The Covenant May 1, 2011 19:54:54 GMT
Post by WBL on May 1, 2011 19:54:54 GMT
~*~ "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy..."~*~
~*~ Many years ago... ~*~
Lightning flashes. It is night. We set the scene in the middle of the woods. The trees are tall and ominous in the intermittent flashes caused by the storm. Deep in the center of a grove of particularly craggy trees stands a dark and abandoned looking shack, save for the small glimmer of what looks like candle light shining through it's filthy windows.
From a different angle now, we can see two ghostly lights moving through the trees on a dirt path toward the cabin. As the lights grow nearer we can see that they are the headlamps from an old fashioned looking car. And old, but pristine rolls royce. The car comes to a stop just as the lightning again flashes. Its driver, a middle aged man dressed impeccably in a suit, white gloves, and a driving cap, nervously gets out of the front and quickly steps to the back, opening the door. Thunder crashes, just as we see who steps out.
It is Charles Legend, WBL and Sareena's father. He's clad in a long, expensive looking black coat. A cigar he puffs on glows with a malevolent red light in the dark.
Driver: Sir, are you sure this is the right place? It doesn't really look-
A woman's shriek suddenly cuts through the night, causing the driver to jump. It is joined, in tandem, by yet another blast of thunder, this one occurring simultaneously with a flash of lightning. Charles simply takes another puff of his cigar, before disdainfully looking at the driver.
Charles: Yeah. I'm sure. Now get back in the car and stay there until I get back. Understand?
The driver nods hurriedly before quickly getting back into the car. A moment later we hear a clunk as the automatic locks click on. Charles rolls his eyes and shakes his head, before taking another puff of the cigar. The smoke he exhales encircles his head as it rises skyward, like a perverse halo. He moves toward the cabin, stopping at its splintery door. He knocks on the door. A moment passes... and then the door creaks open. A hooded figure stands on the other side of the threshold.
Figure: You have arrived just in time. Come in. Come in.
The figure gestures with an impossibly thin arm. It's voice is scratchy, high pitched, and asexual. As it turns to let Charles in, we catch a glimpse of a faint red glow from within the folds of its hood. Charles, undaunted, simply crosses the threshold.
The inside of the cabin is as ancient looking as the outside. Cobwebs and a layer of dust cover everything. There is a rickity table on one side of the room with ancient silverwhere and a plate with a half eaten slab of some kind of meat resting on it. The meat sits in a cogulated, thick, red puddle of juices. Bookshelves, filled to the brim with ancient tomes line the walls. There is a door on the opposite side of the room from the entrance. The hooded figure leads Charles toward this door. As he follows he glances at an open book on a podium near the door. The open pages are ancient and leathery looking. The scrawlings inside are manic, smeared, and written in some kind of glyphs. Charles seems unsurprised by this as he follows the hooded figure into the next room.
It is a bedroom, and a spartan one at that. Directly across from the door is another filth caked window, through which we see the barest flickers from the lightning outside. Below the window is a bed. Next to the bed, on a nightstand, a candle flickers.
In the bed is a woman. She's young, and she may have at one time been beautiful, but a lack of interest in personal care have left her frightening to look it. She's obscenely pale and thin, her eyes sunken and yellowish in color. Her hair is black and frazzled, with a long white streak. She looks up at Charles entering the room, and smiles, flashing her yellow teeth. She chuckles. In her arms, she cradles some kind of bundle. As she speaks, she sounds out of breath.
Woman: Hello Charles. It's good to see you. I figured you'd wait until after the difficult bits had passed before you showed your face around here.
Charles flicks some of the ash of the edge of his cigar.
Charles: This isn't a social visit, Desdemona, so don't treat it as such. Is it healthy?
The woman, Desdemona's, smile broadens as she looks down at the bundle again, before looking back up at Charles.
Desdemona: It? Really now, Charles? Is that anyway to speak of the boy? After all, he is your-
Charles: No! He's not. We both know he's not.
Desdemona raises an eyebrow
Desdemona: He's not? Well... I suppose not in the traditional sense. Your involvement in his creation wasn't exactly of the... romantic, variety. Though, I've seen the way you look at me out of the corner of your eye.
Charles doesn't react to this. He simply places his cigar in his mouth and reaches out his hands toward the bundle.
Charles: Give it to me.
Desdemona's grin falters a moment, and she glances back at the bundle, before looking over Charles's shoulder at the all but forgotten hooded figure. The figure nods, nearly imperceptibly, and Desdemona hands the bundle off to Charles. Charles throws back a fold of the blanket wrapped around it... and reveals a small baby. It's a normal healthy looking baby, from what we can see of it. It looks up at Charles and coos softly. As Charles looks at the baby a grin slowly appears on his face. It's not a happy expression.
Charles: This is him. This is it. The payoff of everything I've worked for. Of everything the great generations of my family that have come before me have worked for. It all comes down to this. After all our blood, tears, and sacrifice, the family line is finally and permanently going to be secure.
Desdemon's grin slowly returns.
Desdemona: Your sacrifice isn't quite over, Mr. Legend. There's one task left to complete.
Charles looks over at her momentarily, before glancing back to the baby.
Charles: I'm aware.
Desdemona: He will grow rapidly. He will become great and strong. And he will protect your bloodline. He will elevate it to heights it's never seen. And he will do so unquestionably. Within two years, he will be exactly what you want. But at a price. On the eve of your eldest son's 18th birthday... Legend blood must be spilled. A Legend's soul must be sacrificed. Or the Covenant will be broken. Are you certain you have the heart for the task?
Charles sneers, checking over the baby one last time before handing the baby back to Desdemona.
Charles: I have the heart alright. As I told you before... this child is not my son. My son is a sniveling, weak, impotent little worm. He is undoubtedly a punishment inflicted upon me for all the things my family has done to insure our power will continue to go unquestioned. A last ditch effort from the celestial powers that be to insure that what is to happen will not happen. But this child... this child will change all of that. Generations of my family's sacrifice will not be in vain. Don't worry Desdemona. When the time comes for Legend blood to be spilled, I will not hesitate. (He grins darkly.) I will take pleasure in it.
Desdemona: (Grins.) Your family is nothing if not dedicated to the task, my dear.
Legend nods. He turns and begins walking toward the door. Just as the hooded figure steps aside to let him through, he pauses, and turns back to Desdemona. Gesturing to the baby.
Charles: May I just ask... what's his name going to be?
As he asks, part of the blanket wrapped around the baby falls away, as he reaches toward his mother with a chubby arm... and we see familiar, tribal markings on him. Desdemona looks down at him and smiles.
Desdemona: I've named him after his true father. His name is Azmodai...