-- Q

The sun began to rise over the Gortaugh Mountains in eastern Mestea. The morning air was bitterly cold and the sun would be a welcome sight to the inhabitants of Snowkeep as they arose from what seemed to be a long winters sleep. Across the fallen snow, the shadows of large birds of prey danced eerily across the peaks of the glistening mountains. A solitary cloaked figure on horseback slowly trudged through the deep snow, riding towards Mount Windsong, the tallest peak in all of Mestea. The ride had been a long one and the figure would not reach the summit until the sun became one with the Great Sea in the west.

At the summit of Mount Windsong lay a circlet of 36 white stones some 10 meters high, perfect and evenly dispersed. In the center of the shrine set an empty throne. The ornate throne was immense, reaching almost 20 feet at its highest point. The fleeting light danced in and out of the shrine, glistening off small flecks of various metals embedded deep with the stones as the figure slowly dismounted his steed and made camp.

By now, the full moon of Mestea was shining its light down across the valleys below. The figure took a deep breath of the cold air, filling his lungs until they surely were about to explode. The figure held the air within his body as long a possible until his lungs burned with the pain of the frigid air. As he slowly exhaled, the ensuing mist from his breath created a cold fog amongst the inner sanctum of the stones.

Slowly, the figure began to walk around the shrine, touching each stone as if remembering something from long days since past. The key stones to the north, south, east, and west held a small, oval opening about one-third of a meter high in their base. As the figure past each keystone, he reached into four separate pouches and placed an oval rune stone in each of the openings.

“RUNE … the power of the stars.”

The figure paused. He remembered how war between Mestea and Troy had almost erupted over the power of the stones he now placed into the shrine. He paused and looked up, as if waiting to see if war would again be threatened; but there no threat this night -- only the stars glistening like a million snowflakes through the crisp winter air.

The figure slowly ascended his throne finally resting on a seat large enough for a titan or dragon. The figure carefully removed his hood revealing his long flowing hair that flowed like waves across an endless ocean in the cool breeze.

The figure ran his finger over an ancient rune of many names, finally resting on the name of A. S. SILVERBLADE. He smiled for a moment, as if remembering a since long, forgotten name. Removing the final rune stone, he placed it into the scepter of the throne. For a moment, the very stars in the heavens seemed to dim under the power that now flowed from the shrine.

“Now Theseus.” The words had been barely audible as the veil of total and utter Sanctuary surrounded the mountain shrine.

The figure on the throne was now revealed—he was Niteblade, the ArchAngel, Son, and King.

It had long been known that peridot could not existing within Mestea. Sages had long pondered the question of how this paradox had come to be. Some had hypothesized that it was to prevent secrets from coming into Mestea. Others had suggested only the opposite. The absence of peridot prevented the secrets of Mestea from being unlocked and falling into the wrong hands. Whatever the reason, the sages seemed to agree that the secrets of Mestea were some of the most closely guarded secrets in the world.

Niteblade set upon his throne, harnessing the very power of the stars that had been his birthright. The tide and ebb of the utter power intermingled with the calming power of absolute sanctuary. Reaching out, power and sanctuary sought an entity long forgotten in the annals of time. When they found her, the power and sanctuary surrounded them both … bonding them together, each aware of the other -- not as an attack, but as a gentle touch not unlike a soft, unheard whisper.

“Clio, Muse of History, I call to you and beseech you to listen to the tale of a lost dreamer, for it is a tale that shakes the very foundation of all I know.” The thoughts of Niteblade reached out to the Muse. After a pause of accepting silence, Niteblade continued with his tale.

“Yesterday, an entity arrived in Mestea. How this entity entered and left remains a mystery but his visit has shaken our world. The stranger requested and found an audience with Theseus, something thought to be impossible. We didn’t know whether to kill him or listen to him. We decided to listen.”

Again Niteblade paused, for a moment wondering if he was just a fool speaking to himself. Again, accepting silence caused him to think otherwise.

“This stranger claimed he was an inspired creature of Clio…The Muse of History.”

Niteblade pause. Silence.

“This figure, claimed that he was the Alpha and that you were the Omega … a riddle that we yet to understand. He called himself Neo, a thief or ‘hacker’. This Neo claimed that an entity named Morpheus-Q had freed him from his prison and that now, he was here to free us. He claimed the dreamers and dancers had had their chance but could never achieve what they sought to discover.”

Again Niteblade paused for a reply that never came. He fought to maintain the link as the nervousness and fear fought to overtake him. Maintaining his control, Niteblade continued the tale.

“Theseus ask Neo what he was trying to free us from. Neo, in turn, had replied, ‘In time, you will understand—now is not that time.’

From a backpack, Neo pulled items from the back he claimed had been given to him by his rescuer. Old Compacts, in draft and voided form were stacked neatly aside. Neo produced what I can only describe as an Oracle. The case was black and the words Alpha and Omega and IBM were etched into the case. As he brought life to the Oracle, strange runes appeared on its crystal panel...--

Neo touched several keys and a new set of writing appeared.

arduin grimoire II: The Book of Historical Games
A Compact between the Alpha and the Omega
October 31, 2000

The silence that now was exhibited by the link seemed to quiet the very heavens above Niteblade. Niteblade was now positive he was not alone.

There have been eight known compacts in the Worlorn game system. Of which there have been five cycles of games. Each cycle was sponsored by one of the five Muses, each taking turns in the cycle, each bringing a new game to her people. Same game, new rules. Each cycle saw the rise of blood and the fall of dust and so the Worlorn world was born.

Niteblade continued.

“Theseus had watched with amusement and bewilderment as the figure known as Neo spun his web. He claimed that dreamers and dancers were living in a fantasy world and that if only their eyes and minds could be opened, they would see everything. He had claimed that within this New World, there was room for all. He said,

”History does repeat itself.”

An annoying chirping ring echoing in the hall broke the silence between Theseus and Neo at that moment. Neo reached into his coat and pulled a small black object that read “Nokia” on it and placed it to his ear. His only words had been “OK” as he stuffed his items back into his backpack. His final words to Theseus were, “Ask yourself. What is the Matrix? When you can answer that question, all of this will make blinding sense.”

Then the figure known as Neo departed Mestea with unheard of speed and agility.

It was only then that Theseus realized why. The forces of Dance were closing in on Mestea. Had it not been for the Khitomer Accord, Mestea surely would have fallen. Thank Shal-Omnis she still stands. We do not know to where this Neo went or anything of his fate … we only know what was said.

I have come to you this night in an attempt and hope that you could shed light on this strange tale and the questions it has raised.”

Niteblade had finished his tale. There was nothing more to say. He waited to see if there was any reply but none came. The bond, strained by distance and time, was broken. Niteblade sat upon his throne exhausted. He fought the sleep that had found him. His last thoughts were of Neo’s last words,

“As yourself. What is the Matrix?”

And with those words, Niteblade succumbed to his dreams.

A with that, an absolute truth was absolutely broken – Niteblade Doesn’t Dream.