In the great and terrible land of Thera, where mortals struggled for their very lives, there was trouble with the Immortals, the true and hidden Gods of the realm. The great Imm'gwyn, Agalampalaga, speaker of fate, giver of quests, and decider of lives, was being overtaxed. For months, Vector, high-lord of the Immortals had been slacking: Conflicts between the mortals of the realm rose, bloody ones that ended with many of the masses casting the terrifying delete spell upon themselves. With the High Lord refusing to interact, and staying silent, it fell to the noble Imm'gwyn to keep the peace, distracting the mortal masses with revelry and bloodshed, creating fake foes to keep them occupied, all the while entering in to every argument, every disgruntled soul, and diffusing the hatred that brewed.

When the World-Writer, Slate, was almost dethroned for suspected acts of favoritism, when the blood-thirsty mob called for his head, it was the Imm'gwyn who turned them from their fingering of wands, and deflected the deletion spells by gifting them with pen and paper. After much prodding, and after the mortals had been calmed greatly, after even the great Elder Ninja Immortal, Yuki, stepped forth from the darkest shadows and spoke to the masses, then, and only then did Vector raise his voice, offhandedly reassuring an already reassured populace of the World-Writer's innocence.

When Turgonus, Immortal of the Hidden Lands, and Slate, the World-Writer, began to play with the very fabric of time and space to alter the known nature of equipment, it was the Imm'gwyn who pacified the masses, entreated them to give the changes time, and once more amused them with his jokes, quests, and blunders.

And so it went, with every grave threat to the stability of the realm: The High-Lord stood silent, cold, and aloof, never speaking with any mortals, and the Imm'gwyn broke his back, keeping everyone happy, and away from the brutal fights that would lead to the Deletion spell. Many times, the Imm'gwyn brought up the situation with the High Lord. And many times, he was promised that it would change, that there was no need to worry. And many times, yet again, Agalampalaga found himself fixing messes and acting as judge to those he had no right to judge or clean after. And many times, the High Lord stayed silent, his promises falling empty.

But the Imm'gwyn himself was growing weary, doing a good portion of the High-Lord's work, as well as his own. Every time one problem was solved, another cropped up, and yet the High-Lord sat silent, refusing to even speak with the mortal heroes, villains, and priests that beseeched for justice or ruling. He had become distant, and spent little time in Thera.

The Imm'gwyn's work continued. One day, after a particularly harsh decision, the High-Lord berated him for being the mouthpiece of the Immortals, where it was not his place. The job that the Imm'gwyn had been forced to do by the High-Lord's own inactivity became the subject of the High-Lord's anger.

Agalampalaga was floored. He had defeated Godzilla, had brought peace to the mortals, and with his judgements and pandering and psychology, had stopped many of the crowd from using the terrible Delete spell out of anger or annoyance at many things. And yet, the person who should rightfully have been doing those things stood before him, reprimanding him for picking up the slack that he himself had let loose.

At first, the Imm'gwyn was hopeful at this. That his extra work might be removed, and he said as much to the High-Lord, happy that his arduous task might be at an end. But then, the High-Lord proved the Imm'gwyn's hope to be ill founded, with two statements, said almost one right after the other, after a long, long pause, that spanned over an hour's time:

'Sorry, I was afk...'

'I'm out'.

The Imm'gwyn thought on things, while he continued to try and keep the crowds amused, and happy, as was his position, his destiny, and in many ways, his happiness. Eventually, he realized that to stay as an Immortal would be to be forced to deal with the mortal quibbling everafter, as the High-Lord still refused his charges, refused the very job he became High-Lord to do. He ran nothing: The other Immortals did their work, with Slate the World-Writer being considered the final authority on most things, until the High Lord deigned to 'log in' to the world, and make his displeasure known, and especially, his disappointment of not having been granted Psychics as underlings.

There was but one way for the Imm'gwyn to thrust the High Lord's job back upon the shoulders of the High Lord, and off of his own, and for that, the mortals had to suffer, if but slightly. It broke his heart, doing what he did, but he left. The beings that swarmed the mortals, threatened and challenged them, vanished, and reality itself broke long enough for the Imm'gwyn to vanish from his post, leaving only the promise of a return, should the natural order right itself, and he be free from the duties that the High-Lord's absence and lack of care had thrust on him, and the High-Lord's lips had hypocritically denounced.

And thus the tale ends, in limbo, like the great world of Thera itself. The Imm'gwyn has vanished from sight, taking on a mortal mask, and the High Lord sits, just as silent and uncaring as ever...

And neither plots daedal, nor rituals macabre, could change the way the world has shown itself to be: Only the High-Lord, Vector, can do that.