[BEHOLD, Oliver's grinning face.]

Welcome back everybody! I do hope you all had a good time, and that you're not too tuckered out. Ah, but put your feet up! Take the night off! You've all had a busy couple days.

[Oliver leans back so you can see he's sitting in a comfy chair. From the angle of his body, it looks like he's got his feet up on something off-screen.]

We've got some new faces, so do your best to make them feel welcome. [This patronizing little wave right here? It's directed at you, Gwaine!] Hello!

Oh! [Something occurs to him, and he snaps his fingers and shoots up out of the chair.] I almost forgot, I promised you all a little something for when the race was over. Mr. Holmes, Doctor, you two don't get the pleasure, I'm afraid. But as for everyone else....

Ask nicely enough... [He brings the camera closer to his face and grins in a GIANT CLOSE-UP.] ...and I may be persuaded that this is a bad idea.

[There are a few seconds of static, and then an image flickers in. You can see a young man, dressed in simple black clothing that can't be identified as that of any particular era. When he speaks, it's with a very generic British accent.]

Has it been seven months already? My, how the time flies.

Of course, it's been even longer for some of us, hasn't it? [A patronizing smile directed at Rose. HI ROSE.]

You should all be grateful, really! I've brought several of you friends from back home. Even family members! And of course I gave you all a little present this month, which I hope you enjoy. Call it a reward. Or perhaps something to make up for what's to come. [Gosh, he's so magnanimous. Look at him, he's overflowing with magnanimity and he knows it.]

And if that wasn't enough, there are more prizes in store. I can't wait, can you?



[ooc: This is Oliver St. Oldcastle, who built you all this house and is generally an utter ass about it. ENJOY HIS ASSHATTERY, TLN. And feel free to ask him questions/bitch and moan/try to find him. He may put in a brief in-person appearance shortly, depending on if there's demand for it.]

[The voice sounds ambiguous; familiar, but not. Will specify if he changes to sound like others.]

Black and white, no one speaks in gray. I accommodate: Solve the riddles, I explain the game. One for each. Ignore the words, fight blindly. Round 3, third time's the charm:

Soul returned then gone,
Teeth grow to feed;
Eyes yellow without sun,
You take the lead.

Imagine, create,
Why not aim high;
Cannot avoid your fate,
Failure is nigh.

It comes in fours,
The sound of hooves;
Every other ignores,
What you can't approve.

Created by coin, Human in form,
Behold the bone; Cold as in steel;
Fear you to join, Embrace and transform;
Magicks you'd never known. Who needs to feel.


4 riddles left, 5 solved.

I'm here, I wait. Waiting, fading. Parading. Joy is fleeting, so too are dreams. Time, perhaps. Fickle as it is. 24 hours 'til the finale unfolds.

[This rendition comes across the network, so feel free to respond to it.]

Tut tut, so disappointed. Consider as consider does. Long, drawn; here, gone. So much to do, yet so little time. I'm among you and yet not been seen. Beam. Glean. A gleam in an eye, the corner of your eye. Keep watching.

Round two:
Pupil by pupil, hall of brick,
Victims of bullies undone;
So quiet you can hear the click,
Of the ready-made gun.

A rose with a thorn,
A hall and then gone;
So many mourn,
For the scared eidolon.

Demon, or devil,
Plays with a knife;
In your pain he does revel,
While causing so much strife.


[MOD Q: This plot is set to end tonight, but it looks like people have been pretty busy. Would you guys like to extend the plot, finish it with the potential to back-date, or just call it completed at the end of the day? Please vote in the subject line. Thanks!]

[The voice is a strange combination of something vaguely familiar and yet not quite known, haunting and filling each person with a discomfort without explanation.]

A challenge, a game. Consider it what you will. A hero's quest, perhaps, but who are the heroes? Only Time will tell, but he tells nothing at all. I do not believe in time. So fickle in consistency, so charming in identity. A facade. A charade. Rather odd, you might say. Let us begin, all time to lose. Round one, my little momeraths:

Made of stone, never brick,
Always crying without eyes;
Hear how slowly time does tick,
When watching for their lies.

Eyes of black, hair of brown,
Sometimes gold, one never knows;
Perhaps the devil wears the same crown,
This gem held one of you in her throes.


[Upon later recalling this post, characters will not be certain if they heard the voice or if they simple remember it being in the back of their mind, as if a vague memory of a dream.]

[ooc: A reminder that all Private/etc filters have been disabled from now until the 24th; everything is public. This also begins the Main Plot (reference here).]