Avengers 1888 Issue
c. 2566 BC, Ancient Egypt[edit]
the Doomsday Clock time...
- A short dusky man runs in a scuttling waddle up the cut and dressed blocks of limestone, basalt and granite slabs in the shadow of the Great, but currently unfinished, Pyramid of Giza. He is dressed in a drab ocher-green cloth running from his neck to his ankles. His feet and hands are bare, scuffling along the heavy stone walk that leads up and into the pyramid.
The servant is small with angular features, his toes appear webbed as they move quickly back and forth in small steps. His fingers webbed as well as he rings them in worry one over the other.
- A short dusky man runs in a scuttling waddle up the cut and dressed blocks of limestone, basalt and granite slabs in the shadow of the Great, but currently unfinished, Pyramid of Giza. He is dressed in a drab ocher-green cloth running from his neck to his ankles. His feet and hands are bare, scuffling along the heavy stone walk that leads up and into the pyramid.
- CUT-SCENE: another time and place, cool and musty
- The smell of cigar and brandy permeate the room. The dark flicker of a gaslight lamp or two cascade across the finely crafted dark oak wood furniture and shelves. Leather and brass fittings can be seen elsewhere at quick glance, but it is the clocks that are the focal points. They crowd this room at every empty desk spot, floor space and shelf nook.
- Tall majestic grandfather clocks of multiple variety, strange little and large cuckoo clocks, ancient and interesting hand wound clocks, small clocks on leather or mettle bands, fine and frayed pocket watches.... they all sit in their place as if this space is a museum of the mechanisms. Strangely though not a peep of sound utters from any of the time pieces. Not a tick-tock of familiar time clicks can be heard. The strange circumstance of these broken clocks all seem to have come to rest on the hour of 11:53 p.m. But stranger still is the last clock we flash on before returning to the Egyptian plaza. One clock does not have a face, it does not have mettle or wooden built hands - yet it reads the same stopped time of seven minutes to midnight... This clock has its own illumination, this clock's time is written in numbers, this clock blinks in a sickly glowing green tone....!
Good points all arunod. Truly appreciated.
Within the temple, cool and musty, seven minutes to midnight[edit]
the bulbous eyed cretan - Phantus
- The rock ton door scrapes the ground and ceiling in an eerie shrill, just before the crash of closure to the dark room blows the torch to darkness. At first he's blinded by the sudden change in light but slowly, surely his eyes grow accustomed to the gas-lit den while his nose twitches with the aroma of cigar, leather and oak.
- The whispy servant cares nothing for the time pieces... what are they to him? Nothing! Their meaning is as alien as water to the sands he walked not moments ago. But a minor nuisence they become, as he finds it difficult to navigate his way through the room without danger of causing one to topple to the ground.
- In the edges of the den-like room only a brief silhouette can be glimpsed of another being sitting behind the large oaken desk. With back turned from the jittery servant, gas-light flickers off the golden and violet shimmers adorning the pharaoh-like crown the man wears.
- "Mm..mm...mm...M..aster, I have come as you called. Is it my time in the sun yet again? Phantus has served you well, hehehas he not Master??" ... the little sharp nosed cretin slurs...
The man with the pharaoh crown speaks...
- "Mm..mm...mm...M..aster, I have come as you called. Is it my time in the sun yet again? Phantus has served you well, hehehas he not Master??" ... the little sharp nosed cretin slurs...
- The rock ton door scrapes the ground and ceiling in an eerie shrill, just before the crash of closure to the dark room blows the torch to darkness. At first he's blinded by the sudden change in light but slowly, surely his eyes grow accustomed to the gas-lit den while his nose twitches with the aroma of cigar, leather and oak.
- "Serve?... Ah... yes... pleab you have served adequately. But I dare not say well." ...the voice from beyond the oaken desk says as the hand of the 'master' can be seen toying with a mithral silvered pocket watch... "But alas minion, my needs outweigh my discust of hearing your prattle... YES... I do have a role for your skills to play in my machinations. Cast your bulbous stare into yonder corner..."
... as the leather chair turns to face scrawny Phantus - across the room beneath a looming grandfather clock in the corner of the room a pale complected man shakes from trauma at the base of the dark wood walls, pulling his knees to his chest chains clatter on the floor. The prisoner's face is slender with an intelligence behind broken round-rim eye-glasses. Draped in a white coat atop a brown tweed suit. One of his shoes has been ripped from his foot as the other is scuffed beyond repair....
"You see there minion? THAT is you mission... You will work your ways to make him spill his mind and find that which I seek. Go and find the fraternity for which the age of Alexandrina Victoria holds as 'avengers' - let them know that they will fall before me in terror and time. Let them know they are in their last days. Let them know they cannot protect their queen nor their country. Let them know that no longer will I allow them to 'avenge'...!!" ...says the master. And with a dart of his eyes Phantus chirps a slight cackle as his large eyes whip to position on the professor in the corner. The hideous webbed fingered hand shakes with glee as he reaches out. Lightning crackles between the two beings like a Tesla-coil when Phantus' hand meets the man - and they are gone!!
- "Serve?... Ah... yes... pleab you have served adequately. But I dare not say well." ...the voice from beyond the oaken desk says as the hand of the 'master' can be seen toying with a mithral silvered pocket watch... "But alas minion, my needs outweigh my discust of hearing your prattle... YES... I do have a role for your skills to play in my machinations. Cast your bulbous stare into yonder corner..."
- Somewhere beyond the master's chair, behind and hidden by the dark crimson drapes hanging in front of a non-existant window... the snake-like motion of a new man, tall and dark with an angular jaw weaves his way to 'the pharaoh's' side. The two men stand in the gas-lamp lit room side-by-side, neither dominating in stature over the other. Yet one speaks while the other listens.
- "It is good what you do now Victor, you will be rewarded my pharaoh friend... so says Laufey-son." ...speaks the one that had birthed the notion of machiavelli.
- "It is good what you do now Victor, you will be rewarded my pharaoh friend... so says Laufey-son." ...speaks the one that had birthed the notion of machiavelli.
- As the light fades focusing on the clock faces one after the other, and lastly on the blinking green glow...
See you next time True Believers!
