The night air was warm and sweet. A gentle breeze passed through the open windows of Silas' workshop. Playroom of one of the great Black Hat Wizards, Silas' workshop was home to a myriad of curiosities of complex function and unknown origin. A skilled engineer and inventor, Silas could often be found at his workbench or drafting table late into the night. This night, however, it wasn't the design of a new machine that engaged his attention. He had company. He had sent for a Mercenary, one Hacan Herraltos. Those that new of Hacan feared him absolutely. His stories of efficient brutality were becoming a sort of legend in certain circles.
Silas was known not only for his engineering prowess, but also his passion for experimenting with altered states of consciousness. About an hour earlier, he had consumed a mug of a new and yet unnamed elixir. He had blended 4 oz of Plum Juice and 3 oz of clear water with a tablespoon of concentrated nightshade extract, known to the Imps of the Wood as a cognitive stimulant.
As the two murderous men stood across from each other in the dim lamplight of the workshop, Silas' mind was radiant yet alarmingly clear. He started speaking to Hacan in a voice that seemed like it might have been his own, although he couldn't quite be certain.
*I am not interested in dominion over the air. Why should I need to float and glide above you, when I can appear behind you with all the clamor of a shadow?
I am not interested in dominion over the earth. Do I shatter and crumble the ground under your feet, only to weaken my own footing?
I am not interested in dominion over fire or water. The flames that char your house will surely leap over to mine. The floodwaters that rise will wash over you and I alike.
I am only interested in having dominion over time. The great wheel which inspires and commands all others to turn in synchrony. He who can separate the threads from the ancient fabric of time will transcend all others in power and knowledge. With the turn of a dial, vaunted enemies are unborn and tall walls unbuild themselves. The future informs the past, and the infinite limitations of the present willingly yield, like a thousand attentive padlocks all popping open at once.
No more nagging challenge of life, no more inevitable finality of death, merely light and dark colors I smear and twirl as my heart dictates.
Therefor, Hacan, I give you this charge: Ride directly to the Chronomancer's Citadel. When you arrive there, observe their defenses from a distance for two days, and then move in on the second night. Handle any resistance, and locate the Timekeeper's Tome and the Sacred Sundial. Get them out safely, then bring the Citadel down. I will give you enough Black Power to shatter every stone in every column. Bring those artifacts back here with haste and stealth, and your payment will be made in full with no condition.*
Hacan had been listening silently, the unnerving pierce of his sunken eyes barely visible under his blood red Hood of Torment. When Silas finished, Hacan turned and walked out of the workshop with the grace of a long broken wave retreating from the Black Sands of the shoreline. There was no doubt, no hesitation, no second guesses, and in that instant, Hacan strode off.
His destination, being Chronomancer's Citadel, sat on the western edge of Chronomancer's Riviera, on a high bluff overlooking Asmodeus's Surf. From the generous terraces that wrapped the Citadel's exterior, one could feel the soft, warm breeze pulling up from the shoreline. The old guard Chronomancers would sit on the terrace, drinking their deep red wine, and listening to the divine drumbeat of wild bulls running the beaches below. On a clear day, the monolithic outline of Aldo's Isle cut into view, breaking up the otherwise vast expanse of pure blue horizon.
Hacan observed the Citadel for two days as instructed. He made note of the comings and goings of the junior Chronomancers who worked in the Citadel. Food deliveries were received, rubbish was taken out, the grounds were maintained, and it all ran in an orderly fashion. There was no visible security force, and the grounds were open to visitors. Hacan assumed that the practicing and resident Chronomancers thought themselves so powerful, perhaps rightly so, that strong security controls felt unnecessary.
On the second night, Hacan made his move. He moved fearlessly but quietly, walking up a path on the south side of the Citadel, to a service door where he had observed staff freely entering and exiting the prior night. His daggers were sharpened, but remained sheathed as he approached. He leaned and peered in a ground floor window, then slowly opened the service door and walked inside. He was in a storage room full of large wooden crates and metal racks, dimly illuminated by a single lamp on the wall. He followed a hallway that seemed to gently curve, matching the circular build of the Citadel, silently passing by several rooms that appeared to be worker's quarters. He ascended a staircase and came to the middle level of Citadel's expansive central chamber. The chamber was softly glowing with the light of many small lamps. The faint, steady sound of running water emanated from a spiral shaped fountain in the center of the ground floor courtyard. Hacan looked up and saw two large ornate doors on the upper floor where he suspected the senior Chonomancers held court and, possibly, hopefully, stored their prized artifacts.
He slowly walked up the second flight of the staircase until he was on the upper floor. He started to make for the large ornate doors ahead when he heard footsteps echoing up through the chamber. He paused, crouched, and cautiously peered between the bars of the railing to see the walkway below. It was a resident Chronomancer heading back to their room. Within a few seconds they had exited the central chamber, and Hacan continued on. He came to a towering wooden door, with ornate and intricate carvings, and thick metal framing. One thing it did not have was a handle. Hacan put his hand on the door in several spots and firmly pushed, but it didn't budge. He inspected it from all sides and could find no mechanism with which he might try to unlock and open the door. He walked to the other side of the floor and found the second door to be seemingly identical in design.
