The sorcerer's padded footsteps echoed eerily through the stark hallways. The cloistering shadows gathered in thick clumps along the sides of the hall, making the exact details of the passageway indiscernible. Had he not tread this hallway everyday for countless years, he would have found it impossible to know how long, how tall, or even how wide the hallway was. The material that the hallway was built from was also cloaked by the darkness, although the glossy obsidian did reflect the errant rays of light that emanated from the sorcerer's torch. The flickering flames cut fiery swathes through the gathering shadows and danced across the surface of the rune-covered, obsidian walls.
Silence was an integral part of the hallway. It was as physical, as tangible as the walls themselves. Yet, like the shadow choked walls of the hallway, the silence seemed like a dark undercurrent and seemed to pulsate and throb with the footsteps of the magic-user.
Turning a corner, the sorcerer's black robes rustled around his feet and brushed the cold stone beneath him. He did not know whether it was night or day. He did not know whether the men and women that lived and loved above him were going about their daily chores, or slumbering peacefully. Of course, while the thought did cross his mind, he did not truly care what transpired in the world above.
All that mattered to the sorcerer was his love, his Art.
Finally, the sorcerer arrived in front of an open doorway. Cold, white light flooded out from the doorway and illuminated the immediate portion of the passage. The sorcerer peered into the brightly-lit room cautiously. Five figures similarly wrapped in flowing black hooded robes turned slightly to acknowledge his presence.
"You're late," one of the robed figures stated coldly. The hoods hid the faces of the figures in dark shadows, making the men seem hollow and empty. The sorcerer entered the room quietly and approached his magic-using brethren. The cold light emanated from a sphere of obsidian that hung from the ceiling. A cold, stark white light glinted off of the surface of the ball and shed light upon the figures and a wooden, circular table. The light cast even more shadows across until the room became clustered with both darkness and light. The shadows hid the details of the room, and, like in the hallway, the dimensions of the room were indiscernible.
The sorcerer felt along the wall with his slender hand until he touched cold metal. Gently, the mage slipped his flaming torch into the sconce and faced the figures. They stood around the table in a circle and regarded him grimly. As the flaming light from the torch clashed with the cold light from the globe, the sorcerer joined his colleagues.
"Why have you called this meeting?" the sorcerer asked impatiently. "You interrupted me at a crucial step in my experiments."
"You know why you were called," one of the figures stated coldly with a grating voice. "We much to discuss if we are to succeed in the Mission. The time draws near. We have plans to make."
"Yes, well, have you located any more of the necessary components?" the sorcerer asked candidly as the five figures turned their hollow gazes towards each other.
"Our scouts have discovered the locations of many of the artifacts that we need, but many more need to be found before we are ready," the head figure responded curtly. "Each new artifact we uncover reveals more about the chest."
"The time is fast approaching," another figure intoned. "We need to acquire the chest soon. It is too important, too crucial to our plans."
"I have some interesting news," the head figure began again. "Our research has gleaned information on three powerful artifacts that were conjured in the Age of Dreams. These artifacts are linked to the chest. They may have been summoned. Their origin is unclear, but they were used to commemorate the building of Pax Tharkas and the union between the elves, the humans, and the dwarves in 1946 Prae Cataclius. The elves presented a slender and majestic blade for the humans. The humans gave a mighty and powerful shield for the dwarves. And the dwarves gave a powerful and true sword for the elves. These artifacts are extremely powerful and would greatly further the Mission if we acquired them. They may hold the clues to the last five pieces of the chest."
"Where are they now?" the sorcerer asked impatiently.
"The human sword was lost somewhere in Eastern Ansalon during the Cataclysm," the figure explained calmly and coldly. "The dwarven shield was traded to human mercenaries during the Dwarfgate Wars. When the dragonarmies swept through Abanasinia during the War of the Lance, the artifact disappeared into the private hoard of an unknown dragon.
"We managed to discover a little more about the elven sword," the figure stated with a hint of pride. "It was held in the Tower of the Sun within Qualinesti, until after the Cataclysm. It was during that tumultuous time that the Speaker decided to isolate Qualinesti from the neighboring humans. The Speaker distributed the nation's wealth among the nobles and raised a defense barrier around Qualinesti. The blade was passed to an elven noble by the name of Qualintheryl. The blade remained in Qualintheryl manor even after the Summer of Chaos and after Beryllinthranox the Green conquered Qualinesti. The estate was built on the southernmost tip of Qualinesti's forests, and even today remains one of the last places in Qualinesti woods where Beryl does not retain complete control."
"What does this have to do with the sword?" the figure rasped impatiently. "I did not interrupt my experiments for a history lesson!"
"Patience," one of the other figures intoned smoothly. "Our colleague would not bore us with unnecessary details."
"Trust me, this 'history lesson' will be beneficial," the head figure promised. "It is better for us to learn the past of such a potent artifact if we are to obtain it. After all, the Order is not about action, but about knowledge, subtlety, and magic."
"Yes," the sorcerer agreed. "I am sorry. Please continue."
"Yes, well, the estate did not remain free for very long," the figure continued slowly. "A black dragon besieged the manor. We believe that the dragon was actually after the magical blade itself! Perhaps the wyrm was also searching for the chest. Lord Qualinetheryl finally enlisted the aid of the Legion of Steel to drive the dragon off. In the end, a young Legionnaire acquired the sword and left the Legion of Steel."
"He stole the blade?" one of the figures interrupted. "Even though the Legion is less rigid and honor-bound that the Knights of Solamnia, I cannot believe that one would simply take the blade."
