The Season of Consequence: Madness

“Everyday, it’s a-gettin’ closer, going’ faster than a roller coaster. Love like yours will surely come my way.” - Buddy Holly

☠️☠️☠️☠️ …Farthington Manor, England… …A Long Time Ago…

“Quail leg fried in boar fat with a Lumorian lemon cream, mi’lord.”

You stare down through mundane eyes at the tiny quail leg sitting in a puddle of creamy white sauce. This reminds the man you’re hidden within about his business with the stable hands later. After his wife and son are asleep.

“So, as you can zee, there is… sagesse. Wisdom in this arrangement.”

The man to the left speaks in English tainted by an aristocratic French accent. The Marquis Primrose has spent the better part of dinner attempting to sell the man a marriage proposal. A union of Farthingtons and the Primroses.

It’s a droll conversation that had little to do with muscular, bearded men.

Then you hear it.

Laughter.

The boring conversation with the Marquis is forgotten as the man scans his dinner table for the source of this offensive sound.

His progeny, his child… the boy.

You long for these moments, breaking through more and more. It had been simple to ignore you when the boy was hidden away, being taken care of by a nurse-maid. Now he’s out, more and more.

And so are you.

You whisper the prophecy wept by his father the day the man was born.

…you will die drowned by a disgrace introduced by your son…

“Then there’s this Danish-American, Eric Dane, a practitioner of the Lariat.” a precocious Cecilworth cheerfully explains with a Duke and a minor Baron as his giggling audience.

Now is your time. He’s always been a wrathful man and so what might have been little more than a simmering anger is easily encouraged into a spiteful rage. You stoke the hate… and the fear, the anxiety bringing warmth to your ancient bones.

The cycle begins anew.

If you had lips to grin with, you would smile.

If you had a voice to sing with, you would laugh.

Unlike the man you’ve set ablaze, you’re not angry.

You’re quite mad.

☠️☠️☠️☠️ …The Kaelscape… …During the Main Event of ReVival 60…

Lightning splits the sky above Lord Farthington and his prisoner, Max Kael, while the two cross the bleak landscape surrounding the ruins of the Black Citadel. Once green meadows and lush forests were gone, replaced with stretches of blasted desert. The charred husk of a tree or the blackened remains of a shrub dot the landscape of an otherwise unremarkable desolation.

A low, rolling thunder grumbles through following another violent display of light from the heavens. Both men feel the ground shudder as the skyline flashes with a dozen angry colors.

“What the fuck is going on up there?” Max mutters, stumbling as he works to keep his balance. .

Pressing the barrel of his magnificent rifle between Kael’s shoulder blades, Lord Farthington grunts, “Wilhelm is facing FLAMBERGE right now. After he’s done with this French poof he’ll have the way cleared for Cecilworth.”

Casual disgust and malice lace the Lord’s voice paired with a dry smugness. Another bolt of lightning sends a hypnotic pattern of technicolor across the sky.

“Why do you want him dead?” Max finally asks, turning to look at his captor.

The two stare at each other as the thunderous storm continues to roil and boom across the sky above.

Finally, with an irritated sigh, Lord Farthington begins, “You wouldn’t understand. You don’t really have a family, you don’t really have a legacy. You’re an orphan bastard, nothing more. The Farthington Lineage is a responsibility, a mantle built on generations. It’s a sacrifice and a burden that each member takes on. Lord Farthington had dreams he wanted to see, you know? Passions he wanted to explore. Even so, it all came second. He got married. He had a son. He sacrificed his own happiness so that the Farthington Legacy could live on.”

Shadows hide Farthington’s grimacing face, his eyes only visible in the brief flashes between violent cracks of lightning.

“That boy never faced his legacy, never sacrificed for the family. And yet he still calls himself Cecilworth Farthington, the Lord of Farthington Manor. Outrageous. What has he ever done to earn that? Nothing. He doesn’t deserve it, not without accepting it. Accepting Us.”

Max’s brow furrows at the mention of us.

