"Aaah!" she cries.

She had just started to relax after the most dangerous and high-stakes event of her last several years, her HUD flickering back on as the fixity field washed over her, when he was just suddenly there.

Her reflexive teleport puts her crouched on top of one of the garland-covered beams, from which she peers down in a manner not unlike a cat who has just been startled into explosive motion by something entirely mundane.

The man is ... strange. He has a normal human body, with blood, liver enzymes, eardrums, and all the other expected pieces. But he also has great, coiling braids of magic bound to every molecule of his being. The magic hangs heavy around him, like a cloud. It twists away, in directions she cannot see, packed so densely that she can hardly see him under the visualization.

She lets herself float down from the beam, entranced by watching how the threads of his magic tie him to the tankard in his hand, to the sword at his hip, and to the rest of the bar around them.

"Excuse me, but are you ...?" she asks, her voice trailing off.

He bows. "Cayden Cailean, god of freedom, drink, and brave adventuring, at your service. I'm a friend of Milani's. And with me - please do not be alarmed -"

A million butterflies flutter down from the rafters. They are living patches of space, insect-shaped cutouts that flit and float and flap their wings in mesmerizing patterns and never let you forget, for even a moment, that theirs are not wings of flesh of blood. They come together into a dizzying cloud and cling and merge and swirl until -

A person stands besides Cayden. She is human and butterfly, goddess and mystery, she is all the stars of Creation shining with the terrible light in which new souls are born. She is ancient and alien beyond measure, she is nothing that ever grew on the soil of a friendly planet, and she sees and understands and loves and helps every soul of every race that does not wish harm to others. She is -

"Desna, dear! Tone it down a little for the new mortals, please."

She is a lovely woman, entirely nonscary and appropriate to an interdimensional bar!

:Hello, everyone. Hello, Cherry. Thank you, for being you and doing what you did.:

Her mouth moves but what comes out is not speech, not a language of the kind translation spells or software are meant to handle. It is pure meaning, the kind that Truespeech technically works on if you don't mind being left with a terrible headache. Milliways handles it fine. (If the Landlords get a headache, they can come and complain in person.)

She places a companionable arm around Cayden's shoulder.

"Desna isn't the best at talking to mortals, so I'll be helping her translate. I'm ex-human, like Milani."

"Now, I'm sure you all have many questions, so" - he smiles disarmingly - "let's sit and talk over a good drink, shall we?"

Questions bubble up in her mind in no particular order. She drags over a table and set of chairs for them, including a backless seat to accommodate Desna's wings.

But she is back within the reach of the support systems that she's built, and questions from the rest of her self-tree quickly organize themselves by priority in her HUD.

"Is there anything time-sensitive that we should handle first?" she asks. "I would assume not, but I don't know how you got here or whether your presence interferes with the timestop effect."

She makes herself a mug of hot lemonade -- she feels that this situation calls for something stronger than usual -- and then follows it up with a pitcher and some more mugs in case anybody else wants some.

"We got here the same way you did, through the door! Golarion is time-stopped while the door is closed, so there's no rush."

"And that's why we can talk to you like civilized people! Not just because we have time. With the door closed, we are for all intents and purposes no longer in Pharasma's Creation, and that makes almost anything possible."

"You see, gods are bound by all sorts of agreements. Well, I say 'bound' -" he grins - "for the non-Lawful among us, that just means if we break them, everyone else has solemnly promised to kill us dead. And one of the most important agreements is about interfering with the Material, and Golarion in particular."

"Doing things - anything that goes beyond just looking and affects the world - costs energy, obviously, but it also uses up our intervention budget. This isn't a real resource like magic or sunlight, it's just a number that the agreements made up. Everyone has a budget - how much depends on a lot of complex factors - and different kinds of intervention are cheaper or more expensive."

"For example, making clerics and paladins and so on and granting them spells is very cheap! The agreement makes it so the cheapest, most effective way to influence the world is through mortal proxies. So we end up with all these stupid proxy wars. I'm eliding a lot here, the empowered mortals need to be aligned and leveled and that's not just an agreement. But this is the reason Iomedae empowers paladins like Irabeth here to smite evil instead of smiting it all Herself, which She's frankly terrifyingly good at." He glances at Irabeth, who is nodding along.

"It also costs budget to tell people on Golarion something they don't know already. A lot more if no-one knows it. A lot of information is priced so high that no-one can possibly pay for it, so it's effectively forbidden, and that includes most kinds of new technology. We don't suppress it if mortals invent it on their own - although some gods definitely try to discourage it - but we're not allowed to just give people all the nice goodies they have in Axis."

"And that is why the great wizard Felandriel Morgethai can cast a Wish that will shake the very heavens, but doesn't have a flush toilet in her tower."

