- Player: Events must play themselves out to aesthetic, moral and logical conclusion.
- Guildenstern: And what's that, in this case?
- Player: It never varies — we aim at the point where everyone who is marked for death dies.
- Guildenstern: Marked?
- Player: Between "just desserts" and "tragic irony" we are given quite a large scope for our particular talent. Generally speaking, things have gone about as far as they can possibly go when things have gotten about as bad as they can reasonably get.
- Guildenstern: Who decides?
- Player: Decides? It is written.
The skulls of the old, dead Elemental high priests hovered in the darkness.
"You need to fix the breach in Time," one said.
"You need to put things right," said another.
"Has anyone seen the cat?" said the third.
Eventually, things were discussed. A temporal Mine was produced. A plan was put, however gingerly, into place.
And it went mostly awry.
There was a fight. There was a totally deep hole. And there was an eel-like statue in a palace.
Other than that, things just got a little more confused. The time/space continuum has started to buckle, to bend back around itself like a broken umbrella over Lungfish Isle.
Unfortunately, in this case, the rain is not rain, but evil lizardmen from outer space.
"I just hope they figure it all out in time," said the fourth skull.