“... wait, what do you mean by that?”

He swears as another flash of technicolor consumes the sky he sees Lord Farthington come undone, like a puzzle thrown against a wall. For a fleeting moment there’s something wild and untamed in his place, a black shape that refuses to be named.

Then, as the lightning crackles away and shadows fall back where vibrant light once held dominion, Lord Farthington returns.

“Keep moving, Kael.”

☠️☠️☠️☠️ …The Kael Embassy, Arkham, Massachusetts… …A year after the death of Max Kael?…

Oleg stands by with the rest of the Kael Embassy staff as they await the arrival of Wilhelm Kael in the foyer of the stately structure. The longer he stays here in America and more specifically the Kael Embassy, the more he feels like the building itself was… alive.

Not like a flesh and blood animal, no. He had discovered this dreadful estate was made of wood and stone and terrible, terrible acts. The Kael family had a long, storied history in Miskatonic County and the locals did well to avoid speaking their name.

Even the local college, Mistakonic University, had opted to turn down donations and gifts from the family, so cursed had their name become.

The doors to the Embassy explode open as Wilhelm storms his way in like a bad wind. The support staff all snap to attention, staring forward and avoiding the Lord-Commissar’s steel gray gaze.

“Sir, welcome back to Arkham,” Col. Barkova falls in step beside Kael, extending a manilla folder out. “The report you requested.”

Grunting dismissively, Wilhelm snatches the file away from Oleg continuing his brisk march to the other end of the room.

“An excellent performance on ReVival, Lord-Commissar. FLAMBERGE is one of the most dangerous, celebrated members of the PRIME roster. His defeat will certainly raise the profile of the Red Army.” Oleg gushes, doing his best to hide his own excitement. His join seems to darken for a moment as he falls half a step behind Wilhelm.

Finally, after steeling his own nerves, Barkova whispers, “... why did you agree to stay out of the KING issue with Starshy Praporshchik Stanislav?”

The tread of Wilhelm’s boots on the wooden floor come to a stop. His shoulders rise as he takes in a deep breath before he releases it with an annoyed sigh. Eyes still locked on the folder he was handed, Kael half-turns.

“During War Games, when comrade Ivan and myself first teamed, I was involved in an incident that ran me across paths with Rose. I was humiliated by her and left in a vulnerable position. What did Ivan do? Mocked me and warned me to take care of my own trouble.” the Commissar mutters, recalling Max’s experience. “... Rose politely asked me that Ivan take care of his own drama. Besides, if Ivan can’t deal with someone like Rose on his own, perhaps he shouldn’t be running the Red Army anymore.”

It hurt Oleg to hear Wilhelm's reasoning, logically sound but lacking any empathy or compassion for his fellow Red Army member. It was a depressing similar sentiment back at the seat of power in Moscow.

“Do you see that stain over there?” Wilhelm asks, pointing toward a large black blotch near the front doors.

“Yes, sir. My apologies, I’ve talked to the Custodial staff. They say everything they’ve tried to remove the stain has failed. They even claim they’ve replaced the boards themselves, such absurd lies.” Barkova chuckles nervously. In his heart he was bracing himself for Wilhelm to order the janitors executed.

Another annoyed look flutters across the Lord-Commissar’s visage.

“Yes, I’d imagine the house wouldn’t want to forget. That’s where Max Kael? was executed by headshot with a gun wielded by Sutler Reynolds-Kael, his own son. Where Max Kael regenerated for the first time into something… new. A year ago today the first dominos started to fall for me to return.”

Wilhelm’s gray eyes turn toward the fresh portrait of himself, in his black Lord-Commissar uniform. It stands guard over the foyer, judging all who enter with that imperious glare.

“... In a few days I’m going to complete my obligations to Lord Farthington and I will finally be free. Truly, completely free to pursue my own goals. My own visions. Just as the start of this story began in death, so will Cecilworth Farthington’s destruction be my true rebirth, Col. Barkova. Look at how much I’ve accomplished in a year… from a stain on the floor there, to the Lord-Commissar standing here. Truly, I am magnificent.”

