While Svirfneblin do not measure time in years as they do not experience seasons in their cold underground cities, Laban was around 12 years old when he was approached by a withered old figure while on his way to the mines. The figure appeared behind him in the corridor and commanded him to stop in a voice that emanated power. Laban paused for a moment out of surprise, but continued on at a brisk pace assuming nobody of importance would be speaking to him.
Suddenly the cave floor slid from under his feet and Laban found himself laying on his back looking up into a wrinkled black face with sunken eyes that seemed darker than the deepest pit. The stranger's thin hand held him down with such strength that he couldn't breathe and he wondered if he might be crushed. The stranger gazed down at him and, having apparently made some decision, hoisted Laban to his feet.
The stranger whispered, "Follow me" in a tone that brokered no argument and began walking back down the tunnel. Laban had no doubt that anything but complete compliance would result in his lying on the cave floor, so he hurridly followed.
They soon arrived at a public house and Laban followed the stranger through the common room into a small room normally used for private meetings and card games. As Laban walked through the door another figure slid from the shadows and closed the door behind him.
The old man turned sat down facing the door and motioned for Laban to take a seat. "My name is Drizzt Dissengulp and I represent the Shadow Council."
Laban's confusion must have shown on his face because Drizzt continued, "I shouldn't be surprised that you haven't heard of us. We've gone to great lengths to keep our existence secret and your parents never cared for our cause".
Laban grew more confused each moment, Drizzt continued, "The Shadow Council is responsible for keeping the Svirfneblin safe."
"So you're part of the Blingdenstone guard?" Laban asked.
"You misunderstand. We do not serve any one city or kingdom. We are an independent organization dedicated to the safety and prosperity of the Svirfneblin race...by whatever means are necessary."
The room was silent as his meaning sank in. Laban's voice cracked as asked, "What does this have to do with me?"
"You never met your mother's father..."
"He died before I was born in a cave collapse," Laban interjected.
"He most certainly did not!" Anger flashed across Drizzt's face for a moment before his stoic demeanor returned. "Your grandfather was one of our top assassins and was killed after eliminating a drow commander. His sacrifice destabilized the drow forces and prevented an invasion."
Laban realized he was staring wide eyed with his mouth open like a blind fish. "But why..."
"If we made these things public knowledge it would make our job much more difficult, he said. "I met your grandmother before your mother was born. She was a jealous woman and she resented your grandfather's profession. I'm not surprised she would not want you to know what he did or how he really died. We've been watching you and we know you aren't cut out for mining. We believe you have what it takes to follow in your grandfather's footsteps. I don't expect you to decide right now, but if you want to join the Order then meet me here before I depart at the lunar clock's next mark."
Drizzt stood signaling the end of their meeting. Laban followed in a daze as he tried to absorb what he'd just been told. He began to turn toward the door when Drizzed held up a finger. "One more thing," he said. He then reached inside his robe and pulled out a long bundle wrapped in silk.
"Take this and do not open it until you are home where none can see."
Laban took the bundle and left the public house. He was in such a daze as he walked home that the fact he never showed up for work never crossed his mind.
Back at his house, Laban sat on his bedroll and stared at the bundle in his lap. It was solid like a mining tool, but surprisingly light. He unfolded the silk and was amazed to see a curved blade made of dull gray metal covered in an intricate design of lines and swirls. Even the handle was the same dull gray and felt surprisingly warm to the touch.
As Laban lifted the blade, he noticed a small a darker band near the hilt with some sort of writing that he didn't recognize.
Chapter 2 - The Shadowy Stranger