"We do not know what happened with the Legionnaire," the head figure continued impatiently. "However, we do have several unconfirmed rumors about a love affair between the Legionnaire and Lord Quaintheryl's daughter, Aileen Qualinetheryl, who perished during the dragon attack."
"How does this help us locate the blade?" the sorcerer interrupted again. "If all three artifacts are lost to us, then how can we complete the Mission?"
"Actually, our scouts and shadowmages are still searching the continent for the other two artifacts," another robed figure added in. "We have met with limited success so far, but I am confident that we will find them."
"There, you see?" the head figure amended. "We will soon have the other two artifacts."
"Well, then what about the elven blade?" the sorcerer asked hurriedly.
"One of our top operatives has discovered the location of the blade," the speaker stated triumphantly.
"Where is it?" the sorcerer asked impatiently as he fidgeted within the folds of his ebony robes.
"The blade is in the hands of the Legionnaire who acquired it from the elves," the speaker stated with a hint of pride. "And the Legionnaire resides in the town of Solace."
"And what is his name?" the sorcerer asked testily.
"The Legionnaire's name is Alain Dargeth."
The sorcerer leaned back thoughtfully. The five figures regarded him silently from within the fold of their dark hoods. The sorcerer turned back to the table and the five figures slowly, and regarded them all carefully.
"I want to acquire the magical blade as discreetly as possible," the sorcerer commanded coldly.
"Of course," the head figure agreed as he bowed and backed away from the mage. "Such is the way of the Order."
"No, I mean it," the sorcerer snapped. "We cannot attract undue attention to ourselves now, when we are so close! We have plotted and conspired and risen to power slowly and surely over the years, and we will not fail now! The Mission must succeed! We have one side of the chest already! I will not allow the rest of the chest to slip through my fingers!"
"Others may want the blade also," a shadowed figure interrupted. "Discretion may not be entirely possible. Perhaps it is better to expose us slightly and obtain the blade, rather than fail and lose it."
The other figures nodded swiftly in agreement. The sorcerer ground his teeth in frustration, but he knew that his colleagues were correct. His mind slowly drifted from the present dilemma to his private lab that awaited him.
"Fine, fine," the sorcerer growled. "We must use whatever force necessary to obtain that sword. If it's as powerful as you say, then we will need sufficient manpower to wrest it from this Alain Dargeth."
"Good," the head speaker agreed. "I'll put our operative on the case. I'll also send over a regiment of Kargayat warriors to aid him."
"No, wait," the sorcerer interrupted. "Keep your operative on hold. His position is too important to us to risk revealing. I command you to personally deal with this matter. Since you know so much about the artifacts, you will lead the Kargayat in this mission. Also, select several other shadowmages to aid you."
The head speaker nodded curtly and retreated back slightly into the shadows.
"What about the renegade?" another shadowed figure spoke up quickly. "He will know about this soon enough. He may try to stop us."
"Who is this renegade that you are so concerned about?" the sorcerer asked curiously. "Why should we be so concerned about his interference? And if he is so dangerous, why hasn't he just been killed?"
"The renegade was in the Circle of Noctum," the figure replied curtly. "He was one of our most powerful creations."
"By the Abyss!" the sorcerer swore. "How could that happen? We used our magic to shape them and train them to become our superhuman warriors! How could this one have turned renegade?"
"That is a mystery," the dark figure answered. "He simply disappeared on a mission to retrieve an artifact from a fallen temple. However, in recent months, he has re-emerged and wreaked havoc among our forces. He knows us and he knows how to fight us. He has even joined the elven resistance and alerted them to our existence! Be thankful that he hasn't gone to the Academy of Sorcery, or the Knights of Takhisis, and told them of us!"
The sorcerer cursed violently and slammed his fist down on the stone table.
"He must be stopped!" the sorcerer snarled. "Track him down through his connection to us and slay him!"
"We cannot," the figure replied. "The renegade has cut off his connection to us."
"What?" the sorcerer asked incredulously. The notion that one of the Noctum Warriors could cut off their connection to the Order was ridiculous. The very idea slipped and squirmed like a serpent in his mind, eluding reason altogether, until his head began to throb. "Well, then, how has he managed to survive? How has he managed to route our forces without the magic that bred him?"
"We believe that he has, ah," the figure squirmed, "acquired a new power source."
"What!" the sorcerer boomed in disbelief. "No power on Krynn can match our magic, save the Great Dragons! Are you saying that the renegade has forged a pact with a dragon?"
"It is possible," the figure pondered, "but not likely. The renegade seems to have developed a moral compass; a conscience, if you will. He protects the 'innocent' as well as thwarts our actions. It is doubtful that he would have made a bargain with a dragon."
"How is that possible?" the sorcerer asked. "How could our creation develop a conscience?"
"It is unheard of," the figure agreed. "Our mages are working on the problem now. But in the meantime, what do we do if the renegade interferes? He is very dangerous and has already slain a shadowmage."
"Send one of his brethren after him!" the sorcerer snarled. "We'll see how his new power source stands up to one of our Noctum Warriors! Take one with you! If that's not enough, take as many as are necessary!"
"Are you sure?" the figure asked uncertainly. "The Order of Noctum is one of our greatest secrets. They have never been used so heavy-handedly!"
"We must do whatever it takes to complete the Mission," the sorcerer responded coldly. "Am I understood?"
The five figures nodded silently.
"Good," the sorcerer nodded as he retrieved his flickering torch. "In the meantime, focus on Dargeth."
"It will be done," the figures intoned in unison. Their voices rang hollow in the shadowy room and soon faded into the darkness. "Ith Milliv en ith Aryl Enver Asp."
"The Mission and the Art above all," the sorcerer whispered under his breath as he gathered his ebony robes about him and disappeared into the shadows.
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