The Colonel coughs softly, clearing his throat as he once again was working up the nerve to ask something. Realizing that his monologue hadn’t elicited Oleg’s awe with his majesty, Kael’s eyes return to the folder in his hands.

Oleg takes a half-step toward Wilhelm, lowering his voice, “Sir, I… I was wondering if you could get me and the family tickets to Colossus. Either night works, night one is nice, of course. The World Title match is on night two though, my kids love Coral.”

Again Kael stops dead in his tracks. His head snaps up as he spins on his heel, closing the gap between himself and Oleg, getting uncomfortably close.

“What. Is. This.” he snarls through clenching teeth.

Sweat forms on Oleg’s forehead as he sputters, “My apologies, they’re kids, sir! I think they like that he looks like a toy or something.”

Kael’s brows arch, his dispassionate mask breaking for a moment as very real confusion shines through.

“I don’t give a fuck about your children, Colonel.” Kael snaps, tearing a picture from the folder before shoving it in Oleg’s face. “What is this? Who is that supposed to be?”

Barkova fumbles with the picture being shoved into his face, examining it closely before looking back up into Kael’s cold-fury glare.

“That’s the late Lord Farthington, Cecilworth Farthington’s father, sir.”

The image is of a man who does, in fact, share many features with his son though his chin is broader and he’s sporting a well trimmed handlebar mustache. He looks stately though his expression makes you think someone farted in his mouth before the picture was taken.

All said though, this is not the man with whom Wilhelm has been doing business.

“You’re absolutely sure this is Cecilworth Farthington’s father?”

“Yes, we have multiple different images on file, including a plethora of images provided by various magazines and papers from the United Kingdom.”

Blinking furiously, Wilhelm’s brain begins to backtrack what he knows. He’s missed something, been careless… let something get by him but what?

For the first time in a very, very long time Wilhelm Kael feels the knot of dread tightening in his stomach. The fear of not knowing, not controlling all the variables, not knowing all the cards.

“... about those Colossus tickets?”

He’s about to snap at Oleg when he feels fingers digging into the soft, gray matter of his brain.

Darkness arrives, like an unwanted night, washing over Wilhelm’s vision as he feels his consciousness pulled into the shadows of his mind…

☠️☠️☠️☠️ …The Kaelscape… …Shortly after Wilhelm blacks out…

Wilhelm’s body smashes into the shattered black stone that was once the Throne Room of the Black Citadel. Dust and debris scattered from his impact, his own immaculate black uniform ripped and desecrated.

“Yeah, the landing always sucks.” Max chuckles.

Crawling out of the small crater his impact into the Kaelscape made, the grizzled, scarred Wilhelm Kael snarls, “What the hell am I doing here?!”

Shrugging, Max points toward the khaki nightmare that is Lord Farthington, his elephant gun leveled at the both of them. As he staggers to his feet, Wilhelm turns his ire on this felonious Farthington.

“We had a deal. A DEAL. I would take care of Cecilworth Farthington and you’d get rid of Max Kael for me.” Kael continues while shoving an accusatory finger at the Hunter. “I’ve spent the last two months building a perfect plan to take down your son, systematically breaking down his support system! He’s got nobody left, soon he won’t even have a dime and all he’ll have left is his name and his reputation.”

Casting a disgusted glance toward Max, Wilhelm chortles, “And then, at Colossus, when I kill both of those, his spirit will break and you’ll have what you want. We’re so close… SO CLOSE.”

Lord Farthington watches and listens, unmoved by Wilhelm’s words. As he finishes Wilhelm swears he sees a moment where the edges of Farthington’s shape unravel and something spills out. It passes so quickly, he’s not even sure he saw anything.

“... I know you’ve figured it out.” Farthington finally replies, his voice regal and yet, there is a previously unheard corruption.

The Lord-Commissar grimaces, his jaw tightening. “We had a DEAL.”

