Without thinking, Brad's hand darted towards his medallion, and he clutched it tightly. Touching the magical object afforded him an inexplicable sense of relief. The ambient lighting - wall sconces on towering walls - materialized as if they had been present all along, and his vision improved immediately. Brad spied a spiral staircase descending a few meters away, the walls adorned with tribal motifs that, though unintelligible, seemed oddly familiar. He also detected a heavy incense scent that reminded him of burnt manure. The ringing in his ear took on meaning, and he heard the twang of plucked strings, played with a tremolo flourish.
Anticipating another shock, the young knight descended the staircase cautiously, clutching the wolf-headed railings. He entered a dimly lit, capacious chamber that felt like a haven of sorts. Each of the four walls was punctuated by a door, and the towering bookcases lining the walls added to the coziness of the space. The ceiling towered over five meters high, and in certain spots, it was twice that.
The entrance of the spiral staircase opened up to a grandiose sight: a colossal work desk, embellished with elaborate woodwork and adorned with ancient runes. A seasoned wizard sat behind it, studying Brad intently with a penetrating gaze that made the young knight's skin crawl. Thick fumes of a potent incense stick billowed around the wizard's workspace, adding to the enigma of the room. The melodious echoes that reverberated off the chamber's walls grew louder, emanating from the staircase's southern end.
"Is that the sound of an elf lute playing?" Brad inquired, blinking rapidly to adjust to the thick smoke surrounding them. "It's an ancient melody from the Inner Sea."
"Not bad for a knight. It seems you have some taste in music," the old wizard replied. "It's a mournful elegy for the Battle of Sardonna."
"Those who ignited the flames that consumed Sardonna's children were swallowed by the depths of the water on a moonless night," Brad recounted.
The old man nodded solemnly. "Yesterday's self-proclaimed kings were devoured by the sharks today."
As a resonant lyre echoed throughout the southern wing, a third voice began to sing the song with a commanding timbre. Meanwhile, the gray-robed wizard motioned for Brad to take a seat on the intricately carved chair in front of the colossal desk. Without a word, Brad sat down and listened to the song with rapt respect. The voice that filled the room was undoubtedly that of an elf, imbued with a pure and mournful timbre.
"The Battle of Sardonna
Those who set aflame the torches that burned
And consumed the innocence of Sardonna, their fate is earned
Engulfed by the unspeakable abyssal depths of pain and despair
On a night without a moon or stars, the darkness did ensnare.
Yesterday's self-proclaimed, selfish monarchs and queens
Devoured by the ravening maws of the sharks for their greediness
This very night, thrown to the sea, they were bound in knots
We rather perish than yield to such butchers' wicked plots.
With one fell stroke, they snuffed out all our hopes,
And condemned us to a fate that chokes.
Our tears have turned into a waterfall that will never cease to flow
A veritable river of blood that stains the once-pristine sea below.
The very waters have turned into a deadly void
And the clouds above are as black as pitch, all colors devoid
Of any light or hope, just darkness and despair
As if the world itself no longer cares and left us to bear.
Sardonna's heart is pierced with a wound that cannot heal
And my own heart blackened like coal, it's a seal
So be it; On my fate and the fate of my kin
It was once a requiem for the souls of the fallen, but now it's a sin.
Our very breath extinguished, choked by the smoke
Of war and destruction, we can no longer feel remorse
Revealed in history, our hate is forever bound
Our destiny was sealed and never to be unbound.
It used to be a requiem for the lost souls,
But now, no longer may we sing our sorrow."
The sound of the instrument gradually dwindled to a halt, leaving behind a momentary stillness that Brad waited out with utmost reverence.
"Do you know, Brad Silverhilt, why historians generally harbor animosity towards knights?" the old wizard inquired.
Brad shook his head, signaling his ignorance on the matter.
"Because knights typically engrave their names in history with the crimson ink of bloodshed. They mostly fight for vainglory, much like in the Battle of Sardonna," David answered with an apathetic tone, stroking his lengthy beard.
"Since the formation of the United Illuthar Kingdom, the institution of knighthood has evolved. We have declared peace with anyone who respects our borders. The era of those who sought wealth under the guise of divine command has ended with the collapse of the empire. We no longer fight alongside those who wage war on elves or other races. Rather, we fight to safeguard them," Brad protested.
"Is this how you plan on redeeming your king's sins?" David asked with a smirk.
"No, the head commander relinquished his title to pay for his atonement. And he is working tirelessly to rectify his errors. His achievements over the past four years attest to this," Brad retorted.
"So, young knight, do you believe that this is enough?"
"To be candid, given the recent history, no atonement could ever be sufficient for the injustices inflicted upon the Alvarian elves. However, initiating reforms and turning over a new and clean page could be a step towards reparation," Brad answered with conviction.
