Killian, who gave her staff to Hox, just watches the transactions going on.

Denorian shoots Hox a fetid look before acknowledging, "I could not take any more of Glendale's mindless prattle about the state of Luruar. Shothotugg was coming - she can hold Sundabar and its people together as well as she wants, but they'll simply die together when chaos reigns. Even with her focus inward she could not stop Doramor from destroying the one thing that could save us: These staffs. Yet for all the studying I did, for all the preparations I took, I am saved by a brute, a simpleton, an oathbreaker and a joker. I can not pretend my methods were any better."

The wizard completes his circle around the shrine and collects the broken crystal staff from Gruun. Rolling it over in his hands, he remains silent, his eyes cast downward in frustration and sadness. "The catalyst is broken. It shattered when I made my attempt, but it seems you were not able to repair it. That may prove troublesome. I don't believe it matters anymore. We have no option," he says.

"I had five staffs. It was enough to rend a hole, to create this timeless loop, but not enough to repel Shothotugg. The Shrine created a single point of infinite value...a singularity...and tore me apart. Those staffs were only five points of focus. I knew it was foolish, but I had to try. If we are going to fulfill the use for which the Magi created this shrine, we will need to do it correctly. If I hypothesize correctly, using just two points of focus would create a similar paradox in time, but on a much grander scale, across this entire world or even the entire Material Plane."

Denorian takes the crystal staff, the catalyst - broken as it is - and places it upon the crystal plinth in the center of the shrine. "Fortunately, I believe we can still succeed," he says.

OOC: If none of the characters have anything to add here, let me know and I will continue. Trying not to blast everyone with pages of dialogue at once, and I want to make sure everybody has a chance to weigh in, respond, ask questions, etc.

Killian is convinced that she has been swept up in a tide of fate, and has been reduced to merely reacting to events. She’s a little shell-shocked, frankly, and much more comfortable when there is action.

She will remain silent, observing. 

Denorian steps toward one of the staffs that Hox has placed in a slot surrounding the central plinth. He runs his hand across the runes etched along its side, silent for a moment. When he looks back to the party, any hint of his haughty attitude is gone.

"The cost to create these, the Staffs of the Magi, was exactly that...the Magi. They foretold Shothotugg's arrival, you see, and they spent a lifetime learning what could repel such a terrifying evil. In their writings, they speak of how they could not trust that anybody in later eras would possess the arcane ability required to do so...and so, they put everything they had into creating these staffs, that one with no arcane knowledge could still activate this shrine," he explains.

"I had hoped when I failed, in my last moments, that Ritska or Glendale would have somehow salvaged enough staffs from Doramor's mess to figure this out, find me here, and do what I could not. Instead they sent you, and clearly, the two staffs you have will not be enough."

Denorian thinks for a long moment, then shakes his head rapidly. "We are running out of time. I can think of only one way that we can find any measure of success, and it is far from guaranteed. It is only a theory..." he says.

Gruun grunts at his many words. "One man using 5 swords will be defeated by 5 men using 2. You alone, without help failed; but we, together, have succeeded in returning you here. Whatever this theory of yours is we will help you and working together we will succeed."

"I have no plans for tomorrow" Killian says, with a hint of... humor? What has come over her?

The mage casts his heavy gaze over you once again, nodding to Gruun and chuckling, "Indeed," to Killian.

"The Magi were the most powerful people in their time, and each of these staffs represents a life given. Inside them flow the souls of the Magi. There are five empty slots. I count five of us. You may not have the arcana possessed by the Magi, but I have spent a lifetime studying it, and you are clearly among the most powerful of our own time. If each of us stands upon a slot, we would only need a way to activate the plinth in the center. The shrine should do the rest," he says.

"It will likely destroy us, as it nearly destroyed me last time...but it is the only option we have left. The catalyst is incomplete, we are missing so many of the staffs, and..."

The sky darkens, and the horrifically vast tentacles of Shothotugg begin to peek through the clouds as the scene above the mountaintop begins to play itself out once more.

"...and we are out of time," Denorian states.

Killian smiles cryptically and sheathes her longsword. She climbs up on the plinth, standing over one of the holes. She tightens the straps on her shield, touches the crystal at her throat, and shadows creep out from under her cloak, licking at the stone around her feet.

"To be counted within the fellowship as gathered, I would gladly make this my final stand."  

Aradurk listens to Denorian, focusing on his words and trying to determine if his words ring with the conviction of one also willing to die in battle.

Hox looks confused as he sees the somber atmosphere and strange behavior of his comrades. Hox starts to sort out his lengthy inventory, putting whatever he called 'shiny' into the jeweled box. He puts it back into his pack as he climbs onto the plinth.

"Hox not know where we go but Hox will come. Best to fight with all than just Hox. And if Hox... put box with hoard of Hox, keep safe."

Gruun moves forward and places the handle of his Greataxe on a staff slot and places his hand on top. "I don't think this will be the last time it takes some normal folks to sort out all this magic. We have traveled far with one another and I am honored to done so with you. Lets see where this next step takes us. We might even let you tag along this time Denorian, might be better than getting chased." Gruun lets out a short chuckle while taking a look around at everyone.

"Then Glendale is not as foolish to send you as I thought," Denorian offers. He directs Aradurk and Hox to join the others in standing atop a slot surrounding the plinth, saying to the kobold, "You will need to take the place of a staff. If you activate the catalyst with the circle broken, then there shall be no effect aside from our destruction."

