Conversations with a God

This is the prequel released for the pilot episode of The Knight of Time, Powers That Be.

This prequel is adapted from Temporal Orientation, an RPG that was Gamemastered by Holbenilord.

Synopsis
At the end of a long quest full of trials and tribulations, Sir Peter of Burgonshire meets a god.

Story
"Human. Welcome."

Sir Peter stumbled and fell to the floor, slightly dazed by the elevator. Blinking in the now bright light, he glanced around the room he had entered. It was a simple affair--all stone but for a gleaming metal table in the center.

He stood up, and summoned up the will to speak. "Welcome? To where? Show thyself!"

The voice from nowhere spoke again, in a loud and deep tone. "Welcome to the Tower of Skouros, formerly known as the Tower of Rassilon." There seemed to be a slight chuckle in the air as he added: "You would not want to see my form."

Peter strode across the room to a massive window and glanced out. The entirety of the Death Zone stretched out before him, thousands of increasingly alien horrors battling one another on the barren ground and the crisp, smoking skies. There was a drop of many thousands of feet--he could even make out the shapes of clouds far below him.

He was abrubtly startled by the loud voice again. "Would you care for some Cypriot wine? I chose it from the 1373 harvest--the best there ever was." On the table in front of him a tall goblet had suddenly appeared. "I'd offer you tea, of course, but you're five centuries too young."

"My apologies, but I hath no time for drinks at the time. I quest for the demat gun, a mighty artifact that can restore order to time. Will thou assist me in this quest?"

The voice spoke again. "I have the demat gun. Or at least, I am sharing it with several othes of my kind. Now drink. Commandaria is best served cold."

Peter thought he detected a faint bit of amusement in the voice.

"I presume that thou art Skouros. Dost thou intend to repair the Time Vortex?"

He knew the answer before he heard it--"I do not."

The knight clenched his fist. "Relinquish the demat gun, Skouros. Before I am forced to harm thee."

"That's an interesting idea--I wonder, how would you go about harming me? With that particle gun, I presume?"

Peter picked his weapon up from the floor. Pointing it towards a wall, he let loose a stream of energy to burn his way out... and made only a faint scorched marking on the wall. His mouth went dry--minutes before, that same weapon had made quick work of a Dalek. What were those walls made of?

Thinking fast, he turned to a theological argument.

"What could be more harming than an eternity in Hell, Skouros? That is where thou shalt end, if thou standeth to the side and let the universe fall apart around thee."

This time there was no mistaking the humor Skouros felt, as he laughed long and hard. "Wonderful--simply wonderful! I made a Hell once. It wasn't as fun as I wanted it to be, so I destroyed it again. You see, your universe can rot and die--I'll just make a new one exactly as I want it to be."

"No doubt thou fancy thyself a great being," snapped Peter, "So stop acting like a petulant brat and help!"

"It's not about petulance. I caused this. I chose to destroy the Time Lock. I chose to bring the Daleks and the Time Lords and all of their children back into the universe for a reason."

"And what reason would that be," demanded Peter, pacing back in forth in rage. "Thou seek to destroy everything I know, everything I have loved--what reason couldst thou possibly have?"

"You could never understand," said Skouros, a little more softly than before. "You are a simple being made in a simple world, and you know and love only simple things. You and all your simple connections have only simple minds and simple motivations. You beings of matter are burdened, trapped even, in a curtain of simplicity. None of you can see beyond it... which is why you need me."

"We need thee not!" said Peter, flushing with rage. "Thou knowest not what we need--thou art not one of us! Thou art an incorporeal being! Thou couldst not possibly understand the affairs of mortals like we! This is our universe, so let us decide how to act!"

"This universe is more mine than yours. Why should I not care about what I possess? Should I leave my designs to fade away, incomplete, slowly eroded by the chaos of eternity, or bring them to fruitition? I understand mortality better than any mortal, and since understanding is the basis of sound judgement, I must be the one able to choose the best way forward. You may not understand this, but I do care about you. I care about you all."

Flabbergasted, Peter spoke again. "How couldst thou understand us so well? Thou art an outsider, a foreigner to us! Thou knowest not what defines us--love, compassion, mercy, and loyalty are things utterly alien to thee! Until thou walketh in our bodies, live with a soul like ours, thou art no more fit to rule us than we are fit to rule thee!"

"Nothing defines a mortal. You are what your worlds make of you. Love, compassion, mercy, loyalty... they all have their place holding a social system together. Streams of electricity and chemicals flow through your minds and you serve them. Altruism evolved so you could perpetuate your DNA--your minds, hearts and 'souls' exist only to perpetuate that single molecule. You are nothing without your bodies, so you obey them without question. You are not free. You are prisoners. You should hate yourselves, really--and you should heed those who offer you a reprieve."

"I... I do not understand." The knight looked out the window, which was looking more inviting by the minute.

"Than let me put it in terms you can understand. You see, an outsider can better understand the system than one who has been blinded by repetition. The greatest thinkers, the most revolutionary philosophers, they all spend more time within the windmills of their minds than labouring. I understand you better than you can ever understand yourself, as I see where every part of you comes from, and how, and where it will go, and how. I have watched a trillion trillion human lives begin and end, and not once have they ever broken the mould by going against their natures. You... are... predictable."

Peter examined the walls desperately. There had to be a way out, didn't there?

Skouros spoke again. "The only way out is with me--or through the window. I'll let you make that decision."

Suddenly, the sound of ancient engines rumbled from the window. Running to it, Peter saw a familiar blue box materializing in air below.

A man in a bow tie stuck his head out of the box. "You'll have to jump! Hurry!"

Peter turned back into the room, smiling. "Methinks I shall go through the window."

"The Doctor's existence is due to me. I enabled his birth, his rise, and his escape. He's just as much a part of my plan as you are."

Sir Peter of Burgonshire smiled even more broadly. "Methinks thy plan will take a life of its own."

A wall of fire blocked him from the window. "I can't let you leave."

"Why not!" shouted the knight, suddenly hesitant. "What dost thou need me for, if I be so insignificant?"

"You'll only find out if you stay."

From below, behind the flames, the Doctor's voice rang out. "You have less than a second! Just jump!"

Peter defenestrated himself.

He was singed slightly running through the fire. As he fell, dark tendrils reached towards him, just barely failing to grasp his body before he fell into the blue box.

As always, he was surprised at how far he fell once behind the doorway of the box--or the TARDIS, as the Doctor had called it. He seemed to fall scores of feet before landing in a large swimming pool.

Pulling his way out, he shouted to the Doctor, in the console room above.

"Have we succeeded? Is the Time Vortex traversable once more?"

"We failed!", yelled the Doctor happily. "But we're alive, which means we still have a chance. Come along, good sir knight!"

Levers were pulled, big friendly buttons were pressed, and the TARDIS was flying, bursting out of the Death Zone and speeding towards Earth.