With no need to be physically occupying its chair, Galyxx drifted upwards to study the room and its contents from above. The great stone table, of course, took up most of the real estate, with the Soul Casket embedded in its core, and the assorted throne-like chairs spaced at its edges. They were equidistant, but of indeterminate distance; some curious phenomenon of the table itself made the exact number of seats around it uncertain. Those that had been claimed by their occupants were solid, but the rest remained instinctly hazy, and Galyxx took a moment to ponder the mystery. Even with its memories restored, it could not recall every other member of the dread alliance it had once been a part of; like their chairs, once-lost allies were shrouded in a haze of maybes and might-haves.<br/><br/>To test its newfound power, it manifested a figment in the chair that it had claimed. Shrouded and hooded, faceless and indistinct, but a useful visual reference point for the others otherwise unable to perceive its presence. To distract itself, Galyxx once again studied those who had gathered in the hall with newfound recovered insight.<br/><br/><br/><br/>--Alexander, a magus whose lust for knowledge in all its forms and flavors had been nearly an equal for Galyxx's hunger for death. Fitting that his reborn self would become a self-styled prophet, being the one who had set this plot in motion and who could now indulge his thirst for learning to an endless degree. Undoubtedly still scheming to some end, the man had plotted in his dreams on the rare occasions he slept.<br/><br/>--Sharalal, the corsair princess of fey. Always more at home in the sea or sky, reborn as a thing better suited for the crushing ocean depths than anywhere the sun's light shined. By reputation, the fey she once led as an army were now her favorite delicacy to devour, and it would be interesting to watch her try and rebuild her power base. Of the fiends, the only one whose drive and will to succeed rivaled the Phantom's singleminded pursuit of its goals.<br/><br/>--Ligeia, the witch who had built herself a paradise of love perverted against itself, and died when her kingdom fell. Of the dark alliance, the only one among them whose personal body count exceeded its own - Ligeia had sucked the souls from worlds in great rituals, while the Phantom had butchered its victims directly and with a personal touch.<br/><br/>--Barnabas, a butcher who of all in the circle had been closest to a kindred spirit in his thirst for bloodshed. Their ends had differed, but their means had walked in parallel. The new world would have been a duller, less interesting place without his soul.<br/><br/>--Arkerra, experimenter and craftsman of the forbidden and depraved. Of the overlords, he had been the one most likely to appreciate the artistry the Phantom applied to its kills; a deed might have a purpose, but that was no reason to avoid making the deed beautiful in its own right. Galyxx could not see Arkerra's reborn form, but it recognized that whatever Arkerra had become was wearing the flesh of the elf like a glove, possessing its host much as Galyxx did but in a far more physical and visceral manner.<br/><br/>--Anasil, necromancer extraordinaire, abomination against nature in life and defiler of life in rebirth. Of the overlords, the only one who had also understood the value of death on a level beyond the superficial, that the cessation of life was less an end and more a new beginning.<br/>