The Grand Chamber echoed with footsteps as the berobed gentlemen – the Pantheon – walked down the walkway towards their seats. Thousands had walked into the chamber in the centuries before them, and thousands more would walk into the chamber in the centuries that followed.

In time, the synchronized clacking of shoe upon marble stopped and, as one, the Pantheon sat in their chairs. In the center of the room was the Arch-Master, whose position of power was highlighted by the fact that his robe was a slightly deeper shade of burgundy, and the collar was somewhat pointier. Stars and moons of golden cloth had once adorned the robe, but had since fallen off.

“This meeting of the Pantheon is in session,” intoned the Arch-Master.

“Our work is endless,” boomed the assembled in the manner of disinterested church-goers.

“I called this meeting for one purpose, and one purpose alone,” said the Arch-Master. He looked up for the first time, and spoke: “Which one of you buggers ate the Lean Pockets I left in the fridge?”