Gandalf the Grey stalked further into the council chamber, leering madly and accentuating each step with a violent movement of his gnarled staff.

"You fools. You know not what you face. Look how you quibble over your petty timestreams. This one is "correct", this one is "tainted". The Greys themselves may be gone, but what they started will yet be your DOOM."

Around the room, all present were prepared for an assault. Avalon's fists were raised, with spheres of crackling energy leaping around and between them; the power of galaxies focused and awaiting his mental command. Q had transformed into a writhing mass of energy, the form he judged best suited to all-out combat with an potentially powerful foe. Other nameless and formless TimeGuardian council members also braced for combat.

But the expected assault didn't come. Gandalf the Grey stood before them, staring each in the eye, almost daring them to strike. After an eternity (literally, heh, remember, these are timeguardians), he gathered his robes around himself.

"You know what transpires...you already see the effects of the unheralded Union around the planet Twycross, and growing in intensity. The Inner Sphere, the Clans, the Empire, the Rebellion, and Picard, the SDF-3...and this conflict will only intensify. You see the concurrent events...Dr. Jones researching the Old Ones, a Warrior Rabbit on a quest for his race's destroyers, Mulder, Scully and Reese on the verge of discoveries that will rend their minds, Brownstone and the Octom on their way, Kirk and his lot evading Cthulhu with the help of my nemesis. And the others who don't yet know they are even involved yet. You may even see all of these players' destinies coming together in the near future. But you do not see the complete act...the true nature of these events eludes you. Excellent...it will be most amusing to watch you all contribute to your own annihilation."

And with a flash, he was gone...leaving the council to ponder his threats.

Beyond space/time and organized reality, a dark figure took form. Nyarlathotep, the trickster and messenger of the Old Ones, tittered with glee...for nothing gave this being such pleasure as handing other fools the keys to their own demise, something he'd just placed into words before the TimeCouncil, in the guise of Gandalf the Grey...

He sensed the surging mass of chaos that was Azathoth, and the piping flute-sounds, and allowed himself to be caught up by the fractal madness. He'd felt it fitting to use the form of Gandalf the Grey, since the Greys themselves had been responsible for bringing the formed multiverse to the attention of the Great Old Ones. Amid the seething vortex of chaos normally surrounding Azathoth, the Greys had lit a beacon, rousing the notice of the malign chaos-intelligence. As their final act, the Greys had enacted a little-known and powerful ritual. They had hoped it might provide a miracle victory. In reality, their living minds and souls had been ripped from their beings and fed to the ravenous chaos. It had enjoyed engulfing the organized life-patterns, and it hungered for more. Much more.