He stepped back and turned around, eyes scanning the large central chamber, considering next steps. He would need information and access. His eyes fixed on the door on the floor below where a Chronomancer had entered moments before. Hacan strode down the steps, and like a shadow, moved across the chamber. He crouched by the door and gently grabbed the handle. The door was unlocked. He pulled it open slowly, crouching and peering into the room. A middle aged male Chronomancer was there, sitting on a bed, and locked eyes with Hacan, who reacted instantly. He quickly opened the door, entered the room, closed it behind him, and lunged at the Chronomancer on his bed. Hacan overpowered the man, placing his left hand over his mouth, and drawing a dagger with the right. Hacan leaned in close to the Chronomancer's face, and with a low, guttural voice, said "I need your help, my friend. There's a fancy room upstairs. There's a fancy room upstairs with some fancy doors. You can open those for me, right?"
The Chronomancer made no response. Hacan drew his blade in to the Chronomancer's stomach, pressing it just firm enough to be felt, without piercing his body.
"You get once chance to do this right. We're going to quietly walk upstairs. You're going to open those two big doors, and then you can quietly leave."
The Chronomancer continued staring up nervously and blankly. Hacan started to depress his dagger, just barely breaking the skin, and the Chronomancer stammered, "Ok ok ok ok", through the muffle of Hacan's hand.
Hacan slowly pulled the blade away, stared into the Chronomancer's frazzled eyes for a few seconds, nodded, and removed his left hand from the Chronomancer's mouth.
"Be calm and quiet, and no one needs to get hurt."
The Chronomancer stood up and Hacan took position behind him, placing one hand on his shoulder, and the point of his dagger against his back. The pair slowly walked out of the room, up the stairs, and approached one of the large, handle-less doors. Nothing happened. "This is your part", Hacan quietly uttered. Still nothing. Then, in a piercing, shrill, terrified yell, the Chronomancer belted "Help! Wake up, wake up, wake up!" Hacan struck a deep, fatal blow with his dagger to the back of the Chronomancer's neck. He dropped to the floor and slumped forward against the large door. Hacan grunted in frustration, and turned around. He heard stirring from multiple sources. Lights were coming on and several doors opened. Hacan was outnumbered. He dashed down the stairs and made for the ground floor when his body suddenly, violently stopped moving.
In a state of total paralysis, even with maximum effort, Hacan could not move any part of his body in the slightest. He heard footsteps slowly approaching behind him. What happened next is something that Hacan never thought possible, and brought his hard forged mind into a state of awesome terror. As a powerless observer to his body's actions, Hacan felt himself start to move backwards. His legs lifted, one by one, and retraced each step he had taken. As a marionette on strings, Hacan was being controlled, and as he reached the bottom of the staircase to the upper floor, he saw by whom. A group of several Chronomancers had awakened and were gathered in the chamber. They were all staring at Hacan, but the wizard at the front of the group's eyes burned with a smoldering focus. His right hand was outstretched, with his pointer and middle fingers aimed straight at Hacan, and in his left hand he held an object. Something that looked like an old clock, but like no clock Hacan had seen before. It was not a flat circle, but a sphere. It had many hands, of different colors and lengths, pointing and spinning in seemingly all directions.
A warrior who was considered by many to be the embodiment of power was rendered powerless, and was a prisoner in his own body as he steadily climbed the staircase backwards. The group of Chronomancers calmly followed him from about 10 paces away, ascending the staircase in tow. Hacan reached the top floor, and walked backwards towards the large, ornate door, and the crumpled, lifeless body of the slain man. Out of the group of Chronomancers standing in front of him, which had grown in size, the leader was still holding the spinning sphere in his left hand, and had his right hand pointed at Hacan with unshakable determination. A second Chronomancer walked up to the front of the group, putting his right hand on the sphere held by the leader, and raising his left hand to point at the body on the floor.
Hacan stood holding his dagger, dripping with dark red blood, as the body on the floor reanimated, regained structure, and rose up along the door to a standing position. Hacan's blade moved in reverse along the neck of the man, and in an instant, the man's neck was sealed and healed, and Hacan's dagger was completely dry.
The Chronomancer with his right hand on the sphere removed his touch, and lowered his pointed left hand. The formerly slain man seemed to be alive, conscious, and acting under his own will once again. Flabbergasted and astonished, he turned to see the group of fellow Chronomancers standing behind him, observed the sphere and the hand gesture still controlling Hacan, and began to understand the deep magic that had just transpired. He quickly stepped away from Hacan and joined the group, hands rubbing the back of his neck in disbelief.
The lead Chronomancer who held the sphere adjusted his right hand, no longer pointing at Hacan, now holding up a closed fist. Hacan stopped moving backwards through time, and now stood absolutely motionless. Hacan's body remained totally ignorant of all his commands, as he struggled in vain to regain control. The Chronomancer who had reanimated his fallen colleague slowly walked towards Hacan and took the dagger from his hand. Hacan realized that he was about to be slain by his own razor sharp weapon. The Chronomancer looked Hacan in the eyes, and drew the dagger back.
Just then, the entire building rumbled and shook tremendously. A deafening explosion tore up through the chamber. The floor under the Chronmancers started to give way. The Citadel itself was being destroyed. The lead Chronomancer lost his magical grip on Hacan as huge plumes of fire roared up around them. As they all started freely falling to the ground, a twisting shadow soared up through the air, engulfing Hacan and pulling him upwards, out of the Citadel entirely. The airborne shadow carried Hacan to the spot where he had waited and observed for the two days prior. Hacan had been saved from certain death, in the grip of immensely powerful magic, and was watching the great Chronomancer's Citadel explode and crumble before his eyes. The shadow twisted next to him, coalescing towards it's center, materializing to from a man. No, not just a man, a Wizard dressed in black. It was Silas.
Entered by: 0xfF06…D6B9
