The Coming From the Shadows Series
The Imperium Chronicles: The Legacy A Lost War
Part 1
Back Ground:
Since the fall and imprisonment of an Ancient Celestial Being; the Ancient world saw the rise of various Loyal Cultists seeking to find the Prison of their defeated master, to prevent the clashing of their organisations; a dialogue was opened, the beginning of a council to allow for ease of communication between the groups – the Imperium was established – uniting the differing Cults, allowing for cohesion and coordination that proved far more beneficial than first realised.
Using their combined efforts, Kings and Queens would fall under the influence of the shadowy organisation; Governments would be manipulated, though there always come resistance – the ‘Hunters’ as they became known were one such group; a disorganised band that simply interfered with the Cultists in their respective lands, and as the Imperium’s strength grew, so did the opposition – but the Imperium’s cohesion proved far more effective; by the 19th Century the Imperium exploded globally in influence after securing the alliance of the British Aristocracy – using the British Empire much like they had in the Ancient world with the Greeks and Persians and later Roman Empires – the Imperium’s influence had moved across Europe and Northern Africa through Greece and later Rome, to the Far East via Persia; but, the British Empire proved an even greater benefit – the Empire upon which the Sun never Set; its reach across the entire globe secured the Imperium Global reach – with the ever advancing technological achievements, communication proved more effective.
Those that opposed first; the Ancient ‘Guardians’ that sought to protect Ancient Temple’s succumbed to the changing tactics during the Ancient world; and the ’Hunters’ that had begun opposing the Imperium since Medieval times found themselves on the retreat just as the ‘Guardians’ had once done – the ‘Hunters’ could barely compete, but their differences prevented them from creating an effective organised resistance – Greed often proved the most powerful compelling tactic used by the various Cults – twisting people’s greed to their advantage.
By the 1870’s few of the ‘Hunters’ remained active, organising in what small communities they could build while trying to wage a secret war.
Introduction:
21st of December, 1872 A.D.
East of Lancaster
A sheet of white blanketed the land across the Lancastrian countryside; the air thick with the scent of the damp earth and typical odours of everyday life; though there was a new scent blending, a metallic tang of fear.
Here amongst the rolling hills a community built upon secrets – a haven for those that resisted the Imperium’s insidious control.
A farm, outwardly, unremarkable; it hummed with a quiet purpose – the inhabitants clung to a fragile hope; believing they could turn the tide back against the ever growing power of the Imperium.
Within one of the small, sparely furnished houses along the periphery of the farm, a woman lets out a scream; Evelyn Langdon – her face slick with sweat, pale with exhaustion – she pushes with a primal force, bringing new life into a world steeped in darkness.
Hours after the birth; a figure burst through the door quickly, his silhouette flickering within the dim, dancing candle-light; Cyril Langdon – a man etched with harsh lines of countless battles within the secretive war against the Imperium; he rushed towards Evelyn’s side; his raven-dark hair plastered to his forehead, his silvery-grey eyes, usually sharp and calculating softened with a tenderness he reserved for her “Evelyn” he breathed, gently taking her hand “I am sorry that I am late…”
Her grip tightened around his, offering him a weak smile “It is alright Cyril” she said weakly “She is here” Evelyn gestured
Cyril’s gaze drifted; drawn like an invisible thread – his eyes landing on the small bundled infant lying beside her; Cathryn – their daughter, he marvelled at the tiny, perfect features “I am proud of you” he said softly; though, screams ripped through the night air drawing their attention.
A figure rushed into the doorway; cloaked in a simple earth-toned robe, his face hidden beneath a hood; his aura radiated a serene calm that seemed completely out of place amongst the sudden chaos ”Cyril; they are here” he said with a low rumble “You need to flee now; get out of here quickly”
Chapter 1:
The ‘Monk’ had brought a warning; the night had erupted into a cacophony of violence; fires spread rapidly across the fields, illuminating the grotesque figures of Masked Cultists as they swarmed the farm; the sound of rifled-muskets cracked loudly, punctuating the screams with ever more death.
A lone figure, shrouded in darkness sat astride a black stallion – his face was obscured with a horned mask of polished bone; the symbol of the Minotaur; this was Elias Smythe – the leader of the Cult of the Minotaur, the architect of the bloody raid.
A Cultist came rushing up to him; his dark robes hiding the stains of fresh blood – bowing, he looked towards Elias carefully “Lord Smythe” he rasped “These ‘Hunters’ have scattered. Most are dead; so far we have secured the permitter”
Elias barely even acknowledge him; his eyes were fixed on the growing inferno in the distance, the destruction that was engulfing the farm “The Langdon family” he demanded, his voice a low growl “Have you found them?; have you found the box that they protect, has it been recovered?”
The Cultist hesitated before shaking his head “No Lord Smythe; not yet”
Elias’ hands clenched around the reigns “Damn fools; find them!” he snapped “The box must be recovered, it is paramount” kicking his horse into a trot, he disappeared into the smoke and chaos.
