Comte Vendredi (Villain)
Full Name: Comte Vendredi
Faction: Coven
Before every Saturday, there comes Friday. The same is true in any language, and that truth holds for the Comtes, interdimensional offspring by-blows. Misshapen creatures, the Comtes are the heirs to the power of Samedi, formed by primal forces of magick, darkness and evil. The Comtes are a cosmic safety mechanism, but each yearns for more than simply being an heir apparent. As Dimanche covets Lundi’s power and status, so too for each of the Comtes, and the oldest of them all is Comte Vendredi, craving Baron Samedi’s position.
On a cold morning in a grand old house in Pulp City, Comte Vendredi reflected on the lot of the Comtes, and his lot in particular. He sat in a high-backed leather chair, his tiny skeletal form facing across facing a man who would consider himself every Comte’s master.
Papa Zombie was attired in his usual flamboyant style: top hat adorned with feathers; gold-framed glasses perched on the end of his nose, rich velvet purple tailcoat open to reveal a bare torso, and gris-gris and other mystical talismans handing around his neck, his wrists and from his belt. Papa Zombie always played up to the stereotype of a Vodou King. And as a monarch of vodou mysticism, Papa Zombie had risen through the ranks of the Coven, furthering its goals and his own agenda. If nothing else, Comte Vendredi knew full-well that the Coven was littered with competing agendas, his own included.
“Thank you for coming,” began Papa Zombie in his Louisiana lilt, a voice able to raise and command the dead at will. Both Supremes knew the pleasantry was just for show.
“I have a task for you.”
Direct and to the point, all pretense is dropped thought Vendredi. He waited several long moments before considering his reply, simply to demonstrate he was no lackey at anyone’s beck and call.
“If you need Supremes, you have the Coven’s Strike Teams,” was Vendredi’s delayed response.
Papa Zombie laughed, hearty and full, with an undercurrent of menace. As he suddenly ceased his laughter, he stared into Vendredi’s hollow eyes as though trying to see into the unliving homonculus’ inner being.
“This is not a task requiring a show of force,” Papa Zombie began, “No, this is something far more delicate. This task requires cunning, manipulation and desire, matters you are well-versed in. The Saints will soon return from their cosmic sojourn. They have parleyed with Baron Samedi, and I believe both sides have reached an accord.”
Papa Zombie let his words sink in with Comte Vendredi.
“Whispers from the spirits hint at the nature of their pact”, continued the Coven’s leader, “Samedi will remain in the Shadow Court, with the Saints seeking to take the Coven’s power for themselves. Samedi will exert his influence on their behalf, and in return they will tithe souls to Samedi, strengthening his might. If this comes to pass, my position is at risk of being usurped. And more importantly for you, the mantle of Samedi’s power stretches further from your grasp. So, you can see that our interests are aligned and entwined. So, regarding that task, are you now interested?”
Comte Vendredi considered Papa Zombie’s words carefully. Both were manipulators of living and masters of the dead. He had no trust for Zombie, yet what he described was compelling and rang true. The Coven was a means to an end for Vendredi, his stepping-stone to becoming the next Samedi, and if this human could help him achieve his goals, then Vendredi’s path was clear.
“Consider me interested, now what do you have in mind?” asked Comte Vendredi, his senses awash with the prospect of attaining his rightful inheritance.