A strange sight to behold,
Here in the straddled plane,
The four good men of old,
Gathered to talk again.
Caught between the planes, the source where all dead go, into the Waters of this world. Woven the connections between the realms, every realm touched by the flowing strings which gathers the spirits of the dead to their proper place. A vast network, the envy of the spider and the silk worm, threaded by the hands of the Outer Ones who sit at the fringes of reality, watching the events unfold to the smallest microcosm. To them, these Outer Ones, this world is naught but a nexus, a node for which these lines tangle into a knot. To us, it is the center of our existence.
So what of these rivers through the worlds? What purpose do they have? When a person dies, their moral coil shall fade, but their spirit is eternal. Their last breath often times considered the breaking of the tethered between body and soul. Some find no rest and are forced by the powers that be to roam the cosmos, travelling upon these twisting waterways, wandering until they come to find the burning truth. Then they shall be judged, and be sorted. Some go to the Heavens, the higher planes from which the Immortal Gods transcend them into a second life of their own paradise. Or at least that is how the Heavens are often described, yet for the myriad of Gods who influence the world, each has their own personal piece of the astral planes as variable as the Gods themselves. For those who were deemed unworthy of the gods, then they shall be relinquished into the earth and dragged into Hell for their punishment proper. Hell which sits upon mortal world, the entrance a den marked forbidden by the gods with wards and barriers upon seals and curses. It is no place for the living, a simple cave in the far barren north, from which a frozen river runs deep into the mouth of the innocent cave.
And there, an odd sight, of three figures sitting at a table. Draped in white tablecloth, four chairs bearing three men, a small feast of sugary snacks lain before them. Four sets of teacups, white to match the single tea pot, napkins and a porcelain spoon, a definitive meeting of distinctive gentlemen. The first dressed in brilliant red, a fine cap he wore atop his fiery head of hair, brows alight on fire as he lifted the teapot in his hand. The second dressed in somber black, a haggard looks upon his dusty coat, a scowl upon his face as he dropped the tea leaves into the pot. The third was dressed in blue, with golden curls of hair and a smile across his face as he filled the pot with water. And the fourth came in like a whisper, dressed in white, long robes like veil, dragging behind his form as he sighed to reach for a cup. All Four where assembled now, the tea poured out in fair amounts and for this moment: time itself seemed to stopped.
"So it begins, another round of the game." The One in blue jested while he sipped his share.
"So it has, Eternity. What of these champions come to fetch a stone?" The man in black asked.
"They shall be judged worthy of claiming it or not by the Nine, Justice." The crimson one nodded along.
"And if they fall, I, Death, shall catch them." The last spoke with a tired voice, and vanished as quickly as he came.
"Then I shall await them here at the mouth of Hell. Tell your friends upstairs to remember to give their action figures and dolls my standard fee will you, Morality?"
---
Shadows loam the scene. Seven in all, murky depths reflected in to the floating mirrors. A spell cast into each, and the depths of Hell revealed from within it. Not all are happy to hear
"Your scry mirror greatly offends me."
"Agreed, cease spying upon my kingdom."
"Adam, to what do I owe this appearance?"
"Indeed, it is supper time after all."
"Take your time, it will be more entertaining than watching these amateurs"
"Well, as the other two speak not, the River has told me that we should expect visitors. The Gods have opened up their games once more. We cannot let them awaken the Ninth. Our tenuous pact must be invoked... The first task is yours King. Do not fail us."
---
A single gold coin, inscribed with the symbol of a God. Six coins of purest gold, blessed and minted for Six champions. Through the will of divinity would they find their ways into the hands of the chosen. Champions of the Gods, demigods in their own right, worshiped and feared amongst mortal men. For centuries the machinations of fate had kept these tokens from the hands of their fated redeemers. Yet now it shall all come to a close, and each coin find their way to where they belong.
Perhaps one will be found hidden amongst the hoard of a vanquished enemy. Another perhaps given by some earthly ruler as a tribute from their coffers. How the story begins is a tale of its own, started at the end of the journey. Listen to the coin as it commands, the voice of your God shall speak and direct you to meet at the Gates of Hell, pay the Ferryman and retrieve what lies at the bottom of Hell to join your god in the Heavens as an equal.
Your Quest Begins.
Don't be late.
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