A tall, lean vedalken in a cerulean tunic and a gold-trimmed cream coat surveyed the large empty dome they were standing in. Seemingly unfazed by the aggressively chaotic kaleidoscope of lights that almost audibly clashed against the translucent dome from all sides, the vedalken raised the staff in their left hand.

The staff started to hum softly - or possibly its constant hum became audible - and the dome's floor shifted down into three levels, two concentric sets of six spacious circular daises around a lower central platform where the vedalken was standing. The next shift connected the daises with the platform through elegant flowing walkways; the hum then peaked into a clear note, and entire floor turned into marble with the faintest flicker. The vedalken sharply brought the staff down and a ripple coursed across the entire surface of the dome, making the marble seem more solid and the chaotic lights more distant in a definite but impalpable way.

The glowing eyes slowly scanned the dome one more time. Apparently satisfied, the vedalken nodded and waved their free hand. A clear light not unlike a brisk winter morning shone in the dome from no discernible source; after a moment of consideration, the ceiling glazed over, dimming the discordant kaleidoscope from outside. Another nod, a deep breath, and the vedalken rested their free hand on the silvery string wrapped around their left forearm. The blue opals braided into the string pulsed with light, and the vedalken closed their eyes, going perfectly still in wait.

It was quite some time before one of the opals lit up again. The vedalken recognized the opal, allowed themselves a smile and conjured a perfect vertical circle of quicksilver energy over the opposite end of the platform. Only then they remembered to open their eyes.

A trim foxfolk woman stepped through the portal, light and graceful on her bare feet. The color of her fur could have been likened to either sand or gold, depending on the light and the poetry in the heart of the beholder. The hems of her undyed sleeveless vest and long, loose trousers were trimmed with a thin five-colored braid, the only concession to aesthetics in her attire.

"Well met, Zenith," The vedalken greeted the foxfolk with a slight bow. "I didn't expect you to be the first to arrive." They gestured toward one of the higher daises, and the marble circle flowed like quicksilver into an octagon, its surface splitting from the rest to become a sturdy woven mat.

"Greetings, Elphimas." The foxfolk's mouth quirked into a smile as she met their bow. "I figured the sooner we get this over with, the better." Fond exasperation seeped into her smile as the edges of the mat sprouted gold trimmings. "Really?" She neatly leaped to the center of the mat.

"I am afraid some of the other guests may find you... harder to take seriously otherwise," The vedalken explained, but the foxfolk could spot the slightest sign of amusement in their smile.

"Their funeral, as they say," The foxfolk replied lightly as she knelt.

The faint amusement in the vedalken's smile faltered. "Hopefully not. I trust your travels have been fruitful."

It was quite a shorter wait - at least it seemed so to to the vedalken, enthralled as they were by the foxfolk's accounts of faraway planes - before two more opals lit up. After a quick intrigued glance down, the vedalken opened another portal.

To the vedalken's well-concealed surprise, two armored figures stepped through. A human man and a dryad, clad respectively in lacquered steel and song-spun oak. The man's dark eyes sharply scanned the room, long black locks gently swaying in the nonexistent wind. The dryad calmly met the gaze of the vedalken, her intense green eyes almost glowing against her dark skin.

"Well met, Lady Prasna, Lord Catoriz." The vedalken considered them thoughtfully as the pair replied. "Would you join your seats for the day?"

The two glanced at each other, the human expectant and the dryad thoughtful. She spoke first, carefully regarding the vedalken once more. "We would, Lord Storyteller, thank you very much."

The vedalken nodded and gestured toward the higher tier. "Please, think nothing of it." Two daises melded into one, and the others in the set shifted so the distance between each could be the same. The edge of the dais shifted to friezes depicting knightly quests alternated with florals; two elaborated high-backed chairs appeared on the larger dais as the pair approached, one silver with pearl trimmings and blue leather and one in carved mahogany with moss-lined cushions.

The foxfolk had closed her eyes in apparent meditation and had no reaction to the entire exchange.

