Prologue: An Ancestor's Call
May 23rd, 1898
London, England
Jerguson and Gentry Solicitors
The lithe young man sat at his desk writing upon a sheet of paper with a well-trimmed quill. Pausing he dipped the nub into the inkwell beside him before returning to the page, swiftly scratching out the last of the notes he was making for a deposition before the Justice in the morning, careful not to stain the cuffs of his white shirt. Setting the paper aside and allowing the ink to dry the pale and clean-shaven man sat back in his chair and stretched, his shoulder-length brown hair swaying slightly behind him as he felt his back pop. A moment later there came a knock at his door.
"Come in." The man called as he sat forward, smoothing his hair and focusing on the door.
The polished oak door opened revealing the somewhat corpulent figure of one of the senior solicitors for the firm. The round-faced older man was dressed in a stylish shirt and waistcoat with dark slacks, a gold pocket watch tucked into the pocket of his vest with the chain just hanging out. A pair of slim bifocals sat upon his nose bringing his watery blue eyes into sharp focus and his hair was grey as was the trim beard covering his jowls.
"Heading home for the day Charles?" He asked.
Charles nodded. "I will be in a few moments Mr. Crawley. Just finishing up some paperwork."
The man nodded. "Be sure and get some sleep, I want you fresh and bright-eyed when we're up before Lord Henry tomorrow in chambers, you know how the man gets if someone isn't giving them his full attention."
"Absolutely sir." Charles said with a nod.
"Good man." Crawley nodded in approval. "Good night to you then."
"Good night sir." Charles nodded in respect as the man departed, shutting the door behind him.
Glancing at the now dry page Charles added it to his sheaf of papers before smiling slightly. While the man was a bit stuffy and fastidious in his ways Mr. Crawley was certainly not a mean man. Charles owed him much for taking him under his wing and giving him a chance when the firm had allowed him to work for them as one of their junior solicitors. Being fresh out of law school Charles had not expected to find work in such a well known firm but Crawley had vouched for him, seeing potential in the 32 year old. The older man had shown him the ropes and guarded him against the sometimes cutthroat world of office politics as well as coaching him on the various Justices he would be coming in contact with in his role as a trial lawyer. Charles's sharp analytical mind and attention to detail had quickly ensured his usefulness to the firm and he was now considered one of their better solicitors, for relatively simple cases at least. He knew he had a ways to go yet before they would allow him to work on far more serious and prestigious cases but with Crawley's patronage he was certain it would come in due time.
Closing his case filled with documents Charles stood and glanced about the small room. It might not have been much but it was certainly better than what might have been had he not gotten the position and the sign on his door, outlined in brass, did look rather fetching if he did say so.
Charles Dexter Ezekiel, Solicitor.
Smiling at his good fortune the man turned off the gas lamps in the room, allowing the light to fade before he left the room, shutting and locking it behind him. Leaving the office he stepped out into the fading London twilight, the lamp lighters moving about unobtrusively as they lit the lamp posts throughout the city. Calling a carriage Charles returned quickly to his flat a few miles away in one of the residential districts. Paying the cabbie he walked up the stairs, taking a moment to retrieve his mail from the box next to the door. Stepping inside he divested himself of his overcoat before loosening his necktie and rolling up his sleeves before settling in his favorite chair in the sitting room. As he began examining the post one of letters caught his eye, a thick envelope on rich paper held shut with a wax seal. Setting the others aside on the small table next to him he examined the name on the front.
Lord Augustus Ezekiel.
Grandfather Augustus? Charles thought to himself in surprise. Why in the world is he writing to me?
Frowning he took hold of the envelope and snapped the seal, recalling what he knew of the man, having neither seen nor spoken to him in decades. From his childhood memories came the picture an older, aristocratic man with a pointed beard, weathered brow, and piercing grey eyes. Charles remembered he had always worn a great red overcoat trimmed with gold thread over his ruffled shirt and pants, making him look almost like a fanciful General in uniform. The man had seemed a rather distant and aloof figure, his deep and powerful voice always reverberating off the walls as he spoke with great gravitas and solemnity, regardless of the occasion. While his parents and he had often visited the man in earlier years they had seemed to grow distant towards him as time went on. He recalled the many hours he and his cousins had enjoyed playing in the large and stately manor the man had lived in but in time his parents had stopped their visits.
