Thread:The Purpur Man/@comment-26173711-20191005064301/@comment-36309590-20191008061252

The room was silent. No one spoke. No one moved.

"Are you certain of this Rassilon?" Pandak questioned, shifting his gaze from the figure standing before them over to the first Founder.

"Yes." The man replied, his deep voice echoing throughout the Panopticon. "He is the last capable agent we have left who has not been erased by the Enemy or is actively fighting them. Not only is he our best choice, he is our only one."

"But..." Apeiron, who had regenerated into a blond haired woman with piercing green eyes and fair skin since the start of the war, interjected. "That does not change the fact that the agent before us hails from the Dromeian Chapter, historically one of the weakest and Chapters in our society." She finished, casting an accusatory glance at the grey robed woman sitting opposite her, directly right of the platform Rassilon's arose from.

The other woman, Eutenoyar, opened her mouth as though she were about to retort, when an even deeper and somewhat menacing sounding voice sounded from nearby, cutting off whatever response the other Founder had formed whilst simultaneously making its opinion on the matter known.

"You are too quick to judge Apeiron." The Other said, leaning forward in their seat as they steepled their gauntleted fingers, their expression unreadable thanks to the ornate metal helm they wore. Shifting their sitting position slightly causing their ceremonial robes, a subdued light blue in color, to swish along with the movement, the Other went on. "The one's we are quickest to dismiss often surprise us the most. I support Rassilon's assessment. Besides..."

The Other falls silent, their gaze raking over everyone in attendance.

"We are out of time and options. The Enemy is at the gate and the grainery is empty. We must find another lest we fall prey to the wolves."

Silence fell once more. No one spoke. No one moved.

Finally Apeiron relented.

"Alright fine." She said, exhaling heavily. "But this is still one hell of a gamble."

"So was the anchoring." Rassilon remarked, casting a glance at her from out the corner of his eye. "Yet here we sit. Lords of Time."

"For now perhaps. But we won't be if we sit here and debate all day." Eutenoyar warned, joining the conversation at long last.

"Yes, quite right." He said, nodding to himself as he returned his gaze to the robed man at the center of the room. "You know what to do agent. Initiate travel to this new reality and, when you are ready, summon us with this."

Rassilon took a small clear stone from the orb at the end of his scepter and tossed it at the agent standing before them. The man caught the stone and held it up to the light, gazing at it with mild curiosity. Although he'd heard of White-Point Stars, he'd never actually seen one in person before now. Grasping it firmly in his palm, the Seeker turned his attention back to the Founders.

"I assume you've created a mental link that will be used to interface with this physical one then?" He asked, holding his fist up in front of his chest for emphasis.

"Yes." Rassilon replied with a slight nod. "The mental link will take the form of a Time Lord heartbeat broadcast in waves every six hours for the duration of your stay in the other reality, though it should not be distracting enough to make you lose focus of your mission or surroundings. As for the physical connection, the white-point star you now hold will let us make a physical anchor we can use to transport Gallifrey to your current location. Of course, this will not work without a great deal of energy with which to power the star, hence why the preservation of your time travel capsule and its architectural reconfiguration system is of the utmost importance."

The Seeker nodded, letting his hand fall to his side. "Understood."

Rassilon nodded, tapping his staff on the ground three times to signal the end of the assembly. "Good. Now go."

Bowing slightly, Seeker turned and strode out of the Panopticon, quietly making his way through the deserted halls of the Capitol until he reached the shipyards. Quickly making his way through the rows upon rows of unused capsules that were either awaiting repair, resignation, or assignment, until he finally reached his TARDIS. Stepping up to the slate gray octagonal pillar he took hold of the handle and pushed the door open. Crossing over the threshold and into its interior, he strode up to the console and closed the doors with the press of a button before activating the crafts dematerialization process, filling the shipyard with a low, droning, woosh as it slowly vanished into the Time Vortex...