John F. Kennedy.” Valkyrie pondered a female version of a villain infamous in a vast array of other-dimensional worlds. “Is she as big a Wizard with technology as she seems to be with Magic?”

Mordred had tensed up when Hellstrom described the third possibility. He visibly relaxed when Hellstrom and Patsy revealed her identity.

"I have yet to meet or hear of such a name," Mordred replied, "though I suspect that is a consequence of my hailing from a present you would consider the past. I am, however, quite familiar with that combination of ambition and ego. If this Victoria von Drede comes close to Aunt Morgan's potential, then I agree that we should choose this path first."

In spite of the dire situation just revealed, Patsy laughed when Mark mentioned Van Damme, "As in Jean Claude Van Damme? I hope he didn't become governor of Florida, like he did in my world!  I've always felt actors - especially schlocky ones - should be barred from holding office!"   

"No, Vicky's not much of a techie herself," she assured Val. "She has people on her payroll who take care of that.  She did once conquer a small world in the negative zone, as I understand. But I mean, not like by herself.  And as I said, she burned out on that kind of stuff."     

Hellstrom glanced at the knight once he mentioned 'Aunt Morgan.'

"Ah, so you are Mordred, then.  I glimpsed you once in a vision of my own world's past."  He seemed to consider something, but said no more.

"Well, then.   Normally, I'd insist on accompanying you," addressing the group again.  "But, my lineage could stand out like a sore thumb to some people's perceptions.   And that could be bad." He glanced to his companion.

"I am, however, tempted to suggest that Pasty go with you.  At least to help you devise a strategy, since she knows von Drede, as well as the general layout of the sanctum."

"One of an ominous nature, no doubt," Mordred replied to Hellstrom. His voice carried a hint of sad resignation. "Ill portent oft serves as harbinger for my arrival. However, I have pledged my service as a Knight of Camelot to the Sorcerer Supreme in retrieving the shard, and intend to show my dedication to our cause through action.

"I will admit to feel some relief in knowing that we face a stranger rather than another realm's version of my Aunt and adopted Mother," he admitted, the momentary sorrow no longer audible in his tone. "From what you've shared, it sounds as though this Victoria Von Drede bears similarity to the worst of the craven feudal lords forced disavow their unjust dealings thanks to King Arthur's reign."

Mordred rubbed his chin as he considered the information shared by Hellstrom and Patsy.

"So this Von Drede employs seconds to do her bidding? Does she have mages who cast spells in exchange for coin, or avaricious engineers who design her tools of conquest?"