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.
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