A Lord Comes Calling
Scene opens, over Doskvol -- a city wreathed in filth and gloom. Music starts in low. In a steady cold rain, the waters of the North Hook channel churn with a knowing restlessness. The whitecaps rise and fall back in on themselves in a frothy soup that slaps against the iron haul of a towering leviathan hunter ship. The pop of electroplasmic energy arcs across the railing as the vessel pushes thru the crackling boundaries of the lightening barrier. In a salt-stained crimson, the tall red letters scrawled along the prow of the ship read, MISDEED. The music continues to swell and the camera crawls over the edge of the behemoth to reveal an empty deck. An empty bridge. An empty galley. Empty bunks. An empty captain's quarters.
The ghost ship continues along her destined course to the center of the channel.
Back inside the ship, the camera climbs along the floor of the well appointed captain’s quarters to a beautifully carved wooden desk along the far wall. Atop the desk sits a heavy stone urn. The 4-foot tall stone vessel, covered in abstract and worn ancient carvings looms with certain heaviness. Deep boldly carved ruts in the surface of the greenish stone depict humanoid figures with elongated limbs, knees bent in supplication reaching up to a sphere wreathed in a dozen plus one tiny orbs. The music crescendos, cut to black.