It was about that time that Father had us move to London. He recalled with a bit of confusion as he remembered his Father had never explained to him why they had moved so far away from Augustus and the rest of the family even though he had asked on several occasions over the years. The only thing he knew for sure was that his parents and him had fallen on harder times shortly after that as the family fortune remained tied to Augustus and the man had stopped sending them any kind of assistance shortly thereafter. Fortunately, his father had been a conservative man even with his earlier wealth at his disposal and thankfully had saved enough to keep them afloat and send Charles to law school while he worked but money had definitely been tighter.
Shaking off his thoughts he shook out the paper, noticing it was actually two separate letters within the envelope, one loose and the other sealed with more wax, a note on the front saying simply "to be opened before your departure".
I wonder what dear old Augustus wants… He thought idly as he opened the loose letter and read the first line.
Ruin has come to our family.
Charles froze upon reading the stark statement.
No greeting, no nothing...just...that. What could have happened that was so terrible…? He wondered in bewildered dismay before continuing to read.
Ruin has come to our family.
You remember our venerable house, opulent and imperial, gazing proudly from its stoic perch above the moor. I lived all my years in that ancient, rumor-shadowed manor, fattened by decadence and luxury. And yet I began to tire of...conventional extravagance. Singular unsettling tales suggested the mansion itself was a gateway to some fabulous and unnameable power. With relic and ritual, I bent every effort towards the excavation and recovery of those long buried secrets, exhausting what remained of our family fortune on...swarthy workmen and...sturdy shovels.
Pausing for a moment he stared at the letter uncomprehendingly before his mind began to work again. Well that would certainly explain why Father and Mother never returned there with me if this kind of...madness was starting to manifest, but I never thought...! His train of thought trailed off in confusion before he refocused his attention on the letter.
At last, in the salt soaked crags beneath the lowest foundations, we unearthed that damnable portal of antediluvian evil. Our every step unsettled the ancient earth! But we were in a realm of death and madness! In the end, I alone fled, laughing and wailing through those blackened arcades of antiquity.
Until consciousness failed me.
Charles's hands shook as he read, his eyes wide.
You remember our venerable house, opulent and imperial...it has become a festering abomination! I beg you! Return home! Claim your birthright! And deliver our family from the ravenous clutching shadows of the Darkest Dungeon!
Charles swallowed heavily as he tried to take in what he had just read, his unseeing eyes blinking in the soft light of the lamp.
This...this can't be! He thought fearfully. I always know Grandfather was a bit eccentric but he would never have…
It was then he noticed the rust-colored spatter on the outside of the envelope.
Scarcely daring to breathe he slowly brought the envelope closer, examining the dark spots before bringing it to his nose and sniffing carefully.
Amidst the slight perfumed scent of the parchment was the tell-tale scent of old blood.
Swallowing heavily the envelope dropped from his nerveless fingers, falling into his lap. He stared at the letter, rereading it over and over again until he finally sat back, trying to comprehend what he had read while his Grandfather's dying wishes reverberated over and over in his head as he shivered, his body chilled to the bone.
Return home...claim your birthright...deliver your family...
"Grandfather…what have you done?" He said in a horrified whisper, his eyes staring into the darkness of his room beyond the seemingly feeble light of the lamp.
The darkness stared back at him silently.
A/N: The game's Gothic nature and the humanity of the characters inspired me to begin writing this. I plan to base the story off of the characters I use in-game though I cannot guarantee that as the plot and consistency of the story and its characters are most important to me. The character's name of Charles Dexter Ezekiel is a homage to Charles Dexter Ward of H.P Lovecraft fame and 's 'Ezekiel III', whose play-through of Darkest Dungeon got me interested in the first place. Please review as positive interest will help fuel more chapters!