“Sure we did. And I decided this would be more… fun.”

Like a single frame from a film being replaced, Lord Farthington seems to glitch for a moment. His eyes bulged, wild and alert. His somber expression twisted into insanity, mouth distorted into a ravenous smile.

“I think Lord Farthington might be, uh, broken.” Max jokes, shrugging toward his father.

“No… not broken.”

Wilhelm swallows hard as he turns to look at his son.

“...mad.”

☠️☠️☠️☠️ …Farthington Manor, England… …A long, long time ago…

“It’s a son, mi-lord!”

You see through his eyes into the face of the jubilant midwife. Another son, another generation of the Farthington’s secured. Your work will never end, it seems. Just so, you feel the man’s chest tighten.

“... and the mother? My wife?”

You know the answer from the midwife’s expression before her words confirm the concerns of the Lord of Farthington Manor.

“It was a difficult birth. She… She did not make it.”

“I will see her. And the child!”

You relish the sorrow burning in the Lord’s chest. You drink deep his suffering, the death of his wife, a wound tearing at his heart. It’s taken a long time but you’re finally breaking through.

It’s taken more time than you’d have expected but it's finally come.

“Where is she?! Where is my wife?!”

The smell of blood and birth fill the Lord’s nostrils drawing his hand to cover his nose. Approaching the bed he sees his wife’s pale corpse, her white night gown and sheets soaked crimson with blood.

You’re getting stronger, more and more you’re able to slip past his defenses. His mourning blinds him to your assault on his mind, drinking deep the darkness of his soul.

He pulls himself away from his wife’s body, his eyes falling on the nearby crib. By now all his defenses are gone.

“... you can end all this misery.” you promise him now that he can finally hear you.

The Lord of Farthington Manor turns around and stares at you, wide eyed and horrified now that he can finally see you.

“You can end this all. End the curse of the Farthington lineage… Kill your son. Kill your child and spare him the pain that awaits him in this life.”

Slipping your arms around him, you rock him back and forth, your words clouding his mind with a thousand profound reasons your words are right.

“No… no I won’t kill my son.” the Lord of Farthington Manor declares, pushing you away as he stumbles to the crib where his progeny sleeps. You are unrelenting, undiminished by his initial rejection.

“... if you do not kill your son.. If you do not finish this endless, pointless line of Farthington.” you warn, peering down at the helpless, slumbering new born. You smile knowing one day you shall know this child as well as you know his father.

“... he will die, drowning in disgrace brought by his own son.”

“No…”

You have no shape and yet you wrap his soul in a cloak of your flesh.

“...he will die…”

You have no tongue and yet you taste his mind broken by your words.

“...drowning in disgrace brought by his own son…”

The man’s sorrow turns to rage and despair as your words become his words. His raving awakens the child, his words… your words burning themselves on the newborns mind.

You are a plague upon this House.

Not a being of substance.

Or an enemy hidden behind fortress walls.

But a monster staining the labyrinth of their minds known as…

…Farthington Madness…   ☠️☠️☠️☠️ …The Kaelscape… …Shortly before Colossus 2024…

“So that’s not Lord Farthington?”

Max looks between Wilhelm and the thing holding them at gun point.

“No, he’s not even a personality, are you?” Wilhelm replies, nodding toward the thing that had been masquerading as Lord Farthington. Its face cracks into a maniacal grin, the sounds of anguished laughter catching on the air.

“I’m better than a personality, chums. I’m the Legacy of the Farthington family, haunting the minds of those degenerate aristocrats since… oh… since before I remember. Oh.. Oh..”

The outline of Lord Farthington twists and breaks, as if the shape that he was in failed to fully contain the truth of him.

“I was there when Cecilworth’s grandfather’s mind collapsed at the death of his wife. I put all that pain and sorrow to use, pouring all that trauma onto his own son. I thought I might have been able to drive the Lord of Farthington Manor to kill his own son but alas, he was a coward at heart. His son, Cecilworth’s father, showed more promise. Such promise…”

They feel the Madness smile though all the distinct lines of Farthington’s face have blurred and distorted into unrecognizable patterns.