For the next guest, the vedalken conjured a portal four times as tall as they were. After a moment, a colossal smiling head laboriously squeezed through. "Hullo, Teller!"

"Well met, Lord Gryloss," the vedalken replied casually, gesturing toward an higher dais whose top was turning into craggy stone, "could I impose on you to somewhat reduce your size?" The offered dais was suddenly occupied almost entirely by a large and robust - yet well-cushioned - armchair, easily two times the Storyteller's height.

"Aye, me wee blue mate," the man grumbled, and the head vanished back into the portal. The heavy-set giant that ducked in the dome wore sturdy hobnail boots, thick dark green trousers, inscribed leather vambraces and a greatsword strapped across his back. Dozens of small colored stones were braided into his thick auburn beard; all visible skin from bald head to waist was tan and weather-worn, except for the bark covering his right arm up to his neck. Even shrunk, it ended being a bit of work for him to take his seat. It was all for the best that most daises were still vacant.

A large grinning hyena-folk, a severe werewolf, a steely-eyed kithkin and an otter-manta-hydra entered the dome in the next hour, each greeted by the Storyteller with the same good-natured politeness - the former two invited to take place in the lower tier; the vedalken's eyebrows shot up at the next glowing opal.

"Well met, Lady Liark," they greeted the armored human, bright tone dimming slightly at her grim expression, "are you staying?"

The woman frowned. "I... I'm afraid not, Lord Storyteller." She offered a parchment scroll.

"I see." There was the barest hint of a sigh as they took the scroll. "A message from Lord Lucien for this gathering?"

Liark nodded, frown deepening. She turned to leave, but hesitated.

The vedalken's hands stilled on the scroll's seal. "Will you be amenable to a visit in the near future, Lady Liark?"

The woman sighed, but a weight on her shoulders seemed to lift. "Of course, Lord Storyteller. Farewell."

"Farewell, Lady Liark." Another two opals lit up just as the woman left. The Storyteller opened a portal to them.

The middle-aged werewolf in rich furs frowned. "What could Lord Lucien possibly have to say to us all?" He wondered pointedly, drumming his claws on the arm of a robust ebony throne.

"That the stick up his ass finally bloomed?" A trim efreet drawled as he strolled into the dome, wearing a short sirwal and dozens of necklaces, bracelets and anklets that jingled at his every step. A leather-clad goblin boy with a long shock of jellyfish tentacles for hair followed him closely. "Rejoice, Celen, there could be hope for yours yet."

The werewolf scoffed disdainfully at the efreet's remark.

"Well met, Lord Raqsfawda," the vedalken politely greeted him, an ever-so-slight emphasis on the title, then lowered their gaze to evenly regard the goblin. "Honored to meet you. You may call me Storyteller."

Raqsfawda's eyes tightened for a brief moment. "No 'lord's, friend, how many times..." the efreet shrugged, eliciting more jingles. "Still, good to see you. My friend Di-Lit was curious." The goblin nodded, grinned widely then pinched his lips together.

The Storyteller nodded at the goblin with a warm smile. "Well met, Lord Di-Lit."

The goblin covered his mouth and snickered as if the Storyteller had said something naughty; the efreet rolled his eyes and turned to take the dais the vedalken offered him, a beautifully tiled platform on the lower tier featuring two unlit braziers and a carpet piled with embroidered cushions. Di-Lit gleefully dived into the small soft mountain.

The vedalken dismissed the portal to conjure another in the exact same location. A gorgeous feminine obsidian statue clad in a gossamer white tunic and knee-length leather sandals strode gracefully into the dome, smiling guilelessly at the vedalken.

"Well met, Lady Melasema."

"Well met, my dear opal!" Her radiant smile was something to behold; she looked barely able to restrain herself from doing something very forward. She bobbed a quick curtsy at the werewolf and nodded genially at the efreet as if she hadn't been with him until the last minute or so - not that anyone but the vedalken would have been able to tell - before taking place between them. The marble of her dais turned black, offering Melasema a gold-trimmed couch to recline on.

