- Argond directs Tom on the levers, moving the platforms to just the right spot. Argond & Dharin on one, Cibor and Harapan on the other. Ace is left with Tom and the remaining two girls as they watch from the ledge at the edge of the room. Removing his orb, Argond begins to wave it around in complex patterns, recalling the ways Professor Shingles had demonstrated in Delightful & Devastating Divinations class. Harapan follows suit, showing a bit better form than the wizard, probably because of the bard's stronger nerves in their present conditions and past experiences.
The field shimmers, and starts to revolve counterclockwise. It grows a bit surrounding those on the platform. Ghostly images of the platforms mirror the existent counterparts, showing figures riding across: two drow soldiers, and then two more with a bound young girl - definitely Shiloh. "Die, scum!" shouts Ace, flicking his rod at the images - forgetting the temporal recreation in his emotional state.
The spell his the field, crackling against it. The disturbance causes room field rotation to wobble, then accelerate more rapidly. It grows larger, slowly engulfing the room, spinning rapidly with a great whirring drone. The ghostly figures speed up as well, and the drow group quickly leaves the area. Argond and Harapan struggle to contain the power, with Cibor and Dharin attempting to bolster them. A bauble falls from Dharin's pendant, and the item disintegrates - and Argond fears that this is more than just an Atemporal Local Perceptivation Field, but perhaps even a time-portal, at least becoming one in its unstable state. The ghostly platforms move quickly, transporting another group, and another, but the apparitions move too quickly now to tell who or what - only blurred figures. Then all freezes.
Standing on the pillar, face-to-face with Argond, waving his wand in creation of the temporal field, a middle-aged wizard chants. His features are certainly younger, but Argond knows those eyes. Malareth!
The necromancer stops suddenly, looking ahead towards Argond, as if searching - but doesn't, or can't, make eye contact with the young redhead.
"What is it? Why have you stopped again?" Nearer to Harapan, a ghostly red-headed warrior stands, battle axe in hand. He moves towards Malareth. "What keeps happening?"
"Even finding this temporal anomaly makes us lucky, but temporal magic is quite unstable, Gondahar. It requires generally clean environments, not this dusty cavern with undead dwarven blood about."
"Well we don't have that luxury. Hurry it up; I've got a bad feeling about this."
Malareth resumes his wand waving. Three others stand nearby: a younger Professor Shingles in battle attire, a smirking Eladrin swordmage, and a tense elven cleric with an icon of Pelor. The latter speaks: "A bad feeling? Worse than this?" He nods to the stone casket.
A yell pierces the moment: "You killed her!" Tom? Or Ace? Someone screams in a sobbing voice, and Argond jumps - his orb crossing the barrier. Malareth jumps, startled, and sees the orb. "What the..." is all he can muster before the field collapses, nay, slams into the coffin. He looks up at Argond, making eye contact. "Who are you!?" The others draw their weapons, clearly able to see the young group. A crumble behind them, however, turns everyone's attention. The coffin splits open. An arm raises out, and another. The undead corpse, crowned and armored, rises out. The dwarven king lets out a long yowl, and jumps down, greataxe swinging. With a shove, he throws Gondahar to the ground, axe following.
A hum resonates from the coffin, and before anyone could react, another temporal wave crashes out. It washes over the older group, causing them to vanish. The brightness overwhelms the young heroes. As their eyesight returns to normal, the chamber returns to view. A vastly divergent version.
The platforms seem not to exist, or not yet to have existed. There is no coffin on the central dais. Wooden scaffolding connects the six ledges with the central pillar, and a sobbing girl sits in the middle. Shiloh.
- The Desecrated Temple Post 239