"Perhaps a new chapter has been initiated in the lands of Illuthar, yet regrettably, it falls short for some. A burgeoning movement, akin to an unstoppable avalanche, born out of the anguish from the three-kingdom era in the central north, has already taken root," spoke the aged wizard, as he appraised Brad with a piercing gaze.
The young knight gulped, prompting the man to continue with inquiring eyes.
"Are you not familiar with the Misanthrop Society?"
Brad shook his head, signaling a negative.
"Seems you are quite detached from current events. So, why did Lady Illaine dispatch you here?" questioned David with a firm tone.
"I assure you, Sir David, that I am not here for the sake of honor and renown," replied Brad.
"Is that so? Then why are you here, knight? Get to the point," demanded David.
"I was instructed to brief you and implore your assistance regarding a magical artifact that is likely to have been summoned by a sorceress named Charlotta, who claims to be a descendant of the Charl lineage," explained Brad.
David's salt-and-pepper eyebrows furrowed, lending an air of wisdom to his weathered countenance, despite his apparent age of sixty or more. His physique, however, belied his years, radiating a vigor that spoke of disciplined fitness. "Though my knowledge of the Charl lineage is not without merit, the enigmatic figure of Charlotta eludes my awareness," he acknowledged, his voice tinged with a blend of genuine curiosity and eager fascination. "Nevertheless, I find myself captivated by the allure of this mystical artifact that has captured your attention," he added, his tone brimming with intrigue.
As Brad sought to give voice to his thoughts, his words wavered, faltering in their attempt to convey his conviction. "I hold the belief that this enigmatic tome possesses the extraordinary power to unveil glimpses of the yet-to-unfold future," he stammered, his uncertainty palpable.
"When you employ the phrase 'I believe,' pray elucidate your meaning," David probed, furrowing his brows once again. "Pray, expound upon the intricacies of your tale."
Brad proceeded to recount the harrowing events that had unfolded in recent days, divulging the pivotal details of his extraordinary journey. The seasoned sorcerer, David, listened in profound silence, his ancient wisdom discernible in every furrow of his brow.
"'So, old goat Meracles suspects that the mist elf may possess psychic abilities," David chuckled. "But how can you be certain that the mist elf was not lying, Sir Knight?" he asked.
"While I was in the company of Charlotta, when my eyes fell upon it, I sensed something in that magical chest," Brad replied, his voice tinged with a hint of unease.
"What did you perceive?" David inquired, his curiosity piqued.
"A malevolent force, suffused with demonic power, unlike anything I have ever encountered," Brad responded, his words carrying a weight of solemnity.
"Did you possess the pendant at the time of those events?" David inquired, his penetrating gaze fixed upon the knight's chest, searching for clues and answers.
"Yes," Brad affirmed, his thoughts swirling with wonder at how the elderly wizard could possess knowledge about the concealed pendant nestled beneath his garments. "But how do you come to know of its existence?" he questioned, a mixture of curiosity and intrigue coloring his words.
At that very moment, David uttered a single word, and a spell was cast. Instantly, the medallion adorning Brad's person ignited with a radiant luminosity, illuminating the surrounding space.
"This, dear knight, is the Eye of Orion, an artifact of immeasurable worth," David stated with a tone of recognition. "Ah, now certain pieces fall into place," he mused. "Yet, it still does not provide an explanation for the veracity of the mist elf's assertions regarding the mystical tome," he added, his voice tinged with a hint of puzzlement.
"I already told you," Brad retorted. "The mist elf confessed to being under the influence of his own magic. He cannot be lying."
"True, this medallion can shield you from mental assaults but does not reflect them back to their originator. So, we cannot accept everything the mist elf has said as true. Such an infernal entity may still be toying with you. And considering that the Orion wizards who went to confirm your tale found nothing, the mysterious mist elf may still be involved in this event," David explained with authority.
"Could Charlotta be the intended target?" Brad inquired.
"Highly probable as she possesses the magical item. In truth, the elusive mist elf is likely the only one who knows for certain the fate of that enchanted object and how it operates," David surmised.
"In that event, the other sorcerer may also be imperiled." Brad murmured. "The mist elf asserted that the enchanter who had imprisoned him was known as Allendra Cahosse. Does that name ring a bell?" he probed.
"I am unfamiliar with both Charlotta and Allendra. Regrettably, my recollection of other wizards' appellations is far from infallible. Nonetheless, I can surmise the nature of the magical item. Yet, I am eager to hear the conjecture of my inquisitive protégé," the old wizard stated, fixing his gaze on a spot to his left and conversing. "Reveal yourself, Caleb. I heard you traversing past the mirror. You were unusually hushed this time. My compliments."
At that moment, a jaunty young man with curly, sun-kissed locks, wearing a green fabric waistcoat and brown trousers, emerged just beyond the full-length mirror that was adorning the west wall of the wizard's desk. The man possessed a snub nose and stood at a diminutive stature.