Bartholomew hated coming here. To be summoned before a sniveling psychopath was the last thing he wanted. He had managed to avoid the banishments during the wars because he was weak. It was that very thing that let him slide right past all the problems of war.

Sure he might have been on the losing side a few times, but that didn't mean anyone would care. There was no sense in banishing the god of the bards. To fill the spot, you needed to have enough levels in various types of music to call the gates of the heavens to open.

It was a neat trick that he told everyone he could about that the gates into the realm of the gods needed to be opened with music. That it was his job to do that when the king was crowned and that if the gates didn't open, they couldn't be opened.

It was his dear friend Max who set the gates to be triggered by him. Every year they would start to close, and he would have to come to play them back open. If they didn't open, then the gods couldn't make use of the powers in the castle.

It wasn't levels in musical ability as others had tried it. Heck, it wasn't even a song that he played. However, he played the same one every year. Year after year for 3000 years. Nope, Max tied the gates opening to resonance passing through the ring he wore on his pinkie. Yeah, it didn't matter what instrument he played, only that he was wearing the ring when he did.

There was one time about 800 years ago that the psycho king made him sing the gates open. That was a shocker for everyone; they thought it must have been the instrument that he was using, so they took it from him and made him sing. Most of the abuse had stopped at that point.

The king's lackeys started to leave him alone, and about 400 years ago, they even started treating him like part of the Pantheon again. That had to have been the longest that he was on the outs with the ruling gods. Just shy of 600 years that he could open the gates but couldn't use the travel network or call a champion.

Now he is being called to give an account of his Champion, who they well know understands nothing and is broken beyond measure. Sure he had a powerful artifact that they gave him. Because the rules told them they needed to, or they couldn't bring other champions in.

Nope, they called him in because something happened near his Champion, and they wanted him to tell them. The problem was he didn't have a clue what it was that happened. One moment they were having a fun little battle, and the next, everything broke.

Right as Bartholomew got to that thought, the doors to the throne room opened. The chamberlain cried out, "I present to your Royal Highness, King of all gods, Ruler of the under heavens, Master of scholars and research! Bartholomew of the bards."

Bartholomew stepped into the throne room of Pramsu, the god of scholars and research better known in part untold as Pramsu the betrayer. The room itself hadn't changed in close to 4000 years. Since it had been taken over by this crazy, however, things had been done to try to change it.

No paint could stick to the walls, nor could the skylights overhead be closed. Every night at 2:40 in the city of Ch'all'gu, the room cleaned itself. It was a neat piece of magic that was done. The living were fine, and what they were touching didn't move. However, everything else reset to clean. So all the banners of Pramsu were lost, and the trophies he brought were gone. The walls he tried to build to hide the white writing of the ancient ones vanished. Oh, if he could live for more than a day, he would sing the song of Pramsu the fool.

Bartholomew bowed low and, as he arose, spoke with a voice deep and rich, "oh great King Pramsu; I am humbled to be called to your mighty seat of power. You honor me with your summons. Great is the delight of any of the divine to be called to do service to you. How can one so lowly as the god of the bards be honored in such a way to appear before his betters?"

An angry god, if he ever did see one was the god of storms today, thought Barth. Hanish looked like he just lost a fight with one of his own and that the storm went rogue somehow. Barth was surprised to see who all was here, Storms, War, Assassins, Trade, the fake god of Harvests, and the goddess of magic.

Hanish spoke as he stepped forward from the bottom right of Pramsu's dais. "Bartholomew, you have been summoned today to explain what your champion has done and how he did it."

Bartholomew smiled widely and then, in a meek but loud voice, "Oh mighty Hanish god of the storms and those who sail them. I know that something wondrous and worthy of a song must have occurred for me to have been summoned. It has been long since the days when bards gathered and wrote the ballads of the champions. Please let me know what is it that you speak so that I know how to answer those far above this lowly bard."

The god of war who refused to ever let even one name be known spoke from behind his rather plain helmet. "A great magical storm like we have not seen happened near where your champion was pulled into the office of the gate."

Barth triggered a few powers and acted shocked. He grabbed at his chest and took a great breath in. Then spoke with awe, "You mean to tell me, my champion who doesn't have even the class of champion, who I have not been allowed to council and who this whole assembly knows was somehow broken and made a rank zero made a storm more powerful than anything that Hanish the god of storms and those who sail them could make?"

Barth waited for a full count of five, "How can this be that one so weak did something so great?"

Hanish, who now looked aggrieved, spoke out. "If I wanted, I could make a storm like that; he did nothing that I couldn't do."

Bartholomew thought to himself. You dumb man, how did you ever ascend to godhood. That was far too simple of a trap for most of the others, but you…

Barth cleared his throat a little. "So, this great storm that my Champion somehow caused was not that great as our lord of the storms could cause it if he wanted? Since this is the case I fail to see why the Champion of the bards has been called out."

The god of the assassins spoke then, "it is not just the greatness of the storms but also the magic and the breaking of the ground. Things happened that couldn't happen and your man was there."

Barth smiled grimly, "As you said my man was there, but he is only a man and nothing more. He doesn't carry a special class and can't advance. Yet you want to say this storm is from him. Even I with all my power couldn't hope to sing a storm like that one and yet this level zero is to blame? Perhaps we should look elsewhere. You all know that I am the weakest and my Champion is nothing before even a strong gust. This couldn't be anything related to him."

A voice like nails on a chalkboard spoke, the goddess of magic, "it is that necklace that belonged to a banished that caused this. I am sure of it, bring it to me, and all will be forgotten."

Barth leaned back and laughed so hard that he grabbed his keens to keep from falling over, "No dear lady. The necklace of cores must stay with my Champion per the rules of the gate of seasons. If it is taken from him then the gate will close and no one can call a champion and the ones we have will slowly loose their power until they equal mine. To do as you ask is to cause everyone else to break for your greed."

The god of war laughed, "The easy thing to do is just to kill him and take the necklace."

Barth shook his head like he was ashamed to know the others here. Which truthfully, he was not because of how dumb they were but because he would love to see each of them die a painful death a thousand times over, and to be in the same room was reason enough for shame.

"Great god of war, how simple it would be to reach down and snatch from this little one the only power he has and snuff out his life. Yet, what would happen you did that? To kill him yourself would trigger the ire of the higher heavens as an immortal like ourselves can not strike at those so low. To do so even indirectly could bring great cost. I could sing of the songs of old to remind you of the loss that could come. The songs from before you took the name of war. I could sing to you of what happened to Battle, when he went crazy and slew those so low."

Barth paced a little, "No, great and high Pantheon, we grasp as the air and try to make it move if we think this little one is the cause of any of this. Look towards the other powers near there if you want who caused this. You know they are there, the goblins and the orcs run free look at them if not elsewhere in this room. But, to try to say a bard who can't even sing, sung up this storm does discredit to our king the great and Mighty Pramsu king of all the gods and goddess."

Pramsu, who had sat in a chair at the bottom of the dais and who seemed to care little for all of this, finally spoke. "Why did you choose to keep such a broken one?"

For the first time since he came into this forsaken room, a real smile graced the face of Batholomew, god the bards and summer beer, "because my king, it will make a great song no matter what happens to him."