"Oh, that's wonderful news!" Cherry declares. "That technology isn't being deliberately suppressed, and that you can talk to us in detail, I mean."

She pauses for a moment to consider.

"You talking to us like this, though -- is it that telling us while outside of Pharisma's Creation doesn't count, that you don't expect the fact that you told us anything to get back to the other gods, that you expect to be so powerful by the time we open the door again that you're not worried about them, or that telling us this is worth your deaths?"

"It doesn't count right now. After we open the door I will have causally affected Golarion, but counting just the end result of my actions is much cheaper than all this walking and talking. And I get a discount, for only telling you things which Iomedae was going to tell you anyway, since She intended to pay the full price for that if She had to. That's what I'd say at my trial, anyway, if I intended on having one."

"None of that matters, though, for two reasons. First because, yes, if helping you rescue everyone on Golarion costs my life, that's a price I'll cheerfully pay."

"And second, because the lovely Bar enforces a stringent security policy which lets me kick back here until the heat dies down. I'd like to see Achaekek try to threaten me now." He seems very cheerful about this.

:I will not die or stay here! I will go to all the worlds where Milliways opens. Your world, Cherry!:

"Ah, okay! That all makes sense," she agrees.

"Desna, normally I would say that you are welcome to use the teleport system, but I'm not totally certain whether it would work on gods, since I wasn't able to see that you were here until you ... incarnated. You can try it, if you'd like, and you're welcome to use my wormholes. I would appreciate it if you would agree not to go into people's private spaces or near the backup servers, though, since people would be scared and upset if that happened. But I bet there are a lot of people in my world who will love to meet you!"

:I do not need your teleport! I go places, it is who I am. I only need your door open. And I will not go to private places where there is no great Evil or un-Freedom.:

:This is not a promise for all worlds. If another world opens to Milliways and someone says the whole world is private, I may still choose to go there. But not your world! Because you are Good, and good, and I am grateful, and I like you.:

That is ... probably as good as she's going to get from a magical alien intelligence dedicated to the concept of travel. And it's not like she wants anywhere to harbor Evil or un-freedom -- she knows of some marginal cases, but by-and-large the solar system is a very nice place.

The question isn't even how well Desna's concept of good lines up with her own, really. She knows that her view of good isn't complete, that it isn't sufficient to build a good world. That's why free movement is the principle to which she's devoted so much of her effort. When people are free to choose between systems and places, each of the strange and myriad kinds of Good supports and reinforces the others -- an antifragile system, where introducing contradictory viewpoints only makes everyone stronger.

The question is whether Desna would threaten that, by being a powerful being outside the law, squashing dissenting voices and restricting people's choices. And looking at the butterfly woman in front of her, she can't imagine anything less likely.

Someone in her self-tree publishes a solar travel advisory, and a press release stating that the first of the newly contacted aliens may shortly be visiting Jupiter orbit under her own power.

Another of her pops in and opens the door, leaning against it to prop it open. The door has been re-built to open onto a courtyard, Jupiter just rising over the rooftop.

"I hope you'll help us plan how best to get everyone else out of Golarion," she tells Desna. "But I suspect you can split your attention, and I wouldn't dream of delaying you if you wanted to start exploring."

"Before I ask more questions about the evacuation plan, did you ... are you two alright?" she asks, turning to look at Irabeth and Gord.

She can absolutely split her attention! Keeping so much of it in such a small space for so long was the hard part, really. For a few moments she looks less like a self-contained person and more like a protrusion from higher dimensions, as butterfly-shaped bits of her spiral away into magical forces and places even Cherry hasn't learned to see yet. Which also happen to lie firmly outside the door.

:Done! I'm so happy! Your world is beautiful:, she tells Cherry earnestly.

She is present at the most important event witnessed by mortal eyes since - the Shining Crusade's final battle? The ascension of Iomedae, of Aroden? Earthfall?

She is present, meaning she is capable of moving and speaking and so she might possibly, conceivably, affect the course of history and derail the final triumph of Good over Evil.

(It does not at all occur to her, sitting in the presence of two incarnate gods, that she might have anything to contribute.)

Never in her life has she been more grateful for her inability to feel fear.

...Irabeth wonders if perhaps there was something she could have done better earlier, before she passed through the door that leads out of the world.

If she had been better, faster, smarter, could she have done something, said something that would have let Iomedae Herself sit at this table deciding the fate of worlds? Did she already fail to do the only thing that mattered, the one thing she was personally meant to do?

But Irabeth has been blessed this day with much greater Wisdom and Charisma by her goddess, that she may treat equally with the other mortals here, and so she understands the implication of Cayden's words -

Iomedae could never have sat at this table outside Creation, where the treaties of the gods may be evaded. For She is Lawful, and will honor them of Herself, though there be no-one to watch or cast blame. Perhaps She could not even intend or cause others to break the treaty, or to profit Herself from the breaking. 