“So much rage and pride. Unlike his father, Lord Farthington was easily pushed over the edge driven by the prophecy spoken by his own father’s lips.” the Madness expresses in a dozen angry voices. “He hated his boy… loathed Cecilworth… and I drank deep his wrath but it wasn’t enough. Somehow the last Son of Farthington Manor resisted…”

A fire sparks to life somewhere in the blackening void of the Madness. Both Wilhelm and Max find themselves paralyzed, fixated on that flickering red flame.

“... Cecilworth Farthington abandoned his family name and his birthright. He escaped his father and oppressed me within himself. His father died, drowning in a disgrace introduced to him by his son. I thought it was finished…”

Chains wrap themselves around Max as the Madness takes a step toward him. A hand more concept than creation stretches out toward him.

“And then you were brought into this world. Half Max Kael… Half Farthington… Just as you were given a second chance in this world, so was I. Another chance to give Cecilworth Farthington his true Legacy, to give him truth…to open his eyes to his own…”

Max feels the hand stroke his cheek. It’s like static electricity and sandpaper strapping across his flesh. He grunts as the chains tighten around him, constricting his breathing.

“...Farthington Madness. Don’t worry, little rat.”

The Madness shifts toward Wilhelm, at this point more of a hazy bloom that had once taken the shape of a human. The twitching concept of the Madness lashes out, black, grasping tendrils engulfing Wilhelm’s head.

The elder Kael screams but no sound escapes his throat. Instead he convulses as the black static find their way into his skull through whatever hole they can find. There is the sickening wet popping noise as Wilhelm’s head distorts, cracks and reshapes hideously. The agonizing moment passes as Wilhelm’s gray eyes glaze over a jet black.

“You can watch from here as your father and I…”

A sickly smile stretches across Wilhelm’s face as the Madness takes hold.

“Kill Cecilworth Farthington…”

☠️☠️☠️☠️   This isn’t personal for me. This is about legacy.  I made a deal and I̴̗̰̫̝̙̐͛͑̀͠ take such matters seriously. You thought you could escape me, hiding behind your friends. You’ve said you don’t believe I ȁ̶̧̡̘̝͇̼m̶̟̽̃ who I say I am, that I’m some kind of fraud. That’s your mistake to make for which you shall be s̶̩̀ö̸̟r̴͓͒͊ř̵͎͠y̷̮̋̓. We’ll show just how real we are.  When I’m done, you might as well be named C̷͚̣̺͚̄ë̶̪́̑̌̕c̵͔̺̙͗̏͛͘í̸̦̹͖͛͘ľ̸̥̅͘͝w̴̱̦͖̰̌ǫ̷̥͈͈͉͗̽̚͠ŗ̴̜̜̦͔̀t̶̛͕̄́̌̓h̵̨̭̠̅̿̎͜ Atkens. That's a name you truly deserve. And where are your friends? I̸̫̰̲̤͊̀ took them away one by one. Sid. Joe. FLAMBERGE.  What about your love? Where is your mistress, where is your Professional Wrestling? I took your ḻ̷̢͍͍̺̱̲̹̭͍̫͉̓͑̾͘ͅo̴̢̘̩̹̹̘͓͓̍͊̋v̶̢͙̽̄͝͝ê̵̡̝͇͖̝̬̻̯̪͜, made her capitulate to my will, my Madame Guillotine.  Everyday, I’mma a-gettin’ closer, coming on faster than a roller coaster. At Colossus I shall take what remains of your life. I will shatter y̶̰͙̝̮̙̻̍̈́͌̀̇o̵̼̺̿̆͐û̷̢̠̘̜̠̺͕͓͒̈́̑͌̍̇ in the ring and then... Madness like mine will surely come your way.   ☠️☠️☠️☠️   ♩♬ …A-hey, a-hey, hey… ♬♩