A conference table floated in space, with several chairs drifting about.

Far in the distance, a star shimmered. The distortion wavered until it formed into the figure of the Guard, taking long, slow strides through the nothingness. Reaching the table, it loomed far above everything while it stood, waiting. One hand was closed into a fist. Occasionally, an orange-yellow cube would leak through its fingers. Many fell into the void, but a few landed on the table, where they started bouncing.

Over the next little while, Gods and posers began arriving. Some faded into existence, while others were suddenly there. Forming cliques, they conversed while waiting for the real powerhouses to make their appearance.

When Turtle and a mist-wrapped form finally appeared, all the players present drifted over to the table. After some yelling and the exchange of a punch or two, the chairs were taken, with a number of lesser gods left standing.

Despite the lack of air, Turtle’s voice carried over the assembled host.

“All right,” it began. “That House war… it could have gone better.”

“Yessss,” hissed the misty figure. “So much planning, and the coup died at the starting gate! Does anyone have any idea what took place? Our agents report that the Horde opened fire for no reason, then all hells broke loose. Everyone’s blaming everyone else.”

A startling admission. Normally, Gods could see anything even remotely related to their purview. To be blocked to this extent was an interesting occurrence, to say the least.

At that point, the very space they occupied began groaning and heaving as something forced its way into the meeting, pushing through multiple barriers.

A figure of an older woman faded into existence; a little disheveled, wearing a nightgown and fuzzy slippers.

Magister Grenville shuffled over to a chair that hadn’t been there a moment ago, sat down, sipped her tea, and picked up a cookie from the plate in front of her.

She bit into it as everyone watched, then swallowed, cleared her throat, and stated, “Well… I was on my way to take a bath… and here I am. What’s happening? Oh, and would anyone like a cookie?”

Many took her up on her offer. Her cookies were really good.

While most of the crowd were munching, Magister Grenville turned to the God of Subtlety, who was currently glaring at her. If a mist could be said to glare.

“So, Harriet,” the Magister continued. “The auguries have indicated your plans have gone awry. A lot less blood than was expected. I would guess you’re somewhat peeved?”

“How did you find us?” hissed out of the clouds.

“Let’s not be petty. You know these things happen,” she stated. “Before we get started on accomplishing nothing, as these meeting usually go, I have my standard question. Which one of you chuckleheads has the Dreamer? I’m still not able to pinpoint who, but without a doubt, the culprit is here.

“Someone? Anyone? Nope? What a surprise,” she concluded, dryly.

She sat back and drank her tea.

As Turtle cleared his throat, another cube flew out of the Guard’s hand, plopped on the table, and joined the few already there. A second drifted down, then another and another. The pace picked up until there were thousands bouncing on the tabletop. Slowly, they clumped together, forming a fuzzy figure.

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Once again, the local space shook as a figure made of the cubes slammed into sharp focus: a human clad in armor. It took a deep breath of the surrounding nothing, then stood quietly.

The group waited to see what would come next. This was new!

A groan came from the Guard as it brought its clutched fist up to its face. One by one, it peeled back its fingers and stared into its empty palm. Obviously, it had expected to find something there. After staring at the lack of anything for a few seconds, it returned its gaze to the assembled host.

“Isabell?” Magister Grenville asked. Then, after a moment, she continued, “Well… not Isabell, but she’s there too. Oh, how interesting! Come over and sit by me,” she offered, indicating the empty chair next to her.

The armored figure walked over, jumped down, and took the proffered seat. A few times, it shimmered into cubes but immediately reformed.

Subtlety seemed oddly unsure of itself. “I… I don’t know what that is. Anyone?”

She looked around. The assembly appeared just as ignorant as she.

The God of Debt made a subtle motion, and the interloper broke apart, cubes shifting and flowing; then it snapped back to its armored form. A single cube sloughed off and drifted across the table, landing on Debt, who promptly disappeared.

Everyone watched for a fraction of a second, then the God reappeared; screaming and crying. After a minute, it calmed down, sobbing about being somewhere that was… nothing. No space, no time, no light. no cold. Simply… nothing.

Debt was a well-known crony of Subtlety; its actions had likely been carried out at her direction. Even so, no-one really cared how it felt.

Magister Grenville decreed, “Hmph. I suppose that implies she’s earned a seat here? Does anyone object? No? All right. Where were we? Oh yes,” she said as she turned to Subtlety. “You were explaining the debacle that took place yesterday.”

Turtle broke in, “It was a solid plan! Without access to the Dreamer, we must bring the City into order. It wouldn’t do to have the Horde invade and disrupt the worship we’ve all worked so hard for. We had all the contingencies covered!

“It. Was. A. Solid. Plan!” Turtle forcefully overemphasized.

“And how many citizens would we have lost to this… um, Solid Plan?” Magister Grenville asked.

“Not important. We would have consolidated the Houses and allowed the City to field a unified force against the Horde.”

“And how would this have mitigated the threat of their Mentor? None of us have the power.”

“You know, this was simply the first step. Unfortunately, something happened. We were preparing for deployment and just as we were about to start, our view of what was happening was lost! When we reestablished contact, everything was in shambles! I still have no idea what took place.

“We’ve questioned the troops, and their stories are conflicting, but basically, they don’t have any idea, either. The Horde won’t talk and we can’t make them. This is important! How can we plan without control?”

The armored figure started laughing.

“How does it feel?” it roared. “To be at the mercy of something you have no influence over? Completely helpless. Ha-ha-ha-ha! Fools! The time of change is nigh! It might not be all that good to be a god in this new world!

“Here’s a suggestion: perhaps you could find a way to reach your goals without painting the path with blood of your followers? It didn’t work for the old gods, and it won’t work for you! I’ll give you fair warning! Once this is over, it’s entirely possible none of you will exist!”

With that bold statement, reality ripped, and the figure was gone. On the table, a few cubes remained, bouncing. Nobody wanted to touch them.

The assembly broke into arguing groups. Gods, by their very nature, were very well versed in their specialty and usually believed this expertise carried over to everything else. It didn’t. But the noise generated as they all yelled at once was impressive.

Magister Grenville sat by herself, eating a cookie.

“Hmmm,” she voiced, mostly to herself. “Interesting. I suspect we’ve just met… the Hero.”

Nothing spoken here went unheard; the bickering and finger-pointing stopped. The Hero, also known as the First Hand of the Dreamer, was a rallying point for the people; a nexus of hope for the downtrodden. And, if the various myths were true, extremely powerful!

She continued, “So. Now we have the Tenth and First.”

This brought shouts of disbelief from most of the attendees, although Turtle and the misty form of Subtlety kept out of it.

Although it was never very organized at its best, the meeting now degenerated into factions and individuals screaming at each other. Not an atypical conclusion to these get-togethers.

Amid the chaos, Magister Grenville left, anticipating her bath. Hopefully, the water was still warm.