She made Her best move ignoring that possibility, and still She could expect to win whether or not the meeting took place. Law only ever makes you stronger, not weaker. Her Goddess is far wiser than mortal Irabeth can comprehend, and she trusts in Her judgement, without reservation.

Perhaps her greater Wisdom was only meant to guide her in the event she stayed outside the door. Perhaps it is meant for after she comes back. Perhaps she has already accomplished everything she was ever meant to be. Cayden and Desna are allies. Surely they know more of Iomedae's goals and plans and abilities than she does, and have no use for the guidance of a paladin, chosen perhaps by random luck out of all Iomedae's followers on Golarion or even in Mendev.

But Irabeth has been reminded that she does not know all the intent of Her goddess. She must continue to do her best, whatever is required of her. She will.

And so she pulls herself together enough to answer Cherry with a nod. "I'll be fine," she promises.

Gord has blown right through his suspense of disbelief. That makes it the third time, today. He's no longer sure he can act appropriately surprised by anything that happens.

He's not scared. He tries to rationalize this to himself: one fears hostility, not power, and he has no reason to think these gods are hostile. It feels like empty posturing. His fear response is probably just broken, along with the rest of his emotions and situational awareness.

What should he do? What should he say?

The stakes have never been higher. They'll probably never be this high again. A word from him - Gord, third circle of Gorum, random adventurer of no real importance - could change the fate of worlds.

Gord has changed his mind many times over the years, has done many things he regrets bitterly. Only one thing at the very heart of him has held true, an idea through which he makes sense of the world as much as of himself. An Iroran monk he met once said it best:

Be the change you wish to see in the world.

If you want the world to be different, to be better, go out and make it so. No-one else will. If you sup at the table of the gods, ask them, persuade them to do what you want. When will you ever have a greater lever to move the world? Why do you hesitate?

But what do you say to gods who are already more Chaotic and more Good than you could ever be, and who have lived years beyond counting, and understand you better than you do yourself?

Gord desperately wants to make the world better and right now, for the first time in many years, he has no idea what he should do about it.

"I'm fine," he tells Cherry quietly, "it's everyone else who isn't. Back home. And I don't know how to help them anymore."

She reaches over to pat him on the back.

"I think that feeling like that is natural. I know I've felt like that, sometimes. I think the world is complicated, and exhausting. And it would be okay, if you needed to put down this burden and take time to rest. It would be okay, if you felt like you needed time to grow before you had anything to contribute."

"But look who is here," she says, gesturing to everyone at the table. "There is a paladin you don't agree with, a woman who knows nearly nothing about your world and your culture, and two powerfully Good beings who, despite their wisdom and benevolence, aren't mortal, and therefore don't have a mortal perspective."

She turns to look him in the eye.

"I think we need your advice," she tells him.

"If you suddenly evaporated, we'd certainly go save those people anyway, but I think you can help us do it better, in ways that are more suited to the people of Golarion. Just like Irabeth will help us figure out how to do this in a way that will be less scary to the established powers, and Desna and Cayden will help us figure out how to do this in a way that is more Good and more likely to succeed against the opposed gods. Not in a way where we drag each others ideas down, but in a way where we build them up, pointing out the easy tradeoffs that leave everyone better off but to which each one of us alone would have been blind."

"You know," Gord says a little unsteadily, "that was the most atheist thing I've heard in my life. Telling two gods to their faces that you know better."

Deep breath.

"Alright. I'm going to try. Don't know if I can do better than you all, but. I'll trust you to tell me if I'm doing a lot worse."

Why is this evil cultist interrupting a world-shakingly important meeting and wasting the time of literal gods to complain about his obviously entirely justified feelings of inadequacy, instead of just silently resolving to do his meager best like she is?!

Irabeth doesn't say anything, but she thinks this very loudly in Gord's direction. It probably shows on her face, if you're inhumanly Wise and a god.

"Well said!"

"You know - I do know you know, I'm just reminding you - just like the Chaos in Good is freedom, the Good in Chaos is diversity. United we are stronger, and a big part of that is because we're not all alike. None of us is better than any other in every conceivable way and circumstance, not even the gods."

"This was before your time, but Aroden had this beautiful saying - it is the destiny and the birthright of men to surpass their parents and their gods. I think that's important to aspire to. We're often not equal to the task in front of us. But the only way to change this is to keep trying, and get better, and fail and fail until we finally slay that monster and climb that mountain and face the sunrise."

"And when the odds seem insurmountable, and you see no way forward" - he grins sharply. "Why that, cleric of Gorum, is when you grow the most if you succeed anyway."

"But it helps to have allies, and a friendly bar to have a drink in, before you go face that monster. So we're all going to do our best, and work together, and see the sun rise over the mountain."