The room was dark, so dark that any newcomer entering within would be hard pressed to decipher any detail, from the color of the carpeted floor, which absorbed the loudest footfall, to how large or small the room might be, for the only illumination was from two candles set on either side of a large wooden desk. The candles guttered bravely, but were quite unable to illuminate anything other than the desk, which made the entire room seem either abysmally large, or closed in and lined with black drapery that kept out the tiniest splinter of light from without. The desk itself was a deep rich brown inlaid with beautiful etchings of gold, which made it seem like a glorious beacon in a place of utter darkness and despair, which might very well have been the intent of its owners.
There were three, all sitting on one side of the desk. Their bodies were cloaked in robes as red as freshly picked apples, and at their throats were large white collars, standing stark in the meager light like a trio of doves sent down by the Almighty himself. They leaned forward in their three chairs, also lavishly decorated to match the desk, and three pairs of long, pale, ring-adorned fingers clasped each other in contemplation, elbows resting below and shrouded in long, billowing red sleeves. All three were old men, wearing their thinning heads like crowns of experience, their eyes bright and alert rather than filmed and watery with age. They seemed to be focused on a chair standing a small ways from the other side of the desk, where a figure in a dark brown robe sat. The figure's unadorned hands were clasped together beneath the sleeves and resting upon his lap, while the large cowl was pulled down low over the brow, making it quite impossible for the candles to illuminate any features contained within. Even the feet were completely covered in the brown robe, so modest and homely compared to the rich color of the trio sitting there, regarding the figure in silence.
Finally one spoke, his voice stern and strong, again a contrast to the suggestive frailty of the elder. "You understand now what needs to be done. We must have someone to Paris, and quickly, before things get worse. The Minister of Justice has been killed, and for all we know, the city is in complete disarray. We must have someone there to hold the flock, ensure that the Parisians have a strong figure to rally to, comfort and remind them that they are not forgotten by neither us nor our Lord. You are our first choice; young and strong, with a passion for truth. You set yourself apart in your studies, and now the time has come to send you to do the Lord's work. It will be dangerous, but we have the utmost faith in you. Go, and may our Lord and Lady's blessing go with you."
The figure nodded, rising from the chair without a sound, and turned to leave. "One more thing, young priest." One of the other red-cloaked figures spoke up, raising his hands in a gesture of patience, and the robed figure turned in mid-stride, the empty black hole in the cowl facing the three unperturbed men. "We have heard tales of another of our brethren, also on his way to Paris. He too is gifted, but...he is also misled. We fear that he will cause more harm than good in his intentions. You will know him well, for you attended to your studies together. Do keep an eye out for him, and if you can...see to it that he creates no harm with his words." A single nod from the brown hood, and the figure turned once more and disappeared into the darkness. Moments later there was a click, and a large rectangle of light permeated the room as the hooded one passed through a door, closing it and leaving the room in almost complete darkness once more.
The man who had yet to speak now leaned toward the middle figure, his voice wavering as badly as the candle beside him, which was showing signs of drowning in a pool of its own gathered wax. "Do you think he can do this? He is still new, and the task is monumental, even for a more seasoned priest." A small smile played upon the other's face as he turned his head to regard his fellow man of the cloth. "He can, and he will. He has yet to know it, but success is already there waiting for him. He has but to come and be the figure we desired of him, and God will take care of the rest." The smile still lingering on his face, the middle figure stood, and as if on cue, the two on either side of him rose quickly afterward, both leaning over in unison to gently extinguish the candles, now leaving the room in true darkness.