Within the chaos; Cyril moved ahead of his wife who was being supported by ‘The Monk’ as she could barely move, her body still reeling from recently giving birth – Cyril used his short sword; an elegant weapon often referred to simply as a ‘Court Sword’ he moved with precision and swiftness, his movements economical as he struck down anyone that got near – resorting to his Kerr’s revolver only when needed.
Finally; they would reach a carriage they could use to escape; as Cyril sheaths his sword, he moved to support his wife; helping her into the carriage before gently handing her their daughter; his eyes then landed onto the Monk “Go” the Monk said, his tone now raised as he made a move to quickly take down two Cultists that had spotted them
Cyril was a little stunned by how fast and efficient he moved; using no weapons even as he struck – Cyril shifted his eyes to Evelyn “Go Cyril” she urged, her voice tight with fear “Get us out of here”
Cyril nodded; climbing atop of the carriage he lashed at the reigns; urging the horse to move; the Monk made a quick glance back to ensure they were safely on the move before he would finally retreat himself knowing Cyril and Evelyn had escaped the slaughter.
Chapter 2:
1883 A.D.
Kings Langley
Thirteen-Years would crawl by; etched with hardship and loss – The Langdon’s has sought safety in the south, far from Lancaster; settling in a small cottage in the village of Kings Langley, their home; a modest little cottage surrounded by a small carefully tended garden offered them a fragile sanctuary.
The shadows of that night Thirteen-Years prior lingered – Cyril, ever vigilant began to train Cathryn in the deadly art of Sword combat – Cathryn, a girl of Thirteen, her long hair, inherited from both her parents, was raven-dark – sharing the same eye colour as both parents; silvery-grey.
Cathryn was pushed hard regardless of her age, regardless of how society dictated how a girl or woman should be; Cyril and Evelyn would remind Cathryn, they lived outside of the social norms of life – that they were part of a once formidable fight group ‘The Hunters’ – a history that sought to fight for the freedom of the people against the oppressive tyranny of the Imperium and its insidious grip on the lives of ordinary people from the shadows – Cyril often used examples of political corruption.
“The Imperium is brutal Cathryn” Cyril would tell her; his voice cold “They will stop at nothing to crush any who dare to oppose them; you need to be strong, to be ready”
Cyril would recount the horrors of the attack that had forced their desperate escape from Lancaster; the screams and relentless pursuit; he drilled the importance of vigilance and unwavering resolve, he would train her in surviving from the land, using things that proved an advantage – he moulded her into weapon, just as he and Evelyn had been made to be – she would be a shield against the darkness that threatened to engulf them.
Four Years later though; things would change; a darkness would return.
1887 A.D.
Under the moonless night; the Langdon cottage found itself under attack; the Cultists, their faces hidden by their usual grotesque masks swarmed the property; their eyes burned with fanaticism; Cyril and Evelyn fought them – they fought in desperation, with ferocity – though, they were outmatched.
Cyril was the first to fall – a brutal blow struck to the back of his head silenced his defiance; Evelyn, her eyes filled with grief and rage fought on; but, her movements were hampered, and fears of the past sank in – she was fighting desperately; her daughter needed her – in the end though, Evelyn too would fall, overwhelmed and silenced with the twisting of a blade across her throat.
Cathryn had stuck to her father’s training – she remained hidden, a silent shadow in the darkness; all she could do was watch her parents fall; her heart felt as that it had broken; she waited what felt like hours.
Only when the last of the Cultists had left, did Cathryn finally emerge from her hiding place.
The scene before her was a tableau of death; Cyril and Evelyn lie lifeless in the wreckage of their home; their eyes staring blankly; Cathryn was slow to truly process the gravity of the scene, she had been hoping she would simply be waking up from some nightmare; but as things settled, her tears would fall, collapsing down between their bodies as her small frame wracked with gentle sobs.
Cathryn did not move; she remained frozen in place by her grief even as the first rays of the morning sun painted the sky in a mournful grey.
A gentle voice would finally break through the haze of Cathryn’s grief “Cathryn?”
Turning her attention; Cathryn was startled to see a woman standing in her doorway; she was tall and slender; her long hair a dark-blonde, with pale blue-eyes that radiated a kindness, she looked towards her with concern – ‘Anne Smythe’
“Cathryn” Anne repeated; easing near her slowly; her voice soft and soothing “I’ve come to take you to safety”
Cathryn simply stared at her; her expression blank – she had no strength to resist, no desire to move; she simply let Anne lead her away from the devastation of her home; away from the ghosts of her past.
The Smythe Estate
The journey would take Cathryn from Kings Langley; away from the peaceful tranquillity of the countryside to a place far the opposite – an oppressive atmosphere shrouded the Smythe Estate, a vast and imposing property along the mouth of the River Thames, it was surrounded by towering walls with a single gated entrance; practically separated from the rest of the world.
The surrounding forest added to the Estates eerie atmosphere, it’s gnarled trees casting long menacing shadows – at the very centre of the estate stood the Manor, with its stone gargoyles watching over like silent unwavering guardians.
It was here, within this fortress Cathryn began a new chapter in her life.
Chapter 3
1887 A.D.-1889 A.D.
Life at the Smythe Estate was a strange and unsettling blend of luxury and confinement; the oppressive atmosphere of the manor weighed heavily on Cathryn, the silence broken only by a whistling of wind that cut through the forest or the distant cries of birds.