The vedalken took the center of the platform to address the gathering. "Well met and welcome, fellow travelers of the Eternities," they started with a warm smile, "I am deeply honored so many have elected to accept my invitation and come together in this momentous occasion. We are going to properly begin our assembly shortly. I shall now read Lord Lucien's address to our gathering, but before that, allow me to offer some refreshments."

Multiple side tables appeared on every occupied dais, each carrying a different bounty of offerings. The hyena cheerfully opened a large flask with her teeth, inhaling deeply its inebriant fumes; the hydra's numerous heads sniffed their food and unceremoniously unsummoned the plant-based refreshments, all swiftly replaced by more carnivorous options. The efreet soon found some jasmine to throw in the braziers and light up with a snap of his fingers; to his mild disappointment, the resulting smoke seem unable to cross the edges of his dais.

"His Divine Majesty Lord Lucien," the vedalken began reading as more guests perused their refreshments with reactions ranging from dignified appreciation to astonished wonder, "Emperor of the Radiant Throne, Conqueror of the-"

The efreet rolled his eyes. "Can't we just skip past the verbal masturbation?" He asked flatly. The goblin quietly snorted halfway through a bowl of berries almost larger than he was.

The werewolf sighed. "Do you have any respect for propriety, Raqsfawda?"

The efreet shrugged. "I may have forgotten it on the bottom of a Rabiah desert. Would you go take a look for me?"

Melasema cleared her voice, looking into Raqsfawda's eyes with fond exasperation. "There is a place for courtesy, my dear fire, surely. However, there is the matter that Lord Lucien's formal address is... a tiny little bit long-winded."

The vedalken nodded, skimming the contents of the scroll. "The missive seems to include all forty-two of Lord Lucien's formal titles." There was a twitch in the werewolf's eye. "I may summarize for the sake of expediency."

"Very well, Lord Storyteller," the werewolf reluctantly conceded.

"Lord Lucien declines my invitation and thanks us to never send another," the vedalken declared after a moment, "and to extend the same courtesy to those sworn to him."

"Shortsighted megalomaniac," the werewolf muttered.

"Is that self-awareness I hear?" the efreet mused.

The werewolf snarled something foul under his breath. Raqsfawda met the Storyteller's softly reproachful gaze and shrugged.

The dryad spoke up. "Was the response written in his own hand?"

The Storyteller shook his head minutely. "Unless I'm sorely mistaken, the writing hand was Lady Liark's."

Catoriz stroked his perfectly groomed beard. "One of those sworn to him, I assume?"

The vedalken nodded. "Precisely. She is sympathetic to our cause, but utterly loyal to Lord Lucien."

"Pity," Melasema commented good-humoredly, "she is rather easy to the eye."

"What about Zhiran?" The foxfolk asked, inspecting the various charm-heated teapots on the low table beside her.

"Judging by his past entanglement with a member of the Cabal's inner circle and my correspondence with him, sustained neutrality is realistically his most likely position and our best case scenario," the vedalken said, waving one of the two empty daises in the lower tier into nothingness and shifting the others accordingly, "a formal invitation would have been, in my opinion, an exercise in futility."

A thoughtful silence fell in the dome.

"How bad is it, then?" The giant grumbled, putting down his plate of herb-crusted roast for a moment.

"Neither was a likely ally in our endeavor from the start," the vedalken explained, "but they would have been formidable forces to have at our side; their power has very few matches."

"On the other hand, they are also unlikely to side with the Cabal," the foxfolk added, pouring some green tea in a jade cup, "and their ranks would be hard-pressed to find someone able to go toe to toe with them, fairly or otherwise."

"In other words, our deck is a bit short of trump cards, self-righteous as they might be," Raqsfawda summarized, sampling some candied citron.

"Not inaccurate," the vedalken conceded, "but I do not believe we need to rely on their support, far from it. Regardless, we have reason to believe their mere unaffiliated presence is causing the Cabal to slow their advance, giving us more time to organize. Speaking of which, I think it is time to begin our assembly in earnest."

