Difference between revisions of "(KigaVerse) Northwatch: Origins"

A vintage burgundy Rolls-Royce glided to a stop in front of an old, abandoned warehouse in the south end of Toronto in the dead of night. It was a Nimbus Edition, the kind that didn't produce noise or experience turbulence at high altitudes. Custom made with a classic body and all the modern guts and innards. The detail work was strictly gold. No Chrome. The meticulously polished hood ornament depicted Dolos, the Greek god of trickery and illusions. It was a featureless male head with long, sleek wings jetting from the shoulders of the bust.

The rear left passenger door popped open and an immaculately dressed Rakshasa stepped out of the hover car. He was a tall man of clear Indian decent with kempt black hair and a clean English mustache between his chiseled nose and chin. He grimaced, gazing about his dilapidated surroundings with staunch disapproval. He adjusted the collar of his burgundy sports jacket over his burgundy turtle neck and proceeded toward the entrance of the warehouse, shivering gently in the cool autumn air.

The interior of the warehouse was bathed in an all-encompassing darkness. The partially illuminated edges of Destroid silhouettes stood on guard all around a central figure that sat menacingly in a motionless silence. Rakshasa stuffed both hands in the pockets of his burgundy slacks, leering around in uncomfortable disgust.

"Skipped the light bill, have we?" he asked sarcastically.

The figure slowly rose from his seat, Rakshasa's expression slipping into a nervous fear as the man reached his towering full posture.

"I trust you've completed your task, Rakshasa," Doctor Destroyer snarled indifferently.

Rakshasa swallowed and gathered his wits before speaking.

"It has been done, Master Destroyer," he said earnestly in a robust Indian accent, lowering his head respectfully as he finished speaking.

Destroyer snickered from beneath his helmet, once again taking his seat.

"You've been a loyal servant to me, Rakshasa. And when the time is right, you will be rewarded beyond measure."

Rakshasa lifted his sinister gaze, a smug grin painted beneath his perfectly groomed mustache.

A lone white raven glided majestically through an astral vision of the ancient land. The land before machine and industry. The land of the Ancestors. Great pines towered over lush green plains carved sinuously into sections by broad rivers tumbling from the peaks of high mountains. Further ahead, the lush green of life began to wither and decay into a morose, snow-capped tundra. The raven's eyes shifted and darted about in perplexed aw as a gust of bitter-cold air overtook its path. Heavy flakes of snow fell from the gloomy sky as the white raven landed on the branch of a withered old pine tree. It released a weary kraa into the arid, frozen landscape that echoed about unnaturally.

A moment of silence as the echo faded and the raven gave a glance of its shoulder. Behind it a snarling, vitriolic grey face of large proportions loomed ominously. It donned two long, gnarled horns, one broken, and a crimson beard that framed off red warpaint from chin to forehead. It screamed with a primal, ferocious hatred and malice, flashing long, hideous fangs and producing a deep, thunderous, deafening roar that startled the white raven into flight.

Billy Edenshaw, better known to the world as Ravenspeaker, awoke in the single bed of his cabin, soaked in sweat. He released a horrific cry of fear and outside his cabin, a conspiracy of ravens perched in a nearby tree scattered into the shattered silence of the night. Inside, Billy's astral form floated above his now unconscious body. Scanning his cabin for present threats, he returned to his body, and leaped from the bed.

The door of his cabin flew open and he exited shirtless. Making his way through the snow, he stopped under the tree where a single raven had returned. Billy's beady raven eyes fixed upon the far-off sight of Lynx Fold.

"No," his raven tongue mumbled as he held his dreadful gaze, the lone raven crying into the night overhead.

"It is cold?" Elizabeth McRae asked, snuggled in the embrace of her husband's bright red RCMP uniform. Her slender frame sank into his towering torso, her head pressed against his chest to feel his heartbeat. His thick, muscular arms held her tightly as he grinned, kissing the top of her head.

"I'm pretty sure, yeah," Jason McRae answered softly.

"And you'll be stranded in the middle of nowhere, in that crazy place," she proclaimed, leaning back to look up at him with her big blue eyes and angelic face. "I've heard about the crazy stuff that happens up there," she continued, placing her head against his chest again. Jason flased a closed lip smile of fond affection.

"It'll be alright, babe. Six months and I'm right back here in your arms," Jason reassured her.

"And you can come home once a month, right?"

"For the whole weekend."

"It's going to be the hardest six months of our lives."

"But it's nothing the McRae Clan can't handle," Jason comforted her, kissing the top of her head once again.

Jason and Elizabeth made their way down the second story stairs of their modest home, hands interlocked as if they never wanted to let go. Jason's left hand traced the familiar length of the white bannister railing, knowing it would be the last time he'd get to do some for at least three weeks. For the McRae family, three weeks was going to seem like an eternity.

At the kitchen island sat their thirteen-year-old daughter, Haley Jade McRae, eating a bowl of cereal and hanging out with their grey and white, female Maine Coon mix, Jynx. She was a spitting image of he her mother. He long blond hair was neatly gathered in a French braid that rested around the left side of her neck. As Jason and Elizabeth came into sight Jynx leapt off the island to avoid caught on the counter yet again.

"I saw that, Jynxy!" Jason said with a smile.

Hailey gave a quick glance of her shoulder, smiling fondly at the sight of her parents. Today was the big day. He father was leaving for a new posting up north and wouldn't be back for some time. Jason had been in her life from day one. He had never spent more than an eight to twelve hour shift away from his family. But her dad was a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, and the nation had upon him to serve. She was proud of him, and excited for the adventures and stories he'd bring home with him when it was all over.