The clouds above part for more of Shothotugg's form to break through. The wind whipping around the mountaintop suddenly, Denorian shouts above the din, "Do not look up! Do not look at the creature! We can not afford to suffer its madness so close to the finish."

Once everyone is in place, he shouts, "We need only a hand to grasp the crystal staff to activate the shrine. I hope one of you has something up your sleeves?"

Does he mean Mage Hand? Because yes, Killian has that. She will use that to grasp the crystal staff, while averting her eyes from the monstrosity above.

Hox covers his shut eyes with his claws.

Aradurk joins the group, his head down as instructed. "If you need a non-magic hand, you can use mine."

With everyone in place, the final words of a timeless adventure spoken, Denorian locks eyes with Killian, giving only a solemn nod as she brings a spectral hand into view. This time, as Shothotugg arrives, there are no unspeakable horrors that descend upon the mountain. There is no shimmering in the air, no aspect of Denorian controlling hundreds of mutilated versions of yourselves. There is only the darkened sky, the whipping wind, and a horrifying sound of pure madness from above as the mage hand closes around the crystal plinth.

The catalyst, the partially repaired crystal staff, launches a beam of pure light into the sky above, quickly growing to encompass the palm of the statue that you stand upon. As the light expands, seven more rise from the slots that surround the plinth. First, each of the Staffs of the Magi are lit like beacons, glowing with a blinding ferocity. Denorian is next in line; his gaze is torn away as the power of the shrine, channeling through him, locks him in a deathless scream.

Rapidly, one by one, the light overtakes you: Hox, Gruun, Killian, and Aradurk. Companions by chance, the eternal whirlwind of danger and adventure has brought you together here, risking yourselves to defeat the undefeatable. One by one, the Shrine of the Magi channels your essences into its light. Above you, Shothotugg arrives in full, descending in one final effort to bring an end to all. One by one, you are shattered as the shrine uses the substituted energies to build its defense.

Then, there is only light.

Streaming through the light of the chaos, Aradurk's consciousness begins to lose cohesiveness to his previous form. The time seems to pass without recognition.

In a new moment, many years later, a young forest gnome opens her eyes. There is a weird sense of foreboding in her thoughts. Living in near isolation, she has become more adept at caring for the space around her. Her books have filled her mind but she knows something that she should not know, nor does she know how she knows it.  Dreams of a different life as a soldier without magic. Big and clunky. The visions are sporadic, like hearing jumbled words in a sentence without rhythm or context. 

Jorhana knows that there is something to prepare for. It scares her.

Jorhana: ddb.ac/characters/48431145/QV8NYa 

Over the hundreds of years, Killian's soul finds itself taken and torn by the gods she thought she worshipped and those it turns out she served, and after they have tired of her, it remains tattered, but still floating, not at rest. Finally one of the great powers takes pity on her suffering, and guides it, nurturing it, into a new vessel, a new beginning.

Two decades later, there are legends among the people of the high hills, of a warrior queen, a violent witch who spurs her monster tribes to frenzy, who leaves no survivor, no witness, no messenger to take her demands. It is with this fear looming that the villagers of C'aim Longlake find their small hamlet surrounded by the gibbering, slavering kobold minions of the Queen of the False Night. The monsters wait, strangely under control, but when one young fool tries to run, they close and cut him down with glee. The villagers huddle in the center of their village, children in the middle, women and men with pitchforks and staves.

Then the dark reavers part, and a woman walks through, tall, pretty but for her cruel eyes, her long black hair trailing in the mountain wind. Shadows follow her. She steps up, stopping clear of her troops, but well away from the hapless souls of the town.

"Tell me," she says, her voice dripping menace. "Have you a babe born two-ten years ago, on a moonless night, who has yet to cry in this life, or any previous? Your lives are ended here, but were you to give her to me, the lives of others would be spared."

There is a murmur, among the villagers, then an old woman steps out, ignoring the hands that try to pull her back. "Aye, we know this babe," she says, flinty eyes meeting the witch's. "She will have your soul for this."

...

One week later a horse stops in the middle of the burned out village of C'aim Longlake. The bodies, those that are left, have been scavenged by the wildlife. The woman astride the horse, in worn but serviceable armor, golden hair tied behind her in a loose braid, looks about the scene. Her blue eyes, the color of ice in a mountain lake, miss no detail, but her face is not as hard as that, streaked with tears she has not wiped away. This is where she was born, among people who raised the quiet but kind child of a traveling tinker, dead in childbirth. She puts fingers to her mouth and whistles, loud and shrill. From the surrounding woods, two figures emerge, a dwarf and a gnome, a third companion stays cautiously among the trees.

"We have her now," Killian, redeemer paladin of Ilmater, god of endurance, calls to her companions from the back of her warhorse.

Braurm keeps watch while the others investigate. The trees have always felt more home than anywhere else, his parents feared that he would be carried off yet nothing ever challenged him. He often travelled between their trunks in his dreams feeling unstoppable and ferociously strong. Lately he finally stopped searching for something during these times, he figured it would have gotten worse as he found himself constantly guarding his new companions. He squeezes his trusty bow, wishing for a brief moment it was the sturdy haft of an axe...