"We united today to discuss a matter of great importance," the Storyteller declared solemnly, "that is to say, how to protect our safety and interests in light of current events. The Cabal is expanding in both power and scope of influence, and its methods are becoming alarmingly drastic. Many of us have experienced their intolerance firsthand or know some who did, and all of us are aware of the danger they represent." The vedalken took a deep breath and steeled themselves. "I have called upon you certain that we, as long as we act as a united front, can stand up to the Cabal and to any similar threat that may arise in the future. Not only that - it is my belief that our gathered minds could bring about a true golden age to the Multiverse."

"What all that means," Raqsfawda interjected, "is that if we play our cards right we might be able to give the Tyrant a beating that he'll remember for quite some time."
"That was far from what I meant, Raqsfawda," the vedalken objected.

"The brat has a point, as much as I loath to admit it," the werewolf commented, eliciting a rude gesture from the efreet, "the Cabal's wide expansion must be stretching their forces thin. If we plan our assault right-"

"-we end up being a target the Master would do anything to obliterate," the hyena objected, unimpressed.

The werewolf sized up the hyena and the empty flask beside her. "If he survives, that is."

The kithkin cocked an eyebrow. "I don't see the numbers to share your confidence, my lord."

"Quick aside," Gryloss interjected, "that 'golden age' nonsense rhymed with the Master's 'perfect order' **** a bit too well, Teller, no offense meant."

The vedalken's brow furrowed for a moment. "The comparison is... unflattering, lord Gryloss, but you have a point," they sighed. "Any proactive initiative would be premature at this stage, and this assembly was called in order to address our safety and liberty first and foremost. In regard to our numbers, some of us are speaking for more than just themselves," the Storyteller explained, brightness returning to their voice. "And since not all of you are familiar with each other, I believe a quick round of introductions is in order. At my left, Revered Matriarch Oyani Fosm'na, Sublime Lightweaver."

"I speak for my four boys," the hyena drawled with a lazy smile, smoothing her pearl-trimmed tawny hide dress. The upper half of a large feline skull rested on her shoulder, eyes replaced by large pieces of amber.

The vedalken turned slightly to face the werewolf, who straightened up even more. "His Grace Duke Celen Lunia Machrazi, Exalted Monarch of the Crescent Empire and Holder of the Celeste Scepter."

The werewolf nodded solemnly. "General Osothyel, Captain T'zavromefsu and... Warlord Arikogsi Raxvali have sworn themselves into my service," he declared with a certain satisfaction.

"The Warlord?" The kithkin's eyes widened in disbelief. "He swore...?"

Celen nodded. "He recognized me as his liege lord."

"I've never known him to show loyalty to anything except himself," the kithkin replied, an edge of warning to his voice. "That is... impressive, my lord."

Raqsfawda chuckled. "Say 'unbelievable' if that's what you mean, friend. Don't worry, the spell will wear off soon enough."

Celen's hands closed into fists. "Are you implying I would bewitch people into my service?"

"Implying?" Rawsfawda laughed. "I apologize, my lord, I must have given the wrong impression-"

"Raqsfawda," the Storyteller warned.

"-I'm stating the fact you wouldn't inspire the loyalty of a concussed sheep'," the efreet spat.

Celen stood to his full height, eyes pulsating with red light. "You will show me respect, you insolent brat."

Di-Lit yelped alarmedly and disappeared in the cushions. Raqsfawda grinned excitedly and leaned forward in a tight crouch, ready to pounce. "Do you really believe that?"

"Oh, are you two going to fight?" Oyani asked cheerfully, toying with the shimmering diamonds in her rings. "Like your odds, do you?"

The Storyteller raised a hand. "Please, let us be reasonable-"

The dryad spoke up. "Fighting among us would only help the Cabal."

Celen let out a annoyed huff. "Silence, you in the gallery, grown-ups are talking," he shot back with a dismissive gesture, eliciting unflattering murmurs and stares from the upper daises-

A staff slammed on the ground. "Enough! This is a gathering of equals!"

