Author's note: This AU ignores most of Lance Parkin's continuity, so the Master's father is Ganth ("Grayling") rather than Marnal, but for some stupid reason I acknowledge "Divided Loyalties" and have him be from House Oakdown (not "Knorth").
Summary: There's only one game: Rassilon's.
Characters: Rawneth, Ganth, Rassilon
Deep in the Death Zone, a cave hides a relic of a darker age.
Rawneth followed the trail to the end: a crumbling wreckage of a Time Lord kneeling at the altar of destiny.
"It's forbidden," she told him. "And it won't work anyway."
Skulls leered down at them from the walls, fossils embedded in the strata of butchered timelines, their crystalized potential forged into a genie's lamp. Here lay the power to seize fate. Past and future reflected the gaze of whoever was desperate enough to light the lamp with the flame from their own burning soul. He had paid that price willingly to attain his heart's desire — but his wish had failed.
"You're too late." She thumped the foot of a wooden staff on the ground for emphasis.
Teeth bared, lips crumbling to dust around his words, he spat out a curse. "Damn you. Where is she? Where is my lady? Where is the Dreamweaver?"
"Gone back to where she belongs." Rawneth closed in, prodding at his chest with the tip of the staff. "Poor little Grayling, a hollow man, just like your house, with a son as mad as his father..."
"I have no son!" He grabbed at the staff. Flesh melted from his fingers, dry skin flaking away, revealing white bones.
She laughed, shoving harder, the force of her will shattering the integrity of his wavering shell of a body. "It hardly matters. My lord has found another. An unexpected seed, from a pathetic failure of a house, but she may serve his purpose."
She cocked her head, as if awaiting a response. When none came, she stooped down and plucked out the skull from the heap of bones and dust.
A dark tower at the heart of the Death Zone holds the Tomb of Rassilon: a haunted place, full of secrets and lies.
"A snack, my lord!" Unfazed by the psychic pressure of the ancient and eternal Rassilon, Rawneth tossed the skull into the air above the massive stone sarcophagus. It vanished in a spray of golden sparks, then reappeared as a face carved into the base, a face contorted with misery as its tattered soul was slowly digested.
"You have done well, child," came the booming, disembodied voice. "As for what comes next..."
"I understand, my lord." She bowed and walked away. Good bye, Grayling. As useless as your brother in the end.
As before, no answer, as there never would be — the pattern of his life had been devoured, never to be woven into the Matrix. She smiled at the thought. Another house ruined, another obstacle out of her way.
Today, Oakdown. Tomorrow, Lungbarrow...