Background
March, 1939
Lightning split the darkness above
Crowley Castle, punctuating the events that transpired within. Deep
within it's bowels the castle's Master sat before a huge wooden work
table. The table contained various implements and ingredients that
Therion Von Crowley had painstakingly gathered according to the
formulma he had spent most of his fortune acquiring. He glanced at the
old clock hanging on the laboratory wall and pondered the events that
had lead to this moment.
"It is nearly Midnight, the Witching Hour. Soon I will insure that the
Red Skull will sieze his rightful place, and remove the doomed Nazi
Party from it's misguided seat of power." Therion added a sprinkle of
some rare herb to a boiling pot as he murmured words not spoken in over
a three thousand years. As it sizzled he continued to muse on the
events at hand, "Hitler is correct about the eventual dominance of the
Master Race, but he is wrong about what it takes to be a member of that
race. It has nothing to do with religion, skin color, or place of
birth. Instead it is as Herr Skull has said, those with true power will
rule over the lower forms of this world. And I'm about to gain the
ultimate in power." As the words left his mouth another crack of
lightning shook the walls of his castle adding a fanfare to his ominous
words.
Some five years earlier Therion Von Crowley was a liaison between the
Nazi Party and a splinter group ran by the Red Skull. During that time
Therion began to follow the words of that group's leader. When he
realized that one day the paranormals of the world would control all
the power and resources to be had, he knew he had to find a way to join
them. Therion had seen the large amounts of materials and research the
Nazis had done in the area of the occult. His particular department
also oversaw the classification of such items. His own personal
investigation pointed to something the Nazis had gathered, but had not
identified for what it really was. Several weather worn pages,
recovered from a nameless tomb in the Middle East, bore inscriptions
that had occult symbology. They seemed to convey an importance, but
were incomplete. At least to those who lacked the proper knowledge of
Egyptian history. Therion Von Crowley had that knowledge.
Therion Von Crowley had come from an extremely wealthy, and noble,
Bavarian family. While he was tall, he had an average build. His blonde
hair and blue eyes made him look cute, as he obviously was a man who
did not perform much physical activity that would require exertion. But
he had always been this way, and as such he spent most of his time
studying various subjects he found intriguing. Therion studied all
manner of subjects, but the more complex or bizarre the more he liked
them. It was this eclectic study habit that had granted him the
knowledge to forever alter his own existence. The pages the SS Agents
had pulled from that ancient grave were not a magical evocation in and
of themselves, but instead were part of a series of directions. A kind
of map using magical symbols to represent landmarks.
Therion spent three years searching out the remainder of the map, and
then the better part of another year following it. The map lead him to
a small series of caves not far from Cairo, within these caves he had
founs a sealed clay urn. The urn contained the lost teachings of a
secret cult, called "The Spirits of the Dead", that had existed in the
earliest days of Ancient Egyptian civilization. The cult had found the
secret of eternal life, and at that moment the secret had fallen into
Therion Von Crowley's hands.
The equipment and materials needed to perform the ancient ritual cost
Therion almost all that remained of his families fortune. And as the
months passed he prepared to cast the enchantment written on those old,
brittle pages. Now that time had come. Therion mixed the final
ingredients into the bubbling pot. As he then poured the foul
concoction into a beaker that held several small animal parts, he
uttered the finals words that set the spell in motion. The clock struck
Midnight, and Therion Von Crowley quickly drank the noxious fluid.
The pain that burned through his body was so intense, Therion dropped to
his knees. As his vision blurred and he fell forward to strike the
ground, a smile grew across his face, 'Death will come first, but as I
rise again the world will tremble before me...' Therion's final
thoughts were cut short as the room about him faded from his view, and
as life left his body the sound of thunder echoed in his head.
September, 2000
Darkness rolled away like a fog,
and sight slowly returned to Therion. A grey haze hung over his vision.
At first this disturbed him, until he realized he shouldn't be able to
see anything at all. The decaying fabric that clung to surface just a
few inches from his face told him where he was. He was in a coffin, and
a rather poor one from the look of it's condition. As he raised his
hands toward the lid above him he noticed that a thin black shroud
covered his body, but it seemed unable to block his vision. As
insubstantial as smoke to it. With a shove the wood of the coffin lid
cracked and broke out of the way. A few more inches above the now
splintered lid a single slab of stone covered his "grave". After
several hours of pounding the stone gave way, and Therion rose to his
feet.
His shroud fell away as Therion looked about. His final resting place
was within a Church, placed within the floor just feet away from the
alter. Several other Sepulchers dotted the floor on either side of his,
but Therion payed them no attention as he stepped up from the grave and
onto the floor of the Chapel. Although the entire room was lit by
multitudes of candles, the light seemed oddly dull. Not as sharp, and
crisp as the light should. A nearby brazier smoldered as several large
chunks of incense burned within. Therion drew in the air, but only
after a few moments did he catch the slightest hint of frankinscense.
Another sensation that seemed a mere shadow of what it should be.
Looking down Therion saw that he had been interred in his uniform,
complete with his boots and tight leather gloves. But something felt
strange about them. Removing his right glove he brought his hand up in
front of his face, and saw the reason for the odd fit. His hand looked
desiccated, the skin drawn tight to the muscle and bone beneath. The
thick deep wrinkles that covered it had the appearance of dried wood.
Just then a sound came from behind him, the sound of someone entering
the Church.
The approching footsteps picked up in speed, as a thick German voice
spoke, "What is going on here? What have you done..." Therion turned to
see who had stumbled into his rebirth. An elderly Priest, carrying a
paper sack of groceries, stopped in his tracks when he looked upon
Therion's face, "Oh my God." The old Priest turned and started to flee
back the way he came. Therion was not yet ready for the world to know
of his return, with several long purposeful strides he was upon him.
His hands reached out and siezed the man by his throat. As Therion
began to squeeze, he felt the sensation of energy flowing from the man
and into his bare hand. Within seconds the Priest stopped struggling
and slumped lifeless to the ground. Therion turned his head and saw his
reflection in a golden collection plate. What he saw nearly made him
gasp, he now knew why the Priest had fled the way he did. His head, and
face were as desiccated as his hand. The skin was drawn tight to his
skull, and nearly all of his hair had fallen out. Therion's eyes were
gone, all that remained were empty sockets that opened into the husk of
his head. His lips, nose, and ears, had become shriveled vestiges of
what they once were. He looked like a living mummy. Backing away his
foot came down upon the spilled contents of the Priest's paper sack.
Looking down Therion saw a newspaper amidst the food products. He
lifted the paper and looked at the front page. The headline told of
"Neo-Nazi Propaganda" that had been found in the cities of Halle and
Weimarit. But Therion put his curiosity to the back of his mind as he
looked up at the date, September 6 2000.
He knew that the realization of what had happened should have caused
some kind of emotion in him. Instead of rising from the dead mere days
after ingesting his spell, he had lied in state for many years. But his
reaction came and went within moments. As though his mind could not
make itself really care. He had been transformed more then had
expected, and he would need time to absorb all of these changes.
Therion walked over to his grave and pulled the shroud from the coffin.
Tearing a section from it he made a makeshift hood to cover his
withered face. Replacing his glove he took one last look at his
reflection, 'Therion Von Crowley is truely dead, and has been for over
six decades. I am what remains...I am his Sepulcher.' Turning and
walking out the door, into the night, Sepulcher's mind filled with one
more thought. That now the world would belong to him.
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