Everybody recoiled at the Storyteller's uncharacteristic fervor.

"Each of you was, was invited on the basis of your experience and, and wisdom," the vedalken stammered, apparently shaken by their own outburst. "I do not expect you to... see eye to eye, but I do ask you to show each of, each of us the same respect you expect from others."

Celen frowned. "I got carried away, and for that I apologize," he conceded, "but are we going to pretend our voices-" he gestured at the Storyteller, Oyani and Melasema, "are as important as theirs?"

Raqsfawda's lip curled in disgust. "None of us reject the Cabal just because it's the wrong bastard at the top, furball. We're here because we don't believe in a hierarchy above us."

"Aye," Gryloss rumbled.

Celen gestured at the two tiers of daises. "And yet! Even our dear Storyteller clearly thinks we are not quite the same."

"I do not..." The vedalken's voice faltered under the judging stares of the assembly.

Melasema tapped her chin in thought. "...Wasn't it a numbers thing?"

"...yes," the Storyteller rallied, "as I told Melasema some time ago, the seating order was mainly determined on the basis of expected allies, as you shall see. Spokespersons would of course count more in a vote, but-"

"Vote? This has clearly been a mistake," Celen scoffed, outraged. "Farewell and good luck - you'll need it." he said, 'walking away in a flash of silver light.

A stunned silence quickly stretched into an awkward one.

Raqsfawda shrugged. "Well, that's a card I don't mind playing without," he commented cheerfully.

"Indeed, none are indispensable for this project," the Storyteller replied hollowly. "Speaking of reminders, I'm sure everyone is aware that slighting a fellow guest means disrespecting the host twice," they added with a placid smile.

Raqsfawda stared at the vedalken with amused surprise. "Alright," he sighed, "I'm sorry, Storyteller, I'll behave. I've never been one for ass-kissing, though, and it's not like the stupid blowhard didn't take shots back."

"Of course. I am sure there will not be other incidents," the vedalken replied evenly. "I shall momentarily take my leave to talk to His Grace," they announced, and vanished leaving behind a quickly fading outline of azure light.

The efreet shrugged. "Why they invited the old fleabag, I'll never know."

The hyena casually picked up a plate of honey-glazed meat as if nothing had happened. "Safety in numbers, fiery boy."

The kithkin spoke up. "Regardless of methods, someone able to bind the Warlord into his service is a valuable asset. Especially if lord Celen turns out to be actually able to keep him under control."

The efreet scratched his head, skeptical. "Better in pissing out than out pissing in, I guess," he conceded.

"These roasts are divine," Oyani sighed contently.

Melasema nodded, raising a goblet in toast. "The Storyteller is an excellent host."

"Aye, great roasts," Gryloss said carefully. "Not to speak behind their back, but... why call oneself Storyteller? Decent mate and all, but isn't that a Cabal thing?"

"It's a bit stuffy of them, I agree," Raqsfawda replied, "but there's nothing to worry there, friend."

Melasema smiled cheerfully. "Using a title instead of one's birth name is a tradition way older than the Cabal, and more common than you'd think. Melasema itself originated as a title, albeit one in a long-dead language... I believe one of the pragmatic reasons for it is foiling magic that takes hold of the victim's true name."

The giant frowned. "Is that a big worry, then?"

"As much as stepping into a bear trap," the kithkin replied, "that is, not to an expert planeswalker, in and of itself. And you can train to get out of it quicker."

The hyena's nose twitched. "I hear it makes it tricky to wield hieromancy, though," she pointed out, "especially the kind bound to your own authority."

"Good, screw hieromancers," Raqsfawda drawled.

"You wish," the hyena replied, smiling. That is to say, she bared all her very pointy teeth in a something vaguely resembling a wide grin.

"I wouldn't dare to dream it, ma'am," the efreet smiled back, unfazed.

