Before it stood two figures. One was a time-eyed witch, robed in a golden dress. She sat in her floating wicker basket, carefully considering her next move. Somehow Chris knew this wasn’t just any old priestess: she was the Pythia—the first mystic ruler of the planet. Her opponent was a younger woman, wearing a lilac headdress, thick chronocular goggles, and a plain grey tunic. She sat against a small stone pyramid that throbbed and hummed. Chris’ eyes widened: she was leaning on a timeship—his target’s ship. That girl was the other.
“You can’t hold out forever,” said the Pythia from her basket. “A wretched little grott like you cannot match the strength of the Pythian will!”
The girl stared at the gold Fire Witch. “Who do you think you’re talking to?” she snapped. The Pythia cackled at her opponent’s conceited vulgarity.
“The most arrogant of questions. Are you to make a move, or shall I claim my prize already? I want that travelling craft. And you’ve locked yourself in our Crooked-Finger Gambit to win my prophecies. The deal cannot be broken, you must play—or lose.”
“Perhaps I need your Book of the Future more than you might want my ship,” said the other. “I’m thinking, so shut up and let me take my time.”
“Time!” said the Pythia with a sardonic hiss. “Time indeed. Time will not move your piece. Only your mind can. And out of our minds, mine is superior!” The other was quiet, her play piece remained still.
“Silence!” The girl spoke in a commanding and strong tone that belied her diminutive physical presence.
She pointed a finger at the board and shouted, “Sepulchasm!” Trembling quakes shook the temple’s foundations. The tiles of the board and floorboards beneath began to split into a jagged crack.
Chris saw the strain on the Pythia’s face. The other stood at the edge of the crack, peering into the cavernous depths before her.
A flashing countdown blazed in his mind, and he rushed at the young woman by the ship. Deftly, he snatched up the book from its place beside the board, and launched at the other. He grasped her left shoulder, and with a mighty shove, pushed her towards the fissure in the floor. With a gasp, she stumbled, desperate to regain her footing. For good measure, Chris threw the Book at her as well. The other tipped over the precipice, and fell.
Chris stopped to watch her descent into the darkness, to make sure his task was done. To his dismay, the other simply seemed to vanish, long before the fall would have otherwise carried her from sight.
An admittedly poor mockup of the other as a younger Jo Martin, alongside the Pythia and Cwej. You can actually find hints towards this and numerous other Pre-Hartnell actors throughout Loomlight's depiction of the other including Jesse Deyi's Seventh Timeless Child, the traditional bearded Other as depicted by Paul Hanley, the Morbii and even Richard Hurndall or Peter Cushing.