Yet, amidst the gloom Cathryn does find a glimmer of hope with her relationship with Anne – the gentle care of the woman provides Cathryn with safety, kindness and understanding – slowly thawing out the icy grip which clung to Cathryn – Anne became a surrogate mother, offering her comfort and guidance, a much needed sense of belonging.
The Estate though was never without its secrets.
In the depths of the surrounding woodlands; Cathryn would encounter the mysterious figure ‘The Monk’ – he carried on with her training, he would simply appear and disappear like a phantom.
While his lessons were demanding, he taught her to harness her grief, channel her rage into a deadly weapon; blending what she had originally been taught by her father, the ‘Monk’ though; his lessons were strange, they blended various different methods together – she learned many new skills under his tutelage – developing new adaption to moving unseen even in plain view, something she began applying to her day-to-day life within the Smythe Estate, she was trained to fight with not only swords, but knives, taught to use chemicals – then came the learning of something Cathryn initially mistook as something he wanted her to use to help people – but, as the lessons progressed, it became something different – from acupuncture came the learning of something he referred to as ‘Death Touch’ – she learned to adapt things that had been shown to ‘heal’ and turn them deadly, shown where to strike to make a target unmovable without killing.
He would reminder her of the Imperium’s cruelty and their fanaticism.
Years would pass; stretching from 1887 to 1889 – by Seventeen; Cathryn had blossomed into a formidable warrior; her movements often swift and graceful, she had become a ghost amongst the shadows.
On night in 1889; Cathryn found herself in London’s Whitechapel; she moved with practised efficiency as she follows the shadow of a Cultist; she waited for the precise moment, observing his movements until finally he came to a stop near a darkened alleyway – she struck.
Her attack was swift and merciless; using a Kukri knife – the metal flashed within the dim street light, she had struck him at the base of his throat, silencing him before he ever had a chance to scream out; she left the body slumped against the wall, a testament to her deadly skill.
The Smythe Estate
At the Smythe Manor; Cathryn had returned, she was drawn, tired from her travels – Anne, upon seeing her moved into the hall to greet her, her brow furrowed with worry “Cathryn; where have you been?” she asked, her voice soft
Cathryn offered a gentle smile; a rare display of affection for the woman that had become her mother “Just out for a walk Anne; I required fresh air”
Anne knew that was a lie, she knew the truth; she recognised Cathryn’s shift over the years, and she was well aware of the very people that opposed the Imperium, the very organisation her own family so loyally supported – something Anne did not share “Just…., be careful please” Anne said, her eyes indicating her concern “There are a lot of dangerous people out there”
Before Cathryn could say anything further; a voice boomed from a doorway “Anne is correct Cathryn; you must be careful”
Cathryn’s eyes moved; moving her attention was the origin of the voice – George Smythe, a tall and imposing man in his Twenties, he stood within the doorway of his study; his eyes icy-blue, almost like galacial ice, and they fixed on Cathryn, George was a powerful figure who commanded respect, built a sense of fear that would intimidate those around him, Cathryn felt a shiver rushing down her spine as she looked at him.
She knew that George had recently assumed control of his family and their business Empire; but, he had also become the newest leader of the Cult of the Minotaur – he had risen fast, built a lasting legacy in only a few years.
What Cathryn was unaware of though, was how George had been providing her and Anne both protection – despite Cathryn’s actions against the imperium, and even against the Cult of the Minotaur, George had ensured her safety – each action Cathryn had been taking, indirectly had been benefiting George greatly, it had drawn his attention.
Each success Cathryn had, had piqued George’s interest – he allowed her freedom, subtle though, he had already begun to get into her head with subtle gestures of kindness she didn’t expect from him, a man of his position and power, it had made a significant impact on her perception of him – Cathryn found herself drawn to him, his power, his confidence; his sheer presence; they all had begun exerting a strange unsettling pull.
Attempting to appear indifferent she watched him “I can take care of myself George” she said; her voice cool
George grinned; it was a slow, predatory gesture that simply sent more shivers down Cathryn’s spine “I know you can Cathryn; but, even the greatest of fighters need protection” his voice was smooth, but Cathryn was simply too enamoured to even detect the predatory tone he carried
Retreating to her room; Cathryn flopped onto her bed; images of George burned into her mind, she couldn’t help but imagine herself in his embrace, his touch against her skin, a strange, intoxicating blend of fear and desire was washing over her – a small, involuntary smile played on her lips.
George was well aware of Cathryn’s developing infatuation; he could see it within her eyes, and he had begun planning things out, the game of manipulation had been under way since she first came into the Estate; even Anne hadn’t picked up on what George intended – he had played this game many times, but, Cathryn was unique, his own father had once sought out the Langdon family in Lancaster, led the attack in a search for ‘The Box’ a mysterious artefact that Elias had previously spoken to George about, while the Artefact was missing, Elias made it clear there was something unique about the Langdon family – so, George would twist Cathryn’s desires, offering her protection as his first step to a much longer plan.
Written By: Westley H.
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