Melasema sighed. "Oh, we have had our share of excitement for now," she chirped, "don't we, my dears?"

Oyani and Raqsfawda held each other's gaze for a long moment.

The hyena shook her head with a chuckle. "You're a funny one, efreet."

The efreet winked. "I live to please."

The Storyteller flickered back into the dome. "His Grace shall be back shortly," they said as they opened a portal on the werewolf's dais. "He gave his word he is going to be be... civil, going on."

The kithkin spoke up, blatantly changing topic: "If you wouldn't mind, my lord, I meant to ask: I appreciate the gesture, but are the portals necessary? It's not like your opals are hard to follow."

"Not entirely necessary," the vedalken replied, "but you would find the opal's beacon, together with this demiplane's location, to be rather laborious to pinpoint due to a mild but constant aether turbulence."

The kithkin peered intently through the dome's ceiling. "Is it not moored to a plane-node?"

"Not in the classical sense," the Storyteller conceded. "This demiplane is held in place by a rare radial symmetry in the aether-field strain, in some ways the opposite of the stable equilibrium of the planar nodes but still part of the same lattice. Not unlike being hidden and cradled in the center of a whirlpool, in a way," they added for the less academically versed.

The kithkin's brow arched slightly at the simile, but didn't investigate further. "Ingenious."

The vedalken bowed slightly. "It is easier than it sounds, lord Tigaster, but thank you."

Celen strode imperiously through the portal. "Lord Storyteller has convinced me to give this assembly another chance."

"For which we are so grateful," Raqsfawda replied, no discernible trace of sarcasm in his voice. Di-Lit resurfaced warily.

"I am glad to hear it, Lord Raqsfawda," Celen replied evenly.

"Carrying on," the Storyteller said before more courteous barbs could be traded, "Lady Melasema, Obsidian Muse and Poet Laureate."

"Three fellow artists have bestowed me the honor of representing them in this endeavor," the obsidian woman spoke up brightly. "For honesty's sake I feel compelled to say that while my poetry is widely appreciated, I do not claim to be the greatest of my trade," she added with a mischievous smile.

The vedalken's eyes tightened for a split second, but they continued without missing a beat. "Raqsfawda, the Wonder-Fire."

"I speak for two friends," the efreet said absently, raptly watching Di-Lat as the goblin worked its way through his seventh steak, "and I may or may not have a few dozen favors I could call in should the need arise."

The vedalken turned to the higher tier of daises. "Noble Binorach, accomplished scholar of all things alive."

All heads spoke in chorus. "I also speak for my colleague Flazoi," Binorach replied somewhat pointedly, having possibly drawn lots with said colleague for the privilege to take part in the meeting - and lost.

"Lord Tigaster, Venerable General and Divine Justicar."

"I speak for myself in this occasion," the kithkin said, from a dais that could only be described as a spartan square of mortared stone, "but some of my acquaintances may be interested in joining an alliance in the future, if circumstances allowed."

The vedalken nodded approvingly to the kithkin and turned to address the armored couple. "Lady Prasna the Harmonist and Lord Catoriz Amolinto, Unicorn-Chosen."

The two exchanged glances. "We speak for ourselves alone," Catoriz declared.

"Lord Gryloss, the World-Shaker."

"I speak for meself," the giant nodded.

"Lady Sword-of-the-Zenith, most honorable scholar of war."

The foxfolk barely raised her muzzle from the tea. "I travel alone."

"Lastly, I also speak only for myself," the Storyteller concluded. "As the host of this gathering, I shall act as a mediator in this occasion, and I offer to do the same for any future assembly should no one accept this responsibility. If there are no objections, I shall outline a series of points to address." The vedalken took a seat in the last free dais in the polite silence that followed, summoning a simple maple chair and a matching writing desk with a small bowl of chocolates on a corner. They left the staff beside the chair, where it levitated upright and slowly turning on its axis. "Very well," they said, fetching a tome and a silvery quill from a drawer. With a touch, the quill animated and floated over the blank page in wait.

"Let us begin."