Chapter 2. The Forgotten Cult of the Blackheart

A man in a black hooded cloak was walking as fast as he could, to reach his sire. The news was not pleasant, but he had no choice, for his sire had already summoned him.

After walking through a couple of long, torchlit corridors, he reached a huge door which looked like it belonged in a palace. Outside the door were two hooded men with swords, who were informed about the late visitor. "He's been waiting." One of them said in a deep husky voice and opened the door. It made an echoing sound with some creaks, indicating its age. The room, just like the door, felt like one had entered a palace, with the high ceiling with a dome and a huge chandelier to brighten the room. The room was full of various artifacts and paintings. There was an unusually large table in the far end of the room, which was carved and designed to look like it was ancient. Behind the table stood the man in the maroon hooded cloak. The man was facing the window with his hands back.

"Any progress?" he said in a cold, distant voice. The other guy bowed his head and said, "The ritual was not successful, master. We could not find her..." "Aaaargh!!!! Why is it so hard for so many wizards to find an old witch before she dies?" "With all due respect Master Garon, she is not just any witch, but one of the creators of the forest itself." Master Garon paced towards the man, fueled with anger, and came close to his face, "I know who she is, and because I know about her heritage, I had asked you to find her for me." "We tried everything master, we tried to find her outside the forest, but there was no trace, then we tried inside the forest and we were confused because we could feel her presence everywhere in the forest, but still couldn't narrow her down."

"The witch has a lot of tricks up her sleeve. Are the officers still alive?" asked Garon. "One of them, yes master," "Good, ask him, he's a cop, he should know stuff-," "But Master, we already tried that with his partner, he said he'd rather die than tell us anything, and he died anyway, so…," said the man. "Then make an example out of him, show him a very scary possible future if you have to, but make him talk" said Garon. "But master, how can I show him a future I don't even know of?" "You lack imagination my child, let me show you" he said with an evil half-smile and held his hand on the man's face and twisted it and showed the man a vision in which he was lying down in the very same room instead, he saw himself lay there without his skin in his own pool of blood. "Do whatever you have to, bring me that witch so that, what you saw, doesn't turn into reality." "Y-y-y-yes master" said the man and left the room and Garon went back to the window and smiled looking at the parchment in his hands. The parchment looked old and frail and it had a sketch of a short sword on it. The sword was slightly curved and still looked like it had sharp edges on both sides and there was something written on its shoulder, but it wasn't clear, "It took a lot of political power to find this and now all that's left to do is to find this dagger and reunite you with it, I promise you my lord, I will bring you back."